Chapter 40 The Red Skies
THE RED SKIES
DAMON
“Sign here.” Javier’s contempt barely registers as I glide my finger over the note Emery left on her pillow this morning.
Running errands all day. I’ll be home later.
Home. She called it home. It might just be a word, but it means that she can see it. It means that she can feel the comfort. The peace. I’m unable to stifle a grin as Javier slams a pen on the table.
“Damon! Are you going to sign? Or have you changed your mind?”
I glance up at him, my smile fading. “Nothing has changed.” Picking up the pen, I scribble along the dotted lines, effectively giving up a title that no longer serves me, that has never served me. I’m ready for a new title. Husband. “Anything else?”
Javier scowls at me, collecting the release documents. “I will file these after the New Year. Better for taxes. Plus, that gives you a couple of weeks to reconsider.”
“No. Now. File them now.” Javier tries to argue, but I wave him off and glance at my phone, sighing.
She hasn’t replied to my texts all afternoon.
Busy. She’s busy. She’s running errands.
Shaking off a sudden bout of anxiety, I stand up and grab my peacoat off the back of the boardroom chair. “Go home, Javier. What’s done is done.”
“Damon, I still think—”
I tacitly brush him off and head to the parking garage to drive home. Traffic is brutal as hordes of last-minute shoppers swarm the streets. I tap my fingers impatiently against the steering wheel.
I need to get home.
Need.
The sudden urgency grips my chest, like a metaphysical plea from a divine figure.
Home. Get home now! The feeling rattles my mental stability and I dial Emery’s numbers.
Both of them. Corporate and personal. But my heart drops.
Neither phone rings. Not even once. Straight to voicemail. Something’s wrong.
Where is she?
Panic sets in, and I swerve off the main road toward the side streets. I keep calling her. Every second. Every goddamn fucking second it takes for me to drive home. Home. She has to be there. She is home. It’s her.
Answer the fucking phone!
“Emery?!” I yell, a sheen of sweat coating my forehead as I stumble through the elevator doors. “Emery!”
Frantically searching the empty penthouse, alarm lingering in my bones, I catch the glint of something shiny on the kitchen counter. My stomach instantly drops when I see both rings, both tokens of my loyalty, sitting on the marble counter, accompanied by a note.
I can’t. I’m sorry.
What…? No…
I reread the note, unable to process its meaning, its significance. No. No, this can't be happening. This is a joke. A game. She’s playing a twisted little game with me.
Dread sets in, and I fling myself into every room, search every fucking corner, open every fucking door, calling out her name with increasing desperation. But there's no sign of her. None.
Something happened. Something must have happened. We were fine last night. We were perfect. We were—
I grab my phone and dial Javier's number, my hands trembling. "Javier, it's Emery," I blurt out, barely able to form coherent sentences. "She's gone. She left a note, and her phone’s turned off. Find her. I need you to find her right fucking now!"
Javier sighs. “Did you try her personal phone?”
I grind my teeth. “Yes, Javier, I did.”
Javier grumbles under his breath. “Give me a second.” As I listen to the beeping sounds in the background, my heart sinks further. "Nothing," Javier says finally. "Her laptop’s also turned off. No activity on her corporate card. Her car’s also in the garage. Maybe—”
“Fuck!” I roar, hanging up on Javier and slamming my phone on the counter.
I don’t understand. What is she doing? Why is she doing this?! I clench my fists in frustration. How could she just leave like this? Why didn't she talk to me? Why did she leave the ring? Where would she go? Who is she with—
And then it clicks.
Bastard.
Without thinking, I dial Quinton's number, rage burning inside me. "Where is she?" I demand as soon as he picks up. "What did you say to her?"
Quinton's voice is cold and calculating. "I don't know what you're talking about," he replies in a smug tone.
"Don't fuck with me, Quinton!" I snap. "Tell me where she is! Right now!”
"Oh, Cavanaugh,” he chuckles, his arrogance forcing my knuckles to turn white.
“What makes you think I know where she is? For all we know, she could be shopping. Or swimming. Perhaps taking a little afternoon stroll.” His throat rumbles out a vile laugh.
“Or perhaps she’s pouring some milk into her tea and stirring it very, very slowly.
You know,” he hums, “I never noticed but I love the way she nibbles on her bottom lip when she’s concentrating. Have you noticed that, Cavanaugh?”
My fist clenches. “Where are you?” I grunt out, tuning into the background noise on the other end of the line. “You better not fucking touch her.”
Quinton snorts. “Your threats mean nothing to me, Damon. Do you think I’m afraid of you?
You? Please. You’re like a sheep in wolf’s clothing.
Bare your teeth all you want, my friend, but we both know you’re spineless on the inside.
” He pauses, and my pulse quickens with devastation.
“I must say, though, I do find your predicament to be rather amusing. It’s almost as if history is repeating itself.
” He chuckles, tone lower and conniving as he adds, “Except this time, I’m not the one cursing God. You are.”
“Take off in thirty minutes, Dr. Marquis,” a barely audible voice crackles through from the receiver.
Take off? He’s at the airfield.
Motherfucker.
“Where are you taking her?!” Autopilot kicks in as I rush to the elevator, repeatedly hitting the button to the parking lot.
“Quinton!” He doesn’t respond but the line stays active.
He’s mocking me. Tormenting me. “Let me talk to her,” I plead, jumping into my car.
I put Quinton on Bluetooth as I pull out of the parking lot.
All sense of manufactured strength dissipates as the word leaves my lips. “Please.”
“Please?” Quinton expels an incredulous laugh.
“Do you honestly think simply because you have finally learned proper social decorum, I’ll pass her the phone?
As if one tiny word will change anything?
” I stay silent, hating myself. Hating him more.
“Has the thought ever crossed your impudent little mind that she does not wish to speak to you?”
“What did you say to her?” I seethe, speeding down the side streets toward Quinton’s private airfield. “What did you tell her?”
“Nothing,” Quinton sighs. “See? This is your problem, Cavanaugh. It appears that you underestimate just how curious our little Emery truly is. It’s almost insulting, if you think about it. Emery’s no fool, Cavanaugh. She’s gorgeous and intelligent and—”
“Shut up!” Those words don’t belong in his mouth. “Don’t act like you know her better than me. She’s my fucking fiancée!” Quinton’s slow breath flows into my ear, and I pick up his sense of shock. “What? She didn’t tell you?”
“Fiancée, huh?” His tone drips with venom.
“Well, like I said. It really is history repeating itself.” His voice falls to a menacing whisper.
“If I were a proper gentleman and you weren’t a proper snake, perhaps this supposed status of your relationship would deter me, but we both know how little respect titles like that carry, don’t we? ”
“This has nothing to do with Alison,” I grunt.
“I loved her, and you—” I slam on the steering wheel.
“Why are you doing this? For revenge? A way to get back at me? Alison chose me, Quinton. Me. When you walked in on us, did she look unhappy? Did she look upset? No. She was fucking euphoric. And you know why? Because she picked me. I didn’t do shit to you.
I just took back what was rightfully mine. ”
“And Emery chose me.”
I gasp, his words like a physical blow to my gut. "You’re lying," I say, my voice tight with frustration. "She wouldn’t do that to me. She wouldn’t—"
Quinton chuckles. "She wouldn’t? And why is that? What makes you immune to betrayal and heartbreak? Do you honestly consider yourself the better man? An honest man? Given your history?”
My lip twitches. “You told her.”
“I didn’t have to,” he reveals. “She’s much more perceptive than you give her credit for.
Honestly, Cavanaugh, it’s as if you don’t even know her at all.
But don’t worry, old friend, I’ll study her for the both of us.
” I can feel his smirk. “Every inch of her.” My heart clenches at the veiled threat in his words.
“Every freckle.” Fucker. “Every mole.” I’m going to fucking kill him.
“Every single thing about her until I'm an expert, and you’re just…a distant error in judgment.”
And he hangs up.
I drive like a madman until the airfield is in sight, swallowing the bile rising in my throat and slamming the gas pedal. Quinton’s private jet sits on the runway, its engines humming. In the distance, Emery and Quinton stroll toward the air stair.
No. Don’t get on! Don’t!
I screech to a halt near the entrance, and before the gate attendant can react, I jump out of the car and run toward the gate. Quinton's voice still rings in my ear, taunting and mocking, but I block it out.
"Emery!" I shout, coiling my fingers around the bars. "Emery!” I keep screaming her name, praying that she hears me. And then, just as she ascends to the final step, she turns her head toward me. “Emery! Don’t! Please! I can explain! Let me explain!”
She opens her mouth to say something, but the words never come. Our eyes remain locked in a painful, wordless exchange. I can feel the conflict in her stare, the desperation to understand, to believe me, to forgive me.
But desperation never wins.
Quinton grins at me, placing a possessive hand on the small of Emery's back. He whispers something in her ear. The sight sends a surge of fury through me, and adrenaline pumps through my veins.
Desperation doesn’t win. Fear does.
And it pulls her inside the jet.
“Quinton!” I yell. “Don’t.” I snap my head at the gate attendant sitting in the booth. "Open the fucking gates!" He refuses, shaking his head. “Open the fucking gates!” He ignores me. “Fuck it.”
Without a second thought, I jump back into my car and back up several yards as the jet taxis. I press the gas pedal, breaking through the gates as I accelerate down the tarmac. But no matter how fast I drive, I can't catch it. I can’t stop it. I can’t do anything.
As the jet lifts into the sky, leaving me behind in a cloud of dust and defeat, the adrenaline pumping through my veins fades away. I watch Emery disappear into the distance, my heart shattering into fragments of my own destruction.
Voices echo around me, muffled and incoherent as I get out of the car and stare into the gray sky. It won’t be gray for long. I’ll burn the fucking clouds. Incinerate the fucking heavens. Torch the entire goddamn earth if that’s what it takes to get her back.
There will be no more gray.
Only red.
To be continued…