by Zoey Parker
Half because it was California, half because of the rain.
“Come on!” I shouted at the car in front of me as it hesitated between getting over and staying in this lane and then maybe exiting to boot. But of course he couldn’t hear me. I was just about to swerve around him, probably endangering the guy to my left, when the asshole finally got over and opened up some space. I sped behind the car in front of me and began the whole thing all over again.
I let out a growl of frustration.
The address I’d been given was two exits away, traffic was a special slice of hell, and if I didn’t get there soon, god knew what would happen to April.
I have to save her, I reminded myself grimly.
Telling myself that again and again helped ease some of my guilt about drugging Brody. He would be fine, of course, but there was a chance that he’d get in trouble with Caleb over the whole thing.
I’d explain what happened when I got back.
If I got back.
The thought sent a shiver down my spine, though I tried to stay positive. Once I got there, I could save April. I could get her out of there and hopefully I could get myself out of there, too, though I realized what a long shot that was.
I was going in alone. I didn’t know where exactly I was going—it was a place in the valley, maybe residential, maybe not—and I didn’t know what I would find when I got there. My stalker, of course. There was no way that he wouldn’t be there waiting for me. That was the point of all of this, wasn’t it? To finally get me and him together.
I shuddered at the thought. I tried to push it away, to tell myself that maybe this was all just about teaching me a lesson.
Last time I’d found April alone. It was a warning to play by his rules, so maybe this was more of the same. Maybe she was fine and he wasn’t there and this was all just about showing me the kind of control he had over my life.
And there was no pretending anymore that he didn’t have control.
It took me another forty five minutes to get to the address he’d provided. It was a little two-story house, quaint and probably in the middle class range, with peeling yellow exterior paint with faded blue trim that went all around. One of the gutters was falling off, only hanging by a thread. The shutters were faded, half rotted away, and the lawn in front was overgrown with weeds choking out half-dead bushes and flowers. Top it off with a summer downpour and the place looked downright sagging.
I wondered if it wasn’t abandoned, if it wasn’t some condemned old house picked because the last resident had died of old age.
Pushing the thought away, mostly because I didn’t want to think about death right then, I got out of the car. The rain was pouring down and I was soaked almost instantly. I pulled my jacket closer to me in an attempt to stay somewhat dry, though of course it was pointless.
Just go. Stop stalling.
Sucking in a deep breath for courage, I headed up the flooded walkway toward the dingy old house. When I reached the door, I paused. Was I supposed to knock? Just go inside? Announce my presence?
Just as I was debating what to do, I noticed that the door was cracked open. It was so small that it had looked closed from the car, but now that I was standing in front of it, I could tell that it was definitely open.
Swallowing harshly, I pushed the door until it opened with a resounding creak, like I was the heroine in some horror movie.
I knew there was a reason I avoided the horror genre, I thought grimly as the door opened to reveal a dark foyer with a little table and an old-fashioned phone right in front of me past the ancient rug that was tossed across the hardwood floors. To the left was a narrow staircase with what looked like at least one broken stair on it and a railing that was going to go any minute.
I really didn’t want to step inside. Every instinct I had was screaming for me to run away, to get out of there while I still could, but just the thought of April trapped in there, tied up somewhere and scared, a gun pointed at her face or a knife at her throat, kept me from bolting. I couldn’t leave her in there, not even if it meant I was in danger.
With courage I didn’t really have, I stepped across the threshold.
The floors creaked beneath me, the sound loud and echoing in my ears, mostly because everything else was so quiet.
I bit my lip, wondering if it was better to look around and try and find April on my own, or to just bite the bullet and call out to my stalker. Before I could make a decision either way, my cell phone went off. I cursed it and myself, realizing that I should have put it on silent. I yanked it out of my pocket and checked it. I’d gotten a text message.
From April.
That new bodyguard, Brody, asked me if you were at my house. I told him no, that I’d only just gotten back. So where the hell are you? Are you okay? He sounded worried.
I knew then for certain that I’d made a grave mistake. April wasn’t here at all. She was safe at home, far away from this torn up little house. I didn’t get the chance to answer her because a second later the door slammed closed behind me and I was plunged into true darkness.
I let out a cry of fear and surprise, dropping my cell phone to the floor in the process, but when I quieted I heard another voice.
“Abby, my beloved. I knew you’d come.”
A chill ran down my spine, because that was him. The voice I’d heard over the phone so many times now, threatening me, berating me, reminding me that my life was not solely my own, was coming from right behind me.
“Oh god,” I muttered, swiveling around to face him.
It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkness, but when they did, my heart jammed against my ribcage trying to get out. It was him. Red hair, blue eyes, pale skin. And freckles. He was the man I had seen, the one who had tried to come after me twice now. The man who had bludgeoned April to get to me.
“Welcome home, my love.”
I might have tried to run, realizing that I had been stupid, foolish to come, but I didn’t get the chance. Before I could react he swung at me with what looked like an old woman’s umbrella. There was a sharp pain at my temple, then everything went dark.
***
When I woke up, my head felt like it was split open, and when I reached up to touch it with my hand, it was sticky. I pulled my hand back and through blurry vision saw that my fingers were tipped in red.
“Shit,” I mumbled.
“Now, cursing isn’t very ladylike, Abby.”
I froze at the now familiar-sounding voice as it filled up the room. I jerked myself up, about to stand, but a sudden wave of dizziness threatened to knock me back down onto my ass. I put my hand to my head again, attempting to keep things steady. I managed to stay in a sitting position at least, though my limbs were shaking and I felt pale and cool beneath the skin.
“What…what happened?” I managed to get out, my voice trembling.
I looked around and found myself in a room that was windowless. The bed I was sitting on had old moth-eaten quilts on it and frilly bedding. Next to it was a pale white and pink side table with a lamp that looked like it belonged in a baby girl’s room. The walls were covered in peeling wallpaper with dancing ballerinas along the bottom and the top. The floors were hardwood, but there was a large throw rug covering the middle most portion of the room that was colored in the same whites and pinks as everything else.
As I considered it, I realized that this room didn’t look like a baby’s room. It looked like a dollhouse. A chill ran through me and I felt like I might pass out again.
“You hit your head,” James Austin, my own personal stalker, told me.
My eyes narrowed. I knew that wasn’t true, and now that he’d said something I remembered the swing of his umbrella that had sliced into my skull. But even as I stared at him, I sensed that somehow he believed what he told me. Like my getting hit over the head was an accident somehow.
I swallowed heavily. “Where am I?”
His eyebrows, as red as his hair, shot up in surprise. �
�You’re home, of course. I was really worried that you’d get lost in all the rain, but I should have known that you’d be fine. My beautiful Abby. You’d never get lost.”
I shivered at the word home. How could he call this place home? Was he crazy?
He’s been stalking me for the last year, of course he’s crazy, I reminded myself instantly. But as I listened to him speak and tell me how much he’d missed me while I was off having my “little acting career” and how he’d spruced up my bedroom for me while I was away, I realized something about him. He wasn’t just crazy or stalkerish. He was delusional. As he spoke, it became clear to me that he honestly and truly believed that we were together, a couple. He believed that I lived here and that my showing up tonight was nothing more than me coming home.
Which meant that I had absolutely no idea what he was going to do to me.
What do I do? How do I get out of this?
“I know that we’ve been distant lately, and I admit that part of that is my fault,” he continued, oblivious to my panic despite my trembling limbs. “I should have made more of an effort to keep in touch while you were away doing your little acting thing. I should have been more supportive. But you have to know how you hurt me!”
I stared at him, panicked. Was I supposed to respond? If I was, I didn’t have any clue what to say. I didn’t even know what he was talking about. How could he think that I had hurt him? I didn’t even know him. I searched my mind for what I could have done, reminding myself that he believed that we were a couple.
My boyfriends, I realized with a start.
If he thought we were romantically involved, then of course he would perceive any other relationships on my part as cheating. And I’d dated several guys over the course of the last year. I wasn’t a serial dater—I’d had dry spells over the year where I just wanted to focus on me—but this last year I’d gone from man to man almost desperately. I never would have told anyone, but part of that had been a direct result of James Austin.
I was too afraid to be alone.
I was saved from having to answer the crazed man in front of me when he continued on his rant. “First that damn Trevor and then Roberto! How could you do that to me, Abby? I have been nothing but faithful to you this entire time and then you run around with all of these men—only to have them be just as unfaithful as you!”
Trembling in fear, I tried to come up with some way to get out of this. Behind him was the only door—even the closet didn’t have a door, the hinges still hanging where it had once been—and I knew that if I wanted out, I’d have to go through there. Unfortunately, he was standing right in front of it. More than that, as he gestured with his hands while speaking, I saw the black butt of a gun tucked into the waistband of his slacks.
How was I supposed to get past him?
“I…I’m sorry,” I tried out carefully. Maybe if I played along, indulged in his fantasies, I could distract him long enough to run. Maybe I could get out and to my car before he reached for his gun. “I never meant to hurt you.”
His brow furrowed slightly, like maybe he hadn’t been expecting that response from me. But quickly, his brow smoothed out and he smiled almost placidly at me. “I know you didn’t. We’re in love and sometimes people in love make mistakes, but they always come back to one another.”
I forced a smile to my lips. Think of this as a role. A role in a really bad horror movie. “Yes, you’re right. Of course you’re right.”
He seemed to swell with pride at that. But then a second later, he deflated. A scowl settled across his features, making him look dangerous for once. Up until this point, he looked like a nobody. Someone to lose in the crowd. But now, he looked like the truly deranged man he was.
“What about that newest guy?” he demanded, his voice dripping with venom and accusation. “Eh? What about that asshole with the bike? Kade.”
Tension struck through my body. “It…it was nothing. You know you’re…the only…” I had to pause and take a breath because my heart was trying to jump up into my throat and choke me. The thought of Kade left me strangely vulnerable, and I dared to think he’d come for me despite telling me all of those horrible things. “Only one for me,” I finally finished in a whisper, hoping that despite my stuttering I was convincing enough.
The man smiled at me, a crooked deranged smile. “Yes, I am. I knew you’d feel that way. I always knew. And now that you’re here, you’re finally mine again. Mine to do with as I please. Don’t worry, baby, I’ll make it feel good for you. I always do.”
Bile rose in my throat as panic swelled within me.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Kade
I rode alone to the house down in the valley. The weather had turned to shit almost as soon as I left, but I didn’t let it detour me or slow me down. I had to get there. God knew how long James had already had Abby. I trusted Brody to raise the alarm—and Jon, too—which made me feel confident that the other Destroyers would be there soon.
You’re not a Cruel Angel anymore, I reminded myself grimly, a seed of doubt wiggling its way into my mind.
I told myself that it didn’t matter. For Abby’s sake, they’d be there anyway.
People were driving for shit because the roads were wet and people never could seem to remember how to drive in the rain, despite having to do it time and again. I had to swerve several times to avoid being hit and finally I said screw it after waiting ten minutes in traffic that didn’t seem ready to move. So I split the lanes and gunned it. I sped through the standstill traffic, weaving through the cars and dodging as they tried to switch lanes, until I found the exit. I got over in a hurry, cars honking their horns at me, and prayed that I’d made good enough time.
I prayed that I wasn’t too late.
The house looked like it was falling apart. Shutters blew in the wind, threatening to come off or maybe break the windows they were trying to protect.
That was not encouraging. It made the place look abandoned, which meant there was a good chance that Abby’s stalker wasn’t living here—and if he wasn’t living here, would he take her to this place?
I didn’t know.
I was beginning to second guess myself, ready to call the guys and tell them to go to the other location to check for her, when I caught a glint of white in the rain. It was a car parked around the corner of the house covered by the low hanging branches of a tree weighed down by rainwater.
In the process of dialing Brody again, I went over to the car to check it out. It, unlike the rest of this mess of a home, looked new and relatively well taken care of. No chipping paint, no rusted metal. When I got close enough to see the license plate, I knew.
“Abby.”
It was one of her cars. Brody picked up the phone then and I told him in a serious, grim voice, “Abby’s here. The residential address, the house. The one in the valley.”
“Wait for backup,” Brody told me urgently, as though sensing what I was about to do. “They’re on their way. Give ’em ten minutes!”
But I was already ending the call. Ten minutes was a short amount of time under normal circumstances, but these circumstances were anything but normal. Abby was here, inside that dingy old house, held captive by her stalker.
God knew how long he’d had her, what he was doing to her.
No, I couldn’t wait ten minutes.
Not bothering to hide my motorcycle or to wait for the others to arrive, I headed to the house, swallowing down my nerves. She’s fine, she’s fine, I told myself over and over again. I had to believe it, because no other option was acceptable.
I slunk around the house, drenched by the rain. I tried to see inside, but the windows were either boarded up or so damn grimy that I couldn’t see through them. Deciding that going around the back was my best chance for a surprise attack, I headed around the house following the trail of the car.
I was going to keep going until I rounded the back, but something just on the other side of the car caught my eye, forcing me to sto
p.
Two huge doors built into the ground.
A storm cellar.
And unlike everything else on the house, these looked fairly new and maintained. Like someone was actually using them.
Sucking in a quick breath, I screwed up my courage and shoved my foot through the door, breaking it into pieces and revealing a set of stairs that went down to the cellar. I hurried down them and found that there was a second door at the bottom of the stairs that was built in like any normal door, theoretically leading to the cellar beyond.
I reached for the door, moving slowly, listening for any sounds that might tell me I was going in the right direction—difficult given the constant pounding of rain overhead—but when I finally heard something it kicked me into overdrive.
