The color of her hair. The depth of her eyes. The stubborn shape of her jaw. The way her lips shaped words with such expression.
The way she listened like she cared about every word and gave advice beyond her years.
The way she made me feel—Alive.
Every curve and hollow of her body was recorded, in my mind and now my hard drive.
There was a bit of truth in every lie, and even if it had only been fed to me in the smallest increments, I wanted, needed to remember the real Iris.
I put my car in park and turned it off, sitting there for a time, summoning up the energy to get out.
I unloaded my car. Two small suitcases, very tidy, like my life used to be.
Now it was a sham, but I spent a lot of time and energy going through the motions, keeping everything in order.
In my mind, though, chaos reigned.
Before visiting my parents, I’d taken to making a grueling daily schedule for myself, without a minute of idle time, and even while traveling, it never let up. I needed to jump right back into that.
If I allowed myself to indulge my feelings, such as they were, I’d take to my bed and never get up.
I entered the house via the laundry room. I was heading straight to my bedroom, but was stopped in my tracks one step into the living room.
I had company.
Unwelcome company.
“You,” I breathed, suitcases dropping from both hands and hitting the ground with two loud, echoing thuds.
“Me,” he agreed.
The f**ker in the Jaguar.
In my house.
“How did you get in here?”
He smiled a less than friendly smile. “Is that really the question you want to ask me?”
It felt like a tight hand squeezed my chest. “What happened to her?”
His mouth twisted bitterly. “Do you even care?”
I was trembling, I wanted to hit him so bad.
Was this the man responsible for my Iris going missing? What had he done to her?
I tried my best to hold onto my temper. “Yes. Yes, I care.” I swallowed hard, having to force the next part out. “Please, I’m begging you. Tell me what happened to her.”
He shook his head. “I can’t do that,” he said, and I lost it, charging him where he sat, my fist slamming into his stomach twice before he could react.
Theoretically, I knew how to fight, but I’d never used those skills in a serious fashion on a real target.
It was much harder when it was real, and this f**ker obviously knew what he was doing.
He moved so fast I was in a headlock before I realized he was moving. I slammed my elbow back into him hard, again and again, rage giving me strength, and an inability to feel any of the damage being inflicted on me.
He squeezed my neck tighter and tighter, until I felt my vision getting fuzzy, my limbs going slack.
“You think this will help her?” he growled into my ear. “You think fighting me will get you even one step closer to finding out what happened to her?”
I shook my head, and began a fresh bout of struggling out of his hold. Finally, an elbow to his groin had him releasing me with a curse.
“You said help her?” I gasped, staggering back.
I’d latched onto that part fast. “Is she okay? Is she . . . alive?”
He shook his head, and it took everything in me to keep from charging at him again. “I can’t tell you anything. I have to show you. If you really care about her, you’ll come with me, no questions asked.”
I didn’t hesitate. “Fine. Let’s go.”
“Leave your phone behind. I’m driving.”
I took my phone out of my pocket, tossing it on the sofa. “Where’s your car?”
“Just outside of the security gate. You’ll sit in the back. I can’t have you seeing where we’re going. And I need to pat you down first.”
I let him, holding my arms out, thinking of taking his thick neck in my hands the entire time.
He straightened in front of me when he was done, and grinned, though his pale eyes stayed cold. Bastard was enjoying my antipathy. He was young, mid-twenties, if I had to guess, but something in his eyes told me he’d seen and done things I’d only ever written about.
The f**ker was tall, maybe an inch taller than I was. And bigger than I’d realized, muscular and broad shouldered. Probably outweighed me by fifteen pounds.
I really hated that.
It was a bit of a walk, and as I followed him, watching his back with gimlet eyes, I couldn’t help but poke at him. “You know she loves me, right? I don’t know what you have over her, but it’s me she wants. Me she belongs to. I’ve staked my claim on every last inch of her.”
He didn’t say a word, just turned on his heel and punched me square in the jaw.
I staggered back, but recovered with a mean left hook aimed right for his teeth.
He ducked, and I caught him in the right temple.
“Shut the f**k up!” he roared, blond hair falling into his crazed eyes, fists clenched, looking like he wanted to come at me again. “You talk about her like that again, and I will f**king end you, you understand? And I sure as f**k won’t give you any answers.”
I didn’t speak, just nodded at him to keep walking.
I didn’t have one single, civilized word to say to him, so it was best to stay silent.
I had more than a few reservations about getting into the back of a van with no windows, driven by a man that hated me, but I barely paused before climbing in.
I knew it was possibly the stupidest thing I’d ever done, but what choice did I have?
If there was even a chance I could find out what had happened to her, I had to take it.
There wasn’t even a seat in back, and the compartment was completely blocked off from the driver’s cabin.
I had essentially walked into a moving cage.
He started driving just as I sat. He was a maniac of a driver, turning corners hard enough to send me sliding across the floor, accelerating so fast that I slammed into the back door.
And it wasn’t a short drive.
I didn’t have any way to keep track of time, but it must have been hours before he started to slow, then turn sharply, then stop.
I had plenty of time to wish I hadn’t worn a suit to travel from my parents’ home. It was a habit, though, with them. No jeans for the Masters, no. And whenever I went home, I had to pretend to be one of them, though in reality, I spent most of my time in sweats in front of a laptop.