Chapter 33 Chase
Chapter thirty-three
Chase
I take a slow sip of my wine, pushing my lobster bisque around my plate.
She’s late.
It doesn’t matter what her feelings are towards me; it’s unprofessional, and she knows that.
The truth settles hard on my chest. While I was doing everything in my power to get her in the same room, she seems intent on avoiding me completely.
I take another slug of my wine, waving for the server; I’ve held off ordering the mains for long enough.
A quick sweep of the table and the conversation is lively.
No awkward small talk or desperate grabs at the weather.
This deal already has success stamped all over it.
Martin and Austen, seated to my right, are deep in a debate about Bitcoin and blockchain ethics, like they’re competing in some kind of geek-off.
It’s only me, it seems, who’s fixated on the glaringly empty chair.
Martin’s gaze flicks my way, narrowing in on me, like he’s reading between the lines—the ones scribbled across my forehead in frustration.
“I’m not sure where Violet’s got to,” he says, scoring an instant slam dunk. “Apparently, she told Sally she had to drop by somewhere before joining us; otherwise, she would’ve come with us. It’s... not like her.”
His worried glance drifts further down the table to a woman I recognize from earlier—mid-twenties, around Violet’s age.
“Sally,” he calls, adjusting the knot in his tie. “Did Violet say where she was going?”
Sally frowns, picking up her phone and checking it. “No, sorry. She just said she had to see a friend, and she’d be here by seven.”
She lifts a brow at the guy sitting beside Violet’s empty chair. He shrugs. “I just texted her, but she hasn’t read it yet.”
Jealousy sparks before I can reason with it—over a damn text.
Christ, I’m completely unraveling. Violet has me losing my goddamn mind.
“It’s fine,” I say, like I’m chewing cardboard.
“I imagine she got caught in traffic.” The server appears by my side, pencil and pad poised.
I gesture vaguely at the sirloin and snap the menu shut.
Not that it matters. These days, all I seem to be eating is humble pie—served cold, with a generous side of long-overdue karma, courtesy of the many women I’ve left hanging over the years.
I try to shove the thought aside—until my gaze lands on a suspiciously quiet Seb.
Seb, who could turn a tax seminar into a tequila-fueled rave. Seb, who hasn’t touched his wine and keeps flicking glances at his phone like it might bite him.
He looks up, meeting my frown with one of his own.
And just like that, something inside me drops. A slow, crawling dread unfurls in my gut, like the ground beneath me has started to crack and I’m the last one to notice.
I drag back my chair, the scrape of it loud enough to turn a few heads. Seb catches the movement immediately, rising like he’s been waiting for the cue.
“Outside, now,” I say under my breath, jerking my head toward the hallway beyond the private suite.
He doesn’t hesitate.
We step into the corridor, the sound of silverware and easy laughter muffling behind the heavy door.
“What’s going on?” I demand, my tone sharp, vibrating with something ugly in my chest.
Seb hesitates—too fucking long.
“Seb.”
He blows out a breath. “She went to see Millie.”
I stare at him like the words don’t compute. “She what?”
“I told her not to,” he blurts, like he’s bracing for the fallout. “She was adamant. Said she needed to hear Millie out. I didn’t think—”
“Jesus Christ,” I snap, raking a hand through my hair. “Why the hell would she do that?”
“I don’t know,” Seb says, his eyes closing, fists balling tight. “I didn’t think she’d actually—”
“Pull up Millie’s number and give me your phone.”
“What—?”
“Give-Me-Your-Fucking-Phone.”
Seb flinches, but he doesn’t argue. He fumbles with the screen, thumbs flying, then passes it to me with her contact open. I hit call and pace like I’m about to burst out of my own skin.
The last hope I had that Millie would answer like a sane person, confirming Violet is fine, shatters immediately. She picks up on the first ring, her voice breaking apart like glass.
“Seb... Elliot—he has Violet—I’m sorry, I should never have... he wouldn’t listen.”
“It’s not Seb,” I cut in, my voice like a whip. “Where is she?”
She gasps when she realizes it’s me, her words crumbling into sobs. “My apartment—he won’t let her leave. She’s locked in there with him. I don’t know what else to do...”
The line goes dead, and my heart stops.
“Millie? Millie!”
I hit redial, but there’s no answer.
“Fuck!” I shove the phone back into Seb’s chest.
“What did she say?” he asks, eyes wide, already knowing.
“She said Elliot’s got Violet in her apartment. Locked them in. He’s not letting her leave.”
Seb looks like he’s going to be sick.
“What’s the address?” I bark.
He rattles it off, and I’m already turning. “Stay here,” I tell him. “Make something up—tell them I got pulled away. If she calls or texts, you call me. Immediately.”
I bolt through the restaurant’s entrance, heart hammering, vision narrowed to a tunnel.
Albert, stationed outside, steps out of the car, reaching for the door handle.
“Keys,” I snap. “Get in the passenger seat. I’m driving.”
“Sir—”
“Now, Albert!”
One glance at my face, and he tosses the keys over without another word.
Before he even shuts the door, I’m already starting the engine accelerator to the floor, one hand gripping the wheel so hard my knuckles ache. “Three twenty-four Clinton Street, Albert. Navigate. Don’t talk. Just guide.”
We peel off with a shriek of tires, and I power through the first red light like it’s not even there.
Albert mutters, “Left in two blocks,” and I gun it again. Every second feels like it’s suffocating me. My head is buzzing, fury and fear building under my skin like pressure behind a dam. Elliot. That sick bastard. I swear to God, if he has hurt her, I’m going down for murder.
I break almost every traffic law known to man—speed limits, red lights, even a one-way—until finally, the brick facade of Millie’s building comes into view. My chest is tight, lungs burning from the shallow breaths I’ve been taking the entire ride.
“I’m going in. Wait here,” I bark, shoving the gear into park and launching myself out before the car fully stops.
A couple exits the building as I barrel up. I grab the door before it closes and charge up the staircase four floors. By the second, my legs are screaming. By the third, my heart’s a drumbeat in my ears. By the fourth, I’m barely breathing.
But I don’t stop.
Her door’s ahead—Unit 4C.
I don’t knock. I pound. “Violet!”
There’s no answer, just a deathly silence.
My loud fuck echoes in the stairwell as I press my palms into my scalp, trying to formulate a plan.
I step back, scanning, then spot the fire extinguisher bolted to the hallway wall.
Adrenaline is pumping through me so fast I easily rip it free, heaving it forward and slamming it into the door so hard the wood cracks.
Again and again, I keep smashing into it until the door splinters with a sharp crack.
My arm reaches through to click open the lock. Then I burst through—and freeze.
Elliot is dragging her limp body through the hallway towards the bedroom. When he sees me, he drops her like she’s on fire.
Violet crumples to the floor, barely conscious. Her eyes are glazed, and her blouse is half-untucked. My blood turns cold.
Elliot tries to bolt.
But I’m faster.
I slam him back into the wall so hard paintings and framed photos topple to the floor. My fist connects with his face with a satisfying crack, smashing into him again and again until blood sprays across the white paint.
“What the hell did you do to her, you sick fuck?” I roar, grabbing his collar and smashing him into the wall.
He gasps for air, blood drooling at the corner of his mouth.
When he doesn’t answer, I drive my fist into his stomach. He doubles over with a wheeze, coughing. A wet stain leaks out from his crotch, streaming down the inside of his pants. Pathetic bastard must have pissed himself.
“I swear to god, Elliot, if you don’t start talking now, I’m going to slice off your minuscule cock with a carving knife.”
“We drank tequila!” he chokes out on a gasp. “That’s all, I swear!”
“I don’t fucking believe you. Why is she on the floor?” My hand curls around his throat, squeezing until his eyes roll back. His arms wave frantically in a silent plea to stop. I release the pressure just slightly to allow him to talk.
“We played a drinking game. She lost,” he croaks. “Nothing more.”
My fingers grip his throat, harder this time.
“Do you know what I think, Elliot?” I snarl, teeth bared and clenched tight, my eyes popping with anger.
“I think I interrupted your sordid little plan to get her drunk and drag her to the bedroom.” All he can do is gurgle as I cut off his air supply.
“So give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you now.
” I’m so far gone with rage, I keep squeezing and squeezing until I feel the fight draining from his body.
Violet makes a small sound—a broken whisper. “...Chase?”
I drop him like dead weight and rush to her side, kneeling, cradling her head gently. She’s pale, eyes struggling to focus. I can smell tequila in her hair, her clothes, fucking everywhere.
Behind me, I hear the rustle of movement—Elliot’s footsteps, stumbling for the door. I make to go, but Violet clasps her fingers around mine, gently tugging me back.
“Don’t leave me.”
I freeze.
“I won’t leave you, Violet.” I gather her close, cradling her in my lap like something fragile, something sacred. My heart’s a wild, erratic thud, adrenaline still screaming through me.
“Baby, are you okay?” I whisper, brushing her hair from her face.
She nods, barely. Her eyes flicker open just long enough to calm the beast still clawing inside my chest.
“I want to go home, Chase,” she slurs.
“Whatever you want.”