Chapter Forty-Six - Elise
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Elise
“What the hell, Elli?” Ryder has abandoned his attempts at subtlety and is now tugging wildly on his chained wrist.
As much as I’d love to send him a reassuring glance, I can’t risk giving anything away, so I ignore him.
Tripp analyzes my expression, testing the authenticity of my offer. I repress the urge to cringe when his tongue darts hungrily across his bottom lip.
“And how do I know that you’d cooperate once the kid is gone?”
If I could, I’d stand and match his aggressive stance. Since my restraints make that impossible, I’m left with Tripp towering over me as I focus on maintaining my composure.
“You let Lyla and her mother go, then come back here and beat the hell out of Ryder.” My eyes flicker to my friend, who is looking at me like I’ve lost my mind.
Maybe I have.
“You can tell Mason that Ryder freed them, but you were able to get him back. Once the girls are safe, I won’t tell my brother or resist you.”
“No way in hell! I won’t let—”
“Ryder!” I shoot him a pleading look, which he answers with a scowl.
“You really want this, don’t you brat?” I will myself to remain still as Tripp saunters toward me. “I bet you were so disappointed when our time was cut short before.”
“What I want is for Lyla and Rachel to be safe.”
“Ever the hero,” he leers. “If only you were as strong as you are selfless, then maybe you wouldn’t find yourself at my feet again.”
“Are you going to do it or not?” My tone is measured, not giving away the jumble of emotions threatening to tear me apart.
“You’re right.” Tripp straightens, taking leisurely steps toward Ryder and gesturing around the room. “This isn’t the revenge that I had in mind. I was put through hell by Moreno and this asshole.” Tripp lands a hard kick into Ryder’s stomach.
By some miracle, Ryder looks at me as he winces, and I silently plead with him to stay down.
He does.
Tripp makes his way toward me, a deadly glint in his eyes.
Lowering once again, he lifts his mutilated arm and gently brushes the rough skin across my cheek.
“I’d love to force Moreno to watch as I defile his favorite toy, but you’re wrong about one very important fact.”
I play his game. “And what is that?”
Tripp places the flat end of the knife under my chin, forcing my head upward so I’m staring into his manic eyes.
“Your brother doesn’t care what I do with you.”
After everything Mason’s done, hearing those words shouldn’t have an effect on me, but they feel like a punch to the stomach.
Tripp drops the blade from my face, letting it roam down my neck and over my shoulder. “Mason only needed you to get Moreno and your father here.”
As the knife comes to my breast, I think I’m about to throw up. “But now that they’re on their way…”
My heart drops at the implication.
“Why keep us alive at all, then?”
“We won’t for long. You’re here because you’re important to both Moreno and Consoli, which will come in handy if things go south.”
He turns to Ryder. “And we’ve got you by the balls with your kid here. Once this is all over, you’ll be killed”—his chilling eyes find me—“and you’ll be all mine.”
I finally give in to the tiny voice in my head.
Wary of the knife now held at his side, I let my fist connect with Tripp’s face, reveling in the satisfying crunch. Before he has a chance to recover, I hold onto the bar behind me with both hands and send my foot into his stomach as hard as I can.
He slides back, wheezing and reaching for the afflicted areas, but I know better than to feel triumphant.
Tripp’s chuckle echoes in the room as he stands, drops the knife to the floor, and takes his gun from the holster. The barrel points directly at my head.
“Do it,” I dare him.
His smile grows as blood drips down his face, like something out of a horror film.
“I’m not going to shoot you.” He points the gun at Ryder. “I’m going to shoot his daughter.”
“You stay the hell away from her!” Ryder roars.
Tripp weighs his head from side to side. “Of course, I could be persuaded against visiting Little Lyla.”
“I won’t fight you,” I croak. “Just don’t hurt her!”
“I think you’ve proven that you will fight me.” Tripp uses the gun to gesture between Ryder and me. “But you won’t fight him.”
Ryder and I share a look.
Tripp tucks the gun under his arm and digs into his pocket, dropping a key onto the ground beside the knife before snatching the gun back up.
“Here’s how this is going to work,” he says and kicks the key toward Ryder. “You’re going to free yourself. Then, you’ll take the knife and inflict the damage for me.”
I can use this.
Ryder shakes his head. “I won’t hurt her.”
“Either you hurt her, or I hurt Lyla. The choice is yours.”
“Do it, Ryder,” I tell him.
I’ve never seen Ryder look more vulnerable than he does as he gives me a desperate look. “I can’t.”
“You need to,” I order.
Ryder studies my eyes, and I hope he can see that I am begging him to trust me.
After a deep breath, he takes the key and unlocks his wrist.
“Watch it,” Tripp warns as Ryder stands. “Any sudden movements, and I’ll blow your head off before doing the same to the kid.”
Every muscle in Ryder’s body tenses at the threat.
“Hey,” I coax. “It’s okay.”
When Ryder turns toward me, I’m struck by the pain that I see there as he takes the knife from the ground and lowers himself in front of me.
“Now, since we have the expert himself here, why don’t we start with some tattoos?” Tripp holds out his arm to show off the marks. “Let’s start with ‘brat,’ shall we?”
Before Ryder can open his mouth to protest, I reach my free hand out and hold it over his.
“It’s okay,” I repeat and lower one of my shoulders. I simultaneously turn my head toward the wall so only Ryder can see as I point with my eyes to the cut on my arm that he inflicted earlier tonight.
If Ryder caught my message, his expression gives nothing away. I suppose it’s good to remain inconspicuous, but I’m worried he’s too worried about Lyla to notice my signals.
I wait for Ryder to make his move against Tripp, but he only looks down at me with grave eyes.
It’s like he’s moving in slow motion as he takes hold of my right arm and brings the knife to my skin.
I’m not prepared for the pain.
I squeeze my eyes closed so tight that I think they’ll never open again. The first slice of the knife is nearly three inches long and placed directly next to the cut Ryder gave me earlier tonight. I can hardly catch my breath as he lifts the knife from my skin, only to bring it down again.
Somewhere in the background, I can hear Tripp laughing, but the sound of my pounding heart is too deafening to be sure. I don’t let myself scream since that’s exactly what Tripp wants to hear, but I have no control over the whimpers and whines that are brutally pulled from my clenched teeth.
All I want is to beg Ryder to stop.
But I can’t.
He needs to do this.
Instead, I picture Joshua holding my head in his lap as we look over hundreds of trees during my birthday picnic. I picture him playfully tossing me over his shoulder to carry me to our room. I picture him holding me in our bed like we’re the only two people in the world.
I want to melt into my happy place, but as the blood covers my clothes and the floor, I can’t bring myself to escape this horrific reality.
It takes all my willpower to turn my head and see that Ryder has only just finished the R.
I want to sag helplessly to the floor, but that’s when I notice Ryder’s eyes.
In all of the pain, I hadn’t noticed that his eyes are only half-focused on me. He keeps sending subtle glances to Tripp.
The motion is lightning-fast.
Tripp roars a curse as Ryder’s knife sinks into his leg.
In a flash, Ryder darts forward to get to the gun that clatters to the ground.
The relief is so overwhelming that my body begs to curl up for a nap, but the shiny silver key a few feet away catches my attention. Ryder must have kicked it to me before charging Tripp.
I move on autopilot, taking the key and unlocking my wrist in purely mechanical movements.
When it comes time to climb to my feet, I lose vision when I try to use my injured arm. My second attempt is legs only, and I stand just in time to watch Ryder bash the gun into Tripp’s head, his limp body crumbling to the ground.
“What the hell?” I say, barely able to get the words out.
Ryder tucks the gun in his belt and removes his button-up, leaving him in a white tee. He tightly wraps my arm with the discarded fabric.
“I’m so sorry, Elli. I needed to wait until his aim drifted. If I’d done it before then, he would’ve killed one of us.”
I pull the wrapped arm protectively to my chest. “Still, that hurt like hell.”
“I tried not to cut deep, so hopefully, it won’t scar.”
A rustle from behind me steals my attention. Tripp’s head lulls to one side, then slowly falls to the other. Ryder points the gun at him, but I throw my hands up before he pulls the trigger.
“No! We have no idea how many people are here. We can’t draw attention to ourselves.” I grab the key from the floor and hand it to Ryder. “Get Lyla and Rachel out of here. I’ll finish off Tripp.”
He shakes his head. “I’m not leaving you here.”
“We don’t have time for this. Get your family to safety, then warn Joshua.”
I push him to the door, and when we reach the threshold, he turns to me with a gaze that shines with brotherly affection. “Be careful, Elli.”
I place a kiss on his cheek. “You, too.”
The slam of the door shutting makes me cringe, but not as much as the faint groan from behind me.
Tripp rolls onto his back, eyes fluttering and hands reaching for the knife still embedded in his leg. The floor is covered in a combination of Tripp’s and my blood, and I work to ignore the nausea climbing up my throat.
I see the handcuffs against the wall and form a plan in my head. Grabbing them off the floor, I turn just in time to see Tripp’s eyes starting to focus.
I’m running out of time.
My heart is a jackhammer in my chest, but I force myself to walk forward. I sink to my knees, reaching out to grab his hand when he suddenly coughs.
When my eyes flash to him, the calculation there is my first indication that something is off.
He moves quickly.
The knife swings upward, missing my throat by a mere inch as I fall back. It takes me a moment to realize that his cough was a diversion to rip the knife from his leg, but I also realize this means he’ll weaken from blood loss if I can stall him long enough.
Dodging the knife has left me laid back on my elbows, and Tripp takes advantage of the opening. He darts forward much faster than someone with his injuries should, and the weight of his body pins me down.
His voice is a malicious sneer. “You’re going to pay for this.”
The forearm of his mutilated hand pushes forcefully on my throat. I try to pry him off of me, but my efforts are futile against his adrenaline-enhanced strength.
He lifts the knife to my arm. “Let’s finish this, shall we?”
“Screw you,” I rasp.
“Later. I want to leave my mark first.”
The blade slips under the makeshift wrap from Ryder’s shirt, and I close my eyes.
I’m not sure I can handle much more of this.
I look for anything that could help me, and my eyes fall on the blood stain growing through Tripp’s pants. If I can wiggle just one of my legs out from under him, I’ll be able to hit that exact spot.
Every fiber of my being aches, but I grit my teeth just in time for Tripp to cut off the last piece of the wrap.
The blade makes contact with my arm, and I writhe in agony.
Through the pain-fueled haze, I work to free my leg, but my struggle only serves to please Tripp. A deep, overwhelming sense of hopelessness threatens me, and I begin to doubt my ability to walk away from this alive.
His smile is vicious, and there’s nothing that I can do to stop him from leaning down and licking the tears from my cheek.
The vile action makes me feel as worthless as I did that day in the basement.
My skin burns like it’s being held over a flame, and my resolve fades along with my vision.
It would be so much easier to slip into the oblivion that’s calling my name. To stop struggling and let Tripp have his way.
Then I see him.
I see him so clearly that my free arm twitches to touch him, but I don’t have the strength to reach out.
Joshua doesn’t say anything or move to save me. His expression isn’t scared or horrified like I would expect right now, and somehow, this look is worse.
He wears the same carefully masked sadness that I left behind in his office.
That can’t be our last memory together. Joshua has no idea how sorry I am. He has no idea that I was coming to apologize before everything went to hell. I need the chance to make it up to him.
The vision of the man I love is all I need to remind me what I have to fight for.
Using all the strength in my body, I jerk my leg to the side as Tripp continues his excruciating art, and it comes free.
Raising my knee as high as I can, I bring my heel down on the knife wound.
Tripp wails in anguish, and I buck my hips to roll him off of me. The knife that was in his hand crashes to the ground when his forearm releases my raw throat.
I gasp for air and lunge for the knife, barely grabbing it before Tripp does.
I have the knife. I have the power. Now what?
When your life is on the line, you pull the trigger.
There is no second thought as I spring forward and swing the knife savagely across Tripp’s throat.
Eyes wide as saucers stare into mine as blood gushes from my tormentor’s neck. His hands shake as he reaches to stop the bleeding, but we both know it won’t help.
Nothing will.
I kneel beside Tripp, blood soaking my jeans as I watch the life drain out of him. Perhaps I should feel disgust or guilt.
I don’t.
Instead, I see him towering above my helpless, strung-up body in the basement. I see him bringing the whip down against my back. I see him shoving his fingers down my throat. I see him pulling my clothes off of me with a sadistic smile.
“I get it now—why Joshua did all those horrible things to you.” I lower myself so that when I speak, it’s directly into his ear. “I only wish he were here to enjoy your death as much as I am.”
His eyes squint, and I think he means to glare at me, but it’s a pitiful attempt.
As the last bit of life leaves him, I actually smile.