Page 89 of Papers Don't Lie

“How much longer do we have until we get there?” I ask, glancing out of the window.

He looks at the phone clutched in his hands. “Five minutes.”

“Make it two.”

My phone pings in my pocket, and I immediately take it out, my eyes flashing on the notification on the screen. It’s from Esmeray. I take a deep breath, sliding it to the left until the conversation pops up. The last time we talked through messages was about Purple and how we needed a new carpet downstairs because he pooped before he could even get out of the house.

A smile finds its way to my face at the memory, but it quickly washes off when I read her text.

My beautiful wife

You are free.

I immediately dial her number, but the phone is shut down again. I clutch the device in my hand, almost crushing it.

“Fuck," I shout, smacking it on the board. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

What does she mean, I’m free? I’m even more caged than I was before and even more confused about the choice she had to make.

Did she say I’m free because it seemed like what I wanted, or did Carter make her send this message?

What the fuck is going on?

Kendrick glances at me. “What happened?”

My jaw twitches, and I taste blood on my tongue when I talk again. “Drive fucking faster.”

His foot launches on the gas pedal, sending me into my seat as he takes a right turn to an abandoned house. A limousine is parked in front of it, and I get out of the car before Kendrick even stops it. I try to open the door, calling her name, but there’s no one inside.

When I move my attention to the big gates and decide I’ll climb over them, Kendrick has his fist curled up in my T-shirt, stopping me.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? Let me go.” I push him away, and he flicks an envelope in front of my eyes. “Where did you find this?” My eyes bulge, and I immediately take it from his hands, opening it.

“It was under the wipers. What does it say?" he asks when he sees me reading over and over one single word.

Gotcha.

FORTY-NINE

ESMERAY

The first time I was on a plane was when Kai and I flew to Los Angeles to get married. Even though at that moment he wasn’t my favorite person, I admired the view, and in that seat, I felt like I was at home. For six hours straight, I sat in my place, gaping at the clouds and the big buildings rising through them, snapping photos on my phone with a smile on my face.

Kai didn’t interrupt me once. He didn’t ask why I was so mesmerized by a flight or why I couldn’t utter a word the entire time. Truth be told, I was feeling sick, and I was afraid that if I said anything, I’d spill my guts to him.

This flight, though, is shit.

Carter let me take the seat with the window and sits right next to me, but I’m not enjoying it. I feel his breath on my skin, and every now and then, I get up with my palm covering my mouth and vomit into the bathroom until I feel like I threw up my organs too.

He asked me if I needed anything to make me feel better, but I just shook my head instead of asking him to take me back home. It was right on the tip of my tongue, and it hurt when by home I meant Kai.

Then, I remembered he might not even want me there. He could be throwing up a fist that he finally got rid of the burden he got on his head a few months back.

With a long sigh, I throw my head back onto the headrest, praying to God I won’t throw up again. I had enough when it happened the fifth time, and to be honest, I think I can only vomit water at this point.

“My love, tell me what I can do for you.” Carter caresses my head, and it snaps to him at the nickname.

I’m certain my eyes flare his way. “Don’t call me 'my love.' And the only thing you can do is tell me where we are going.”

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