1
Trey
I can’t believe this.I can’t fucking believe this. I reread the email five times and I still can’t believe the words that are typed in it. It’s been two hours since we sent the most recent video and just like yesterday, he hasn’t responded to us personally.
He has, however, talked to his security team and some hired private investigators. I’ve been monitoring all his emails and phone calls, but this last one has my mind in absolute disarray. I’ve never doubted a decision so much in my life. Jessa doesn’t deserve this, and yet there is no fucking way around it.
“You look like you’re about to puke.” Wes comes up beside me.
“Probably because I feel like it.” I push the computer toward him so he can read the email too. His eyes scan the screen and it only takes him a minute to realize exactly what I’ve realized.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he yells, frustration coating his words.
“What?” Declan stands in the doorframe giving us a baffled look. He still shocks me with his ninja skills, on how he appears almost out of thin air.
“Richards just sent out an email to his security to switch the mission from search and rescue to search and kill…including his daughter.”
Declan looks unimpressed, unfazed. “He could be bluffing. Maybe he knows we’re tapping his emails. He could have sent this on purpose to throw us off.”
I shake my head. No, that’s not what this is. “Throw us off from what? He isn’t answering our emails, even though he is clearly getting them…” I’m interrupted by a flashing light on my screen, telling me Richards has an incoming call.
“The head of his security is calling.” I grab the laptop from Wes and turn the volume up. Richards’ voice booms through the speakers a moment later.
“Hello.” Richards’ voice is emotionless, far too emotionless for a man that had his daughter kidnapped.
“Sir, it’s Harrold. I just got your email and I wanted to be certain that I understand this right.” The man on the other line sounds unsure and he clears his throat before speaking. “You want us to take everyone out? Even Jessa?”
“Yes, that is exactly what I want,” Richards says almost annoyed that he has to spell it out for him. “I can’t give these thugs what they want. It would cost me my career, everything I’ve worked for, and even if you can bring her back now, she’s already damaged goods and I don’t want to deal with that.” His voice is so cold and detached, as if he is talking about a useless object instead of his own blood child. “It would be better for everybody if you just ended her life, understood?”
“Understood.”
“Good, give me a call when you get the job done.”
The call disconnects a moment later and I think I might actually puke. I don’t know what is worse, all the things we’ve done to Jessa, who is an innocent in all of this, or the fact that we did all of it for nothing. We thought this was going to be an easy slice of revenge for destroying our lives, for killing our family, and now it turns out all we did was destroy someone else’s life. We wanted revenge, but this is anything but that.
“What the fuck are we going to do now?” Wes asks the same question that I’m thinking.
“He might be just saying all of this shit, because he thinks we’ll let her go if we hear it,” Declan says. “Don’t forget, he might be an asshole, but he isn’t fucking stupid. He must know we’re keeping tabs on him. Think about it. He could be acting.”
“And what if he’s not?” Wes chimes in.
“Well, we can’t let her go either way,” I point out the obvious. “She knows where we live, not to mention all the other shit she knows about us… plus the things we’ve done to her. I sigh. This entire thing is a cluster fuck. Yes, she’s great to look at, and even better to touch, but we can’t just keep her here for that…can we?
“Fuck, even if we did let her go, someone else is going to kill her now,” Declan interrupts. “She knows way too much. You should have listened to me to begin with. I knew this was going to be a mistake.” He stomps off to his room, slamming the door shut behind him like a toddler that’s been told no. I want to be angry at his reaction, but maybe he’s right. For the first time, I’m actually starting to agree with Declan, killing her right away would have been the best thing to do.
Probably the kindest for her as well. But we didn’t, and now she’s here being held as a prisoner. I switch the screen to the camera feed and look at her small blanket-covered body curled up on the floor, her legs to her chest, her blonde hair a messy halo of beauty.
“I’m going to bed,” Wes mumbles and heads to his room. I close my laptop and go to my own room feeling disgusted with myself. Slipping out of my clothes I take a cold shower, thinking I might be able to somehow wash myself clean, to get rid of the nasty feeling coating my skin, but of course it wouldn’t be that easy. You can’t wash away the things I’ve done, the demons that haunt me.
After the shower, I dry off and lie down in bed, but I can’t sleep, and it’s not from the lack of trying. I’m beat. Frustrated, I check the time, and realize I’ve been in bed for over an hour and somehow, I’m nowhere closer to going to sleep. I slam my fists down on the sheets in defeat. It’s her, it has to be. I can’t sleep because I’m consumed with thoughts of her.
Pulling on a pair of shorts, I walk out to the elevator and push the level three button. I don’t even think about what I’m doing. The elevator descends two levels and the door slides open with a ding that echoes loudly through the empty hallway. I walk to the end of the corridor and open the cell door. I don’t even know why I’m here. I’m sure she would prefer being left alone to being near one of us. But on the off chance she would rather sleep upstairs, I’m going to give her the option.
She’s still curled up on the floor, the same way she was when I checked the feed last. She doesn’t move when I take a step closer, and like a lion hunting the antelope, I want to yell, tell her to be afraid. Only when I crouch down right next to her sleeping form, do her eyes flutter open.
Surprisingly, she doesn’t look at me as if she’s afraid like I had anticipated. Her eyes are full of a number of emotions, but sadness reflects far more than fright.
“You want to come and sleep upstairs?” I ask.