“Kash, calm down,” Mason grunted as I struggled to get away from him and Byson as they pulled me back.

“Tell me where she is!”

Another mocking smile crossed Juarez’s face, and my frustrated roar filled the room.

“I will make you pay for everything that has happened to her!”

“Enough!” Mason yelled as they threw me out of the room.

I turned to go back in, but Mason slammed me against the wall and restrained me by pinning my arms behind my back.

“Kash, don’t make me put cuffs on you,” he said low. “You have got to calm down. I know you’re upset, man, I know. But you’re ruining your career, and making it worse for Rachel by doing this.”

“He knows where she is,” I gritted out, the adrenaline quickly leaving my body. “He fucking knows, Mase. He said her name!”

“Ryan! Gates!”

I turned, and my body sagged against the wall when I saw Chief standing there.

“My office. Now.”

Mason swore under his breath as he pulled me from the wall and kept my arms behind my back as he walked us toward Chief’s office. Byson was already waiting for us in there, and when Chief sat down at his desk, I knew I was about to lose my job.

WALKING SLOWLY, like I was expecting a bomb to go off if I made any noise, I stepped into the bedroom that just ten days ago had been destroyed. That just ten days ago had had a message about why they’d taken Rachel on one of the walls. That just ten days ago was considered a crime scene and had been full of officers. That just ten days ago Rachel had been taken from.

I hadn’t been in here since that day, but since then Maddie, and Mason, and my mom had come in to clean the disaster that had been left over, and paint the wall. The TV was gone—I hadn’t seen a need to replace it, since I hadn’t wanted to come back here—and so were the mirror and lamps; but other than that, there weren’t any signs that anything had ever happened.

Except one.

Rachel was still fucking gone.

The department hadn’t gotten any closer to finding her, and even though Chief had been considerate enough to give me only unpaid time off for the rest of the week . . . I was still doing things every day that were sure to get me fired at the very least. I just made sure that everything was away from the department, and that no one other than Mason knew what I was up to.

Although he had strict orders not to, Mason had kept me updated on everything about the case, and I would always be thankful to him for that. But I wasn’t sure how much more I could take.

It’d been ten days and already I felt like I was dying from what I had seen and heard. I didn’t know how Rachel was still pushing through the torture we’d seen her go through. I didn’t know how she was even still alive. And when I got her back—because I was getting her back—I didn’t know what would be left of her fiery spirit I’d fallen in love with.

Putting Trip down on the floor, I watched him take off for the bathroom and followed him into the master closet. He went right to the fake wall and began crying, and for some stupid reason, something dangerously close to hope actually sprang up in me. I tentatively reached out toward the wall, a harsh huff escaping my chest when my fingers were just inches away, and I paused.

I’m fucking crazy. She’s not going to be in there.

Shaking my head, I reached out to grab it, and yanked it back. Trip ran in, and my hand fisted around the thin material as the worst type of disappointment washed away any form of hope I may have had.

I’d known she wouldn’t be in there. I’d known, but I’d still let myself believe that by some miracle, she would.

“She’s not here, bud, come on.”

Letting the wall fall back into place, I walked into the bedroom and stared at the bed for a handful of minutes before finally sitting on the edge. Bending over, I rested my elbows on my knees, and my head in my hands—and groaned out the last week and a half’s frustrations, devastations, and heartaches.

Exhaustion finally took over my body, and without even taking off my shoes, shirt, or jeans . . . I lay back on the bed and automatically rolled over to face Rachel’s side. My heavy eyelids blinked as I looked at the empty space beside me . . . nothing about that was right.

Most nights I couldn’t even sleep, the only times I did were when my body literally couldn’t go from the stress and exhaustion anymore. I hated sleeping without her, and I hated sleeping knowing I could be using that time to try to find her. But what I hated most was waking up without her. Not only was it a cold reminder of what she was going through, but it also just felt wrong.

I wish I could hold you.

I wish I could tell you how much I love you.

I wish I could hear your laugh.

I just wish I knew that I would see you again.

You can’t leave me now, Rachel. We’re about to get married. We’re going to have a family someday. We’re going to get old and fat together.

Wherever you are, Rachel, whoever has you, and whatever is being done to you. Know that God can’t stop me from finding you, and bringing you back to me.

I will hold you again, and I’ll never let you go.

Gripping her side of the comforter in my fingers, I breathed out her name and surrendered to the exhaustion.

Rachel

I SPUN MY ENGAGEMENT RING AROUND on my finger just to give me something to do, since I’d just finished picking off the nail polish that had lasted this long. My eyes darted to the right of the door handle long enough to confirm he was still awake and watching me, before going back to the handle.

I didn’t know how long I’d been there, I’d tried figuring it out, and tried keeping track of certain things . . . but still wasn’t sure. The same man who had originally taken me out of the closet, and the home I’d shared with Kash, was always in my room save for an hour or so every day, and he’d finally given up trying to get me to talk to him. I believed him now that he wouldn’t hurt me, but that didn’t mean I trusted him as a person or wanted to talk with him.

Every day he took me out of my room twice: twice for the restroom, and one of those times to also shower. The first time after my attempted escape, I’d silently refused to shower, since he stayed in the bathroom with me, but the next day I couldn’t resist washing what I was estimating was three days’ worth of grime off me. He’d stayed in the bathroom, but he’d kept his back to me the entire time. Every day he brought me three meals unless I was sleeping through one of them, and after the first four meals had gone untouched, I’d begun tearing through them whenever he brought them.

I figured I’d slept through the entire first day, and past breakfast the next day, since the first two meals he’d brought me were generally for lunches or dinners. And since I slept as often as possible to pass the time, and sometimes that meant missing meals, I only had my showers to track the days that were passing. By the time I’d taken what I thought was my fourth shower, I realized I couldn’t remember if it was really the fourth or fifth. And while I was about 90 percent positive that was three showers ago, it could have been four. Still going on the theory I’d missed two full days of showers, I was guesstimating I’d been gone for eleven days. Or nine . . . or I could just be going crazy and it had really only been five. But who knows.

I hadn’t spoken a single word since the first time he’d brought me food and I’d tried to escape, which I think was day two. And somewhere on day x, y, or z, I got tired of referring to him as him or he and decided to name him Taylor, solely based on the fact that he looked like Taylor Lautner’s twin.

Regardless of what I’d named my kidnapper—or how many days I’d been here—there was still nothing about a rescue, I didn’t know why they had taken me, and I didn’t know what they were going to do with me.