Chapter 42
My phone buzzesin my pocket. Caller ID hidden. It’s Davis. It has to be.
I don’t answer, because it’s not going to achieve anything. I called the cops on my way over. Fuck safe driving, fuck everything. I’m half-naked, driving like a maniac, because if anything happens to Hannah, I will lose my mind.
I will lose it all.
He’s got her.
Adrenaline courses through my veins as I tear down the street and pull to a stop outside Bagel’s Bakery. I leap out of my SUV and dart up the stairs.
I reach the door and listen for any sounds of movement, or of Hannah inside, but there’s nothing.
I’m coming.
I kick the door open with such force that it rebounds off her apartment wall and march into the room. Davis is seated beside Hannah on the sofa. He’s got his arm around her shoulder, and a knife in his hand pressed to her throat.
Hannah’s blue eyes are wide and filled with fear that makes me sick. I want to reach into my pocket for the bracelet, but I won’t.
My vision tunnels on Davis, and the smile he’s wearing.
“Savage,” he says. “You didn’t really think I wouldn’t find you, did you? I know you called your buddies in the cops. Guess you’re not the only one with friends high up. I’ve been out for months.” He laughs.
I didn’t go into a protection program, even though I should have. I didn’t plan on living through the night when I arrived in Heatstroke. I was going to throw myself off that fucking cliff and never look back, because there was nothing left to live for.
Now, I have everything to live for, and she’s sitting next to a murderer.
Rage like no other rises inside me, and I take a step toward him.
“Nuh-huh,” Davis says, tapping the blade against Hannah’s throat. “One step closer and you’re going to end her life.”
“Let her go.” I am helpless in this situation.
As helpless as I was when Charlotte was attacked, and I was out of the country.
My senses are tuned to a fine point. Every micro-expression on Davis’ face, the beads of sweat near his hairline, the skull tattoo on his neck that dances and moves when he talks or swallows.
“Let. Her. Go,” I say.
“Or what? What are you going to do, Savage?” he asks. “Hannah and I have been having a nice little chat. Isn’t that right, Hannah? Or should I call you, Princess?”
I grind my teeth.
“You’re not as sly as you think, Savage. Christ, even during a storm, it was easy to spy on you two.”
“This is your plan?” I ask. “To monologue like a cheesy villain from a cartoon.”
“My plan is to torture Hannah,” he says. A single droplet of blood trickles down her throat, and she freezes, her eyes wide. “And thus, torture you. Because that is what you deserve. I lost everyone because of you. Everyone. And I’ll tell you, it might have taken me a long time to get out of prison, but I spent each and every night in there thinking of the day I would find you, and make you pay for what you did.”
I glare at him.
The police will be here soon. There’s no telling what he will do once he hears the sirens.
There has got to be a way.
Hannah’s trembling, and I have to be calm for her.
I take a breath and shove everything aside, the adrenaline, the need to break his face and squeeze his throat until his eyes pop out of his fucking skull.
“I don’t care,” I say, and turn to go.
Davis doesn’t say anything.
I walk toward the exit.
“Where the fuck are you going?” he asks. “I’ll kill her if you leave.”
“She’s nothing to me,” I say, drawing on a well of calm. “She was just a quick fuck.”
Hannah makes a noise that’s so painful, I almost turn back. I step out onto the grated steps.
“You really expect me to buy that?” Davis shouts. “You came rushing over here and kicked the fuckign door in. Now, you’re not interested in her?”
“Not worth my time.” He doesn’t buy it, but he doesn’t have to. I have to disarm him enough for him to get up.
This is a huge fucking gamble, but I have no choice. The alternative is him toying with me while Hannah bleeds out on the sofa beside him.
I walk onto the landing and don’t glance back as I start down the stairs.
“The fuck?” Davis mutters, and then I hear him getting up.
And it’s my fucking chance.
I turn back and race through the room.
I catch him halfway to standing. Hannah’s still on the sofa, wide-eyed, tears streaming down her cheeks. He spots me coming and lunges toward her with the knife, but I’m on him in a heartbeat. I take hold of his fist, the one holding the knife and pull it away from her.
And then I crush his fingers.
Davis screams and tries to punch me, but I catch his left fist in my other hand, so I have him trapped. I pull him close to me, listening to the satisfying crunch of his bones breaking.
Davis’ face is inches from mine.
“You’d better hope the police get here in time to stop me from breaking every fucking bone in your body,” I hiss, and then I pull my head back and bring my forehead down on his already broken nose.
He screams, raw and terrified.
I release his crushed hand and the knife drops from his grasp. I pick it up from the floor, test its weight, then flick it free. It lodges in his right shoulder.
He yells again, stumbling back.
And then I tackle him to the ground, my vision hazing red. I punch. Again, and again, and again, the sounds lost on me, until hands pull me away from him. I’m fighting to be free, to end his fucking life for what he’s done, but more arms hold me back. More people stop me.
Police stream into the room, and I search for Hannah, the haze dropping away. She’s gone.