She closes her eyes and looks away from me as if she’s disappointed. When I look down to my phone, I understand why. There, staring straight back to me, are two completely lifeless grey colored eyes. Eyes I’m so familiar with. Blond hair is matted down on an oval face and with blood seeping through the strands of his hair.
“Shit.”
“Did she do it?”
“What?” I hand back her phone. “Why would you ask that?”
“Because,” my mom flicks through her phone again and then hands it back. I take it, narrowing my eyes at her and then looking back down to the photo that’s spread out on her phone. It’s a photo of Isa crying holding the weapon and looking at Justin’s body in horror.
Who the fuck took these fucking photos.
I throw the phone across the sofa and lean back in the sofa, running my index finger above my lip. I don’t give a fuck about their questions right now, right now, my sole focus is on finding Isa. I lean forward, burying my head into the palms of my hands while running my fingertips through my hair. I exhale. There’s no reason why Devon would hurt her unless I’m missing something. Why would he take her? He gives a fuck about her, even I know that. There’s no mistaking the way he looks at her, talks about her. I can see the adoration in his every word. I don’t think he’d hurt her—no.
But then again…
No, this has to do with me.
“Bryant!” Mom snaps at me in an attempt to gain my attention. I ignore her. I don’t care for their inquisitions right now.
“Bryant.” Jessica’s soft voice breaks through my hard shell, and my head snaps toward her involuntarily. It’s true, my little sister drives me crazy on the best days but there’s no one walking this earth that I care about nearly as much as I care about her.
“What?”
She steps toward me, bringing the palms of her hands to my face, her deep green eyes searching mine desperately. “Did she do this?”
I look back at her. “Yes—”
They all gasp, Jessica’s hands falling to the sides of her.
“But!” I all but roar, my temperament kicking up from not only their questions but now their sudden disdain of Isa. “There is more to the story than you even know, and as much as I’d love to get into it right now, my wife has been kidnapped, so if you’d excuse me…” I barge past Jessica and she steps backward, her hand still covering her mouth. Heading into the kitchen, I open the top cupboard, taking down a heavy bottle of whiskey and a glass. Twisting the cap off, I pour some into my glass and toss it back before placing it back on to the bench. Taking my phone out of my pocket, I slide through my contacts just as Brian walks in.
“Do you need to make some calls?”
I need to do a lot of things, and calling people Is not one of them.
19
Isa
“Devon…” I let out a confused whisper, just as we pull down a busy side street of NYC. “Please…” I plead with him, but I see it when he looks away from me. I see that there’s something else to Devon. Something confused and dark. Whatever he has planned to do with me, there’s no going back. Feeling betrayed is not for right now. My betrayal will have to wait. The car stops outside of a brick building and Devon finally looks at me. “I’m sorry, Isa. But you made this choice.”
“What does that even mean, Devon?” I glare at him while reaching for his hand in a sad attempt to bring out the Devon I know. The Devon I remember, because I don’t even recognize this person.
He looks right at me. “The minute you agreed to marry him, your life was over. As far as they know.”
I pull back my hand as if I touched fire. “What does that mean?” The car door swings open and a man dressed in a suit and dark glasses reaches in with a grin on his face. “How are we, kids? Isa? Come with me now.”
“Who the fuck are you?” I snap at the suited man.
“I’m your worst nightmare.”
“I doubt that,” I mutter, getting out of the car while yanking my arm out of his grip. “I’ve met my worst nightmare, and I call him my husband, who by the way, will be hunting you right now.”
His face drops. All cockiness eradicated from his features. “Get inside you little slut.” He looks over his shoulder quickly. I can almost smell his fear, or maybe that was the smell of his tail tucking between his legs. If that ever had a smell, it would be a stench to bathe in right now.
I follow him to the heavy steel door. It swings open with another man standing in front, waiting for us to enter. What these men don’t understand is that I’m trained for this. Being the president’s daughter, I have been trained on how to handle every and any situation, but mainly we’re trained how to handle a hostage situation. I know I have to remain calm and collected. Follow instructions, but there was always one rule that I could never be trained in—and that’s keeping my mouth shut.