Uncovering You 10: The Finale by Scarlett Edwards Page A
Authors: Scarlett Edwards
Tags: Suspense, Romance, Contemporary, romantic suspense, Mystery & Suspense, Dark Erotic Suspense Romance
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your system. And honestly? It’s so much better when you feel like you are the master of your own fate.” He chuckles. “No matter how wrong the illusion might be.”
Succumb. Give in. End up like Paul .
Nightmares like that haunt my sleep. In the background of them is the ever-present voice. The voice of my subconscious, the voice that once gave me my strength.
Succumb. Give in. What choice do you have?
Over and over that mantra is repeated in my sleep. Over and over I reject it, determined to remain true to who I am, determined to make Jeremy proud of me.
Wherever in the world he is.
Chapter Twenty
June 2014.
The Stonehart Building. Top floor.
“Sir? The banks are calling. They want—”
“Fuck them ,” I growl, cutting the man off. I don’t need to look up from the computer screen to know he doesn’t have the courage to face me.
He tries to continue. “They’re asking for s-settlement of o-overdue accounts,” he stutters, “and—”
“What did I just FUCKING SAY?” I explode, slamming my hand on the desk and surging up.
The man flinches back. I stride around my desk and advance on him.
“There is only one thing of importance to me,” I tell him in a soft, dangerous voice. “One thing! And unless you’ve come here to tell me you’ve made progress…?”
I let the question hang in the air, feeding his discomfort. He shakes his head minutely in response.
I stop in front of him. He tall enough to meet me at eye level, but when confronted with me like this, few are man enough to stand tall. His shoulders hunch under my scrutinizing glare.
“ Go ,” I whisper. “Tell the banks what I fucking said.”
He bobs his head up and down quickly, stammers and muted apology, and backs out the room.
The door closes. I hit the lock button. A second later, the entire glass wall exposing the rest of the office frosts into an opaque white.
I stride to the bar, every step hard and purposeful. I grab a bottle of scotch and pour a drink. I bring it to my lips, savor the liquor’s aroma for one sweet second… then tip my head back and swallow it whole.
My eyes are pulled to the bottle. It’s not yet ten a.m., and yet it’s already three-quarters empty.
“ Motherfucker ,” I whisper. I look back at the glowing computer screen, where the first email from Lilly’s captors blazes on the screen.
The words of that email are etched permanently into my mind.
“Motherfucking god dammit !” I scream, and in a fit of rage, hurl the bottle into the big glass wall.
It shatters with an explosion of sound. I ignore the vague forms of people who’ve stopped to take notice on the other side.
Instead, I stalk back to my desk. I throw myself into the chair, and, for the thirtieth time this morning, read the message from Esteban:
Good Morning Mr. Stonehart,
You might be surprised to hear from me. There is good reason I am writing you. Before reading on, please confirm that fact by opening one of the attachments.
I had. There were pictures of Lilly— my Lilly—in terrible shape. Oh, I wanted to see Esteban burn when my eyes swept over the photos.
The email continued:
Have you done so? Good. It seems you can follow instructions when necessary. Remember your capacity for that, for it will be tested again soon.
She is alive, if not entirely well. You may have her back. But first, you must give me what I seek.
What is that?
Reparation. Reparation for the damage caused by your blunt arrogance.
Think on your sins, Mr. Stonehart. You have no one to blame for this situation but yourself.
Don’t try to find me. Wait for my next message. There, I will state my demands.
Your response will determine if the next time you see Miss Ryder, she comes to you alive and breathing… or in a body bag.
-E.
“E.” The single letter gave me pause at first, but who could it be, other than Esteban?
Nobody.
Knowing that already puts me one step ahead of the game.
I lean back in the chair, mind
Succumb. Give in. End up like Paul .
Nightmares like that haunt my sleep. In the background of them is the ever-present voice. The voice of my subconscious, the voice that once gave me my strength.
Succumb. Give in. What choice do you have?
Over and over that mantra is repeated in my sleep. Over and over I reject it, determined to remain true to who I am, determined to make Jeremy proud of me.
Wherever in the world he is.
Chapter Twenty
June 2014.
The Stonehart Building. Top floor.
“Sir? The banks are calling. They want—”
“Fuck them ,” I growl, cutting the man off. I don’t need to look up from the computer screen to know he doesn’t have the courage to face me.
He tries to continue. “They’re asking for s-settlement of o-overdue accounts,” he stutters, “and—”
“What did I just FUCKING SAY?” I explode, slamming my hand on the desk and surging up.
The man flinches back. I stride around my desk and advance on him.
“There is only one thing of importance to me,” I tell him in a soft, dangerous voice. “One thing! And unless you’ve come here to tell me you’ve made progress…?”
I let the question hang in the air, feeding his discomfort. He shakes his head minutely in response.
I stop in front of him. He tall enough to meet me at eye level, but when confronted with me like this, few are man enough to stand tall. His shoulders hunch under my scrutinizing glare.
“ Go ,” I whisper. “Tell the banks what I fucking said.”
He bobs his head up and down quickly, stammers and muted apology, and backs out the room.
The door closes. I hit the lock button. A second later, the entire glass wall exposing the rest of the office frosts into an opaque white.
I stride to the bar, every step hard and purposeful. I grab a bottle of scotch and pour a drink. I bring it to my lips, savor the liquor’s aroma for one sweet second… then tip my head back and swallow it whole.
My eyes are pulled to the bottle. It’s not yet ten a.m., and yet it’s already three-quarters empty.
“ Motherfucker ,” I whisper. I look back at the glowing computer screen, where the first email from Lilly’s captors blazes on the screen.
The words of that email are etched permanently into my mind.
“Motherfucking god dammit !” I scream, and in a fit of rage, hurl the bottle into the big glass wall.
It shatters with an explosion of sound. I ignore the vague forms of people who’ve stopped to take notice on the other side.
Instead, I stalk back to my desk. I throw myself into the chair, and, for the thirtieth time this morning, read the message from Esteban:
Good Morning Mr. Stonehart,
You might be surprised to hear from me. There is good reason I am writing you. Before reading on, please confirm that fact by opening one of the attachments.
I had. There were pictures of Lilly— my Lilly—in terrible shape. Oh, I wanted to see Esteban burn when my eyes swept over the photos.
The email continued:
Have you done so? Good. It seems you can follow instructions when necessary. Remember your capacity for that, for it will be tested again soon.
She is alive, if not entirely well. You may have her back. But first, you must give me what I seek.
What is that?
Reparation. Reparation for the damage caused by your blunt arrogance.
Think on your sins, Mr. Stonehart. You have no one to blame for this situation but yourself.
Don’t try to find me. Wait for my next message. There, I will state my demands.
Your response will determine if the next time you see Miss Ryder, she comes to you alive and breathing… or in a body bag.
-E.
“E.” The single letter gave me pause at first, but who could it be, other than Esteban?
Nobody.
Knowing that already puts me one step ahead of the game.
I lean back in the chair, mind
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