Lyra Parish - Weak Without Him

Lights flashed across the room and reflected on the floor. Regrets flowed like water down a stream. If I weren't found, having to live this type of life would be a nightmare where death would be the only escape.

I had found my new low and was waist deep in it.

Welcome to your personal dark paradise, I thought.

"I don’t fucking care how much it costs, do it," I yelled into the phone before slamming it on the counter.

Seventy-two hours had passed.

She had been gone for seventy-two, long agonizing hours, and no one knew what was going on. Not even me, and it angered me to an unhealthy level. Private investigators swept London, and I even hired people in Paris. Everyone came up short, which was in-fucking-excusable. The fuse on my patience had been lit, and I was going to blow the fuck up at any moment.

When I looked at myself in the mirror, I didn't recognize who stared back: a man with crazy hair, wild eyes, and scruff. Fucking scruff! I was always clean cut. Always. Impressions were important, and I liked to be ready for the stalkers that lurked behind buildings to take snapshots of me: the most fuckable CEO under the age of 30 . Give me a bloody break.

I had no control over my appearance while not knowing if she was okay. Shaving was the least of my fucking worries. I hoped for once she would close her mouth and not talk back, but if I knew Jennifer—an unnerving feeling tugged in the pit of my stomach, and I couldn't quite place it. Statistics say after three days, the odds of finding a missing person decline significantly.

I would drive myself mad thinking about her skin on mine.

Her smile.

Her lips.

The way her hair felt between my fingers.

The last look on her face.

The horror in her voice as she screamed my name.

Earlier, Luke called. I told him to leave and go back to Vegas. He'd finished his project quicker than expected and said he would stay for me, but I told him to leave. A part of him blamed himself for Jennifer's disappearance but for no reason. Luke did the best he could, and there was nothing more that could be done. Abbot and his men were on the prowl. If anyone could find Jennifer, it would be them. The men that were born to fight and steal, and would do anything for money. They were loyal to Luke and I because we ran with them when we were younger. Actually, we ran them .

I knew that whatever I did in life, I would be leading. Never been much of a fucking follower. Being in control of situations was what made me tick. Give me a challenge and I will accept and conquer. But at this moment, I would follow anyone who would lead me to Jennifer.

Mark my words, if they touched or hurt her in any way, whoever was responsible will wish they hadn't. Love made people do ridiculous things. With love, I would destroy the world with my bare hands and make it my bitch. Destruction raged dangerously inside of me.

I ran my fingers through my hair as I stared out the window and watched the people scurry on the sidewalks. My hand wavered. Control slowly slipped through my fingers.

My phone buzzed on the counter. I picked it up.

"Felton speaking."

"Abbot."

The silenced droned on.

Abbot didn't play well with others, but what could be expected from the man that ran the underworld of London. He was the sub-culture and so were all the men that ran in his pack. Although he was one of the most frightening gang leaders on this side of the Atlantic, he didn't faze me. I beat his ass when we were teenagers, and we both knew that I could and would do it again, especially in my current state.

We bled together. We fought together. We laughed together.

Nothing could take that camaraderie away, not even a fucking ocean or time.

"I've found your driver. Shall I slit his fucking throat?"

I heard muffled screams in the background, and an evil smile crept across my face. Abbot's weapons of choice were really sharp knifes, and I was certain the point of his favorite one rested on the driver’s throat. Abbot could find anyone if I asked, but nothing came without a price. I didn't pay monetarily. The cost was merging my current life with my past, something I never intended on doing.

"I'll be there."

"I'd like to kill him where he sits, filthy piece of shit," he said to the man as if I weren’t on the line then hung up the phone.

I grabbed the keys to the Mercedes and traveled to a warehouse on the east side. I parked in the back and composed myself. I hadn't seen some of the people inside since I left for Columbia. What a fucking reunion.

Abbot wasn't stupid enough to conduct business in the open warehouse but rather preferred the basement. I walked to the corner of the room and found the inconspicuous door that led to the stairs below. I clenched my hands into fists and tried to get ahold of myself. I wanted to beat the stupid fuck senseless, but I had a goal: to find out who he worked for and where they took the woman who stole my heart. When she was taken, they subsequently took away the last ounce of love I had left. If something happened to her, I would swear off all emotions for the rest of my fucking life. I'd take it as a sign that I wasn't meant for love, that maybe life had a different path for me. I hoped it wasn't a vicious one.

When I entered, Abbot put the knife to the bottom of the man's chin until drops of blood dripped on the floor. Then he smiled, stood, and greeted me with a hug.

"Welcome home, brother. Sorry the circumstances are fucked." Abbot kicked the driver in the side, causing him to double over. A small part of me felt sorry for the man, and the other piece, the one that was slowly becoming numb to emotion, didn't give two shits.

Jerking a handful of hair in his fist, Abbot moved the man's head and leaned into his ear.

"Now. You can either answer the questions you'll be asked, or you can fucking die. Simple, really. I'd really like to add another mark to my wall, so don’t test me."

The scary thing was, Abbot wasn't kidding. He placed the knife under the cloth that was wrapped around the man's mouth, and nicked his cheek but left the blindfold on. I couldn't be seen or noticed by anyone. I needed to stay completely anonymous. This face was one everyone seemed to recognize these days.

I watched the blood stream down the man's face, then cleared my throat and spoke.

"Who are you working with?"

"I'm not sure." His voice was raspy, and he was struggling to speak.

"Give him some fucking water. Jesus," I said.

"Pieces of shit aren't given the special treatment. He can drink water if he makes it out alive. Gotta give the fuck something to look forward to," Abbot said.

I exhaled deeply.

It wasn't worth arguing about right now.

I shook my head at him, and he smiled, of course.

"Do you know where they were taking her?" I asked.

"No. The man that hired me knew she would be in London, and I was to make sure she was at the train station that night. I don't know how he knew she would be at your parents’ house. I had to send a text when we left. I didn't ask questions. I did as instructed."

"You said a man. Who?"

"He calls himself Jester. I don't fucking know anything else," the driver said.

"Watch it," Abbot interrupted.

"I know they were bringing her to the airport. That's it. I don’t know anything else. I swear on my life," he said.

"The airport? Which airport?"

"Don't know. They were adamant about getting her there in time. Something about a plane leaving for the states."

"Fuck," I yelled. "The fucking states? This isn't a random kidnapping."

Abbot squeezed my shoulder. "Told you she wasn't here. I would have found her by now. I know all the slave runners, kidnappers, all those filthy fucks."