“Hey, baby. I know you can't hear this, but I love you. I know this might not make you happy, but if you leave this world, I promise I will be right behind you. No matter what happens, we won't be apart for long.” I was nearing the end of my stamina, not physically but mentally. I learned in school that the heart cannot truly break, only be crushed, but fuck if it didn’t feel like my heart was in a vice.
I stared at my phone, thinking about how empty and pathetic my life would be without her. I was right to make that promise to her. Then It occurred to me just how fucking little I cared about anything without her. I would happily give my father whatever he wanted if he left her alone. I would kill for her, lie for her, beg, and die for her. There was nothing I was too proud to do for Claire.
I pulled out my phone and dialed the last number I had for my father. This number came from another lifetime, long before he went to jail, and I doubted it would be in service due to the public backlash when he went away. It took weeks before the news crew stopped following me and showing up at the house. But just maybe…
Maybe I could convince him I would do as he asked. But, instead, I'd run away with her before I made good. It wouldn’t be the first time I went back on a deal with him. I would hate being a coward, and we would have to move every so often, but we could do it. I had the money to make us disappear time and time again.
“The number you have dialed is not in service.”
“Fuck!” I threw the phone across the room, smashing it. “Fuck!” I grabbed the chair I'd been sitting in and bashed it into the ground until it was nothing but kindling. The rage still unabated, I turned to the next chair, but I realized Rochelle was watching me before I picked it up.
She said nothing as she stepped into the room with a phone in her hand, “This is mine, and I’d like it back in one piece.” She placed it on the table, not facing me as she spoke. “She needs you to keep it together.” And with that, she left the room.
I looked at the phone in my hand. There was only one other option I had, considering all of my direct lines to my father were dead. The Sharp estate had been locked up tight for years since my father went to prison, but there was a chance he may receive the messages there. I dialed the number.
The phone rang eight times before the voicemail picked up. I had every intention of begging and leaving it on tape for him to use against me later. Instead, my blood ran cold when my mother's voice answered, “You've reached the home of Elizabeth and David Sharp.” There was a shriek of childish laughter in the background, then my mother's soft, indulgent laugh, “Please leave a message after the tone.”
I was wrong if I thought I couldn't feel anything but my wife's loss.
“Mom.” A tear rolled down my cheek.
After my mother died, I treasured that recording of her voice. I played it repeatedly, wanting to feel close to her and the love that came with that laugh. I thought my father had destroyed the tape. At least he made a show of it, ripping out the shiny ribbon in front of my face when he decided he’d had enough of my attachment to her and just like now, he made a show to hurt me and kill the only real love in my life.
He was home. What other intent or purpose could that message have other than to say, “Come home, son, it's time we had this out,” and he had everything he needed to force my hand. He had the woman I loved.
I called Victor and told him what I suspected. I tasked him with gathering the men around the compound and anyone directly on my payroll. I called Hector next and told him I needed every man he had. This was it. We were storming the Sharp estate. At worst, we would enter an empty home, and I would burn down the last shred of proof that my life there existed. At best, I would find my Claire.
I marched through the house and banged on Emma's door. There was no point walking across the driveway when I knew James was hiding in there, as he had been since shortly after he abducted her. No one answered, but neither made a habit of being anywhere else. I listened at the door, seeing red, when I heard a feminine moan.
I slammed my fist against the wood again. That slowed the moans but didn’t get me a response. Emma shrieked in surprise when I threw it open. The room used to be simple with a cream color palette, and so I thought, for a moment, I walked into the wrong room when I saw the colorful explosion.
“Why in the fuck is there paint everywhere?” I asked before I remembered how little I cared about what these two were doing.
James was still positioned between her hips; thankfully, neither of them appeared currently painted. I briefly considered ripping James out of her and beating him to death, but I didn't have time for all that. Before I took a step, Emma pushed him off her and sat up, holding the blanket over herself.
Her hair stuck up in every direction, and her cheeks were so deeply red I wasn't sure if it was from the embarrassment or the aggressive fucking that resulted in them not hearing me knock.
“Oh my god! What the fuck?!” Emma shouted. “Is there no privacy anymore?!”
“Get up, James. We have work to do.” Her mouth popped open, and she stared at me like she thought I might actually respond. I picked up James’ pants off the floor and tossed them in his face by way of an explanation.
“What? Why?” Clearly, the blood from his cock hadn't worked its way back into his head yet.
“Put on your pants. Claire is at my father's estate. We are going there now. All of us, James. This isn't fucking optional.”
He glared at me, surely upset I was embarrassing Emma rather than interrupting his lay. “I’m not leaving her alone, and you should give her some privacy.”
I was trying to think of an even halfway rational reason I wouldn't let the woman dress alone when she said, “I want to come.”
“Absolutely not!” James shouted, jumping to his feet with his cock out.
“Dear Lord, you are so fucking dramatic!” she muttered, covering her flaming face with her hands. “Iwantto go.”
“For fuck's sake, put your pants on, and let's go!” I shouted at James, not interested in whether she came or not; that was obvious from the time I threw the door open.
“I’ll stay in the car. I don’t want to go inside and fight, James.” Emma held up her hands, pleading with him. “Please, James. She’s my friend. I hate that she’s in danger, hurt, and scared and I’m here doing nothing.”
His cock was still out, and he looked at her with unbearable softness, “She may not be there, shortcake. What if she is, and you get hurt? I'm not willing to risk you.”