37. Chapter 37
Chapter thirty-seven
‘Lias
"What the fuck do you mean you can't find her!"
Kace's voice booms through the phone. His intensity makes my eardrums shy away as he keeps shouting through the speaker. I take his verbal beating—my pride thrown into a mausoleum built behind my Adam’s apple where it will die.
Asking for help isn't something I do. Hypocritical, really, when I'm the one who preaches to the guys the importance of working together and having each other's six.
Smacking the knuckleheads in the back of their skulls when they forget there's a whole damn team at their disposal is part of what makes me an asset to Mav's team.
Instead, I've been the one biting the bullet and toughing it out without backup. Leave it to me to invalidate everything I've stood for and look like a damn liar.
I fucked up.
I tried to handle Sadie and her illnesses on my own by giving her space for decisions and control. Trust that she'd make the right calls and build a life for herself, but now I can't fucking find her.
Too much time has passed since she walked out and disappeared.
She could be anywhere, someone could have taken her, or she might have hurt someone.
The thoughts are endless in my guilt and I'm coming apart without knowing.
I need help from someone who's just as good at tracking people as I am—a human bloodhound, so to speak.
I'm only one man, in a city with millions of people and even more hiding spaces, searching for the woman who constantly slips through my damn fingers.
Kace helped me find her in the past, pointed me in the right direction, laid out every step from here to her location.
He put me on foot while his eyes stayed on her until we both located and extracted her from Lucien.
I may know his daughter far better than he ever will, but there's something about a father's protective instincts that will get me to her quicker than if I do this alone.
When Kate took my girl and ran, she left me to bleed out alone—I expect nothing less from a monster. As the blood drained, I actually wanted to lay down and give up. Let that be the end.
Nowadays, I don't remember what it's like to not have PTSD. If I had given myself a few more minutes to decide, I wouldn’t be sitting here wondering what’s happening anymore.
I wouldn’t have any more night terrors, nor any reason to lace my boots in the morning solely to serve and protect people who don't give me a second glance either.
I was ready—throw in the blood-soaked towel ready—to let go of things I can't control.
But Sadie happened.
She wouldn’t let me give up.
Her red-rimmed eyes, full of a lifetime of agony, cry-pinkened nose, and a heart begging to be loved lit a fire under my ass. There's no way her last memory of me will be of her taking my life while under the spell of wickedness. I won't do that to her.
Now, every move I make pulls at stitches I forced through my abused flesh.
I nearly knocked everything into the floor when I went hunting for the first aid kit, terrified I wouldn't find it in time. Surprise, I’m still here, being held together by literal cotton thread.
Feeding the string through the needle and cranking my split ends back together was the easy part.
The bleeding, however? There are puddles everywhere in her apartment which I don’t know if I’ll live to clean up.
My stitchwork looks like a child sewed two different fabrics together with the bunched ends and uneven placement.
I’ll need to have some scalpel wiz fix it later; all that matters now is I managed to get it done.
A few pills and a swig of whiskey will tide me over, pain wise—push me through the misery long enough to find Sadie.
We’re running short on time now if the demons have her, she may never come back.
"P...Patto—"
"How fucking long have you been in town, Elias? How have you seen her? Did you talk to her?" He rapidly fires questions over the phone at me.
"Patto—"
"Where the hell are you!"
"Patton! Stop for one goddamn minute. I'll answer your shit later, right now just...just please help me find her! Fuck!" I shout.
The effort it took to yell takes my breath away. Already feels like it's being ripped out of the holes I sewed together, so let's make it worse by screaming.
"Mind who the hell you're talking to, Elias.
You c... Babygirl, hold on a second." His voice calms to a soft shake when I hear Nadia in the background.
They're miles away as I sit here camped out in my truck, but the cab still isn't big enough for the three of us.
She has such a harsh personality and his is larger than life—they complement each other violently.
I suppose the same could be said for me and their daughter?
"Baby, no...we're...fine. Nadia wants to talk to you. You make her cry and I'll rip your fucking head off."
Several parking spaces away, a car alarm screams, making me jolt and groan in my seat.
Its loud wail echoes between the buildings and cars, close to the paths Sadie usually walks.
Kace and Nadia exchange the phone while I hope to get a glimpse of platinum hair—in the windows, unobstructed, anywhere.
Right now, I'd do absolutely anything to find her in this Godforsaken city.
Being here, sulking while I anticipate an argument with her parents, I die more and more inside. What the hell am I supposed to do if Sadie goes off the deep end while they burn precious time we don’t have?
"Elias?" Nadia's voice finally spills from the speakers.
She's changed so much from when I first met her—a long way from survival mode and self-preservation to a full-time mother and wife. Still, I don’t turn my back on her. Underneath all that happiness lies a woman who's done enough to make you second glance.
"I'm here," I sigh. If anyone will listen, maybe it will be her.
"Tell me what happened."
"The hell do I begin?"
"The beginning and make it quick. Kace is about to lose his shit. Also, where do you want us to start?"
"Last I saw her was at the apartment. She didn't take the Civic, gotta be on foot."
"Alright, we'll come in from the opposite side of town and call when we're close, but I need to know what happened."
I notice a crack in the windshield that splinters my thoughts and drags me far away from reality.
Nadia and Kace's voices fade into the background as a velvety darkness takes my hand and leads me down a sweltering tunnel.
Its walls pulse from all directions as if they're focused on the next breath. The rhythm’s soothing, though it deepens and transitions from the walls to my shoulders, my ears, my head.
And a thick blanket of weight presses onto my chest where my heart beats strong enough for my dog tags to bounce over my sternum.
Fuck.
They're coming, the hostiles. I can smell them tucked inside their hiding spaces, preparing to ambush my team and I.
To the left, my sergeant speaks but I can't focus on what he's saying.
Distractions could mean death. At my right, a rookie mimics how I hold my rifle and stare down the scope—said once upon a time he looks up to me.
Behind me stands an entire army and though I can't see them, I feel their icy stare slithering up my spine.
Movement six meters away has me locked in position, finger poised on the trigger and drawn to the edge of the friction zone—a hairs’ breadth away from my gun barking before the hostile drops.
Beneath us, the ground begins to tremble.
Rocks and nearby debris jump erratically before the quake intensifies and hell’s mouth opens and demons explode from the gaping hole.
Fire opens wide; my team doesn't wait for the go-ahead from command before we mow down the enemy as rank roars through our comms.
Their enraged tones blend with the carnage as they call for my name and court martial.
I can’t stop, not even as the idea of the brig nags in the back of my skull.
For years I have fought. I've put bad men in the ocean and others in the ground. I’ve done my job, killed to save the innocent and ones too proud to set foot on the battlefield.
Yet, it’s not the weight of expectation that aims to crush me—it’s the absence of those who aren’t fighting at my side anymore.
The rookie takes a round to the helmet that throws his body to the side but I don't stop. It’s suppress fire or die while my team shouts and gurgles in blood. I’ve never needed someone; now I choke on the notion as bullets blur past the fogged windows of my truck.
"Elias?"
Nadia's voice interrupts the metallic punch of slugs meeting iron. Little does she know, her soft tone has become my life raft. Tug after tug, I haul myself from the frontline to safety.
"Y...yeah?" Gravel crackles together in my throat, alongside my pounding heart, preventing me from a decent gasp.
"You were going to tell me what happened but went quiet. Are you alright?"
No.
I'm not okay.
I'm the furthest thing from alright. I’m so far gone, sunshine can't break through the clouds to meet me on the ground anymore. I’m without night vision in a desert and surrounded by things destined to kill me.
"M...fuckin' fine," I lie.
She's not my wife—lies between us don't mean a thing.
"B...been keeping tabs." Numbly, my arms lift and my fingers tangle in my salt-and-pepper strands to ease the crash barreling for me. An unfortunate byproduct of the attacks—I have to get to Sadie first. Chain her to me so she can't go anywhere when my brain does a hard reboot.
Thankfully Nadia's too busy to interrupt, as a low thud resonates through the phone. Has to be a car door since she said they would meet me in the middle.
"Since she moved out and started school. Didn't want her to be alone or hurt herself. Mostly watching and texting until recently," I continue.
Things go deadly quiet for as Nadia processes, her mothering mind dropping puzzle pieces into place.
"Run that by me again. What, exactly, do you mean by recently?" Sharp assessment replaces her warmth—coldness so frigid my own breath fogs at the phone's receiver.
"Elias, what do you mean!"
Her scream catches me unprepared. Another jerk, another twinge of blinding pain radiates through me. Kace mumbles in the background; thankfully I can't quite make out what he's saying but I'm going to assume he's promising violence.
Keeps me on my toes.
"Nadia..."
"Fucking say it, Elias!"
There's only one thing left in this existence that matters, and that's to claim Sadie for everyone to see. Hoist her high onto a pedestal where the world can envy her beauty and how gone I am for her. But I can't. Not when people will judge and accuse me of the worst shit imaginable.
Groomer.
I'll never get away from the accusations, false as they may be. I didn't have anything to do with her like that, I'd never go that far. She was a child—destructive, alone, dependent. To me, that person and the woman I’m with now are two completely different people.
Kace and Nadia will focus on their blinding rage for a while. Then there are the guys. Mav will be disgusted and others will have opinions. If I spill it all, our delicate relationships will go up in flames.
Do I choose her over them? Yes.
I kept her safe, showed up when she called because she felt like a burden to her parents. I was always there. My attraction, feelings, and devotion came well after.
No one will see it that way.
All they’ll see is a predator.
I can only pray that Nadia will listen with her mind and not her heart. She was once stuck between a rock and a hard place and felt the same fear I'm battling. Her illegal relationship with Kace, I hope, will make her more understanding since she knows firsthand we cannot control who we love.
"I've been seeing her for several months. When I'm not working a job, I'm here. In her home, caring for her. Dealing with the fallout of her drama at school, picking her up off the floor when she's coming apart. I'm doing it all because I'm in love with her."
Kace grunts in the background again, more urgently before I hear him clear as day.
"Put it on speakerphone, Nadia. Now!"
I'm a dead man.
"Sullivan." He's short. Fury rattles his deep voice.
"Patton."
"You get one chance, and one chance only. Have you been fucking my kid?"
"Your adult daughter who makes decisions for herself? Yes."
"She can't make decisions, she's mentally unstable!" he screams.
"I'm going to put you in a pine box and throw you down the deepest hole I can find. You sorry sack of shit!"
"Kace..." Nadia tries to calm him.
"It's alright, Nadia. I deserve his—"
"Don't! Do not talk to my wife. My family is off limits. We're going to find my daughter, and if she's hurt, you'll be dead before daylight."
His anger’s justified, I don't blame him. If I were in his shoes, I'd have rigged the phone to explode next to my head and save me the chore of clean up and decomp.
"What happened? Why did she go off the deep end? I need to know everything before I show up and cut your fucking throat."
Safer territory—I'm sure there’s irony somewhere in there. My boot pushes the brake pedal as I punch the truck’s start button. For an inanimate object, I feel deader than it feels alive. Slamming the truck into drive, I let it all out as we hunt for my woman.