29
I scramble to put my shorts and panties on as Cormac arrives, runs to the cupboard under the stairs, and returns carrying firearms. “Blackadder’s fuckers are on their way,” Cormac stresses, tossing a firearm to Blake and another to Gabe.
“They got wind about…” Blake glances at me, zipping up my shorts. “Crow and Blackadder is fucking mad.”
Gabe checks the firearm over to make sure it’s loaded. “We expected this,” he says calmly and in control, then turns to me. “Do you know where the saferoom is?”
“Yeah, but can’t help you?” I protest because I don’t want to be left alone.
“No, Rae, you’re not getting hurt on my watch,” he presses, pointing toward the door so I can hurry up and leave.
“You survived the fire, Rae,” Blake adds, buzzing full of adrenaline, kissing me on the cheek and a light smack on the butt, “and that made him mad; now he’s fucking fuming because we knocked off his pal.”
“The stupid loser,” Cormac chimes in, “underestimated us if he thinks we’re gonna sit around and take it from them after they tried to kill you.”
“You need to be protected, Rae,” Gabe asserts. “It’s you he’s after because you can testify against him if it ever goes to court. So, he wants you gone.” He nods toward the stairs. “Go. We’re not going to let him near you.”
I walked away from my men, glancing out the living room window to see if anyone was out there, and I couldn’t see anything out of place. I pause and glance back while the boys are in the throes of discussing their plan. “Gabe, the code.”
“Huh?” his brow furrows.
“The code on the saferoom. It’s locked, and I don’t know the code,” I state as the sound of a vehicle comes down the road. I look out the living room window again, only to find it’s a neighbor’s car.
“It’s your birthday,” Gabe replies with warmth in his eyes.
“My birthday?” I ask, mystified.
“I had it built for you two years after…you know. I knew you’d need it someday, and here we are. I used your birthday as the code,” he explains flatly, twinkling eyes.
I smile, feeling chuffed. Gabe built me a saferoom, knowing I would need it one day, and the code was my birthday. Nothing screams love like a saferoom. Okay, that’s a joke, but I’m taking it as a compliment and confirmation that he loves me, even though I haven’t heard it spoken from those lips.
“We’ll come to you when we’re done,” Gabe calls after me. Make sure it’s locked and secured, and don’t leave that room until we give you the all-clear.”
“Okay,” I sigh, walking away only to feel a hand grab my wrist, pulling me into his chest. Gabe’s mouth possesses mine, longingly, a kiss to outdo all kisses, laced with hunger and protection.
“You belong to us,” he whispers, “and I’m not letting anyone take you away from me.”
He pulls away as I gaze past his impressive body to Cormac, looking at me under his eyelashes. I run to him, and he hugs me tight, burying his face in the curve of my neck. “Don’t die, Cormac.”
He chuckles, “Seriously, Rae, they ain’t seen nothing yet.”
I wave to Blake; strangely, it feels like a final farewell, even though it’s not. I will see them again; I know I will.
I hope.
Hastily and trembling, I open the cupboard door under the stairs under a serenade of the boys yelling directions to one another, conducting their plans. I shut the door behind me and step to the saferoom, press my birthday into the keypad, and the thick steel door snaps open.
The space is about the size of a bathroom with a comfortable armchair in the corner, a small fridge, a gas element used for camping, a pile of magazines resting on the floor next to the chair, and a box containing cans and packets of food. There’s probably two weeks’ worth of food here for a single person.
The thick steel door shuts behind me, and the air conditioning switches on automatically, filling the warm space with cool air. I grab the blanket draped over the back of the armchair and wrap it around my shoulders.
The small space is soundproof, so I can’t hear anything outside; unfortunately, I think it's the worst. There are only three of them against; I don’t know how many men Blackadder has. What if he arrives with twelve men armed with military-style weapons or a tank and drives right into the front of the house? The house might be demolished around me, and I won’t know until I take a peek outside. Not yet, because I’ve only been in here for like… My phone is upstairs, but a small digital clock on the wall tells me I’ve been in here for only a minute.
I hate small spaces, and small spaces without windows are even worse. I flip open the fridge and take out a bottle of spring water and a can of Coke. Even though I’m not hungry, I find a raspberry dark chocolate bar, rip open the packet, snap off a bite-sized piece, and shive it into my mouth. The tart, bitter, sweet taste is quite invigorating but makes me thirsty, so I guzzle down some water.
It’s too quiet, and I’m tempted to peek outside. How long have I been here? According to the digital clock. Six minutes. Fuck.
I grab a magazine and flip it open to do a crossword, only to find that I don’t have a pen, so I hurl it at the wall in dismay. “Should’ve thought of that first, Gabe.”
The magazine underneath is a gossip rag with Blake Lively on the cover, so I fall into that garbage at the risk my IQ might drop. There’s a seductive pic of Sydney Sweeney, and I think of Zara since Sydney is her crush, and I wish I had my phone to message her. I quickly grow bored with the gossip mag, throw that at the wall with the other one, and crack open the can of Coke. I’ll clean up the mess later.
I guzzle down half a can, burp, snap off another piece of chocolate, and suck it until it’s a thin wedge in my mouth before chewing the rest down. Resting my head on the headrest of the armchair, I stare up at the air conditioning grate, hoping time will vanish quickly if I pretend to meditate. It doesn’t work that well.
Check the clock. Ten minutes have passed since I last looked. Fuck. This is torture. I try to sleep away my misery, but the caffeine and sugar from the Coke are making me wired, not relaxed. To exert some of this excess energy, I attempt a handstand and lean my legs against the wall to let blood run down to my head. Then I push off from the wall, and as I land, I whack my foot on the corner of the fridge and swear like a pirate.
It’ll bruise, but it looks like a superficial gash, so I press the cold can of Coke on it to ease the swelling.
An hour has passed, and my bladder is full of Coke, and I desperately need to use the bathroom. There’s a plastic camping toilet under the armchair that I hadn’t noticed earlier, but I’d rather use the main bathroom and grab my phone from upstairs. I pace back and forth, trying to hold on as much as I can, before I find the courage to open the thick steel door, expecting to be greeted with gunfire.
Instead, it’s deadly quiet, which is worse than gunfire. Does it mean they’re dead, lying in a pool of their blood? Does silence mean that Blackadder has won?
I open the cupboard door and poke my head out, but I cannot see or hear anyone, so I assume they’ve left the house. Running into the downstairs bathroom opposite, I lock the door, pull down my panties, and sigh when I relieve myself. I pause to flush but decide it’s a bad idea if someone is in the house; they’d hear it.
Stalling when I hear a scraping sound, I refrain from unlocking the door immediately until I hear it again. It seems to be coming from outside, maybe bush scraping against the wall, even though it’s not windy. This isn’t helping my nerves, but I can’t stay here forever.
Carefully, I unlock the bathroom door and open it a crack to peer out. I can’t see anyone but hear faint footsteps moving quickly across a soft surface like a rug. Looking both ways down the hallway, I take my chances and race across the hall, back into the cupboard, locking the saferoom door behind me.
I landed with relief in the armchair, only to propel back up again when something dug into my backside. My Glock. The barrel glistened from being inside me, covered in my juice. My heart races. Someone retrieved my Glock from the kitchen and crept into here when I was in the bathroom.
I’m not alone, and it evokes mixed feelings. If the boys are treading about silently, does that mean Blackadder is here too, or at least his cronies, since he rarely gets his hands dirty? My feet want to move to release this pent-up energy, so I pace back and forth several times before I’m tempted to do another handstand, although I immediately talk myself out of it.
Pressing my ear against the thick steel door, I tentatively listen to a sign that my boys are still alive and well—all three of them. I need them to survive this. Naturally, I can’t hear a damn thing, which is the point of an insulated saferoom. I hold my Glock in my hand and wonder if this is a sign that they need more manpower; although it’ll be womanpower, really, an extra gun would be handy.
I’m tempted to unlock the door and step out again, but Gabe’s voice in my head warns against it. He built the saferoom for me to stay alive, and he wouldn’t be happy if I risked my life and played the hero. But I will go mad if I spend another hour in this windowless room.
Another hour passes, and I’ve thrown back a second can of Coke, finished the rest of the chocolate bar, and am currently eyeing up the packet of Oreos. There are packets of noodles, cans of casseroles, and vegetables, but I notice there are no saucepans to cook them in, so if I had to stay in here for days, I’d be eating them cold. Actually, there’s no can opener or utensils here either.
Jeez, Gabe, do you want me to starve? Oreos and chocolate bars will have to sustain me for the next however long I have to stay in hell.
I relax in the armchair again, wishing I had my laptop to work on assignment while I have so much time to spend here. I stare again at the air conditioning grate as cool air floats in, and my eyes close. My mind wanders onto my boys, and the times we’ve spent together. It started with Blake selling me a gun, and now I’m in a safe room under the stairs of Gabe’s house.
A smile stretches across my face when I reminisce about the good times with the sullen Cormac, who scolded me for being a dick in the swimming pool. That’s how we met, oblivious that we had a strong link– Gabe, the detective, and his father. A mere coincidence? I doubt it.
I can still feel Gabe between my legs. Blake was there only a few hours before, and then there was lovely Cormac, who held me in his arms at night and whispered how much he liked me. So cute.
With these pleasing thoughts filling my head, I drift off to a light sleep, aware of my environment but venturing into another realm in my brain into the future. Where will this relationship take us? Do we have a future? The thought of another woman putting their hands on my man leaves me cold. But am I being selfish, wanting three men to be completely loyal and exclusive with me? I refuse to share them with another girl, but I’m expecting them to get used to me being shared among the three of them. Does it make a hypocrite?
So many thoughts circle obsessively in my mind. But what if they die at the hands of Blackadder? My body tense at the thought of it. If Blackadder kills them, I promise to hunt him down and make him pay for his crimes. I had a plan before the boy came into my life, and I will continue to pursue it to the bloody end.
I snap my eyes open at the sound of someone entering the code into the keypad on the other side of the door. With my gun in my hand, I rise to my feet to meet my fate.
The door clicks open, and I point the gun at the face covered in a ski mask as their eyes smile at me. “Rae, it’s me, Cormac,” he says, removing the mask.
“Oh my gosh,” I lunge toward him for a hug, but he holds his palm out to stop me.
“We bought you a special visitor,” he says proudly, stepping back to allow someone else behind him to step forward.
Blackadder.
The one and only. Blood spots on his white collar, streaming from his nose,
Gabe and Blake have him by his scruff, arms wrenched behind his back and forced to step toward me. I look into the eyes of the man who made my life hell, who ran a grooming gang, filmed the rapes, and on the edge of death, he’s smirking at me like he still has a hold over me.
“Who was she?” I ask the question that has been bothering me for a while. Who was holding the camera filming my rapes and her face finally appeared to me, and I needed to know. “Who was that woman who filmed my rape?”
He rolls his eyes as blood spills from his mouth, splattering onto his shirt as he tries to wrestle with Gabe and Blake, who have him in a hold. “The stupid bitch is dead.”
“What’s her name?” I drill, using every ounce of courage to look him unflinchingly in the eyes that hold pure evil. He hesitates, so I raise my voice. “Name?”
He rolls his eyes as if he’s in control, king of the world, arrogance personified. This creep thinks he is so untouchable that even on death’s door, he believes that we don’t dare to kill him.
I lean forward so my face is only an inch away from his, and strangely, I feel nothing being this close to him. I have often imagined this moment a thousand times and expected to be intimidated or shaky. Instead, I’m numb.
“I enjoyed killing your rapist friends,” I say in a casual tone. “Shooting Johann Strang, line back in the Crows was my greatest buzz and accomplishment.” I bat my eyelashes. “It was a work of art the way his head exploded like watermelon…boom.”
The simmering expression on his face is remarkably satisfying as he sucks in his mouth, grinding his teeth before firing out a hunk of bloody spit that lands on my face and dribbles down my cheek as he laughs evilly. That laugh rings in my ears. I’ve heard it before when they held me down and placed hands around my throat while demanding that I enjoy what they have planned for me.
Something stirs inside of me. Blackadder is the last name on my list, and it all ends now.
“Fuck you!” I shrill, raise my gun to his forehead, and squeeze the trigger.