Page 6 of Descent
I would survive this. Rafe and I would both survive this. Two people shouldn’t have to be so strong, shouldn’t have to fight so hard for happiness, but we would despite the distance between us and the impossible circumstances. Despite the apparent curse hanging over our heads. I had faith we’d make it through.
I thought back to the hours we’d spent together on our wedding night. The way he’d made love to me in our bed for the first time as husband and wife. The light of hope and love in his green eyes. The way he looked at me.
God, the way he looked at me would stay with me until I took my last breath. Those precious hours were the happiest of my life, and that made the memory of them now slice so much deeper.
“Rafe.” Holding my belly, I choked out his name on a sob that tried to break free. “I need you. Find a way to come back to me.”
4. Leverage
Rafe
Four days. That’s how long I had to figure this shit out before Shelton turned me into his prized death fighter. Such a match would give him a huge payday, along with the revenge he craved. If I didn’t cooperate, he had only to remind me that my son’s life depended on it.
He had all the fucking leverage in the world, and no amount of pacing this cell, spinning all the angles in hope of finding a way out, would change that. The harsh reality of my situation hung over my head, crowding the air in the windowless room with desperation.
Spewing a string of curses, I banged on the door. “Hey! Is anyone out there?” I needed answers. I needed for him to talk to me.
Pound, pound, pound.
“Shelton! Talk to me, you fucking coward!” I beat on the door for several minutes, long after my knuckles throbbed.
Silence. Incessant, maddening silence.
The bastard had shut me in with the promise that he’d see me soon. That was sometime yesterday.
With gritted teeth, I stomped from the door to the far wall and back again—all of ten fucking feet. Waiting was the worst part. I had no idea if my son was okay.
And I didn’t have a clue where Zach might take Alex. I had to assume he’d take her off the island, if he hadn’t done so already. The thought gutted me. I banged on the door again, and the wood vibrated under the onslaught. I could break through if I put enough effort behind it, but with my son’s whereabouts unknown, I couldn’t take that chance.
I took another angry loop around the closet-sized room. I was about to park my ass on the floor when the lock on the door suddenly clanked over.
Shelton stood on the threshold, flanked by two of his men. “What do you want?”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I took a step toward him, tempted to pound that irritated smirk off his face. “If you want me to fight in your fucking cage, then let my son go.”
“You’ll do what you’re told, regardless.”
“How do I know you haven’t hurt him already?”
“I’m not in the business of hurting children.”
“No, just kidnapping them,” I snapped. “I want to see him. If you think I’m going to trust your word, you’re crazy.”
Shelton’s steady gaze bored into me for several moments. “Fine.” He nodded toward the open door. “Come with me.” He pivoted, entering the hall, and I followed suit, almost expecting a trap because he was being too agreeable. The place was built like a barn, but instead of open stalls, doors lined the hallway. Shelton stalled in front of the last door on the right.
My son had been right down the hall the whole time, alone and scared. The fact that he’d been so close yet out of reach killed me, and I braced myself for what I might find on the other side.
Because I hadn’t set eyes on him in six months, and it had been even longer since he’d seen me. He had no idea who I was. In fact, he probably didn’t remember the day he’d spotted me from the back of his mother’s car last summer outside the post office.
The day I learned I was a father.
Shelton rapped on the door three times then waited a full thirty seconds before jabbing a key into the paddock. He opened the door, hinges squeaking their protest. The room was windowless, like mine, but at least Shelton had attempted to turn it into a space suited for a child. A twin bed sat against the back wall, and a desk and lamp took up space along another. Artwork lined the walls—little stick figures playing basketball, and drawings of various animals. My gut tightened.
How long had my son been here?
Will sat on the bed, his jean-clad legs drawn to his chest while a blindfold shielded us from his sight. Now I understood why Shelton had knocked and waited, and I found it reassuring that Will hadn’t seen any of their faces.
