Throne of Truth (Truth and Lies Duet #2)(12)

I PARKED AT the top of the long, sweeping driveway that disappeared into dense trees.

A stupid carved lumberjack with an axe and overalls decorated with peeling paint offered me a mailbox to place friendly correspondence, not deliver war on the inhabitants.

I wanted to hack it to pieces.

No lights glimmered apart from the fresh pink of dawn. No signs of habitation apart from recent tire tracks down the gravel.

But I knew.

They’re here.

Leaving my Merc, I grabbed my phone and jogged down the driveway. I wanted to sneak up and surprise Greg, rather than drive and give him notice.

He’d already taken what was mine. I wouldn’t give him the opportunity to hurt her, too.

My shoeless feet glided lightly as I ran, trying to make as little noise as possible. Pebbles bruised my soles, but I didn’t stop.

Goddammit, how long is this driveway?

The gravel kept going, deeper into woodland. If this wasn’t a rescue mission, it would’ve been a nice place to bring Elle. To get away from the city and relax together. And by relax, I meant fuck until we both couldn’t walk.

There was something about her I couldn’t fight. When I was around her—shit, all I could think about was touching, kissing, and being inside her.

Three years’ worth of blue balls. Three years of waiting since the first time we met.

My gut clenched at the thought of her with Greg. I hadn’t been nice or even kind to her ever since I plotted the moment in the gin bar with her father. Everything about our ‘convenient fate-designed’ meetings had been meticulously planned.

I hadn’t let my guard down once.

I’d taken what I wanted from her as I believed she owed me that after what had happened.

But now, I felt fucking sick that I could be such a bastard—especially since she’d been taken by someone she trusted, all while being lied to by me.

I was an asshole.

I admit it.

The sky slowly grew lighter as a cabin appeared in the forest. A small clearing with a homely retreat nestled in the foliage.

Greg’s car sat out in front with the twinkling of dew on the gray paint.

My heart raced, preparing for a fight.

Keeping to the trees, I skirted the front porch, making my way to the side.

Ducking low, I charged toward the house and pressed against the timber siding. Twigs jammed into my bare feet but I ignored the pain. A bay window sat above me, taunting me to look.

My ears strained for noise. For footsteps or voices.

When nothing came—no creak of floorboards, no flush of water—I stood upright and peered into the dim cabin. Birds slowly woke up, their morning song the only sound apart from my shallow breathing.

The window looked into the kitchen, the kitchen opened out into a living room, the living room funneled traffic to the hallway.

Empty.

Every room.

No signs of life at all.

Shit, where are you, Elle?

Moving around the property, I peered into more windows, searching.

The bedroom with plaid blankets: nothing.

The office with overflowing bookshelves: no one.

The side living room with an ancient video cassette player and TV: empty.

Moving toward the front porch again, I forced myself to remain calm even while I fought panic.

Joe gave me this address.

Greg’s car was here.

Yet him and Elle were gone.

Fuck!

Leaping off the stoop to continue my hunt, my eyes caught the displacement of gravel.

Footsteps.

One big with boot tracks.

One small with no tracks.

Was Elle barefoot?

Like me?

My feet had not appreciated the jog down gravel or looked forward to the pokes and pinches from more twigs in the forest. Knowing she’d felt the same discomfort didn’t make me happy—it made me fucking furious.

Clutching my phone, I followed the prints into the trees, willing the sun to wake up completely and chase away the remaining shadows. I hadn’t had quality sleep, I’d been beaten awake as my alarm clock, and twitched on an overload of adrenaline and rage, but my hands were steady (if not bloody), and my eyes were narrowed (if not blood-shot).

I was ready to attack.

No mercy.

Breaking into a jog, I followed the small path, hoping against fucking hope that Greg hadn’t marched her into the undergrowth to shoot and bury her. Images of finding her corpse haunted me in ways I couldn’t admit.

I thought I’d protected myself from her this past month. I thought I’d steeled myself against feeling anything.

I’d done a shitty job with the way my heart pounded with terror. I’d wasted so long, fantasizing about her being mine. And she’d been mine—for a brief moment. If I couldn’t have her again...what the fuck would I do?

Leave?

Say goodbye?

How could I?

I forced my mind back to facts rather than idiotic matters of the heart. If Greg had wanted to kill her, why not just do it at Belle Elle—somewhere her father would see and destroy the company from the inside out?

He’s an asshole, but he’s not mentally disturbed.

Why would he kill her where he could be questioned? Much better to do it where no one would see, and he had a better chance of denying his involvement.

Even if this is his father’s cabin.

Breaking through the tree line, my heart sank as a shed with open doors and an empty interior beckoned me closer.