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Chapter Twelve
Niko
I openmy eyes then regret it immediately when the light pierces my eyeballs like bolts of lightning, so I slam them shut. I clutch the sides of my head, trying to stop the rhythmic pounding. It doesn’t fucking work.
“Ahh… fuck me,” I groan, my mouth feeling like I swallowed a bag full of cotton.
I roll away from the offending bright light and keep going because there’s no more fucking couch left. Luckily, I catch myself before my nose meets the hard floor.
“Goddammit,” I mutter and just lay there, thinking.
For a minute, I forget why I’m even on the couch and not in my bed, but then the memories of the past thirty-six hours roll in. Betsy having a fit at the window then later, waking up to gunshots, seeing a dark figure in a car driving off, checking on Reece because my fucked-up brain demanded it and having him throw it in my face, then at the bar and coming so damn close to getting the guy who took Aislin away from me. Thank God Tavers was there because there’s no telling what I would have done to the drunkard running his mouth. Even sleeping ten fucking hours at the station to sober up did nothing to lessen my rage. If anything, it fueled it. Even if he hadn’t led us to believe he might be the suspect I’ve been looking for all these years, the guy was a disgusting bastard. In the end, he wasn’t the guy, which only amped up my anger because that means he’s still out there.
Something wet touches my hand, and I slowly crack open one eye. Betsy’s lying on her stomach, her head on her front paws with her snout right by my hand. The old girl looks worried. Putting her at ease, I lift a hand and pet her head.
“I’m okay, girl,” I tell her, and she licks my hand again.
I groan and grumble when I pick my tired body up from the floor. I steady myself on the cushion to keep from doing another almost face plant. My head pounds harshly as I stagger to the bathroom. I probably shouldn’t have drunk that bottle when I was forced home by Captain yesterday evening, but dammit, my nerves were shot to hell, and all I wanted to do was dull the pain of once again failing.
I turn the shower on to warm up then turn to the medicine cabinet. I pop a couple of aspirin in my mouth and down them with water cupped in my hand. Once I’m stripped naked, I grab my toothbrush and load the sucker up with way more toothpaste than needed. With the toothbrush in my mouth, I step into the shower. The water hitting my back already makes me feel half human again. I rinse the toothbrush then toss it on the shelf in front of me
I stand there for several minutes as the water beats down on my tense shoulders, letting the aspirin make its way into my system. An image of the guy at the bar appears behind my closed eyelids, and anger has my fists clenching. The guy acted remorseful, saying he regretted what he did, but his feelings of guilt did nothing to calm my anger and disgust. The guy was a sick fucking bastard who needed his face pummeled into the ground. No matter how much grief he felt for his actions or how much he claimed it was an accident, he still did what he did. Death is way too easy for someone like him. He deserves to rot in the lowest bowels of hell. Since the closest thing we have to that here on earth is prison, that’ll have to do. I’m not worried, though. There are two things most prisoners can’t stand and will fuck a fellow prisoner up for; men who abuse women and men who abuse children. Those two are sacred to many of the inmates.
I wash my hair and soap up my body. Minutes later, I turn off the shower, grab a towel, dry off, and pull on some jeans and a t-shirt. My head’s still thumping out a low rhythm, but it’s slowly going away.
I notice it’s just past noon when I snag my phone from the coffee table as I make my way to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. Caffeine probably isn’t the best thing for my head, but fuck if I’m giving it up. Right as I’m placing my phone on the counter, it chirps at me. Looking at the screen, I see a name I haven’t seen in a while.
I continue my trek to the counter where the coffeemaker is and swipe my finger across the screen.
“Mac. How’s it going?”
Opening the cabinet, I grab the coffee grounds and filters. Mackai Weston, or Mac to most people, is someone I met in my search for answers about Aislin. Three years ago, a tip led me to a small town called Jaded Hollow in northern Ohio, just a couple of hours away. Mac is the sheriff in that town. According to my source, a man who was wanted for abducting and severely beating several women was said to be hiding out in Jaded Hollow. Word was he had a girl with him who fit Aislin’s description. By the time I made it to town, there was no sign of the man, but several weeks later, the Virginia State Police picked him up. The girl he had was brutally raped over and over again, covered in bruises and cuts, had fractured ribs, and was extremely malnourished. She also wasn’t Aislin.
While a big part of me wished the girl was Aislin just so I would have her back, a small part was glad she wasn’t. It meant she could still be out there whole and happy. Although the likelihood of that happening was slim. Again, there’s no way she would have left me like everyone claimed. I didn’t know the girl who was with him, but even a stranger could tell she was just a shell of herself. She would be forever haunted by what her abductor did. She’d never be the same girl she was before. I wanted to find Aislin, but it terrified me to think of the condition she would be in when I did.
I was in Mac’s neck of the woods for almost a week, and in that time, we became friends of a sort. Any time I need help, he’s there, and vice versa.
“Nothing much happens around these parts. You know that,” he remarks.
I lean back against the counter while my coffee brews, waiting for him to continue. Mac’s not the type to call to shoot the shit. There must be a reason.
He releases a sigh. “Listen, I may have something for you. Got a call from an old friend who works a few towns over. They nabbed a guy for domestic abuse and found some old pictures of some young girls tied up and beaten. Some pretty nasty shit. During questioning, the perp mentioned taking a girl years ago from the Cleveland area.”
He pauses, and my heart starts to pound. His voice is quiet, but his words echo in my ear as if he screamed them. I squeeze my eyes shut and concentrate on pulling air into my lungs. The hand gripping my phone shakes so much it rattles against my ear. Could this be it? Fuck if I want it to. Screw that. I need this to be it. I need to catch this guy and watch as he rots in prison. I need to know that Aislin’s killer was given the justice he deserves.
“That’s not far from here. When did he take her?” I ask barely above a whisper.
“Guy couldn’t remember,” he answers, and I grit my teeth. “Just said it was about fifteen years ago.”
“Where is he now?”
“At the Wayfield precinct. They’re still trying to get answers out of him, but according to my guy Matthew, he’s starting to clam up. I called you as soon as I got off the phone with him. I told him about your situation a while back, and he thought there may be a connection with this guy. He’s supposed to call me as soon as they have more answers.”
I hear tapping on the other end of the phone. The coffeemaker steams behind me, but it’s long forgotten, my mind solely focused on the fact we may know who Aislin’s killer is today. Not only know who he is but also have him in custody. The years I’ve put into searching for answers about her could all be put to rest in a matter of hours.
I need this like I need air to breathe. Going so long without any answers at all is slowly killing me inside.
“You call me the second something comes in. I want it all, Mac. Every last fucking detail.” I clench my jaw and try to calm my nerves. Being this close and having to wait is going to be fucking hard, but I’ll deal with it.
