Page 75 of Blindsided

I lead her over to the chair I was sitting in, and she falls into it with a thump. I don’t have the words to help her through this moment. I barely have the words to contain my anger and despair. I need to call Desmond. I wish I knew what their plan was to find her. Where would he have taken her? To his place? That seems dumb. What if he’s already taken her out of the city?

I’m not sure how long we wait for the detectives to give us an update. Hours, if I have to guess, but they finally give us something.

“We’ve gotten the arrest warrant and a search warrant for your son’s apartment. A SWAT team is mobilizing to go in any minute.”

“I need to be there. Please, let me go with you. I won’t be able to live with myself if she’s been hurt and I wasn’t there to be with her,” I beg.

The detective wars with himself for a minute until he finally nods his head. He gets a text on his phone telling him they’re rolling out, and before I know it, I’m in the back seat of an unmarked car, headed to get my girl. Veronica stays at the station with an officer to finish giving her statement and help them gather any information she has on Tag.

I text Desmond the address I saw the detective type into his map. I’m sure I wasn’t supposed to see that, but I was not about to let Des sit behind and wait for an update. He lets me know that Isaac is going to get him there. I don’t take the time to ask how. I don’t particularly care. All that matters is getting to Tilly and making sure she’s safe.

Please, let her be safe.

CHAPTER34

Tilly

Smooth hands stroke down my arm, sending goose bumps across my skin. My body is uncomfortable. Something feels strange about how I’m lying.

“It’s time to wake up, sleepyhead.”

My body tenses as memories assault me. I’m still with my stalker. This isn’t a nightmare conjured by stress and emotions. This is real.

I press my fist into my mouth to keep my scream inside. How am I going to get out of this? If I let him take me away, I won’t survive. I’m struggling to keep up the ruse as it is. If I’m with him for too much longer, he’s going to see right through me.

“Come on. Let’s get dressed so we can get on the road.”

“What time is it?” My voice is scratchy with pent-up emotions.

“Two in the morning.”

My eyes widen in shock. I don’t know what I thought he would say, but it wasn’t that. I left Desmond’s apartment after four, which means I’ve been with my stalker for almost ten hours. It feels like it’s been so much longer than that.

“Come on. I bought you some clothes to wear. It’s cold where we’re going, so you’ll need the layers.”

I grit my teeth as he uncuffs my hand. I can barely feel my fingers from it being over my head all night.

The clothes he bought are in the bathroom, along with a box of tampons. It takes me a minute to remember I told him I was on my period. Do I risk putting one in for the sake of keeping up my lie? I don’t have a clue. There are too many unknowns here. I’m pretty sure I’m damned if I do, damned if I don’t. No choice is going to be the right one.

Luckily, the clothes are just a simple pair of jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt. The underwear isn’t too skimpy either. I just ignore that he’s the one who picked everything out.

When I’m finished getting changed—tampon in place, just in case—I meet my stalker back in the living room. He has three duffle bags at his feet and the metal cuffs in his hands.

“I’m going to put the cuffs on you while I load the car. Will you be a good girl for me?” He leads me over to his small café table in the kitchen and has me sit in the chair.

“Talia,” he snaps.

My gaze flies to his, and he narrows his eyes. “I asked you a question. Will you be good? If you choose to test me, I promise you will not like the consequences.”

Fear of the hard look in his eyes chokes my words, so I nod my head.

“That’s my good girl.” He strokes his hand down the side of my head.

I shiver at his touch, but he seems to enjoy that instead of taking it as a rejection. He pulls my arms behind my back, loops the cuffs through the metal slats on the chair, and then snaps the cuffs around my wrists.

The efficiency with which he does this is unnerving. I don’t want to think about how he got good at cuffing someone.

He walks back into the living room and picks up two of the three bags. The second the door shuts, I begin to wiggle my wrists. The cuffs are tight, but not quite as tight as they were when I was in bed. Except no matter how much I wiggle, there’s no getting out of this.

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