He Will be My Ruin
Page 86
I chug back a large gulp as he pulls out onto the street. “I hope so. Hans said there was a lot of interest expressed. I guess I’ll find out tomorrow.”
His fingers tap over the steering wheel at a fast, almost nervous, rhythm, and he makes a right-hand turn.
“I’m sorry, I think my hotel is the other way, just a few blocks.”
“Right, sorry. I don’t know why I assumed you were staying close to Park Avenue. I should have asked. I’ll go around.”
“No worries.” Silence fills the car. “What happened to your knuckles?” I ask, spying scrapes and bruising across his right hand.
“Just some boxing. It’s my way of relieving stress.” He shrugs it off.
I focus my attention on the pretty brownstones on this street, covered in wreaths and lit with festive lights. “I hate to admit it, but the city is pretty during the holidays.”
“It is. When were you here last over Christmas?”
“It’s been forever.”
“Let me take you around a bit then.” He makes a left, and suddenly we’re driving past a row of horses and carriages outside Central Park, the horses wearing red coats, the carriages decked out in festive bows and baubles, waiting for tourists. Jace changes lanes to avoid an asshole taxi driver who is going so fast that the taillights blur in my eyes.
“I don’t know how you drive in this city. I think I’d go crazy.”
His chuckle—sounding deeper than normal—fills the car. “I try not to, unless I have to.” Even his voice sounds deeper than usual. “Hey, what do you think will happen with this police investigation?”
“I don’t know, honestly. They better do their jobs this time around, though.” I guess I can’t blame them, really. The official autopsy report arrived just yesterday, confirming that Celine died from a lethal combination of narcotics, ingested. To anyone looking at the facts, her case looks like a suicide. Thankfully we all know better now.
My body is beginning to sink into the comfortable passenger seat, exhausted. I let my head fall back against the headrest, and I close my eyes for just a moment. Thank God I left the auction house when I did. The frenetic pace of the past few days is catching up to me. “I’m keeping Doug and Zac on retainer until Grady’s found.”
“Won’t that be something if the real vase turns up, after all the media attention this story will generate?”
He makes a right-hand turn, and I’m pretty sure we’re driving in the opposite direction of my hotel, but I figure he’s taking me on the scenic route. “The media’s not getting hold of this story, if I have anything to do with it.” At least, not until Rosa is gone and safe from the secrets it may reveal. But wait . . . “How do you know the vase isn’t real? I didn’t tell you, did I?” My words sound muffled and slurred in my ears, my tongue feeling thick and tangled.
He reaches over and slips the water bottle out of my hand. “The media will definitely be getting hold of this story.”
The water bottle.
I never heard the plastic seal crack when he opened the water bottle for me.
“Celine never noticed anything in her drink either,” he says in a voice that sends chills down my spine. “And there were big chunks of Oxy and Xanax in there. I mean, I tried to crush them up as fine as possible, to make it easier on her. But in the end, it didn’t matter. She would have drunk anything I gave her. She was a fucking head case over the breakup.”
Jace.
Oh my God.
It was Jace all along.
CHAPTER 44
Maggie
December 23, 2015
It’s the bitter cold I feel first. I can’t say that it’s what wakes me up, but it’s the first thing I feel.
The second is the consuming darkness.
And then my fuzzy mind sorts everything else out at around the same time: the constant jolts and the loud whirl of tires; the ache in my shoulders, arms, and my wrists, which are tied behind my back; the laced water Jace handed me, that I so willingly took.
I scream. Until my throat stings and my voice doesn’t work anymore.
————
My wrists burn.
Hours of trying to break free of the rope that binds my hands behind my back have left them raw, the rough cord scrubbing away my skin and cutting into my flesh. I’m sure I’ll have unsightly scars.
Not that it will matter when I’m dead.
I resigned myself to that reality around the time that I finally let go of my bladder. Now I simply lie here, in a pool of urine and vomit, my teeth numb from knocking with each bump in the road, my body frozen by the cold.
Trying to ignore the darkness as I fight against the panic that consumes me. I could suffocate from the anxiety alone.
He knows that.
Now he’s exploiting it. That must be what he does—he uncovers your secrets, your fears, your flaws—and he uses them against you. He did it to Celine.
And now he’s doing it to me.
That’s why I’m in a cramped trunk, my lungs working overtime against a limited supply of oxygen while my imagination runs wild with what may be waiting for me at the end of this ride.
My racing heart ready to explode.
The car hits an especially deep pothole, rattling my bones. I’ve been trapped in here for so long. Hours. Days. I have no idea. Long enough to run through every mistake that I made.
How I trusted him, how I fell for his charm, how I believed his lies. How I made it so easy for him to do this to me.
How Celine made it so easy for him, by letting him get close.
Before he killed her.
Just like he’s going to kill me.
————
I’m a collection of frozen bones and numb terror when the car finally comes to a squeaking halt. The trunk pops open.
“Come on. Get up,” Jace demands. I don’t know how I never picked up on that harsh undertone in his voice before. His looks must have masked it.
I couldn’t even move if I wanted to, so I simply remain curled in an awkward fetal position, until he seizes my underarms and yanks me out. I drop to the ground, the bite of the snow barely registering against my naked legs.
Stars shine above me. It’s still deep in the night. The same night or another one, I can’t say.
“Get up or freeze out here.” As he heads toward a small cabin built into a hill, the snow crunches beneath his boots, the only sound that reaches my ears. We’re nestled within a peaceful forest, Celine’s killer and me. The only things I can see are thickets of trees and a beautiful expansive sky and a Cutlass with New York State plates that’s bordering on vintage status. Definitely not the car I climbed into tonight.
His fingers tap over the steering wheel at a fast, almost nervous, rhythm, and he makes a right-hand turn.
“I’m sorry, I think my hotel is the other way, just a few blocks.”
“Right, sorry. I don’t know why I assumed you were staying close to Park Avenue. I should have asked. I’ll go around.”
“No worries.” Silence fills the car. “What happened to your knuckles?” I ask, spying scrapes and bruising across his right hand.
“Just some boxing. It’s my way of relieving stress.” He shrugs it off.
I focus my attention on the pretty brownstones on this street, covered in wreaths and lit with festive lights. “I hate to admit it, but the city is pretty during the holidays.”
“It is. When were you here last over Christmas?”
“It’s been forever.”
“Let me take you around a bit then.” He makes a left, and suddenly we’re driving past a row of horses and carriages outside Central Park, the horses wearing red coats, the carriages decked out in festive bows and baubles, waiting for tourists. Jace changes lanes to avoid an asshole taxi driver who is going so fast that the taillights blur in my eyes.
“I don’t know how you drive in this city. I think I’d go crazy.”
His chuckle—sounding deeper than normal—fills the car. “I try not to, unless I have to.” Even his voice sounds deeper than usual. “Hey, what do you think will happen with this police investigation?”
“I don’t know, honestly. They better do their jobs this time around, though.” I guess I can’t blame them, really. The official autopsy report arrived just yesterday, confirming that Celine died from a lethal combination of narcotics, ingested. To anyone looking at the facts, her case looks like a suicide. Thankfully we all know better now.
My body is beginning to sink into the comfortable passenger seat, exhausted. I let my head fall back against the headrest, and I close my eyes for just a moment. Thank God I left the auction house when I did. The frenetic pace of the past few days is catching up to me. “I’m keeping Doug and Zac on retainer until Grady’s found.”
“Won’t that be something if the real vase turns up, after all the media attention this story will generate?”
He makes a right-hand turn, and I’m pretty sure we’re driving in the opposite direction of my hotel, but I figure he’s taking me on the scenic route. “The media’s not getting hold of this story, if I have anything to do with it.” At least, not until Rosa is gone and safe from the secrets it may reveal. But wait . . . “How do you know the vase isn’t real? I didn’t tell you, did I?” My words sound muffled and slurred in my ears, my tongue feeling thick and tangled.
He reaches over and slips the water bottle out of my hand. “The media will definitely be getting hold of this story.”
The water bottle.
I never heard the plastic seal crack when he opened the water bottle for me.
“Celine never noticed anything in her drink either,” he says in a voice that sends chills down my spine. “And there were big chunks of Oxy and Xanax in there. I mean, I tried to crush them up as fine as possible, to make it easier on her. But in the end, it didn’t matter. She would have drunk anything I gave her. She was a fucking head case over the breakup.”
Jace.
Oh my God.
It was Jace all along.
CHAPTER 44
Maggie
December 23, 2015
It’s the bitter cold I feel first. I can’t say that it’s what wakes me up, but it’s the first thing I feel.
The second is the consuming darkness.
And then my fuzzy mind sorts everything else out at around the same time: the constant jolts and the loud whirl of tires; the ache in my shoulders, arms, and my wrists, which are tied behind my back; the laced water Jace handed me, that I so willingly took.
I scream. Until my throat stings and my voice doesn’t work anymore.
————
My wrists burn.
Hours of trying to break free of the rope that binds my hands behind my back have left them raw, the rough cord scrubbing away my skin and cutting into my flesh. I’m sure I’ll have unsightly scars.
Not that it will matter when I’m dead.
I resigned myself to that reality around the time that I finally let go of my bladder. Now I simply lie here, in a pool of urine and vomit, my teeth numb from knocking with each bump in the road, my body frozen by the cold.
Trying to ignore the darkness as I fight against the panic that consumes me. I could suffocate from the anxiety alone.
He knows that.
Now he’s exploiting it. That must be what he does—he uncovers your secrets, your fears, your flaws—and he uses them against you. He did it to Celine.
And now he’s doing it to me.
That’s why I’m in a cramped trunk, my lungs working overtime against a limited supply of oxygen while my imagination runs wild with what may be waiting for me at the end of this ride.
My racing heart ready to explode.
The car hits an especially deep pothole, rattling my bones. I’ve been trapped in here for so long. Hours. Days. I have no idea. Long enough to run through every mistake that I made.
How I trusted him, how I fell for his charm, how I believed his lies. How I made it so easy for him to do this to me.
How Celine made it so easy for him, by letting him get close.
Before he killed her.
Just like he’s going to kill me.
————
I’m a collection of frozen bones and numb terror when the car finally comes to a squeaking halt. The trunk pops open.
“Come on. Get up,” Jace demands. I don’t know how I never picked up on that harsh undertone in his voice before. His looks must have masked it.
I couldn’t even move if I wanted to, so I simply remain curled in an awkward fetal position, until he seizes my underarms and yanks me out. I drop to the ground, the bite of the snow barely registering against my naked legs.
Stars shine above me. It’s still deep in the night. The same night or another one, I can’t say.
“Get up or freeze out here.” As he heads toward a small cabin built into a hill, the snow crunches beneath his boots, the only sound that reaches my ears. We’re nestled within a peaceful forest, Celine’s killer and me. The only things I can see are thickets of trees and a beautiful expansive sky and a Cutlass with New York State plates that’s bordering on vintage status. Definitely not the car I climbed into tonight.
