Chapter 37
Chapter
Thirty-Seven
JO
Iwake up to the taste of dust and iron in my mouth. My head pounds, a painful drumbeat that matches the thrum of my heartbeat. I don’t feel like I’ve been out for long, but it must be longer than I thought because I have been moved.
My eyes blink open, and the dim light of the space is immediately confusing.
Long shadows stretch across the walls, uneven and jagged.
I don’t know where I am, but it’s not Sheldon’s apartment.
My pulse jumps when I try to move, and I notice almost immediately that I can’t move.
I look down and see that I am strapped into a parked wheelchair.
My body is pressed against the leather seat, the tension of the restraints sharp against my skin.
My wrists are bound, and so are my arms. My ankles are tethered, and there’s another strap across my midsection.
I try to shrink into the chair, but the restraints prevent even that. Any movement is frustratingly futile.
And then I see that I am not alone. Sheldon is here too. He’s leaning casually against a support beam, the bat still in his hand, the same one that sent me into darkness. I know it’s that one because I can see the faint streak of dried blood on the wood.
“Ah,” he says with exaggerated delight, like he’s savoring a private joke.
“Awake at last. I must say, carrying an unconscious woman out of my apartment might have raised a few eyebrows. But pushing someone in a wheelchair? It doesn’t get a second look.
Most people think you’re just helping an elderly relative or a client with mobility issues. Convenient, isn’t it?”
He sounds proud of himself. I almost can’t believe what I am seeing. I never once imagined Sheldon as the bad guy. It’s not just the fact that he hurt me; it’s the way he looks now … different, so different. Unhinged almost. Like the Sheldon I knew was just a front, a way to hide his inner lunatic.
I try to swallow, but my throat is too dry. “W … where… where are we?” I stutter. My voice sounds small, tight, and brittle. Horribly frightened.
I don’t even suppose it matters where we are, but while he’s talking, he’s not hitting me with his bat.
“An old warehouse,” he replies smoothly, his eyes gleaming with a cold amusement that sends a chill through me. “It belonged to our daddy dearest. It hasn’t been used in ages, though.”
I glance around, and yes, I believe him.
The space is cavernous, steel beams supporting a ceiling that vanishes into shadows.
It definitely could be a warehouse. Dust motes hang in the air, suspended in the weak light from the single overhead bulb.
Crates and broken furniture litter the corners.
My stomach twists when it hits me that he told me the truth about it being a warehouse and also about it not being used anymore.
I hope there are other warehouses nearby, ones still active, ones with people moving around.
I start screaming, the sound shrill and raw, my voice bouncing against the walls.
My throat feels like I am swallowing glass.
“Help me. Somebody. Please,” I yell.
Sheldon’s footsteps echo across the concrete as he comes closer to me.
“Oh, that’s annoying. It must stop.” His voice is casual, even cheerful, like he’s talking about a minor inconvenience.
“Do you know why you may as well stop? Because it won’t help.
This building is soundproof. Every inch of it.
Your pitiful little screams? They won’t go anywhere.
They will only irritate me. And that will be bad for you. ”
I freeze, trying to judge whether he’s lying or not. My gut tells me he’s telling the truth. He didn’t gag me, and he’s careful and precise. If the sound could escape, he would have silenced it before I even had a chance to scream. Still, though, he could be bluffing and I scream again.
“Stop that,” he says, a flicker of impatience in his tone. “I already warned you. It’s grating on my nerves. If you continue, I’ll stop it for you.”
My heart races, and I glance at the bat again. The dried blood glints faintly in the low light. He means it. I stop screaming, my throat feels raw, and my chest is tight. I finally manage to accumulate enough saliva to swallow. It doesn’t help my throat as much as I would have liked it to.
“Why … why are you doing this to me?” I stutter, my voice shaking. “It was only a painting. Now that I know what happened, I won’t be pursuing it further. You’re my stepbrother, Sheldon. We’re family. Axel won’t do anything either. You don’t need to hurt me. This … this isn’t necessary.”
His smile spreads, slow and deliberate. There’s no warmth in it. His smile, in fact, his entire demeanor, reminds me of the Joker from the Batman movies. He is unhinged but in a sane way, as in he is crazy enough to do whatever he needs to do, but clever enough to pull it off.
“Oh, Jo, this has nothing to do with the painting.”
“What do you mean?”
“You finding out about that? Coincidence. Purely coincidence.”
I take a shaky breath, trying to steady myself. “So … if it isn’t about the painting, why are you doing this to me? What do you want?”
He tilts his head, his eyes glinting madly in the half light. “It’s nothing personal. I just want what’s mine. My father’s money. His fortune. And it seems the only way to get it is by going through you.”
“Through me?”
“Yes.” He steps closer, circling me like a predator inspecting his prey.
I watch him as much as I can, but he keeps entering the blind spot behind me as I can’t turn around.
The only thing worse than watching him is not being able to see where he is.
“I’m going to pretend you’ve been kidnapped.
Actually, you have been kidnapped. But I’m not going to let on I know anything about it.
I just need to make sure Axel Rhodes thinks you’re alive, and make sure he’s desperate enough to pay for your return.
And then …” He gestures to the bat, casual and menacing.
“Then I take care of the rest. End you, and the only witness is gone. No one will suspect a thing. I wouldn’t leave a trace. ”
I feel a monstrous fear creep into me. I know he has spent a long time planning the details of how to extricate me from his life. If he kills me, no one will ever find a trace of me. There is one thing he might not have considered though, and I have to work with what I’ve got.
“What makes you think Axel cares about whether I live or die?” I ask. We had Paris, but Sheldon doesn’t know about that. As far as he knows, we hate each other.
“Oh, I see the heated looks, but I don’t expect him to care about you personally.
For him to get his half of the estate, you have to fulfill your part of my dear stepfather’s requirements.
And trust me, he fucking cares about his precious business.
It’s everything to him. He’ll give up his life for it. ”
I choke on a sharp breath. “You can’t … You won’t get away with this.”
He laughs, the sound hollow and cruel. “Oh, but I will,” he says confidently.
“You see, Jo, no one has ever doubted me. Never. I have given no one reason to suspect me of anything other than being the good-for-nothing, harmless stepson. I play my part perfectly. Think about it. You’re pretty astute, but even you liked me and felt sorry for me. ”
I see the cruel precision in his eyes, the calm logic behind his plan, the way he’s already thought everything through.
My chest tightens, the icy cold fingers of fear squeezing my heart, unrelenting.
Because again, he’s right. For the first time in my short life, I feel the stark reality of my own mortality pressing in on me.
“You’re … serious,” I whisper, trembling. “You really think you can get away with killing me?”
“Yes, but believe it or not, I am sorry about that. But it’s got to be done.
The person you have to blame is your father.
If he had not been such a tight bastard.
If he had what is rightfully mine, half for me I would never have to resort to this low-level thuggery.
But as he did not, I have had to take matters into my own hands.
I have planned every last detail,” he says, pacing slowly now, his strides deliberately measured.
He moves back and forth across the concrete floor, the shadows stretching with him, creating a dizzying, hypnotic rhythm.
At least he stays in my line of vision now.
“This has taken a lot of planning. Patience. Patience, Jo, that’s the key to this whole thing. ”
I grip the arms of the wheelchair, my knuckles white, my heart hammering. I try to think of Axel, of my mum, my parents, of anything that gives me strength. But the chaffing restraints, the concrete beneath my boots, the sound of Sheldon’s footsteps … it’s suffocating me.
“You can relax a little for now. You have a few days,” he says finally, leaning casually against the wall, bat in hand. “Axel will want proof you’re alive before he pays your ransom. That’s a precaution. He won’t just send money without it. You’ll be here, safe, for now.”
“Safe?” I echo, my voice trembling with incredulousness. “I … I’m not safe. You’re holding a bat. You just hit me with it.”
“Correct,” he says smoothly, stepping closer.
“And I intend to continue to do so until I get what I want. Every move you make, every thought you think, it’s all irrelevant.
You’re a tool. And tools must be used precisely.
But I will say this. If you behave yourself and do what I tell you to do, then I won’t need to hit you.
And I might even let you have food and water. ”
My pulse is racing, my chest tight, every nerve screaming. The room is cavernous, but Sheldon’s presence fills it completely, swallowing the light and the air. I am afraid that soon, he will swallow my resolve, my will to live.
“You … you’re sick,” I manage, my voice shaking. “This isn’t normal. You can’t do this to me.”
“Normal?” he says, chuckling darkly. “Normal is boring. So is ordinary or expected. And I am neither of those things. Now, Jo, be a good little tool.” He tilts his head, his eyes glinting manically. “You’ll cooperate, won’t you?”
I swallow the lump in my throat unyielding. “I … I’ll survive this,” I whisper.
He laughs again, this one closer, sharper.
“Oh, you’ll survive. For a few days. Long enough for Axel to send me the money.
Long enough for me to get my hands on what is rightfully mine.
Long enough for me to enjoy watching the high and mighty Axel squirm like a worm.
To be honest, I might even enjoy hurting you. ”
He is definitely unhinged. He goes from reassuring me that I won’t get hurt if I cooperate, saying that I am just a means to an end, to saying that he’ll enjoy hurting me.
The speed at which he flips between the two stances is dizzying.
I stare at him, my panic rising, terror slicing through my mind in a cold, precise wave.
I’m trapped. Utterly helpless. The air feels thick.
My wrists ache against the straps, my stomach knots painfully as a wave of nausea grips me.
I swallow it down. The last thing I need to do is end up covered in vomit.
He circles me once more, each step a calculated beat, like a metronome of my impending doom.
“Look at you,” he says softly, almost tenderly.
“Your eyes, my father’s eyes, open wide, your pulse racing, your hands tied.
So terrified. And yet, no one suspects me.
No one would ever suspect me. I’ve been this way all my life.
Smooth. Calculated. Invisible until the moment it matters.
I mean, you can hardly blame me. All my life, my mother promised me that when the old man died, I would be left with a fair inheritance.
I believed her. It never crossed my mind that I wouldn’t get my share of the estate, but then, you came along, the sweet-talking golden girl who’s never even shown her face until there was a pot of gold to claim.
” His voice becomes a frightening growl.
“And you take what should have been mine. You bitch!”
I close my eyes for a second, trying to force my fear down, to focus on anything other than the bat, the warehouse, the shadows, the knowledge that my life might end in the next few days. He is jumping from point to point and I can’t keep up.
“You have a few days,” he repeats, his voice low and satisfied. “A few days to think about how selfish you have been, to wait. Enjoy it, Jo. Savor the fear. It’s exquisite, isn’t it?”
Sheldon has really lost it. And he terrifies me.