Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 131455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
“What the fuck are you doing?” I bellow, making them all stand at attention. “Where is Bianca?”
Their expressions all mirror confusion. “We did a perimeter check, Sir. There's no one else here, at least that's alive.”
My heart sinks into my stomach. Lower and lower, it falls until I swear it feels like it's going to jump out of my chest.
“Find her!! Look again!! I want you to search every inch of the property,” I order, my voice frantic, my mind racing.
Romero meets my gaze. “She's not here. If she were, they would've told you by now.”
“She has to be. Where else could she be?” I can't breathe. I can barely speak. First Tatum. Now Bianca.
It's not possible. They didn't take her.
“Find her!” I'm nearly shrieking, and I know, even in the haze of frenzied horror that I'm closer to losing my grip than I ever have been. The room spins around me, and I try to breathe, but it doesn't feel like I'm getting any oxygen into my lungs.
Where is she? Where did they take her?
“Boss, I know you're worried about Bianca, but we need to get Tatum to the hospital now. Someone hit her in the head. She could have… swelling or something worse.”
I wheel around, prepared to tear his head off, only to find Romero gently gathering Tatum into his arms, cradling her the way she was cradled in her dead mother's arms. Amanda. She's dead. Still, the reminder doesn't allow me to feel anything. I'm numb, cold from the inside out. Think, think. There's a storm raging in my head that I need to calm. I can't afford to lose my grip on reality when my daughter needs me. They all need me.
Rationally I know he is right. Tatum might have sustained injuries that we cannot see. “Get her in the car,” I order Romero before shouting to the men. “I want the entire area searched for any signs of Bianca before you dispose of the bodies.”
“Save their phones,” Romero calls out. “Bring them to me at the hospital.”
In my heart, I know they won't find anything. There won't be a trace of my little bird. If this was about killing her, they would have left her here for me to find. It's what I would have done in their position, whoever they are. If I wanted to break a man down, if I wanted to strip him bare and hit him where it hurts, I'd have killed the only two things he loved more than his empire, money or life.
If this was about proving a point, they'd both be dead. This wasn't that. No, they took her somewhere else, somewhere hidden and the mess they left here was a hint at what's to come if I don't play along with their game. I know the tactic, have even done it myself a time or two, but I'd never involved innocent lives.
Stepping outside, finally free of the coppery stench of blood hanging heavily in the warehouse, I clear my head and steady my resolve. There is no time for breaking down, no time for blaming myself, or asking what I could have done better. That can come later, once I have Bianca back, once I know Tatum is okay.
First, I need to focus my attention on my daughter, who is now being loaded into the back seat of the car. I slide in on the other side, cradling her head in my lap while Romero jumps behind the wheel.
“Wake up, sweetheart,” I murmur, stroking her cheek with a shaking hand. “Come back to me. Please. I can't lose you.”
“I'll fucking kill them all,” Romero grunts, cutting the wheel, tires squealing as we make a sharp right. The car nearly fishtails, but he manages to maintain control, weaving in and out of traffic once we hit the main road.
“Try not to kill us first,” I bark over the blaring of horns, holding her firmly to keep her from sliding off the seat. He doesn't say a word, but he also doesn't slow down either.
Fuck around and find out. Those words are burned into my brain, taunting me. I know I said I'd try not to think about how this is my fault, but it's hard when you're holding your daughter's lifeless body in your arms, and you know she wouldn't be here in this situation if it wasn't for the man you are, for the dark and dangerous life you live. Somehow, I had overlooked the threat. I allowed her to go off alone—I never should have, no matter how much she ranted and raved about me being overprotective. Making up excuses in my mind, I thought I was doing the right thing. Giving her space to breathe, to heal.
Yes, look how she's healed.
Unconscious and half dead, the blood from her hair and scalp stains my slacks. She came so close to her bright, brilliant light being snuffed out. Thinking about the future, I can't say she'll be the same. After everything she's been through and endured. How far can a rubber band stretch before it snaps? A different kind of fear grips me, then. Physical wounds can heal, but emotional wounds…the brain can become your worst enemy if you allow it. I can't help but ask myself if she witnessed her mother dying. After everything, this might be the final nail in her coffin. The prospect of her never recovering makes me sick.