47. I’m coming for her
47
I’m coming for her
Chapter Playlist:
“Dead Man Walking” – Jelly Roll
“Way Down We Go” – KALEO
“Not Gonna Die” - Skillet
CAL
The sharp sting of antiseptic pulls me from the haze of unconsciousness.
Pain radiates through my side, sharp and unrelenting, but it’s nothing compared to the hollowness in my chest. I force my eyes open, blinking against the harsh light.
Klaus, my manager, is standing there, his face pale and grim, his suit rumpled in a way I’ve never seen.
“She’s gone,” he says quietly, his voice like a knife to my gut.
I push myself upright, ignoring the fiery protest of my ribs. “Where?” I snarl.
“They took her. I don’t know—” Klaus’s words are clipped, but the weight behind them is unbearable. “A private plane. GPS cloaked. Whoever planned this knew exactly what they were doing.”
My mind races, the pieces falling into place. “Only one person could’ve pulled this off,” I say in a hard voice. “Someone who knows my systems as well as I do. Someone willing to go…extreme lengths.” I should have fucking known all along.
The name is already forming on my lips, venomous and bitter. “Dorian.”
Klaus nods, his jaw tight. “Yes, but he wasn’t working alone. Yes, he’s the only one who could’ve carved your scars into his own flesh, matched your biometrics… He’s obsessed, Acheron. And he has her. I don’t know if his partnership matters.”
Every detail matters. The air feels too thin, the walls too close. My vision narrows as fury surges through me, hot and consuming. “I’ll find him,” I snarl. “And I’ll make him regret ever touching her.”
The sterile, white-walled office reeks of antiseptic, but it’s not enough to mask the sour stench of fear from the man cowering in front of me. He cradles his broken left hand, his face slick with sweat as he stares at me with wide, pleading eyes.
The eye surgeon.
Other than my failsafe of the program that reads my scars—perhaps manipulated by prosthetics—the program cannot be exploited aside from my eyes. The crimson glint inside them. There is only one way Dorian could have accessed the system.
“Let’s make this simple,” I say, my voice low and lethal as I address the traitor. “Tell me where Dorian took her, or I’ll break your right hand next. I have no qualms about ruining your surgical career.”
“I don’t—I don’t know!” the surgeon stammers.
I slam my fist onto the desk, scattering papers and instruments. “Don’t lie to me. One last chance.”
He flinches, his resolve crumbling. “He…he said he’d take her to the one place you’d never think to look. Somewhere isolated. Tropical. That’s all he told me, I swear!”
His words ignite something in me—rage, desperation, and a glimmer of hope. Tropical. Isolated. I don’t know where yet, but it’s a start.
I lean in closer, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Pray for your sake that you’re telling the truth. Because if you’re not, I’ll come back and make sure you never operate again.”
The second I depart, I get a notification from Klaus. F ound the pilot.
The pilot sits across from me, his hands cuffed to the steel chair in my dungeon, his shirt stained with sweat. He keeps his eyes on the floor, but I see the way his shoulders tremble. He knows exactly who I am, and what I’m capable of.
“Let me make this clear,” I say, my voice low and steady…and utterly dangerous. “You flew her out. You know where they took her.”
He shakes his head, his voice wavering. “I—I don’t know, I swear to God?—”
“Swear to me!”
—“The flight path was masked—Dorian’s orders. I just flew the plane.”
I lean forward, planting my hands on the table. The metal groans under the weight of my grip. “You’re lying. You must know radar and flight plans.”
“I’m not! Please, I don’t know! He gave me some kind of memory-altering drug. Then sent me on my way. I really don’t know.”
I straighten, my patience wearing thin. “You don’t have to know,” I say coldly. “You just have to remember.”
I nod to Klaus, who steps forward and slams a folder onto the table. Inside are images of the plane, the fuel logs, the cargo manifest. Every detail I’ve been able to scrape together.
For the best measure, I inject truth serum into his veins, ensuring he can’t lie.
“Think carefully,” I warn. “Because if you don’t, I’ll start breaking things. And I won’t stop until I’m convinced you’ve told me everything.”
The pilot’s resolve crumbles. His breathing quickens, and he blurts out, “It was an island! Somewhere south—private, secluded. Dorian said no one would find it.”
My chest tightens, my mind racing. South. Private. Isolated.
I snap his two front fingers, reveling in his howl before he spurts, “Caribbean! St. Vincent and the Grenadines! That’s all I know.”
I step back, my fists clenched. “You’d better pray you’re right,” I growl. “Because if I find out you lied to me, you won’t be able to fly so much as a paper plane when I’m done with you.”
The pilot whimpers, but I’m already walking away, my thoughts consumed by one thing: her .
I’m coming, Little Quill.
The words echo in my mind, a mantra, a promise, a vow. I’ve called her that since the beginning—my Little Quill, sharp and delicate, capable of drawing blood or beauty. And I will fucking fight for her even if I must fight through all nine circles of hell to get her back.