Page 171 of Severed Rivalry
“We end this.” My words fall on deaf ears since my brother has already disconnected, but my vow is to my family.
All of them.
I dial Rosie.
“Hello?”
Crawling through traffic has shortened my patience. “Rosie, it’s Cian. We have trouble.”
Shifting and shuffling are followed by a door closing. “What’s happening?”
“Are the girls safe?”
“Aremygirls safe?”
“They will be. I need you on guard, Rosie. Something’s going down, and it’s going down here. Again. Make sure those girls are safe.”
“You make sure mine are too.”
“Without a doubt. Call me if anything sets off your intuition.”
“I will. Cian?” Her voice is steel when she says, “Bring my girls home.”
“I will.”
The weight of her words is an anchor to my already-heavy heart.
Sariah
The only reason I haven’t absolutely lost my shit and killed the driver with my own two hands is that I need my wits about me. The doors have the damn child safety locks engaged. I learned that at the first stop sign.
He quickly pulled over and duct taped my hands behind my back.
FBI special agent, my ass. Isn’t impersonating a federal officer a crime? Either way, he’ll go down.
I’m fucking over this.
I’ve lived in fear for as long as I can remember. Escaped only to be dragged back time and time again. Then freedom wasn’t so free, since I spent more than a decade looking over my shoulder. Moving cross country, wiping my digital footprint, changing names.
That shit is exhausting, and I’m exhausted from it.
What this kidnapper has failed to factor in is a mom who is at her wits’ end when it comes to life’s unfair deals.
A second vehicle follows us, leaving no room for cars to merge. We’re a caravan, heading north toward Wyoming.
Other places, I may not know that, but the mountains to my left are a clear sign.
That car holds my daughter. That’s the only reason I haven’t kicked my driver in the head and made a run for it. I’m not weak. I will protect her.
But I can’t if I’m dead on the side of the road in a rolled SUV.
How long will it be before Cian realizes we aren’t coming home? How long before he worries?
My phone is in my purse in a parking lot in Lakewood.
Whether Renée likes it or not, the next house will be somewhere out of the immediate area. I love my home. I’m in love with Cian’s. But I’ll be good never driving those streets again. Too many memories. Too much worry. Too many places where my blood gets cold just remembering them.
Maybe therapy is just what I need if I’m thinking about real estate moves when I’m in the middle of the second kidnapping in a week. I’m like the clueless girl in every horror film who goes in search of the thump or creaking step instead of staying with her friends. I’m not stupid.
