30. Colton
Chapter 30
Colton
A sharp pain drills into my head when I try to open my eyes, my entire fucking skull throbbing as I try to move.
What the fuck?
I force my eyes open to see the blurry bunker ceiling and half of the night sky, telling me I’m in the fucking doorway. I try to move, but dizziness sweeps over me, holding me captive. I blink a few times and give myself a minute before rolling onto my side, my stomach threatening to empty all over the floor as I try to regain my balance. My eyes fall on the fire extinguisher, and I can’t help but fucking chuckle.
My Little Bird hit me with it, didn’t she? I manage to get to my knees, holding onto the doorframe before squinting at where my car should be.
It’s gone.
Fucking hell. She took it. I should’ve seen this coming. I knew she had a fire in her, but I underestimated just how far she’d go.
I push myself to my feet, feeling the world spin for a moment before it settles down. Every goddamn movement sends a jolt of pain through my head, but the growing anger helps me focus. I make my way back into the bunker, needing something to steady myself. I grab a bottle of whiskey from the shelf and take a long, burning swig, relishing the heat as it goes down. It’s a distraction from the pain, a temporary escape from reality.
The voices in my head start buzzing, a cacophony of whispers and accusations. One part of me, the part that sounds too much like my father, scoffs at my weakness. The other, the voice that’s been quieted for so long, offers a fleeting sense of concern. I can’t tell which is real and which is just my mind playing tricks on me.
I lean against the wall, my mind racing.
How could I let her get the jump on me?
I knew she was dangerous, but I never thought she’d hit me with something that fucking heavy. The memory of her face, full of determination and rage, flashes through my mind. She’s not just a victim in the game; she’s a player, and she’s good.
I take another swig of whiskey, feeling the alcohol start to numb the pain. I need to find her. I need to know what she’s up to, what her next move will be. The thought of her out there, unprotected, drives me crazy. She’s a loose cannon, and I’m the one who lit the fuse.
But there’s something else too—a sense of admiration. She’s fierce, unpredictable, and fucking beautiful. She reminds me of myself, or at least the parts of myself I wish I could embrace. The parts that aren’t tainted by my father’s influence, that aren’t weighed down by guilt and fear.
For fucks sake. My head is spinning. I can’t deal with shit like this.
I push off the wall, ready to face the consequences of underestimating her. I need to get to a phone, contact someone who can help me track her down. I just hope she isn’t stupid enough to go to the police or worse yet, my father’s house.
My head swims and my vision blurs so bad I have to hold onto the wall. I can’t go anywhere like this. I drink more of the whiskey, then slump onto the sofa.
Sorry, Little Bird, but I can’t save you yet. It’s all your fault anyway.
I wake up the following day with a thumping headache and pain down the right-hand side of my face.
When did I fucking fall asleep?
I sit up too quickly, and nausea hits me, but I grit my teeth then take a deep breath. After everything I’ve been through, I can get through this. The bunker door sways open, allowing ice cold air to fill the room. I shiver but stop and think. If my dad knew where I was, how come he isn’t here? It’s not like him to make idle threats.
But then again...what if he’s found Luella and decided not to bother about me? Panic seizes my chest, and I search for my phone frantically. I locate it by the door and turn it on, ignoring the voicemails that await me. I need to find her.
But how?
I dial the first person who comes to mind: a cop who owes me big time.
“Hello?” he answers nervously, probably still scared of the mob coming for him.
Prick.
“I need to find someone.” I head to the bathroom, staring at the massive lump rising rapidly on my forehead.
Mother fucker, my Little Bird got me good.
I tell him about Luella, and he stops me with excitement, his voice practically cracking like a fifteen-year-old boy.
“Colton! She was here! Blonde, looks like she hasn’t slept in a while?”
My heart screeches to a stop. “When?” I bark out, wincing when my head rings.
“She was here a few hours ago, I can find out?—”
“Send an unmarked car. I’ll text you the address.”
I step back into the night, the cold air hitting me like a wave. The pain in my head is still there, but it’s manageable now. I have something to focus on, something to chase. And as I start walking, the voices in my head fade into the background, replaced by a single, driving thought.
I have to find her. I have to find Luella.
Twenty minutes later, a car arrives, its tires crunching on the asphalt as it makes its way to me. I don’t recognize the driver, and I don’t care. I climb into the back seat, my jaw set tight.
“Drive,” I order, my voice cold and steady despite the storm raging inside me. The driver nods, pulling away from the bunker without a word.
As we speed through the night, the city lights blurring into a stream of neon, I can’t shake the image of Luella’s face from my mind. The determination in her eyes, the set of her jaw, the fucking fire that burns within her.
I underestimated her.
I lean back in the seat, closing my eyes as the voices in my head start to whisper again. They’re quieter now, but they’re still there—always there. I can’t let them control me, not now. I need to focus, need to find Luella before she does something that can’t be undone.
The car pulls up outside the police station, and I’m out before it’s even stopped moving. I stride inside, my eyes scanning the room until I find the cop I’m looking for. He sees me coming and stands, his face pale.
“Where is she?” I demand, not bothering with pleasantries.
He swallows hard, glancing around before he answers. “She’s at a safe house.” He hesitates, looking around nervously before continuing, “But, Colton, she seemed a little…crazy.”
I scoff, “I know. All the good ones are.” I lean in, my voice dropping to a low growl, “Now, tell me where this safe house is.”
He sighs, resigned, and scribbles an address on a piece of paper, sliding it across the desk. I snatch it up, my heart pounding with anticipation. I turn to leave, then pause, looking back at him. “You never saw me. You never gave me this address. Understood?”
He nods quickly, relief washing over his face. I don’t bother with a thank you; I’m already out the door, the address burned into my mind. The cold air hits me again, but I barely feel it. I’m focused, driven. I have a destination, a purpose.
The driver is still waiting, and I climb back into the car, barking out the address. As we pull away from the station, the voices in my head start to chatter again, but I push them back. I can’t deal with them right now. I need to focus on Luella.
The city lights blur as we drive past, the neon glow reflecting off the rain-slicked streets. I think about Luella, about the fire in her eyes, the determination in her voice. She’s not just running; she’s fighting. And I’m not going to stop her. I just need to make sure she’s safe.
The car pulls up outside a nondescript house in a quiet neighborhood. I step out, my eyes scanning the windows, searching for any sign of her. The house is dark, quiet, and unease creeps into my veins when I see the door is open. The house is too quiet, too still. The open door sends a shiver down my spine, setting my nerves on edge. I approach cautiously, every sense heightened, every muscle tensed and ready. The voices in my head, for once, are silent, as if they too are holding their breath.
I step inside, my eyes adjusting to the light. The safe house has been ransacked. Furniture is overturned, broken glass litters the floor, and papers are scattered everywhere. The sight of the destruction sends a jolt of panic through me. I’m too late.
“Luella?” I call out, my voice echoing through the empty house. No response. I move from room to room, checking every corner, every closet. Nothing. She’s gone.
In the kitchen, I find signs of a struggle. A smashed plate, a tipped-over chair, a knife on the floor. The sight of the knife sends another chill down my spine. Did she fight back? Is she hurt? The thought of her in pain sends a wave of rage and fear crashing through me.
I need to think. I need to figure out where she could have gone. I force myself to take a deep breath, to calm the storm raging inside me. I close my eyes, trying to picture Luella, trying to think like her. She’s smart, resourceful. She wouldn’t go down without a fight.
My eyes snap open, heart pounding like a drum in my chest. The room is dark, but my mind is a whirlwind of chaos and fear.
Who is she fighting? My father or his fucking goons? The thought of her, alone and vulnerable, makes me shudder. I can almost hear her screams echoing in my head, taste the metallic tang of her fear in my mouth.
Does he have her?
The image of her trapped, helpless, at the mercy of those monsters, makes my stomach churn. I can see her wide, fiery eyes, feel the cold sweat on her skin as if it were my own.
There’s only one thing for it. I have to go home. I have to return to Blackwood Manor. The very thought of that place makes my blood run cold, but I can’t ignore this. I can’t leave her to face this alone.
I have to go back and face the real monster of my own story.
My father.