“Last I checked, you had security on the kids for that attempted kidnapping.” He tsked. “It’s a good thing I’m here to end this, Regan, to take you from these people. Bad things keep happening around them.”
I huffed in disbelief.
“By some twist of fate, when I got here, the kids weren’t protected anymore. Not that I planned on using them, I swear. But the idea just fell into my lap when I couldn’t get to you.” He laughed. “And it needed to be tonight, beautiful. It’s our one-year anniversary.”
Horror and shame and self-reproach filled me.
Why had I let my guard down?
Why hadn’t I realized that New Year’s Eve was a night to stay alert?
Probably because you thought Autry or Dad would tell you if Austin tried to leave the States.
Why hadn’t they?
“I was going to take them and leave a note for you to find me, but suddenly you were in the house. Like it was fate. There you were. It was easier to just stash the kids somewhere it might take your boss,” he spat the word, “time to find them.”
“Where?” I demanded, my heart pounding. “I swear to God, if you hurt them, I will fucking kill you.”
His teeth flashed in the dark. “I love it when you’re feisty.”
I loathed him.
I loathed him with every part of my being.
“Don’t worry. I didn’t hurt them. I tied the kids up in the guest house. Everyone will be so busy trying to find them while they’re right under their noses that we’ll have time to do what we came here to do.”
Eilidh and Lewis were physically okay. Traumatized, but alive. I took a deep breath.
“And what did you come here to do?” I dreaded knowing, but I was determined, despite the almost debilitating, pulsing ache in my head, that I wouldn’t go down without a fight.
Tears suddenly thickened Austin’s throat. “Die,” he whispered hoarsely. “Tonight we’re going to die together.”
My breath came in harsh pants as terror tried to seize control of me. “Why? Why?”
“We’re meant to be together, Regan. But you’re too hardheaded to see that. I can’t spend my life chasing you, trying to convince you of something I already know!” His voice got louder with his agitation. “And if I can’t make you see it, then the only way for us to be eternal is to die together. We’ll be together forever in death.”
Oh my God, he’d lost it completely. “Austin, you’re not thinking straight—”
“Don’t tell me what I’m thinking!” he yelled, standing up to pace.
I scooted back a little, careful not to retreat too close to the cliff’s edge.
“Do you know what it’s like to believe something, to know something deep in your soul, and have everyone else call you a fucking psycho for it?” he spat.
“Austin—”
“It’s like you’re already dead!” he continued. “I’ve been grieving you for a year, and no one understands! And I can’t take it anymore. I can’t live like this anymore.”
Hearing the loss in his voice, I shivered harder. He really believed that. His pain was real, even if his delusions about us were not. Needing time to think, time for someone to find us, I stalled. “What about your family? You mentioned a brother.”
He’d never mentioned his brother while we’d been backpacking together. In fact, he’d definitively told me he was an only child.
Austin scoffed. “Like he gives a shit about anything beyond his addictions. He’s an alcoholic and a gambler. Won big, though, a few weeks back. I took the money. I’m not sorry. He’s weak. He doesn’t deserve good things.”
“What about your parents?” During our trip, he’d told us all about growing up in Oregon. His dad was a cattle rancher and his mom a schoolteacher. Austin’s childhood sounded idyllic.
He gave a bark of bitter laughter. “What parents? Are you referring to the mother who took her six- and eight-year-old sons in hand, told them they were going on a trip, and then abandoned them at a bus station? Or the father I never met?”
“But …” I trailed off. He’d lied about his life. About everything.
“No one wants to hear that shit, Regan,” he said, as if he’d read my mind. “They just want you to tell them you had a good life. That you and your brother weren’t abused by a sick fuck of a foster father.”
Renewed tears sprung to my eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It made me a better person. Smarter. Harder worker. More intuitive. I mean, women came and went. Always giving me mixed signals. Always untrustworthy and making me work for it. But you … the first moment you smiled at me with those incredible dimples, it was like being hit with a ray of sunshine. And I could tell you were lost. A lost angel who needed guidance.” His voice hardened. “But you’re so damn stubborn and such a typical woman. You don’t even know your own mind. You can’t be trusted with your own feelings.”