The Rescue
1631 Words
Chapter 9: The Rescue
Alexander drove to the estate.
He gripped the steering wheel tighter than necessary. His jaw was set. His mind was racing. Fragments of memories he tried to forget flashed in his mind.
His mother. Evelyn Cross. Back from Europe after years.
He hadn’t spoken to her in years. He didn’t want to. He didn’t need to.
She left when he was thirteen—walked out the door without a backward glance, without an explanation, without a goodbye.
She had chosen her freedom over her son. Over her family. Over everything.
And now she was back.
He parked the car. Sat there for a moment. Composed himself.
He walked inside. The house was quiet. Too quiet.
Margaret greeted him in the foyer. Her expression was neutral, her eyes were worried.
They all remembered how devastated, depressed and withdrawn from the world Alexander had been when his mom left him.
He depended on his grandmother. Only she could comfort him at that time and that’s why he listened to her.
“She’s in the drawing room.”
“Where’s Grandmother?”
“Resting. She said to tell you that she’ll speak with you in the morning.”
Alexander nodded. He didn’t ask why. He already knew. She was giving him space. Giving him time. Letting him handle this on his own.
He walked toward the drawing room. His footsteps echoed on the marble floor.
He opened the door.
Evelyn Cross stood by the fireplace. A glass of wine in her hand. She was elegant. Beautiful. Cold.
She turned when he entered. Smiled—a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
“Alexander. Darling. You look well.”
He didn’t respond. Didn’t move toward her. Didn’t offer a greeting.
“What are you doing here?”
“I live here.”
“You haven’t lived here in years.”
“I’m back now. For good.”
His jaw tightened. “Why?”
“Can’t a mother want to see her son?”
“No.”
She laughed—light, hollow. “Still so cold. You get that from your father.”
Alexander said nothing. His father had died when he was twelve. A heart attack. Sudden. Brutal. His mother had remarried within a year. Then divorced. Then disappeared.
She walked toward him. Stopped inches away. She smelled of expensive perfume and wine.
“I heard you’ve been busy. Hired some pizza girl. Slapped Charles. Making waves.”
“Who told you?”
“Helena. She’s very upset.”
“Helena is always upset.”
Evelyn smiled. “She says you’re protecting the girl. That you’ve taken an interest.”
He didn’t respond.
“Is it true?”
“It’s none of your business.”
“Everything about this family is my business.”
“You gave up that right when you left.”
Silence.
Evelyn’s smile faded. For a moment—just for a moment—something flickered in her eyes. Hurt? Regret? He didn’t care.
“I came back for you, Alexander.”
“I don’t want you here.”
“That’s too bad. I’m not leaving.”
She walked past him. Then paused at the door.
“Oh—and Alexander? That girl? She’s not your responsibility. Don’t make the mistake of caring for someone beneath you.”
She left.
He stood alone. His hands were shaking for the first time in a long time.
He pulled out his phone. Texted the driver.
Is she back at the office?
The reply came a moment later.
Yes, sir. Miss Lane is still there.
Keep an eye on her.
He exhaled. She was safe.
For now.
Sophie worked late.
Past six. Past seven. Past eight.
She didn’t want to go back to the estate. Not yet. Not after he left her at the restaurant without a word. Not after he walked out like she didn’t matter.
She filed. Sorted. Organized. Anything to keep her busy. Anything to keep her mind off him.
The floor emptied. The lights dimmed. The cleaners came and went. Someone asked if she needed anything. She said no.
At nine p.m., she finally stopped.
She looked at her phone. No messages. No calls. Nothing from him.
She had no money. No way home. The estate was miles away. The buses had stopped running hours ago.
She thought about calling the estate. Asking for a car. But she was angry. She didn’t want to owe him anything. Not after today.
She scrolled through her contacts. Her thumb hovered over a name.
Tom.
Tom was her best friend. Her only friend.
They’d grown up together. Same neighborhood. Same struggles. Same dreams of getting out. He’d become a biker.
Rough around the edges. Leather jacket. Tattoos. A motorcycle he loved more than everything.
He was loyal. To a fault. He’d do anything for her.
She hadn’t seen him weeks. Not since she started this job. Not since her life turned upside down.
She called him.
He answered on the second ring.
“Sophie. That you?”
“Hey, Tom.”
“You sound like hell.”
“Thanks.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I need a ride. And a drink.”
“Say no more. Where are you?”
She told him.
“Be there in twenty.”
He hung up.
She waited.
Tom pulled up on his motorcycle. Black helmet. Leather jacket. Tattoos. He looked exactly the same as always.
He saw her standing outside the building.
Whistled.
“Look at you. Fancy office. Fancy clothes.” He paused. “Still look like hell though.”
She laughed—tired, broken.
He handed her a helmet. “Get on.”
She did.
They rode.
He took her to a dive bar. His kind of place. Loud music. Cheap drinks. No one asked questions.
They sat at the bar. He ordered two shots. Then two more.
Sophie drank. And drank. And drank.
She told him everything. Charles. Alexander. The contract. The estate. The slap. The way Alexander left her at the restaurant without a word.
Tom listened. Didn’t interrupt.
When she was done, he whistled. “You slapped a billionaire’s cousin?”
“Yeah.”
“And now you’re working for his grandmother?”
“Yeah.”
“And the billionaire—the cold one—he’s protecting you?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. He’s —complicated.”
Tom shook his head. “You’ve got a death wish, Sophie.”
“Probably.”
They drank more.
Hours passed. The bar got louder. The drinks kept coming.
Sophie was drunk. Really drunk. The kind of drunk where the room spins and your tongue stops working and everything feels funny and sad at the same time.
She was laughing. Crying. Laughing again.
Tom was drunk too. But he was watching her. Making sure she was okay. That was Tom. Always watching. Always protecting.
“We should go,” he said.
“Not yet.”
“Sophie—”
“One more.”
She ordered another shot.
Tom sighed. Let her.
She drank it. The room spun.
She stumbled towards the bathroom.
She didn’t see him at first. The bar was dark. Crowded. Loud.
Charles was sitting in a corner booth.
Watching. Waiting.
He’d been there for an hour.
He’d seen her leave the office. Seen her get on a motorcycle. Seen her come here.
He smiled. Stood.
He followed her toward the bathroom.
Sophie pushed open the door. Stumbled inside.
She splashed water on her face. Looked in the mirror. She looked terrible.
She laughed—bitter, broken.
The door opened behind her.
She turned.
Charles.
“Hello, pizza girl.”
Sophie’s blood ran cold.
“What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to see how you were doing. You looked upset.”
“Leave me alone.”
“That’s not very nice.”
He stepped closer. She stepped back.
“You’re drunk, Sophie. You shouldn’t be alone.”
“I’m not alone. My friend is—”
“Your friend is passed out at the bar. I checked.”
Sophie’s heart pounded.
“Stay away from me.”
“Or what?”
He reached out—grabbed her arm.
She tried to pull away. He was too strong.
“Let go of me.”
“You’ve been a problem, Sophie. A big problem. You and your little contract. Your little protection.”
“Let go—”
“Alexander can’t protect you. Not from me. Not from his family.”
He pulled her closer.
“You should have taken the money.”
She struggled. Kicked. Screamed.
He clamped a hand over her mouth.
“Shut up.”
She bit him.
He cursed. Slapped her.
She fell. Hit the floor.
He stood over her.
“You’re going to regret that.”
The bathroom door slammed open.
A figure stood in the doorway. Tall. Dark. Furious. He had his eyes on her all day.
He stared at Charles deeply.
Like a predator calculating his right moment to attack.
Charles turned. His face went pale.
“You—”
The figure didn’t speak.
He walked toward Charles. Slow. Deliberate.
Charles stumbled back. “Wait—”
The figure grabbed him by the collar.
Sophie was on the floor. Her vision was blurry.
She couldn’t see clearly. But she saw the figure. Charles’s fear.
The figure threw Charles against the wall.
Charles crumpled. Unconscious.
The figure turned to Sophie.
She couldn’t make out his face. The light was behind him.
But she knew that cologne.
She knew who it was.
He knelt beside her. Reached out.
“Can you stand?”
She tried. Her legs gave out.
He caught her.
Lifted her.
Carried her out of the bar.
She didn’t know where he was taking her.
But she felt safe.
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