Hawk (A Stepbrother Romance #3)(25)

"I'm sorry," Jennifer said softly, and rested her hand on mind. "I don't want to pry, but did he-"

"I don't know," I whimpered. "He just disappeared. He was supposed to pick me up after the last day of school so we could go on a real date and he never showed up."

Jennifer sipped her coffee. Her voice was strangely flat. "Do you know where he is?"

"No. Nobody will tell me?"

"Have you gone to the police?"

I froze. "What?"

"Have you gone to the police?"

"No, I… I mean…"

"Probably not a good idea," she said, softly. "Do you think he's…"

"I don't know," I whimpered. I didn't want the f*cking pumpkin spice latte anymore. I slammed it down on the table.

The coffee lapped over the sides and stung my fingers with the heat.

"I wish there was something I could do to help," Jennifer said, softly. "If you want to talk again, look me up on the school directory. My number's there. Do you want me to walk home with you?"

"No, that's okay," I said, dabbing up spilled coffee with a napkin. "I'll be fine."

I felt bad about the coffee, so I stuffed a ten dollar bill into the tip jar and walked home.

It was Friday and the dorms reopened on Sunday. When I got home I went back to studying. May came in and we hung out and ended up playing games on her phone. I felt butterflies in my stomach whenever I thought about my tests but I desperately needed to just goof off with my sister, so I did.

Saturday was much the same.

On Sunday morning I had all my things packed and was ready to leave. I finished filling the big suitcase when there was a knock at my door. Expecting May, I opened it eagerly and found Tom standing outside. Flanking him on either side were two Paradise Falls cops.

"What's going on?" I said, barely able to talk. It felt like my throat was closing.

"You're coming with us."

"I can't, I have to go back to school," I said, lamely.

"It doesn't matter. You're not going anywhere."

"I can't, I have exams!"

Tom stepped back. "Take her."

I didn't stand a chance. Two grown men grabbed my arms, and they handcuffed me. May was screaming, and Tom told Lance to drag her back into her room. My mother watched dully, scratching her chin as they carried me down the stairs and out the back door, to a police car parked in the backyard, in front of the carriage house, and shoved me inside. The door slamming shut was like the door to my coffin. Inside it was hot and smelled awful, like dried blood in a dirty bathroom.

As soon as the cops got in I demanded, "Where are you taking me?"

Terror pounded in my chest, tried to crack my ribs. They were going to do to me what they did to Hawk.

It got worse from there.

My memories of the next few days are in and out, fragmentary. I remember images more than events, scents and voices. Lying on a bed strapped down with thick leather bands around my wrists and ankles as lights swept overhead, florescent lights, hospital lights. An IV bag next to the bed. They had me tied down for days, I don't even remember getting up. At some point I ended up in a white room.

The only thing I really remember is when Tom came in.

I couldn't really move. My arms and legs felt like sand, my bones like lead weights. I could turn my head to look at him. They closed the door behind him and I heard it lock, and he pulled up a chair.

"Hello, Alexis."

I didn't answer him. I wasn't sure if I could.

"We've taken steps to take care of you," he said, his gaze never leaving mine. "Your behavior has been increasingly erratic over the last few days. Your mother and I were afraid you'd hurt yourself, so she signed papers to have you hospitalized."

"You," I choked out, "had me committed."

"No, she did. At least, she signed the papers."

"I can't," it took too much effort to speak, "Can't move."

"No, you've been sedated. Heavily. You won't be awake much longer, so I want you to pay special attention to what I'm about to tell you."

He stood up, and he put his hand on my stomach. I wanted to tense up, my brain told my body tense up, but I couldn't move. His hand moved up and almost cupped my breast, just rested right below my chest, then went down. I wanted to puke as I felt his hand trace down my stomach and along my leg.

"You’re my daughter now," he said, very calmly. "You have two choices. You can behave, or."

"What?"

He reached in his pocket and flicked open a knife. It wasn't very big, the blade couldn't have been more than three inches long. He pressed it to the inside of my leg and I felt it split open the hospital pajamas and felt the hot, rough touch of the sharp edge on my skin.

"I'll cut you. Deep. It'll hit the artery. You'll bleed out in about thirty seconds. It’ll hurt a great deal. A very traumatic and painful way to die. I'm told only drowning is worse."

"You can't."

"They'll mark it down as a suicide. It’ll be very tragic. You’ll be buried and forgotten, and then your sister will be given the same choice. Behave or…"

I felt the knife move.