Chapter 30 #2
There’s a handprint purpling across his cheek.
The force it must’ve taken to leave not just a red mark but to purple like that…
Damn that’s impressive. It matches the deep, dark circles under his eyes and the smaller bruises covering his neck and…
chest? He’s shirtless so I can see all the bruises, scrapes and cuts.
They’re all shallow and most have scabbed up already but holy shit.
He’s been through the ringer.
“You’re getting blood on the sheets,” I tell him as I continue my inspection.
“Think Blair will notice?” Rhett asks, following my gaze. “Yeah, fuck, she’s definitely going to notice. I’ll throw everything in the wash before we head out this morning.”
When our eyes meet, his are still warm. There’s no emotional or physical retreating this morning and it’s weirding me out a bit.
“Want to tell me what happened?” I ask him.
Rhett’s head jerks away and he heaves out a heavy sigh. I wince, knowing that’s the one he uses when he’s annoyed. This is where he pulls away from me. Except, rather than withdraw his arm and sit up, he settles deeper into the bed.
“Blair didn’t tell you?”
“No.”
There’s a short pause before he admits quietly, “I made a mistake. Blair was there to make sure it wasn’t permanent.”
I close my eyes, hoping like hell that doesn’t mean what I think it does. Rhett’s been in a bad place before but this past week he’s been the worst I’ve ever seen him. And it’s my fault.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, unable to meet his gaze. “I’m sorry that I pushed you too far. I shouldn’t have said—”
Rhett rolls over and covers my mouth with his hand as he rises above me. “Stop, this isn’t your fault, it's mine. Got that?”
He stares down at me, waiting for a response. I give it to him with a nod. He lets go of my mouth but doesn’t move away again.
“I’m sorry for being an asshole… every time that I’ve been an asshole.” Rhett swallows hard before, almost begrudging, asking, “Do you… want to go out tonight? Not to kill but just… like, dinner?”
I open my mouth to accept the invitation for an honest to god date, but I choke on the words, suddenly suspicious.
“Why? Are you dying and you’re planning to tell me over a fancy plate of pasta?”
Rhett snorts. “No. I’m not dying Santi.”
“But you never want to go into town,” I counter, sitting up abruptly. “And you don’t apologize. And you don’t kiss after—”
“Santi,” Rhett interrupts with an eye roll that’s more like him. “This is me trying to be better.”
I blink in surprise. “Oh. Ah… did Blair beat you into this?”
“No, this is all me.” Again he rolls his eyes but with it comes a chuckle. “But speaking of beatings, remind me never to get on her bad side again. That woman is terrifying when she’s pissed.”
I’m dizzy with relief and joy. Laughter peels out of me and Rhett joins in with a rough chuckle.
“I’ll remind you,” I promise when the laughter finally subsides. “And yeah, let’s go to dinner.”
Rhett gives me a small but genuine smile before climbing over me to get out of bed.
“Good. Now, let’s go. We should probably be getting ready for work,” he says as he stands and takes a step toward the door. He pauses, however, when he glances at the nightstand.
I follow his gaze to find a glass of orange juice and two white tablets sitting beside a note.
Rhett-
You’re probably going to need these to settle that headache you’re bound to have. -Blair
Neither of us say anything but I smile at the thoughtfulness. Rhett starts to walk away from the gesture but pauses, sighs dramatically, then turns and heads over to the nightstand. Quickly, he downs the pills with the orange juice.
“She’s as bad as Wesley,” he grumbles before stomping out of the room.
I grin after him. I’m about to climb out of the bed myself but my phone rings. It takes a second to find my pants, which were thrown on the floor, and then to dig around my pockets to find it. I answer it before the call goes to voicemail.
“Hello?” I greet, then pull the phone away to check the number. It’s from an unknown caller.
“Hi… is this, Santiago?” The voice on the other end is a woman’s, scratchy and unsure.
“Yup, that’s me who’s—”
“You called me the other day and left a message—I’m just calling you back. This is Ashleigh Burr.”
I freeze, the joy from the morning’s blowjob and Rhett’s one-eighty disappear in a blink of an eye.
Ashleigh Burr. The woman on the missing person’s flyer.
When I grabbed that flyer off of Molly’s bulletin board, I had no intention of calling Ashleigh or really doing anything else with it. In fact, I’d almost thrown it away after asking Ledger about her.
But something, I found something.
I’d been working on pulling encrypted messages into my software that will help me crack it from Ledger’s hard drive when I accidentally clicked on an inconspicuous folder that I accidentally stumbled upon.
In it were black and white photos of Ashleigh.
In the photos, she was either sleeping, or on her knees, trapped in a cage in what appeared to be in a basement. It took staring at the pictures in horror for several minutes before it clicked. Rhett had mentioned there being a secret room in the basement, one with a cage.
During lunch a few days ago, I went to look for that room myself.
And I found it.
Comparing it to the pictures, there’s no doubt in my mind that Ashleigh had been in our basement, in that cage.
The question was, why? Why was there a Blair look-alike here in the first place?
And how did she manage to walk out a free woman?
Morbid curiosity got the best of me and I called Ashleigh the other day and left a message.
I don’t know why, but didn’t think she’d return the call.
Shooting an anxious glance at the door, I lower my voice and reply, “Thanks for calling me back. I just wanted to reach out because I found pictures of you… on a friend’s device. I wanted to make sure you were, ah, um… okay, I guess?”
“You mean, if I’m still alive,” she deadpans.
“Yeah… I guess so.”
“Who’s your friend?” she asks, her voice cold.
I clear my throat, not sure how much to divulge. “Ah, I don’t know if—”
“Look, if this is you checking in on me for Sparrow, tell him I haven’t said a goddamn word about what he did to me. I’ve kept my mouth shut. Now he has to keep his end of the bargain!”
Sparrow? I frown, not sure who she’s referring to.
“His end of the bargain?” I repeat.
“That he would leave me alone for the rest of my damned life!” she barks, losing her composure. “I figured that included his cronies too! Don’t ever call me again!”
Before I can tell her to hold on, the line clicks dead.
Immediately, I try to call back but I’m sent to voicemail.
I guess I had my one shot to ask questions and I choked.
Damn it. With a frustrated sigh, I drop my phone to the bed and stand up.
That conversation really didn’t get me anywhere. I’m even more confused now.
Who’s Sparrow? Why would he have Ashleigh in our basement? And does her looking like Blair mean anything?
Again, I can’t figure out why this is bothering me.
Ashleigh is alive. It doesn’t matter that she was here or that Ledger had pictures of her on his laptop. Still, unease creeps down my spine.
Maybe I should just run this whole thing past Rhett to see if I’m making something out of nothing. Immediately, I toss that idea out.
With a huff, I yank on my boxers then grab my clothes, phone, and head for the door.
We already have a shit ton of things to worry about.
When everything with Blair has finally blown over, I’ll resume looking into this.
It should only be a few more days until I crack the encryptions in the backroom Ledger asked me to take a look at.
So, until then, there’s no point riling everyone up when it could very well be nothing at all.
Stomping toward the door, I leave my worries behind and look forward to my date night with Rhett.
By the time I make it downstairs, I find Ledger and Rhett talking in low voices in the kitchen. They don’t see me yet so I linger in the hallway, afraid I’m interrupting something. Rhett looks grim, and Ledger… well, his face is red with fury.
“Like I said, I’m sorry,” Rhett says, his eyes locked onto Ledger’s face. “I told Wes earlier, and I mean it, I’m done drinking and I’m done weighing you all down. I’m going to be better, I promise.”
Ledger’s hands curl into fists and veins bulge in his neck. There’s a second where I think he’s going to strike Rhett. Ledger’s never hit one of us before but judging by his stiff posture and murderous glare, this might be the day it happens.
Except, it doesn’t.
Instead, Ledger lets out a heavy sigh and places a hand on Rhett’s shoulders.
“If you need help, we can get you help,” he tells Rhett.
Rhett lets out a shaky laugh. “I think Blair’s intervention really did the trick. She’s no joke.”
“No,” Ledger agrees. “She’s not.”