Chapter 17 #5
Brightness blinds me as my hand covers my eyes, burned by the bright neon lighting.
The man behind me seems to have retreated, and I am now facing someone.
My eyes take a minute to adjust to my surroundings.
It is not a large basement. This is…a cell.
The same size as my bedroom, with one single neon light on the ceiling, concrete from top to bottom, empty of everything.
There is no chair, no table, no nothing.
Two meters from me stands a man wearing a black suit, his back resting on the opposite wall, his shiny loafers contrasting with the spartan surroundings.
He’s around Tristan’s height but far less muscular, his frame leaner and less imposing.
A snake is tattooed across his right hand, coiled around a dagger.
His hair is nothing like Tristan’s clean, short cut.
It’s long enough for him to rake his fingers through, the greasy strands combed back and brushing his earlobes.
His nose is straight, his chin oddly short.
But his eyes, small and black, hold the promise of hellfire in their depths. A monster dressed like a gentleman.
“You must wonder why you are here, Ella?” He waves at me, mentioning my name like this is common knowledge, like we know each other, before crossing his arms nonchalantly.
“I have spent the last decade trying to find Ashford’s Achilles’ heel, so imagine my surprise when your stepmother, who could not repay her debt to me, told me that you were quite close to Tristan Ashford.
That your sister, Emily, I believe, had seen him drive you to the end of the street one day, thinking no one had seen you.
Tristan Ashford, driving back home a young, pretty thing like you?
Ah, of course he’s smitten. After digging, I found out that he was meeting you late at night at his office, and well, not only is your stepmother now debt-free since she traded you, but I am also going to have all of Tristan’s assets, company, territories, everything he built, his legacy, his fortune, his houses and yacht.
Because you see…if he wants to get you, he’ll have to trade everything he ever had. ”
He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
“So I hope your love is strong, little birdy, because that is the only chance you will have. He’ll lose everything to get you, and even then…
if I do not change my mind before. Imagine if you’re not worth it?
Ah.” He scoffs with a short, cold laugh.
“So…for both our sakes, let’s hope he loves you very dearly.
” His words run like snow over me, numbing my hopes and dreams. Yes, Tristan likes me, but would he lose everything he has ever built and owned for me?
No, of course not. I am just a maid he is fond of, nowhere near someone he would burn the world for.
“I’m gonna go now, and you are going to undress, and Nikolai,” he says, pointing behind me, “Nikolai is going to take care of you so we can send a pretty video of you to your boyfriend.” What?
No. I will not let this man touch me. Rounding my side, the man in a suit stops.
His palms rub against each other, as if he is making fire.
“How rude of me. I am Cole, by the way. Cole Vodianov.” His hand finds my chin, lifting it up to his gaze.
“And if Tristan does not come for you, love, trust me, I will keep you to myself.” My blood turns cold as Nikolai comes into view.
The door behind us opens and closes again, the sound of a lock echoing loud and clear.
I try to get away from his grip, fighting this mountain of a man, his face stern and unmoving like a damn robot.
He is tall and huge, missing an ear; his khaki jacket and pants look like a military uniform, but his hair is too long and smells like petrol and dirt, and his face seems beaten too many times, features smushed and distorted.
He looks like a man who's been in situations I wouldn't dare step into, even in a nightmare.
I take a chance at putting my fist in his face, but he grunts, overpowering me with the sigh of a tired man holding a mouse in his hand.
The next second, his hand collides with my brow, and everything turns black.
A minute passes.
Then another.
Am I still…
Alive?
Everything turns into nothingness.
I wake up moments later, in my underwear, with something sticky on my face.
I tap it and look at my fingers. Blood. He hit me, and it opened my brow.
Wet blood has run down my face, jaw, and shoulder, and dripped to the low of my belly.
I am in my white cotton bra and underwear, lying on the side of my body on the concrete.
No mattress or blanket. Just this single neon shining too bright and no window telling me what time it is.
Pointing at my face from the corner of the room, a camera, the end round, watching me like an orbit, a second presence, violating my vulnerability with its constant watchful eye.
Nikolai, the man who did this, is no longer here, but I feel my head pulsing like he just hit me with a baseball bat.
Clothes, gone. Cellphone, gone. I am going to die here, in this basement, in the city Tristan rules, under his gaze, but invisible.
I will die here, alone, trapped; God knows what they will do to me if Tristan does not stop them.
I love you, Tristan, I repeat in my head.
At least I got to feel what it was like.
Even for a brief moment, to be loved.
Tristan
There is no one in this fucking manor, and I am cursing myself for wasting time being here tonight.
I checked all the rooms, but even in his office or bedroom, I couldn't find him or anyone else.
Surely, it would have been much more ideal to call him beforehand and set up an appointment for his assassination, but formalities are not to be applied to all scenarios.
So I rush out of his freaking Russian-gold, dust-and-liquor-stinking place, the manor filled with relics from ancient times and plasma TVs in every room, along with pole-dance bars.
Tasteful. Jumping out of the first-floor window, I land without crushing my knees, which I should not take for granted, given my thirty-two years.
And in the midst of this, my main concern is that I cannot check on Ella.
In a minute, I find Matt back in the car, sliding into the passenger seat with smoke that could be coming out of my ears.
“Let’s go.”
“Is he…”
“No. He wasn’t there.”
“Copy that.” The car moves back as he takes the road at full speed while I wait for the signal to show up again, allowing me to breathe.
I will check on her and then go back to the hunt.
Office. Strip clubs. Bars. I will find this motherfucker and end him.
We pass by a bridge, water running underneath, streetlights illuminating the passage.
We are four minutes into the drive when the signal connects again, and my heart stops functioning.
My surveillance app glows red. Several texts and a dozen missed calls.
From Ella and my surveillance staff. I open the app.
My bed is empty of Ella as I read her texts with horror.
Ella: I’m home, emergency with my dad, please join me when you’re done.
Ella: On my way home, please answer. I need you, Tristan. I need you so much right now.
And the last one shatters what was left of my heart.
Ella: Help.
And she tried video calling, numerous times.
But I was too fucking deep in my head for her to reach me when she needed me.
Just when I thought I could kill the one person threatening her life, I was actually ignoring her cry for help.
Where is she now? I try to call her, but it goes immediately to voicemail.
My hand twitches. Jaw clenching. My thumb hovers over the screen for half a second before I call the security team watching my house. They answer on the second ring.
“Mr. Ashford.”
“Where is Ella?” I bark.
“Sir, we tried calling you. We heard movement behind the house. Footsteps, maybe someone running. We checked the perimeter immediately, but by the time we got there, there was nothing.” My blood turns to ice.
“What do you mean, nothing?”
“No visible breach. No alarm triggered. We thought it might have been an animal at first, but when we came back to the car, we replayed the front-camera footage.” My grip tightens around the phone.
“And?”
“She came to the front gate, sir. Ms Brooks. She looked around, checked the car, then left on foot. She was running toward the main road.” For a second, the world goes silent.
“She came to you,” I say, my voice dropping so low it barely sounds human. “She did the right thing, and none of you were there.”
“Sir…at that time, we were trying to prevent a potential home invasion; we had no idea it was her. We’re currently searching the area. Two men are on foot; one car is circling the neighborhood. We tried to reach her, but she is no longer visible on the cameras.”
“Find her.”
“We are trying, sir.”
“No.” My jaw locks. “Try harder.” How could this nightmare take place in such a short amount of time? My hand flexes and unflexes, terror gripping my lungs, as daggers twist in my temples. I end the call, inhaling deeply.
“Ella is in trouble.” I wince, pain pulsing hard under my forehead. “We need to get to her place.” She must have thought she could run to her home. My brave girl.
“What happened?”