Page 2 of Love What's Left
“Answer me,” the man demands.
How can I answer when I don’t remember the question?
The crack of the man’s slap jerks my head to the side and leaves fire in its wake. I’ve had worse.
I keep my eyes closed and move my mouth to speak, but my brain fights back. Words can hurthim.Who? No idea, but I’m rolling with my gut on this because one thing is for sure, the assholes in this room aren’t the good guys.
I lift the knotted sash from my filthy red dress to my chest and rock in place. The woman crouches close and pries my eyelids open, shininganotherglaring light into my retinas because one is clearly not enough.
No sensory deprivation here.No, sirree. Attitude of gratitude.
She turns on the man, an anxious note in her voice. “You said you would break her, not destroy her mind. You have to do it right.”
“I should have stuck to the first plan. I can still kill her, leave the corpse on one of his properties, and pick them off one at a time,” he says.
“Killing her is wasting her potential. My way will—”
“Your way only works ifshedoes—”
“She will. You gave her a concussion. She needs a few weeks to rest and recover, then you can start over.”
The asshole makes a sound of frustration. “Deal with her, then.”
He opens the door that I can never get past and slams it shut behind him.
The woman leans closer and speaks, her breath warm against my cold ear. “Gabriel murdered a woman when he was ten years old. I don’t suppose he told you that.”
My name is Sydney Walsh McRae—
“Nick can’t let it go. He’s going to make Gabriel and his brother pay, but you can go back to your life as soon as you prove that Nick can trust you.”
For a moment, smiling green eyes flash in my mind, then they’re gone, burned away like mist under the strength of my own will, a drug that never should have existed, and my captor’s pounding fists.
He’ll never give up—
My fingers twist and worry my red sash. I concentrate on the fabric, the jersey knit familiar beneath my fingers as I tie another knot by feel alone.
She sighs. “I can’t come back here for you, again, Sydney. It’s too dangerous for me. This is it. It’s your last chance.”
I don’t know anything else—
She tugs the sash from my fingers. “Look at me.”
I obey automatically and warm brown eyes the picture of empathy gaze down into mine. “That’s good, Sydney. Remember me? You can trust me. I’m here to help you.”
I snatch the sash back and cradle it to my chest.
“Would you like a blanket instead? I’d love to get you one. We could make it cozy down here. I’ll get you real bedding and clean clothes. I could put the lights on a timer so you can get some rest, and I’ll find you some painkillers. Just talk to me, and everything will be fine.”
For a blanket and safety, I’d tell her all my secrets, but I locked them away and threw away the key. They can torture me to death, and I’ll go to my grave with the words: “My name is Sydney Walsh McRae. He’ll never give up. I don’t know anything else.”
2
Gabriel
Ilean forward, arms braced on my thighs. Flames crackle in the living room fireplace of my family’s otherwise darkened home in the Hamptons, but I barely see them—too busy running through another scenario in my head. I will the phone in my hand to flash an incoming message. I’ll take anything from an investigator or law enforcement. An anonymous tip. Activity on her accounts.Anythingis better thannothing. How can there be no one who saw what happened to her?
Plenty of people looking to claim a reward or attention have contacted us. Not one of them has been legit.
