Page 135 of Bad for Me

“Oh fuck!”

“Ashby! Ashby, I need you to answer me right fucking now! What the fuck is going on? I’ve sent Elio over to check on you, but if you don’t answer me right fucking now, I will get in my car and come myself.”

“He’s gone.” I gasp, my heart clenching so hard it feels like I’m having a heart attack. “I brought him into my home. I put him in danger. And now he’s gone. Taken.”

I fall to my knees. The sound of my bones cracking against the tile like a gunshot in my ears. I glance around the room again and notice the red splatter across the kitchen island.

“Oh fuck.”

I bend, and my stomach clenches tightly, forcing me to spill the contents of my stomach across the floor. I gag, eyes watering as my stomach continues to spasm until it's completely empty.

“Breath, Ashby. Slow down and take a few deep breaths.” I do as he says, forcing my brain to focus so I can get the help I need for Atlas. “Now explain everything that’s happened.”

“I invited Atlas over to spend the night. I've been trying to convince him to move in with me and thought this would be the perfect chance. He was showering, and I ordered pizza. My phone said the delivery driver was approaching, but when I went down to get it, Matthew said he sent the delivery driver up. I had a bad feeling, so I called you. When I got up here, my door was open. There are signs of forced entry. There is blood and broken glass and no sign of Atlas. His bag is here, so I know he didn’t leave on his own.” I start to gasp, my chest burning as my lungs refuse to fill.

“He’s gone. Oh fuck. He’s gone, and someone took him. He is probably hurt and scared and so confused. He doesn’t know about your real business. He thinks you're just a rich billionaire with a bunch of companies, and I do your accounting. I never told him about the other stuff. About the illegal activities and the violence. Oh fuck. Who took him? Are they going to kill him? He’s my only friend left. Fuck, I can’t breathe.” I fight to suck in a full breath, slumping to the floor, barely avoiding the vomit. My phone falls from my hand and slides out of my reach, but I hear Vince barking orders on the other side.

“Don’t worry, Ashby. I’m coming, and we will find whoever took Atlas. We will get him back. Can you get somewhere safe until I get there? Lock yourself in your bedroom, and don’t open the door until you hear me or Elio.”

I nod, crawling to the bedroom and locking the door.

2

STORM

The violent urge toshoot down the cockpit door, hold my gun to the pilot’s head, and demand for him to fly faster burns so hot my fingers twitch toward the metal on my hip. My Sunshine. My tiny precious, perfect Sunshine was taken, and I can’t fucking believe I let my father convince me to leave two years ago. I know leaving him was a mistake. He needs me, and he’s mine. But my father hadn’t given me a choice.

He promised me my Sunshine would be protected, and I made myself believe that.

Biggest fucking mistake ever.

I’m the only one that can protect my Sunshine. I’m the only one who can care for him and give him everything he so desperately needs. If he gets hurt because I listened to my father and left, I know the last grasp I have on my sanity will snap, and I will kill everyone. I won't feel an ounce of regret and will smile as they all suffer. No one, not my dad or even Marry, will be safe from my wrath.

“Fasten your seatbelts. The plane will be landing soon,” the pilot says over the intercom, and I click the belt into place. The small private jet my family owns is nice and is usually staffed with a flight attendant who serves food and drink, but my father must have known how I’d be feeling because there isn’t one on this trip. I’m all alone, stewing in my fury.

The jet lands and I’m up and moving for the door before it’s fully stopped. I tap my foot, my chest rumbling with anger as I wait for the door to open. When I step off the jet, two black SUVs with dark tints are already waiting for me on the tarmac. The first is full of my father’s men, but I head for the second. Without a word to the driver or the guard holding my door open, I climb in the back seat and pull out my phone, trying to focus on anything other than the fury and fear battling inside me. Thankfully, the men are ones I recognize, so they know better than to try and start small talk with me. The guard settles into the front seat silently, and within minutes, we are taking off down the busy streets, heading into the city.

I pull up the security feed, a tiny sliver of my anger fading when I see my father’s men surrounding the building and hovering outside Ashby’s apartment. I know my dad will do whatever he can to find Ashby, and having his men there to get a start on the search will keep me from being a step behind.

A call from my father’s pops up, but I send him to voicemail and pull up the video of the kidnapping. Whoever took him knew what they were doing, letting me know this was a professional attack. They managed to block the cameras in Ashby’s hallway and even the elevators but didn't remove the alley camera. It wasn't connected to the other camera security system, so they likely didn't know it existed.

It caught just a quick flash of Ashby with a white bag over his head, his small body being shoved roughly into a white van, and the door slamming closed before I can see how many men are inside. I know from the footage that three men went in, and at least one was driving the van, but they all wore masks, so I couldn’t get a positive ID on any of them.

Dad calls three more times in the twenty-minute drive to Ashby’s, but I ignore them all. It’s his fault Ashby was vulnerable—his fault I wasn't there to protect him.

HIS FAULT.

I will let him help me find Ashby because I’ll do whatever it takes, but once he’s found, my dad will hear from me. There’s no way on earth I’ll ever allow him to keep Ashby and me apart ever again.

We pull up outside the building and I jump from the car without a word to the driver. The lobby is like I remember from the few times I… visited. There are couches off to the side, plants dotting the space and a large front desk with a marble countertop. The man behind the desk looks flustered, and my face scrunches with distaste as I take him in.

“Who the fuck are you?” I growl, and the man jumps, a startled yelp slipping from him.

“You scared me,” he pants, clutching his chest, and I snarl.

“I don’t give a fuck. I asked you a question. Who. The. Fuck. Are. You?” I punctuate each word with a tap of my gun on the counter in front of him. His eyes flare wide, and sweat breaks out along his temple.

“I… I'm Ma… Matthew,” he stutters out.

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