Chapter 29
Just a Reach
Maliyah
Cold. I was so cold. My face felt wrong—swollen, throbbing. Every breath sent shards of glass through my ribcage. Every movement, no matter how slight, caused lightning bolts of pain to radiate from my core to my fingertips.
I tried to open my eyes but only one would cooperate—and not all the way. The other was swollen completely shut, and even blinking felt like I had sand in both eyes.
Slowly, my surroundings came into focus with my working eye. Hardwood floors. A stone fireplace. Large windows showing nothing but darkness outside.
My fingers twitched beneath the weight of fabric.
My body was unable to move more than a few inches in any direction.
The fleece blanket pressed against my chin and was fully tucked around me, but I was already cataloguing the best way to get out of it.
I could smell his cologne on it, the odor cloying at me and mingling with the metallic tang of blood—probably both mine and his.
The absurdity of the care that he’d tucked me in with—him beating me unconscious and caring for me afterward—would have made me laugh if my ribs didn't feel like they were broken.
I tried to sit up and immediately regretted it. Pain shot through my entire body, sharp and white-hot.
"Easy now."
Bryce's voice came from nearby. I turned my head—slowly, carefully—and saw him sitting in the winged back chair near where my head was situated on the arm of the couch.
He'd cleaned up. Changed his shirt. Put something on his nose, which was swelling where I'd hit him.
His eye was red and swollen from where I had tried to claw at it.
The blood vessels had popped—it was disgusting to look at yet so fucking satisfying.
"You got me good," he said, almost admiringly. "I like this new fight in you. Gives us something to make up for afterward."
I tried to speak but my jaw screamed in protest. Broken? Dislocated? I couldn't tell. But it was wrong.
"Don't try to talk yet. Just rest." He stood, moved toward me. I flinched and he paused, holding up his hands. "I'm not going to hurt you again. Not if you behave."
He crouched beside the couch, reaching out to brush hair from my face. I jerked away and fresh pain lanced through my skull.
"We have time now," he said softly. "Time for you to remember what we had. What we will have again. My parents' beach house—no one knows we're here. No one will bother us. We can finally talk without all the distractions. Without those kids always needing you."
Those kids. Lucas and Zoe. The elephant. Where was the elephant? I tried to look around but moving my head made the room spin.
"What are you looking for?" Bryce looked me in the eye. "They aren’t here—yet. We need to get settled first. Then we can bring them to live with us in my home. They’ll have a lot to learn, I’m sure. But I’m committed to setting them on the right path."
My throat closed up. The room shrank around me, walls pressing in as my heartbeat thundered in my ears, each pulse sending fresh agony through my broken body.
I couldn't swallow. Couldn't breathe. I saw evil in this man and a terror I’d never known before—not for myself, but for what those hands might do to tiny fingers that trusted.
Ice water seemed to replace the blood in my veins, freezing me from the inside out.
I would never let this psychopath near my kids. I would kill him first.
"In the meantime, I’m sure it’s hard for you to be away from them. I found these when I unpacked your duffel bag in our bedroom earlier." He held up Zoe's stuffed elephant and Lucas’s dinosaur.
He set them both on the end table, on the other side of his chair, out of my reach.
So close, yet unreachable. Those trackers inside them were my only hope now, my silent SOS.
I stared at the stuffed animals, aching to clutch them against my broken body.
Their worn fabric would smell like my babies—Zoe's strawberry shampoo, Lucas’s citrus.
In that moment, those small reminders of my children were the only tether keeping me from surrendering to the darkness pulling at the edges of my consciousness.
"Get some rest," Bryce said, standing. "We'll talk more in the morning when you're feeling better. I'll make us breakfast. You always loved my omelets, remember?"
He went back to his chair, lying back with his feet stretched out on the coffee table in front of him.
I lay there in the darkness, pain radiating through every inch of my body. I stared at the elephant and counted my breaths. Stay alive. I have no idea how long I waited—a moment, a lifetime. It needed to be enough.
So, I kept counting my breaths. In. Out. In. Out. I counted his the same—listening for the steadiness that would tell me he’s sleeping. Mine were more shallow, constricted by the brokenness inside me.
Each breath sent fire through my ribs. The right side of my face throbbed with my heartbeat.
My jaw felt wrong—dislocated maybe? Or just completely broken.
I’m not a doctor, but I can tell you if one were here now, I don’t think they’d have a very positive outlook on healing me without long-term damage.
Pain had its own language and I was fluent. Pain meant I was here. Pain meant I was alive. And I planned to stay that way.
Bryce was finally asleep. His head tilted back, mouth slightly open. The soft sound of snoring mixed with the sound of the heated air rushing through the vent nearby.
I thought of Reed. How different they looked when they slept. Bryce slept like he hadn’t a care in the world, like no one would dare cross him enough to wake him. Reed slept like he was always on guard, ready to stand and protect.
Reed had probably listened to my voicemail by now. Probably felt guilty. Probably started an investigation that would take days to find me.
If he even cared enough to look. No. I couldn't think like that. Couldn't let despair win. Because I know, if I knew anything about Reed Morrison, it’s that he would protect and serve to his last breath—no matter what.
I don’t know how long I have though, and I won’t just sit and wait like a damsel in distress. I was alive which meant I could still fight.
The coffee table was eye level from where I lay. Glass. Thick. A top surface and another lower glass shelf underneath.
The lower shelf held a few decorative objects. Things his mother had probably chosen to make the beach house feel sophisticated. She was always so kind. I never understood how Bryce had come from a sweet woman like Moira Callahan. There were a few books. A crystal bowl. A small wooden box.
And a figurine. Heavy bronze, from the look of it.
An abstract female form—all angular planes and sharp edges.
Maybe ten inches tall. From where I sat, the base appeared wide and solid—heavy.
The top came to several pointed protrusions—her hair flowing off to her side, the tips of her ends creating a collection of sharp barbs.
Modern art. Expensive. Weighted. Sharp. My pulse kicked faster despite the pain. A weapon. Just over an arms-length away. Right there. Within reach if I could just move—just stretch.
Bryce still snored softly in his chair. His arms were crossed over his chest, head lolled to one side. I just needed him to stay asleep—just long enough.
I assessed the distance again. The couch to the coffee table. It felt like it was an ocean away, but it wasn't. It was a reach—a painful one, but I'd crawl through the desert with no water to have even the chance of survival.
I could do this. The tips of my fingers escaped the blanket, paving the way for my hand and arm. Each millimeter had been a battle won in silence. Now came the real war—shifting my broken body without a sound. Without waking him.
I waited. Counted his breaths. Listened to the rhythm of his snoring. If I lived through this, I swore I’d do everything in my power to make sure women like me didn’t have to rely on luck or timing or which detective picked up the case.
The heat coming through the vents was loud—it sounded almost like waves. I prayed it was loud enough to cover my grunts and heavy breathing. Reed's voice echoed in my head from that day at the gym: "Use every advantage. Sound, distraction, anything."
Okay. I had sound. I had distraction—he was asleep. What I didn't have was time. He could wake up any second. Could decide to move me. Could decide to finish what he started.
I had to move now. I shifted my weight slightly. Fire exploded through my ribs and I bit down on my split lip to keep from crying out. The taste of blood filled my mouth.
Bryce's snoring continued, unchanged.
Another shift. I rolled onto my side, the blanket catching on my elbow before I was finally able to break free of the prison it had represented.
My vision went white at the edges. Sweat beaded instantly across my forehead, and bile rose in my throat.
Every pain in my body exploded—it felt like I had broken glass inside me.
I bit my tongue until I tasted copper, anything to keep from making a sound.
I would not let him win. I would not die here. I would not let Lucas and Zoe grow up without me.
I could do this. I had to do this. The thought crystallized in my mind as every cell in my broken body hummed with a determination that let me push past the pain. My children's faces flashed in my mind—Zoe's dimpled smile, Lucas's serious eyes. They needed their mother to come home.
My hand reached out toward the coffee table. The shelf underneath was right there. The bronze sculpture caught the dim light from the windows. So close.
I pushed myself forward—just an inch—and white-hot pain lanced through my ribs. A new pain in my shoulder I hadn’t noticed before exploded. My vision grayed at the edges. I froze, barely breathing, waiting for the agony to subside enough that I could think.