TWENTY-TWO
I park my bike a few streets down, not wanting to cause a disturbance. I hide it behind a couple of cars, and it’s ready for me to pick it up and run off, and undoubtedly, I’ll need to run if the night turns sour.
The helmet comes off, and I put on a black mask on my face, hiding my white hair and my face. I even put in some brown contact lenses to hide my identity. One chance. That’s all I’ve got. One fucking chance, and if I blow it, I’ll likely blow everything else as well.
I’m not surprised Zoe’s been relocated to a different manor. This one is in a more crowded neighborhood. It’s a smart move because every single one of these gigantic manors has cameras all around; hence, he’ll easily catch intruders.
Sadly for him, I’m quite skilled in hacking.
With a press of a button on my phone, every single camera in the neighborhood will stop working. I have a fifteen-minute window, and I cannot miss it. I steel myself for what’s about to come, my brain filled with thoughts on how to approach the situation.
I loom close to the gated manor, checking for security. I sit behind a bush, scrolling through the phone, watching the cameras. Four guards outside and at least another four inside. I could easily shut off the power and get myself inside, but if he has – and he likely has – a backup alarm, the sirens will go off and they’ll remove Zoe.
The odd thing is that I couldn’t find an outline of the house. I’m going in this completely blind. But I don’t care. Blair needs revenge. I need to know where Luna is and what happened to her. I’m holding onto the smallest bits of hope that somehow, Luna is alive. But if she’s not… I’ll burn the bastards to the ground, inch by inch, tear them apart, limb by limb, then put them back together and do it all over again.
I shake off my thoughts and take a deep breath. I reach the gate, swift on my feet – just like a ghost – unnoticed and unseen. I press the button on my phone, disabling cameras for fifteen minutes. Next, I’m quick to disable the gate and open it ever so slightly, enough to squeeze myself through the small gap.
My feet carry me quickly, doing my best to go unnoticed entirely. I hold my breath, the gun in my pocket itching to be used on the bastards my eyes lay on. The guards are by the front door. Two of them are eating; the other two are supposedly working, though that’s not what I’m seeing. All I’m seeing are four incompetent fools being paid for a job they’re failing at.
I can’t pass by them and enter through the main door without killing them, which isn’t an option. Instead, I make my way to the back of the house, my feet soft on the muddy grass. It stopped raining only an hour ago, and the scent of fresh rain still lingers in the air.
With only one option, I sigh and start climbing like I’m some sort of modern Tarzan. Right now, I’m beyond grateful for the little trip Dad sent me on when I was sixteen. Well, he called it a trip. I called it a fucking nightmare.
He sent me to a deserted island with nothing but a knife and a gun with one clip. That’s it. I was there for three weeks and had to learn how to climb up the trees, how to survive in terrible weather conditions, and how to hunt for my own food. It was pure fucking torture, but it gave me life-lasting skills that I wouldn’t have learned otherwise.
There’s not much to grab onto, but somehow, I make it work. At times, I think I have more luck than brains, because who the fuck would be attempting to climb up a balcony of a wealthy politician at three in the morning on a Saturday? It doesn’t help that my shoes are slippery from the mud.
Once I reach the top, I take a deep breath. Quickly, I pull out the small lock-picking set, working as silently as possible to break in. It takes me a while, since I haven’t done this in well over a year, and when I hear a small click, I sigh out in relief.
I take a step inside, leaving the door slightly ajar. This is the second floor, and there are at least two more. Not a single sound could be heard, and even my breathing is as silent as possible. I open every door I see, praying no one’s inside. Most are just bedrooms, bathrooms, or some studies, but they’re rather empty, barely having anything except basic furniture.
Looks like Nelson Adams was in a rush to move here.
The motherfucker could move to Mars, and even there, he won’t escape me.
The third floor is more or less the same; no one’s in sight. At one point, I started wondering if my insights were incorrect. I had people follow Adams discreetly, and they found this place and definitely saw Zoe entering it. I even have images to prove it, with timestamps. She hadn’t left the place until I arrived, meaning she’s somewhere here.
It’s not until I reach the top floor that I halt. There are still no guards around; however, one door is opened ajar, with a lamp flickering on the inside. I push it a little bit more, a soft creaking sound causing me to halt immediately.
“Who’s there?”
She’s here.
Relief floods over me as I take my mask off and step fully into the room, closing the door behind me. I take a quick glance around, being lucky as fuck that she’s alone. It’s a plain bedroom, with a bed, two nightstand tables, and a dresser. Not even a chair, a vanity – nothing.
My eyes flicker to Zoe, and I’m momentarily shocked.
It hasn’t been that long since I’ve last seen her, but she looks even worse. Her hair’s chopped – not cut – chopped. It looks like she’s done it on her own. Her eyes are dull, and I think she’s lost even more weight since I’ve last seen her.
This time, there’s no trace of alcohol or pill bottles, but the stench of vodka fills my nose when I take another step into the room. It’s almost overwhelming. Her pupils are dilated, and she seems to be in a frenzy. Unlike last time, she’s more calm, even in her delirious state, as if she’s been expecting me.
“It’s me,”
I lower my voice, trying not to spook her.
She hugs the silk robe closer to her body, eyes narrowing at me. She glances around, quiet for a couple of minutes before stepping closer to me. There’s something in her deep brown eyes that just makes my heart ache. This girl desperately needs to be out of this place.
“So you came,”
her voice is cracked and husky, and she definitely has a sore throat. “Why did you come?”
I take a step forward. “You know why I came.”
“Let me guess, to persuade me to betray my husband?”
I swallow thickly, trying to rationalize my thoughts before voicing them out. Then I decide that I’m not really a rational person, so fuck it.
“How long have you two been married?”
I ask, careful not to piss her off. Her calling her lapdogs is the last thing I need.
“Not that long,”
she admits.
“How long have you two been an item?”
Zoe halts briefly. “Since I was fifteen.”
“Fifteen–”
I hissed out and stepped back to recollect myself. “Fifteen, Zoe? He’s in his forties, for crying out loud.”
“If you’re here to judge my personal choices, I’d suggest you leave before I scream.”
I’m no fool. This poor woman has been brainwashed into believing her situation is normal. The more I look at her, the more issues I see. Her arms are bruised, her lip has a small cut, and the dark circles under her eyes are massive. None of this is normal, but I can’t tell her that because she won’t listen.
“Look, Zoe,”
I take a small inhale of breath. “I need you to know that… you’re not alone. I’ve helped plenty of people in a similar situation to yours. It’s scary to leave behind everything you thought was right, especially since you were groomed into thinking your husband is a good person. But, I promise you, there are far better things for you out there. A chance to live your life the way you want it.”
Something shifts in her gaze, but it’s gone just as quickly as it came, replaced by the stoic look. Zoe lifts her chin up slightly, looking up at me.
“You don’t know anything about me; you don’t know what I want from life. I love being here.”
“Do you?”
I push a little, trying to see how much she’ll let me, and take a step forward. “Because when I visited last time, you were crying about Nelson killing your loved ones. You’re scared, and I understand that, Zoe, but I’m offering help.”
“And I don’t trust you.”
Right.
Of course she doesn’t.
“I know,”
I sigh. “And I know it will be hard to make a decision. But I’m running out of time here. You know better than anyone else – hell, better than me – just what your husband is up to. You know that there are women suffering at his hand, and somewhere, deep down, you know that you can help them and help yourself by taking the hand I’m extending.”
Zoe takes a step back, swallowing. Her eyes fall to the floor, her shoulders slumping. I don’t dare push my luck anymore and patiently wait for her response. With a quick glance at my wristwatch, I see that I have a little over three minutes before the cameras start working again, and I need to be out before the timer runs out.
“I can’t help them,”
she whispers, head hanging low. “Nobody can.”
“I can.”
Her eyes snap to mine, swelled with tears that she’s trying her best to hold back. Her body trembles, and with a shaky breath, she shakes her head, a lone tear sliding down her cheeks.
“You can’t,”
she says, voice breaking. “You don’t know what he’s capable of doing just to protect that secret. He’ll kill you and everyone you’ve ever known and loved.”
“Yet I’m here,”
I take a small step forward. “I’m in his home for the second time. Not once has he managed to get to me or my loved ones. Don’t worry about me. Be selfish, Zoe. Tell me to help you, and instead of taking my finger, take my whole fucking hand. Be selfish, and get yourself out of here. Use me to escape.”
She shakes her head.
“I can’t. It’s impossible.”
“It’s not impossible.”
She backs away, her mind drifting off. I pull out a small phone from my pocket and toss it on her bed. Her eyes follow the movement, then she sets her attention back to me. Zoe’s eyes narrow, ever so slightly.
“What’s that?”
“A phone. My number’s the only one in the contact list. I trust you’ll keep it hidden. Sleep on it, and if you’re ready to use me, just let me know. I’ll be waiting.”
“You’re putting a lot of trust in a stranger.”
I sigh. “I know. But I need your help just as much as you need mine, Zoe. It will be a mutually beneficial bargain. I get you out; you give me the information I need.”
“I can’t,”
she repeats the words a few times, eyes glued to the phone resting on her bed. She’s conflicted, but I’m running out of time. Somehow, this time, I’m more hopeful. The barrier Nelson has put above her has started cracking. It’s not much, but a single crack is all I need.
“I’ll be waiting for your call, Zoe. Please, be selfish.”