by Lane Hart
“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter. “I’m gonna drive fast, so you boys try to keep up,” I warn them when I grab my helmet and climb on my bike, anxious to get to Cynthia’s apartment to see for myself that everything is fine.
A short drive later and I let out an exhale of relief when I see her car in the apartment lot. It is, in fact, packed to the roof with boxes and shit, so that must have been why she didn’t answer her phone. I bet she even called me back while I was riding over here.
But when I pull out my phone from my cut, there are no missed calls. I try her again even as I jog up the steps to the third floor. There’s no answer, so I try again. By the second call, I’m standing right outside of her door and can hear it ringing in the apartment.
She’s in there. I guess she was just in the bathroom for the last ten minutes or so. Jesus, I hope she’s not sick.
I knock but don’t wait for an answer before I turn the doorknob that’s unlocked and walk on in.
The place looks so empty compared to the first time I was here, when it was so warm and lived in. There’s nothing but the sofa, kitchen table and boxes stacked on the floor now.
“Cynthia?” I call out as I hear the footsteps of Cedric and Sax behind me. “Cyn?” I call again as I start toward the bedroom.
The lights are on, but it’s just the stripped-down bed that’s been broken down, ready to be moved. I go over and glance in the bathroom but it’s dark and empty.
“Cyn?” I call out again with my pulse thumping so hard, each beat is probably visible from the vein on the side of my neck. “CYNTHIA!” I yell in frustration.
“She’s not here, man,” Sax says when I return to the living room.
“Yes, she is,” I tell him. “Her car is here. And her phone.”
With shaking hands, I dial her number again from my contacts to hear it ring, pinpointing the location to inside her purse hanging on the coat rack. Lifting it free and searching inside, I pull out her phone and check the messages, not seeing anything but my missed calls. “She wouldn’t leave without her purse or her phone, even on foot.”
“Is she friends with any of the neighbors?” Cedric asks. “Maybe she went to say goodbye?”
“It’s possible,” I agree, remembering her dating the Chubby Professor a few doors down. I march down there with Sax and Cedric on my heels, no instruction needed for them to come along.
I pound my fist quickly on the door, and it opens up slowly, revealing the overweight man.
“I-I haven’t spoken to Cynthia other than to say he-hello if I see her on the stairs. I swear!” he stammers. “And that’s only because she said it first!”
“Is she in your apartment?” I snap at him.
“What? God no,” he responds, taking a step back and pulling the door open. “Look and see for yourself. I’m not stupid enough to invite her over!”
I still go through the apartment, calling her name to make sure.
When I get back to the door, I get in his face and ask, “Have you seen her today?”
I know she was here when I talked to her around three. So, where the fuck did she go in an hour and a half?
“Yes,” he replies. “Well, I think I heard her going up and down the steps several times, but I didn’t see her.”
“Shit,” I mutter as I ball my hands into fists in frustration, wishing I had something to hit. But the Chubby Professor hasn’t done anything to earn a beating just because I’m feeling out of control not knowing where the hell Cynthia went.
“Maybe she went for a walk on the beach and left a note in the apartment,” Sax offers. “We could go back and check.”
“Yeah,” I agree, even though I don’t think she would’ve gone for even a short walk without her phone.
Trudging back to her door, I start toward the kitchen to see if there’s anything we missed the first time on the table or counter, even though I’m almost ninety-nine percent sure I didn’t, when I spot a tape gun lying in the middle of the floor. I barely noticed it before because Cynthia’s obviously been using it on boxes, but she’s neat and tidy even when moving with all of her boxes stacked neatly in two rows. She wouldn’t have carelessly tossed the tape across the room. Going over I crouch down to pick it up and spot the crimson drops on it before my fingers even wrap around the handle. It’s someone’s blood.
Please god, don’t let it be Cynthia’s.
“Oh shit,” Cedric mutters when he comes over and sees the splatters on the jagged edge and on the tape. I swipe my finger over the slick roll and the blood comes away easily. And I swear it still feels warm.
Goddamn it! I should’ve known! I had that gut feeling that something was wrong, and I just kept sitting there in the goddamn meeting.
“Call Jade,” I instruct Sax. “Tell her…tell her Cynthia is missing and to put out a missing person APB on her right the fuck now!”
“How do you know?” he asks.
“I just know! Do it!” I yell at him while dropping the tape gun to reach for my own phone. The first call I make is going to be to the federal prison in West Virginia.
“Fuck!” I shout when my hands are trembling so badly that I keep misspelling prison. “Here,” I say shoving the phone into Cedric’s chest. “Search up the number for the federal correctional facility in West Virginia.”
He’s able to type much faster than I can since he has no fucking clue how bad this could be for Cynthia.
I pray that whoever came into her apartment was an unknown burglar because the alternative is so much worse.
“It’s ringing,” Cedric says as he hands the phone back.
I listen to the automated message with barely controlled rage before finally giving up and pressing zero, hoping I can talk to a real fucking person.
“FCI Morganton,” a man’s voice thankfully answers.
“I need to know the status of one of your inmates, Kirk Strickland.”
“Just a moment,” he responds. There’s silence for only a few seconds, but they seem to go on for an eternity. “There’s no longer an inmate here by that name.”
Closing my eyes tight, I say, “Please tell me he was transferred and where to find him,” as I start to pace, trying to figure out what the hell to do. I have to find Cynthia and I have no idea where to even start. My mind is empty.
“Just a moment,” he says again in that monotone voice that makes me want to yell obscenities at him. But I know that won’t help. If anything, he would hang up on me before I get any fucking answers. So, I wait, nearly growling in frustration the longer it takes.
“Kirk Strickland was released yesterday.”
“No!” I exclaim, refusing to believe that’s true. “There’s no fucking way! Because if he had been released, I would’ve got an alert, and I haven’t received any fucking alerts!”
“We don’t provide alerts,” the man says since he doesn’t know that I’ve set it up through their system.
“I just checked the database,” I try again. “It says he’s incarcerated with almost two years left on his sentence!”
“Our public computer system can take a few days to update,” he mutters, making me curse.
“Why the hell did he get out early?” I ask through gritted teeth.
“The file says that Strickland just completed the alcohol and substance abuse program, which allows him to take a year off of his sentence. That combined with fifty-six days off for each year of good behavior equaled a release date of yesterday.”
“You have fucked up by letting that bastard out and now someone’s life is in danger because of it, you worthless piece of shit! How the hell did he even find her?” I shout before ending the call. I consider throwing it over the balcony, but if I do that, I can’t keep making calls to try and get answers. I blow out a frustrated breath and turn to Sax who is still talking on the phone.
“Any ideas about the vehicle she could be in?” he asks me.
“No. Not yet. But give me five minutes,” I say before finally coming out of the moment
ary state of shock to think of what I can actually do to find her. Because I will fucking find her.
“I’m going to the clubhouse! Call everyone in and then follow me!” I tell the guys as I start out the door. “And get a sheriff to The Toy Box right now!”
I don’t have time to go by and check to see if she’s there. I seriously doubt it, though. But maybe Vicky has seen or heard from her. Or, god forbid, fucking Strickland.
Cynthia’s apartment may not have security cameras, but all the Savage Kings establishments do. I’ll scan through them looking for any unfamiliar vehicles between three and four PM with a driver who matches that fucker’s mugshot riding with Cynthia.
But ten minutes later, after I’ve fast-forwarded through all the film, I only find two clips of the asshole’s truck, once when he went to The Toy Box and then him leaving Cynthia’s apartment with no visible passengers.
Goddammit! Where the hell is she?
I may not have been able to catch the license plates, but at least Jade, the sheriffs and all the Kings know what vehicle we need to work quickly to find.
Even though every sign is pointing to Strickland, I don’t want to believe it’s him who was in her apartment. How did he know where to find her? She changed her name and there are thousands of Cynthia Smiths in the country. What led him here, to Emerald Isle and right to her damn doorstep? What did I miss that may end up costing her life?
It’s hard to believe that just this morning she was safe and warm in my bed and underneath me. I startled awake from a nightmare before the sun was up. It was one where I was wandering around in complete darkness, not even a sliver of light, calling out for Cynthia but she wouldn’t answer me back. When I woke up and found her sleeping soundly beside me, I pulled her to me and kissed her lips, not to wake her but just because I had to make sure she was really there. She kissed me back, though, even in her sleep; but as she awakened, her eyes opened and she pulled me on top of her. I was inside of her a second later, both of us frantic to be closer. Even when it was over and we were both sated, I couldn’t bring myself to move off of her, because as long as she was there, underneath me, nothing could hurt her or take her from me. I wouldn’t let it.
And now, only a few hours later, I may have lost her for good.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Cynthia
I try to open my eyes, but the blinding light hurts too much, so I shut them tight and try to listen and figure out where I am.
There’s a vibration underneath one side of my body that’s lying on the floor…or maybe in a vehicle. A continuous breeze lifts my hair at the same time, making me think I must be in the bed of a truck. I try to push myself up on my palms, but even that tiny movement makes my head and face hurt worse, so I lie still.
Eventually, like the slow drip of spilled molasses, flickers of memories start coming back.
The last thing I remember is being in my apartment. It was empty and there were boxes around me. I was packing. Then, there was someone at the door…not Reece who I was expecting, but someone I wasn’t.
Kirk.
Oh god.
He’s out of prison and he found me.
I vaguely remember trying to run from him and him hurting me. He’s the reason the back of my head feels like it’s splitting open and my entire face is swollen and throbbing in pain. The scent and taste of copper on my lips tells me that the stickiness is blood dripping from my nose and mouth.
Kirk obviously blames me for getting him thrown in prison, not just the night he beat me but after, when Reece turned him in for having child pornography on his computer.
But how did he get released so soon when there were years left for him to serve? And how in the world did he find me?
Shit, shit, shit!
A few months ago, I thought I was being so brave and tough, going to get a divorce and having the attorney send him the paperwork to sign while he was locked up and couldn’t hurt me. Kirk never sent it back, but the attorney said a judge would still grant the divorce after ninety days.
We’re just a few days away…
The attorney’s letterhead would’ve had the name of the city, if nothing else. And Emerald Isle is a small town that thrives on tourists in the summer. All he would have to do is ask for where to find Cynthia with the red hair, and a friendly citizen would have told him about The Toy Box…
Oh no! Vicky was working today. Did Kirk show up there asking about me? She wouldn’t have told him where I lived, knowing my past.
Not unless he hurt her.
I need to call Reece and have him check on her, but I don’t even have my damn phone!
The truck slows down and eventually comes to a stop. I’m debating playing dead or fighting back when I hear the sound of the truck’s tailgate being lowered and then there’s a hand on my ankle, pulling me all the way down to where my hip slams on the hard pavement. I cry out as pain erupts through the bone, but it’s forgotten when Kirk fists a handful of my hair and starts pulling me across the ground by it. All I can think about then is the horrific agony that feels like he’s trying to scalp me thanks to the previous soreness in my head returning tenfold.
It’s a small relief when I’m dragged over musty and smoke-scented carpet instead of the cement pavement. Not much though, because I know we’re now in a room, alone without any witnesses around, where my screams will be more muffled.
Finally, he releases my hair and slams the door. I hear the click of the lock turning.
“Vi…Vicky?” I ask, tasting more of my blood when I try to open my eyes and speak clearly.
Kirk’s blurry face appears in front of mine and his hand wraps round my neck, squeezing tightly. “The little cunt who didn’t want to tell me where I could find you?” he asks, and I nod as much as I can. “She finally screamed your home address at the top of her lungs. I left her with a pretty little gash across her neck. By now she’s probably bled out.”
“No,” I moan as I try to suck in air, and tears fill my eyes and overflow. My own pain I can take, but not hers.
When I start to gasp from the lack of oxygen and the sobbing, he lets my throat go.
“I’m going to give you two choices. Look at me when I’m talking to you, bitch!” he yells before prying both of my eyes open with his fingers to make me look at him. “I’m being generous, more generous than you were to me when you fucked me over and sent me to prison! So here they are, I can kill you fast and get it over with, or I can kill you slow and painfully, making you suffer for hours before your body finally gives up and shuts down. Which will it be?”
My first instinct is to say fast. Just kill me and get it over with because I’m already hurting. For some reason, I stop myself before saying that. If I take the easy way out, that means that I’m giving up and will never see Reece again.
If I choose to suffer, to let him beat me to death slowly, there’s at least some small chance that Reece will find me. He’s the great and powerful Oz. If anyone could track down where we are, it would be him. I can even picture Reece coming up behind Kirk and choking the life out of him. Nothing would make me happier at the moment, even if it is an unrealistic fantasy.
“Answer me, cunt, or I’ll go the slow route and keep you alive in agony for days!” Kirk yells and his fingernails dig into my eyelids where he’s still holding them open.
Days! Yes, I need days. So, I keep my mouth shut.
Well, not entirely.
I spit blood and saliva right in his fucking face, making him good and enraged now, as proven by the blow of his fist to my already broken nose. I know I’m going to pay for that insolence with even more broken bones, but at least it’ll give Reece a chance to find me.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Reece
“How’s Vicky?” I ask Jade as soon as she opens the door of her cruiser in the Savage Asylum parking lot. It’s almost empty, with everyone out searching for Cynthia. I fucking wanted to be out there too; but as Torin pointed out, I need to be here and ready to
go when I get the call from whoever finds the truck first. If I’m halfway across the state, then it’ll take too long to get back. All of the Savage Kings charters up and down the entire east coast are searching for the nineties model, blue Dodge truck with a black scuff on the passenger side.
Jade gets out and shuts her car door, then leans against it before answering. “It’s too soon to know for sure because she lost a lot of blood. She’s in the ICU and they’re giving her blood transfusions. We’ll know more in a few hours.”
“Fuck,” I mutter as I spin around, looking for something to hit. The concrete wall that surrounds the drainage pond is the winner of my right jab.
“If you hadn’t told us to send someone to the store when you did, she wouldn’t be alive, Reece. Now she at least has a chance,” Jade says from behind me.
“What about Cynthia?” I turn back to her and ask, barely noticing the bloody scrapes on my knuckles. “It’s been hours! She doesn’t have a fucking chance, and it’s my fault!”
“None of us can predict bad shit that’s going to happen,” she says, placing her hand on my shoulder. “All we can do is pray that we find her soon and that it’s not too late. I’ve called in every favor I have with the National Guard, and Dalton had Peyton call in the feds. Everyone is looking for her, so we will find her. Don’t give up just yet.”
“I don’t want to give up,” I tell her. “But I don’t know how I’ll deal with this if you’re wrong. What if…what if he slit her throat too and she’s lying somewhere...?”
“Let’s hope he didn’t,” Jade says. “And I’m going to stay right here with you, so that if we get any news from my men or the Guard, you’ll be the first to know.”
“I appreciate everything you’re doing,” I tell her.
“With his criminal record and the status of Vicky, there’s a shoot on sight order,” Jade says. “He won’t get away with what he’s done.”
“Yeah, well, even so, I would prefer to be the one pulling the trigger,” I grumble.
