Coco’s screams rattled Ian’s conscience. He wanted to kill her. He really did.
Instead, he pulled her hands behind her back and shoved her facedown onto the ground. He was eye level to the rope on the bed. Just out of reach. With his knees digging into her back, he stretched out his arm. Roxie used her knees to scoot the rope closer to him.
He wrapped it around Coco’s wrists and tried to make it more secure than his had been. If she got loose he was afraid he would kill her. She sobbed hysterically and he grabbed the gag that had been in Roxie’s mouth and tied it around Coco’s. He didn’t doubt the wounds hurt, but she’d inflicted a lot more pain on Roxie and Roxie wasn’t howling like a two-year-old.
He stood up and pressed his foot into her back, making sure she didn’t try to move. Her camera was on the floor across the room.
He looked at Roxie and motioned for her to come closer so he could undo her rope. She turned around and he was able to get it undone quickly.
“Get the camera and start taking pictures of her and this room,” he said. “I’m gonna finish working on this.” He pointed to the leather around his waist.
Roxie wrapped the blanket around her and tied it under her arms. “Forget everything you saw, Ian Sterling,” she said weakly as she walked toward the camera.
“Don’t know what you’re talkin’ ‘bout, Roxie Taylor,” he said.
He worked on the leather and Coco gradually quieted. The click of the camera echoed in the room. Roxie pointed the camera at Ian just as his restraint fell to the floor.
He closed his eyes for a moment and enjoyed the relief. Roxie touched his arm and he opened his eyes. She had the chain in her hands and handed it to him.
“Can we get this to work still?” she asked.
When he moved his foot off of Coco, she turned over, kicking and bucking her head like a woman possessed.
He never dreamed he’d pummel a woman, but he did. When she stopped fighting, he stopped hitting. He shook when he looked down and saw that she had passed out. He studied his hands in shock. All the strength drained out of his body instantly, like the explosion that comes after a fat water balloon pops.
He forced himself to move; he picked her up and put her on the bed, looping the chain around and around and around her and the posts until it was secure. When he finished, he stumbled to the wall, leaning his head forward and gasping for breath.
This is not who you are. Not who you are. You are not this man.
His father danced across his mind, laughing at him. Taunting him. You thought you were so different from me? That you could rewire who you are? Like father, like son.
He felt a hand on his shoulder and he jumped.
“Ian?”
He rubbed a hand across his face, trying to wipe the tears, but only smearing the mixed blood on his face.
He turned around and Roxie stood there, eyes full of concern.
“Are you okay?” she whispered.
He swallowed and slowly nodded. He reached out and hugged her.
“We need to get out of here. You ready?” he asked.
“So ready.”
“Hang onto your blanket. Beckham’s gonna kill me for seeing your boobs.”
She elbowed him in the gut and they both winced.
“Too soon to joke about,” he said with a nod.
“You better be glad you saved my life, or I’d so kick you in the balls right now.”
He backed up and gave her a huge grin. “I’m so glad you’re feeling better. Got your sass back. Good.”
A choked laugh came out of her, surprising them both. She laughed until she cried big gasping sobs.
He looked at her with tears in his eyes. “Let’s get out of here, Rox, before we both get sucked so far into Crazy Land we can’t find our way out.”
“I hope it’s not too l-late.”
He looked over his shoulder at Coco, who was still knocked out and opened the door.
Roxie’s eyes didn’t adjust right away and she bumped into the walls, yelping each time. The loofah and whatever Coco had poured onto it had inflicted worse pain than everything else put together. Roxie could hardly think straight. They opened door after door, but each led to another bedroom or storage space.
Finally, a door led to stairs. They went up quickly and opened the door at the top, blinded by the brightness. The house had been beautiful once, but was now dirty and reeked. Heavy draperies were ripped and some of the formal furniture toppled over onto its side. A thick layer of dust coated the tables and the high ceilings had a tinge of grey.
“Let’s find the garage,” Ian said.
They moved through the rooms until they found the kitchen. Roxie gagged—the smell was repulsive. Dishes with leftover food had been left out on the countertops. Maggots squirmed in a mixing bowl. Coco had been on tour for months, so the mess was at least that old.
Ian moved past her, opening doors.
“Bathroom. Laundry. Pantry. Garage! Come on, Roxie!”
She followed him into the garage and looked at the row of cars. Five of them.
“Do you have any idea what she drove?” he asked, looking in each car.
“No,” Roxie answered.
“I think I could … oh wait…” He looked in the windows of the white BMW and moved to the trunk. “Jackpot,” he said, holding up the toolkit. He opened it up and found a valet key.
Roxie shuffled to the car and got in. He started the car and pressed the garage door opener. They pulled out quickly. The house was a sprawling mansion.
Ian whistled. “Do you see the address?”
A huge rock out front had the house number.
“4257 Windhill Drive,” Roxie repeated over and over.
When they drove away, the shakes took over. Ian turned the heater up.
“Make sure your seat warmer’s on,” he said. “I … have no idea where we are…”
They saw one other house not too far and then a mountain stood between the other houses. They drove through the canyon, toward the valley. It was ten minutes before they saw a gas station or restaurant.
Ian pulled into the gas station. “I just want to find out where we are and call the police,” he said. “Keep the car locked and start honking if anything goes wrong.”
Roxie nodded but wanted to chase after him so she didn’t have to be alone. She huddled under the blanket. A car pulled in the parking lot and Roxie ducked, but then peeked carefully over the seat to see if it was Coco.
She was chained up and knocked out cold. She couldn’t have gotten out of there so quickly, she told herself. The police would get there before Coco could get out of those chains. But Roxie’s heart wouldn’t stop pounding. A man got out of the car and walked past her to go inside. She let out a rush of air. Ian was talking to the older man behind the counter; they turned to look at her and kept talking. Her body shook uncontrollably and she felt like she was gonna be sick. She opened her car door in time to throw up on the asphalt.
She heard Ian, but his voice came from a tunnel far away. Cutting in and out.
“Need—her—hospital—how—”
She felt him in the car beside her and wanted to reassure him that she was okay, but she remembered telling Beckham she wasn’t a liar. Her vision had black smudges dusting around the edges. She gave her head a good shake and the dark swallowed her up.
Beckham was sick of waiting. He felt helpless listening to Dion drone on about what little they knew regarding Ian’s disappearance. Dion’s phone buzzed and he held up a hand.
“Excuse me. I should take this.”
He was on for a few minutes and when he hung up, his expression was grave.
“They’ve confirmed it is Ian’s car,” he said.
Sparrow gasped and covered her eyes with her hand. Journey fidgeted on her lap, but she was quiet.