Page 57 of Drowning
Emerson hesitated for a moment before stepping aside and allowing me to enter her room, closing the door behind us to keep the rest of the world out. As I sat down on the edge of her bed, she collapsed into the chair at her desk, looking at me with a mixture of sadness, shame, and a slight hint of gratitude, definitely trying to put some distance between us, which I fucking hated. All I wanted to do was hold her and never let go, but I knew I couldn't push it. She'd have to come to me when she was ready, and I'd be patiently waiting for that very moment.
"I don't know if I can handle this," she suddenly admitted, her voice barely above a whisper as her swollen, bruised eyes danced around the room, looking everywhere but at me.
"You don't have to handle it alone," I said, reaching out to take her hand, gently tugging her up from the chair and over to me, where she sat nervously on my lap. "I'm here for you, Emerson. I care about you more than you fucking know."
For a moment, we sat in silence, the only sound being the faint hum of the music still playing from her speakers. Then, slowly, Emerson leaned into me, resting her head on my shoulder. And in that moment, I knew that no matter how difficult things got, I would always be there for her. Because she was worth it. She was worth fuckingeverything.
I really wanted to ask where she had been for the last three days, if she was okay, which I knew she wasn't, and if I needed tokill anyone for her. But I didn't. I didn't want to push her away just when I had gotten her to lower her guard a little.
I just held her close, feeling her shake with silent sobs. All I could do was be there for her, and that's exactly what I intended to do. So I stayed there, holding her, until her breathing evened out and she finally fell asleep in my arms. And as I lay there with her clinging to me as if I were her safety net, I knew that I would do anything to protect her, no matter what the cost. Not only because I wanted to, but because I fucking loved her, and I had for a long, long fucking time.
thirty-three
Secrets Unveiled
S e v e n
The good thing about the tracker Eli put on his sister's bike was that it gave us every fucking address where her bike went these last few days.
The bad thing? We had to go track them all down to find out what she had been up to. But lucky for us, there weren't that many, and most of them we recognized, but there were a few we didn't.
After having the data sent to my phone and plugging in the first address, I finish my beer and reluctantly get off the couch. Eli and Kane rush in through the back door to the garage, worry washing over their exhausted faces.
Out of breath, Eli gasps, "Where is she?"
"Upstairs with Stone while we looked through the tracker data from her bike." I wave the USB drive in the air before slipping it into my pocket.
"Has she said anything?" Kane asks, sounding like he's trying hard not to run up there and check on her.
After pulling my black hoodie over my head, I shake it, feeling slightly deflated, but knowing we're this fucking close to finding out the mystery we've been struggling with for three fucking days now. "Nah, but she wasn't in the mood to open up when she got home, so we didn't want to push it and trigger her without knowing it."
"At least she's fucking home. Everything else will fall into place," Eli mumbles, still looking hurt and worried for his sister.
But he wasn't the only one who felt like that.
"Who's riding with me?" I asked, grabbing my bike keys and heading for the back door.
"You three go," Kane suggests. "I'll stay here with my boy and Emerson."
Eli and I exchange a look before nodding and heading out the door with Ace, Emerson on my mind with each step. The night air is cool and refreshing as we hop on our bikes and start the engines. I take the lead, with the tracker data guiding us to the first unfamiliar address. The streets are quiet as we ride, our headlights cutting through the darkness to guide our way into the unknown. One by one, we check all of the places she was, not finding a clue as to why she was there or what happened.
Finally, as we pull up to the last address, we see a small, rundown apartment building and Damon's Mustang parked in the driveway, looking like it's out of place, especially for this area. Eli, Ace, and I exchange another look before dismounting our bikes and approaching the entrance. I notice a tire track in the mud that leads to beside the building, and a sinking feeling settles in the pit of my stomach.
The door is unlocked, so we pull it open and walk inside the dark, desolate building, chills trickling down my spine.
"Something ain't right," Ace whispers as we follow the GPS that leads us to the only door on the hall, dim, flickering lights hopping around in my vision.
Stopping at the cracked open door, I pause, turning to make sure they're ready to see what, if anything, is waiting for us inside. "I don't like it either, but this is the last stop and our last chance to find out what Emerson was doing for the last three days."
"Open it," Eli demands, shoving his twitching hands into his pants pockets.
I push the door open the rest of the way, drawing my gun, and prepared to use it. The pungent smell of death overwhelms our senses, causing us to gag, pulling our sweatshirts up over our noses to block the stench. Fear seeps into my bones with each step, and my heart thunders inside my chest, pulsing loudly in my ears. A trail of dried blood on the floor puts the fear of God in me, and I do my best to brace myself for whatever we're about to find. Ace leans against the front door, shaking his head as he hunches over.
"You go. I can't stomach the fucking smell," he gags, every ounce of color draining from his face.
Eli and I continue to follow the blood trail, stopping as we get to the bedroom, gloom following us like a shadow. As I flip the light on, my fucking jaw drops to the floor as I take in the bloody sight in front of us.
There, lying on the floor, is Damon, covered in blood from all of the stab wounds all over his body. Flies are heavily swarming around him. My eyes scan the room, and I instantly feel sick to my stomach, but not because of the stiff, dead body in front of us. Attached to the bed are handcuffs and leather straps, which are obviously used to restrain someone. Polaroids are scatteredon the floor at the end of the bed, and as I walk over and bend down to pick one up, I freeze when I see Emerson posed in different positions, both awake and unconscious.