Chapter 35
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
The underground parking garage stretches out before me, all dim fluorescent lights and cold concrete.
The air down here is damp and stale, carrying that particular underground smell of exhaust fumes and motor oil.
My footsteps echo off the low ceiling and cement pillars as I make my way toward my Mini Cooper, weaving between the scattered vehicles left by other apartment residents.
I've already fished my keys from my purse, the metal cold against my palm, the little leather tassel I'd added last month swinging as I walk.
The heels of my Doc Martens click against the floor with each step, the sound bouncing back at me from every direction, making the space feel even more cavernous and empty than it actually is.
My breath fogs in the chill air.
A hand clamps over my mouth.
I try to scream, but his palm crushes the sound. I reach desperately for the mace canister in my jacket pocket, my fingers fumbling against the fabric as I twist and writhe in his grip. The zipper catches, resists, and precious seconds slip away as I struggle to yank it out with trembling hands.
Finally, I manage to grab the small metal cylinder, feeling its familiar weight in my palm. My finger finds the trigger, squeezes hard with everything I have left—but nothing happens. Not even a hiss. The canister is completely empty, utterly useless.
My stomach drops as the reality hits me like a physical blow. I let it fall from my numb fingers, and it drops to the ground with a hollow metallic clatter that echoes mockingly through the concrete cavern around us.
No. No, no, no.
I thrash wildly in his iron grip, my body bucking and twisting as I desperately reach for the personal alarm hanging from the thin silver chain around my neck, the one Jenna insisted I get after what happened to her friend last year. My fingers brush the cool metal—
Daniel yanks hard. The chain snaps, biting into my skin before it tears free. The alarm skitters across the floor, useless.
"You're coming with me." His voice is ice against my ear.
I kick backward, connect with his shin. He grunts but doesn't loosen his grip. His arm locks around my waist, dragging me toward the shadows between two SUVs. My heels scrape against the ground, desperate for purchase.
"Stop fighting." He wrenches my arms behind my back.
Metal bites into my wrists—handcuffs. The click echoes through the garage, each lock a nail in my coffin.
My mind flashes unbidden to his bedroom—to those nights when the door would close and lock behind us.
To the games he claimed were about trust, about intimacy, about bringing us closer together.
The restraints he'd pull out from beneath his bed with that slow, dangerous smile spreading across his handsome face, the one that never quite reached his cold blue eyes.
Trust me, he'd whisper against my skin, his voice honey-sweet and poisonous.
I never wanted any of it—the silk ties, the leather cuffs, the way he'd test the bindings to make sure I couldn't move, couldn't escape.
But I'd nod anyway, every single time, swallowing my discomfort and forcing a smile.
I'd tell myself it was fine, that it made him happy, that this was what relationships required.
That his happiness mattered more than the sick feeling in my stomach.
This isn't a game anymore.
His hand shifts from my mouth to my throat—not choking, just holding. A threat.
"You think you can leave me? Choose him over me?" Spit hits my cheek. "I gave you everything."
My heart hammers so hard I think I might faint. Can't breathe. Can't think.
I twist violently in his grip, adrenaline screaming through every nerve as I try to wrench myself free.
My leg kicks hard, aiming for any vulnerable spot I can reach, but Daniel anticipates the movement.
He's always been faster than me, stronger than me, and he uses that advantage now without hesitation.
With brutal force, he pivots and slams me sideways against one of the concrete support pillars that holds up the parking garage.
The impact is devastating. Pain explodes like white lightning through my shoulder blade where it connects with the unforgiving surface, radiating down my arm and up into my neck.
My teeth clack together from the force, and for a horrible second, everything goes fuzzy at the edges, stars dancing across my vision.
"Stop." His grip tightens. "You're only making this harder on yourself."
Tears blur my vision. Where's Julian? Where's anyone?
The garage is silent except for my ragged breathing and the hum of fluorescent lights overhead.
I finally submit, not wanting to be hurt any further.
Daniel drags me toward a dark sedan parked in the shadows—something sleek and unfamiliar that I don't recognize, not his usual vehicle.
My legs give out completely beneath me, muscles turned to water from fear and pain, knees buckling as my body tries to collapse to the concrete floor. But he doesn't let me fall.
With terrifying ease, he hauls me back upright, one arm wrapped around my ribcage like a vise, lifting me as though I weigh absolutely nothing at all.
My feet scramble uselessly against the ground, toes barely scraping the pavement as he pulls me closer to the car.
Every instinct screams at me to fight, to resist, but my body won't cooperate—the shock and terror have turned my limbs weak and uncoordinated.
"Please—" The word breaks apart.
"Too late for that."
He opens the trunk.
The sight of that dark, yawning space—that black cavity waiting to swallow me whole—sends pure, primal terror coursing through every nerve in my body.
I've never experienced fear like this before, not even close.
It's all-consuming, paralyzing, the kind of terror that turns your bones to liquid and your mind to static.
My heart pounds so violently against my ribcage that I can feel it in my throat, in my temples, behind my eyes—a frantic, desperate rhythm that seems to be screaming what my voice can't.
This cannot be happening.
This cannot be real.
Julian comes out of nowhere—a blur of movement and fury, all dark clothing and lethal intent, racing toward us.
"Get away from her!"
Daniel's grip on my arm loosens, his fingers uncurling as his attention snaps away from me. He spins around fast, his whole body pivoting toward the sound of Julian's voice.
"You—"
Julian doesn't let him finish the thought, doesn't give him even a second to complete whatever pathetic excuse or threat was forming on his lips.
In one fluid, explosive motion, he closes the distance between them and grabs Daniel by the collar with both hands, freeing me in the process, his fingers twisting into the expensive fabric of his shirt.
Then he moves—fast, powerful, driven by a fury I've never witnessed before—and slams Daniel backward against the sedan with brutal force.
The entire car rocks violently on its suspension from the impact, metal groaning, and I hear Daniel's breath punch out of him in a shocked gasp as his back connects with the unforgiving surface.
"You put your hands on her again, I'll kill you." Julian's voice is unrecognizable—low, guttural, barely human.
I've never seen him like this. Never knew he could be like this.
Daniel recovers fast, twists free. "You think you can stop me.” He swings forwards and punches Julian in the jaw. So hard, the sound of the crack echoes through the garage.
Julian's head snaps to the side. Blood appears at the corner of his mouth.
Then something in him breaks.
He launches himself at Daniel with a feral intensity I've never witnessed in another human being, the movement so swift and violent it seems to blur the air between them.
His fist drives forward, powered by every ounce of rage and protective fury coursing through his body, and connects with Daniel's face with a hard, sickening crunch that makes my stomach lurch, the sound of it reverberating off the concrete walls of the parking garage.
Daniel's head snaps violently to the side from the force of the blow, his body following the momentum as he staggers backward, arms pinwheeling as he struggles to keep his balance, his expensive loafers scraping against the ground.
Julian hits him again. And again.
"Julian—" My voice is paper-thin.
He doesn't hear me. His fist hammers into Daniel's ribs, his face, anywhere he can reach. Daniel tries to fight back, throws wild punches that mostly miss. One catches Julian's temple, but Julian doesn't even flinch.
He's a machine. Relentless.
Daniel's nose explodes. Blood sprays across the concrete, across Julian's knuckles. He stumbles backward, hands up.
"Stop—please—"
Julian follows him, each step measured, deliberate. His fist pulls back again.
"Julian, stop!" I finally move, grabbing his arm. "You're going to kill him!"
He shakes me off like I'm not even there. His eyes are black, empty of everything except fury.
One more punch—brutal, final.
Daniel's head whips back. His feet tangle beneath him. He falls.
The sound his skull makes against the concrete pillar will haunt me forever—a sickening thud that seems to echo for hours.
He crumples to the ground. Doesn't move.
Blood pools beneath his head, spreading slow and dark across the garage floor.
Julian stands over him, chest heaving, fists still clenched. Blood drips from his knuckles—Daniel's or his own, I can't tell.
"Julian." My voice cracks.
He doesn't answer. Just stares down at Daniel's motionless body, his shoulders rising and falling with each ragged breath.
The garage falls silent except for the fluorescent lights humming overhead and my racing heartbeat pounding in my ears.
We stand there like statues carved from ice, neither of us capable of movement, neither of us able to look away from what lies before us.