"Thirty seconds. That's all you have to stop the bullshit, or your son is dead."
~~~~
Six years ago, Chelsea Doherty lost everything when her husband disappeared without a trace and left her to clean up his past. Now living in Ireland, she has piec...
This chapter is dedicated to annkreeves whose ONC story The Escaped Con's Hostage is on top of my reading list for this year. A dangerous but delicious LI, a kickass heroine, and the sweetest side character make this entry an absolute must-read. I can't recommend enough.
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Hong Kong
February 2018
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"Where is your fucking husband?" The brute raises his fist, exposing me to another whiff of his stinking body odor.
I'm close to throwing up, though the fear is even a greater motivator than the stench. "I told you, I don't know." I choke on the words. Tears flood my eyes.
How did I get here?
How could my life change so drastically in the blink of an eye?
This morning, I was just getting ready for work as usual when I found the windshield of my car covered in blood.
I should have grabbed Sean and went on the run but froze.
Biggest mistake of my life.
That's when they plugged me right off the street.
The brute grins and delivers my punishment for non-compliance. My head snaps back as his fist connects with my cheekbone. Tortuous pain explodes in my head. I cry out. Through the blurs of tears and swollen eyes, I can barely make out my surroundings.
"Bitch, do you like me to hurt you, or are you just dumb?" His breath reeks as foul as his body. "Give it up. The chump isn't worth it having your pretty face bashed in."
"I swear I would tell you if I knew." My whole body shakes like a leaf on a dying tree. Not that my fate will be any different; eventually, my body will be broken and gone.
What will happen to Sean?
He is my only concern.
"Tsk, you are fucking dumb." Jutting his chin, the brute signals one of his buddies. He picks up a pair of pliers. So far, they only broke one finger, so nine to go. I close my eyes; the cracking of bone proceeds the ear-splitting scream sucking the air from my lungs. Through the haze of black spots, I splutter, "Please, stop."
The words are no louder than a whisper and strained by deadly fear.
The brute's lips are right on my ear. "Then start talkin', bitch."
My brain scrambles in escape mode. Maybe I can bullshit my way out of this. "He said he had an errand to run. At the embassy."
The brute snorts out a laugh. "Don't you think we checked there first?"
I whimper.
"We checked fucking everywhere before we snatched you." The foul stench from his mouth has me gagging. "All his usual spots, everywhere the little rat could hide. Nothing. We aren't amateurs, lady."
"Then why do you think I'd know where he is?"
"Because you are his money tree. He would never leave you behind."
"But he did."
"Problem is, I don't believe you. Anyone who marries a Crimson Disciple knows the risk. They have a backup plan in case things go south. The past has a way of catching up, and Marcel Pierce is the last person on earth who doesn't know that. He'd make sure that his money and his family can get out of Hong Kong before his fabricated life comes crashing down."
"Well, you give him too much credit." Marcel is probably on a plane to the States right now, not giving a damn about his family.
The brute's response is an elbow to my face, flooding my mouth with blood. Spitting it out, I shower his shoes with red rain.
He grabs me by my hair and yanks my head up. "I didn't want to do this because I don't like hurting little kids, but you give me no choice." He nods at his buddy. "Bring him in."
"Mommy!"
The cry echoing off the walls has my heart come to a standstill. My breath stalls in my throat and every limb in my body goes numb.
No, not Sean.
"Please, I'll do anything you want," I plead through my tears. "You can have our money, the house, everything. Just don't hurt him."
The brute takes a deep breath. "Lady, when will you get it into your thick skull that we aren't interested in your money, or your house, or in anything else, other than knowing where your fucking husband is?" His growl grows louder with every syllable as he spits out the words.
"I swear on my son's life, I don't know where Marcel is."
As he crosses the room, his heels click on the cement floor like the seconds-hand on a clock winding down. Racking the slide of his gun, he moves a bullet into the chamber and presses the barrel against the back of Sean's head. My little boy sobs silently; the crotch of his pants is soiled from his pee.
"Thirty seconds. That's all you have to stop the bullshit, or your son is dead."
Official WP Count: 763
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