71. Addy ⚠
Chapter seventy-one
Addy ?
?
I can't tell how much time has slipped by since I hit the panic button, the one relic of trust they left me. My body feels cold against the hardwood floor of my room, the same spot where I collapsed into a ball of frayed nerves and shattered hope. My breaths come in shallow gasps, each one a question—why haven't they come?
"Stupid," I whisper to myself, my voice barely audible above the sound of my own heartbeat thudding in my ears. "It was all a lie, Addy."
Every second that ticks by is a needle in my chest, sewing the idea tighter: they're not coming for me. The boys, the promise of rescue, it was all just part of some sick, twisted game. And I fell for it—hook, line, and sinker.
"Game over," I murmur, my throat parched, the words like sandpaper against my vocal cords.
Hunger gnaws at my stomach, a constant reminder of how long I've been trapped here. The light filtering through the curtains has shifted from the bright blaze of noon to the muted glow of late afternoon—or is it evening now? Time is a cruel, slippery thing.
"Maybe this is it," I say to the empty room, my voice cracking. "Maybe it's time to give up."
But even as the thought crosses my mind, I reject it. Every bruise, every tear, every sleepless night—they've forged something within me. Resilience. It's what's kept me going when everything else screamed for me to stop. But God, I'm so tired. So very tired.
"Addy Winthrop doesn't quit," I remind myself, but the name feels foreign on my tongue. What does it even mean to be Addy Winthrop? A girl taken in by a family that showed their love through clenched fists and sharp tongues? All I'd ever been to them was a picture perfect addition to their family, a way to ensure that William got that senate seat. A girl who's had to fight for every scrap of dignity she has left?
"Who am I kidding?" I choke out a bitter laugh that turns into a sob. I curl tighter into myself, wrapping my arms around my knees.
"Please," I whisper into the silence, the word a prayer, a plea, a white flag. "Please..."
The door slams open with a force that startles me out of my numbed reverie. In the frame stands William, his presence like a dark omen. His eyes are wild, unhinged, as he zeroes in on my crumpled form.
"Adelaide," he snarls, and I can't help but flinch, shrinking back as if my body could meld into the walls and escape his gaze.
He's upon me before I can even think of defending myself, his fingers latching onto my hair, pulling sharply until tears well in my eyes. A strangled cry escapes me, more from the shock than the pain. "The deal's done, sweetheart," he growls close to my ear, his breath hot and reeking of something sour.
"Please, don't," I gasp out, the words barely a whisper, but he only chuckles, a sound laced with malice.
"Thought you could play the game, huh?" He sneers, yanking my head back to force me to look at him. "I'm not letting you get away without getting my share. Waited long enough."
My heart thuds painfully against my ribs, each beat screaming for me to fight, to survive. The taste of fear is thick in my mouth, but beneath it, there's anger, too. How dare he reduce me to this?
"Get off me!" I scream, my voice hoarse but loud in the small space. I kick wildly, my legs flailing in an attempt to connect with any part of him I can. My heels slam against his shins, and he curses, but it doesn't deter him. He's determined, and that terrifies me more than anything.
"Feisty," he grunts, trying to pin me down, but I won't stop moving. I scratch, claw, bite—anything to keep him from taking this last piece of me. "You're gonna whore yourself out, then let's see what you're really worth."
"Never," I spit through gritted teeth, the adrenaline giving me a momentary surge of strength. My nails find his cheek, leaving angry red trails in their wake. He howls, his grip loosening for just a second, and I use it.
"Get away from me!" I kick out again, catching him off guard. This time my foot connects with his stomach, and he stumbles backward.
But he recovers too quickly, his face contorted with rage now. "You little bitch," he hisses, diving for me once more.
This is it, I realize with a chilling clarity. If I don't fight with everything I have, I'll lose more than just this battle. I'll lose myself. So I scream, a primal sound ripped from the depths of my being, and I fight back with every ounce of desperation that's been building since the day I stepped into this cursed place.
The room trembles with distant shouts, the vibrations of their fury reaching me through the floorboards. Pops echo, gunshots maybe, and they're getting closer, but their promise of salvation is drowned out by the imminent threat above me.
"Stop!" I gasp, the word a mere whisper from my parched throat. William's hot breath reeks of malice as he leans in, unyielding to the chaos that begins to unfold outside. My vision blurs, a searing pain radiating from where his fist had collided with my skull moments before. "Please..."
His weight shifts forward, and I use the last of my waning strength to twist beneath him, desperate to evade his touch. But I'm like a wilted flower caught in the merciless grip of a storm, too weak, too broken. He's relentless—my resistance only fueling his dark desire.
"Adelaide, so sweet and defiant," he mocks, his lips brushing against my ear, sending shivers of revulsion down my spine. "But it's game over for you."
I can scarcely breathe, let alone scream, as I muster what's left of my will and push against the hardwood. Splinters bite into my palms, but the pain is nothing compared to the terror that clenches my heart. Clawing desperately, I inch away, any progress insignificant under his looming shadow.
"Where do you think you're going?" His grip tightens in my hair, yanking me back toward the hell I'm trying to escape.
"Help me," I whimper, knowing it's futile, that no one can hear me over the crescendo of violence drawing nearer.
Then, suddenly, the world erupts into chaos at the doorway. The banging below us crescendos into a deafening roar of forced entry. I dare to lift my head, eyes wild with fear and fading hope, as the commotion reaches us, invading this very room, this very moment of despair.
In the periphery of my fading consciousness, shadows move, a dance of light and dark, and the grip in my hair loosens ever so slightly. I keep clawing, dragging my body across the floor, inch by painful inch, away from the monster that looms over me.
I don't have much left in me, but those words ignite the tiniest spark of resolve. I will not go quietly into the darkness that seeks to consume me. Not now, not ever.
Stale air catches in my throat, fear clenching my heart like a vice as the doorway fills with a towering figure clad in tactical gear. My pulse hammers in my ears; every instinct screams to flee, but my body is leaden, unresponsive. The figure's gun is raised, steady and ominous—a harbinger of more violence or perhaps an unlikely salvation.
"Snowflake!" Dre's voice slices through my panic, sharp and desperate. His silhouette materializes from the shadows behind the armed stranger, a dark angel manifesting from my most fervent prayers.
"Let her go!" The command is a thunderous boom, a sound that carries with it the weight of authority and an unspoken promise of retribution.
William's vile snarl cuts short as Dre barrels into the room, a force of nature unleashed. He collides with William, tackling him with a wrathful ferocity that sends them both crashing to the ground. I'm free from William's grasp, but I can't move, can't look away from the carnage unfolding before me.
Dre's fists fly, each blow punctuated by a curse or a growl, his rage palpable and terrifying. William grunts, tries to shield himself, but he's no match for Dre's relentless assault. Blood spatters, and I see crimson stains on Dre's knuckles—William's blood.
"Get what you deserve," Dre snarls, each word a venomous strike as he pummels William without mercy. His ice-blue eyes blaze with a fire that chills me to my core, revealing the scars of his own battles, the pain he's carried.
"Stop... Dre," I rasp, the words barely escaping my lips, but he doesn't hear me. Or he does, and he can't stop—not yet. Not until the threat is utterly vanquished, until there's no question that I'm safe from the monster who dared claim me as his own.
I feel the weight of the man's gaze before I dare to look up. The figure in tactical gear lowers his weapon, steps towards me with a cautious grace that belies his bulk. My muscles coil, ready to recoil from any touch, but he stops short and kneels, keeping a respectful distance.
"Hey, it's okay," he says, voice muffled behind his mask. His hand reaches out, hesitates when I flinch, then slowly pulls away the layers hiding his face. Goggles first, then the mask, revealing a ruggedly handsome face etched with concern. "Name's Ranger. I work for Mason," he explains, eyes softening. "Your boys have been tearing the city apart looking for you."
Relief trembles through my veins, but it's laced with an ache for the faces not yet seen. That's when Chess bursts into the room, Saint right on his heels.
"Enough!" Saint bellows, but it's white noise, lost in the maelstrom of fury that Dre has become. Still, I watch, transfixed by the violent grace of his retribution, the righteous anger of a man pushed beyond his limit.
"Addy!" Chess exclaims, his dark hair a wild halo around his head, eyes frantic until they find mine. He wraps himself around me, rocking. "Thank God," he breathes, his heart hammering against my cheek. "I'm so sorry, Addy. We're so sorry. I love you, and I swear—I'm never letting you out of my sight again."
Saint's hands are iron clamps on Dre's shoulders, pulling him back from William, who lies motionless and bloodied. Saint's dark curls seem to absorb the dim light, his presence a force field of protection as he works to restrain Dre's fury.
Dre breaks free of Saint's grip, his movements wild and erratic. There's blood on his knuckles, a testament to the violence he's just unleashed. He storms over to me, his ice-blue eyes blazing with an untamed fire, a stark contrast to the dark tattoos that crawl up his arms like tendrils of smoke.
"Addy," he breathes out, his voice laced with a frenzied edge. He cups my face with his bloodied hands, staining my skin crimson. I flinch at the contact, the world spinning as he presses his lips to mine in a bruising kiss. My mind screams to push him away, to fight back, but my body betrays me, too dazed to resist the chaos of sensations.
Saint's voice is a thunderclap that shakes the foundations of the hellish room. "Sign it, William!" His fingers dig into a stack of papers, thrusting them toward the crumpled figure beneath him. William's face, a canvas of bruises and defeat, glares up at Saint, defiance flickering in his swollen eyes.
"Addy, stay with me," Dre pleads, and I realize he's not just speaking to me—he's speaking to himself, too. "Stay with me."
And I do. I stay, because somewhere in that tempest of darkness, I see the light of Dre's love for me, fierce and unwavering. And I cling to it, even as the world blurs at the edges, even as I wonder if this, too, is just the prelude to another kind of darkness.
"Chess, get her out of here," Saint commands, his voice rough with urgency, but also something else—fear? Concern?
Before I can process, Chess is scooping me into his arms, holding me against his chest like I'm the only thing anchoring him to earth.
Tears sting my eyes, mingling with the dust and grime on my face. Chess's embrace is the first gentle touch I've felt in what feels like an eternity. He's solid and real, his warmth bleeding into the cold places inside me.
"Let's go home," Chess murmurs, his voice a low promise against the shell of my ear. And for the first time in too long, 'home' doesn't sound like a foreign concept—it sounds like hope.
"Wait," I mumble, my voice barely above a whisper. "My... something—"
"Shh, Addy, it's okay," Chess soothes, his arms a fortress around me. "You're safe now. You won't need anything from this place."
But there's a nagging tug in my consciousness, a whisper of something left behind. I try to protest, to articulate the urgency, but my words are slurred, tangled up in the labyrinth of my thoughts.
"Please, I need—"
"Addy, look at me." Dre's voice cuts through again, his bloodied hands holding my gaze. "Whatever it is, it's not worth it. You're never setting foot in that house again. We've got you."
The finality in his tone seals the decision, and the shadows embrace us as we step across the threshold, leaving behind the echoes of a nightmare I'm desperate to forget.