Soul (2 page)

Danny pinches his lips together. “Killing Mrs. Davis was nothing. I’m actually getting good at it; although recently, I found out that your stupid, fucking friend is alive. I gotta hand it to you, princess, that was a sneaky trick. Posting an imposter like that. The girl was a dead ringer for Bree. Well,” he chuckles, “now she’s just dead.” He shrugs with absolutely no remorse or respect for human life.

“Who are you?” I whisper.

In two steps, he’s in front of me, his hand around my throat squeezing tight, cutting off any airflow. “I’m your worst fucking nightmare if you don’t wake the fuck up and start doing what I say!” he yells in my face, spittle hitting my cheeks.

Cringing as far back as I can, he grips my neck, pulls it forward, then slams my head onto the concrete, hard. Lights flicker across my eyes, and I slump down the wall to the mattress below. His body straddles mine, his knees pressing into my biceps keeping me from moving my arms. “See, I can do whatever the hell I want to you. Why?” He trails a finger down between my breasts then cups both of them roughly. “Because. You. Are. Mine. Get it now?” He grabs the top of my wedding gown and rips the fabric down to my breasts. “You always did have a great fucking rack.” He leans down and kisses my neck, lower between my breasts, and just the top swells peeking out. Tears fall down the sides of my face wetting the mattress beneath me. I stop fighting and look up at the ceiling where I imagine Chase’s face, his bottomless blue eyes.

Before I know what’s happening, I’m being lifted up then smacked hard. The split in my lip, from when he punched me in the bridal room, busts back open and the metallic taste of blood fills my mouth. “What the fuck are you doing? You think you can close your eyes and think of someone else while I love on you?” Danny smacks me again. This time, my left eye starts to throb from the blow. “You stupid bitch! You whispered
his
name!”

Danny stands and paces from one side of the room to the other, talking to himself and tugging at his hair. It’s only a ten by ten space so he doesn’t go far. I lift my hand and feel around my eye to see if he gave me another wound. He didn’t. Just adding to the bruising already there. I lick my lip and hold my finger to the cut, hoping to stop the flow of blood, as my other arm holds the fabric of the front of my dress together. At least he didn’t remove the dress. I fear that if he does that, it’s over. He’ll rape me.

Finally, after a few minutes of him brooding and me cowering in the corner, he stops and turns to me. “You’ll learn. You’ll forget him.” He points at me, and I shake my head. Wrong thing to do. He roars and rushes at me, grips my head, and slams it into the concrete blocks again and again, until the world around me goes black.

Why, why, why can’t she just fucking listen to me? Christ that bastard brainwashed her. What the fuck happened to my perfect princess? I slam the door of her cell and clamp it shut, then set the lock, shoving the key into my pocket, before walking halfway up the steep concrete steps where I plant my ass on the cold ground. “Fuck!”

Okay, think Danny, think.
I’ve wanted her since she left over a year ago. Since then, I’ve spent a lot of time thinking how different things were going to be when I got her back. She wants to be fucked like a whore, I’ll give her that, and soon. Over the years, I’ve fucked everything that walked, every way under the sun, but not my Gillian. My perfect princess. She deserved better. Until the day she sat up naked, turned around, and presented her perfect ass as she held herself up on all fours. Something in me just snapped, and the rage I’d been holding back from her came to the surface. It reminded me of all the other stupid cunts I fucked. The weeping holes ready to take any dick without seeing the face of the man fucking her.

Not my Gillian. No, I never wanted to defile her like those other whores. She was different, perfect, and broken when we met. Finally, I got it out of her what that bastard before me did to her. And I spent the better part of a year making her mine. Treating her like the queen I wanted her to be. Even seeing her in that room, in her wedding dress sent all kinds of ideas rushing to the surface. My Princess standing there, in her white wedding dress, waiting to marry me.

Well, if she thinks she’s getting out of here and going back to
him
, she’s sorely mistaken. I’ll break her—again. I don’t care how long it takes. She was broken in before by Justin; I’ll just rip a few pages of notes from his book of hard knocks. Eventually, she’ll come around. There’s really no other option, because if I can’t have her, no one will.

Standing up I figure it’s time I get some bandages and shit for her head and lip. Stupid bitch. If she’d just start listening, then I wouldn’t have to knock some sense into her. Once at the top of the stairs, I lift the latch to the rotten, wooden door and open it to a blue, sunny, California sky. The trees around the property are thick. My parents didn’t like having too many neighbors. Probably because they spent their time smacking me around, and normal folks didn’t take too kindly to people beating the shit out of their kid.

At the edge of the property though, way in the back of my old childhood yard, I found my perfect getaway. My idiot parents didn’t even know it existed. The house was built at least a hundred years ago, and with it was an old bomb shelter. A room built into the ground that would probably survive a nuclear attack. These things are not common in California, but I was glad that whoever built the property thought to add it. Over the years, it’s been a genius hideout. It even has a closet off the stairs where I keep my guns, additional explosives, a safe with my legal paperwork, basically anything important to me.

The original house is gone of course, since I burned it down when I was fourteen, with my parents bodies still inside, but in its place, I put a motor home I got for cheap. It doesn’t look like much, but it works well enough. I paid to tap into the waterlines but use a generator for everything else. Even though my old house isn’t here, I can lie down at night and still hear the ghosts of when I killed my biological parents. We need to get out of here and soon. When I get Gillian to see the light, we’ll move on and live somewhere pretty. I saved most of the money I got from my parents’ life insurance policies when I was eighteen and all the money I was paid for serving my country. When you don’t have a place to hang your hat, you don’t have any bills, so I pocketed everything. Even now, working as an accountant in San Francisco, I make a mint but live small. All to get to this moment. When I found the perfect girl. I knew when we dated that she was the one for me. Even if she never said she loved me, I knew it was because of Justin and what he’d done to her. It will take time, and I have a lot of that—the rest of my life—to make her see how good it will be between us.

Still, something made me come back here to this shithole, and I’m glad I did. No one can hear my girl scream, and no one will ever find her as I work on making her mine again. She’s lying on a bed in the room, still in her fancy white wedding dress. It excites me to see the dirt, grime and blood all over the fabric.

The soiled gown reminds me that I probably should get her some clothes. Of course that thought leads to thoughts of me removing that gown. Just holding onto her full breasts, kissing her skin, made my dick painfully hard earlier. I need inside my woman and soon. It’s only a matter of time. Smelling her vanilla cherry scent, tasting the saltiness of her skin…it’s like coming home. And now, I am home, back where I grew up.

Soon she’ll feel the same love and affection, too; I’ll make sure of it. In the meantime, I need to get some provisions to clean her up. I am not going to fuck a dirty cunt. No, my girl needs to be clean and ready for me. I’ll pick up those baby wipes, until I can trust her to come into the motor home and take a decent shower. For now though, I’ll clean her up with wipes. Yeah, I’ll take care of my girl. Slowly remove every inch of clothing and wipe her down. Get her ready for me. Then, when I’m done caressing her skin the way I remember she likes, she’ll be begging me to fuck her. There’s no way she won’t remember how it was between us. How good it felt to have me buried inside. That’s the only time for me when everything goes away. The screaming in my head, the demons on my shoulders telling me to do things, hurt people, get her back. All of it. Gone.

All I need is to make love to my princess, and all the bad, the rage, the anger will go away. Just disappear. As long as I have her, I can be the real me. That’s what I need back. The calm after the storm. Gillian has always been that for me, since the first day we met at the gym. There was something different about her, more special. Maybe it was seeing that broken little girl inside, the one I think spoke to the broken boy inside me. When we were together, it was right. My mind stilled. I could sleep, work, take showers, and not remember. Not think about what my parents put me through, how everyone ignored the signs, the bruises, the pain they must have seen behind my eyes. Then after I killed them, their bodies went away, along with their fists, but never their voices. I can always hear them. Calling me names, screaming at me, demeaning me, telling me I’m ugly, a bad son, a horrible person.

All that shit went away when I was with my girl. That’s why I needed her. Had to have her. She was my salvation, and once I get inside her, she’ll remember I was hers. That it was me who secured a restraining order against Justin and kept him away from her for so long. Until he fucking touched her again. Then of course, it was nothing, breaking into his parents’ home while he was on house arrest recuperating from his pansy ass beating and strangling him in his sleep. Then I simply set everything up to look like a suicide. Easy enough because I strangled him with his own belt. Only fingerprints that’ll be found are Justin’s. It was nothing to hook two belts together, one over the beam running along the ceiling, then another for his neck. Then I placed his lifeless body in it, measured the chair distance to make sure I had the loop at the right measurement and softly kicked the chair over. I walked out of the room with his dead body still swaying. Even took a picture of it with my phone so I could share it with Gillian. I wanted to give that to her as a present. Perhaps when we’re living the easy life on a beach somewhere far, far away.

I
dream of her again
. Only this time she is alive, glorious in her beauty. Mahogany-colored hair as soft as silk slides through my fingers and fans out in a burst of color across the white sheets. “Baby,” I mumble then my eyes come open with a start. The scent of vanilla fills the air, and I look around panicking, searching for her. The flight attendant offers Jack a beverage then walks past me. Vanilla clings to the air around her. Gillian smells of vanilla. It clings to her like second skin. Only this time it isn’t her. Just another dream. Always a God-forsaken dream. Either she is being tortured and her body a mess of gaping wounds or she is lovely, and I am being tortured by the gift of her image. I prefer it that way. I’d rather see her perfect and whole than broken and dying.

Jack alerted Dr. Madison to what happened to Gillian and requested a script for a sleep aid. He knows me well. Even still, the only time I’m able to choke down those two little pills is the moment I sit down in one of my jets. We’re heading home. It feels right. Being back in San Francisco is where we need to be. That might not be where Daniel McBride took Gillian but it’s the ideal location to bring all the forces together. The FBI is involved now due to the abduction crossing state and international lines. Thomas Redding, Maria’s boyfriend is still one of the leads on the case, though that took a lot of rubbing elbows with some serious folks in Washington to maneuver. Whatever. I’ll donate to whatever campaign those blood suckers want to get my fiancée back.

Fuck. My fiancée. She should be my
wife
right now. Mrs. Gillian Davis. Four days ago, we were to marry until that bastard took her and slit my mother’s throat. The knot in my gut squeezes painfully, and I lean over clutching at my stomach.

“Sir, you all right?” Jack asks, his tone expressing the worry as his hand grips my shoulder.

I shove his arm off. “Fine. What the fuck do you have? Anything?”

“Chase, it’s only been a few hours. We’re about to touch down at SFO now. I’ll know more when we land.”

He’ll know more. Those three words do nothing to resolve the constant ache permeating every cell within me. Where is she? It goes round and round in my overly tired brain. She is
not
gone; that sadistic bastard has her hidden away somewhere, and I have every intention of finding her whole and alive.

We exit the plane and a town car is waiting on the tarmac. “Take me to the FBI headquarters,” I tell Jack. His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t respond.

“Sir, we’ll be meeting with Detective Redding and Agent Brennen at a secure location close to the strip. In the event that we need to shuttle off, I thought you’d rather be close,” Jack says.

“Yes, thank you, Jack. Good thinking.” Again, thank God someone is thinking straight. My mind is a jumble of emotions. Something I’ve only recently tapped into. Gillian has brought out many new sides in me. The emotional one being the most uncomfortable. Prior to her, I wasn’t worried about what people thought, how I spent my money, what the media said, and I most certainly didn’t give a damn about making important friendships. Her influence has taught me how shallow and empty my life was until she filled it with light and love. She makes me
want
to be the kind of man she can be proud of.

Right now, though, I’m about to become the shrewd businessman, the demanding and controlling billionaire who has no qualms about throwing his money around to get what he wants. As long as the end result is Gillian back in my arms and my bed, making my life complete…I’ll burn every last bridge, fuck over anyone who gets in the way of the investigation, and throw as much weight and money around as it takes. My eye is on the prize, and she’s one petite, curvy redhead who owns my body, mind and soul.

Jack brings us to an airport hotel. The moment we walk in, the hotel manager walks us straight past check-in to the elevator. “Mr. Davis, thank you for visiting our establishment. When your representative called early today we made sure everything was in order as specified.” I narrowed my eyebrows not knowing anything about specifications. The man’s eyes flick to Jack and then back to me. “Uh, the computers, the secure internet connections, and round-the-clock access to a Detective Thomas Redding and an Agent Brennen to the Penthouse suite.”

I nod and look up at the number. Once we reach number thirty-five it stops. The doors open to a small hallway. To the left is one set of double doors, to the right is another. “We reserved both rooms as requested. You will have no disturbances. Here are your keys, sir.” He holds out the cards after opening one of the doors.

The room is wide with a spectacular view. Only I don’t care to look out.
Can Gillian see out of her cage? Is she locked in a tower high above the clouds or a dirty filthy dungeon with no light?
Pin pricks skitter along my spine as I toss my blazer over the arm chair and head to the bar where I pour two fingers of Macallan and toss it back then promptly pour two more in a second glass. I look up at Jack and gesture to the glass. He walks over grabs the glass and gulps the drink back. He sucks in a breath then hands me the tumbler.

“Another?” I ask knowing I’m going to need several more of these to get through the night. Jack shakes his head. If I was being honest, it took me by surprise that he accepted the first. He doesn’t usually drink when he’s working, but, as it stands, he’s on point until she’s found. I know Jack very well, and he won’t dare leave me until Gillian is safe. He is my bodyguard and driver, but I’ve also known the man since I was a child.

Three raps at the door and Jack leaves the living space. Moments later, Thomas, Maria, and the individual I assume to be Agent Brennen enter. The Agent is nondescript, wearing a brownish grey suit that hangs off his form, instead of one that actually fits. He has a white mustache and his beard covers the bottom half of his face making him look more like Colonel Sanders instead of a serious federal agent with years of military experience. I close my eyes and pray that he has the mind of a Samurai warrior hiding behind that granddaddy face.

Maria rushes past the two men and flings her arms around my neck pulling me into a hug. I hold her, but don’t reciprocate. I feel dead inside. There is no woman I would take comfort in right now other than my woman, Gillian. Maria pulls back and her ice blue gaze holds mine. “She’s alive,” she says in a voice so low only I can hear.

“I agree.”

She nods and then takes in a breath.

Jack narrows his brows at the Italian-Spanish firecracker. “Why is she here?” He asks exactly what I’m thinking.

Maria turns around on a toe, cocks a hip and plants a hand on it. Her black hair flies around her like it had a static charge. “That there is my man.” She points to Thomas. “And he”—she points to me—“is my best friend’s fiancé. My best friend is missing. I have every right to be here. You’re just lucky I was able to escape without the other two knowing about it. Now
cállate
. We have some news.” She sits down, leans forward and clasps her hands together. “Go ahead, Tommy.”

Thomas lets out a long breath. “Chase Davis, meet Agent David Brennen.” I shake the man’s hand and find he has quite the grip. Strong man, strong mind…hopefully. “Take a seat. Let’s go over the information.” The four of us sit down in the living room. Two couches face one another with a table in-between. Jack stands behind the couch but within sight. A habit he formed in the service. Says he likes being able to move at any given time. The man saw his fair share of sneak attacks during his time in Iraq during Desert Storm, so I never question him.

“With the information you provided us this morning, we were able to ascertain that Daniel McBride is actually Daniel Humphrey.” Agent Brennen spoke loud, clear and precise. Everything that his wardrobe and physical attributes contradict. “He was adopted as a teen after his parents died in a house fire.”

“But he got out?” The way he spoke made it seem as if there was more.

He nodded. “Yes, the sole survivor. At the time, the local police just saw it as a tragedy. The wood burning stove had been left open, a spark flew out, caught the rug and so on. The boy, Daniel Humphrey, suspect Daniel McBride, narrowly escaped by jumping out his bedroom window. That’s how he claims he obtained the burn to his hand. In the reports, he reiterated that he grabbed the handle of his bedroom door, and it burned his hand. Only look at these pictures.” He lays out a picture of a pale, dirty hand. “See the burn.” I focus on that hand. The same hand that cut my mother’s throat and kidnapped Gillian.

“The burn isn’t shaped like a circle.”

Agent Brennen smiles wide like he’s won the lottery. “Exactly. If he grabbed the handle, the burn would be circular or shaped like a handle. This burn covers most of the
top
of the hand as if he was holding something really hot and burned the outer layers of skin.”

“So, what are you saying?” I’m no longer in the mood for charades. “Get to the point, Agent Brennan. My future wife is in the hands of this man as we speak.”

“I think he received those burns when he set the fire and whatever he was holding, a torch of some sort, burned his hand in the process.”

“You think he killed his parents?” Maria gasps eyes bulging.

Agent Brennen nods. “Yes, I do. I think he killed them, just as he killed that poor girl in the yoga studio, your mother, and attempted to kill Mr. Parks. This man is highly skilled, extremely intelligent, and very patient. According to our profiler, he likely has some type of fascination with Gillian.” I swear under my breath. “No, Mr. Davis that could very well work in her favor. The fact that he believes she’s his, means he’s formed a deep attachment to her, and probably thinks he loves her. The odds are in her favor that he won’t kill her right away because of this.”

“Then you think she’s safe for the time being.”

His brown eyes crinkle at the edges and go flat. “No I don’t. Unless she reciprocates that fascination or love, he will hurt her. He will try to break her of her connection to you and the outside world so that all paths lead back to him.”

I close my eyes, suck in a strong breath, stand and start pacing. “What are our next steps?” The energy around me feels charged, zipping with focus. It’s the same feeling I get when I’m about to acquire a failing company. The hunt is on. We will find her.

Thomas logs in on one of the laptops Jack has on the coffee table. “Well, we’ve already checked his apartment.” I look into his eyes. “He wasn’t there. He lived very sparse, though we did find all the makings for his bombing of the gym.” I give a hand gesture to speed it up. “He left his work over a week ago, and they haven’t seen him since. His boss reports that he took a month-long sabbatical. Destination…” He tightened a fist. “Mexico.”

Of course it was.
My fucking wedding.
“Well, we know that. What don’t we know?” My tone is harsh, unrelenting.

“The place where he was raised, he still owns the land. According to Google Earth there aren’t any houses on the property, seems abandoned.”

“Where is it?”

“San Diego.”

I turn to Jack, but he’s already in motion. Calmly, I walk over to my coat and throw it on.

“What are you doing?” Thomas asks.

I look at him as if he is ignorant and insignificant. In that moment, I hate myself, but I hold onto that version of myself. The one who doesn’t sob over his abducted fiancée or murdered mother. The man who does whatever it takes to get what he needs and wants.

Jack barks into his cellphone as everyone moves to follow us out of the suite. “Have the jet fueled and file the flight plans for a nonstop route to San Diego International. Have two cars waiting on the tarmac there. We’ll be at the hangar in fifteen minutes.”

“We’re coming with you,” Thomas says, anger making his words sound gritty.

“I expected that.”

“It’s a vacant lot. We might not find anything. We are going to head there first thing in the morning.” I know he wants me to see that he is making every effort, and I do see that. Only now is not the time for pats on the back. It’s crunch time and only the relentless will find what they are looking for in time.

“Gillian may be dead by morning.”

Gillian

”
C
hase
! Chase, it’s me!” I scream out. The wind carries my voice to the single man standing on a cliff out over the horizon. He’s in a sharp black tux, his dark hair blowing in the breeze as the waves crash against the cliff. “Chase!” I yell again, but he doesn’t hear me. The sand is thick and muddy as I run barefoot, trudging step by step. My wedding dress catches sand, rocks, and shells, slowing me down. I tug on the dress and pieces fall off the back, strips of satin instantly get swept up into the air and float on a cloud swirling around magically.

I pick up my pace, but he starts to walk away; his head hangs low, shoulders slumping.

“Chase!” I yell at the top of my lungs. My man stops, finally turns around and sees me. He
sees
me. Even from this distance his smile is splendid. The damn dress pulls at my waist now, the train filled with muck and mud. I rip at the bodice trying to yank it off, pulling at the satin. The sound of fabric shredding, no, being cut, enters my subconscious. The beach shakes, and I grapple to hold my footing. Chase’s arms reach out; I’m closer but still not close enough. The dress yanks me back, and I fall to the sand only it’s not sand, it’s softer, bouncy. With all my might, I press up, only this time, it seems as if I am pressing against the wind and it’s pushing me back down. My hands clutch and push trying to get to my feet. Chase stands still in the distance. He doesn’t come for me. He’s close enough to see me struggling, and yet, he doesn’t come.