Page 95 of The Stipulation
“Axel,” she whispers when I reach her.
“I’ve got you,” I murmur. My hands move instinctively to the restraints. I undo the strap across her torso first, then the cuffs on her wrists. Her skin is red where the bindings have dug in.
“Are you hurt?” I ask quietly, crouching to meet her eyes.
She shakes her head, trembling. “Just … just a cut. I’m ok. Hurry. He could come anytime now.”
I crouch lower to free her ankles. Her hands fly to mine once she is loose. I keep my gaze on her, trying to transmit calm, trying to steady the shaking I feel in my own body as I pull her to her feet and embrace her.
“You’re safe now. I’ve got you,” I whisper.
Her breath hitches. Relief, fear, and exhaustion all mixed together. I brush a strand of hair from her face and feel a spike of anger rise. Sheldon is going to pay for this.
For now, though, I can’t let anger consume me. All I can do is focus on her, on keeping her safe.
“Let’s go,” I say, but before we can make a move, a voice from behind me makes my blood freeze.
“Well, well.”
I spin around. Sheldon stands in the shadows, a gun raised and pointed towards us. His eyes are wild, and there is a smirk on his face that makes my stomach drop. In short, he looks crazy.
The warehouse seems impossibly quiet now, silent except for the thrum of my heartbeat hammering in my ears. All I can think about is if I hadn’t hesitated to let my eyes adjust to the dark, if I hadn’t paused to hug Jo, she could be out of here now, safe. I know it’s not true – Sheldon was obviously watching and waiting for his moment. I have to stop tormenting myself. I have to focus.
I press my back against the warehouse wall behind me, Jo clinging to my jacket, trembling like she’s about to collapse. Every muscle in my body screams to act, to grab her, to run, to throw myself at Sheldon, and end this before it can even start. But I know better.
He has a gun. And he looks crazy enough to pull that trigger.
The second he steps into sight, I see he isn’t just a madman with a gun. He’s mad, but he’s also bizarrely calm. So collected it’s scary. Every step, every word, measured. Cold. And that’s worse than rage, worse than panic. Because cold means logical, and logical means he’s in control and judging by the hate in his eyes, capable of anything. I keep my hands where he can see them, my movement slow, controlled. Nothing that might make him jerk the trigger.
“What the hell are you doing, Sheldon?” I demand, keeping my voice firm. Sometimes that works. “What is this? Why her? Why this? Have you lost your damned mind?”
He tilts his head, regarding me like I’m a curious animal. His smirk is gone now, replaced with something more dangerous. Predatory. Certain.
“You don’t understand,” he says softly, too softly, the kind of calm that makes my skin crawl. “Everything was going according to plan … until you showed up. Now … everything has changed.”
I keep my gaze locked on him, measuring his stance. I see the cold hate in his eyes. Not anger. Not desperation. Just complete certainty that he hates us both. We stole his inheritance.
“I don’t care about your plans,” I say, keeping my voice even. “Let her go. You don’t have to do this.”
He laughs lightly, a sound that doesn’t reach his eyes. “It’s not about letting her go. It’s about leverage. Now that you’re here, it’s perfect. I can use both of you. You and her.”
I feel a cold weight in my chest. I’ve dealt with violent men before. I’ve dealt with desperate men before. But this is different. He is neither. He is a sociopath, someone willing to kill other people to get what he wants. I can tell he isn’t bluffing. Every fiber of his body screams intent. He wants this. Both of us. Dead.
“My father’s money,” he says, almost conversationally. “The solicitor will release it to an untraceable account when he gets my call. Or you die. Jo dies. Everyone dies. That’s the arrangement. Of course, you’re both going to die anyway once I have the money, but he doesn’t need to know that. It would rather spoil the fun if he did.”
I swallow hard. My fingers tighten on the edge of the wheelchair. My mind races, searching for a way out, a crack in his plan. There’s none visible. Not yet. I wonder if I shove the wheelchair at him, it will startle him enough for Jo to run. It might be enough to get her going, but she will never reach the safety of the outside world before he recovers from that.
Then I hear it. The sound is distant at first, then unmistakable. Sirens. I feel a tiny flare of hope inside of me. It looks like Betty has come through and potentially saved Jo’s life again.
Sheldon hears it too and stiffens immediately, the gun jerking slightly in his hand. His eyes flick towards the grime-covered windows, then back to me.
“When did you call the police?” Sheldon snaps. His voice is sharp, demanding.
I take a slow breath. “It wasn’t me,” I say. “Clearly it wasn’t me. You’ve been watching me since I found her, so you know I had nothing to do with it. They aren’t coming here.”
He pauses, the gun lowering fractionally. Confusion flickers in his gaze. I push it. I need to keep him focused on me, so if that is the police coming for us, they can get in undetected and disarm him.
“I get it, you know. I’d be furious, too,” I say, keeping my voice low, calm, reasoning. “What happened with the will. All of it. If I were you, I’d be pissed off to say the least. But it’s ok. You can still walk away from this if you stop now. You can put the gun down and we can work this out. We can share the inheritance. It’s such a big chunk of money. Jo can’t spend all that money. You can have half. You know, you always just have to ask and it will be given to you. No one has to get hurt. Not her. Not you. Not me. Put the gun down, Sheldon. Please.”
