33. Alex
Chapter thirty-three
Alex
I woke up to blood-curdling screams. I have never shot up so fast in my bed ever. Rachel was kicking and screaming next to me in bed. She was sweating like crazy and hyperventilating.
Then I heard, “No, Andrew, please don’t.” In a soft whimper. A complete contrast to the screaming I woke up to. I have to wake her up. She doesn’t deserve to live through that nightmare over and over again. Andrew is fucking dead; he shouldn’t be haunting her dreams.
“Rachel, wake up. Please wake up,” I say, softly shaking her arm. She stirs but doesn’t wake up.
“Wake up, Rachel! Wake up!” I yell, shaking her harder. Her eyes spring open with fear.
I soothe her and talk her through the dream. The whole time she is telling me how Andrew used her and how she was nothing but a fuck toy for him. I had to keep my temper in check. My jaw ticked with anger as she kept crying into my chest. I am so pissed that she had to go through that, and there was nothing I could do. If Andrew weren’t already dead, I would have him chained up in a warehouse at my mercy. I would make his death slow and painful. I would make him hurt a million times worse than he hurt Rachel. By the time I was done with him, he would be begging me for death.
I calmed Rachel down, and she fell back asleep. But I was so worked up that sleep was a thing of the past for me, given how much adrenaline ran through my body. I hit the gym I had set up in my garage to handle my anger. A little exercise should help my issues with a man who is six feet under. I wish I were the one to send him there, but the job is done.
I start off my workout with a three-mile run on the treadmill. I turn on 80s music as loud as I can. Thank god I decided to make this room soundproof. I run three miles in less than ten minutes, pushing my legs harder than ever. I want to feel the burn in my muscles; I need to be sore and unable to walk tomorrow.
After my run, I go to the bench press and lift for an hour. At this point, all of my muscles are shaking and screaming at me to stop. But I keep pushing; I have to push myself further than ever. Honestly, my mood hadn’t changed by the time I finished. I am just sweaty and pissed now. This is lovely.
I walk upstairs to my room, making sure not to wake Rachel in the process. I shower, let the hot water soothe my aching muscles, and contemplate what I must do. Olivia is still not home, and I haven’t gotten a single text or call from her. I am trying to think of anything I know about the San Diego Police Department and their stakeouts. Do they usually take this long? Do they have no signal? My mind starts to come up with questions that are getting absolutely absurd because my anxiety is getting into the mix. I finally wash up and get out of the shower. Wrapping a soft white towel around my waist, I head to the closet, half-ass dry off the water, and then put on a plain white T-shirt and grey sweatpants.
I head down to the living room and make a cup of coffee. I put the pod in the machine and clicked the start button. I pull out my phone and call Olivia before letting my thoughts go dark. You never know what is going on; she could just be at the office, busy with paperwork or something. I hit the call button for Olivia’s name, and the phone went straight to voicemail. Well Fuck. My thoughts start to swim around my head, and none are positive.
I then checked her social media to see if she had been online.
Nothing.
I noticed a post from a guy named Oliver saying, “10 days until my twin’s birthday.” Hmm, I didn’t know she had a brother, let alone a twin.
I pulled up his profile, and sure enough, he looked like the male version of Olivia, from the Auburn hair to the blue-green eyes. They even have the same smile. It's kinda creepy. I messaged him to ask if he had heard from Olivia recently, explaining our situation and why I was worried about her. I ended the message with my phone number so he could call me.
I click send and stare at the message, waiting for him to read it.
It is the middle of the night; there is no way this man will reply right now, but I can’t tear my eyes away from that little delivered message.
Sure enough, not even ten minutes later, I saw the message change from 'delivered' to 'read,' and my phone rang.
“Hello,” I say.
“Are you Alex?” He says, you can hear the no-shit attitude in his voice.
“Yeah, I am glad you called. I was wondering if you have heard from your sister. I texted her yesterday, and she hasn’t opened the message, called, or done anything else since she left my house yesterday morning.” I know he can hear the desperation in my voice, and I truthfully don’t give a shit; I am fucking desperate.
You could hear his heavy breathing on the other end of the phone, which made my heart race even more. “No, I haven’t heard from her, but I have a bad gut feeling about this. Let me call my dad to see if he has heard from her, and I will call you back.” He hung up before I could reply.
Well, that didn’t fucking calm my nerves. I am now panicking as I pace around the house, my hands sweating as I impatiently wait for Oliver’s call. I check my phone every three seconds, as if it will magically start ringing.
As much as I want to wake Rachel up and tell her what's happening, she's had enough problems this morning with her nightmare. I do not want to cause her more stress. I'm not even sure if there's something wrong with Olivia.
My phone finally starts ringing, pulling me out of my head. I dive headfirst towards my counter to get to my phone. I slipped on the tile and had to catch myself before my face hit the counter.
“Hello,” I say, completely out of breath. Fucking smooth, Alex. I smack my forehead with my palm.
“Hey, It’s Oliver. I talked to my dad and have good and bad news.”
“Spit it out, Oliver!” I say this a little too harshly because of the terrible scenarios running through my head at this very moment.
“Well, the good news is that Olivia is alive and okay—for now.” Oliver’s voice cracked slightly, and you could hear the nerves running through him.
“Okay. Oliver, please. For the love of god. Spit it out; my nerves are shot, and I can’t handle half information!”
“Okay, okay. The notorious Los Como Cartel Drug Lord has her held captive.” As the words come out of his mouth, my heart sinks. I feel sick to my stomach, I can’t breathe, and my heart stops mid-beat.
“What do you mean, Los Como captures her?” I say as I grab the edge of the counter to steady myself. This can't be happening. What would my grandfather want with her?
“What I am saying is, Lopez García has her. He called my dad to taunt him about having Olivia because my dad refused to participate in the skin trade. My dad has refused this offer for as long as I can remember, and now he is using Olivia as leverage to get my dad to do what he wants.” My mind starts to tune out what Oliver is saying, and all I can think about is that my grandfather has Olivia, and there's no telling what he's doing to her or allowing to be done to her. His stupid men are just as nasty as he is.
My mind is spinning, but one thing is absolutely clear.
Olivia is with my grandfather.
And I will fucking get her back.
I focus on Oliver again when he says, “I am getting a plane ready to go. I will be there in five hours. Send me your address, and I will come by, and we will figure out a plan.” Oliver says.
“Send me your flight information. I’ll pick you up there. Before we meet, I need to make some phone calls. If this is where Olivia is, we are going to need men—lots of men. Do you have any in this area or ones you can get to come this way?” My mind is coming up with different plans and outcomes.
“Yeah, I will get them to come that way. I’ll let them know what the plan is when we have one. See you in a couple of hours.” Oliver hangs up the phone, and I am left to think.