Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
evangeline
The first thing I register is cold concrete beneath me, seeping through my clothes, making my bones ache. Then comes the smell: rust, mildew, and something chemical that burns my nostrils.
My head pounds like someone's taking a hammer to my skull. Whatever they injected me with in the parking lot is wearing off, leaving nausea and disorientation in its wake.
I try to move and discover my hands are bound behind my back, zip ties cutting into my wrists. My ankles are free, at least for now, thank God for small mercies.
The room is dark except for a sliver of light coming from under what looks like a metal door. As my eyes adjust, I make out concrete walls, exposed pipes overhead, and absolutely nothing else. An empty room designed for one purpose.
Holding prisoners.
"She's awake." A voice comes from somewhere to my left. Male, unfamiliar, with an accent, I don’t recognize.
Footsteps approach, and then the overhead lights flicker on, so bright they make my eyes water. I squeeze them shut against the assault, my headache intensifying.
"Good. I was starting to worry that we gave her too much." I recognize Ethan's voice; it’s smooth, slimy, exactly the same as always.
I force my eyes open, blinking through the tears until I can focus. Ethan stands about ten feet away, looking immaculate in an expensive suit. Like he's here for a business meeting instead of whatever sick game he's planning.
"Where am I?" My voice comes out rough, my throat raw.
"Somewhere your criminal boyfriend won't find you. Unless I want him to, of course."
I try to sit up and discover every muscle in my body protests. Whatever drug they used has left me weak and uncoordinated.
"The kids—"
"Are fine. Still at that disgusting clubhouse, probably wondering where Aunt Evie disappeared to." He crouches down to my level, and I can see the madness lurking behind his polished exterior. "But they're not who I'm interested in right now."
"Then let me go."
"Let you go?" His laugh is cold, brittle. "After everything I've done to get you here? After all the planning and patience and carefully orchestrated moves? Not a chance, darling."
"I'm not your darling."
"You were mine for years. That counts for something."
"It counts for me being stupid enough to miss the warning signs."
His face darkens with anger, and for a moment I think he's going to hit me again. Instead, he stands, smoothing his suit jacket with deliberate movements.
"You know, I almost convinced myself you'd come back eventually. That this infatuation with that biker trash was just a phase, a reaction to your brother's death. But then I saw those photos." His voice drops to something venomous. "You fucked him in his bed like some common whore."
"Better a whore than your trophy wife."
The slap comes fast, snapping my head to the side. Pain explodes across my already-bruised cheek, and I taste blood.
"You don't get to talk to me like that," Ethan says, his voice terrifyingly calm. "I own you. I've always owned you. You just didn't realize it."
"You own nothing."
"Don't I? Let's see. I know where those children go to school. I know their schedules, their routines, every vulnerable moment in their day. I know everything about everyone you care about."
The threat is clear, and ice water floods my veins. "You wouldn't."
"Wouldn't I? I had your brother killed, Evangeline. Do you really think I'd hesitate to eliminate a few more obstacles?"
The casual admission steals my breath. I knew, intellectually, that Ethan had Marcus and Calla murdered. Hades showed me the evidence, walked me through the timeline. But hearing him say it so casually, like he's discussing the weather, makes it real in a way that turns my stomach.
"You're a monster."
"I'm a businessman who removes problems efficiently. Your sister-in-law was a problem. She found financial irregularities, started asking questions that would have exposed my entire operation. So I removed her."
"And Marcus?"
"Collateral damage. She shouldn't have hired that PI. If she'd just left things alone, she'd still be alive. They both would be."
The rage that floods through me is so intense it actually helps clear my head. This man, this monster who I almost married, is responsible for everything. For the kids losing their parents, for me losing my brother, for all the pain and fear and chaos of the past weeks.
"Hades is going to kill you," I say with absolute certainty.
"Is he? Because from where I'm sitting, I hold all the cards. I've got you, which means I've got him. He'll do whatever I want to keep you alive."
"You don't understand him at all."
"Don't I? He's in love with you. Pathetically, desperately in love. The kind of love that makes men stupid. Makes them take risks they shouldn't take, make choices they'll regret."
"Unlike you, who never loved anyone but yourself."
Ethan's smile is cold, reptilian. "Love is a weakness, darling. I learned that a long time ago. The only thing that matters is power, and right now, I have all of it."
"Do you? Because it seems like you're hiding in an abandoned warehouse, working with criminals, desperate enough to kidnap your ex-fiancée. That's not power. That's pathetic."
I see the moment my words hit home, see the fury flash across his face. He moves toward me, and I brace for another hit.
Instead, footsteps echo from outside the room. Heavy boots, multiple people. The door swings open and three men enter. They're wearing leather cuts with a serpent logo I don't recognize.
Shadow Hawks.
"She awake?" one of them asks. He's older, maybe fifty, with a scarred face and cold eyes.
"As you can see," Ethan replies, his tone dismissive.
"Good. We need to discuss terms."
"We already discussed terms. You get the Saints' territory; I get my woman back."
"Plans changed. Turns out your woman's boyfriend is worth more than territory."
Ethan's expression shifts to something dangerous. "We had a deal."
"And now we're renegotiating. See, the Saints took out the majority of our club. They took our territory here in Boston. Having leverage over their enforcer might convince them to reconsider."
"I'm not interested in helping you fight your territorial disputes. I want Hades destroyed, and I want Evangeline under control."
The Shadow Hawk laughs, a sound like gravel grinding. "You think we care what you want? You came to us, Morrison. You needed our help because your own people couldn't handle a simple kidnapping. That makes you the junior partner in this arrangement."
I watch the power dynamic shift, see Ethan realize he's not as in control as he thought. The Shadow Hawks aren't his allies. They're using him the same way he's been using everyone else.
"Fine," Ethan says tightly. "But I want guarantees that Evangeline comes out of this under my control."
"You'll get what we give you."
The Shadow Hawk turns his attention to me, his cold eyes assessing. "You're the one Blackwood's been sniffing around? Not much to look at."
"Go to hell," I say.
"Got some fire, at least. Good. It will be more fun to break you."
The casual threat makes my skin crawl, but I refuse to show fear. These men feed on fear, use it to control and dominate. I won't give them the satisfaction.
"Touch her and you'll answer to me," Ethan says, but there's uncertainty in his voice now.
"We'll touch her however we want. That's the price of doing business with us." The Shadow Hawk moves closer, and I can smell cigarettes and something rancid. "But first, we need to make sure Blackwood knows we're serious."
He pulls out a phone and snaps a photo of me bound and bruised. I try to turn away, but another Hawk grabs my face, forcing me to look at the camera.
"Perfect. Let's see how fast he comes running when he sees what we've got."
They leave me alone with Ethan after that, the door slamming shut with a finality that makes my chest tight with panic.
"This wasn't supposed to happen," Ethan mutters, more to himself than to me. "They were supposed to follow my plan, do things my way."
"Looks like they have their own agenda."
"Shut up."
"You're losing control, Ethan. The Shadow Hawks are using you, and when they're done, they'll dispose of you like you disposed of Marcus and Calla."
"I said shut up!"
He kicks me, hard enough to knock the wind out of my lungs. I curl into myself, trying to protect my ribs, my head, anything vulnerable.
When he's done, he crouches beside me again.
"Here's what's going to happen. Hades is going to come for you, because he's predictable and stupid and in love.
The Shadow Hawks are going to capture him, torture him until he breaks, and then I'm going to kill him while you watch.
And after you've seen what happens to men who touch things that belong to me, you're going to come home.
You're going to be my wife, play your role perfectly, and never mention any of this again. "
"Never."
"We'll see how you feel after watching him die."
He stands, brushing off his suit. "Oh, and don't bother trying to escape. This room is reinforced, the door is locked from the outside, and there are guards everywhere. You're not going anywhere until I decide to let you go."
He leaves, and I'm alone in the dark again.
For a moment, I let myself feel the fear, the pain, the overwhelming sense of being trapped. Then I push it aside and focus on what matters.
Hades is coming. I know he is. He'll walk into whatever trap Ethan and the Shadow Hawks have set because he loves me, because he'd do anything to keep me safe.
Which means I need to find a way out before he gets here.
I test the zip ties, twisting my wrists, feeling for any give. They're tight, professional, but not impossible. If I can find something sharp, if I can work at them long enough...
The room might be empty, but it's not pristine. There are exposed pipes overhead, rough concrete walls, maybe a nail or screw somewhere that could cut through plastic.
I start systematically exploring every inch of the room I can reach, using touch more than sight in the dim light. It's slow, painful work. My body protests every movement, and my head still pounds from the drugs.
But I keep going.
Because I'm done being helpless. Done being the victim who needs rescuing. I'm going to get myself out of this, and then I'm going to help Hades destroy every single person who thought they could use me as leverage.
I'm not leverage.
I'm not a trophy.
I'm not weak.
I'm a woman who's been through hell and come out fighting, and Ethan Morrison is about to learn that the hard way.
I'm working at a rough edge on one of the pipes, trying to cut through the zip ties. I grind the zip tie against the jagged edge of rusted pipe again and again, each scrape like a shot of adrenaline through my veins. My wrists are raw, slick with blood now, but the plastic’s fraying—weakening. Another few seconds. That’s all I need.
Snap.
It gives.
The sudden slack in my wrists makes my breath hitch.
For one suspended moment, I freeze, almost unable to believe it, then I’m moving fast and quiet, dragging the severed ties off and staggering to my feet.
My legs wobble like I'm a newborn, every muscle jelly from whatever they shot me with, but I force motion into them.
I bite down on my sleeve and use my teeth to pull the zip ties off completely.
I make it to the door.
There’s no window in it, just steel and bolts, but I test the handle anyway. Locked, of course. Still, I’m not without options. I check the hinges, feel around the frame for a weak point, even drop down and check along the base of the door. Nothing. No tools. No vent. No screws I can work loose.
But the ceiling has those exposed pipes, they could be my way out.
So I climb. I stack the only thing I can drag: a chunk of cinder block left behind in a corner, maybe used to weigh something down.
I balance one foot on it, grip the lower pipe with aching fingers, and haul myself up.
My muscles scream, but I’m in motion, limbs trembling, teeth clenched so hard my jaw aches.
A vent. Too small for a grown man, maybe not for me.
My fingers are just reaching it when I hear the door.
CLACK.
I drop instantly, landing in a crouch, adrenaline surging, heart trying to tear its way out of my chest. I dart behind the door’s inward swing, flattened against the wall.
It opens.
Boots step in. One set. Heavy. Too confident. I don’t wait to see who it is.
I lunge.
My shoulder slams into his ribs with everything I have, driving him off balance. It works. He stumbles back with a shout and crashes into the wall across from the door. I bolt.
The hallway’s dim and industrial. Concrete underfoot, exposed bulbs overhead, peeling paint on cinderblock walls. No windows. Just long corridors and closed doors and distant voices.
But I don’t stop.
I run.
My bare feet slap against the cold floor as I turn corners, searching for daylight, for an exit sign, anything.
A shout behind me. Fast footfalls.
I push harder. My lungs burn. The hallway blurs. There's a fork ahead. I take the left.
And then…
A punch.
It comes from nowhere. A fist, hard and sudden, straight to my cheekbone. CRACK. Stars explode across my vision, a white flash like lightning behind my eyes. I collapse mid-sprint, hitting the floor shoulder-first. Pain radiates from the impact like liquid fire.
I try to crawl.
Fingers dig into my hair and drag me backward across the concrete. I scream, kicking, thrashing, but I’m too weak. My body betrayed me the second I started to hope.
Someone pins me down with a knee in my back. A voice I don’t know, gruff and amused, says, "Stupid bitch actually got loose. Gotta admit, she’s got balls."
Another voice joins. Familiar. Cold. Calm.
Ethan.
"I told you not to underestimate her. That was your mistake."
I can’t lift my head. My vision swims.
Then I see the syringe.
My scream is hoarse, desperate. “No! No, don't—”
The needle bites my neck.
Whatever’s in it is instant.
Heat floods my veins, and the world blurs sideways. My arms go numb. My legs stop listening. My face hits the floor again, and I can’t even feel the pain.
My last conscious thought is of Hades.
I hope he doesn't come.
Not yet.
Not while I’m still weak.
Not while they still have the upper hand.
Darkness swallows me whole.