Chapter 28 #2
Maisie turns off the engine and looks at me. Light from the front entrance shines on her face which is much more pixie-like and young in appearance. The heavy black eyeliner, nose piercings, and black hair are deceiving.
“The man who lives here knew my uncle. He’s cool. Travels a lot, but he’s in town.” She nods at the sedans.
And he has company. “Maybe we should take our chances driving to the airport.”
She glances at her lap. “We won’t make it. I didn’t have time to get petrol when I got the text about you. There’s only two stations and guess who owns them?”
Lachlan. “It’s okay. I’m going to call a friend for help.”
Her brows scrunch. “A friend from here?”
“Back home in America, but she can help.” Her boyfriend can. Based on what I know about Kingston’s family history, he has connections and the means to get me home. If that fails, I could always try to buy one of those sedans and drive myself.
We get out of the car and walk toward the front door.
“What are you going to do? I’m sure Lachlan knows you helped by now.”
She stuffs her hands in the pockets of her black hoodie. “I always wanted to leave here anyway.”
We stop at the door. Before she knocks, I ask, “Why did you help me?”
She puffs a laugh through her nose. “How much time do you have?”
“What’s the short version?”
She looks at her chunky black boots. “My parents were hit by a Duhnill whisky tour truck in the village and died. My uncle was there for me until he married Ailsa.”
“Who’s Ailsa?” I haven’t heard that name before.
“Ailsa MacReid Ashford Caldwell was Lachlan’s mum. My parents and uncle would still be here if it weren’t for him.”
“Angus?” He killed Ewan.
“Lachlan.” She makes a disgusted face. “People around here think he’s a great protector.
He was running the distillery when my parents were killed.
My uncle had plans with me the day he died.
Lachlan was supposed to be with his mum, but he got stuck or, for whatever reason, didn’t make it to Scotland.
I lost everyone I loved because of him.” She stares at the ground, looking on the verge of tears, then sniffles and rings the door bell.
I want to hug her and tell her I’m sorry.
No one should suffer that much loss. She has more in common with Lachlan than she knows.
He’s lost everyone too. For a moment, I feel sorry for him.
He clearly got the blame for both incidents, then I remember what he said and how he betrayed me.
How he planned to serve me up to this Angus.
My heart shrivels with deep pain that feels crippling.
My eyes burn, but I refuse to shed another tear over that lying piece of shit.
Every man will use you, Emery, dad had said so many times as a reminder. And here, he used me for himself as much as Lachlan did.
Both men got my love too. My dad did by default and Lachlan did by showering me with affection, attention, and the best sex in the world. At least my dad didn’t pretend to be anything other than what he is—a selfish man. Lachlan fooled me. He made me love him.
I swallow a gasp at the realization. I love him. I fell in love with a man who manipulated me into thinking he cared—which he does for some people. Just not me. But then, didn’t he tell me that? Didn’t he say the worst thing he could do for me is love me?
No, Lachlan! The worst thing you could do is make me love you!
The door opens and a buff man in a dark business suit greets us with a stern expression. He appears to be in his mid-forties and seems very over-dressed for hanging out at home. He looks at me then at Maisie.
“Your money is in the car. The one on the end.”
Her lips curl in with a sheepish grin. “Thanks.” She turns and keeps her eyes averted as she walks toward the sedans.
“Maisie?”
Everything happens in slow motion. I watch her leave, confused for about five seconds, until reality slams into me like a speeding car.
You know those times when if you act quickly, instinctively, it can be the difference between life and death? This was one of those times, only given where we are, I don’t know that any quick action could have saved me.
Panic engulfs me at lightning speed even though my movements feel slow and disconnected. I turn back to the door. The beefy man watches me like a hawk. I step back, ready to run and collide into a hard chest. Strong hands clutch my biceps.
I crane my neck to see who’s holding me.
Another man around the same age as the beefy guy, but who’s about half his size, stares down at me with cruel eyes. Dark auburn hair and a matching short beard frame his pale face. A scar runs down the side of his left cheek.
“I do believe I found the golden goose,” he says with a Scottish accent that is different than the ones around here. He grins, but the scar pulls his skin at an angle that makes it seem malicious or maybe that’s his intention.
“Who are you?”
“Your new master.” He licks the side of my face from my chin to my temple.
I cringe and jerk my head in disgust, trying to get away. The attempt is useless.
The man laughs, his grip like steal on my arms. “I love when they resist. It adds to the pleasure and makes me want to hurt them even more.”
My entire body freezes, and my mind goes to the worst place. This man wants to do cruel sexual things to me. Things I probably can’t imagine. Things that will make me wish I were dead.
“I think I broke her.” His hand slides up my body to my neck. He chokes me with iron fingers, cutting off the air to my lungs.
My instincts kick in, overriding my paralyzing fear. I grab at his hands, scratching him as I try to free myself from his death grip.
“Fixed her.” He chuckles in a sinister way but doesn’t let go.
My lungs burn and my head swims. I’m on the verge of blacking out.
He laughs again and lets me go.
I drop to my knees, gasping for air. I’m still struggling for breath when he hoists me up against him and gropes my breast, squeezing it with such force I cry out in pain.
I shudder and gag as the contents in my stomach climb up my throat. He shoves me forward, and I stumble sideways, crashing into the doorframe. Pain erupts on the side of my head.
“Call for the helicopter,” the monstrous man behind me orders. “And get this bitch out of my sight.”
The beefy man seizes my biceps with bruising force and hauls me off the ground. Feet dangling, he carries me down a hallway, through a large kitchen, and down wooden stairs into a dank basement that’s old compared to the modern upstairs.
A million thoughts race through my muddled brain. Fight! Escape! Do something!
My lips tingle, and my vision clouds. Another word jumps forward in my head. Breathe. Breathe or risk passing out, and I don’t want to do that here.
I focus on calming down, which is really hard when a strange man is toting me around like a disobedient child that he hates.
“Please.” I manage to get out.
He drops me onto an old couch surrounded by boxes and other furniture. I bounce once, my eyes glued to him as he walks away and climbs the stairs. At the top, he closes the door. A lock sounds.
I stare at it for long moments, frozen in shock. Did he just leave me? Am I safe—for now? What if he comes back? I need to get out of here.
In a state of semi-shock, I glance around for a door or a window in the dimly lit room.
Seeing nothing, I force myself to stand on shaky legs and maneuver around the clutter, checking every area.
My pulse drums with steady fear. My actions are clumsy as I nudge boxes and furniture searching for any way to escape.
“You won’t find a way out,” a Scottish male voice sounds.
I flinch and turn. A lean man limps out from the shadows. He’s older—late fifties or early sixties—and has a professor style about him. He also has a black eye and a cut lip—neither appear to be fresh.
“Who… who are you?”
“Bran, the owner of this house. Who are you?”
“E-Emery. Maisie brought me here.”
The man sighs as if in anguish. He removes his glasses and rubs the bridge of his nose. “This isn’t good.”
Turning, he limps to the couch and sits at one end. I follow him over but remain standing at a safe distance.
“I won’t hurt you. I’m not with them. I’m a victim like you.”
“Do you know who they are?” I have an idea about who they might be, but I can’t bring myself to admit it. It would mean I did this to myself and not even Adelaide or Kingston can save me.
Bran cleans his glasses on his shirt and puts them back on.
“I have a feeling about who they might be. I haven’t met them personally, but they’ve been to the village to visit Lady Caldwell before she passed, and more recently to see her heir, Lachlan Ashford.
They’re part of the MacReid family. The bad part. ”
Angus. Tremors rattle my entire body. “Do you have a phone?” My voice is thin.
“Wouldn’t work down here even if I did.”
And I threw mine out. If I had it, Lachlan could track me and save me—save us. This man deserves to be rescued as much as I do. “Why would Maisie do this?” I ask. “She seemed hurt and mad but harmless.”
“My guess is it was her way out of here. She never connected with anyone after her parents died.”
“She connected with you.” I shuffle to the couch and sit on the opposite end, hugging myself against an inner chill that keeps building.
Bran digs in a nearby box and hands me a blanket.
“Thanks.” I wrap it around my shoulders.
“I knew Maisie’s dad. I met him on a flight to Inverness.
He told me about this town and village. Sold me on it so much I had to see it for myself.
I fell in love with the tranquility and moved out here a year before he and his wife passed away.
They would come over with Maisie for dinner and cards.
Good people. I kept inviting her after they died, and she kept coming.
When Ewan died, she grew distant. I haven’t seen her in a while.
I thought it might have been her when the MacReids showed up. ”
“Angus, right?”
“The red head. I believe he called the other man Munro.” He blinks at me confused. “How do you know Maisie?”
“I don’t. I…” How to explain?
“You’re Mr. Ashford’s wife, aren’t you?” Bran asks, and I nod. “I thought I recognized you. Your picture is on the village website and in the local paper. Did something happen to him? Is that how she was able to bring you here?”
It takes me a moment to answer. “No. Um… I… I left.” Stupid girl.
“Does Mr. Ashford know where you are?”
I lower my chin on the verge of tears and shake my head. “I ran away.”
Bran lets out a heavy sigh. “And Maisie helped you.” He’s not asking.
“It was last minute and dumb. The dumbest thing I’ve ever done.
I didn’t know Angus was here. Lachlan doesn’t know either.
” Unless he does and he didn’t care that I escaped.
That’s why he didn’t text me. He wasn’t tracking me.
He let me go. But then why have so much security at the pub?
For show, so I’d think he cares? I don’t understand that man at all. I obviously don’t know him.
I cover my eyes with my hand, refusing to cry over Lachlan—the only person who could have saved me. “I brought this on myself, and now, I’ll pay for it.”
“I don’t know about that.”
I glance up.
Bran flicks his gaze to the ceiling. “These men arrived a few days ago. They had this set up already—perhaps even Maisie’s involvement. Men like this always have networks and a plan at the ready. Who connected you with Maisie?”
Tessa. I suck in a breath. Does she know about this?
Is she behind it? Why set me up with Maisie?
She did it so quickly too. Could Tessa be a mole for Angus?
What if Lachlan is in danger? My breath turns frantic again.
I shouldn’t care about him anymore. He betrayed me.
He doesn’t love me. He’s not capable of love, and here, I’m worried about him.
This must be some form of Stockholm syndrome.
“What are the chances of anyone finding us?”
His frown is answer enough. “I travel for work. I’m not around a lot, and when I am I prefer solitude. It’s why I chose to live out here. I doubt anyone knows I’m even in town.”
“But Lachlan could connect Maisie to you, right?” He has to.
A bang as loud as an explosion sounds upstairs. I flinch and stare at the basement door, my heart at the back of my throat.
Gun shots fire. I scream and cover my ears. Bran puts his arm around me and moves me to crouch behind the couch. Oh my god. We’re going to die.
Crashing sounds then more gun shots ring out as if they’re firing through the ceiling and into this room.
I flinch with each shot and press my hands tighter over my ears, terrified more than I’ve ever been.
Bran huddles around me like a human shield.
My body trembles with my hyperactive breathing and my head grows fuzzy, my lips turning numb.
The signs are all there—I’m on the verge of fainting, but I can’t calm down.
The firing stops, and the basement door smashes open. My panic spikes hire, my breathing too loud in the silence. Loud enough to give our hiding spot away, but I can’t make it stop.
Footsteps race down the stairs and head in our direction. My head swarms with dizziness, and I can’t feel my body.
“Grab her,” a man says.
I barely hear it as I slip into darkness.