Chapter 26 #2
A breath shakes out of me. “She must have seen me with Natalie. She must’ve known we were together. If she finds out about the baby?—”
God.
I feel sick.
I close my eyes, dragging a hand over my face as the storm swells inside me. Every instinct is screaming. Every dark part of me—the ruthless parts I’ve buried—are clawing their way to the surface. I’ll tear the city apart to find her if I have to. I’ll burn it down.
She’s mine.
And no one— no one —takes her from me .
“Get the car,” I tell Jake. “We’re not waiting. I want every asset we have turned to finding her. Now.”
He’s already moving.
And I promise myself this: Whatever Rose thinks she’s going to get from me—revenge, attention, obsession, power…
She’s going to regret it.
Because I’ve never fought for anything the way I’ll fight for Natalie. And I will find her.
No matter what it takes.
The car screeches onto the highway, tires struggling for grip on the slush-covered asphalt as Jake punches the gas.
Salt and grime spray up from the wheels of cars ahead of us, coating the windshield.
I'm in the passenger seat, fists clenched, heart hammering so hard it shakes my whole body.
The heater blasts but can't chase away the chill that has nothing to do with the December cold.
Roland's in the back, stiff and silent, one hand pressed against his side where he's still healing, his heavy coat making him look even more fragile against the leather seats. I don’t care that he should be in a hospital bed. I don’t care about anything except getting to Natalie.
“She’s still there,” Derrick’s voice sounds through the speaker. “I’m sending units there. Don’t do anything rash, Ethan.”
I ignore him.
The worst part is the calm. Like the world outside doesn’t realize Natalie’s been stolen out of it. Like everything’s normal when it’s not.
“She chose a motel,” Jake says, voice tight. “Low cameras. No witnesses.”
“She’s hiding her,” I mutter, throat raw. “Or... ”
I don’t want to think of the worst.
Jake speeds up, weaving through traffic like a madman. I should tell him to slow down, but I can’t. Every second that ticks by feels like a noose tightening around my neck.
“Natalie’s smart,” Jake says quietly. “She’ll stall. She’ll fight if she can.”
She shouldn’t have to.
A bolt of rage tears through me so violently that I slam my palm against the dashboard. Jake doesn’t flinch. He just pushes the car harder.
Rose.
I should’ve buried her obsession the first time she crossed a line. Should’ve never believed she would let it go.
“She’s unstable,” I say aloud, needing them to hear it. “She’s not going to think rationally. If she feels cornered?—”
“She won’t hurt Natalie unless she thinks she’s already lost,” Jake cuts in. “We move fast and quiet. Get Natalie. End it.”
The buildings thin out as we fly toward the outskirts of the city. Cheap motels. Broken neon signs. The kind of place no one asks questions.
“She picked this spot for a reason,” Roland says, his voice strained. “Isolation.”
“And desperation,” I add. Because Rose never wanted anonymity. She wanted me to notice her. To chase her.
Well, she got her wish.
Jake jerks the car off the freeway, tires squealing on the icy asphalt as he takes the exit toward the grimy side of town. The windshield wipers work overtime against the mix of sleet and dirty snow falling from the gray sky.
My stomach twists as the motel comes into view—faded, flickering sign barely visible through the gloom, peeling paint made worse by winter weather, cars lined up outside rooms with doors that look ready to fall off their hinges.
Patches of black ice glint dangerously in the parking lot, and our breath fogs the windows as we sit for a moment, surveying the scene.
Natalie’s somewhere in there. Alone. Scared. Pregnant.
I tighten my fists until my knuckles go white.
I’m coming for you, Natalie.
I swear to God, I’m coming.
“Ready?” Jake kills the engine one block away.
I nod once, sharp and cold. No more words. No more hesitation.
We move.
The man at the reception desk is smoking weed when we barge in.
He looks up when we enter and blinks slowly, eyeing the three of us. “Ah, you three want a room? The valentine suite just emptied?—”
I ignore his words. “Two women showed up here. A redhead and a blonde.”
“No redhead. Got a couple of blondes, though,” he says lazily, puffing out some smoke. “Which one you have a date with?”
“The one who looks rich,” I say coldly.
“Sure,” he bares his teeth in a yellow smile, holding out his hand. “Cost you fifty to tell you her room number.”
Jake moves forward, but I take out fifty and throw it at the man. “Talk.”
“Room 204. Elevator’s broken.”
“Roland, you should stay here,” Jake cautions the older man who looks like he’s minutes away from fainting.
But Roland bats his hand away, wheezing, “I need to see she’s safe.”
I ignore him, hurrying up the steps.
Room 204 is locked, and I knock on it.
“Who is it?” comes a sickeningly familiar voice.
I look at Jake, who is a step behind me, and we nod in unison. Moving back, we throw ourselves against the door .
A startled cry from inside, and then on the second try, the door breaks from the hinges. We both go stumbling inside.
Straightening up, I look around, but aside from the woman in front of me, there is no one.
“Where is she?” I demand, grabbing Rose by her upper arms.
The shock fades from her eyes, replaced by a smile. “I knew you’d come for me, Ethan. All these years, I knew you hadn’t forgotten me.”
“Where is Natalie?!” I shake her, snarling.
Her expression distorts. “She’s gone. Why do you care? She wasn’t good enough for you, anyway. Always crying and whining. I never liked the brat.”
“Rose, I swear to God?—”
Her hand lifts, and she caresses my cheek. “You and I—We were always the end game, Ethan. Me and you against the world. No more Lucas or Natalie to block our way.”
“Where the fuck is she, Rose?!”
She just laughs. “Why do you care? You were just with her to make me jealous! Look, I know the truth, Ethan. You came to the fundraiser that day because you wanted to see me. You were trying to get my attention. You got it. I never forgot you. Natalie—She was just a little brat.”
“Natalie is my fiancée!” I roar at her. “What have you done with her?”
Roland chooses that moment to hobble into the room. “Where is she? Where’s Natalie?”
“She’s not here.” Jake is tense, but that is nothing compared to rage building within me. I have never struck a woman, but for the first time, I’m considering it.
“Give me a fucking answer, Rose! Where is she? What have you done with her?”
Rose laughs lightly. “It doesn’t matter. I’m here. You have me. You don’t have to pretend to care about her anymore! ”
I hear Jake make a strangled sound just as a voice says, “Oh, get out of the way. You’re not getting any answers from her.”
Megan?
I don’t know where my sister popped up from, but she pulls Rose from my grip and then lifts her fist, slamming it down into Rose’s nose.
Crack .
Rose lets out a scream, going down.
“Where is she, you bitch?” Megan kicks her. “My brother won’t touch you because you’re a woman, but guess what?” She kicks Rose in the face, viciously. “I don’t have that problem. Start talking, or I’m going to leave you in severe need of plastic surgery!”
I’ve never seen my sister be so violent, but I have no intentions of stopping her either.
Rose is howling on the ground, protecting her face.
Megan kicks her in her stomach. “God, you’re stubborn.” I see Caleb step in the doorway, looking impressed.
Sighing, Megan leans down and grabs Rose by her long hair, dragging her to the toilet. “Maybe having your face stuffed down a toilet will help jog your memory?—”
The woman is shrieking now, trying to pull away, her nose broken. “She’s with Bridget! Her mother took her!”
Roland goes pale. “What?”
“Where?” Megan crouches beside her. “Where did she take her?”
“To a clinic! That’s all I know!”
“You’re lying!” Megan punches her in the face once again.
“I’m not!” Rose sobs. “She was going to get that thing cut out of her! That’s all I know! Please!”
My sister lifts her fist, and Caleb steps forward, grabbing her by her arms. “That’s quite enough. Prison isn’t for you, Meg.”
“Are you kidding me?” Jake mutters, looking down at the incoherently sobbing woman on the ground. “She’d be ruling it by the end of the day.”
I’m already on the phone with Derrick. “I need to find Bridget Thorne’s phone?—”
“No need,” Roland says grimly. “I know which clinic she’s talking about.”
Caleb stays behind with Megan, and Jake stays with them in case Derrick’s people try to arrest our sister and she needs a lawyer.
Roland needs some help getting down the stairs, but I manage. We don’t waste a second. We’re back in Jake’s car, the sleazy motel shrinking behind us as the engine roars to life. My heart pounds against my ribs hard enough to hurt. I can barely get air in.
Roland is programming the location on the GPS.
“What kind of clinic is it?”
Deep down, I know. But I just need to hear it once, to confirm.
“Not a real one,” Roland says grimly. “It’s on the North side. About twenty minutes out. It’s... not official. Not clean. Rich enough to be discreet. Dirty enough to stay invisible.”
My stomach turns over.
Natalie. At a place like that. Alone, terrified, at the mercy of a woman who’s hated her existence from the start.
“Her mother used to go there,” Roland adds, quieter now. “Every time she got pregnant... she’d go there to get rid of it. She didn’t want to carry my children. She only wanted those of her lover. I only knew because I started following her.”
He presses his hand hard to his side, wincing against the pain. “I stopped her once. Just once.”
“Lucas?”
Roland sneers now. “He isn’t mine. I’m talking about Natalie. I dragged Bridget out of that clinic. She fought me viciously. She’d killed four of my children in there. She liked it, you see. Her own words. She never wanted to use protection because she liked the idea of murdering my children.”
The weight of his words sit on my chest like a goddamn boulder. Suddenly it starts making sense, her mother’s hatred of her. She wanted to get rid of Natalie.
I clench my jaw until it aches. “She’s not getting rid of anything today.”
Roland nods, his face a grim mask. “She won’t touch her. Not while I’m breathing.”
The city blurs past us in a wash of gray and neon. We’re heading toward a wealthier neighborhood now—tree-lined streets, expensive, but just worn enough to keep the wrong kinds of secrets.
I barrel down a side road, weaving around cars, ignoring lights. The GPS pings again, marking a spot on the map that makes my blood run colder.
“That’s it,” Roland mutters. “Off the main strip. Behind the old market.”
The building comes into view—low, white-brick, unmarked. It looks like a dental office that’s been abandoned for years. Curtains drawn tight. No signage. No lights in the front.
And somewhere inside... Natalie.
I don’t realize my hand’s shaking until I throw the car into park, shove open the car door, and sprint across the lot. Roland is right behind me.
I slam my fist against the heavy metal door. Hard enough that my skin stings. “Natalie!”
No answer.
I back up, ready to kick the door in, but Roland grabs my arm.
“Side door,” he says. “Always left unlocked. In case they need to move fast.”
Move fast. Get rid of evidence.
My gut twists violently .
We race around the side of the building, our feet slipping on patches of black ice that coat the cracked pavement.
The wind cuts through our coats like knives, and I can see Roland's breath coming in sharp, painful gasps as he leads, limping but determined through the treacherous footing, his body moving through sheer force of will.
Frost coats the metal handrails and window frames. He reaches the door—paint peeling, metal handle so cold it burns—and tries the handle with fingers that must be numb from the cold.
It swings open with a faint creak, and warmer air rushes out. The smell hits me first—sterile and chemical, but wrong. Underneath, there’s something rotten. Like old blood.
I have nothing but my fists, but I don’t care. I’ll tear through this place barehanded if I have to.
We move down a narrow hallway, the floor sticky underfoot. A broken fluorescent light buzzes overhead. Every second stretches razor-thin.
I hear low voices arguing. An older woman’s voice—sharp, commanding. Another voice—desperate.
Natalie.
I bolt forward, instincts overriding everything else. The room bursts open under my weight.
There she is.
Natalie’s on a gurney, struggling against two women in scrubs. Her wrists are strapped down, her cheeks wet with tears. She looks small and terrified and furious all at once.
I see Lucas on the ground as if someone has knocked him down. He’s wiping blood from the corner of his mouth.
And standing over Natalie, with her fist in her hair like a vice, is a woman who shares some of her features, only crueler, harsher.
Her mother.