Page 50 of Submit
“Oh God no!” I cry out, pulling her to me, holding her still warm body to my chest, squeezing her so hard I could break her bones. “Bunny, no.”
I rock back and forth, crying into her hair, kissing her pale face with my tears dripping down on her cheeks where her own have already dried. My monster inside of me fights with the man in me. I want to cry and weep for her, and he wants to kill. I’m being pulled in different directions; take care of the woman in my grasp, or leave her and go straight for Tyler.
I’m roaring inside, screaming, and yet with as angry as I am, no, enraged, I still choose to care for her first. But he will die, violently, epically, and very very soon.
“I’ve got you baby. I’ll get you out of here.” I say, scooping her lifeless form up in my arms like a baby, her head on my chest, her legs draped over my forearm. “Come on. I’ve got you. Daddy’s got you.”
Carrying her across the room, I step over the body of goon number two, and kick his blown apart head for good measure, and when I look down at his brain matter on my shoe, something makes me pause. Something about the fragile little corpse in my arms.
“There’s no scars on your ankles. Where are your scars?”
It’s not Millie, it can’t be. My bunny has the scars on both ankles from her shackles that Tyler forces her to wear every day. By now they would be broken open again, and the dainty little legs hanging over my arm are untouched.
“Angela?”
Chapter
Twenty-Five
I’m in shock as I drive to Tyler’s house. My jaw still hangs open, and my hands grip the steering wheel hard enough to break it.
Leaving Angela in that warehouse sucked, but I had to. If Millie is alive, and he is home with her, I need to get to her as fast as I can, and dealing with a dead body will only slow me down.
If he could do that to a woman who looks exactly like the one he’s infatuated with there’s no telling what he could or would do to the real object of his obsession.
“I’m coming bunny.” I murmur over and over to myself as I go as fast as the shitty rental car can take me.
The house is dark when I get there, not a single light is on, and with the winter sun already set, I can’t see a damned thing in the windows as I walk around the house looking in all of them. The garage is empty, and the chain on the kitchen floor is left there with no little bunny attached to it.
“Where the fuck are you?” I ask the silent night, looking in the kitchen for any sign of her or where they went.
Sitting on the counter is a single whiskey glass. It’s empty and it’s my sign. My smart girl left me a clue to where he took her.
Tyler doesn’t leave dirty dishes lay around. The last week of stalking his ass has proven that. The glass is a note from her. I drink whiskey at Kelly’s. I drink scotch at home, and I use a different type of glass. They’re at the club.
“Such a good fucking girl.” I say, leaving the window and jogging back to the car.
A stop at home to change and clean myself up so I can enter Kelly’s without raising suspicions is needed, and then I could grab the bike too, instead of relying on the damn rental that couldn’t get out of its own way if its life depended on it.
~~~
The club looks the same as it always does, and the usual people nod their greetings to me as I strut down the main hallway, headed towards the bar.
Max is behind the bar like always, and he gives me a knowing glance as I saddle up onto a stool.
“The usual?” He asks, nodding to the top shelf whiskey behind his back.
“Absolutely.”
“Good choice.”
He slides a three-finger glass in front of me, with a cocktail napkin under it, which is something new for him. He would never do that; it doesn’t allow the glass to move across the bar with ease. And everything the man does is to make things easier.
Lifting the glass, I take a sip and pick up the square, white napkin. On it, in Millie’s handwriting, is a note.
Playroom four. Help.
“Motherfucker.” I grumble under my breath.
