by Lexi Cross
What if she was wrong about him? She’d asked him to kiss her goodbye and he hadn’t even been able to do that.
She sat up suddenly, the tears coming to an abrupt halt. Wait a second. She’d asked him to kiss her goodbye and he hadn’t. He hadn’t said goodbye when he left the room either. That had to be a sign, right? He wouldn’t kiss her goodbye because it wasn’t goodbye.
She lay back on her bed, her eyes still sore and puffy from all her crying. But now her heart felt more settled. Until she saw him again and all this was over, she was going to believe the best. That he had said what he’d said because they made him. That it wasn’t over. That he hadn’t kissed her goodbye because it wasn’t goodbye. It wasn’t over.
Chapter 14
Ryder closed Pia’s door behind him. He wanted to cry. That was a feeling he couldn’t recall ever having before. He wasn’t the crying type. He didn’t tear up at movies or books or sentimental crap. He was tough through and through. But seeing the look on her face when he said those things to her? It made his throat burn.
He’d been so sure she wouldn’t believe him. And at first, sure enough, she didn’t. Good girl, he wanted to say. Except she kept saying that she didn’t. He almost growled in frustration. Didn’t she know they were listening? Watching? The cameras that had never been installed in her room before were there now. But she must not know that. So, he couldn’t give her any sort of sign or confirmation. They’d see whatever she saw.
And that would obviously blow the whole thing. He wanted her to catch on. To realize what was happening. To play along. She could have blown him off like, “Yeah I never wanted you either.” She didn’t have to cry like that. She didn’t have to tear his insides out right in front of him.
He felt awful for the things he’d said. He meant none of them, of course. God, how he wanted to go to her. To kiss her. When she’d asked him to kiss her, he almost did. He just wanted to feel her lips one more time. And maybe his kiss would tell her what he couldn’t. But then she’d said to kiss her goodbye. And he thought, okay, she finally caught on. And by not saying goodbye, that was a signal in itself. He hoped.
He wanted to run right back in there and take it all back, though. Every mean thing. It had been so much the opposite of what he really felt for her. He should have told her before. Earlier in the day. The night they were together. Some time. Any time. He should have said the words he’d been dancing around. The words right there in his mind. The ones he’d never said to any woman before. Never felt about any woman before. I love you. Three little words that meant so much. If he had told her, she’d know.
Love didn’t just vanish overnight. And if he said it, she would have known he meant it. And right now, she wouldn’t be in there crying and he wouldn’t want to do something very stupid to comfort her.
She looked so delicate sitting there on the bed in her handcuffs. Handcuffs. Was that really necessary? They’d gone too far. What was she going to do? Run? With guards sitting outside her door? She’d get about two feet. She really didn’t need the cuffs. It was a control tactic, a mental game. Matteo wanted her afraid and vulnerable. And oh, was she ever.
It went against everything he was as a man to walk away from the woman he loved, from his unborn baby. To walk away knowing they were in danger. That in saying it was over, those measly words were the only way to protect her now. It wasn’t enough. Words couldn’t be enough. He needed to be there, to stop anyone from coming near her.
A small part of him worried, though, that she did believe him. If she believed him and was hurt enough, maybe she wouldn’t be with him. Maybe he’d hurt her too badly and she would turn from him if he came to save her. Maybe she no longer wanted him. He pushed the thought from his mind. He couldn’t allow that to be true. Pia was his and he was hers and it was that simple. They would have a family and a happy life. One day.
He stepped forward. Heard the door click shut. Lorenzo pushed off from the wall and handed the mobile monitor back to the guard.
“Nice work,” Lorenzo said. “She’s in there bawling her eyes out over you. If Matteo had any doubt of her feelings before, he sure doesn’t now.”
Lorenzo shoved him hard toward the stairs. He begged in his mind, Pia, stop crying. Don’t make it more obvious what we have or had. Don’t give them more than they need to know.
But she didn’t know these games. Didn’t know how to play or when she was being played. She probably thought no one knew she was crying. Thought she was being quiet enough to hide it. But no. They were watching and listening to her every move. He hoped she’d figure it out soon.
When they got to the bottom of the stairs, Johnny was waiting for them. Ryder’s feet hit the floor and Lorenzo and Johnny each took one of his arms.
He still had trouble walking and moving, he hurt so badly. They made him walk faster than was comfortable and he gasped and wheezed in pain. They took him to the top of the cellar stairs. Johnny went first, then Lorenzo shoved Ryder forward and followed behind.
When they got to the cellar floor, Johnny punched Ryder square in the face. He hadn’t been expecting it. Like an idiot, he’d thought the physical part was over. They already worked him over, so what was this? He’d cooperated and they had no reason to kill him. Unless it had been a cruel joke.
No, no, no. He couldn’t die like this. Not with Pia thinking he didn’t care. Not with her not knowing that he loved her. He wouldn’t let it happen. He’d do everything possible to stay alive long enough to tell her. He would not leave this earth having her think so little of him, having those horrible things be the last words he spoke to her or anyone. He wouldn’t.
Lorenzo grabbed his arms and held him while Johnny punched his stomach several times. Broken rib, to go with the three others from earlier. Just don’t let it puncture a lung. He’d heal from this eventually. He pulled his knees up as much as he could to tighten his abs to take the blows better.
He didn’t dare fight back. That, too, was impossibly difficult. How do you stand there, letting someone beat you and not stop them? Everything in him screamed to fight or to run even. Whatever it took. But just to stand there and take it? This wasn’t him at all.
He dropped his head, trying to shield his nose some. He’d hate to have it broken again. That was always a bitch. He’d finally gotten it somewhat straight again after the last time. But Johnny didn’t care. He hit his face again and again. Had to be cutting up his knuckles something fierce. He’d fracture his hand if he kept it up.
Johnny clocked him good right in the nose. He felt the gush of blood and the room spun. Black spotted his vision and he felt his body slump to the ground.
Johnny leaned over and whispered in his ear. “You’re alive for now. But you won’t be if you go after her.” He kicked him a few more times before he passed out fully.
***
Ryder came to a few hours later. Whatever pain he was in before, it was multiplied now. He tried to push himself up to a seated position. His arm gave out and he collapsed back to the cold floor. He rested there, panting for a minute or two, then pushed up so he was sitting, fighting through the pain.
He had to get out of there somehow. Who knew how long they planned to keep him there, or how many more times they planned to beat him. With this wedding coming, he had to act fast. They were probably going to keep him there until after Pia was married. That way he couldn’t interfere. Well, he’d do more than interfere. He was going to stop this wedding at all costs. There was only one person Pia would be marrying, and it wasn’t Solano.
He looked around the cellar. This time, he took time to inspect it more closely. This must be a separate cellar. It wasn’t the main basement. Couldn’t be because it was much too small and dirty. He’d never been in the basement, but he knew that the clothes washing happened there and that it was used for extra food storage, among other things. Matteo would never let those things happen in a grungy basement like this.
When he had taken a full view, he realized there were no d
oors. Okay, so clearly this was built specifically as a holding cell, or had been some kind of fruit cellar or other thing and had never been finished off like the rest of the basement had. That explained a lot.
But if the only way out was up the stairs and into the house, that wouldn’t work. Surely they had someone either sitting there, or watching him on camera. No way would they put him down there and then just walk away. No matter how good the lock on the door might be. And there definitely was one.
Ryder forced himself to stand. He had to use the dirty brick wall to lean against, and it took several minutes and deep breaths before he could stand up all the way, but he made it. He walked around the perimeter of the room, feeling the wall for any abnormality. Some place there might be a hidden door or a loose brick. Anything that could possibly help him. He shuffled against the wall, each step sending new pain through his body.
His ribs had to be the worst of it. Every time he breathed, it hurt. Every time he moved, it hurt. And this wasn’t some sort of dull ache. It was a burst of hot fire radiating through his body. His face throbbed and it was hard to see out of one eye because it was so swollen. He didn’t try to talk, but if he did, he guessed it wouldn’t come out sounding too clear. Making any sort of facial movement pulled at the bruises and swelling and ached. His abs hurt, his arms and legs were sore, and one hip. Likely where he’d landed once or twice.
But besides all the physical pain, the emotional pain was there. This was something he wasn’t used to dealing with. He’d been in countless fights. Bruises and aches were nothing. Even broken ribs were something he’d faced before. But this longing for Pia, this stronger longing to protect her and the baby, was too much. He not only missed her, but worried about her. And worried, too, that he’d hurt her badly. Maybe even badly enough to do something stupid, like, oh, go and marry this Solano guy.
That thought stopped him dead. Sure, the guy was known to be a complete jerk, but did Pia know that? Had she ever met him? What if he was exceptionally good looking? What if he charmed her into thinking he was a great guy? What if he wooed her and she fell for it? What if she willingly married this guy?
She would never do that to him. Unless she actually believed he’d ended things. Unless he’d really hurt her that badly.
He had to find a way out of there. Now. As he continued around the small room, when he neared one corner, he noticed a faint shift in the light. The whole room was very dark, but here, there seemed to be light coming from somewhere. That was a good sign.
He craned his head back to look up toward it. He hadn’t seen it before because it was covered in a thick layer of the same grime that the bricks were. It blended in. But there was a window. High up in the wall. One of those small basement windows. So small, he might not even fit through it. But he would certainly try. It was his best option. His only real option, since breaking through the door and trying to take down whoever was up there was not a good solution. He’d likely get himself shot. And he was far from in good shape to do that as injured as he was.
This was going to be tricky, though. He was tall enough to reach the window with a hand, but his fingers just barely touched the glass. The window had a ledge thick enough for him to grab, though. He took a deep breath, knowing this was going to be painful, and jumped. He pulled himself up to the ledge as he jumped and managed to get one elbow onto the ledge so he was suspended in the air.
He’d been right about the pain. Landing like that had jarred his whole body and he’d slammed his chest with all his broken ribs right against the brick wall. He almost fell back down the pain was so bad. He almost cried out. But he managed to stay quiet, even if tears did come to his eyes from the agony.
Now he could see better that the window had been painted over. They probably thought that either no one would see the window or no one would be able to reach it. He rubbed his finger over one corner, then used his finger nail to scratch the paint off. He made a tiny hole to see through. He couldn’t see much, but he thought he was on the south side of the house. If that was true, that’d be perfect. Back there were plenty of trees and other cover to hide him. And all he could see through the little space on the window was grass and trees. With all the bad luck he’d been having lately, he was due some good luck. Maybe this was it.
He pushed on the glass awkwardly with one hand while leaning hard on his elbow of the other arm to stay on the ledge. The window didn’t budge, and the harder he pushed, the more likely it was that he would fall back down. He had to break the glass.
This would be tricky. If he punched it, he’d certainly break or cut up his hand. He could kick it—if he could get his leg up high enough. Normally, it wouldn’t be an issue, but in some much pain, he doubted if he could get enough speed or momentum. Either way, the glass breaking would be loud.
He started to lose his grip and his elbow was burning in the pain of holding him up, digging into hard brick. He gathered his strength and swung his body to the side so that he could get his leg up on the edge of the thin window’s ledge. His foot brushed against it, but the pain was too much.
Ryder fell to the floor, trying to land on his feet, and failing. He hit his hip again and landed on his shoulder. He had to stay there, unmoving for several minutes, breathing through the pain. How was he going to break this window?
There was nothing else to do but to punch it. He’d never get his foot up there and there was nothing in the room to use. Unless he could manage to get a brick loose, which seemed very unlikely, all he had was himself. For a moment, he considered just using his boot, but with a soft rubber sole, it seemed more likely it would bounce off the glass than anything else.
He shrugged out of his shirt, moving to avoid as much pain as possible and failing. He still wore an undershirt, luckily. That might give him some protection, though not much. Was still better than rubbing his bare skin against the brick, though.
He wrapped his shirt tight around his fist, then stood shakily. He had to pause to gain his strength and set his mind to do this. It was hard to make any movement knowing how much it would hurt. But he kept Pia and the baby and that asshole Solano in mind. If he couldn’t do this, all would be lost.
He leapt again, grabbing onto the ledge. His fingers started to slip, but he used the brick wall to get some grip on his boots and push himself up a little. When he had situated himself back on the ledge, leaning on his elbow, he pulled his hand back and punched the window as hard as he could.
The shirt deadened the sound and lessened the impact on his hand, but it still hurt. His knuckles felt on fire and his whole arm refused to bend right. He’d hit it hard, but the glass only cracked. It hadn’t been too loud, though, which was good. But if anyone had heard, his time was limited.
He punched again and this time, the glass broke. With his hand still wrapped in the shirt, he brushed as much of the glass off the window’s frame as he could. He used the protected hand to grab the frame and pull himself up more.
It was difficult and it took every bit of strength and determination he had, but he managed to pull himself high enough to stick his head through the window. It was a tight squeeze. Glass dug into his skin, cutting him as he dragged his body out of the hole. He rolled into a ball in the grass, shaking from the pain.
But this was no time to stop. He forced himself to his knees and crawled to the closest bush. It blocked him from the house at least. He panted there for a moment, threw up from the sheer amount of pain taking over his mind and body, then stood on wobbly legs. He made them move forward. One step, then two. And he blocked out the pain so he could run.
The run was more like a hobble, but it was faster than walking. He kept going until he was in the woods. He allowed himself a few minutes to lean against a tree and watch the house. He had to make sure no one was following him. There were no signs of movement coming his way.
He pulled on the shirt that had been wrapped around his hand and continued through the woods, not entirely sure where it would lead him. But he cam
e to a road. Cars passed, no one stopping for him. After trudging about a mile down the road, someone finally pulled over.
“Hey, man, need some help?” the guy said, looking at him like he was the most disgusting thing he’d ever seen.
“Can you give me a lift?”
“Umm.” The man winced. “How about some cash and a call for a cab?”
Ryder almost laughed, but didn’t have the strength. “That’d be great.”
The guy got on his phone as he dug into his wallet. When he hung up, he turned back toward Ryder. “Cab’s on the way. How far you going?”
“About ten miles.”
The guy handed some cash through a half-open window and Ryder took it gratefully. “Thanks, man.”
“Good luck,” the guy said, and drove off.
Ryder sunk back a little toward the woods, but kept his eyes peeled for the cab. That had to be the most bizarre encounter he’d ever had, but the guy drove an expensive car by the looks of it, and it was obviously more important to keep his car nice than to help him. Well, whatever. The cab and the cash would do the trick. He wasn’t about to complain.
