13. Brooke
Thump.
My eyes ping open. Was that a noise coming from inside the apartment, or was it a dream?
My spine tingles with panic as I strain to hear in the darkness. I don’t know what it was, but something disturbed me from my dream. Maybe it was something outside in the street below?
Thump.
Nope, whatever it is, it’s definitely coming from inside the apartment.
Thump. Thump.
I bolt upright and slide out of bed, reaching for the baseball bat I keep beside the nightstand, and creep toward the bedroom door. I always keep it open, but it’s only slightly ajar, and the realization sends a zip down my spine.
Whoever is inside the apartment had closed it.
Whoever is inside the apartment had closed it while I was sleeping and oblivious in my bed mere feet away.
Shaking, I inch through the doorway and creep along the small hallway. There is a light coming from the living room. Someone has turned on the lamp I left out last night.
Thump.
Whoever it is, they’re the loudest thief known to man. Like they’re not even trying to be undetected.
Sucking in a deep breath, I summon all my bravery and launch around the corner with a loud scream.
In the living room, Wilson almost keels over with a heart attack.
“Fuck, Brooke. Are you trying to kill me?”
For a moment, all I can do is stare at him.
“Wilson..?” His name falls from my lips in an incredulous whisper.
After weeks of no news, I wake up to find him in my apartment, rummaging through my packed boxes like he still lives here. He’s unpacked other boxes, too, and some of my belongings are scattered in a pile beside them.
He looks different. Disheveled and desperate. He hasn’t shaved for what looks like weeks, and he’s lost weight.
He turns away from me as if showing up in the middle of the night after leaving me at the altar four weeks ago and disappearing into nowhere is no big deal, and continues to rummage through the boxes.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I demand, storming over to him. “Get your hands off my stuff.”
I reach for his arm, but he flings me off. “Where is it?”
“Where is what?”
“The ring. I need it.”
“What ring?”
The only ring I can think of is the engagement ring he gave me and surely—oh, the little rat.
“You are not getting your hands on my ring.”
But he ignores me and keeps rummaging through my belongings.
“Are you deaf? I said you’re not getting the ring back. I paid for half of it, remember?”
He swings around to glare at me, and I take a step back because I have never seen this look of menace on his face before.
He stalks over to me, and I take another step back.
“If you don’t give me that ring, then I’m a fucking dead man.”
All I can do is stare at him. “What does that even mean?”
“It means a lot of bad men are after me, and if I don’t get out of town, then they’ll kill me. That ring is my plane ride out of here and a chance to start anew.”
“Why, what have you done?”
“Stop with all the fucking questions and tell me where the goddamn ring is. I know it’s not on your finger. I checked while you were sleeping.”
An awful tingling sensation crawls up my spine. He was watching over me when I was asleep, looking to see if I was wearing my ring? What was he going to do if I were wearing it, try to take it off me while I was asleep?
Inwardly, I shiver.
Something is very off with him.
But I push the feeling away because how dare he break in here and demand the ring back.
I cross my arms and narrow my eyes. “Why should I help you?”
Surprising me, he grabs my arm. “Did you not hear me? I said they’re going to kill me.”
I stare up at him. He’s changed. The Wilson before would never have laid a hand on me. Then, I didn’t really know him, did I, so perhaps, given time, he would have shown this side of him during our marriage.
I try to yank free, but his grip is too hard.
“Get your hands off me,” I demand through gritted teeth.
But he doesn’t. Instead, he shakes me. “Don’t make me ask you again.”
“I’m not telling you anything until you take your hands off me.”
He shoves me against the wall and grabs me by the throat, squeezing until I see stars.
“Listen to me, you fucking bitch, these men mean business. If they find us, they’ll gut the both of us and dump us in the fucking harbor. Now tell me where you put the ring.”
Fear funnels through me.
“Let me go,” I grit out.
But he doesn’t let me go. Instead, he squeezes harder, and within seconds, my head feels like it’s going to pop.
“Where is it, Brooke?”
I can barely breathe and choke on the words. “I… sold… it…”
“You had better be lying…”
“Someone had… to pay… the caterers…”
He slams my head harder against the wall, and my brain rattles.
His fingers dig in deeper, and I feel my face begin to tingle. I wince and struggle for air. Oh God, he’s going to kill me.
“Did you hear what I said? They’ll kill us both.” He speaks rapidly, spit forming at the corners of his mouth. “And it won’t be a quick death, either. These men, they’ll make sure it hurts. They’ll chop off body parts and let us bleed out slowly. Might even have a bit of fun with that sweet, succulent pussy of yours as the life fades from your pretty brown eyes. Now for the last fucking time, where the fuck is the ring?”
I stare into the eyes of the man I once loved. Perhaps. Maybe. In hindsight, it seems that maybe I didn’t. Maybe that’s why it didn’t break my heart when he vanished. Perhaps that was the cause of my relief. My heart knew he was bad news and never wanted him in the first place.
Viciousness gleams in his wild eyes. My throat protests beneath the pressure of his fingers, and my lungs scream for oxygen. This is it. I’m going to die. My eyelids grow heavy, and I feel myself drifting away. But my eyes flick open when the front door bursts inward. My gaze darts toward the door, where a man in a very expensive suit and with a pair of very familiar dark eyes fills the doorway.
Lev.