Chapter 1 #5
An ancient, painful, deep groan comes out of me, constricting my guts in one single harsh spasm.
The sound surely echoes to the living room.
My so-called cool facade breaks apart as I look up at my reflection, fist in the air, aiming right at my face in the mirror.
My fist meets the surface, and sharp edges clash against my knuckles, the glass now punctured by a web of shards.
Heaving heavily, I let out another harsh exhale, punching the mirror again, and again, and again.
Until my fist drips with the same failures coursing through my veins.
Until I cannot see my face reflected, only dismantled pieces of glass, crushed, giving me an inhuman appearance.
Uninvited tears dwell in my eyes, and I blink hard for them to go away.
A ragged breath gets out of my lungs with difficulty, pulled out by pliers.
Aiming straight at the glass, I strike again, pain exploding through my knuckles, splitting the skin until blood coats its surface.
I will find you, Ella. I promise. And when I do, I will tell you all the things I should have said earlier.
I will fix it. I will fix everything. Even if fixing it means becoming the thing I have spent my whole life resisting, then so be it.
I am not my father. He hurt people because he could.
Because they were weaker. Because his violence needed somewhere to go and he never cared who bled beneath it. Mine has a direction now—a purpose.
Ella did not create the violence in me. It was already there, buried under discipline, restraint, suits, and codes of conduct.
She just helped me drag it into the light, feral and awake, not to harm what is innocent, but to tear apart anyone who dares touch her.
Straightening my back, I crack my neck, smoothing my shirt with a shaking hand.
Inhale. Exhale. There. Calm. I find a patch of cotton gauze under the sink and fasten a makeshift bandage over my knuckles, tightening the knot hard in my palm.
Exiting, I rush back to the living room, where Matt stands, eyes on me.
“There’s movement. We can already identify a few patterns and potential points of entry.” Good. Progress is better than nothing. We spend the rest of the next two hours mapping potential exits and counting hostages and guards, which is not easy given the number of floors.
Nevertheless, around six a.m., we manage to find two cells that could be holding my girl.
Furthest down in the abyss of this hellhole.
Five floors down. Rays of sunshine observe us through the thick curtains as I press the button next to the window to slide them open.
Is she sleeping? Has she eaten? My stomach growls.
Matt is still looking at the camera settings of the area as Alfie takes a short nap.
Brenton has gone into the kitchen to make coffee, and Paxos is monitoring the heat-camera movements.
Deputy Garron calls every fifteen minutes, her voice tight and procedural, telling me a tactical unit is assembling, that they need confirmation, that they cannot raid a suspected underground facility based only on my thermal footage without risk assessment and municipal authorization.
I’m pacing like a lunatic when the sound of my phone interrupts it. Taking it out of my back pocket, my heart warns me with a squeeze as I face an unknown caller video-calling me.
“It’s him,” I call loudly, as Alfie snaps out of his nap, shaking his head like a wet dog, giving me a thumbs-up.
It was clear from the get-go that if Cole were to contact me, we would need to record the call, track him down, and gather as much intel as we could about his surroundings.
A video call. Sweat rolls down my temple at the possibility of seeing my girl.
A dark room appears, the camera moving all around like a drunk person would film.
There is a rustling, steps, movement, ragged breathing, as a hand catches and tugs at what seems to be a blanket, uncovering Ella, her body visible, only covered with white cotton underwear.
The vision of her skin burns my pupils to their backs, of the devil devouring the sight of something so sacred only saints should be allowed access to, and yet, under this blanket, with no mattress beneath her but cold concrete, she is there, half naked, trying to hide herself with her arms as she seems to register that he is filming her right now while she was trying to sleep.
“Ella,” I let out, uncontrollable, despair coating my voice, the urge to reach out and get her away crashing through my lungs.
I shift my weight on my feet. “Ella, I’m coming.
I’m coming, sweetheart.” Can she hear me?
Is his mic on? Her brows unfurl as she looks left and right, searching where my voice is coming from, hope painting her face with the most beautiful shade of light.
“Hold on, princess. I’m taking care of everything.
I’ll be–I’ll be there soon, I promise.” She finds the screen with a mix of fear and deep sadness, her mouth shaping my name silently, her arms still crossed above her body.
“So soon already?” The camera changes angle, now facing Cole’s disgusting sneer from above, as he circles next to Ella, towering over her, my girl curled up on the floor, tugging at the fabric like a lifejacket. Her fingers move abruptly, and I focus solely on her hands.
“Basement. Lots of guards. Other prisoners. I’m so scared. Please find me. I’m so sorry I left without telling you,” she signs, and my chest rests higher, knowing that even in such distress, she’s trying. My smart, brave girl.
“I did what you wanted, transferred everything to your bank account. Now let her go.”
“I don’t know, Ashford. I’m starting to enjoy having your girl here.”
“I gave you everything you wanted, Cole. Now let her go,” I say calmly, since yelling will get me nowhere.
“Or?”
“I swear to God, I will make you regret the day you were born.” Kneeling, he catches a fistful of Ella’s hair as she winces in pain.
“Want to see something, Tristan?” His fist seems to tighten as Ella’s hand tries to push him away.
“Now.” Cole nods, and I realize someone else is in the room with them.
No. Do not hurt her. Stop this. Shooting from a wider angle, the arm of another man comes into view, holding what appears to be a metal stick with a red glowing end. No. They cannot do this.
“Stop this. Tell me everything you want. I’ll give you even more.
Anything, Cole, anything.” But my pleas are interrupted by the display of agony etched on Ella’s face as Cole zooms in on an iron claw, shaped in the letter V, the size of my palm, branding her like cattle on her shoulder, marking her as his.
Tears spread over her beautiful face, her lips trembling, body convulsing at the assault, the iron leaving her skin battered with a bloody V marking her.
It’s only now that I notice how thin she is.
Isn’t he feeding her? How often can she eat?
Shutting her eyes, she looks down, defeated, covering her shoulder with her right hand, silently crying, trapped in this hell I cannot protect her from.
“Transfer 300 million in the next forty-eight hours, or I won’t be so gentle next time.”
“Hold on, Ella. I’m coming,” I promise one last time, urgency in my voice.
“You either come alone, or I’ll burn her alive,” Cole spits as she glances up one last time before he ends the call. Her face. Her eyes. She does not believe I am coming anymore. He is trying to break her, and if I do not make it as soon as I can, she will break.
“We tracked the call,” Alfie says in his monotonous voice.
Calmness descends on me. Ella needs me. And I am coming. I did not lie. When Cole asked for 300 million, I gave it to him. Now he wants me to send more, and I will. Even if it means selling and giving up on my life’s work. Because none of this matters without Ella.
Nate, Maddie, and my mother have savings of their own that I have maxed out in the past; they’ll be fine. As for me, I will always find a way to come back. But Ella is the only element of the equation I cannot risk.
Afterward, all I have left is this house, my car and the inside of my vault. But I could not care less. They branded her. Hurt her. Silence takes possession of the room, like a disease contaminating us from the phone call.