Lyra Parish - Weak Without Him

All of my emotions went haywire. My adrenaline and anger spiked to an uncontrollable level, and I gunned the car forward. Jennifer had been taken.

I pulled my phone from my pocket and called Luke.

"Luke," I said breathlessly.

"What? What's going on?"

"Jennifer. Someone took her at the station."

"What? Where are you now?"

"Call the police. I'm chasing them."

I hung up the phone and searched for the car.

Not now. Not fucking now. This could not be happening.

I had been without her for far too long. Now I was on a wild fucking goose chase for the woman that I needed, for the woman that I couldn't live without.

I sped up through the valleys and headed toward the city.

If I were a kidnapper, where would I go? I went to the heart of the city and searched the back alleyways before the stress of losing her overtook me. For a moment, I thought I had found the men that took her, but when I advanced on the car, a man and his children peered back at me. I knew I looked like a maniac and with each passing hour, I became more desperate.

Frustration seemed to control me. I could barely handle myself, so I got out of the car and beat the shit out of a lamppost. The physical pain evened out my being distraught.

With bloody, stinging knuckles, I reached into my pocket to answer the phone.

"Do you have a description?" Luke was in a panic.

I knew he was worried. As much as he gave his blessing, I knew he still cared for her.

"No. They wore masks. Mum's driver was in on it. I am so fucking angry right now. I… I can't live without her. I can't fucking do this."

"We will find her. There is a search out for her. I called in a favor from a few people in London. We will find her. I promise."

"You did not fucking get them involved," I said. I sucked in a deep breath with hopes to calm myself.

"If anyone can find Jennifer in London, it would be Abbot. You know that. I had no other choice."

I hung up and headed back to Mum’s. She opened the door—worry, fear, and sadness covered her face. I ran into her arms and let her hold me like she did when I was child. Her fingers running through my hair comforted me.

"Look at me. Look at me, Finnley. It's going to be okay. I promise. We will find Jennifer. And don't give me that look. Your father used to look the same when he was upset."

"Mum."

"She will be found. If anyone can find her, your old lot will," my mother said, and lowered her eyes.

"I did not call them. I did not want them involved."

"I know, son, but I think Luke made the right decision. Those men know the trade. Hell, they are the heart of some of the problems in London but I trust they could find anyone in this city."

I squeezed her and tried to hold back my emotions, something that I was good at doing. The negative fucking voice in the back of my head drove me to edge of insanity: most women that were taken were never found.

That night, I stayed at my parents’ house. Exhaustion from flying and the horrible fucking events tired me. I climbed the stairs, lay in my bed, and stared at the white ceiling. The last time I slept in that room was before I left for Columbia.

When I closed my eyes, I could almost smell her.

Hours passed, and I couldn't sleep. Horrific thoughts controlled me.

If they touched her or if they hurt her in any way, I would fucking kill the lot of them.

The last look of raw contentment that covered her entire body haunted me through the night. I would burn the world down searching for her.

The car smelled like musk and cigarettes, and the stench choked me. The men spoke French¸ and I couldn't understand a damn word they said.

I screamed Finnley's name until my voice went hoarse. The disgusting creatures that pretended to be men stuck a gag in my mouth and slipped a black hood over my head. They jerked my wrists behind my back as I struggled to get away and tied them together tightly with rope. The darkness followed me, and for a moment, I allowed myself to walk into the shadows of the horrible things that poisoned my thoughts. Would I make it out alive, or would they kill me?

More French, a phone call, and the car jolted forward. I had no idea what direction we were going, but before I completely lost it, I calmed myself with the fact that Finnley had seen what happened. He would come for me. He would save me. Wouldn't he? I couldn't panic, not right now, not when I needed to stay focused and calm.

Although I couldn't see, I tried to focus on the faces of the men who weren't wearing masks. Mustaches, dark hair and eyes, they all could have been brothers.

My fears fucking taunted me.

What would they do with me now?

Sell me?

Kill me?

Where were they taking me?

I swallowed around the material in my mouth and counted to ten, trying to stay perfectly still. My lips were dry and hurt, but that was the least of my concerns.

Concentrate.

The night had been perfect. Why did this have to happen?

The man chatted quietly on the phone, and when one said Finnley's name, my heart dropped. Finnley Felton was surrounded by French words, and his name stuck out like a sore thumb. My heart stung with the mention of his name. No, no, no, it was not a random kidnapping; this shit was planned.

The car slammed to a halt, and my body flung forward. A man jerked me from the car, and I stumbled over my feet. His grasp faltered. I tried to pull away from them, to run, but he grabbed the sleeve of my dress with a hard fist, and it ripped.

"Don't fucking think so, sweetheart," the man said in a thick accent that I couldn't place. The smell of liquor and cigarettes melted through the material over my head and bile rose in my throat. Asshole jerked me forward, and I tripped up a flight of stairs. He slammed my body into a hard seat, then buckled me in after he grabbed a handful of my breasts.

With a swift movement, I jerked my knee upward and connected. Fucking bastard. Yeah, I played with boys all of my life and fighting was in my bones. I wouldn't sit there and let him feel me up.

"You bitch." His fist crashed hard into my face, and I saw white, even though I was surrounded by black. No one, not one person, had ever struck me with such power. My face felt like it had shattered, and my breathing increased, causing the anger inside me to build. Although fear existed, rage seemed to fuel me. When I was a child, my mother always said I had my dad's temper. She insisted that I learn to reel it in because I often got lost in it. Over the years, I had learned self-control and to blow off things, but right now, I didn't want to see past the rage. I couldn't. I swore to myself that if I was able to get away, I would seek revenge. The word seemed dirty on my mouth, but I craved it.

The man laughed, and a tapping on hard plastic echoed in the background.

I tried to take myself from my body, pretend that I was somewhere else, anywhere but here. I tried to ignore the pain that pulsed across my face where I had been struck. I searched my happy memories until I landed on Finnley. The thoughts of him would keep me strong.

The man removed the hood, and I let my eyes adjust to the light. When I squinted, the pain spread, but I refused to show weakness. I was on a small plane and several men surrounded me. No women.

He took the material from my mouth, and I looked up at him. If looks could kill, they would all be dead.

"Now be a good little bitch and don't speak."

"Fuck you," I said, and he grabbed my face so hard that I almost whimpered. Almost.

"I was warned about your smart fucking mouth. I kind of like it but not right now."

My cheeks throbbed. I was bruised in more ways than one.