Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
ANDIE
I wake suddenly while in the process of dry heaving. My stomach lurches violently and my lungs refuse to work properly. Painful, racking coughs erupt up from my throat as my stomach keeps trying to empty itself of nothing. It’s an effort to even open my eyes fully, but I force them open anyway.
I take stock of myself and my surroundings. I’m lying in a bed, the caress of cotton fabric feeling nice on my skin. I guess it’s a step up from being strapped to a chair like I was before. I don’t feel anything hurting, other than my pounding head and queasy stomach. No broken bones, so that’s good. I focus on moving my arms, and I’m able to raise my hand to my face. No bindings. I’m not tied down.
Breathing in deeply, I take in a full inhalation and fill my lungs. The fragrance of lavender sifts through the air, not the stench of blood or piss. Groaning, I sit up too quickly and grab my head when a wave a dizziness hits me hard. I need about ten ibuprofen and a bottle of tequila.
“Rafe, what have you done?” I groan, my heart breaking all over again as my memories return full force. The attack on the house. The syringe. His final words of regret. He stabbed me with a goddamn needle. He drugged me. That son of a bitch!
Then panic takes hold. What has he done to Tessa? Are Jax and Keane okay? Oh, God. Sarah.
Jolting off the bed, I stumble and fall to my knees when my legs refuse to work. Get up, Andie . Gritting my teeth, I force myself to stand, using the chair beside me as a prop. Even though it’s dark, my eyes have adjusted enough for me to make out the outline of a door. Light peeks in from the cracks around it.
I grab the doorknob and turn, expecting it to be locked. It’s not. It could be a trap. I could open it and be met with guns pointed at my face, just like with what happened with Liam at the motel. I’ll take my chances.
Remembering Jax’s knife strapped to my lower calf, I hold the doorknob and bend down, wanting a weapon in hand. Shit! It’s gone. He took my goddamn knife.
Fuck it. I’ll fight with my bare hands. And when I do get Jax’s knife back, I’m going to slit Rafe from neck to groin with it.
I fling open the door and crouch low, expecting an attack. Shouldn’t have done that. I dry heave a couple of times before I’m able to control it. Deep breath in, exhale out.
“Hey, Alex. You’re awake.”
Only one person has ever called me Alex.
“Tessa?” I croak, my voice sounding raspy.
She’s okay. My eyes water at the brightness of light in the room, and I blink a few times to clear them.
Tessa is sitting on a paisley-upholstered sofa, book in hand, wearing her purple-framed reading glasses. She’s dressed in jeans and a black long-sleeved shirt. The short blonde bob she used to wear is now shoulder length. I carefully inspect her from where I’m swaying. She doesn’t look harmed, and I don’t see any signs of bruising or mistreatment.
She pats the sofa cushion beside her. “Come, sit,” she invites me, and I just stare at her.
She’s not acting like anything is wrong. She’s not freaking out like she’s been recently kidnapped. She’s completely calm, as if everything is perfectly normal.
When I don’t move, Tessa cocks her head at me and smiles. “You must be thirsty.”
On the coffee table in front of her, there are two glasses and a small pitcher of iced water with lemon and lime slices floating at the top. Pouring a glass, she pats the sofa again.
“Come and sit with me. This will help. Trust me.”
I scrunch my face. “Tessa, what the fuck? You’re acting weird as shit. Where’s Rafe?”
“He’ll be back.”
She slides the glass of water in my direction.
“ Where is he? ”
She cocks her head the other way. It reminds me of how dogs do that when they don’t understand what their masters are saying.
“Do you want something to eat?”
No, I don’t want any-fucking-thing to eat , I want to scream at her. I must still be knocked out and unconscious because none of this is making any sense.
My eyes wildly search the room until they land on a door. A way out. My chance to escape. I make a dash for it and throw it open—and slam into a massive brick wall of muscle. Two hands wrap around my upper arms to steady me when I begin to topple backward. I look up at the man I never thought I’d see again. Dark mahogany hair and steel-gray eyes attached to a tall, powerful frame. My angel-turned-devil.
Liam stares down at me almost tenderly. The last time I saw him, he was pointing a gun at me. Prickly chills skitter down my spine; the unpleasant sensation reminds me of the time I accidentally stepped in a fire ant mound, and hundreds of the tiny, evil creatures swarmed up my legs, stinging and biting me. My calves were covered in painful, pus-filled whelps for two weeks.
Any hope I had of escaping dies. I’m truly trapped.
I wrench myself away from Liam and back the hell up when another man steps forward.
I’ve only seen Declan Levine once in my life, and that was from afar at the gala benefit that I was promptly whisked away from. But I’ve never met him in person. I thought he was still in federal prison. Clearly, not anymore. Declan looks different than I expected. I had assumed he would dress like my father; all expensive, showy pieces that display his wealth and power for all to see.
But Declan doesn’t look like that. He’s in a casual pair of black, pleated dress slacks and a blue, collared dress shirt. His wavy, blond hair is cropped close, and his jaw is covered with a short, dark-blond beard. And he’s tall, as tall as Liam. But those aren’t the features I’m gawping at. Because staring at me are two very familiar eyes—violet-colored eyes like mine.
And then he says the one thing that shatters my entire fucking world apart.
“Hello, daughter.”