Chapter 24
Mia
There is no sound as I peer through the crack in my door just after three a.m. No light either as I move through the house in socked feet, intent on remaining silent.
The entrance of the hall leading to Aiden’s bedroom has a closed barn door over it, which means I have the entire house, aside from his quarters, to search.
When I reach his living room, I use only the light of my phone to open every drawer in his long walnut cabinet, though I find nothing of interest: only matches, emergency candles, manuals for various electronics, his security system warranty.
Frustrated, I move as quietly as I can to the kitchen.
The space is immaculate, so clean and organized.
Every coffee mug is the same chunky white ceramic and matches the design of Aiden’s plates and dishes.
Towels are neatly folded away in drawers, and even the food in his pantry is perfectly organized.
I’m at the point of exasperation sometime before five, combing through the pantry one last time, when I notice a small box in the corner.
It sits inconspicuously on the bottom shelf under a stack of cookbooks and doesn’t look out of the ordinary, like it may hold spices or recipes.
Something in me tells me to look inside.
Crouching down, I move the books and attempt to place them on the floor beside me without a sound. Only I drop one in the process, and it hits the wood with a thud. I freeze, bracing myself to hear movement as I formulate a plan to explain why I’m in here. I was hungry, I couldn’t sleep.
Seconds pass as I listen for footsteps. But after what feels like hours, I hear nothing and decide it’s safe to continue.
I examine the box more closely and my stomach drops in disappointment when I notice it’s sealed with a heavy padlock.
I tug the base of the lock in frustration, and miraculously it pops open. It can’t have been clicked into place.
I slip it off the box and gently set it to one side, pulling back the lid and inhaling sharply as I register what I’m looking at: a tackle box. Except each compartment is filled with clear vials.
Scanning them quickly, I snap photos on my cell for proof, and to Google the names I don’t recognize later.
Rohypnol
Gamma-hydroxybutyrate
Sodium thiopental
Ketamine
Epinephrine
Lifting the top compartment out, I find at least a hundred syringes. A memory of Nic’s face—a syringe sticking out of her arm—flashes through my mind. I squeeze my eyes shut. There is no reason a man would be in possession of these chemicals and instruments unless he were no stranger to using them.
My gut churns as I try to make sense of the two versions of Aiden Foxx.
The one that I witnessed hours before in the diner.
And then the one who stood above me in my bedroom just after, looking like he wanted to kill me.
These vials serve as a glaring reminder that I could be in the home of a monster.
Suddenly, I hear the sound of running water and I scramble, moving in what feels like slow motion to put the case back together. When I’m safely on the other side of the door of my room, I pray for my heart rate to come down.
I have no idea why Aiden has all those drugs. But I know one thing. If he ever tries to use one of them on me, I’ll smash his nose right through his fucking brain.