Page 48

The following silence rings in my ears until a door nearby screeches open. My stomach tightens with dread. The unknown of it all is killing me. I hear the click of a lock, and then the bedroom door slowly moves until I can clearly see the person walking inside.

What the hell is he doing here?

“Surprised to see me, darling?”

My lips part, but nothing comes out. Trent. As in my ex-fling, Trent is standing in front of me. He doesn’t seem to be here to save me, judging by the crazy, excited look in his eyes and the relaxed way he slowly prowls inside the room.

“Trent, what’s going on?”

He walks toward me, stopping near the table. He drops a gun and a bloody knife on the glass surface. Then he takes out a napkin from his jacket and starts wiping off his fingers. He must have been the one shooting. Did he kill someone?

“I saved you,” he finally replies.

Saved me ? I’d believe that if he had tried to untie me. He’s sporting a disturbing smirk I’ve never seen before on his face. His leery gaze doesn’t leave me for a second as he keeps wiping the blood from his hands.

“You can’t hide your resplendence, not even bruised and bound to a chair.” The amazement dripping from his words makes me sweat with anxiety and uneasiness. A lot of uneasiness.

“Why am I here, Trent?”

“If you want to find something, you have to stop looking,” he recites a Zen koan.

“Well I cheated a little, but who cares!” He curls the corners of his lips up in what I can only describe as a hungry smile.

He takes another step toward me—still too far for me to do anything.

My muscles stiffen and I brace myself. My fingers turn sweaty around the scissors’ handle.

He doesn’t advance further. “We are mentally and spiritually bonded, darling.”

Oh God, can this be possible? To have another obsessed freak in my life.? I could do the math but I know the possibilities are scarce. Trent seems a little unstable. He was good at hiding this side of him from me when we briefly dated. Otherwise, how did I not see it when we went out?

I am strangely calm, given the situation.

My blood feels like ice, and I refuse to flinch as he comes closer.

I faced death head on many times as a kid and have witnessed many lives come to an end in the last seven years.

I thought I felt kind of indifferent toward death.

But my breath is coming in sharp pants, and I might pee myself very soon.

“My brothers will find me,” I state. My voice is trembling…with confidence.

I clearly see the change on his face. Fury possesses his features, making his eyes blaze with it. “Your faith is misplaced, darling.”

“Faith is an irrational belief in something that is impossible. I know what my family can do. They’ll come.” My tracker will lead them right to me.

“Are you expecting that perverted brother of yours? Oh, dear.” His face morphs into an evil expression. “You see, I paid him a visit.” His hand suddenly brushes my aching jaw, right where I was punched.

I force my body to stay still, even though his touch feels revolting. He’s close enough now for the scissors to do some damage, but I need to know what happened to Uri. I have an ominous feeling about it; Trent looks too pleased with himself.

“After the way he treated me, I needed to tell him how rude he’d conducted himself—I’m a professor after all, teaching is what I do. I needed to get it through his thick head, and I surely did…with my baseball bat. Did you know I played some ball in college?”

My eyes fall to the bloody wooden bat lying against the wall, and I gasp as I put the pieces together.

“No,” I let out on a breath.

“It was incredibly easy, and the crack I heard when I hit him…ahhh.”

It can’t be. Everything turns dark for a moment, like my brain, body, and heart are suffering a temporary blackout.

“I’ll never forget that sweet sound.” His blackhearted words and those predatory, lecherous eyes make me want to run and shut him up at the same time. “So much blood, though.”

“I don’t believe you!” I suddenly scream. Tears well up, but I don’t let them fall. All I’m doing is crying lately. I’m sick of it. Anger is a much better way to vent. Because Uri is alive. I won’t believe otherwise, I can’t. I’ll break down if…

His hand suddenly swings down. The smack resounds in the room as my face snaps to the side from the force of the slap. “Your disgusting brother is dead. Now there’s only me, and you’ll do as I say, or you will end up like the others.”

The others?

His finger rubs the side of my mouth before he sucks on the drop of blood on the tip. I hear a whimper, and soon realize it’s coming from me. The pain makes my body tingle and stokes the fire inside me…ready to scorch the crazy bastard in front of me.

“I’m going to eat you up from head to toe, darling.” His hand moves to his belt, and he starts to unbuckle it. A nauseating feeling forms inside my stomach.

“You’ll forget about him in no time. You’ll scream my name when?—”

A loud bang from outside cuts him off mid-sentence, like something hitting the roof.

He turns his attention to the door, and that’s the distraction I need.

I raise the scissors over my head and stab him with them as I swing the rope in the air, watching the thick knot at the end hit him right in the face.

He grunts in pain and takes a step backward. I jump up and slap both my hands on his ears to disorient him—Linda’s training is still vivid in my mind. Then I hold his head and knee him in the guts—Lori taught me something too.

I’ve never considered myself bloodthirsty, but I want to see the man who hurt Uri pay for what he’s done. I want to crush him, pulverize him, make him cry like a baby.

As traitorous tears spill out, I grab the scissors still poking out of his shoulder and yank them out as my booted foot pushes against his groin.

Trent yells as he loses his balance and falls back on the glass table.

His weight and gravity do the rest; pieces of shattered glasses fly in every direction as he drops on the floor.

The gun that was on top of the table rolls near my feet, and I grab it as I let go of the rope.

Taking the safety off, I point it at his face, and I’m on him again before he can move. I start kicking him on his sides, his chest, his dick. “Uri is not my brother! He’s the love of my life, you sicko bastard!” I growl, letting out all my pent-up wrath and fear and sorrow.

Uri is fine. Uri is fine. I keep repeating it to myself as I continue beating the fucker up. I impale his hand with the scissors and hear him wail. Before he can cover his face, I press the sole of my boot to his cheek and twist it in a way that would make a person choke with nausea.

“Pray he’s fine, or I’ll kill you like the piece of shit you are,” I pant, giving his face a last stomp with the heel of my boot.

After knocking him out, I give myself a moment to breathe, then I check his pockets.

No phone. No car keys. I turn to the door and rush out of the bedroom into the living room.

I glance quickly around: a small kitchen, a sofa, and a TV.

I don’t want to stay inside this cottage a moment longer; I need to get out of here and find a way to contact Uri, to make sure he’s okay.

I bolt outside. All I can see are white trees.

I can’t feel the cold with all the adrenaline rushing through my veins.

The sun is rising, and there’s no visible trail I can follow.

Damn it! I need to get to Uri. I need to see he’s okay.

The sound of water makes me turn to my left.

It’s a stream. If I follow it downhill, my chances of finding a road or a trail might increase.

Hearing a noise behind me, I start running, tripping over branches, pine needles whipping at my eyes.

I nearly fall face-first onto the snowy ground and catch myself at the last moment on a branch—the rough bark scratches my palm, and my wrist screams in agony.

I’m panting, my breaths raspy. The air is cold, but the breaths I’m swallowing are hot.

“Sariel,” someone calls my name from behind me. I grit my teeth and fight against the terror invading my body. The bald guy and the driver are still out there.

I spin around, lift the gun, and aim it at the figure walking slowly toward me.

For a second, I think it is Uri, and my heart stops beating.

But the more I look, the more I sense that there’s something wrong.

The way he walks is too stiff. His shoulders are too wide.

And there’s not even a single flap of butterfly wings in my belly as he comes closer.

There’s only one explanation: the man approaching me is Ezra.

“Take some deep breaths, you’re running out of oxygen.” His voice is deeper and raspier than Uri’s. His eyes slightly darker and colder as he halts a few feet away from me.

The resemblance is uncanny. But I can easily see all the little differences in the wider nose, rounder lips, mole-less cheek. A fine stubble travels the ridge of his too angular jaw. His expression is unreadable, his demeanor calm and collected.

I keep my gun up as I utter his name. “What are you doing here?” He can’t have been in cahoots with Trent. Could he?

“I was outside the restaurant when you were kidnapped. I followed you here.”

That’s plausible since Ezra likes to watch us for some weird reason. But I’m still suspicious. “Then why didn’t you come to help me?”

Was he the one who helped me escape by throwing something on the cottage’s roof?

“You didn’t need it. You were more than capable of getting out of the situation by yourself.” Situation ? Does he mean my kidnapping? His blatant statement is actually a breath of fresh air, but at the same time, so annoying.

“The guy in the cottage is out of it, and the other two are dead,” he adds.

He must have gone inside after I left.