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Is Tatum okay? What did they do to her? I couldn't see what happened, but I will never forget the weight of her limp body across my legs. It's where she fell after she slid down my body. And that terrible sound. The sound of bones crunching together. Shattering into tiny pieces.
The shivers worsen when I start to dive deeper into my thoughts.Focus. I can't continue to think like this, not if I'm going to get through this. I'm still alive, and that means something.
I have to do this, for the baby. If for nothing else, I have to survive for my baby's sake. And for my father, who's already lost enough, and Callum.Oh, my God, where is he? Does he know what happened?I'm sure by now he knows what's happened and that I'm missing.
I'm not sure how much time has passed, but it's dark outside. The small window cut into the cinder block wall tells me that. Hours must have passed since they took us from the garage.
Time doesn't matter. I know him. He'll come looking for me.
A sharp pain radiates through my stomach and I curl into a tighter ball on the cot somebody left me on when we arrived. It's filthy and smells like mildew, but it's the only piece of furniture in the small, dark room. Something is dripping somewhere, a leaky pipe maybe, but I can't see it. The rhythmicplink plink plinkis almost soothing.
After a few deep breaths, I settle enough to focus on the pain. It's not cramping, thank God. I don't know much about pregnancy yet, but I doubt cramping would be a good sign. It's more like nausea; not surprisingly, fear and dread will do that to you. My stomach is knotted, and I barely contain the scream of rage threatening to tear its way out of my throat when my thoughts drift back to Callum again. I can only imagine how frantic he is right now. The thoughts he's having. I have no idea what they did with Tatum. What if they killed her and left her body there for him to find?
We only need this one.That was one of the last things Amanda ever said. My God. I'm reminded again that she's dead. Just like that. I would never have called her my favorite person—she went out of her way to drive a wedge between Callum and me by getting inside my head. She called me filthy, ugly names. She dragged out the divorce for ages, all so she could make Callum miserable, and she was a terrible mother. So much of Tatum's toughness is a defense mechanism. She built a wall around her that got thicker with every ignored call, every missed meet-up, every skipped holiday. Regardless of those things, it doesn't mean I'm glad she's dead. No matter how many times I replay those ugly, terrifying moments, there's no convincing myself of any other outcome. She was a shadowy figure in front of me, then there was a gunshot, and her silhouette disappeared.
I have no idea who shot her or if she was working with someone. The voice that spoke wasn't familiar. The only thing I could tell was that it was a man whose name was never spoken. He shot somebody else after Amanda—I don't know who, but I heard something heavy hit the floor—before somebody else picked me up and carried me out. The pillowcase stayed firmly in place until we reached this small, filthy room, and even then, I didn't get a good look at the man who carried me in. The room was too dark, and all I could do was try and protect myself for fear they'd kill me too.
I blink slowly and stare at the rust-stained metal door across from the cot. The very thin strip of empty space between the bottom of the door and the floor is enough to reveal light on the other side. There has to be somebody out there, right? Guarding me, at least. They wouldn't leave me alone if I'm supposedly valuable.
My chest aches, my heart thundering loudly in my ears. They're going to use me to get to Callum. That much, I can put together, even while lying here on the tail end of shock.
The puzzle pieces fall into place. Whatever was supposed to happen, Tatum was never supposed to be involved. Did they bring her here, too? Maybe they figure they'll get more from him that way. I can only assume this has to do with money. Amanda probably found somebody desperate for cash and convinced them to go through with this. I already saw what she did to Lucas. There's nothing she isn't capable of.
Was.Past tense. Oh god. This has to be a nightmare. It can't be real.
However, the stink of mildew is very real. The nausea twisting my stomach. The uncontrollable shivering. I couldn't have imagined the sound of something hitting Tatum's head. It was too sickening. Is she still alive? Did they kill her to send a message, the way they killed her mother? If she's dead, how am I supposed to live without her? What will I do without my best friend?
Calm.All these what-if questions are twisting me up tighter and tighter.I force myself to take deep breaths, filling my lungs thoroughly. I can't let myself think that way. I need to get out of this—whateveritis—alive, so I can't give in to the panic. It might even be possible to do that until a shadow blocks out the light coming in under the door.
Staring at that shadow, I press my back to the cold wall. No matter how hard I listen, I can't make out more than mumbling on the other side. Who is on the other side of that door, and what do they plan to do to me? My heart seizes at the click of the lock.Please, don't let them hurt me or my baby.I sit up quickly, causing my head to swim. Ignoring the dizziness, I draw my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around them, trembling while I wait for the door to open. I wonder if they're drawing it out to scare me.
If they are, it's working.
The door creaks as it opens, and at first, the light streaming in from outside the room blinds me after spending so long in the dark. I have to squint and turn my face away while a man enters. “Getting some rest? I'm sure you need it in your condition.”
I recognize the voice from earlier, but still don't know who it belongs to. The memory of what he's capable of and how easy it was for him to do it leaves me fighting against the need to run and scream. I have to be careful.
“Where is Tatum?” I whisper, blinking hard as I turn my face toward him again. My vision starts to adjust, and now I can make out his dark hair with its touch of gray, as well as his angular face.
“How sweet,” he murmurs. “More concerned for your friend than you are for yourself. What a shame her mother wasn't more concerned for her—but then she was blinded by greed and hatred, sadly.”
His eyes.I remember those icy eyes staring at me from across a table while his son reacted in horror thanks to the fork sticking out of the back of his hand—the venom and rage in those eyes.
“Jack Moroni,” I growl his name. And now it all makes sense, at least partly. He and Callum weren't on good terms when that dinner ended. I haven't thought about him since then, really, thanks to all the shit that went down afterwards.
“Bianca Cole. I'm honored you remember me.”
“How could I forget?” When he snickers, I demand, “Where is Tatum? Seriously. What did you do to her?”
“Seriously?” He looks over his shoulder to the thug standing behind him. There's a gun jutting out from the man's waistband. I'm not stupid. I know it's a silent threat. “Well. Callum certainly hasn't taught you how to threaten people properly."
"What did you do to her?" It takes everything to fight back the tears threatening to choke me. I will not let this man see me cry. He's nothing. A coward who can't fight a man face-to-face, so he has to kidnap a defenseless girl.
He strokes his sharp jaw, lips pursed. “You know, it all happened so fast. I can't quite remember.”
There's no way to keep my chin from quivering. “You're a sick fucking bastard!!” I seethe.
“I've never been called that before..” Again, he looks over his shoulder, this time sharing a snide laugh with one of his men.
