Chapter 44
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
The first thing that registers is movement. A slow, steady sway that rocks through my ribs every time the vehicle I’m in hits a seam on the road. Pain follows a second later. Sharp. Deep. Radiating through my chest and up through the back of my skull. My eyes flutter open.
The world swims. Dark shapes smear past the window beside me–trees, passing cars, the sky a little brighter than it was when I woke up in the hospital. For a second, my brain refuses to understand what’s happening.
I blink and my head lolls against the seat. My stomach twists. The smell of leather and gasoline fills the air. The engine hums beneath my feet. Something rough presses into my wrists, and bites into them when I try to move, my arms barely responding.
I’ve been drugged.
The realization comes slowly, crawling through the fog in my head. The hospital, wheelchair, elevator…a sting in my neck.
My heart kicks harder against my fractured ribs. I turn my head to see who’s driving. The motion sends a bolt of pain through my skull and black dots crowd my vision. Gritting my teeth, I force myself to focus.
Through the dots, I only get a profile first. Strong nose. Dark hair. He feels…familiar. Too familiar.
“A-andy?” I croak.
His eyes flick toward me, then focus on the road again.
“You’re awake sooner than I expected,” he says calmly.
As if it’s nothing. As if we’re having a normal conversation. As if he didn’t just kidnap me from the hospital. I swallow, my throat still dry and burning.
“What are you doing?”
The question sounds weak, even to me.
He looks over at me again, a faint smile touching his lips.
“I’m taking you home.”
The words settle in the car heavy, despite his light tone. I blink at him, trying to force my brain to work through the fog. We’re heading north. My stomach twists, bile rising in my throat.
Home is the other way.
My heart hammers painfully in my chest, and I try to take a calming breath. He’s taking me to his home. Not mine.
Stay calm.
“What did you give me?”
“Something mild,” he answers. “You need to rest.”
He speaks like the Andy I know. Soft, warm and comforting. But right now I don’t recognize him, and I’m anything but comfortable.
Another sign passes us in a blur. We’re moving fast. My head throbs harder.
Think.
Think.
Fighting him in a moving car isn’t an option. My arms feel like they’re filled with wet sand, and every breath scrapes against my fractured ribs. I need him to stop the car.
My stomach churns again. Part drug, part concussion. Part opportunity. I close my eyes and lean forward as best as I can.
“Andy,” I say quietly as sweat beads on my forehead.
He glances over.
“I’m going to be sick.”
He frowns. “Deep breaths, Ash. In and out, nice and slow.”
“I’m serious,” I whisper, bringing my bound hands to my mouth. “Pull over.” My stomach lurches again for emphasis. “I don’t want to throw up in your car.”
He studies me for a second longer, then sighs before bringing the car to a slow.
“Fine.”
Ahead, a green sign appears through the windshield.
Rest Area - 1 mile
I lower my head again, hiding the small breath I release.
Just a little longer. Just long enough.
Because somewhere in the back of my mind, beneath the concussion and the drugs and the fear, one thought keeps repeating itself.
Karson will find me. He always does.
Coming up to the ramp, Andy throws on his blinker and slowly pulls into the lot of the rest area, finding a spot right next to the bathrooms. Killing the engine, he unbuckles and produces a knife from his pocket. I flinch as he brings it toward me. His brows knit, and he pauses.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says carefully and gestures towards my zip tied hands. “Let me undo that.”
I watch him warily, slowly nodding my head. He carefully cuts the binding free, and I rub my wrist.
“Do you want me to come with you?”
God I couldn't think of anything worse.
“No, I’ll be okay,” I tell him softly. “Thank you.”
He nods, then exits his Bentley. He comes around to my side and opens the door for me, helping me stand from the seat. He tries to walk me a few feet to the door, but I gently shrug him off.
“I can do it,” I smile up at him. “I just need a minute.”
I need to put as much distance as I can between us, to buy myself some time to think clearly.
I walk gingerly to the bathroom, careful not to aggravate my injuries.
Pushing the heavy door open is a chore, but I manage.
Once inside, I let out a shaky, shallow breath and head for the handicap stall.
It reeks of stale piss mixed with heavily scented floral soap.
My stomach heaves as I step in and lock the door. I almost don't make it to the toilet.
Dropping to the cold tile, my arms wrap around the dirty metal toilet, and my body heaves.
Bile burns my dry throat, and it feels like hot lava coming out.
My ribs scream in agony with each heave.
My head pounds as white-hot pain washes over my entire body.
Reaching up, I flush the handle and sit back, trying to take in a calming breath.
I grab some toilet paper to wipe my runny nose, and toss it in the toilet.
The retching in my stomach subsides, and I carefully stand and exit the stall.
At the sink, I turn on the water, staring at myself in the mirror.
A lump forms when I finally see just how badly Owen attacked me.
Deep purple bruises surround the left side of my swollen face.
Dried blood sticks in my eyebrows and my hairline.
I reach a shaky hand up and touch the laceration at the back of my head again, feeling one of the staples.
My stomach churns again, and I drop it, then cup my hands under the faucet.
I let the water overflow my hands for what feels like an eternity, trying to think of a way out of this and away from Andy, but I’m not sure how.
He’s right outside the door waiting, I’m sure, and the only windows in here are too high for me to reach.
Even if I could, there’s no way I can physically get through one right now.
Not when I’m this weak. I can’t even fucking walk on my own without it hurting, never mind escaping this.
I hate being weak.
My shoulders deflate, and I lean in carefully to splash some water on my face.
Resigned to the fact that I’m probably stuck with Andy, I turn the water off and reach for the paper towels.
I gently blot my face dry. My head spins, and I brace myself against the cold, concrete wall.
I rest my forehead against it, my eyes squeezed shut.
For a moment, everything is quiet. Then, tires screech outside and a car door slams shut. Voices follow, muffled through the bathroom walls, sharp and angry.
My head lifts. Another thud, then glass explodes echoing through the building. And then I hear shouting. Not Andy. Deeper. Angry. Familiar. My pulse stutters in my chest.
I take a couple of slow, cautious steps toward the door, and it bursts open. The metal bounces off the concrete behind it. Parker freezes for a half a second when she sees me, relief washing over her. Then, she moves.
“Ash,” she breathes. “We need to go. Now.”
She rushes over to me and gently wraps my arm around her shoulder, and hers across my lower back.
“I got you,” she looks over to me, making sure she isn’t hurting me. “You ready?”
I nod, wincing when we take the first step. She stops.
“No.” I motion toward the door. “I’m okay. Let’s go.”
Moving forward quickly, my eyes squeeze shut as I force myself to move through the pain. As we exit the bathroom, I open my eyes to see what’s happening.
Maverick and Karson are standing on the trunk of Andy’s car. Both men lean in through the shattered back windshield and yank Andy out of the back seat, dragging him through broken glass.
My feet keep moving as I watch them yank Andy across the trunk and toss him onto the pavement. Karson towers over his limp body, and fists his shirt.
“Never thought I’d see you again Tristan,” Karson growls Andy’s first name, then shoves him back down on the ground. Andy’s skull makes a sickening cracking sound, and he pulls him up again. “You should have stayed off my fucking radar and away from what’s mine.”
Parker and I reach her Jeep. Maverick rushes over to us and opens the back door, but I can’t tear my eyes away from Karson.
Karson continues to bounce Andy’s head off the ground, then starts punching him in the face. Eventually, he starts kicking Andy in the ribs. Andy, who is surprisingly still conscious, sluggishly attempts to turn on his side to protect himself.
“I don’t think so,” Karson laughs, and punches Andy so hard his head snaps to the side, and he stops moving.
A black Bronco tears into the parking lot. It screeches to a stop just behind Andy’s Bentley. Elias exits the driver’s seat, followed by Cole, and they stop at Andy’s head.
“That’s good for now, Karson,” Elias says calmly. “We’ll get him to the warehouse. You worry about her.” His forest green eyes find mine, softening when they see me. The two men grab Andy by the arms and ankles, then unceremoniously throw him in the back of the Bronco.
Karson whirls around. A lump forms in my throat as he hurries over to me. Carefully, he wraps his strong arms around my shoulders. Pressing my nose into his chest, I breathe in his scent. My body begins to tremble.
“I’m here, doll.”
I finally break. The sob tears out of me before I can stop it, my fingers clutching the front of his shirt as he holds me steady. My head throbs, my ribs burn with every breath, but none of that matters right now.
He’s here.
Karson’s hand slides up the back of my neck, cradling my head carefully to avoid the staples.
“You’re safe,” he murmurs, his voice rough and low. “I’ve got you.”
Behind him, car doors shut and the Bronco rumbles back to life, then exits the parking lot. Maverick opens the passenger door for Parker, and she climbs in before he rounds the hood.
Karson leans back just enough to look down at me, hurricane eyes scanning my face, as if he’s making sure every piece of me is intact.
Letting go of me with one hand, the other still wrapped around my shoulders, he holds the back door open for me.
“Let’s go home.”