40. Grayson

Grayson

M y car speeds through the streets of San Diego, my mind a maelstrom of fear and frustration. Twenty minutes ago, I got a call from Maggie, but the line was quiet. I thought I heard voices in the background, but I couldn't make them out. Though I didn't want to, I eventually hung up to reach out to Greg. He promised to call back as soon as he had information, but every minute that passes without a call only makes me more desperate. "Come on, Maggie," I mutter to myself. Driving around the rough parts of San Diego in this flashy car isn't helping. I've gained attention, but no one's heard of Don or seen any woman being assaulted. Not that I think they'd tell me if they had. I'm grasping at straws.

Suddenly, my phone rings. With a shaking hand, I press the answer button. Greg doesn't waste any time. "Grayson, we tracked Maggie's phone from the call she made to you."

Greg relays the address, and I hang up. Without a second thought, I slam my foot on the accelerator, my car roaring down the road as I type in the destination on my dash. A text comes through—Greg saying the police are already on-site and that he's on his way. But I don't care about that. I need to get to Maggie. I drive as fast as I dare, trying my best to keep to the rules of the road.

It takes ten agonizing minutes to reach the address. As I roll up, my eyes scan the area frantically. I spot a young woman sitting on the curb, wrapped in a blanket and flanked by two officers. For a split second, my heart leaps—it looks like Maggie. But no, she's too young. It must be her sister. Fucking Don. The psycho knew that was the only way to lure Maggie away from me. I jump out of my car and sprint to her, my voice ahead of me. "Where is she? Where's Maggie?" I know I should be calmer—the kid has obviously been through hell. Her lip is cut and bleeding, one eye swollen shut.

She shakes her head, eyes wide with confusion and fear. "You… you look like him," she stammers.

I feel a surge of helplessness, my emotions teetering on the edge of despair. "I'm not him. I'm Gray, Maggie's boyfriend. Where did he take her?" I beg.

Tears leak from both eyes as she stutters, "I don't know! He didn't say anything."

I'm already walking away. When Maggie's safe, I'll apologize. I'll do anything to make up for my callousness, but right now, I can't focus on that.

Where would my brother go? There are infinite places to hide, but he wants me. It has to be somewhere I'd know about. Maybe he'll call? Or is he planning something worse? God, my brother is trying to hurt Maggie to get to me again. The thought dries up my mouth.

There has to be somewhere—a place he'd go that wouldn't draw police attention. Non-descript. Not a crack house or hotel.

"The boathouse," I mutter. My family has a boathouse on Mission Bay. Small, half-forgotten, buried under layers of LLCs. As far as I know, the police never found it. I never gave it up—not because I wanted it, but because it's one of many things hidden within the Cardenas Family Businesses. But it would be a perfect hideout for Don.

I dash back to my car, the pieces falling into place in my frantic mind. I swerve onto the freeway as the evening traffic begins to build. Weaving in and out of lanes, my desperation grows with every mile.

The thought of Maggie in Don's clutches sends shivers down my spine. I have to reach her, have to save her. The idea of trading myself for her plays over in my mind—a dangerous but necessary gamble.

I'd gladly sacrifice myself, no matter the consequences, to keep Maggie from becoming the same shell of a woman that Suzannah is. My family would know I'd want George to stay with her. They'd know. They have to know. I love her. George would be happy with her.

As I speed down the freeway, memories of the boathouse flood my mind. It was a place of childhood adventures—jet skis on the bay, barbecues on the dock, movies outside on a blow-up projector screen. Some of my happiest times were spent there, on the beautiful San Diego summer nights. But now, it's the potential scene of my worst nightmare. The irony isn't lost on me—a place that once symbolized freedom and escape could now be a prison for the woman I love.

My hands can barely grip the steering wheel, they're shaking so much. The traffic thickens, red taillights stretching out in front of me like a river of molten lava. I dart into the bus lane, the urgency propelling me forward, uncaring of the rules I'm breaking.

Every second feels like an eternity. The sun is gone, the city lights glowing low and romantic, but the beauty is lost on me. My focus is singular—reach the boathouse, save Maggie.

Finally, the exit comes up, and I swerve off the freeway. Seconds later, I pull up to the curb, my car screeching to a halt. The boathouse looms in front of me, its windows dark. It looks abandoned, but I know better. I can practically feel Maggie's presence, almost smell her citrus scent.

I step out of the car, my body tensed, ready for whatever I might face. She's inside. That's all that matters. Whatever is between me and her, I'll deal with it.

I'm prepared to confront Don, the brother who has betrayed me so deeply. So much pain in my life, all caused by him.

The door is locked, but I find the spare key above the doorframe and turn it as quietly as possible. It creaks open, and I step inside. Everything is dark and quiet. I creep down the tile hall, every sense heightened. I'm in Don's territory now, playing a game by his rules.

I know the risks, the danger I'm putting myself in. But none of that matters. I need to get to her—that's it. That's all I can think about now.