Chapter 39
Chapter
Thirty-Nine
AXEL
-never tear us apart-
My pulse hammers, and my stomach twists as I drive. Every second ticks slower than it should. Every red light, every idle driver on the stretch of road in front of me, feels like a personal obstacle, a countdown to something worse.
Betty’s words loop in my head, a mantra I can’t shake: She should enjoy her early nights while she can. She’s about to disappear.
I grit my teeth. My hands tighten on the wheel until the veins stand out across my skin.
I’ve raced towards deadlines before, bargained deals under pressure, but this is different.
This is her. My mind keeps playing through the possibilities: she’s alright.
He just wants to frighten her. He wouldn’t dare do anything to her.
He’s not a murderer. Maybe. But deep down, I know that wouldn’t explain the terror in Betty’s voice.
The industrial district approaches, the streets emptying of life. It’s like a ghost town, full of rusted warehouses, broken windows, weeds cracking through the concrete. Faded signage swings in the wind. My stomach knots tighter with each turn of the wheel.
And then I see it. Unit seventeen. Joseph’s old warehouse.
Seventeen, Hawthorne Trading Estate. A forgotten relic of shipping containers and dreams that never quite left the ground.
It looks abandoned. Dead. But I know enough to sense when something isn’t right.
And every one of my senses is screaming at me right now.
I park a short distance away, not daring to go closer in case I am seen. There are no cars I recognize here. No lights on. Nothing to suggest activity. Nothing that confirms my fears or eases them.
I step out of my car, my boots crunching over gravel.
The cold bites at my cheeks, sharp against the adrenaline coursing through me.
I start walking along the side of the building, scanning every shadow, every corner.
The wind whistles through small gaps in the corrugated metal.
The warehouse seems impossibly still. Too still.
The back door is slightly ajar. My pulse spikes.
Then my cell phone rings. I fumble it out of my pocket to silence it as I don’t want to give myself away.
That door being open means something. Either Jo is indeed in danger and giving myself away might mean I can’t save her, or she is perfectly fine, and Sheldon has brought her here for some legit reason.
In that event, I don’t want either of them to spot me and know I came here like some action hero in one of those bad movies I told her I liked watching.
The screen lights up with her name. Jo. Relief floods through me so hard I nearly drop the cell phone. My hands shake as I swipe to answer. If she’s in there and she hears me, I don’t care. She can torment me about this for the rest of my life as long as she’s ok.
“Jo …”
A deep, distorted voice cuts me off. It’s not Jo.
It’s mechanical, flat, completely unrecognizable.
Whoever this is has to be using some sort of voice-disguising software.
I still know exactly who it is, though. Sheldon.
It has to be. The idea of Jo going to his apartment, being grabbed as she was leaving and being brought here of all places by someone else is too far-fetched to even consider.
“You want to see her alive?” the voice hisses. “Then do exactly as you’re told.”
My stomach drops.
“Who is this?” I ask evenly, forcing myself to sound calm. “Where’s Jo?”
There’s a pause filled only by the faint, mechanical hum of breathing.
“You don’t ask questions. You obey.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Who is this?”
I play it like I would have if I had no idea what was going on, and I got this call. I feel like me knowing it’s Sheldon and Sheldon not knowing that I know this might work to my advantage.
“Money. You’ll pay what is required if you want her unharmed. Fail, and she dies.”
“Look, this isn’t funny. Put her on the phone now,” I snap, just as I would if I didn’t know anything.
“Axel.”
It’s Jo’s voice. She is alive if nothing else. But she sounds terrified. I resist the urge to burst in there now because he must be close to her if she’s talking on the cell phone he’s holding. He could hurt her if I startled him.
“There. Now, no more messing around. You will do what I say,” the mechanical voice growls.
I pretend to play along. “Just tell me what you want, and I’ll sort it out. You don’t need to hurt her.”
“You will follow my instructions exactly. No deviations.”
I bite back the urge to threaten him. I can’t. My priority is her. “Of course,” I say quickly.
A low chuckle, warped by the software, fills my ears. “Keep your cell phone on. My instructions will follow.”
Then the line goes dead.
For a moment, I stand frozen. My entire body hums with relief that she’s alive. That she’s here. That she hasn’t been killed … yet. God, when I get my hands on Sheldon. He is going to wish he had never even heard my name. And if he has hurt her? I will tear him apart with my bare hands.
I pocket my cellphone and move towards the back door, stepping lightly so my boots don’t crunch on the gravel.
I slip inside the open door and duck behind an old shelving unit while I wait for my eyes to adjust to the darkness in here compared to the bright light outside.
The warehouse smells of dust and rust. Dim light filters through grimy windows, casting long shadows across the empty space.
I blink, and my vision clears. And I see her.
My Jo. I swallow back the rush of emotion that threatens to overwhelm me and force myself to think coldly as if it is a difficult business deal.
I analyze the situation. Jo is strapped into a wheelchair.
Her wrists are bound to the armrests, and her ankles are bound to the footrests.
There’s another strap across her chest that goes around the back of the wheelchair.
It doesn’t look like the restraints are anything that I won’t be able to undo.
Jo’s hair is messy, and there is a thin line of dried blood at her temple.
Other than that, with only a visual check, she looks ok, but even that hurt is enough to make my blood boil.
I don’t see any sign of Sheldon, and I decide now is a good time to go and free Jo.
I stand up from behind the shelving unit and move towards her.
Her head whips around when she hears my footsteps, and her eyes widen the instant that she sees it is me.
Relief floods her expression so quickly it almost brings me to my knees.
“Axel,” she whispers when I reach her.
“I’ve got you,” I murmur. My hands move instinctively to the restraints. I undo the strap across her torso first, then the cuffs on her wrists. Her skin is red where the bindings have dug in.
“Are you hurt?” I ask quietly, crouching to meet her eyes.
She shakes her head, trembling. “Just … just a cut. I’m ok. Hurry. He could come anytime now.”
I crouch lower to free her ankles. Her hands fly to mine once she is loose. I keep my gaze on her, trying to transmit calm, trying to steady the shaking I feel in my own body as I pull her to her feet and embrace her.
“You’re safe now. I’ve got you,” I whisper.
Her breath hitches. Relief, fear, and exhaustion all mixed together. I brush a strand of hair from her face and feel a spike of anger rise. Sheldon is going to pay for this.
For now, though, I can’t let anger consume me. All I can do is focus on her, on keeping her safe.
“Let’s go,” I say, but before we can make a move, a voice from behind me makes my blood freeze.
“Well, well.”
I spin around. Sheldon stands in the shadows, a gun raised and pointed towards us. His eyes are wild, and there is a smirk on his face that makes my stomach drop. In short, he looks crazy.
The warehouse seems impossibly quiet now, silent except for the thrum of my heartbeat hammering in my ears.
All I can think about is if I hadn’t hesitated to let my eyes adjust to the dark, if I hadn’t paused to hug Jo, she could be out of here now, safe.
I know it’s not true – Sheldon was obviously watching and waiting for his moment.
I have to stop tormenting myself. I have to focus.
I press my back against the warehouse wall behind me, Jo clinging to my jacket, trembling like she’s about to collapse. Every muscle in my body screams to act, to grab her, to run, to throw myself at Sheldon, and end this before it can even start. But I know better.
He has a gun. And he looks crazy enough to pull that trigger.
The second he steps into sight, I see he isn’t just a madman with a gun.
He’s mad, but he’s also bizarrely calm. So collected it’s scary.
Every step, every word, measured. Cold. And that’s worse than rage, worse than panic.
Because cold means logical, and logical means he’s in control and judging by the hate in his eyes, capable of anything.
I keep my hands where he can see them, my movement slow, controlled.
Nothing that might make him jerk the trigger.
“What the hell are you doing, Sheldon?” I demand, keeping my voice firm. Sometimes that works. “What is this? Why her? Why this? Have you lost your damned mind?”
He tilts his head, regarding me like I’m a curious animal. His smirk is gone now, replaced with something more dangerous. Predatory. Certain.
“You don’t understand,” he says softly, too softly, the kind of calm that makes my skin crawl. “Everything was going according to plan … until you showed up. Now … everything has changed.”
I keep my gaze locked on him, measuring his stance. I see the cold hate in his eyes. Not anger. Not desperation. Just complete certainty that he hates us both. We stole his inheritance.
“I don’t care about your plans,” I say, keeping my voice even. “Let her go. You don’t have to do this.”
He laughs lightly, a sound that doesn’t reach his eyes. “It’s not about letting her go. It’s about leverage. Now that you’re here, it’s perfect. I can use both of you. You and her.”
I feel a cold weight in my chest. I’ve dealt with violent men before.
I’ve dealt with desperate men before. But this is different.
He is neither. He is a sociopath, someone willing to kill other people to get what he wants.
I can tell he isn’t bluffing. Every fiber of his body screams intent. He wants this. Both of us. Dead.
“My father’s money,” he says, almost conversationally.
“The solicitor will release it to an untraceable account when he gets my call. Or you die. Jo dies. Everyone dies. That’s the arrangement.
Of course, you’re both going to die anyway once I have the money, but he doesn’t need to know that.
It would rather spoil the fun if he did. ”
I swallow hard. My fingers tighten on the edge of the wheelchair.
My mind races, searching for a way out, a crack in his plan.
There’s none visible. Not yet. I wonder if I shove the wheelchair at him, it will startle him enough for Jo to run.
It might be enough to get her going, but she will never reach the safety of the outside world before he recovers from that.
Then I hear it. The sound is distant at first, then unmistakable. Sirens. I feel a tiny flare of hope inside of me. It looks like Betty has come through and potentially saved Jo’s life again.
Sheldon hears it too and stiffens immediately, the gun jerking slightly in his hand. His eyes flick towards the grime-covered windows, then back to me.
“When did you call the police?” Sheldon snaps. His voice is sharp, demanding.
I take a slow breath. “It wasn’t me,” I say. “Clearly it wasn’t me. You’ve been watching me since I found her, so you know I had nothing to do with it. They aren’t coming here.”
He pauses, the gun lowering fractionally. Confusion flickers in his gaze. I push it. I need to keep him focused on me, so if that is the police coming for us, they can get in undetected and disarm him.
“I get it, you know. I’d be furious, too,” I say, keeping my voice low, calm, reasoning.
“What happened with the will. All of it. If I were you, I’d be pissed off to say the least. But it’s ok.
You can still walk away from this if you stop now.
You can put the gun down and we can work this out.
We can share the inheritance. It’s such a big chunk of money.
Jo can’t spend all that money. You can have half.
You know, you always just have to ask and it will be given to you.
No one has to get hurt. Not her. Not you.
Not me. Put the gun down, Sheldon. Please. ”
The seconds stretch out. The tension thickens the air like concrete. Sheldon doesn’t respond immediately. He’s calculating. Listening. Considering.
Then the door bursts open in a violent crash. The air vibrates with the impact. Red and blue light floods the warehouse through broken windows. The police are here. Finally.
Sheldon reacts instinctively. The gun snaps up. He fires.
I barely have time to move. My body reacts before my brain does. I step in front of Jo. The shot misses us by inches, shattering a crate to my left. Wood splinters, dust explodes into the air. My ears ring.
Sheldon freezes for a heartbeat, his eyes wide, as the reality hits him. He’s surrounded. Cornered. His plan is collapsing. And then he does the last thing I would have predicted. He smiles. A strange, crooked smile.
The police shout for him to put his gun down or they’ll shoot.
“You and that dumb whore don’t get to win this one,” he crows.
Then he turns the gun on himself, pushing the barrel into his mouth. He pulls the trigger, and I hear the incredible sound of the gunshot echo off the bare concrete floors. He collapses. Cold. Dead. A splatter of red and grey stains the floor behind him.
I don’t move immediately. I can’t. I have never seen a man die like that.
It is a shock. A terrible, terrible shock.
My chest heaves, adrenaline surging through me, and my heart slams inside my ribcage.
Jo’s arms wrap around my back suddenly, holding on like her life depends on it, which, in a sense, it did.
Her touch snaps me out of my shock, and I turn around and hold her tightly.
“It’s ok,” I murmur into her hair, trying to calm her trembling body as much as mine. “You’re safe. You’re ok. I’ve got you.”
Her shoulders shake against me, silent sobs ripping through her. I hold her tighter, feeling every beat of her fear, every second of terror she endured.
The police shout commands, their bodies swarming around checking for a second gunman. My mind finally allows itself to exhale.
She is alive.
She is here.
She is safe.
And it’s over.