Chapter 2 - The Call in the Dark
|
Grant dragged her through the service hallway, her broken leg scraping brutally against the hardwood. The pain was so absolute that black dots swarmed Lena's vision. She felt as though she were drowning in fire.
He threw her onto the cold concrete floor of the windowless storage room behind the kitchen. Dust and the sharp smell of bleach filled her nose. Towering boxes of holiday decorations cast long, menacing shadows.
Grant stood in the doorway, his chest heaving, his eyes entirely devoid of the charm he sold to his investors.
"You think you can humiliate me in front of Veronica?" he spat. "Do you have any idea what her father controls in Washington? You stay in here until you remember your place. Under me."
He slammed the heavy wooden door. The lock clicked with a terrifying finality.
Total darkness swallowed her.
For several long minutes, Lena didn't move. She couldn't. She lay on the freezing concrete, listening to her own ragged, shallow breathing. Out in the hallway, she could faintly hear Grant barking orders at the terrified housekeeper in Spanish, telling her to clean the foyer. Then, the fading sound of his footsteps heading back upstairs to his mistress.
Lena’s trembling fingers slipped into the pocket of her ruined dress. Her phone was there. The screen was cracked across the center, but the faint glow illuminated her bloody hands.
She opened her contacts. She scrolled past her clients, past the country club members, past Grant’s family. She scrolled all the way to the bottom, to a name she hadn't dialed in twenty-one years.
Dad.
Her mother had made her swear never to call him unless her life was truly on the line.
Lena pressed the screen. It rang once. Twice.
"Who is this?" a deep, dangerous voice answered.
"It’s me," Lena whispered, tasting blood. "Lena."
There was a sudden, violent sound on the other end—like a heavy desk chair being knocked over. "Lena? Where are you?"
"My husband broke my leg," she gasped, the tears finally falling. "He locked me in a room in the dark."
May you like
The silence that followed was suffocating. Then, Elias Rowan—the shadow broker, the man who terrified senators and defense contractors alike—spoke with lethal calm.
"Send me the address. I'll be there in ten minutes. Don't close your eyes."
