Chapter 32
Lacey
M y grip tightens around the steering wheel as the two men approach my car.
The first thing I notice is how stiff they both are. They don’t seem at ease for some reason. Best way I could describe it is their movements lack fluidity.
My pulse quickens when the taller officer comes to a standstill near the driver’s side of my car and taps on my window. I inhale a sharp breath before lowering the glass to talk to him.
“Evening, miss. Sorry to bother you. We saw you leaving the club earlier. We just wanted to make sure you hadn’t been drinking.”
It makes sense. They’re trying to save lives by preventing a bunch of wasted kids from taking the wheel, but for a reason I can’t pinpoint, their explanation doesn’t settle my nerves.
“I haven’t had a drop of alcohol all night,” I answer.
Only then do I drink in their appearance.
The taller cop has a dark, thick beard. I take a moment to assess his uniform and instantly notice that the patches on it are poorly stitched. Not only that, the color seems a little off. Washed out, even.
I can’t see the other officer much because there are close to no streetlights on this road, but he’s standing behind his colleague with his hands in his pocket. He keeps glancing around, shifting his weight from one leg to the other.
“Glad to hear it. Then you won’t mind stepping out of the vehicle and walking a straight line for us, will you?”
The warning bells I’d ignored earlier explode in volume, becoming harder to ignore. Something isn’t right here.
I don’t know what the hell is happening, but every nerve in my body is screaming at me not to get out of that car.
God, what if I’m crazy and these guys are just doing their job? Then I’ll get in trouble for not complying.
I force a smile. “That won’t be necessary, will it?”
The tall man’s eyes flash with irritation. He restores his poker face in no time but not quickly enough.
“I’m afraid it will. We’re not taking any chances with that sort of thing,” he argues.
“Why don’t I just give you my license and registration? Isn’t that what you guys usually do? That or maybe you can run my plates. You’ll see that I’ve never driven under the influence in my life,” I suggest.
The fact that I had to ask them to check my license raises another red flag.
“Miss, I won’t ask you again. Step out of the vehicle, please.”
That’s what does it for me. I don’t care if these guys really are cops. I feel unsafe.
“Fine. Just let me turn off the music first,” I say before grabbing my phone. I select my music app and pause my playlist, but what they don’t know is that I’m also using the Emergency SOS feature on my phone and triple-pressing the side button to call 911.
The screen immediately displays a countdown, informing me that the call will be initiated in a few seconds.
“All right, now out of the car,” the man insists, and I don’t like his tone.
“On second thought, could I see your badge number? You can never be too careful,” I say, desperate to buy myself some time.
The irritation on his face morphs into raw anger, his eyes burning with malice. It’s clear he’s had enough of my arguing, and he lifts his arm to his chin to rub his beard, as if in an attempt to keep his temper in check.
That’s when I see it.
The broken skull tattoo on his forearm.
Images of that night Sierra nearly got taken flash in front of my eyes. I’ve seen that tattoo before. On one of the men trying to take her. The truth crashes into me like a meteorite.
These men aren’t cops.
My body springs into action so fast my brain couldn’t possibly keep up, my hand flying to the gear to push the shift into drive. I only realize the man’s steps ahead of me when I hear him shout, “Oh, I don’t think so,” next to me.
The next thing I know, my window’s shattering into a million pieces, and a hand is wrapped around my throat, squeezing it so tight the air is snuffed out of my lungs.
Pure panic surges through my entire body, and I open my mouth to scream, but I can barely get out a sound. My hands immediately fly to his, and I dig my nails into his flesh as hard as I can, clawing at him for dear life, but he doesn’t let go.
“You meddling little bitch,” the man spits, disgust lacing his voice.
It all goes down in a matter of seconds, but my struggle seems to last an eternity. He’s too fucking strong, and it quickly becomes clear the only way I’ll make it out of here alive is by getting help. I let go of the disgusting hand choking me and start to feel around my car for my phone. It was right here a second ago, but I dropped it when he started choking me.
“We have to go,” the second man rushes his dirtbag buddy along, and the man suffocating me releases me for a second and loops his hand inside the car to try and locate the lock button on the door.
I don’t think twice, gathering every bit of energy into my body and screaming, “Help!” at the top of my lungs. I’ve initiated the 911 call. I have no idea where my phone is, but it’s in the car, and that means they’ll hear me. Not that there’s much they can do about it right now.
The click of the doors unlocking makes my heart drop to my stomach. I’m still screaming bloody murder when Fake Cop Number One throws the driver’s door open and begins trying to yank me out of the car.
“You didn’t really think we wouldn’t get you back for fucking everything up, did you, little girl? Six months of grooming, wasted because of you. Now, you’re going to pay us back.”
Little girl.
That’s what the message from the unknown number said.
It was them.
They were threatening me, trying to scare me, and I brushed it off instead of taking it seriously. I didn’t even tell anyone.
Fuck.
I’m putting up the fight of my life, kicking and screaming, but it doesn’t deter him. Good thing is I’m still wearing my seat belt, which makes pulling me out a tad more difficult.
“Get your ass over here,” Fake Cop Number One yells at his accomplice.
Fake Cop Number Two rushes over to the other side of my car and yanks the door open, quickly undoing my seat belt.
Then he’s pulling me out by my hair, dragging me to the cop car—which I’m sure is fake—parked behind us. I should’ve known better. I know some kidnappers use this tactic from all the true crime documentaries I used to watch. The fake cop car is the perfect way to get a woman to comply.
I’m fighting him tooth and nail with no success when I see another man, one I hadn’t seen until now, climb out of the car and run over to the back to pop the trunk open.
“Hurry the fuck up!” a familiar voice urges.
I don’t need to get a look at his face to know the third stranger participating in my kidnapping isn’t a stranger at all.
He’s the man I trusted enough to tell where I would be tonight.
The man I used to think I had feelings for.
Aaron.
It’s still pouring rain, and if it wasn’t, they’d be able to see the tears gushing down my face like a river.
Fuck, this can’t be happening.
Was Aaron my version of Sierra’s Gabriel?
The bait?
The pretty face luring me in?
Sierra started talking with Gabriel a year ago, long before Aaron showed up as Theo’s new roommate, so I’m guessing sending him to infiltrate our lives was the next part of their plan.
First step was securing the target—i.e., my underage sister. Second step was sending one of their guys in to gather intel, such as whether or not the victim had friends they could target as well. Maybe even distract the parents, in this case me , if needed.
Just like that, memories of all the conversations Aaron and I had about my family travel to the forefront of my mind. I used to think he was sweet for being interested in my backstory, when all along, he was playing a part.
How could I be so blind?
A million thoughts are racing in my head, but I figure I’ll have plenty of time to beat myself up for not seeing it sooner if I make it out of here. First, I have to find a way to make sure I don’t end up as another one of these missing girls.
The men drag me to the trunk in spite of my best efforts, and I rack my brain for a way out of this nightmare. The two men push me closer to the trunk, and I miraculously get a shot at one of them, elbowing him straight in the face. Blood begins gushing out of his nose instantly, and he groans in pain, cursing me out in a language I don’t understand.
His face is covered in blood, but it doesn’t slow them down, and I have no other choice but to face the impending truth.
I can’t fight two grown men, let alone three. If these monsters want to take me, do God knows what to me, and sell me to the highest bidder, there’s nothing I can do to stop them.
I don’t think I’ve ever screamed harder than when they manage to shove me inside the trunk.
And I don’t think I’ve ever cried harder than when the man I love appears out of nowhere and throws himself at the two bastards out to ruin my life.
He’s here.
TJ’s here.
I don’t know why, but he is. And he’s doing the exact same thing he did the night Sierra almost got taken, proving to me just how wrong I used to be about him.
The two men are completely blindsided for a moment, and TJ uses their surprise to his advantage, driving his fist into the side of Fake Cop Number One’s head with so much strength we hear something crack.
The man immediately drops to the ground, unconscious, and I jump out of the opened trunk, aiming to run to my car to make sure the cops are on their way while TJ takes on Fake Cop Number Two.
“Get her!” the man grappling with TJ screams at Aaron, and Mr. Traitor doesn’t miss a beat, running after me and intercepting me just as I’m about to reach my car.
His hand circles my throat roughly from behind, and he manages to overpower me by digging his nails into my neck like he’s trying to cut me open.
“Sorry, Lace, can’t let you do that. We’ve worked too hard on this one,” Aaron whispers in my ear before burying his nose in my hair and breathing me in like the lying, manipulative psychopath he truly is. “Now, be a good girl and get in the fucking car.”
All I can do is scream as he hauls me to the fake cop car. TJ, who’s still wrestling the same guy, looks in my direction when I do, and the man fighting him pulls out a gun while he’s distracted.
“TJ!” I let out a bloodcurdling scream.
TJ realizes what’s happening just in time to catch the man’s wrist in midair and stop him from shooting. The fucker cries out in pain when TJ manages to disarm him by twisting his wrist so hard the gun slips out of his hand and under the cop car.
The man cocks his fist back and punches TJ in the jaw the next second. TJ’s knees buckle, but he manages to keep upright.
Only, as soon as he finds his balance, the man’s coming at him again, delivering an uppercut TJ didn’t anticipate.
That’s enough to send him plummeting to the ground, and the man doesn’t waste a second straddling him to pummel his face with strong blows.
Meanwhile, Aaron is forcing me toward the car, my resistance faltering with every passing moment. Thrashing is clearly not going to cut it. I need a weapon. Anything that might help me escape him.
Think, Lacey.
The answer hits me like an avalanche.
I might not have a weapon, but I do have my keys.
My car has a push-to-start button, and I used to lose my keys all the time because of it. I’d end up tossing them on the passenger seat or in the center console and either forget they were there and lock myself out of the car, or they’d slide out underneath the seat.
Since then, I’ve picked up the habit of keeping them in my coat pocket and then zipping it up. That way, I know where they are at all times. I just need to get Aaron distracted long enough to fish them out of my coat.
“I can’t believe you’re a part of this. How can you live with yourself?” I choke out, my hand snaking down toward my pocket.
“No hard feelings, Mattson. There isn’t much we don’t do to get our hands on those underage virgins,” Aaron says.
Disgust makes my stomach churn. The rain intensifies the next second, thunder booming in the distance, and I use the noise to undo the zipper of my coat without him noticing.
A sob rips from my throat. “Why are you doing this?”
My only advantage is the element of surprise here. I can’t mess this up.
“You would, too, for that kind of money,” Aaron hisses, leaning forward as his hand tightens around my throat.
“Motherfucker!” I hear Fake Cop Number Two shout on my right, and Aaron looks in his direction.
Now .
I grip one of my keys between my fingers, muster up all my strength, and jam the key straight into Aaron’s eye as soon as he turns his head. A little savage, maybe, and I have no doubt it could get me into a world of trouble, but I don’t care about that right now. All I care about is my freedom.
It does the trick, causing Aaron to release me as he screams out in agony, covering his eye with his hands as blood trickles between his fingers.
My focus shifts to TJ, who appears to be well in control of the situation. He’s the one straddling the man now and beating him to a pulp.
Then I hear them.
The police sirens.
The distant wail fills my chest with relief, panic losing its hold on me as the sirens grow louder. I’m stupid enough to hope that the worst is behind us.
Until I hear TJ gasp for air.
I scream as I watch his body go stiff as the man beneath him twists something into his stomach. Then, the man lets out a bone-chilling laugh.
The rain is coming down in sheets now, and I can’t see exactly what’s happening. But the grunt of pain that escapes my boyfriend as he falls backward slices into me like a thousand blades.
The man who was previously on the ground lifts to his feet with a groan of pain and steps over TJ like he’s a piece of garbage. I watch as he heads for Aaron, who’s still holding his eye and bellowing in pain.
“Get in!” The man leads Aaron to their getaway car, throws the door open, and helps Aaron into the back seat.
The roar of the engine and the screech of the tires echo in the dead of the night, but my eyes don’t stray from TJ.
From his motionless body.
I race over to him, my heart pounding against my ribs when I drop to my knees by his side. He’s conscious, but barely, his eyes threatening to close as a dark puddle of blood seeps through his shirt.
I can barely see him through the tears. “No, no, no. TJ, you’re going to be fine, okay? I promise. You’re going to be just fine.”
I remove my coat and bunch it up to try and apply pressure to his stab wound. Only it doesn’t stop the bleeding at all.
There’s so much blood.
So fucking much.
A sob makes my lips tremble. “Oh, God, TJ. What do I do? I don’t know what to do. I can’t…”
He looks drained, his skin pale as snow, but he manages to grip my wrist as if to calm me down.
“Why did you follow me?” I’m practically screaming at him now, and I know that’s not the right thing to do, but I can’t get a handle on my emotions. “Did you know this would happen?”
TJ musters up every ounce of energy he has left and shakes his head.
God, please don’t take him, too.
The police sirens are close now, but I’m not sure just how much the police will be able to do for him.
“Then why? Why’d you follow me?” I shout.
His dark eyes plunge into mine, his grip on my wrist loosening as he inhales a shaky breath. I grab his hand and squeeze, refusing to accept what’s happening. Then he whispers six little words I’m afraid will follow me to my grave.
“You hate driving in the rain.”
And he’s right.
I hate driving in the rain.
And when TJ’s hand goes limp in mine, his eyes closing…
I know I always will.