Chapter Thirty-Six
Autumn
Three hours before
“Doyle,” Viviana says as the front door opens.
He steps inside, cheeks flushing the second our eyes land on him. “Hi.”
Kaden is sprawled on the couch, one boot on the coffee table, but he straightens the moment Doyle speaks. “What do you need?”
We’ve been waiting for hours, hearts in our throats, jumping at every creak of the house.
“I have a message from Flynn and Declan,” Doyle says, voice soft, almost shy.
My hands go ice-cold.
“No signal where they are,” he continues, rubbing the back of his neck. “They sent me.”
Kaden is already on his feet. “And?”
Doyle offers a small, careful smile. “They did it. Flanagan is caught. The Russians held up their end. Everyone is safe.”
The air rushes out of me in one trembling breath. Viviana sinks back into the cushions like someone cut her strings.
“Thank fuck,” Kaden groans, dragging a hand through his hair.
“They need you at Christian’s place,” Doyle tells him. “Flynn said to come now.”
Kaden nods, already grabbing his keys. “You ladies good?”
“We’re perfect,” Viviana answers for both of us, voice warm.
Kaden’s gaze lingers on me for a second, then he’s gone, boots thundering, engine roaring away into the night.
Doyle turns back, softer now. “Flynn asked me to take you to the mansion.”
My stomach flips in the sweetest way. “He did?”
“Yeah.” Doyle shrugs, cheeks pink again. “Something about celebrating… and wanting privacy.”
Heat floods my face. Oh my God. I can practically feel Viviana’s smirk without looking.
“Okay,” I laugh, breathless. “Let me grab my bag.”
I bounded upstairs, heart fluttering like a teenager. It’s over. Really over. Flanagan is done, the Russians are handled, and Flynn is alive and waiting for me.
I snatch my camera off the nightstand, slide it into my bag, phone tucked into my back pocket. One last look in the mirror: cheeks flushed, eyes bright, alive.
I practically skip down the stairs. “Ready.”
Doyle nods and leads the way out. I pause to hug Viviana tight.
“Thank you for holding me together,” I whisper.
“Always, love you,” she whispers back, squeezing once more.
The night air is cool, smells like pine and freedom. I slide into the passenger seat of Doyle’s BMW, bag on my lap, seatbelt clicking.
He pulls smoothly through the gates and onto the dark road.
“So no one was hurt?” I ask, turning to him.
“No,” he says quietly, eyes on the windshield. “They’re all fine.”
“And you?” I lean forward a little, trying to catch his gaze. “Are you okay?”
He blinks, surprised. “Me?”
“Yes, you.” I smile, gentle. “Tonight was intense.”
For a second the car is silent except for the soft hum of the engine.
Then his voice drops, rougher, darker, nothing like he was five minutes ago.
“Fuck, Autumn.”
My heart stumbles.
The smile freezes on my face.
He doesn’t look at me. Just tightens his hands on the wheel until the leather creaks, and something cold, something horribly familiar, slides down my spine.
“You’ve always been like this,” he says, voice low, almost tender. “Sweet. Caring. Even to a fucked-up nobody who stuttered when he tried to say hello.” His knuckles whiten on the steering wheel.
My stomach flips. “I… I barely know you, Doyle. What are you talking about?”
The corner of his mouth lifts, slow, devilish, nothing like the shy boy who blushed ten minutes ago. “Oh, my sweet little angel… I’ve been watching you, learning you, for years.”
The words land like ice water poured straight down my spine.
“No,” I whisper.
My fingers find the door handle. I yank, shove, and throw myself out while the car is still rolling.
Tarmac bites my elbows, my cheek. Pain explodes across my skin, but I scramble up, legs shaking, lungs burning.
“Fuck!” His roar splits the night. Brakes scream. The BMW skids to a stop.
I run two steps before his arms lock around my waist like steel bands.
“No, no, no,” he croons against my ear, breath hot, dragging me backward. “I was finally ready to have you, and you went and let Flynn Brady put his filthy hands on what’s mine.”
I thrash, scream, nails on anything I can reach. “Let me go!”
He shoves one hand down the back of my jeans, yanks my phone free, and smashes it under his boot. Plastic cracks. My lifeline dies with a crunch.
“Now they can’t find us,” he whispers, almost lovingly.
Tears spill hot down my cheeks. “Flynn will find you.”
“He can try,” he laughs, soft and awful, hauling me toward the car. My spine slams against the door; air punches out of my lungs in a burning rush.
He grabs my bag from the seat, throws the contents across the passenger seat. Clothes tumble out, perfume rolls and stops against the gearstick, my camera falls to the car floor.
He lifts the little bottle to his nose, inhales deep, eyes fluttering closed. “Fuck, I missed this.” His voice drops, reverent. “I used to sneak into your flat when you were at work… lie on your bed, press my face into your pillow just to breathe you in.”
Bile surges up my throat. My whole body shakes so hard my teeth chatter.
“But then you moved to his apartment,” he snarls, fist slamming into the car door beside my head, and the metal dents. “And I saw the cameras. Why did you do that to me, Autumn? Why did you let him cage you?”
“I didn’t do anything!” The scream tears out of me, raw and furious. I kick hard. “I was never yours, you sick, deranged psycho!”
His smile widens, eyes black in the dim light.
“Oh, angel,” he whispers, leaning in until his lips brush the cut on my cheek, tasting my blood. “You always were.”
A sharp, sudden sting blooms at the base of my neck.
I jerk hard, kicking, twisting, trying to sink my teeth into any part of him I can reach, but the world tilts almost instantly. My limbs turn to syrup.
He fists my hair, yanks my head back until my spine arches, and I have no choice but to look at him.
“I fucking love you,” he breathes, eyes wild, fever-bright, his mouth crashing into mine.
I clamp my lips shut, shaking my head, but he bites down on my bottom lip, hard, vicious. Pain explodes, copper flooding my tongue. A broken yelp escapes me, and he takes the opening, forcing his tongue inside.
I bite down with everything I have left.
He only groans deeper, like blood is a reward. Cigarettes and iron and sickness fill my mouth.
I want to scream, want to claw his eyes out, want to keep fighting, but my arms are lead, my knees buckle, and the night folds in soft and black around the edges.
My body goes slack against his chest.
The last thing I feel is his lips brushing my temple, gentle as a lover.
“Sleep, angel,” he whispers. “When you wake up, you’ll finally be home.”
My eyes close.
My body feels like it was dropped off a roof. Every muscle is thick, useless, drowning in wet cement.
“Hello, my love.”
His voice slides across my skin like oil. My stomach flips hard enough to gag.
I force my eyes open. The world swims, ghostly ceiling beams, soft lamplight, everything smeared. My tongue is sandpaper. “Where am I?” The words scrape out, raw. “What did you give me—”
Warm fingers cup my cheeks, gentle, possessive. “Shh. We’re on a little romantic getaway.”
He lifts me like I weigh nothing. I try to kick, to claw, but my legs only twitch. He settles me onto something soft, a mattress sighing under my weight, and I feel a hot, damp cloth brushing my face with slow strokes. My vision clears in patches, and there he is.
Dark eyes, empty as winter sky. The shy blush, the nervous smile, gone. The mask has cracked clean off, and what’s underneath makes my heart stutter.
“Welcome back, angel,” he whispers, leaning in to kiss me, soft and lingering, like we’re lovers waking from a nap.
I jerk my head away as far as the drugs will let me.
The room sharpens. Rough pine walls, slanted ceiling, one tiny window showing nothing but black night. A single couch in the corner. No lights outside. Just trees pressing close.
“Are we in the woods?” My voice cracks.
He sits on the edge of the bed, close enough that his knee touches mine. “Summer rental. Off-season. No one for miles.” His smile is dreamy, adoring. “Perfect, don’t you think?”
I swallow, throat burning. “I don’t remember you.”
His grin widens, sharp. He peels off his hoodie in one smooth motion. Lean, cut muscle flexes under pale skin, no ink, no scars. He stands, rolling his shoulders, letting me look like a peacock flaunting new feathers.
“Remember Sarah?” he asks, voice soft.
Sarah? My old roommate? I haven’t seen her in years. “Yeah…”
“We all went out one night. I was the quiet one with the shit hair and thicker glasses.” He laughs, but it’s hollow. “Couldn’t string two words together without stuttering. People laughed. Especially drunk college assholes.”
His eyes flicker, something raw, old, wounded, then harden again.
“You,” he says, dropping to his knees in front of me, palms sliding up my thighs, “you were nice. Smiled at me. Asked my name like it mattered. Suddenly I could talk.”
He cups my face, thumb tracing my cheekbone with heartbreaking tenderness.
“So I was nice once,” I rasp, “and you stalked me? Threatened me? Terrorised me for years?”
The gentleness flickers. Something dark and ugly rises behind his eyes.
“I loved you,” he whispers, his grip tightens, and I stare into those empty eyes.
“You started dating some asshole back then,” he hisses, rising slowly, hand shooting to my throat. Fingers clamp down like iron, cutting off air instantly.
I claw at his wrist, nails scraping his skin, but my arms are still half-numb, useless.
“You smiled at me,” he snarls, face inches from mine, “brushed your hand against mine like it meant something.” His grip tightens; black spots bloom at the edges of my vision. “You were mine.”
I try to scream. Nothing comes out but a choked wheeze.
He leans closer, eyes blazing. “Then you and that college fucker destroyed everything. I knew I had to change, become what you wanted.”
“Please—” I rasp, lungs on fire.