Page 29 of Save Me

“Why not? What stopped her?”

“Because I reminded her that the death penalty isn’t legal here. So, if the police got to whoever took you before I did, they’d get off a lot lighter than they would with me.”

My jaw drops, and the smile Jax gives me is nothing short of ferocious. Any doubt I had about his intentions, about his desire to find me while I was missing, is gone. The sheer determination to find Rhett—and the retaliation he wants to instill—is written clear as day on his face.

“You should probably call her though, now that you’ve had time to rest,” he says casually. “She’s been calling me daily and texting me twice as much. She wanted to come see you as soon as we found you, but I wouldn’t let her. I don’t think she’s happy about that.”

“She wants to come see me?”

Something swells in my chest at the thought of Sam wanting to come see me, of trying to be here for me.

“She threatened to knock on every door in the city until she finds out where we live.” He chuckles. “But you needed your rest, and I wanted to make sure you were in a good headspace first.”

A part of me is relieved, relieved that I had people looking for me, trying to save me, but my heart also aches knowing the pain he went through when I was missing, the pain I went through waiting for him. I try not to think about what would have happened if Jax had looked into Rhett first, had found me on that first day Bryce was putting groceries away in the kitchen.

Bryce.

I panic at the realization that I don’t know what happened to him—don’t know where he is or if he’s even alive after the beating he took.

Worry floods through me and I try not to look too deep into my concern, worried about the guy who helped kidnap me.

“When you found me—when you came into the house—the guys there… there was one—” I rub my hands over my face, not sure how to explain this to Jax, certain that I sound certifiable at this point.

Oh, you know the guys that kidnapped me? Right, well one isn’t all that bad. He’s kind, in the sense that he didn’t let me starve to death, never told Rhett or the others I ran away, and tried to help me in the end.

“Just say it, love. Whatever is on your mind, whatever you want to ask, you can’t say anything wrong.”

“Was Bryce there?” Jax gives me a questioning look before I continue, “He’s tall, built like you and Ryan, dark hair, deep brown eyes…” I trail off, realizing I described half the guys in Rhett’s group. I look at Jax but don’t see any sign that he knows who I’m talking about.

“I didn’t pause long enough to take in their features.”

“What happened when you found me?” I whisper. “What happened to everyone in the house?”

He takes a deep breath before shaking his head back and forth slowly.

“No? What do you mean no?” I don’t know what’s more obvious in my tone: irritation or confusion.

“I don’t think you want to know. I don’t think you’re ready—”

“All in or all out, remember?” I whisper, needing to know the truth. “What happened to them?”

“I killed them,” he says, his voice quiet but firm.

“All of them?” I feel like all the air has left my lungs, and I feel myself clutching onto Jax.

“Yes, all of them,” he says, the calm in his voice replaced by malice as he stands, towering over me, holding my face in his hands. “I heard them,heardwhat they were doing to you. I opened the door and saw them standing over you, saw you covered in blood and barely moving on the floor. So yes, the second I saw what they did to you I shot them all, and I think the world is a better place without them in it.”

Bryce is dead.

Something cracks in my chest, and I swallow a sob as it tries to leave my throat. The idea that the one person who tried to help me ended up like the others who tried to hurt me causes my stomach to roll. I swallow the bile that rises in my throat, burying the grief deep within me, with everything else I can’t stomach processing just yet.

“I want to know about what happened to you.” He looks at me as the words form carefully on his lips.

I pull back slightly.

“I’ve been able to piece a lot together myself, and I know you’re not ready to talk yet”—he takes a breath—“but when you are, I’m here for you. Just remember though, that emotional pain is like a splinter, and it’s better to get it out before it stays in for too long and you’re left with an infection.”

“Always so wise,” I joke, trying to deflect from the conversation. But his words resonate with me, and I wonder what the treatment is for the infection that seems to be buried deep in my soul.

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