42. Olivia
Chapter 42
Olivia
I lie awake in bed, this darkness suffocating me every night.
M y brain is still trying to figure out why on earth Lyndsay is talking about prison when she pulls another phone out of her pocket.
“Lyndsay, what are you doing?” It’s still weird not to call her Heather after all the years we worked together.
She types something on her screen before holding the phone to her ear and screaming into it. “No, Olivia, stay away from me.”
What the hell is she doing? Is she calling someone?
“Let’s calm down and talk about this.” I stare at her wild eyes. They’re unfocused, darting around the room. But never straying away from me for long.
She looks ready to lose her shit completely.
I swallow hard, unsure of what to do or say. My throat is dry as sandpaper.
Think, Olivia. Think.
“Yes, I’m in danger.” Her brows bunch together as she stares straight at me with tears in her eyes. They spill over, running down her cheeks, her sobs shaking her entire body. “Olivia Parker. 88 Lexington Street, Apartment 1006. Please hurry. She’s trying to kill me. She has a knife.” She screams. “Please, no. Olivia. Stop. Get away from me. Please don’t.”
She takes the phone away from her ear, staring at it for a second, before letting it drop to the floor. It lands with a loud thud.
I open my mouth to say something, but nothing comes out.
This has to be a joke.
Because what the fuck?
“Lyndsay, what’s going on?” I finally manage to get out the words, although I barely hear them over the pounding of my heart.
I push the blankets back, ready to end this whole charade, but Lyndsay shakes her head at me.
“Don’t come any closer, or you’ll regret it.”
Her voice is so full of venom that I pause with my legs down the side of the bed.
“Goodbye, Olivia. I hope you rot in hell and enjoy my parting gift. The whole world will know the truth soon.”
Two things happen before I can react or ask her what she’s talking about now. Lyndsay flicks her thumb over a metal object in her left hand, igniting a small flame while producing a knife from behind her in her other hand.
“Lyndsay, wait. No.” The light glints off the silver blade as she pulls her arm high in the air and rams it forcefully in her midsection.
She grunts, and I jump off the bed. She is not going to kill herself on my watch. Nope. Not happening. I barely make it two steps when she lowers her left hand, the one still holding the lighter.
The instant the lighter makes contact with the floor, flames roar to life, and Lyndsay collapses in the middle of it. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
In mere seconds, a blinding wall of orange consumes her while the heat sucks the air out of the room.
My legs are locked in place, the urge to flee battling with the paralyzing shock of this situation. I want to scream. To cry. To do something. But I can’t.
My hands tremble violently at the horrifying scene in front of me. Lyndsay’s clothes are on fire now, as well as the entire wall behind her, including the door leading to the hallway and most of the closed door of the en suite.
She thought of everything, didn’t she?
The temperature continues to rise, and sweat trickles down my nape. It’s suffocating and intense. The smoke reaches me, or maybe I only notice it now, and I cough. My lungs are begging for clean air, and my coughs turn into gags as the sickening smell of burnt hair reaches my nose. It’s almost enough to bring me to my knees.
Fear, revulsion, and pity collide in a dizzying spiral, and I feel the fracture in my mind amidst the chaos. It’s too much. It’s all just too much.
A loud noise filters through my debilitating shock.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Olivia, get out of here. Do something. Now. Move. Move. Move.
I yank my shirt over my mouth and drop to the floor the way they drilled it into us at school.
Think. You can get out of here.
I’m not going to die today.
I’m not going to die today.
I’m not going to fucking die today.
I scan the room. The bedroom door is a total no-go. Not only is it entirely engulfed in flames, but Lyndsay is also blocking it.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
The noise is coming from the bathroom door. Someone is banging on it and shouting.
Something triggers my brain to jump back to earlier. The splashing noise after Lyndsay entered the room. Her wet clothes.
Shit. That wasn’t water at all, was it?
That could also explain why the fire erupted and spread so quickly.
My brain is trying to put as many pieces together as possible. So many are still missing.
Focus!
Crap. How much time has passed? Minutes? Seconds?
I shuffle toward the noise as a loud crack echoes through the room, and the door explodes. Pieces of wood fly everywhere, and I put my hands over my head to protect myself.
“Olivia. Fuck . . . Get out of my way.”
Archer’s face is the first I see, and I manage a small thumbs-up from where I’m lying next to the bed.
Keep moving.
I try, but the room is suddenly spinning. I’m not sure if the smoke finally gets to be too much, or if it’s the adrenaline draining from my body in a crashing wave of exhaustion. All I know is I want to close my eyes, just for a little while.
Soon. You can relax and rest soon.
I blink, watching Archer climb through the splintered door with a fire extinguisher in his hands, Jax following him with an oversized blanket he throws over Lyndsay.
But my gaze doesn’t stay on them for long, pulled back to the splintered bathroom door that is now open and barely hanging on the hinges anymore.
And the man running straight for me.
My man.
My husband.
“I got you, baby. It’s all over now. Did you get hurt?” Holden picks me up like I weigh nothing and rushes back the way he came.
“I’m okay.” I sag into the safety of his hold, letting the relief course through me. It’s bittersweet and overwhelming, leaving me trembling as the chaos around me fades into the background.
He walks us through the Jack-and-Jill bathroom to the guest bedroom on the other side, and then we’re out in the hallway.
Voices come our way from the stairs, but all I can focus on is gulping in lungfuls of air.
“Up here.” Holden hollers. Detective O’Neal comes into view with several cops and paramedics behind him. “Down the hallway, first bedroom on the right.”
O’Neal shakes his head at us. “You guys really just don’t know how to have a normal life, do you?”
Holden tenses around me, and I get the distinct feeling he might have punched the detective—once again—if it wasn’t for me.
“Shut up, O’Neal.” He tilts his chin in the direction of where we just came from. “Go do your job and tell me if she’s dead or not. And I need a paramedic for Olivia.”
“Fair enough.”
Holden ignores my protests and continues walking with firefighters running past us. Downstairs, he gently lays me on the couch and gets in my face. “You are a terrible listener. The absolute worst. Why did we determine a safe word if you don’t use it?”
Tears burn my eyes, turning the edges of my vision slightly blurry. “I’m sorry. It all happened so fast. I didn’t know she had a knife or she had doused the room and herself in something. I never smelled anything.”
Holden sighs. “She must have used natural gas or something else odorless. I can’t believe she got so close to hurting you. I never would have agreed to this idea had we known how crazy she is.”
I brush my hand over the side of his face, careful to avoid the many injuries he suffered when he staged the video of his death. He ignored all of my protests about him not having to get beaten up, telling me repeatedly that it was necessary to make it look authentic and that he’d heal in no time.
Shit, we didn’t even know if it would work to draw out the culprit.
But he’s here. We all are. In one piece, more or less. And Stormy is safely waiting at home. “I knew you’d have my back and rescue me before anything bad could happen. And you did.”
He closes his eyes and leans into my touch.
I savor the contact and inhale deeply, my lungs immediately protesting with a round of coughs.
Holden pulls back. “Shit. I’m sorry.”
He calls for the paramedic and stays beside me while the middle-aged man checks me out. Thankfully, my oxygen levels aren’t low enough to be a genuine concern, so an oxygen mask, staying hydrated, and rest will do for now.
The moment the paramedic leaves, Holden scoops me up to sit on the couch with me in his lap. He’s careful not to disturb my mask, and I revel in the immediate relief the cool air offers me. It’s calming and soothes the tightness in my chest. That and the fact this nightmare finally seems to be over has all the tension leaving my body at once. My body is like Jell-O, and I melt against Holden. He’s the only one who can keep me together.
He doesn’t leave my side, holding me gently while I fill my lungs with clean air.
When O’Neal returns, Holden’s fingers flex around me. “Did she make it?”
The detective sighs. “They aren’t sure yet. She’s lost a lot of blood from the knife wound and has suffered severe burns. I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”
As much as I hate her for everything she put us through, a small, forbidden part of me almost wishes she won’t make it. Not because I want her dead but because she clearly doesn’t want to be alive anymore. It would be a clean cut, severing the connection entirely. On the other hand, I also want her to pay for what she did to me. To us.
Someone calls O’Neal as Archer and Jax join us, wasting no time reprimanding me the same way Holden did. And I don’t blame them because I get it. I really do. I’d be livid too, if Holden put himself in danger. Or any of them.
I weakly lift my left hand in front of me. “In my defense, the video of Holden screwed more with my head than I thought it would. I told you guys I should have watched it before.”
Holden grimaces and presses a kiss to my temple. “Sorry, Hurricane. I already told you it was necessary to make it believable. We had to make sure the person who hired the hit on me wouldn’t have any doubts about my death.”
“I know. I still didn’t like it.” My throat tightens just thinking about him lying on that filthy floor, all bloody and bruised.
Archer sighs and lets his head fall back against the cushion. “At least it’s all over now. If Lyndsay makes it, we have everything on video to put her behind bars. Marco and his men are also taken care of, so all threats are eliminated.”
The silence that follows his statement is thick, but no one dares to speak out against what Archer just said—positive thinking, hoping for the best, and all that.
The paramedics leave with Lyndsay on a stretcher, and I turn my face into Holden’s chest. I don’t want to see her again. She’s not right in the head.
All of this will take a while to process, that’s for sure. “I still can’t believe it was Heather—Lyndsay—this whole time.”
Archer nods. “We knew it could be anyone when we set the trap to lure out the person, but I honestly didn’t think it would be her. On the other hand, I didn’t know who to expect either.”
It seems none of us did. To be on the safe side, we sent out text messages to everyone on the team, telling them about Holden’s disappearance and asking them if they knew anything. We mentioned I was at the apartment, basically using me as bait. We made sure to give the people who asked to stop by different times to ensure there’d only ever be one person here. Nisha was here a couple of hours ago, and while I hated lying to her, I was so relieved she left with a promise to check in with me soon. At least I don’t have to pretend with anyone else anymore.
Jax blows out a breath. “Sometimes you don’t know what’s going on in someone’s head until it’s too late.” He rubs a hand over his face. “Why don’t you guys go home? I’ll stay until the police finish with the crime scene.”
I smile at him. It’s weak, but there. “We can wait. It’s no problem.”
He shakes his head. “No, let Holden and Archer take you home and get some rest. I’ll keep you updated on everything.”
Since Holden and Archer agree, we’re in the garage a few minutes later, with Archer in the front and Holden and me safely tucked together in the back.
Archer turns toward us. “Ready to go?”
I nod just as Archer’s phone goes wild on the dashboard. It vibrates almost nonstop with endless calls, messages, and notifications.
“What the fuck?” He grabs the phone, and Holden leans forward between the two front seats.
“What the hell happened now?”
“Fuck, fuck, fuuuuuuck.” Archer slams his hand on the steering wheel, the sound of the horn cutting through the silence.
Holden squeezes through the tight gap as much as he can. “What is it, Arch?”
Archer hands his phone to Holden with a growl of frustration. “Lyndsay wasn’t kidding. She leaked information to the press about everything between you two and Felix.”