Empire of Lies - Whitney G. Page 0,1
him promising that he’d never hurt me. I try not to blame myself for agreeing to marry him so soon, for being sucked into the instant pull he had on me, but there’s no one else I can fault for this.
I honestly thought I was marrying the man of my dreams. Not the monster who locks me in a house seven days a week and keeps me on a schedule, like I’m some type of pet.
Focusing on the path ahead, I keep my eyes on the ferry in the distance. It’s eight miles at best, but if I can make it there by midnight, I’ll be able to finally breathe.
Headlights suddenly appear around the bend of the road ahead. Not wanting to risk trusting a stranger right now, I move behind a tree and keep still as it picks up speed and races down the street.
It moves past me, and I let out a sigh. Before I can make a move, the car comes to a complete stop. Then it rolls in reverse.
It takes me all of five seconds to realize that the black luxury car doesn’t belong to any random stranger. It’s my husband’s.
My heart pounds loudly in my chest as he drives a few feet away from me. His lights flash a few times, and my heart races as the vehicle comes to a complete stop.
I freeze as the sound of the driver’s door opening and shutting cuts through the night. The sound of footsteps on the gravel is behind me, to the left. Then to the right.
The footsteps come nearer, and I sense him as he gets closer.
Suddenly, he’s stepping in front of me, his deep green eyes looking stunning under the moonlight. His chiseled face of perfection is inches away from mine, his expression torn between anger and relief.
“Please just let me go,” I say, feeling fresh tears fall down my face. “Please. I won’t tell anyone that you took me, I swear. I’ll keep quiet, and we can pretend like this never happened.”
“That’s not an option,” he says, closing the gap between us. Keeping his eyes on mine, he looks exactly like he did on the night we met. Perfect. Tortured. Pained.
“I’ve been missing three whole weeks,” I say, trying to plead my case again. “Don’t you think my family is crying and wondering if I’ve been murdered? Have you ever thought about the toll this is taking on them?”
He doesn’t answer. He wipes my tears away with his fingertips until they stop falling. Then he slips an arm around my waist and holds me against his side as he leads me to his car.
I know there’s no point in screaming, no point in making a threat I have no power to deliver, so I try the emotional route once more.
“You’re hurting me,” I say as he opens the back door. “You’ve hurt me more than any other person in my life.”
“I haven’t hurt you at all.” He looks offended. “I’ve given you whatever you needed.”
“Except freedom.”
“Because that’s the last thing you need right now.” He cups my face in his hands, and the warmth from his skin instantly soothes me; my body reacts against my will. My foolish heart feels at ease for some strange reason.
He runs his fingers through my hair for several seconds, looking directly into my eyes. “I honestly don’t want to do this to you,” he says.
“Then don’t.”
He looks as if he considers that option for half a second, but then he shakes his head. He presses a cotton swatch over my lips, two strips of duct tape over my mouth next. He picks up a rug and tightly rolls me inside of it. Then he lifts me up and places me onto the backseat, so that my eyes are in perfect view of his via the rearview mirror.
Sliding behind the wheel, he turns on the heat and pulls onto the road. He gazes back at me and looks as if he wants to say something harsh, but his cell phone begins to ring.
“Yes?” he answers via the car’s speaker.
“Mr. Anderson, this is Sergeant Ware, do you have a few minutes?”
“Of course.”
“Well, I’m sorry to call you so late, but we just received a few tips about your wife,” he says. “Someone thinks they may have seen her at a diner two hundred miles outside of the city, so I have a team heading there to check it out.”
“Fingers crossed that it’s really her this time,” he says, his eyes