Hold Me

Julian nods coolly. “Like I said, just until I get this situation straightened out. Hopefully no more than a month or two.”

“A month or two? How exactly will you straighten this out in just a month or two?” my mom asks while my dad stands there, vibrating with tense anger.

“Do you really want to know, Gabriela?” Julian asks softly, and my mom turns even paler.

“No, that’s okay.” She sounds slightly hoarse. Clearing her throat, she asks, “So what do we tell our work? How do we explain such a long vacation on short notice? I mean, it’s really more of a leave of absence—”

“You can tell them the truth: that your daughter suffered a miscarriage and needs you for the next few weeks.” Julian’s harsh words make me flinch. Noticing my reaction, he reaches for me, his fingers curving around my palm as he says to my mom in a softer tone, “Or you can come up with some other story. It’s really up to you.”

“Okay, we’ll do that,” my mom says quietly, looking at us, and when I glance at my dad, I see that the anger has left his face. Instead, he seems to be holding back tears. Catching my gaze, he steps toward me.

“I’m sorry, honey,” he says quietly, his deep voice filled with sorrow. “I didn’t have a chance to say it yet, but I’m so, so sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you, Dad,” I whisper, and then I have to turn away so I don’t start crying again.

Immediately, Julian’s arms close around me, bringing me into his embrace. “Tony, Gabriela,” I hear him say softly. His hand rubs soothing circles on my back as I stand there, fighting tears, my face pressed against his chest. “I think it’s best if Nora rests for now. Why don’t the two of you discuss this, and we can talk some more later today? Ideally, I want you and Nora to fly out tomorrow, before Sullivan figures out who we are.”

“Of course,” my mom says quietly. “Come, Tony, we have a lot to do.” And before I can turn around, I hear their footsteps heading out of the room.

When they’re gone, Julian loosens his hold and pulls back to gaze at me. “Nora, baby—”

“I’m okay,” I interrupt, not wanting his pity. The guilt that I managed to push aside for the past hour is back, stronger than ever. “I’m going to go talk to Rosa now.”

Julian studies me for a moment and then steps back, letting me go. “All right, my pet,” he says softly. “Go ahead.”

Chapter 30

Julian

As I watch Nora exit the room, I’m cognizant of a thick, heavy pressure in my chest. She’s trying to hide her pain, to be strong, but I can tell that what happened is ripping her apart. Her breakdown this morning was just the tip of the iceberg, and the knowledge that I’m to blame for this—that I’m to blame for everything—adds to the violent rage churning in my gut.

This is all my fault. If I hadn’t been so fucking eager to please her, to make her happy by giving in to her every whim, none of this would’ve happened. I should’ve listened to my instincts and kept her on the estate, where nobody could’ve touched her. At the very least, I should’ve denied her request to go to that accursed club.

But I didn’t. I let myself get soft. I let my obsession with her cloud my judgment, and now she’s paying the price. If only I hadn’t let her go alone to that restroom, if only I’d chosen a different club . . . The poisonous regrets swirl in my brain until I feel like my head will explode.

I need to find an outlet for my fury, and I need to do so now.

Turning, I head for the front door.

“I brought the cousin here,” Lucas says as soon as I step out onto the driveway. “I figured you might not want to go all the way to Chicago today.”

“Excellent.” Lucas knows me too well. “Where is he?”

“In that van over there.” He points at a black van parked strategically behind the trees farthest from the neighbors.

Filled with dark anticipation, I walk toward it, with Lucas accompanying me. “Has he given us any info yet?” I ask.

“He gave us access codes to his cousin’s parking garage and building elevators,” Lucas says. “It wasn’t difficult to get him to talk. I figured I’d leave the rest of the interrogation to you, in case you wanted to speak to him in person.”

“That’s good thinking. I definitely do.” Approaching the van, I open the back doors and peer into the dark interior.

A skinny young man is lying on the floor, gagged. His ankles are tied to his wrists behind his back, contorting him into an unnatural position, and his face is bloodied and swollen. A strong scent of piss, fear, and sweat wafts toward me. Lucas and my guards did a solid job of working him over.

Ignoring the stench, I climb into the van and turn around. “Are the walls soundproof?” I ask Lucas, who remains on the ground.

He nods. “About ninety percent.”

“Good. That should suffice.” I close the doors behind me, locking me in with the boy—who immediately begins to writhe on the floor, making frantic noises behind the gag.

Pulling out my knife, I crouch next to him. His struggles intensify, panicked noises growing in volume. Ignoring the terrified look in his eyes, I grab his neck to hold him still and wedge the knife between the gag and his cheek, slicing through the piece of cloth. A trickle of blood runs down his cheek where the knife cut him, and I watch it, relishing the sight. I want more of his blood. I want to see this van covered with it.