Page 31 of Coach (Shady Valley Henchmen #8)

Coach

“A soccer coach,” Rook told me. “College soccer coach.”

“I need more than that.”

“He was Este’s college soccer coach. For her first year, anyway. She dropped out before the second season started.

And she’d been real cagey about not wanting to tell anyone why.

Could it have something to do with this guy?

“Stop giving me drips and drabs,” I demanded, jaw tight.

“Something must have gone down that first year.

Because the coach got fired. And Este was granted a restraining order.

Things seemed to be going alright then for a while.

At least on paper. But suddenly, the restraining order was up.

And the coach got hired again. After that, Este dropped out.

And dropped off the face of the earth for a while.

“She popped up again, half the country away. Then disappeared. Then popped up.”

“What about the coach?”

“He quit. Disappeared.”

“He was following her.”

“That’s my best guess.”

“She never got another restraining order?”

“None on record, no. Figure maybe she wasn’t able to prove he’d done anything wrong. It’s harder than it should be to get those fucking things. Someone can stalk the fuck out of you, but if they don’t threaten or hurt you, judges don’t take the shit seriously.”

“Send me a picture. I want to see the fuck.”

“Already sent.”

I guess I’d been expecting a relatively young, fit-looking coach, but George was closer to middle age, out of shape, greasy, and seemingly uncomfortable in his own skin.

“Seen him around?” Rook asked.

“No. Sent it to everyone. Maybe they saw him, though.”

“On it. I’ll keep digging. Let you know if I—”

“Hey!” Detroit yelled before Rook could sign off, making me turn to see him running up. “This ain’t what he looks like.”

“No, that’s him,” Rook said in my ear.

“No. Well, maybe once. But you gotta shave off seventy pounds or so. Pack on muscle. This fuck has been hitting the gym.”

“The gym? Our gym?” I asked, heart thundering.

He was right there, under our noses, all this time.

“Yeah. Seen him a lot in the late mornings. Just for a few weeks. Figured maybe he was a new prison guard.”

“Did you talk to him? Ask where he lived?” I asked.

“Nah, man. I’m there just to work out. You know that. But… wait… I did overhear him talking to the maintenance guy.”

“About what?”

“He was watching the guy screw a new sign up. He commented on the drill the guy was using, saying he recently got one just like it. Because he’s been doing a lot of renovation—”

I didn’t even let him finish.

I turned and ran like the fucking wind.

Because, of course.

Of-fucking-course.

If he was that obsessed with Este, enough to leave his whole life behind, to be following her a decade later, he would want to stay as close as possible to her.

While he worked on whatever sick fucking project he had in mind.

He was the neighbor who was driving her crazy day and night, never letting her rest.

Maybe it was to fuck with her.

But maybe it was because he was creating some sort of house of horrors for her.

It sounded crazy. But I’d caught more than a few true crime podcasts where women were kept in elaborate prisons by their captors. For weeks, months, years.

I saw one case where it was a barn. Another, a shed. But most commonly.

Basements .

Like the one the duplex had.

But Este had no access to.

But her neighbor did.

Had he been there all along, right under her feet, building a prison to trap her in?

Crazier things had happened.

My lungs burned as I turned down Este’s street, my heart hammering in my chest.

But the closer I got, the more I let the anger loose, little by little, until it was a burning inferno that took over me completely.

I wasn’t even fully aware of how the front door opened.

Did I kick it in?

Rip it off its hinges?

Simply reach for the doorknob?

I had no idea.

All I did know was I was barely five feet inside before I was greeted by the man from the picture. Just, as Detroit said, leaner, fitter.

“She’s mine! ” he snarled as he ran right at me.

“If she’s yours,” I said, landing a fist to his jaw, “then why was I inside her a day ago?”

George roared, hands going for my throat, looking insane enough to actually try to choke me to death.

“Why was it my name she was crying out as she came?”

Using the guy’s own momentum against him, I slammed him back against the wall, landing blow after blow to his body.

It wasn’t hard to find fuel for the flames licking at my mind.

Trix lay on the floor.

Este leaned over her beloved dog.

Hands on her, grabbing her, dragging her, maybe drugging her to make her more compliant. Then leading her down to the basement, chaining her up, putting his hands on her.

A roar erupted through me as my fists slammed into the bastard’s face over and over.

As I reared back once again, he dropped to the floor, dead weight.

It was then I heard Slash behind me, telling me to stop, to get ahold of myself, to focus on Este, that there was time for this bastard later.

Este .

Her name was water on the flames of my rage, making me tear through the house, looking for the steps.

It took me two tours to realize that the weird, horizontal door on the ground wasn’t just a quirky feature; it was hiding a staircase leading down.

Yanking it up, I secured it to the wall, then ran down the narrow steps. “Este!”

I almost couldn’t fucking believe my eyes.

If I hadn’t already pieced together what was going on, I probably would have thought I was hallucinating.

But the bastard had created a whole mini house in the basement: a kitchen, dining, bed, and bathroom space. All of the walls and ceiling were covered in soundproofing tiles.

Had Este screamed?

For me?

Had she been crying out while I’d been in her house, right above her, completely fucking unaware?

“Saul?” Este cried out, making me zero in on where she was over in the wall-less bathroom area.

Her entire body was shaking.

Her eyes were huge and round.

A nasty bruise was forming across her cheek and up her temple.

“Saul?” she cried again, looking seconds away from collapse, swaying back and forth on her feet.

I closed the distance in a few strides, my arm going around her, tightening to try to brace her.

But the touch made her cry out.

What the fuck had he done to her?

Reaching down, I yanked up her shirt, finding a nasty band of bruising around her midsection, mottling up over her ribs.

“Motherfucker,” I snapped, wanting to charge back upstairs and pound on him some more.

But this wasn’t about revenge now.

It was about Este.

About getting her out of this makeshift prison.

About getting her checked out.

“It’s okay,” I said, schooling my tone. “You’re alright now. Let’s get you out of here, okay?” I asked.

“Trix?” she sniffed hard.

“At the emergency vet. Colter will be updating me. She was okay. She was breathing when she got there.”

“She has to be okay.”

“She will be,” I assured her, reaching down to gently lift her into my arms. “We will check on her as soon as we get you out of here.”

With that, I carried her up the stairs, pausing only to let Slash cut the zip ties at her wrists, then carrying her out the back door, so she didn’t have to see the bastard who attacked her again.

“Where are we going?”

“To see Dr. Price,” I told her as I carried her out to the street to slip her into her own car.

“It’s late.”

“He makes exceptions.”

Este was clearly a little out of it. Shock was probably taking over, making her a little off, spacey, detached.

Maybe that was for the best.

Until we could get her all checked out. Then, when she was safe back at the clubhouse, she could let all the feelings out, purge not only her night of horrors, but the last decade of being made to flee every life she began to build, of jumping at shadows, of never fully being free.

I rushed up to the front porch of the local clinic, but before I could even knock, the door flew open, and there was Dr. Price in a pair of sleep pants and a wrinkled white tee.

“I got a call saying I might be needed,” he said, glancing past me to the car where Este was still staring blankly forward.

“I think she’s a little in shock.”

“Looks like maybe she has good reason to be. Bring her into the first exam room. I’ll be right there.”

With that, I lifted Este again when she made no move to walk herself. Then I deposited her on the exam table just before Dr. Price came in with a white coat over his pajamas.

“Este, good to see you again,” Dr. Price said.

At this point, he was accustomed to these random drop-ins with either us or our women beaten all to hell.

And he knew this town and its people well enough to know not to ask questions.

“Wish it could be under better circumstances,” he added, slipping on gloves.

“I’m worried about her head and her ribs.”

“Okay,” Dr. Price said, giving Este a small smile. “We’ll get you all checked out. Do you want privacy for this?” he asked.

“Oh, yeah, I can step—”

Before I could finish, Este’s hand shot out, grabbing mine.

“Or I can stay,” I said, giving her hand a squeeze.

Dr. Price went through the motions: pulse, blood pressure, temperature, checking her pupils, then pressing around the bruises on her face.

“How hard did you hit your head, honey?” he asked.

“Hard. I couldn’t brace.”

“Did you lose consciousness?”

“I saw stars, but no.”

“Well, that’s good. Have you been queasy? Dizzy? Have any blurred vision? Light and noise sensitivity? Headache?”

“Yes.”

“To which?”

“All.”

Dr. Price clucked a little at that. “Sounds like you probably have a bit of a concussion. Which is just a fancy way to say that your brain knocked around or against your skull when you fell.”

“Should I be taking her somewhere for a scan?” At this rate, all of the organizations in Shady Valley probably needed to get together and crowdfund a CT machine for the good doctor.

“Not immediately. We usually just monitor unless there are signs of something more serious.”

“What are the signs?”

“If she loses consciousness, has seizures, the headache gets worse, repeated vomiting, slurred speech, or any kind of numbness or weakness in her arms or legs. That sort of thing. I can keep you here for observation if there is no one—”

“She has me.”

Dr. Price looked to Este for confirmation.

“I have him.”

“That’s good. Okay. What else can you tell me about what happened?”

Este sucked in a breath and slid off the table.

“I was kind of… squeezed from behind,” she said, rolling up her shirt to reveal the bruises that looked like they’d gotten worse by the minute. “And then I did pass out.”

“Lungs hurt a bit?” Dr. Price asked, gently prodding around her bruises.

“Yeah. Like I ran a marathon.”

“Alright. I’m not too worried about that. But, as with anything, if it starts feeling worse, if you have trouble breathing, anything like that, I want to know immediately.”

“I’ll be watching her like a hawk.”

“Glad to hear it. I think you’ll be feeling a lot better once the headache eases.

Unfortunately, I can’t give you anything for that.

You can take acetaminophen, but you need to avoid any NSAIDs or opioids because they might cloud your mental status, which would make it difficult for Saul here, or me, to assess you.

“I know that’s not what you want to hear. But the headache will hopefully ease after you get some sleep.”

“I thought you weren’t supposed to sleep,” Este said.

“Old wives’ tale. Rest helps the brain recover. It’s what you need now. So if you can, sleep. I can offer you some cold patches. Some people think they help headaches; others say it makes them worse. But it might be worth a try.”

“Is there anything else I should be looking out for?”

“Well, you know Este better than I do, so if anything seems off, it’s always better to bring her in for a check. We can always run some tests. Or have you head over to the local hospital for a full work-up. But for right now, my prescription is rest and observation.”

Half an hour later, we were pulling into the lot of the clubhouse.

Este was nodding off, her head against the cool glass.

Giving her a minute, I stepped out to meet with Slash.

“Figured you didn’t want to leave her,” he said.

“Is it done?”

“He was halfway there already with the damage you did.”

“He deserved it.”

“No one is denying that.”

“Where is he now?”

“Crow and Saint are handling the body. They know what they’re doing. Better no one else has any idea.”

I nodded at that. “Did you see that fucking place?”

“Looked like he planned to keep her there a long time. How she doing?”

“Concussion. Gotta keep an eye on her, but Dr. Price didn’t seem too worried.”

“Good. Seems like you managed to get to her before anything awful happened.”

Dr. Price had asked those uncomfortable questions too. About needing to go get a kit done. Este was adamant that all they did was talk after she woke up.

“Why don’t you get her all squared away? She can’t be comfortable like that.”

That was exactly what I did.

I carried her upstairs, cleaned her up, helped her out of her clothes, then settled her in bed with an ice pack for her head, promising as I rubbed her hair while she drifted off that I would update her as soon as I knew about Trix.

“I hoped you would save me,” she murmured.

“Every time, honey. I’ll always come for you.”