Chapter 36

The first thing I’m aware of is the chill. It seems to be everywhere, on my skin, in my bones... even my hair feels chilly somehow.

I try to reach up, needing to wipe the tears leaking from the corners of my eyes. But when I go to lift my hands, they don’t move and I realize I’m tied to a metal chair. I fight the restraint, but I can only wiggle a little bit before chafing my wrists. The same is true for my ankles. Blinking until I can see, I look down, seeing that both are bound with plastic zip-ties.

Shit.

“Hello?” I murmur, my mouth tasting like chemicals. My mind’s fuzzy, but I have a vague memory of a cloth over my face and darkness.

I look around the room, trying to figure out where I am. I can’t see much. The lights are so dim that I can’t see the walls of the room, so I try again. “HELLO!”

The sound bounces off the walls, echoing and reverberating loud enough to make my ears ring. Well, at least I know that wherever I am, the room’s not that big.

I wince, wishing I could put my hands over my ears, but all I succeed in doing is making my forearms hurt.

“It won’t help you,” a voice with a slight accent that I can’t place says from the darkness. “You can scream until your voice gives out. Nobody will hear you. This building is a mile away from anything.”

“Who... who are you? What do you want?” I ask, trying to keep the fear out of my voice, but the tremble is obvious.

The lights suddenly brighten, and I see where I am. Or at least, I see where, but that doesn’t mean I understand.

It looks like an office, the sort of place you’d find in a mechanic’s shop or something industrial.

I can’t tell anything else because every surface of the room is covered in plastic drop cloths, the kind you get when you’re painting a room and you know you’re going to make a mess. Thick ones, too, slightly opaque clear plastic that covers every wall, the window, which I can tell is there only because a dim light shines through it, the floor, the door... looking up, I can even see the ceiling is covered in plastic.

The idea of being surrounded by so much plastic chills me to the bone, bringing to mind all sorts of images from the worst of the late-night horror movies.

But then I sense someone behind me, and slowly, a tall blond man, his hair neatly styled and his face looking cold and aristocratic, walks around me, coming to a stop directly in front of where I’m sitting.

He’s dressed all in black, but where Gabe and I were wearing jeans and hoodies, this man is wearing slacks and a button-down dress shirt. And black leather gloves, filling my heart with a sick, desperate feeling of dread. He tilts his head, lifting an eyebrow, and after a moment, I realize he expects me to speak.

“Who are you?” I repeat.

“My name is Jericho,” the man says. “And you’re Isabella Turner.”

He smiles, and another chill goes down my spine. It’s the smile of a man who would have no qualms about ending my life. My heart stills in my chest because in his eyes I see no mercy, no humanity.

It’s even worse than seeing Gabriel when he was ready to kill Russell.

“You amuse me,” he says, but his face shows no sign of joy. “So please tell me, how did such a worthless thing happen to create so much drama? I don’t understand it.”

He brushes the back of a finger along my cheekbone, and I recoil, trying to get away. “No,” I say, shaking my head. “Don’t touch me.”

From somewhere far away, I hear my name. “Bella?”

I can’t pinpoint where it’s coming from. It’s muffled by either the walls or the plastic, I don’t know which. But I know who it is.

It’s Gabe! He’s come for me. Thank God, I think. But then I see the glee on Jericho’s face and I rethink my hope that Gabe can save me.

“Gabe! Run!” I shout, wanting at least one of us to get out of this and strongly doubting there’s any way I am leaving this room alive.

Jericho turns back to me, his eyes alight, and I realize just how dead inside he looked before. But this . . . this look is so much worse. “Ah... he was a little faster than I anticipated. I’m not done setting the scene for him. Too bad, but we will continue this conversation later. Time to get to work.”

I’ve heard the saying that if you love what you do, you’ll never work a day in your life. Watching him hustle over to the desk, I suspect that’s true for Jericho. He loves his work, as twisted and awful as it is. And I’ll be the one to pay for that bloodlust. Me and Gabe, if I can’t get him to leave me.

Jericho picks up something from a toolbox on the plastic-covered desk. At first, I can’t see what it is, but then he turns and shows me, the anticipation part of the terror he’s after. It’s a pair of pliers, just like the pair I’ve used at The Gravy Train for helping Henry in the back with minor repairs, but these have sharp blades. He clicks them together, mimicking the movement with his mouth, teeth chomping at the air.

“What’s that? What are you doing?” I say, my voice stuttering with fear and my eyes wide.

He doesn’t answer, coming closer step by step, and I thrash in the chair. But he’s got me trussed up tightly, with my feet off the ground, and the chair’s hard to tip over. All I do is abrade my wrists and slam my shoulder blades into the back of the chair hard enough to make me scream.

Jericho grabs my left hand, and though I try to pull it away, it’s locked in place by the zip-tie restraint. He runs the cold metal down the back of my fingers, sending shivers through my whole body.

“No, no, no—” I plead, not even fully grasping what he intends but knowing it won’t be good.

“Eeny, meeny, miny, moe—”

My cry turns to a blood-curdling scream as Jericho, in a blur of speed, fastens the pliers onto my pinkie finger and twists it to the side.

The pain is instant and overwhelming. “Aaaaaahhhhhh!”

Tears run, and a new level of terror fills me. Fear of the unknown is one thing, but this is the first step of destruction in Jericho’s plan, and the reality is beyond anything I’ve ever known. I thought I knew pain, emotional devastation from the losses I’ve suffered, and even physical discomfort from hardship. But this is sharp and bright and hurts so fucking much.

“Delightful . . . I love that sound,” Jericho says conversationally. He bends closer, as if inspecting his handiwork. I can’t help but look too, even though I desperately don’t want to.

I’m half-expecting to see my finger dangling loosely, but instead I find it’s not there at all. Jericho cut it clean off from my palm and the room spins as I feel faint at the sight. Even through the dizziness, I swear I see the flash of Jericho’s tongue as he licks his lips, delighted at the rivulets of blood running from the gnarled nub where my finger used to be.

“Bella!”

I hear Gabe, his footsteps pounding. My courage, telling him to go, evaporates in the fiery pain, and I look around wildly, trying to find him, shamefully wanting him to save me, help me, rescue me.

In a haze, I see Jericho’s anticipation. He’s ready, setting the pliers down on the desk and opening a drawer in order to withdraw a pistol. And for a split second, I can think clearly.

“No! Leave me, Gabe. He’s going to kill us both. Please, I love you. Go!” I struggle against the chair again, trying to get free or at least away from Jericho.

A shot rings out in response, cutting off my words. It’s loud and piercing, echoing in the empty space, but it sounds close. Really close.

Jericho grins, finally truly happy. “Showtime.” His voice is robotic and cold, his countenance even more menacing as he inhales, spreading his shoulders wide.

He moves behind me and the plastic rustles. I look over my shoulder, and he’s gone, disappeared into the space beyond the plastic room he’s created for me.

“He’s coming, Gabe!” I cry out, choking on tears and fear. “Run!”

My words are too late, though, as a pair of gunshots cuts me off. My heart’s in my throat, terror that Gabe’s been shot evaporating as I hear a scuffle start out of my sight. I don’t know where they are because everything echoes, but I can hear the smack of flesh, the grunts as the punches connect, and the sound of their bodies banging against what I can only guess are walls and furniture outside the plastic.

My brain is a useless blob of jelly between my ears, and my chest aches from holding my breath until instinct takes over and I breathe again. I jerk against my restraints, and at first I think I’ve got nothing, but then I feel something ... slip.

Blessedly, my mind focuses and I repeat the motion, wiggling my hand back and forth, to see what’s giving way. The blood is helping my wrist slide between the plastic bracelet and the arm of the chair, lubing the tight fit a bit.

I’ve got the smallest space to pull my hand through and the thought of pulling my pained hand through that pinching gap already has me moaning in fear, but as I hear another thud from the fight outside, I put it aside.

I can do this. I have done some ridiculously difficult things in my life, been through hell and come out the other side, and can tackle any obstacle in front of me and conquer it. I’m a strong woman, and I won’t sit here and wait for someone else to do what I can do myself.

And Gabe needs me.

Renewed, I don’t thrash my whole body, but instead focus on just my left arm. I pull back slowly, lifting as I do to try and slip through the small space, but the only feeling I get is my wrist screaming as the nylon tightens like a vice around my bones.

I yank, twisting left then right, and the chair tips up again, this time almost overbalancing me to the point of falling over. But I’m so close, I can feel the increasing give in the zip-tie.

I think it through and fold my thumb across my palm, making my hand as narrow as possible. Taking a deep breath to prepare myself, I jerk hard and pain flares through me.

The chair falls from the force of my pull, crashing to the floor and knocking the breath out of me, and for a heart stopping moment, I think I’ve failed. But then I realize my hand is loose, bloody and disfigured but free.

Oh, my God! It worked!

I can’t do the same to my right hand though, so I look around. The desk, with its tools, is just four feet away, but it feels like four miles as I claw my way towards it, dragging myself by one hand, each grip on the floor making me grunt in pain. When I get close enough, I look up at the toolbox above me.

I grunt as I reach up, grasping for an edge of the metal box. With a yell, I shove the whole box off the edge of the desk, and the contents spill onto the floor next to me. There, right in front of me, is my salvation ... a pair of wire cutters.

I shiver suddenly, wondering what Jericho had in mind for me with this tool, but I don’t have time to ponder it now. Instead, I use the tool to cut my right hand free, and then both legs, and get to my feet.

I have to help Gabe, I think, pushing my way through the plastic in front of the door. It’s still dim in the space, but outside, the office is more of a warehouse area with high tracks of faint yellow light.

I follow the sounds of their fight, grunted words becoming clear as I get closer.

“Should’ve just done your job, Gabriel,” Jericho says. “She’s just a contract.”

“No, she’s not,” Gabe replies in a growl, like he’s hurt. “She’s mine.”

I move closer, seeing the fight firsthand as they jockey for position. They’re both bleeding, tangled in a pile on the concrete floor as they roll back and forth, short elbows and punches emerging from time to time to thud into the other’s body before doing it again and again.

I want to scream for Gabe, but he doesn’t need a distracting cheerleader right now. He needs actual help. I’d love to think he could handle this completely on his own, and the truth is, maybe he can. I’ve never seen him truly in action like this. But I can’t stand by uselessly when the man I love is fighting for his life. And mine.

Seeing a broomstick against the wall, I grab it and risk getting even closer, ready to whack Jericho as soon as I get an opening. Suddenly, Gabe, who’s on the bottom, elbows Jericho’s neck, giving me an opportunity.

I wind up, swinging for the fences, and the broomstick cracks off Jericho’s skull, shattering into three pieces but failing to knock him out.

Jericho turns his head, like some Terminator machine, staring daggers at me, and grabs the remains of the broomstick.

“Steel plate... skiing accident,” he says, pointing to his head before tossing me aside. Gabe yells in fury as I go stumbling, but fortune smiles on me as I bounce off a water cooler and see a dark shadow on the ground. I bend down quickly and see if the spot is what I think it is. Thankfully, I’m right, and my right hand wraps around the cold metal of a gun.

Whether it’s Gabe’s or Jericho’s, I don’t know. But I check the safety and see the little red line on the safety, just like Saul taught me at the gun shop.

“Stop. Step away from him,” I bark, praying my voice sounds more badass than I feel because my knees are seriously knocking.

Surprisingly, they shove off one another, actually doing what I said, Jericho getting to his feet while Gabe rolls to his knees, his hands out to me. Jericho, on the other hand, seems more intrigued than anything else.

“Come here, Princess. Let me have the gun,” Gabe coos instead. “You don’t want to cross this line. Trust me.”

To be honest, that sounds like the best idea. Of the two of us, he’s definitely better equipped to handle Jericho and a loaded weapon.

But as I reach toward him, Jericho lunges for us.

I don’t think. I don’t have time. Whether I’m the target or bait, I don’t care. I just react in self-defense, my hand squeezing the trigger just like I was taught. Somehow, the pop of the pistol sounds quieter in here than it did when I practiced, and Jericho’s body jerks once, twice, and a third time. He stumbles, his left hand going to the hole that’s appeared in his chest, and he looks at his hand in total shock before he collapses to the floor.

“Oh, my God, did I kill him? Did I just kill a man?” I whisper as Gabe gets up and takes the gun from me, gathering me into his arms.

I can’t . . . no . . . what? My mind fogs in disbelief, and the world starts to spin.

I can just make out his face, his eyes wide with shock, fear, or maybe anger? I don’t know, but I can’t focus to decipher it right now.

Instead, I collapse into Gabriel’s arms as everything goes black.