46. Hannah

Hannah

“ T ime to go.”

The heavy metal door creaking open does nothing for the pounding ache in my temple. I tried to sleep, but the stench of metallic blood made me sick to my stomach and I couldn’t do it.

“Don’t make me drag you,” the asshole at the door warns, dark eyes flashing venomously.

Dick.

Begrudgingly, I force myself to clamber to my feet. My blood sugar is low because I haven’t had anything to eat or drink since my generous rations from Nurse Rachted ran out God only knows how long ago, so my head spins with the weight of my brain.

It’s a shame someone so attractive is working in a business like this. My escort is tall, nearly as big as Mason, and handsome. Like darkness personified, with tattoos and a dangerous scar that spans from his cheek to below the lines of their suit.

Whoever this man is, he’s seen some shit.

The big asshole grabs my arm and drags me through the tacky puddle of blood on the floor and into the hallway beyond my prison cell. Michael’s corpse lays on the floor beside the door. They didn’t even move him. I guess I should be thankful they didn’t just shove him inside with me. I can tell it hasn’t been that long because he doesn’t yet give off a stench, but he will soon.

Somehow, as I pass him, I feel nothing for what used to be my best friend.

Guess he shouldn’t have killed Mr. Legs.

My eyes burn in what looks like the later evening sun streaming through the small slits that are supposed to be windows at the top of the walls. The place is old, definitely abandoned, and not unlike the warehouse where they were murdering men and women and burning them in an incinerator.

“Where are you taking me?”

My escort ignores me as if I don’t exist.

“I have to pee.”

He lets out a sigh and keeps walking.

“Hey,” I snap, “I have to use the bathroom. You’ve kept me locked in that room for hours.”

“Fifteen to be exact.” He stops by a door and waves me toward it with a cocky smile. “Make it quick.”

I swallow past the dryness in my throat and step into the room, wracking my mind to do the simple math of what the hell time it is. Seven? Eight?

I let out a sigh of relief at the sight of a barely functional bathroom. If I make it out of this, let me tell you, I’ll never complain about using a public toilet again.

A bucket at the bottom of a landfill would be cleaner.

I start to shut the door, a plan weaving its way through my mind when a boot stops it, nearly jarring me to fall over.

“It stays open.”

“I can’t pee with an audience.”

He cocks a brow, like a father determined to teach his child a lesson. “Then I guess you don’t really have to pee, then, do you?”

Asshole.

I force a breath to calm myself, wincing at the pain in my throat as my plan slips further and further away.

Think, Hannah.

“Try anything and I’m authorized to do whatever I see fit,” he warns, standing with his hands clasped in front of him like a bouncer at a club. “And I’ve got nothing left to lose.” He shrugs as if his threat of raping me in my disheveled state means nothing to him.

I guess . . . in his line of work, it probably doesn’t.

"Are you going to rape me?"

"Fortunately, for you, I prefer blondes."

With a humiliation I’m not accustomed to, I do my business under the careful eye of the creep who watches me like my peeing is most amusing to him.

“See? That wasn’t so bad.”

“Yes, performance art is definitely my thing,” I mock, wiping the smirk off his face.

Taking me by the shoulder, he shoves me down the hall in the opposite direction of my closet hell, this time, staying behind me to watch me like a predator.

“I don’t know where I’m going.”

“Straight, obviously.”

“Well, I’m hungry.”

“And a prisoner. Prisoners get food when we feel like it and right now, I don’t know that I’m inclined.”

I know what he’s referring to. A blow job for a scrap of bread.

“I’d rather starve.”

“Be my guest.”

Silently, I mock him because it makes me feel better amidst the turmoil raging around me.

I miss home. I miss the garage. I miss . . . I miss Mason.

God, I hope he’s okay.

I hope he doesn’t forget about me. I hope he finds someone to settle down with. Has babies because I know he’d make the cutest ones. I hope they all have his eyes.

A tear falls down my cheek, but I hastily wipe it away because I’ll be damned if this asshole sees me cry. I suck in a deep breath, willing my emotions to dissipate and focus on placing one foot in front of the other, even if it means marching toward my own death.

“Through the doors.”

Two double metal doors sit at the end of the hall and with a sinking feeling in my gut, I push through them, stepping into what is definitely an exuberant, destructed church. There are holes in the ceiling showcasing the sunlight outside. The walls are peeling from being painted a long time ago and there are piles of dust and dead plants growing through the concrete under our feet.

“Well, well, well . . .”

My spine stiffens at the voice that greets me from the other end of the room.

Cortez.

“There you are ,” he beams, holding out his arms as if I’m the prized pig at the local fair. My escort shoves me to my knees on the hard concrete and I wince, but crumple to the ground under his weight. “Let me tell you, Ms. Gaines, you are one tough cookie to kidnap. You killed my mole.”

I shrug. “He deserved it.”

Cortez chuckles, shaking his head. “He probably did. I mean, who rats on the man that’s like their brother? That’s low, even for me.”

“Can’t imagine many things are lower than you.”

He only smiles. “I like you. I can see why Carpenter was so adamant about keeping you.”

“What do you want?”

“Well, it’s not a matter of what I want, but what the people want.” The escort kneels behind me, wrapping an arm around my neck to hold me still while the other bands my arms behind my back. Cortez watches on, cocking his head with that same arrogant smile.

“I’m not heartless. I got you a present.” He looks to the back of the room. “Bring out contestant number two!” he yells like a gameshow host.

A scream echoes throughout the room, followed by the movement of footsteps on the concrete.

“Get your hands off me you lousy son of a bitch!”

Oh, great . . .

My mother.

“I always hated presents. Especially when they’re wrapped in sinister lies.”

“Well, I don’t think you’ll be getting any more after today, so you better start showing some appreciation now. I know we will.”

My mother is shoved to her knees beside me, her expensive Alexander McQueen pantsuit stained with blood splatter and scuffed.

If she was close enough, I’d bite her.

“This wasn’t the deal,” she spits, completely disregarding me.

“We made a new deal.”

“You think I didn’t plan for your treason?” Mom’s face grows red with rage out of the corner of my eye. Can’t really move my head when it’s in a headlock. “You don’t think the entire country isn’t going to come looking for me?”

“Funnily enough,” Cortez chimes. “I don’t actually give a fuck. If they do manage to find you, it’ll be in pieces scattered from here to the equator. Same with your daughter.”

“Do it, then,” she challenges and I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “Shoot her. Let me go and I’ll make you a very wealthy man, Cortez.”

Cortez just stares at her in awe, then at me.

“ Wow . . . and here I thought that slimy little mole was bad. Governor Gaines, willing to sacrifice her daughter to save her own skin.”

“Do it. She’s no daughter of mine.”

Cortez’s smile vanishes in the blink of an eye and before anyone can anticipate it, he pulls a gun out of his pocket and aims it in the center of my mother’s forehead.

“I would love to. You always did love to bitch.”

“Not yet,” a soft, cool voice rings out from somewhere behind us. “They’re mine.”

The click-clack of heels sounds on the old concrete floor and as they near, I catch a whiff of perfume.

Chanel No. 5.

My stomach lurches, saliva pooling in my mouth when she steps around where I can see her.

Melissa Gaines.

My sister.

“You look positively perplexed, Hannah Banana.”

My words catch in my throat.

“One big family reunion, isn’t it?” Melissa chuckles sweetly, looking back and forth between our mother and me like we’re pests invading her home.

“Melissa—” Mom starts.

“No!” Melissa screeches face morphing into something sinister. “You covered up my disappearance, Mom . What was that about? Were you ashamed of me?”

“Yes,” Mom admits, voice shaking in the face of what she created. “I was. I still am.”

“Good,” Melissa sneers. “Always trying to protect Hannah. Hannah this, Hannah that. I was your daughter, too.”

“You were. We just . . .” Mom’s voice cracks. “I loved you just the same, you were just so hard to handle sometimes.”

“Oh, you hated me from the day I was born. So long as you had your perfect,” Melissa stops in front of me, moving a strand of my hair. I flinch against her touch and she snickers. “Beautiful daughter, you didn’t care.”

“I did care—”

“You did a piss poor job of showing it. Shoving me in that cage? Really?”

Nothing is making sense right now.

“And you ,” Melissa’s ire is turned on me. “Always trying to be the good girl with the good grades and the hot boyfriends. There was never any room for me at that house. Not unless it came to abuse and then, you can bet your ass I was first in line.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

“We were both abused, Missy—”

“It’s Melissa.”

“Okay . . . whatever. We were both abused. It wasn’t just you that got locked in that closet.”

Melissa smiles, her lips cocking up at the side. “No, it wasn’t. Except, I also got the board. The rotten food. The slaps out of nowhere. You only had to eat it once. I had it most of my life.”

“I was trying to help you—”

“Shut up, you sadistic bitch,” Melissa snaps, voice cold. “You were trying to make the perfect little daughters, so we wouldn’t tell anyone what you did.”

“Missy,” Mom warns, but Melissa can’t be stopped.

“Haven’t you ever wondered how Dad died , Hannah? What happened to me when I put one toe out of line?”

I freeze, ice filling my veins.

“She’s trying to get into your head, Hannah,” Mom chimes, voice panicked beneath the cool, calm surface. “You know her, she’ll say whatever she has to, to get you to listen to her.”

“That’s rich coming from you, Mother,” Melissa chuckles darkly. “She poisoned him and watched the life bleed from his eyes. When Marcus found out, I confronted her and you can bet I was locked in a cage in one of her warehouses shortly after.”

Melissa drops to her knees in front of me.

“Michael saved my life, you know? He was sweet on me, so he’d come in, I’d suck his cock, and he’d let me out. I helped with a couple of his . . . special cases. The ones that were too headstrong for the black dahlia to take it’s hold.”

“You’re too easily manipulated, sweetheart,” Mom coos, her voice changing to that same, sickeningly sweet soft tone that she used to use when she was explaining away her guilt over punishing us. “You listen to her because you love too hard. Don’t let her lie to you now.”

I look back and forth between the two, my heart thumping heavily in my chest. The man holding my head tightens his grip when Melissa leans in, forcing me to look at her. The same brown eyes that had once brought me comfort now make me want to vomit.

“Hannah. You and I are twins. You know me better than anyone. Would I do those things they’re accusing me of?”

I swallow hard over the lump in my throat—a difficult task considering the man holding my head in a vice grip.

I stare into my sister’s eyes and finally, everything falls into place.

“You’re a monster,” I breathe and she stills. The only sound being the shuffling of the cartel watching on idly. “Did you cut off your own finger so everyone would think you were dead?”

Melissa chuckles, holding up a hand dressed in a black diamond-encrusted prosthetic in the place of what used to be her middle finger. The end is sharp, a pointy nail coming out like a knife.

“Oh, that . . . Dear Michael helped. Tell me, did Monica Parker scream when she found it?”

“Why maim yourself? So you could stay relevant?”

“Had to get you on the hunt, somehow, sister. Especially after you ran off with that mongrel Carpenter.” And then she whimpers, just like she did on the phone that night, so long ago. “Hannah, please . . . someone’s going to kill me . Michael and I had fun with that one.”

“Mason’s more of a man than you will ever have the good fortune of meeting.”

She hunkers down, voice dripping in candy-coated venom. “You know, when we decided to go into business together, he would go down on me for hours.”

“Shame it took so long,” I reply sweetly. “Must be the drugs.”

“The black Dahlia . . .” she starts dramatically. “Is an elixir of the gods. Shame you could never handle such a thing.”

“Let me guess, you’re still drinking it. You know, you might ask if they can insert an IV. Since you can’t seem to live without it, and all.”

“Oh, I will have plenty . There won’t be a need. You see, when Parker went to prison, he passed that portion of his business on to me. Haven’t you wondered where I’ve been all this time, Hannah Banana?”

“Actually, it was a nice break from the psychopath I used to call a sister.”

Melissa’s expression never changes, but even so, I can see the exact moment I no longer mean anything to her.

The moment she decides I’m not her sister, anymore.

“I’m bored . . .” she purrs. “Kill her.”

She says it so quick and pungently that for a brief second, no one moves.

Then, the grip on my neck tightens and the cold sensation of a steel barrel digs into my temple.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

The voice that rings out behind us may as well be God coming down to rescue me. It certainly feels that way. Though I can’t see him, I can feel him, and a shiver of grief racks through me.

There’s no way we both make it out of this alive.

“Mason, no!” I screech, fighting against the man’s hold, but I can’t move. I’m only strangling myself.

“It’s okay, baby.” Mason’s voice is both a symbol of hope and a promise of death.

Melissa’s gaze snaps to somewhere in the room behind me and then for the first time since she kidnapped me, it falters.

“Marcus . . .” she whispers like she was given the biggest gift in the world.

Marcus? Marcus fucking Parker? You’ve got to be kidding me.

I jerk in the hold of my jailer, but he only tightens his grip. I need to see him. I need to see Mason. Make sure he’s okay.

“Don’t . . .” my escort grits under his breath, so quiet, I can barely hear him.

Strange . . .

“You can have him. I want Hannah.”

Melissa doesn’t look at me as she steps past me, there’s a click and suddenly she stops.

“One more step and I’ll blow his head off, right here.”

“My man can snap her neck before you ever get a shot off.”

“Maybe,” Mason replies cooly. “But I’ll make sure there’s nothing left for you to even scrape off the floor if you do.”

“My love,” Parker’s voice sounds strained. Choked, even. “It’s been so long.”

“It has,” Melissa chimes, sounding jaded. “I’ve missed you.”

God, give me a break.

I roll my eyes and the man holding my head chuckles under his breath. At least someone agrees with me.

“I know beautiful, but I’m here now. Just give her over.”

Melissa pauses, her lips pursing. I still know her well enough to know what she’s thinking. The love of her life or the family that ruined her?

“If you try anything ,” Melissa says after a long moment. “I’ll slice her throat and drown you in her blood.”

My heart hammers in my chest as the silence drags on.

“Release her.”

The man behind me loosens his grip and I fall forward, catching myself on my hands. The cuts on my palms scream out in pain, but it’s not enough to drown out the incessant need to get to Mason.

Carefully, I climb to my feet, teetering from low blood sugar, and slowly make my way toward the love of my life who looks at me with a burning adoration behind a mask of sinister indifference.

I pass Parker on the way, who eyes me reproachfully as I go. He looks like shit. His hair has thinned in his time in prison and his skin is pale and sunken. Almost gray.

A walking corpse.

Serves him right.

As soon as I’m close enough, Mason grabs me without a second glance and places me behind him. I soak in his scent, tears pooling in my eyes. Leather, smoke, and spice. I never thought I’d see him again.

This isn’t how this is supposed to work. I’m supposed to be saving him. Not the other way around.

But fuck if it isn’t great to see him.

“Mason,” Mom chimes, still on her knees. “You’re not going to leave me here, are you?”

“You know, Laura. Some people just shouldn’t be parents.”

“You fucking asshole!” she screams and Mason’s jaw ticks, but he doesn’t say a word. Instead, his hand at his back releases mine and he grabs the pistol there.

And before any of us can blink an eye, he raises it and fires two shots.

One for Melissa. One for Parker.

Mom screams as blood coats the side of her face, the cartel erupts in shouts and gunfire and the FBI swarms the room before any of them can even think about moving.

And there in the middle of all the chaos stands Logan Prince, pointing the barrel of his gun down into Marcus Parker’s open, glassy eyes.

And then he shoots him again, just for good measure.

“Governor Gaines,” an FBI agent says, stepping up to lift my mother off the ground, who’s still shaking and covered in the blood of her daughter. “You are under arrest for your involvement in human trafficking, drug trafficking, as well as first-degree murder.”

Mom’s eyes go wide.

“I didn’t kill anyone!” she shouts. “It was them, I didn’t do it!”

Logan snickers, the sound dark and caustic. “Not for the women you had murdered. That’s for a different charge. This one . . . is for your husband.”

Mom’s face goes beat red and she starts screaming profanities as they haul her toward the exit.

“I’m the goddamned governor of this state! You can’t arrest me . . .”

Her voice trails off as they haul her to wherever she’s going, but I imagine, she’ll probably scream at them until her voice goes hoarse.

And finally, Mason turns to look at me.

—and everything in me crumples.

“It’s over now.”

He nods once. “I know.”

I suck in a breath, though it feels like it stops in my windpipe.

“I’m in love with you, you know?”

His gaze burns with an intensity that nearly knocks me on my ass.

“I know.”

“Hold me?”

“Get the fuck over here.”

He grabs me around the waist and hoists me up into his arms, crushing me against his chest. I wrap my legs around him and he doesn’t let go, falling to the ground on his knees.

“ Fuck ,” he groans softly, burying his head in my neck and inhaling deeply. I’m sure I stink, but he doesn’t seem to care. “I thought I fucking lost you.”

For a moment there, I thought he did, too.

“I’m so sorry for leaving you. I’m sorry for Ian and for making you go through that. I’m sorry—”

“Shut the fuck up,” he rasps and then he’s crushing his lips against mine and now, my head is definitely spinning.

Mason kisses me like it’s the first time. The last time. The only time. And he doesn’t stop until I’m sure my heart is either going to beat out of my chest or my lungs will collapse.

“I’m so fucking in love with you,” he grits against my lips. “But if you ever do something that fucking selfless and stupid again, I’ll tie you to our bed until we’re old and gray.”

I press feverish kisses to his lips in between each word.

“Never again,” I promise and this time, I mean it. “You and me?”

“Fucking always. You and me, baby.”

And then . . . like most things, all good things must come to an end.

A shot from somewhere up high rings out in the air and Mason’s face is suddenly covered in red spots. I panic, the surge of adrenaline rushing through me rendering me speechless as his eyes go wide.

And then everything erupts in blinding pain.

I sputter and Mason screams something, but I can’t hear him.

Did I . . . Did I just get shot?

I don’t know how it happens, just that I’m on my back on the dirty floor again, staring up at the prism-colored ceiling of broken stained glass before Mason’s looming over me.

I take in his face because this really might be the last time I see him. I can’t feel the spot where I was shot. Just pain. It engulfs my body in burning lava as if I swallowed the core of the earth.

“Hannah, don’t fucking close your eyes!” I hear Mason bellow, but I’m so fucking tired and I really, really need a nap now.

Someone else screams something as my hearing fades in and out, but it’s Mason’s voice that I cling to.

“I swear to fucking God, Hannah. Don’t you fucking die on me.”

I don’t want to, but . . . I also don’t know if I have a choice.

Because again, bad things happen in threes.