Lincoln never bothers to wait for me to say a damn word before jumping on me with a question, accusation or taunt. But he was good for one thing today. He’d gone to the gallery for me to pick up Adeline’s photographs.
I’d paid for them before leaving on this trip, knowing I’d be gone for a few days.
“Just set them against a wall in the living room. I’ll figure out what to do with them later.”
A low whistle across the line.
“These are something else, Ari. How does it make you feel to know she sees you as someone tearing apart her life?”
Of course, he would go there. But I’m not sure that was the point of the photos. Adeline is cleverer than that.
“Fuck off,” I say as I grab my laptop and drop my weight into the chair. “I’ve stayed away from her for the past week.”
“Only because you’re distancing yourself so as not to be a suspect.”
My jaw ticks. The asshole knows me far too well.
After the gallery event, I realized just how close I was getting to Adeline, and just how badly I was hiding the obsession I had with her. Given Grant’s comment, and those of the gallery owners, I knew it was time to back off and put distance between Adeline and myself.
Not because I was giving up on her, but because if drastic action is required later on, the last person I want people to think about is me.
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”
He laughs. “Says the man we both know is still watching her.”
Flipping the computer open, I log into one of my bank accounts to ensure the transfer went through to the gallery. Seeing that it did, I log out of that and click on the software I use to monitor Grant’s security system.
The house is locked down for the night, alarm set, which means Grant has returned home from work. His usual pattern is to take a shower and force drugs down Adeline’s throat, not physically, but I’m sure through manipulation.
Following that, he tends to linger, eventually following her into the bathroom later on to coax her into bed.
I stop watching at that point, only because the slow torture is driving me mad. Although the temptation to text her and ask how it feels to take such a boring fuck to bed every night is one I can barely resist.
But then, that would clue her in to the view I have into her bedroom...which is a problem.
Flipping through the different views, I finally came to the bedroom.
And freeze.
Only for a second.
Only for enough time that my mind can catch up and understand what the fuck I’m seeing.
Rage tears through me with the need for violence, a fucking beast snapping its jaws inside me.
“Lincoln, you need to get in your car right fucking now.”
The sound of the elevator door dinging open is in the backdrop. “I’m on my way home now-“
“Go to Adeline’s. Take your gun. And break into the fucking house if you have to.”
“Ari-“
“He’s killing her,” I roar, “right this fucking second.”
Lincoln asks me something, but static distorts his voice because of the elevator.
My eyes are locked on the screen, my entire body rigid with the need to execute the son of bitch I can’t fucking get to right now because I’m three states away.
Adeline is on the ground next to the bed, her back against the mattress as Grant crouches in front of her. Already, blood is seeping from a small cut across her cheek, swelling on the other side. She’s reading something from the phone she holds, and he backhands her when she’s done.
Understanding sinks in at that moment. The fucking burner phone.
“I’m in my car,” Lincoln says, the engine starting as his voice finally clears up. “Where do you need me to go?”
He doesn’t need the address, but I quickly run him through how to access the neighborhood. While directing him to go to the back bedroom where French doors open onto a large patio, I rack my brain with how to stop the beating Adeline is taking.
For every hit, I’ll break one of his fucking bones. For every mark, I’ll cut out a pound of flesh. For every fucking word he speaks to her that I can’t hear, I’ll cut out his tongue and feed it to him before removing his eyes next.