Page 116 of Die for You

My head is groggy,heavy, when I stir awake.

The air is suffocatingly musty, thick with mildew and mold. Around me, the room is barren. An unforgiving vinyl floor beneath me, a blank, concrete wall at my back, and a degrading wooden staircase that leads to a door.

I’m in somebody’s basement.

Behind my back, my wrists are yanked together and bound, shoulders already aching from the strain. I tug at the restraints, but they don’t budge. How long have I been down here?

I try to scream, and that’s when I finally notice the gag in my mouth. Cloth with a rough fabric, my tongue dry as it soaks up all the saliva. My whimpers of panic barely reach my own ears, let alone whoever might be on the other side of that door.

By my feet, a glass of water rests. If it ever contained ice, it’s long since melted. Taunting me with the promise of hydration that I can’t get my hands on.

Along the opposite wall, something catches my attention.

A suitcase stuffed with clothes.Mysuitcase. And beside it?—

My violin.

I nearly weep in relief. He didn’t destroy it. He stole my violin and brought it here. Knowing he’d make sure I would soon follow.

With another violent tug, I pull at the restraints. All the effort does is make my wrists sting, the zip tie unyielding, indestructible.

Jeremiah.

Once the Devils were arrested, he lingered outside their house, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. And I handed myself over to him on a silver platter.

Alone, unprotected.

He must’ve put something on that wet cloth. Something to knock me out so he could bring me here.

This is exactly what the Devils were trying to prevent. Exactly why I’ve been running all this time.

Now, I’m prey in his trap. Unable to do anything other than wait for the moment the predator will strike.

A gut feeling grabs me and doesn’t let go. The Devils won’t be able to save me this time.

Chapter 31

Damien

An hour driveturns into forty-five minutes with me behind the wheel, gas pedal floored.

Only one place Aurora can be.

Jeremiah’s fucking house. His parents’ house, most accurately. Where he’s allegedly been living since the court hearing and now, apparently, where he’s taken Aurora.

My hands grip the steering wheel hard enough to yank it from the dashboard. The cops put us in fucking cuffs and letthismotherfucker go? Where is the fucking justice? Where is the protection for our girl?

We weren’t there to protect her from him, and this is the result.

Once we catch him in the act, once we have video proof of him holding her hostage in his parents’ fucking mansion, the police won’t be able to keep sitting on their hands and his parents won’t be able to bail him out of trouble this time.

He’ll be locked up. Not for good, but for a while. And when he’s out, we’ll be ready for him.

Only a few lights are on in the Crowders’ obscenely giant house. A Mercedes parked in the driveway, a delicate flow ofwater in a fountain, a peaceful stillness blanketing the property. Like there’s not a girl being held captive inside.

“We’re going to knock on the door and ask to talk to him,” Knox tells me as I rip up the gravel driveway, rocks spewing and clattering against the mud flaps. “We’re not going to charge in like bulls. We won’t get what we want if we scare the shit out of them and they call the cops.”

“They can do whatever the fuck they want.” I slam the car into Park and jump out. “I’m getting in that fucking house and finding her. I don’t give a shit about another night in jail.”