Page 83 of Chasing Wildflowers
The door flies open, smashing against the wall.
I fire.
I jolt awake, my heart pounding rapidly, the smell of gunpowder still clinging to my memory. It feels like a jackhammer is going off inside my head and I can’t see a damn thing. I blink against the darkness, but it’s useless. All I can make out is the faint outline of a door.
I try to move, but can’t.
What the hell?
Panic spikes, hot and sudden as I pull again, and I feel it. Rough rope cut into my wrists, biting deep, pulling them tight behind the chair. I twist, testing the rope. It’s tight, but there’s just enough slack for my fingers to brush the knot.
What the fuck is going on?
It all comes flooding back.
The text message. The threat against Jameson. The drive here.Byron.
Seriously. How the fuck is he alive?
It’s impossible, right? Except it's not because I saw him.
A rush of nausea crashes through me. I shove it down. Now is not the time to panic. I have to stay focused. I need to get loose before Byron comes back.
I strain to listen. Nothing. Where the hell did he go? What does he want with me now, after five years? Has he been looking for me this whole time?
How long was I out, minutes, hours? My limbs feel heavy and sluggish. Whatever he gave me hasn’t fully worn off.
I force my fingers to move. I have to get back to Jameson.
Does he know I’m gone? Probably. He won’t find me. I’m sure Byron destroyed my phone, along with any possibility of me being rescued.
The earrings.
The tracker.
A floorboard creaks in the hallway. My head snaps up.
Bryon fills the doorframe, a lantern in one hand, casting a warm, flickering light across the room. A gun dangles casually in his other hand.
My heart slams against my ribs. I force my face to remain blank, my breathing steady
A smug smile curves his lips. “So nice of you to join me, Ceciley,”
He sets the lantern just inside the door and strides toward me, his footsteps matching the steady thump in my chest, stopping a few feet away.
Fear crawls up my throat, threatening to suffocate me. “How aren’t you dead?” I ask, the words coming out rushed.
His head tilts to the side, amusement written across his face as he closes the distance between us. “Did you really think you could kill me, Ceciley? That I would leave real bullets in the gun I found?” He leans closer, his hand gripping my chin tightly, fury burning in his eyes. “That I wouldn’t notice the money you were taking? That I wouldn't find the search history you tried to delete?”
I resist the urge to pull away from his grip, and possibly spit in his face while my fingers furiously pull at the knot. “How long did you know?”
“Long enough to use it for my own benefit,” he grits out, his voice laced with venom as he leases my face and takes a step back.
“I still don’t understand. Why did you pretend to be dead for five years? Where did you go?” My fingertips burn, but I fight through the pain, desperate to free myself.
“I was furious when I discovered your plans to leave me. You are my wife. My property.” He points the gun at me, eyes wild, and I flinch, fingers freezing. “You thought you could start a new life without me? That I would let you go?”
He lowers the gun and starts pacing, his steps thudding against the floorboards. “My wife who was supposed to stand by my side no matter what, who was supposed to be obedient and know her place, planned to leave me after everything I had done for her!” His steps pause, eyes cutting to mine. “For what, Ceciley? So you could go whore yourself around like you have with that worthless PI I hired?”
