11

11

KADE

Idrop the gun slowly and approach her – careful steps so I don’t startle her, since she seems to be going into shock. “Stacey, it’s me,” I say gently, and when I step over the ginger guy, I try not to look at the gaping holes in his face.

The other two have their throats cut – one on the bed, his trousers down; the other next to the bathroom.

This isn’t a moment to be mega proud of Stacey, considering she’s caked in blood and heading for a breakdown, staring at me with wide eyes, but I fucking am proud.

She fought.

When I reach her, shielding the exposed parts of her body from Barry, I lift my hand to her wrist, sliding my fingers under hers to peel them away from the blade.

Her eyes lift to me as I toss aside the blade. “I k-killed them.”

I take her face in my hands, and all I see is the trauma in her eyes, the way she’s not filling her lungs. “You need to breathe, Stacey.”

“They’re dead,” she says, shaking. “They’re… I…”

“Breathe. You need to breathe.”

“They tried t-to…”

Her bottom lip trembles, a tear slipping down her cheek as her focus comes back, yet her pupils are dilated so badly that I can’t see the beautiful winter forest in her eyes.

“K-Kade,” she whimpers, another tear slipping down her cheek. “Kade.”

“It’s me, Freckles.”

She collapses in my hold, and I hug her to me. “Fuck. Are you hurt?”

She shakes her head. “I needed you to s-see me. The song. I… didn’t know if you re-remembered it.”

I close my eyes and rest my chin on her head, tightening my arms around her. She’s taking steady breaths now, each one rattling in her chest. “I heard it. How could I ever forget that?”

“I… I m-missed you.”

Fuck do those words feel like she just drove a blade through my heart. Words I can never do anything with.

She pulls her head back and looks up at me with glazed, bloodshot eyes, her pupils the size of a fucking planet.

“They drugged you.” It’s not a question.

She swallows, and I can tell she’s not feeling too good.

I shrug off my suit jacket and wrap it around her, covering her ripped dress, then I gather her in my arms and pull her off her feet. Her face is stained with red splatters, and there’s a gash in her palm from where the blade must’ve cut her.

Stacey buries her head into my chest as I hold her, unable to do much else but whisper my name repeatedly. Barry is already making calls while the girl I sent away nearly three months ago to keep her safe, keeping me anchored in this world without even knowing, slowly goes limp in my hold.

The hotel room is ruined. She must’ve smashed a lamp over one of their heads too, and there are handprints on the walls from them trying to get away from her.

She’d been here for less than five minutes before we got here. My girl just fought for her damn life, and now I can tell she needs sleep, but not with whatever is in her system.

I kick open the adjoining bathroom, lower to the ground with Stacey in my arms and push up the toilet lid. “I need to make you sick, okay?” I tell her softly.

Barry tells someone to have a car wait out back and to have a medical kit ready.

I shove my fingers down her throat, and she vomits all over my hand and into the toilet bowl. I do it again, forcing her to bring up what’s in her stomach until she slaps at my hand to stop.

As I wipe the blood from her face with tissues, the concealer she was wearing comes away too. She has bruises on her face, her throat purple from someone strangling her.

These aren’t all fresh – though one on her cheek I can tell just happened. One of them punched her.

I wish my impulsiveness won sometimes, so I could’ve walked over to the booth when I saw them and beat the shit out of them one by one. But Barry is right – causing a scene would have drawn Bernadette’s attention from the other room, and then Stacey would’ve been on her radar. She would already be strung up somewhere, and I’d need to watch her being tortured.

Barry takes the cup from the sink and fills it with water before handing it to me.

“Drink this,” I say, tipping her head back and pouring little bits into her mouth at a time. “Swallow. That’s it. You’re so fucking strong, Stacey. You’re a fighter. You’re okay. You’re okay.” I think I’m saying the last part to myself more than anything.

“Make sure that bastard downstairs doesn’t leave. I want him interrogated.”

Barry chews his lip as he glances at his phone, searching through CCTV footage. “He already left. I can have him tracked in the car he got into, sir.”

Gritting my teeth, I lace my fingers with Stacey’s and nod once.

As a little bit of life comes to her, she slouches in my hold, and I brush strands of hair from her face. She’s looking up at me, and somehow, her dimple dents as she manages a smile. “You’re alive.”

“I am,” I reply. “I’m kind of hard to kill.”

“I w-w-was so worried. Did they…” She gulps, takes a second to breathe then continues. “Did they hurt you?”

I shake my head. “No,” I lie. Unless you count unlimited beatings and forced hard-ons.

“Fight back.” She can see the lie. “I had to fight. I went t-to the police and they… they didn’t stop him after he attacked me – he killed the bodyguard and said if I didn’t stay away from you, he’d kill you too.”

I hear Barry swear under his breath again. All I can picture is snapping whoever this person is in half.

“Please don’t let him find me. Please,” she mumbles, panicking as she grips only my white shirt. “He said he wanted to get me pregnant.”

My voice drops to a deep, threatening tone. “Who?” I ask her, my teeth clenching so hard they might crack.

She hiccups as her head lolls to the side, and I catch her shoulder as she nearly falls away from me. “Chris.” Then she gestures to her busted-up face with unsteady movements. “Cyber-freak and master manipulator. The creator of this wonderful artwork.”

“Who?”

“Your boyfriend?” Barry asks, and I want to punch him for even addressing that she’s potentially in a relationship.

“No. Chris,” she replies groggily just before she passes out, and I don’t think I breathe for a good minute while I run through what she just said over and over and over again.

Who the fuck is Chris?

He wants to get her pregnant?

Cyber-freak?

“Now it makes sense,” Barry says, a deep line between his brows. “Yet it doesn’t. I have no idea who Chris is.” His brows furrow deeper. “I think we missed something. I’ll do a retrace.”

“Whoever it is, I’m going to kill him.” Understatement – I’m going to rip him limb for limb and set the cunt on fire.

Barry paces. “I’ll see what I can find.”

“Take Stacey to the manor – tell my mother everything that happened tonight. Whoever this prick is, she’ll issue security alongside ours. Contact Emmerson’s family and offer our condolences; give them enough money to be comfortable. And find out who the fuck Chris is when she wakes up.”

“On it, sir.”

“When you find out who that was downstairs, I want him too.”

“I’ll ask Miss Rhodes for information on him when she’s conscious. Our car is here,” Barry tells me. Then he shows me his phone screen. “Bernadette is still sitting at the table with Cassie. Archie is in some debate with another husband. You can make it back without appearing suspicious.” He gestures to my shirt. “Do you want to swap shirts with me? You’re covered in blood.”

“No offence, Barry, but my chest and back are a lot bigger than yours.”

He hums, crouching down to Stacey to check her eyes. “I might need to give her Narcan. Do you know if she’s allergic to anything?”

“No. No allergies.” I shake my head at the fact I need to leave Stacey when she’s in this state. I lean my back to the wall beside the toilet, keeping her between my bent knees, her head resting on my chest. “Please keep her safe – I need you to watch her. I’m about to get time off so I can be with her, and you can go and see Lisa. You haven’t been home in months.”

Barry nods. “You need to go now, sir.”

I look down at Stacey, taking in the worried expression she wears even while she’s sleeping. The bruises fucking piss me off, and when I get the chance, I’ll hunt down the asshole that dared to lay his hands on her.

Reluctantly, I lift Stacey in my arms and pass her to Barry before tightening the suit jacket around her. I stare at her – the beauty of her – and release her hand.

“I’ll be back at the manor in a few days. We’ll discuss everything then.”

Stacey groans and starts tensing up in Barry’s arms, and he rushes her back to the toilet to vomit all over again.

“Go, sir. I’ll have someone clean up the bodies. Leave before you draw attention.”

My phone starts ringing, and I give Stacey one last look, even though I want to be the one holding her hair back and head up in her condition. I want to be the one caring for her.

Instead, I put my phone away and leave the hotel room, going back to Bernadette, her delusional husband and the daughter they want me to marry.

“What took you so long?”

I sigh and lift my drink, not looking at Cassie as I reply, “None of your business.”

She leans in and whispers in my ear. “You have blood on your sleeve, and there’s a smear of it on your cheek.”

I flinch as she runs her tongue up my cheek, feeling her smile at the corner of my eye.

“All gone.”

I turn my head to glare at her. “Don’t do that again.”

Bernadette is arguing with Archie while he declares war on someone who outbid him on some game, leaving me to sit at the booth with their daughter. The daughter who keeps getting closer – thinking I would ever willingly lower myself to go anywhere near her.

“Unless you want my mother to know you were doing something bad, I suggest you tell me the truth.”

“Don’t threaten me,” I snap, gulping down my drink, enjoying the burn. I glance at my watch. Barry will have got Stacey out by now. She needs all the support she can get, because when the reality hits that she’s killed three people, her head will be fucked.

Mine was.

Cassie rests her hand on my lap. “Do you want to leave?”

I knock her hand away and blank her, taking in my surroundings. The drunks and the druggies – all standing around a large table flashing their cash. Bernadette keeps looking over at us, either jealous that her daughter is trying to seduce me or calculating how to force me into agreeing to marry her. It’s a fucking joke.

“Were you fucking someone?” I can hear the anger in her voice.

“Yes,” I lie. “Why do you think there’s blood on me?”

Her face contorts with rage. Good. I hope she’ll give me some fucking space.

“You fucked a virgin?”

I shrug. Maybe she’ll leave me the fuck alone if I tell her that her own mother forces me into her bed. Not that it’s anything to be proud of – disgusting, if anything. She already demanded her mother stop selling me for sex, so maybe hearing that she still does offer me to clients and controls me by forcing me to fuck her or watch the people I care about get hurt will stop this incessant need to throw herself at me.

I’m not interested.

All I need is to wait a few days, and when Bernie goes away with Archie, I’ll have two weeks of freedom. I’ll string up everyone involved in tonight’s disaster and have the abdominal cavity of whoever the fuck Christopher is sitting as a trophy on my bedside unit.

Cassie leans in again, whispering in my ear. “You can at least pretend you want me.”

I roll my eyes. “Why would I do that?”

“Because I lied and said we were making progress, so your father will be released from solitary confinement tomorrow.”

I turn my head. “What?”

“Yeah,” she replies, nodding as she licks her lips, moving closer. “So you owe me.”

I snatch her throat and shove her away from me. “I owe you nothing.”

“Unless you want your sister to be the next target,” she says, rubbing her throat, “I highly suggest you act like we’re making progress. Stop manhandling me.”

Every single time she tries to get close, I either shove her, threaten her or strangle her, and she still doesn’t get the fucking hint. She’s been mindfucked by her parents, but that doesn’t mean I’ll go easy and bow to her fucking orders as well.

Bernadette’s gaze clashes with mine – she’s drunk and mad, which only means one thing. I’ll get no sleep tonight. She taps Archie’s shoulder then demands we all go home.

When we get to Bernadette’s mansion, I go to my designated room and shower, and when I get out, Bernadette is sitting on my bed, a frown on her face.

“There was no client,” she says, sounding disappointed as she sighs. “You just don’t ever seem to learn your lesson. You don’t lie to me, Kade. Ever. What am I going to do with you? I’ve already lifted the punishment on your father.”

I don’t get a chance to formulate another lie – someone appears beside me and shoves a taser into my ribs, and when I try to fight back, someone else crashes my head off the wall with such force, I temporarily lose my vision.

Bernadette stays sitting on the bed as I push myself to my feet and tackle their legs, feeling punch after punch landing on my side until they do their usual bullshit and bring more guys in to beat the shit out of me.