Page 84 of Chasing Wildflowers
I don’t answer, and he starts pacing again. “I went to my father and together we came up with a plan. You see, I was in trouble with some people who couldn’t be bought off. Not even with my family’s wealth!” He lets out a short, disbelieving laugh and shakes his head as if the concept is absolutely ridiculous.
He continues his pacing, back and forth across the floor, lost in his monologue. “I needed to disappear. And you presented us with the perfect opportunity. You were already planning to run, so all we had to do was make it look like you lost it and killed me.”
“That still doesn’t explain why you didn’t just run. Why not just let me go? Why force me into shootingyou? Why didn’t you just fucking kill me and get it over with?”
He’s in front of me in two strides, the back of his hand connecting with my cheek, the same cheek that's already throbbing. My head snaps back, a pained groan ripping from my throat.
“Watch your mouth, Ceciley! Just because you’ve been working in that trash bar and living like a whore, doesn’t mean I’m going to tolerate you speaking like that!”
My head pounds harder, the second blow sending nausea up my throat and making my vision blur.
“I wanted to just kill you,” he admits, casually, as if we’re talking about the damn weather. “Make it look like a murder-suicide. But my father was worried an autopsy would raise too many questions.”
I almost roll my eyes. Of course. They wouldn’t want the coroner to see the fractures, the bruises, the scars. The evidence of what he really was. They couldn’t have the media asking questions about a Supreme Court judge’s son being a violent, abusive monster; whether he was dead or alive.
The knot starts to shift, loosening slightly. I continue working it, ignoring the burning pain the movements are creating.
Byron continues on, no longer needing prompted. “Getting you to shoot me was quite easy. I knew all I had to do was corner you in the bedroom. You bought that gun for a reason after all. The rest? My father took care of it. You wouldn’t believe how many favors people owe him.”
The knot gives a little more, the tension on my wrists loosening. “Why come back now? It’s been five years. What have you been doing all this time?”
He stops, a smile that has chills shooting down my spine on his lips. “To kill you of course.” His head tilts to the side. “I was waiting until you thought you were safe. Until you stopped looking over your shoulder.”
The floorboards creak again.
Jameson.
Byron stiffens, his face tightening. In an instant he’s behind me. “Did you tell someone where you were going?” he snarls in my ear, hand clamping over my mouth roughly.
I shake my head, fingers desperately pulling at the knot.
Panic skitters up my spine as he presses the cold barrel of the gun against my temple.
Another creak, closer this time.
Seconds later, Jameson appears in the doorway, gun raised in front of him. His shoulders are tense, jaw clenched, every inch of him poised and ready.
Relief slams into me like a tidal wave.
“Let her go,” he growls, voice low and dangerous, his eyes locked on Byron.
Byron scoffs, pressing the barrel harder against my temple. “I don’t think you are in any position to be making demands, Mr. Crowe.”
Jameson’s eyes move to mine, voice gentler now, but still tight with barely contained rage. “Are you okay, Wildflower?”
All I can manage is a small nod.
“You’re fine, aren’t you, Ceciley?” Byron sneers, releasing my mouth and grabbing a handful of hair, yanking my head to the side. A strangled yelp leaves me.
Jameson steps forward, the same murderous look in his eyes I saw the night Luke attacked me.
“I wouldn’t do that,” Byron warns. “Not unless you want to see how fast I can pull this trigger.”
Jameson freezes mid-step. “Let her go Byron. I’ll let you walk out of here and crawl back into whatever hole you’ve been living in for the last five years.”
Byron’s voice is cold and detached. “I don’t think so. I went through all of the trouble of getting her here after all. And now I have the added bonus of killing her in front of you.”
While they argue, I keep working the knot, heart racing.
