Someone has to pay for this.
“Someone has to pay for this!” A hot tear fell down my cheek. Rather than dash it away, I let it freeze against my skin.
“Do it, Mason,” his pitch-black eyes stared into my own, the pain in them burningly intense. I paused out of confusion, not mercy. “This is all my fault. First, my mom and Jimmy, then Casey, Mila, and now Claire. I have failed everyone I was meant to protect!”
My hand shook around the gun.What the fuck am I doing?
“You're my friend.” I wasn't telling him but reminding myself. When Claire came home, and shewouldcome home, she would hate me for this. I lowered the gun and quickly put it away, ashamed of myself for my actions, “Let’s go, Victor. I shouldn’t have done that.”
He swallowed hard, looking like he had a lot of things he wanted to say. But instead, he put on a stoic expression and asked, “Where are we going?”
“Home, we need weapons, and then we’re going to tear this city apart until we find my wife.”
“I have a feeling she's with Mila. Hopefully, we can save them both,” his voice was gruff with unshed tears.
I still needed to be convinced of Mila's innocence, but I was willing to give Victor this one after what I did, “If we can't find them, I will die trying.” I meant that literally and from the bottom of my soul. I would not live in this world without her.
Chapter 21
Claire
ThefirsttimeIremembered opening my eyes, I was still in the back of the van bouncing across the hard plastic flooring. I was blindfolded, and my hands were bound in front of me. Thankfully my legs remained untied. My body ached from the impact, and my head pounded, but I could think through the pain. I tried to get a sense of my surroundings without alerting them that I'd awoken.
I felt a freezing body shivering next to me, banging against me with each bump in the road.
“I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. He made me do it,” the woman I tried to help muttered repeated apologies until I heard the fleshy sound of a fist connecting with some part of her body. She yelped in pain but otherwise didn't make a sound.
At some point, the van stopped. The woman pulled away from me, proving that she provided more warmth than I realized. I wasn't sure if I should fake being unconscious. My shivering didn't lend to that, but maybe unconscious people shivered.
You're thinking of a seizure...
It was hard to think, with my head aching and my heart pounding. I tried to decide, but the door opened before I could.
“Get up,” a gruff voice demanded.
When I didn't move immediately, someone shoved me hard, and I tried to climb to my feet. Blindfolded, I wasn't sure what was happening, but I tripped over something or someone as I tried to stand.
“Stupid bitch!” someone shouted as my falling head connected with theirs. The agony only lasted a moment before I was struck again and sunk into unconsciousness.
The next time I opened my eyes, a searing bright light had me slamming them back shut. My tongue stuck to my teeth and the roof of my mouth as I tried to open my jaw. My mouth was achingly dry, like it had fallen open when the man struck me and remained that way since. I tasted blood and felt like my head might explode. It took me a long time to attempt to open my eyes again, but when I did, I found that I was alone. The bright light I saw was a dim bulb swinging on a chain above my head.
I looked around the room, realizing with a bit of shock that I was in someone's storage room. Filing cabinets and racks with wheels full of clothing lined the room. Odd boxes with household labels stood piled in long-forgotten stacks. The carpeting was soft and comfortable, like something you would put in a home, not a business.
The still-healing wound in my stomach throbbed. Presumably, the asshole who hit me threw me over his shoulder to bring me here. Or maybe they just tossed me down when they put me in here. I hurt in so many places I could scarcely breathe. Lights burst in my vision, and the most powerful wave of exhaustion struck me. I lost consciousness.
I had no idea how much time had passed when I opened my eyes again, but it felt like hours. The splitting agony in my head had lessened to a more tolerable level, and my body was stiff as hell from not moving while I lay unconscious. What woke me, though, was nausea flipping my stomach.
I shot up, not realizing how dizzy I was. I clung to one of the many metal cabinets to stay on my feet. There was a bucket with a toilet seat slapped on top. I didn't have time to be horrified by that as I ran to it and puked my guts up. I thanked my very few lucky stars that the bucket was empty before I got sick. I peed because I would piss myself if I didn't, then returned to lying on the floor.
I caught my breath for a while before pulling myself up to sit, trying again to make sense of where I was andwhyI was there. Finally, I dragged myself to the closest pile and started digging through a box marked Christmas. My thoughts turned slowly, but I mainly felt like myself.
A thick layer of dust coated the contents of the box. Beneath that, the decorations were dated. If I had any doubt I was in a home, this took care of it. When I pulled out an elaborate gold bauble with “The Sharps” inscribed on the delicate surface, I dropped it in shock, letting it shatter on the floor.
For a moment, a wild burst of hope shot through me.Maybe I’m somewhere at home. I had yet to see all the rooms, especially the basement. I tried to think back over the last few days. It wasjustChristmas.
That hope died as quickly as it sparked. Not only did the thought make no sense, but Mason wouldn't have kept all this junk. He was too neat for so much stuff. Then, my fingers caught on an oddly shaped ornament where a small family stood together, painted in exquisite detail: a man who looked unbearably familiar, a porcelain blonde who looked quite a lot like Rebecca LaMontagne, and a fair-haired boy. “David, Elizabeth, Mason,” the names were carefully painted above each image. I was in the Dubois estate. David Sharp abducted me.
My thoughts were getting harder to wade through. Then, finally, I had enough sense left to recognize the signs of a concussion. My fingers prodded along my scalp, finding crusted blood, and when the pain became unbearable, I flinched away. I didn't need to know how bad it was when there was nothing I could do anyway.