“I don’t give a—”
“But if the roles were reversed, I would hate you for not telling me.” With one hand he wiped the wetness away from his eyes as the other reached over to his desk to grab something, before standing and walking slowly to me. Dropping to his knees, he handed over a folder and I hesitantly grabbed for it.
Flipping the top open, I pulled out the blown-up photograph and swallowed back bile before the tears started to fall down my face. An anguished cry burst from my lips and my hands gripped my hair after I dropped the folder and paper to the ground.
Mason put a hand on my shoulder, and spoke softly. “They called, they didn’t even ask if there was progress . . . they already knew there wasn’t any. They have to be in contact with Juarez or one of the guys, so the department is checking every call and visitor they’ve had. You could—” He paused, and the hand that was gripping my shoulder began shaking. “You could hear her screaming in the background, Kash, and they said they’d call back in another two days. This picture was sent an hour later. They had our techs working on it, trying to track it through the server, but these guys know what they’re doing. It just kept coming to a dead end.”
Another tortured cry left me, and I brought my knees to my chest as my head shook back and forth. “God, Rachel, I’m so sorry—I’m so damn sorry. We have to find her, Mase.”
The picture was burned into my mind, so much that even after I closed my eyes, it was still all I could see. Three of Rachel’s severed fingers. One still had the engagement ring that I’d put on it a few months before. The bright purple color she always wore on her nails a dead giveaway that they were, indeed, her fingers.
“We will, I swear we will. Byson is questioning Juarez again—”
I didn’t wait for him to say anything else. I pushed him back and scrambled to my feet, already running toward the interview rooms.
Mason barked out my name, but I kept going. I passed the first two open rooms, and just as I was approaching the third door, it opened and Byson stepped out, looking down at his notepad.
Hearing my approach, his head snapped up, and his eyes widened. “Ryan! What the hell—”
Shoving past him, I kicked the closing door back open before slamming it shut and locking it, and came face-to-face with Juarez for the first time in almost a year.
“What a pleasant surprise,” he sneered as I approached him.
“Where is she?” Slamming my hands down on the table, I leaned over it as I yelled, “Tell me!”
“You expect me to know what you’re talking about?”
I would have thrown the table if it weren’t bolted down to the floor. Rounding it, I went over to where Juarez was sitting and kicked his chair back into the wall.
“Don’t fuck with me, Juarez!” Stalking over to him, I gripped the arms of the chair he was cuffed to and leaned in so my face was directly in front of his. “Tell me where my goddamn fiancée is!”
His only answer was a sardonic smile.
“Tell me or I swear to God I will make your death slow and painful,” I growled.
“You mean like Rachel’s?” Juarez whispered.
I punched him, and grabbed the collar of his gray prison shirt to bring him closer to me. “I will end you, you son of a bitch! Where the fuck is she?” I was so far gone—my mind only on finding Rachel and making every one of the sick bastards involved in her kidnapping pay for what they’d done to her—that I didn’t even register what the yelling outside the room was about until I was being dragged away from Juarez.
“Kash, calm down,” Mason grunted as I struggled to get away from him and Byson as they pulled me back.
“Tell me where she is!”
Another mocking smile crossed Juarez’s face, and my frustrated roar filled the room.
“I will make you pay for everything that has happened to her!”
“Enough!” Mason yelled as they threw me out of the room.
I turned to go back in, but Mason slammed me against the wall and restrained me by pinning my arms behind my back.
“Kash, don’t make me put cuffs on you,” he said low. “You have got to calm down. I know you’re upset, man, I know. But you’re ruining your career, and making it worse for Rachel by doing this.”
“He knows where she is,” I gritted out, the adrenaline quickly leaving my body. “He fucking knows, Mase. He said her name!”
“Ryan! Gates!”
I turned, and my body sagged against the wall when I saw Chief standing there.
“My office. Now.”
Mason swore under his breath as he pulled me from the wall and kept my arms behind my back as he walked us toward Chief’s office. Byson was already waiting for us in there, and when Chief sat down at his desk, I knew I was about to lose my job.
WALKING SLOWLY, like I was expecting a bomb to go off if I made any noise, I stepped into the bedroom that just ten days ago had been destroyed. That just ten days ago had had a message about why they’d taken Rachel on one of the walls. That just ten days ago was considered a crime scene and had been full of officers. That just ten days ago Rachel had been taken from.
I hadn’t been in here since that day, but since then Maddie, and Mason, and my mom had come in to clean the disaster that had been left over, and paint the wall. The TV was gone—I hadn’t seen a need to replace it, since I hadn’t wanted to come back here—and so were the mirror and lamps; but other than that, there weren’t any signs that anything had ever happened.
Except one.
Rachel was still fucking gone.
The department hadn’t gotten any closer to finding her, and even though Chief had been considerate enough to give me only unpaid time off for the rest of the week . . . I was still doing things every day that were sure to get me fired at the very least. I just made sure that everything was away from the department, and that no one other than Mason knew what I was up to.
Although he had strict orders not to, Mason had kept me updated on everything about the case, and I would always be thankful to him for that. But I wasn’t sure how much more I could take.
It’d been ten days and already I felt like I was dying from what I had seen and heard. I didn’t know how Rachel was still pushing through the torture we’d seen her go through. I didn’t know how she was even still alive. And when I got her back—because I was getting her back—I didn’t know what would be left of her fiery spirit I’d fallen in love with.
Putting Trip down on the floor, I watched him take off for the bathroom and followed him into the master closet. He went right to the fake wall and began crying, and for some stupid reason, something dangerously close to hope actually sprang up in me. I tentatively reached out toward the wall, a harsh huff escaping my chest when my fingers were just inches away, and I paused.
I’m fucking crazy. She’s not going to be in there.
Shaking my head, I reached out to grab it, and yanked it back. Trip ran in, and my hand fisted around the thin material as the worst type of disappointment washed away any form of hope I may have had.
I’d known she wouldn’t be in there. I’d known, but I’d still let myself believe that by some miracle, she would.
“She’s not here, bud, come on.”
Letting the wall fall back into place, I walked into the bedroom and stared at the bed for a handful of minutes before finally sitting on the edge. Bending over, I rested my elbows on my knees, and my head in my hands—and groaned out the last week and a half’s frustrations, devastations, and heartaches.
Exhaustion finally took over my body, and without even taking off my shoes, shirt, or jeans . . . I lay back on the bed and automatically rolled over to face Rachel’s side. My heavy eyelids blinked as I looked at the empty space beside me . . . nothing about that was right.
Most nights I couldn’t even sleep, the only times I did were when my body literally couldn’t go from the stress and exhaustion anymore. I hated sleeping without her, and I hated sleeping knowing I could be using that
time to try to find her. But what I hated most was waking up without her. Not only was it a cold reminder of what she was going through, but it also just felt wrong.
I wish I could hold you.
I wish I could tell you how much I love you.
I wish I could hear your laugh.
I just wish I knew that I would see you again.
You can’t leave me now, Rachel. We’re about to get married. We’re going to have a family someday. We’re going to get old and fat together.
Wherever you are, Rachel, whoever has you, and whatever is being done to you. Know that God can’t stop me from finding you, and bringing you back to me.
I will hold you again, and I’ll never let you go.
Gripping her side of the comforter in my fingers, I breathed out her name and surrendered to the exhaustion.
8
Rachel
I SPUN MY ENGAGEMENT RING AROUND on my finger just to give me something to do, since I’d just finished picking off the nail polish that had lasted this long. My eyes darted to the right of the door handle long enough to confirm he was still awake and watching me, before going back to the handle.
I didn’t know how long I’d been there, I’d tried figuring it out, and tried keeping track of certain things . . . but still wasn’t sure. The same man who had originally taken me out of the closet, and the home I’d shared with Kash, was always in my room save for an hour or so every day, and he’d finally given up trying to get me to talk to him. I believed him now that he wouldn’t hurt me, but that didn’t mean I trusted him as a person or wanted to talk with him.
Every day he took me out of my room twice: twice for the restroom, and one of those times to also shower. The first time after my attempted escape, I’d silently refused to shower, since he stayed in the bathroom with me, but the next day I couldn’t resist washing what I was estimating was three days’ worth of grime off me. He’d stayed in the bathroom, but he’d kept his back to me the entire time. Every day he brought me three meals unless I was sleeping through one of them, and after the first four meals had gone untouched, I’d begun tearing through them whenever he brought them.
I figured I’d slept through the entire first day, and past breakfast the next day, since the first two meals he’d brought me were generally for lunches or dinners. And since I slept as often as possible to pass the time, and sometimes that meant missing meals, I only had my showers to track the days that were passing. By the time I’d taken what I thought was my fourth shower, I realized I couldn’t remember if it was really the fourth or fifth. And while I was about 90 percent positive that was three showers ago, it could have been four. Still going on the theory I’d missed two full days of showers, I was guesstimating I’d been gone for eleven days. Or nine . . . or I could just be going crazy and it had really only been five. But who knows.
I hadn’t spoken a single word since the first time he’d brought me food and I’d tried to escape, which I think was day two. And somewhere on day x, y, or z, I got tired of referring to him as him or he and decided to name him Taylor, solely based on the fact that he looked like Taylor Lautner’s twin.
Regardless of what I’d named my kidnapper—or how many days I’d been here—there was still nothing about a rescue, I didn’t know why they had taken me, and I didn’t know what they were going to do with me.
I’d seen a few other men on my walks to and from the bathroom, but no one had said much, other than speaking Spanish to Taylor, which I didn’t happen to know much of. And not one of them had done, or said, anything to me since that first time out of the room. The men seemed to ignore me for the most part, but that could’ve had something to do with Taylor’s reaction to Marco, or the fact that he now had his gun out every time we walked up and down the hall.
None of this was making sense, and as the days continued to pass, my fear had steadily grown into something deeper. Something I didn’t have a name for. And in that fear was confusion, longing, and sorrow.
With a few grunts, Taylor stood from his faithful spot on the concrete floor up against the door, and stretched for a moment. Why he never brought a chair in here was beyond me, but I also couldn’t fathom why he was babysitting me for countless hours on end, every day. He’d already taken me for the first bathroom break before he brought me breakfast, so I was guessing now was lunchtime.
When he walked up to me and grabbed my empty plate from breakfast and checked my half-full water bottle, I knew I was right. I didn’t try to get away from him as I had so many times in the first few days. I just stopped twisting my ring and watched his every move . . . waiting for what I knew would come next.
“Don’t go to sleep.”
He was gone longer than he normally was when he went to get my food. How long did it end up being? I’m not sure . . . it felt like hours, but could have been only one. I knew there was someone else that had to be cooking in the house or building that I was in, because the longest Taylor was ever gone was probably half an hour. And I knew in that time he took his showers, ate, and would come back with meals that could have taken hours to cook.
Even though I never spoke to him, having him in the room with me had become something I was used to. And when he was gone, it felt . . . wrong. Not that I craved being near him, but to be honest, I was terrified when he wasn’t around. I don’t know why that was; he should still terrify me. He’d dragged me out of a closet, he’d knocked me out with chloroform, and he’d kept me locked up in a room that was barely large enough for me to fully stretch out in.
I guess in a way he did still terrify me, because the unknown scared me more than anything. I’d grown up with Blake, so I’d trusted him until he started changing—and he was easy to like, everyone had loved Blake. Taylor, despite the obvious first day, hadn’t done anything to me. In a way, he’d been protecting and taking care of me, and I’ll never forget those first two, pained I’m sorrys. But I also knew how fast someone could snap and turn into a different person entirely.
Shaking my head quickly to clear my mind of my confusion, I got off the mattress and paced around the small room for another immeasurable amount of time until I heard the echo of heavy footfalls, and the beeps of the lock for the door. I scrambled back to the mattress and had just brought my knees up to my chest, wrapped my arms around my legs, and rested my cheek on my knees when the door opened and Taylor walked in. He usually walked right over and placed my plate down next to me, but this time he didn’t. When I heard the rustling sound of plastic bags, I rolled my head so my chin was on my knees now, and my eyes widened when I saw him standing there, weighed down with a local grocery store’s bags, and bags and drinks from . . . oh my God, Taco Bell!
“I got you some stuff,” he said gruffly and set the food and drinks down at his feet before walking over to stand directly in front of me.
I watched as he opened the first bag and began pulling out deodorant, a toothbrush and toothpaste, a hairbrush and ponytail holders, girly shampoo, conditioner, a razor, and soap—since whatever I’d been using was definitely meant for men. The next bag opened and he pulled out large packs of men’s undershirts and boxer-briefs. I raised an eyebrow at first when he sat them down next to me, but I didn’t say anything.
“There’s no way in hell I was going to be able to pick out a bra for you, and women have too many different kinds of underwear. This was easiest, but they might be too big on you.”
I couldn’t even complain. My throat was closing up, my eyes were burning, and it was taking everything in me not to reach out and run my hands over it all. I hadn’t brushed my teeth since the night before I was taken, and I hadn’t put deodorant on or brushed my hair since the same time. Even though I was able to take showers every day, I had to put my old underwear, sleep shirt, and little shorts on once I was done; and it felt like I was never getting clean. If I could have clean clothes, even men’s clothes, I didn’t care.
The last bag opened, and a shaky smile crossed my face for the first time since I’d had
the unfortunate pleasure of meeting Taylor, as he pulled out different colored nail polishes.
“I don’t know if you like these colors, but I watched you pick off what you had on your nails. So . . . here.”
A package of pens followed, and the smile fell as confusion set in; but then he brought out a journal, and my stomach dropped.
“I had to watch you for a long time, I don’t know what you wrote about, but I know you used to write every day. Anyway, that’s it,” he said and took a step away from the mattress.
I picked up the journal and ran my hand over the front of it as tears fell down my cheeks. I knew sometime later I would be creeped out and put Taylor in the same zone Blake had been in, since Blake had people following me, and somehow had gotten cameras into our apartment. But right now, all I could think about was that I was going to be able to write to my parents again. It’d been over four and a half years since my parents died, and for four years I’d been writing in journals to them every day. Not being able to talk to them had been about as hard as not being with Kash.
My mouth opened, but it took four tries before any noise came out, since I’d gone so long without using my voice. “Why?”
Taylor froze and straightened from where he’d been bending down to grab the food—his eyes were massive when I looked up at him. “Why did I buy you all that?”
Shaking my head, I wiped away tears with my free hand and cleared my throat in preparation of speaking again. “Why did you take me?”
“You will never understand how sorry I am,” he stated.
“If you’re sorry, then why?”
“I didn’t have a choice.”
I could see the torment in his dark eyes, and I didn’t understand it. My voice was still rough and low as I forced out, “But why am I here? What was the reason for taking me?”
He ran his hands through his hair and seemed to scramble for the right words to say. After a few moments of floundering, he exhaled roughly and shrugged. “I can’t tell you. Just know that I didn’t want to be a part of this and I’m sorry.”