Chapter 32
THIRTY-TWO | KATE
Trails of my tears sear my fevered cheeks, enough that I think—if I make it out of this alive—I’ll have permanent burn scars on my face.
Another reminder that danger is inescapable.
Tied to me in a way I’ll never understand.
I’m a magnet, somehow always sucking it in with my pull.
I fight to lick my lips again. The bitter taste of the duct tape adhesive is already filling my mouth.
Zip ties bind my wrists to the arms of the metal chair and my ankles to the legs.
I’m powerless, but that’s the point. This is the second time I have found myself in this chair and in this room.
The first was when Preston found me in the tunnels.
Now it's the man who created him holding my life in his hands.
I know why they use metal chairs now. They are easy to clean. Sturdy. Cold in a way that makes me think they keep them in a freezer before use, so that insufferable chill soaks into your flesh and penetrates your bones. I doubt it makes the torture any less painful.
I’m trembling profusely, trying to refrain from letting the muted sobs from leaving my taped lips.
I wouldn’t doubt Arden to make good on his promise and impale my vocal cords if I make too much noise.
But in this case, it would be with a bullet instead of the butter knife he threatened me with at dinner before stabbing my arm with an unknown injection.
I’ve been in here for hours. Falling in and out of consciousness until the nightmare decided to be a solid thing I couldn’t rid myself of.
I almost miss the oblivion tugging me under to pass the time.
At first, everything was hazy and blurry when I came into consciousness before I was dragged under again.
Then I fully woke, realizing I was bound, with my mouth taped to keep me from talking.
The weight missing from my neck had dread filling my stomach almost as much as the livid and brooding man sitting in the chair across from mine.
At some point, Arden removed the chain from my neck that held the tracker.
Then my eyes would meet his, still black and lifeless compared to the warm whisky I had grown accustomed to in our brief interactions.
The plastic zip ties dig into my skin enough that I can see the marks forming. My ass is numb, along with my limbs, from being immobile for this long. My chest is still heaving, my eyes puffy, but I’m exhausted from fighting the restraints.
At first, he found it amusing. Arden’s been lounging in a chair across from mine, with his Glock rested on his thigh. He hasn’t said a word, keeps glancing at the clock on the wall, waiting.
Patiently.
Calmly, though I know there’s a violent war raging inside him that he won't let me see.
He peeks at the clock again and grabs the handgun from his thigh, his finger dancing near the trigger.
Arden is going to shoot me, and I’m not sure why.
There’s so much lingering in the crevices about this family that I can’t reach.
I can’t say that I’m not still curious about what they think I’m tied to.
Their past somehow bleeds into everything they do.
Someone wronged them, and I can’t help but feel like it has to do with Preston’s mom and his sister, Arden’s wife and daughter.
Just because I slept with Preston doesn’t give me a free pass to learn the things that mark their hearts. Those truths take time.
Now I may never find out.
A bang reverberating off the cold concrete walls has my eyes slamming shut. My scream is muffled behind the tape, my pulse accelerating to dangerous levels that could kill me alone.
The air shifts, more tension pulling at the already suffocating room. My eyes slowly peek open, landing on a pair of bourbon ones that inject a little warmth back into my limbs.
Preston’s large frame is paused in the doorway. His frantic eyes lock onto mine. The bang was the metal door slamming into the concrete wall as he barged into the room.
He meets his father’s gaze, Preston’s voice raspy in that way that I usually love, but now it adds an extra dose of terror. “What are you doing with her?”
Arden’s eyes keep me hostage. I fight to squirm. “I should ask you the same thing. Considering you’ve known this entire time that she’s been our fucking mole.”
Surprise transforms Preston’s features, his dark brows furrowing. He shakes his head, a slight tremble to his usually stable tone. “She isn’t.”
“No?” Arden stands and reaches under his chair, grabs a manila folder, and tosses it at Preston’s feet like a Frisbee.
Some of the papers inside fan out across the floor. My eyes dart between the two men.
“I didn’t raise you to be this negligent.
Or to lie for pussy.” Preston’s jaw flexes at his father’s harsh words.
“About a week ago, something about her seemed familiar. It stirred a memory.” His fingers flex on the gun positioned at his side.
“I remember seeing a girl’s hiring paperwork over four months ago.
Not for the medical center.” His condescending laugh has me shivering.
“I thought, what are the chances. But lo and behold, my gut was right. Kate Hannaford was already working for us. In the park.” His lips lift in a sneer that has more gooseflesh covering my bare arms in my t-shirt. Luckily, I have leggings on.
Preston and I swallow simultaneously. We listen intently, too nervous to test what he would do if our focus wanders. He’s commanding attention. Demanding it with his solid stance.
Arden swipes a hand over his jaw. “Kate was hired around the same time our first shipment went missing. Then, the other one came in this morning perfectly untouched, while she was protected on the estate. Why would she need to steal our product when she’s on the inside, gathering intel that’s much more valuable?
” He tucks a hand in his pocket, keeping the other on the gun.
For being in his fifties, he’s dangerously handsome, even if he is unhinged and scaring the hell out of me.
“But that wouldn’t explain the attack in Virginia.” Preston treads lightly. “She wasn’t living on the estate when that digital trail was left from inside our walls.”
“The tunnels are on the same IP address as the estate,” Arden sneers. “How do you know the night you found her in the tunnels was the first time she was down there?” Preston’s shoulders tense. “Yeah. I got the security footage from Brody. That’s the first time I’ve seen you weak.”
Preston slowly stalks into the room, his attention not leaving his father.
Arden observes his movements. “You’ve known this entire time that she may be linked to everything that’s happened. I’m shocked your knife didn’t glide through her throat a month ago when you had her sitting in the very chair she’s in now.” I shiver at his words.
There is a conversation flowing between them through their stare-off that I don’t understand. I’m missing part of the picture. I want to know why they think I was involved with the attack in Virginia.
Arden’s dark chuckle seeps through my ears. “Not to mention she’s been a ghost for the last year. No digital trail. Nothing. We pay her paycheck in cash, Preston! There are not enough discrepancies to save her—”
“It’s not her! She’s—”
“No,” Arden spits, the one word laced with disdain.
He marches the few steps toward me. I flinch, eyes snapping shut, when a searing pain covers the lower half of my face. The sound of tearing fills the air as Arden rips the tape from my mouth. My shoulders drop, releasing the first real sob that escapes my lips in a rush of air.
Preston must move toward me, because when I look up, the gun is raised, its black body glinting in the fluorescent lights.
But it's not pointed at me.
Arden has the barrel steady between his son’s eyes.
A blanket of white paints Preston’s face.
As the boss, I've noticed that every time I’ve seen Arden, he’s controlled in his movements.
Not now.
His eyes glisten from hurt, and there is a steady tremble in his hand with the gun. “It’s not your excuse to make. If anyone’s going to talk, it’s going to be Kate. And if she cares for you like I think she does, she’s going to tell me the truth before I pull this trigger.”
“No, don’t,” I cry. Tears gush from my eyes now.
Preston’s voice cracks, his hands raised. “Dad—”
“I said not another word! Luciano took them from us. Returned Lynn and Tayla’s hearts in that fucking box! And she’s fucking working for him!” He curses something I don’t understand in Gaelic.
Acid sears my throat. My stomach’s threatening to spill its contents all over the concrete before my feet. I’m sure this floor is acquainted with most bodily fluids by now.
Someone carved his wife’s and daughter’s hearts out of their chests and returned them in a box?
He somehow thinks I’m involved?
That means Preston thought I was, too, when he brought me here.
My heart splinters in my chest, some of the pieces skimming my throat as I bite down the urge to heave. My pulse sprints. The image of their bodies, with holes where their hearts should be, extracts all the oxygen out of the air, so that I can’t inhale a full breath.
I’m hyperventilating.
Choking on my lungs.
I can’t talk while my brain processes Arden’s words, and I watch him hold the barrel steady on Preston’s forehead. The man who I thought entered my life in the worst way, but has consumed me in the best way since then. It's painful to think about going a day without him around.
Like today, when I didn’t get to see him.
The feeling churning in my chest and stabbing my heart like blades isn’t just fearing that Arden might kill his own son. It’s blended with something beautifully soul-consuming.
I gasp a tattered breath, my voice wobbling so bad I don’t know if my words will make sense through the violent fog claiming Arden. “I-I’ll tell you anything,” I hiccup. “Just please don’t hurt him.”
Arden’s fingers turn white around the gun. “Better hurry up. My fury is making my finger trigger hungry.”
“Oh, God,” I breathe, shaking—the movement causing the binds to dig into my skin further.
When I glance from Arden to Preston, Preston holds my eyes. “It’s okay. Tell him,” Preston’s voice trembles. It’s the first time I’ve seen him shaken up.
I nod, my lip quivering, and let the shitshow that is my life spill across the room, giving Arden the name of the man who brought me here.