Page 58 of Weather the Storm

The message remains unopened, my thumb hovering over it. “A text.”

“Is it from him?” Drake asks, cracking his knuckles.

I nod.

“Open it!” Azalea demands.

Internally, I war. This text could containanything. The contents of this message could kill me. Choked up, I whisper, “I’m scared.”

“I know you are, Sim,” Myla Rose soothes, “but you gotta.”

Fuck.She’s right. I know she is. Doesn’t mean I want to do it, though.

With gritted teeth, I tap on the message icon. Immediately, a little circle starts spinning on the screen, signifying an image is downloading. After what feels like an eternity, a photo of Magnolia fills my screen.

Stricken, I throw the phone down, rattling off a string of expletives. I rake my hands through my hair, tugging hard on the ends before slamming my fist into the wall, leaving a hole.

Nothing, and I mean fuckingnothingcould’ve readied me for what I just saw: my girl, beaten and bloodied, her beautiful face swollen and bruised, mouth gagged, wrists and ankles tied.

Cash steps around me and snatches up the discarded phone. I know the second he’s caught a glimpse of the text. “Goddamn it.” His wife asks to see, but he tells her no. “Trust me, darlin’, you don’t wanna see this.”

“Don’t tell me what I wanna see, Cash Carson. I’m not some wilting flower. Give me the phone—now.”

Cash bends to her will and passes Magnolia’s phone to her. I watch as she sucks in a sharp breath, no doubt horrified by what she’s seeing. Myla Rose shocks me when she turns to Azalea and says, “AzzyJo, call the police.”

She then signals for both Drake and me to move closer. “Look!”

“Don’t really wanna see that shit again, Myles,” I grind out, my anger barely keeping my tears at bay.

“No, Sim, look—not at her. Look at where he has her.”

Drake and I both peer over her shoulder, andholy shit—I know that building. I know exactly where he’s holding my girl. Dumbass has her in old man Hunter’s barn.

Drake and I used to hide out there when we were kids. The rusty, bullet-riddled Gulf gas station sign in the background is a dead giveaway.

My ears ring as I think about just how close Magnolia is. Through my haze, I hear Myla Rose relaying to Azalea what to tell the dispatcher, but I’m not waiting for the boys in blue.

Gotcha, asshole.

Chapter Thirty-One

MAGNOLIA

Grant’s depravity knows no bounds. It feels as though he’s had me here, captive and at his mercy, for days.

I move in and out of consciousness, my body battered and broken.

“Get up!” he roars, drawing his foot back and kicking me in the ribs, the pain white-hot and blinding. Bile creeps up my throat, but the gag doesn’t allow it to pass. Choking on my vomit, panic consumes me. Grant reaches down and rips the tie from my mouth, and my sick spills out, splashing onto his shoes.

“Stupid cunt!” He kicks me again, and a pain far sharper than the rest causes me to cry out.

Grant reties my gag and black dots swarm my vision. The room tilts before darkness once again consumes me.

Lying prone, I come to again. The room is quiet…too quiet. With great effort, I use the eye that’s not swollen shut to get a good look at the space I’m being kept in. It’s unremarkable in every way, with its dirty plywood floors and plank walls.

A creaking noise in the distance has the hair on my arms standing on end. I hear a door open, followed by heavy footsteps. Screwing my good eye shut tight, I will myself to focus on happy things—on Simon, my strong and steady Simon.

“You always were so useless.” Grant spits the words as though they leave a foul taste in his mouth. “I was too blinded by your nice tits and doe eyes to see it.” I can hear his footfalls as he paces before me, each pass bringing him closer. “Some bitches just aren’t worth the trouble,” he mutters, more to himself than to me. “You’re nothing more than a nuisance now, an embarrassment to the Ellington name. Do you understand me, Magnolia?” When I don’t answer, he brings his foot down onto my neck, pressing down with all of his weight. “I said, do. You. Understand. Me?”

---