CHAPTER 50
Finally Over
Gabriela
I awoke to dampness and a blurry vision.
The first thing that welcomed me was a painful, splitting sensation travelling over my face like a fissure, where the skin of my cheek stung from Tom’s smack.
It was followed by a deep-seated ache in my entire body.
Every inch of me throbbed. My hands, zip-tied in front of me.
My back, hips, and legs, from how I’d been dragged across the road.
And in my head, from the newly pounding headache.
My senses were slower than usual as I struggled to take inventory of my new environment, my eyes barely registering a low ceiling. Four walls. Concrete ground. A faded light coming from somewhere to my right.
Where the hell was I and how much time had passed since Tom kidnapped me?
I fought the sob choking its way up, trying to calm myself down and muster the mental strength to get out of this hellhole.
What did I do to deserve this? Why had my seemingly unbothered ex-fling—who broke up with me of his own volition—turn out to be a fucking psycho?
I may not know his reasoning yet, but I would find out. Sooner or later, I would escape or be rescued by Papà, the guards, and…
Hunter.
By now, he must have figured out that something wasn’t right. My pretty boy must be going out of his mind with worry, trying to find me.
And Luna.
My sweet girl who fought so bravely for me.
The thought of my little family gave me more strength and resilience. Filled my cup anew. I wouldn’t perish here. I was going to make it out alive because I wanted to continue building a life with Hunter.
And once I got freed?
I would fucking kill Tom Prescott myself.
He wouldn’t hurt me more than he already had.
I was my papà’s daughter and Bellafiores never went down without a fight.
It took nearly all my energy to twist myself onto my right side with a barely suppressed groan. God, that hurt. My head swam and I closed my eyes, slowly counting to ten.
It was quiet in here—wherever I was—almost to a point where the stillness seemed eerie. When I opened my eyes, the blood-curdling scream I let out shattered that stillness.
Beside me, lying on her front, with her light brown hair fanned around her…was Morgan Huxley.
There was a bullet lodged in her forehead, a trail of dried blood stamped down the bridge of her nose.
And her eyes were open, staring straight into mine, as though seeing through me.
No.
No.
No.
The sob I tried to hold back burst free from my dry, cracked lips as I took in my peer’s dead body. He killed her. The sick fuck actually killed her. I cried silently, my body quivering against the hard ground with the depth of my sorrow.
Morgan and I may have had our differences, but I was willing to bet on everything I owned that she had never done anything to warrant this kind of ending.
My tied hands attempted to reach for her.
But I wasn’t able to, regardless of how close she rested.
Through a tear-stained gaze, I noticed a cross positioned against a mosaic-stained window, where the barest amount of light filtered in, and rectangular fixtures in the wall with dates and names.
All ending with Prescott.
Fuck.
We were in the Prescott family’s mausoleum.
Chills spread over my skin. Acid burned in my throat. Nausea worsened everything.
Was this Tom’s big plan? Kill Morgan and me for whatever reason his fucked-up mind concocted and bury our bodies right here, where we couldn’t be found, our families and loved ones searching until their hope ran out?
No.
I couldn’t afford to think like that—couldn’t allow those thoughts to pierce the already fragile veil keeping my mind from crumbling.
I was going to escape.
I wouldn’t die here.
This wouldn’t be my final resting place.
It may very well be Tom’s, though.
With that echoing in my mind like a final statement, I calmed just a bit. It wouldn’t be easy getting out of here, but I was determined.
Seeing Morgan dead next to me only fortified that I wouldn’t be Tom’s next victim.
Inhaling through my nose, I glanced down at my body.
My clothes were still on, but my black opaque tights, underneath my skirt, had various rips and holes from when he’d hauled me and I tried to fight.
The skin around my knee was scraped and when I shifted, I felt cuts pulling at my skin in various spots.
I didn’t sense any soreness between my legs, which meant the sordid asshole hadn’t assaulted me while I was unconscious.
The relief I experienced grew tenfold when I realized that I still wore the necklace Papà had given me.
The one with the tracker.
Thank goodness.
My loved ones would figure out something was wrong—if they hadn’t already—and I needed to keep myself alive.
Exhaling slowly through my nose, all my senses sharpened when I remembered I still had my pocket knife tucked in my upper-thigh holster. I could feel it as I shifted. Tom hadn’t realized that I had a weapon on my person. Otherwise, he’d have removed it.
I wasn’t sure where he was or when he would be coming back, but instinct told me it would be soon. Working fast, I did my best to wriggle into position and reach under my skirt with my tied hands.
A sliver of victory blazed through me when I caught the handle of the knife, a keepsake my nonno left for me before passing away, and dragged it out.
A beacon of hope, the metal of the blade glinted in the dim light.
Anticipation rattled in my chest as I began slicing at the bindings, sawing back and forth until finally…they snapped and my hands were freed.
I didn’t move a muscle, momentarily wracked with disbelief that I did it.
Just as I was about to sit up, a clatter near the entrance had me freezing like a deer caught in headlights.
I stayed put, joining my hands to give the illusion that they were still tied.
The atmosphere morphed with something sinister as Tom entered through the mausoleum’s opening. Hood down. Mask off. And a shovel in his hand that he propped against the doorframe, the end coated with grass and mud.
His presence made the space appear even smaller, tighter, inescapable.
A frisson travelled down my back.
“Oh, good.” He approached me and lowered himself to a crouch. “You’re awake.”
His knuckles skimmed my cheek and I recoiled with a sneer. “Don’t fucking touch me!”
The only man who was allowed to skim his knuckles down my cheek was Hunter.
Tom’s gaze hardened, a menacing smirk blooming over his lips. “You forget who’s in charge, Gabby.” He leaned in, his disgusting hot breath blowing over my skin. “Me. And if I want to touch you?” He pinched my chin between his thumb and forefinger. “I. Fucking. Will.”
I squirmed, under the guise of being a damsel in distress. I didn’t have the perfect angle to strike—yet—so I feigned helplessness, gripping the closed knife between my fisted palms. When the time was right, I was going to finish Luna’s job and take his fucking eye out.
I’d never been a violent or bloodthirsty girl, but this was a turning point for me.
A dark chaos consumed my mind, its fingers spreading through my mainframe like a sickness. I would never rest until Tom was dead. I grew antsier every second that he lived.
“Why?” I asked sharply. Tom’s brows rising stated that he was surprised at the lack of defeat in my tone. “Why do all of this?”
It was clear what I implied. My apartment break-in. Writing on my wall. Stabbing Hunter. Sending taunting texts. Killing my bodyguards. And everything in between that I might have missed. I wanted all the answers before he died.
Tom combed his fingers through his hair, a bitter chuckle escaping him. “Why?” He pinned me with wide, angry eyes. “Why, Gabriela?” he thundered on. “You dense fucking bitch! Because I love you!”
I blinked.
To say I was flabbergasted would be an understatement.
Through my thinly concealed fury, I replayed his words.
Then I burst out laughing.
My full, belly-deep laughter triggered Tom.
“Stop laughing!” he barked, backhanding me exactly in the same spot as his previous strike. “I love you and you wanted to break up with me! You did this! You drove me to this! You’re at fucking fault!”
That sobered me, the last strains of my chuckle dying.
“You love me?” I snarled incredulously. “Last I remember, you’re the one who ended things by sending me a text saying you’d found better!
With her!” I jerked my head towards Morgan’s dead body, growling, “So now I’m supposed to believe you taunted, stalked, and kidnapped me because you love me?
Get a grip, you fucking gaslighting lunatic! ”
He stood up with an angry roar, kicking aside the shovel on the ground like a petulant child not getting his way.
“She was just a distraction!” he screamed, the vein in his neck popping. “A way to get over you! A way to get back at you!”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I spat through gritted teeth.
But Tom barely heard my question, pacing the length of the mausoleum while mumbling some bullshit to himself.
He was such a different version than the smooth-talking jock I met over the summer.
The one who conducted himself in such an easy-going manner, like he took nothing in life too seriously.
The one who acted like he was on board with the idea of a friends-with-benefits situation since he didn’t want any attachments.
Obviously, that was all a facade. This was the real him.
Taking advantage of his silence, I pushed myself into a kneeling position, still keeping my hands close together to give the semblance that I remained tied up.
I calculated the proximity to the mausoleum door.
If I slashed my knife anywhere across his face or jugular, that would buy me enough time to flit past the doorway.
I hoped that if I kept running without stopping—without getting caught again—eventually, I’d come across some Good Samaritan who could help me.
“Tom?” I prodded again when he didn’t answer. “What are you talking about?”