Page 87 of Ruin Me, Daddy

“No, not that I know of. And Silver didn’t sound stressed or worried when I talked to her a minute ago. I just can’t shake the feeling that something's not right.”

“Always trust your gut. I’ll call a couple guys in, get them over there. You on your way?”

The doorbell rang, alerting him that his driver had arrived. “Leaving now.”

“Good. I’ll keep you updated.”

Silver

The apartment building the GPS guided her to was a far cry from the five-star hotels the band usually occupied, but it was cute, with a historic charm she probably would have enjoyed if her stomach hadn’t been tied in knots. Even though she knew she was doing the right thing by coming clean with Ace, she still felt as nervous as a virgin on her wedding night.

Pulling her phone from her purse, she checked the address he’d sent again. Apartment 2B.

There was no elevator, probably because the building looked like it had been here since the town had been settled, so she was able to postpone the inevitable by an extra minute or so as she slowly climbed the stairs. Which was both blessing and curse, as it also gave her stomach extra time to protest each and every step.

By the time she was standing in front of the apartment he’d listed in his message, she was vaguely worried she might be sick right there in the hallway. But she inhaled deeply to quell the rolling nausea, and lifted her fist to knock.

“Over here, whore.”

Something was wrong. She heard it in his voice a split second before a hand clamped down over her mouth and the world around her slowly faded to black.

Silver

She woke to blinding pain and her stomach rebelling as she tried to force her eyes open. Panic followed on the heels of the pain when her arms refused to obey her mind’s command to move.

Oh god. I can’t move my arms. Or my legs. I’m paralyzed.

But as the fog in her brain cleared a bit more, she became aware of the ropes digging into her wrists and ankles.

Not paralyzed. Bound.

Helpless.

Fuck.

“Oh, good. You’re awake.” Ace stepped into view, his dark hair wild around his face, his eyes bloodshot. Whether from lack of sleep or the alcohol she could smell rolling off his breath, she wasn’t sure. Some mixture of both, probably.

Either way, he didn’t look anything like the man she knew. The man she’d thought she’d loved. Even after their worst fights he’d never looked so completely… unhinged.

Clutching a bottle of cheap whiskey, he dropped onto the leather couch in front of her. Now that whatever it was he’d drugged her with was clearing from her system, she could tell the apartment was rather beautifully furnished. A bit lifeless, with all the white and shades of gray, but it had clearly been renovated sometime recently, most likely with the intent of renting the space out to lovers on a little weekend getaway.

Your cleaning deposit isn’t going to cover blood if you kill me, Ace.

Blackness crept into the edges of her vision at the thought, and she quickly shoved it aside. Yes, he’d lied to her about the apartment number. Yes, he’d drugged her and knocked her unconscious. Yes, he’d tied her to a chair and yes, he looked like he’d started drinking the moment he got the news about her and Ice and he hadn’t stopped since.

But that didn’t mean he was going to murder her.

“We could have talked without all the theatrics, you know.” Raising a brow at him, she tugged at her arms, hoping to loosen the restraints a bit. To her dismay, they only tightened more, and she was vaguely worried about cutting off the circulation to her hands if she kept fighting them.

“You would know all about theatrics, wouldn’t you, Sil?” With a sneer that was pure hatred, he lifted the whiskey bottle to his lips and took a deep pull. “What a show you put on for me, convincing me you loved me. When all the time you were fucking my best friend behind my back.”

“No.” Her vision swam again as she whipped her head from side to side in denial. “You have to believe me, Ace. Nothing ever happened while you and I were together. This thing with Ice, it’s new. I swear.”

Tilting his head to the side, he reached behind him. “How new, exactly?”

Shit. “What do you mean?”

Light flashed against metal, and she realized with bowel-loosening terror that he was holding a giant kitchen knife. “How long, exactly, have you been fucking him? Just since you left California? Or did it start before then?” Rising to his feet, he stepped closer, the tip of the blade dragging along her jaw. Not hard enough to draw blood, but it was more than enough to have her breath freezing in her lungs. “Say… on Valentine’s Day, perhaps?”

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