Total pages in book: 213
Estimated words: 202770 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1014(@200wpm)___ 811(@250wpm)___ 676(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 202770 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1014(@200wpm)___ 811(@250wpm)___ 676(@300wpm)
Chapter one hundred eight
Jax
“Thank you, Grayson,” I say, as Savage and I buckle up inside his private jet that he’d thankfully held for me. A decision he’d made after I’d told him and Eric the summarized version of what I’m up against. “I wasn’t going to get out of here for hours without your help.”
“You still might not,” he says, from his seat across from me in the lounge-style area. “The pilot just called back. Thanks to high winds and storms, it’s going to be hours before we can get out of here.”
I curse under my breath and lean forward, pressing my elbows to my knees, tunneling my fingers through my hair.
“She can’t leave if we can’t leave,” Eric offers, claiming the seat next to Grayson and across from Savage.
“Unless she’s in a car,” Savage reminds us. “But I still think she’s at the castle.”
“She’s not in the damn castle, Savage,” I snap in a way I would normally not snap. “Because,” add, “if I thought she was at the damn castle, I wouldn’t be in this plane. Have your people found Brody?”
His lips thin. “We can’t find Brody either.”
“Of course, you can’t. You lost him, but not before you lost her. You lost her after I told you that I trust you. And I don’t trust easily.” I unbuckle my belt and stand up, walking down the aisle to the back of the plane, where I stand in the small galley area and press my hands to the wall, my chin to my chest. I lost her. I left when my gut said not to leave.
Ice clinks in a glass and Eric shoves it between me and the wall. “Drink. You make stuff. Use it for its therapeutic purpose.”
“Thanks, man,” I say, pushing off the wall and accepting the glass.
He motions to the lounge area behind him. I nod, and we sit down, face-to-face. I down half the whiskey. “You’d think I was a big drinker,” I say, finishing it off. “I’m not. My father used to say—when you overindulge, you underperform. God, I miss him sometimes.”
“As I do my mother,” Eric says. “But you know that. We’ve talked about this. I lost my mother as a teen to cancer.”
“And I lost mine to her being a bitch. Emma’s mother and father were friends with my mother and father. I can’t imagine how that felt to my father.”
“My father and her father would have been good friends. Good thing they never met. They’d have been Napoleon and Hitler as best friends.” He shifts the conversation. “Look, man. I get it. I lost my mom. I’m the bastard of a billionaire who hates my guts as much as my brother does. I left the whole corporate American savant bullshit behind and became a Navy SEAL to have a family, only to watch friends die. And then I got out and I met my wife, and I didn’t want to want her. I didn’t want to love her because I was afraid I’d lose her, and I almost did. But she’s worth every moment I lay awake and fear losing her, and that’s far more often than she knows. We’ll get Emma back. I’ll put all my resources behind helping. So will Grayson.”
I press the glass to my forehead. “I don’t know what I’ll do if I don’t, how I’ll keep breathing.”
“You won’t have to find out.”
Savage sits down next to me. “The elevator was never broken. It was being controlled by an underground panel in a secret tunnel. Did you know that existed?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“That’s how we believe Brody has been avoiding our surveillance.” His expression tightens. “I let this happen. I will do anything to get her back.”
My lashes lower, and I nod. “I know.” I look at him, meet his stare, let him see I mean what I say next. “You didn’t do this. I was out of line blaming you like that. I just need her back.”
He gives me a ten second deadpan stare. “There’s more, man.”
Dread fills me. “What?”
“We found these things in the tunnel right by the elevator.” He hands me his phone which displays a photo of a Michael Myers mask and a syringe. I scrub my hand through my hair. “Holy fuck.”
Savage shows it to Eric. “Holy fuck,” he murmurs. “Did you test the syringe?”
“A fast-acting sedative,” Savage says. “She probably has no idea where she’s at right now.”
I feel like a hand reaches into my chest and pulls out my heart. “I don’t know if I need to leave or stay.”
“I think it’s pretty clear that she’s with Brody,” Savage says. “And there’s no way he’s flown out of the city, not in this wind. Stay here. At least until morning.”
I glance at my watch. “It’s six o’clock,” I say, for no good reason, other than I know a night without Emma will be absolute torture. “I’m calling Brody.” I dial his number, and he actually answers.