Chapter 4
1206 Words
Rachel’s pov
I woke up slowly, my head pounding like someone had taken a hammer to my skull.
The first thing was how cold it was.
I tried to move and couldn't. My hands were bound behind my back, the rope cutting into my wrists. Something rough was tied around my mouth, gagging me.
I forced my eyes open. Darkness surrounded me, broken only by thin lines of light filtering through gaps in what looked like boarded-up windows high above.
My head throbbed where they'd injected me with whatever had knocked me out. How long had I been unconscious? Hours? Days?
The sound of footsteps made me freeze.
Two figures emerged from the shadows wearing ski masks.
"She's awake," the shorter one said. His voice was higher than I'd expected.
The tall one approached me, crouching down so we were at eye level.
"Vincent Ashford's wife," he said. It wasn't a question, but I shook my head anyway, the movement restricted by the gag.
He laughed, a sound without humor. "Don't bother lying. We've done our research."
The shorter man pulled out a phone, my phone, I realized with a jolt. He swiped through it, then turned the screen toward me.
A photo filled the display. The only wedding photo I had of us.
Vincent stood beside me in a charcoal suit. I was in a simple white dress, I hadn't wanted anything elaborate, I felt like I didn’t deserved the full fairy tale treatment. We were standing in front of the officiant at city hall, his hand on my waist, both of us smiling.
I'd thought he looked happy in that photo. Now I knew better.
You married her because she looked like me and she was a skier like me, wasn't that right?
The memory of Camilla's words made my chest ache.
"See?" The tall one's voice pulled me back to the present. "Vincent Ashford's wife. Which makes you very valuable to us."
I made a muffled sound behind the gag, shaking my head again.
"Oh, we're going to have a conversation," he continued, standing up. "But first, you need to understand the situation. You're going to call your husband and you're going to tell him you've been kidnapped. We need you to ask him for ransom."
They had no idea how little I meant to Vincent. How easily he'd let me go.
The tall one reached down and yanked the gag from my mouth. I gasped, my jaw aching.
"Please," I said, my voice hoarse. "You don't understand. He won't—"
"Save it." The shorter one cut me off, waving my phone. "You're going to make the call, or things are going to get very unpleasant for you."
"He won't believe me." The words tumbled out desperately. "Even if I call him, he won't believe me. He'll think I'm lying, trying to get his attention—"
"Bullshit." The tall one pulled something from his pocket. A knife, the blade catching what little light filtered into the warehouse. "You're his wife. Of course he'll care."
I almost laughed, the hysteria bubbling up in my chest spilled out. But the knife was now pressed against my throat, all I could do was freeze.
"Make the call," he said softly. "Now."
The shorter one had already pulled up Vincent's contact on my phone. He held it to my ear, and I heard the ringing.
Please don't answer, I thought. Please just let it go to voicemail.
But on the fourth ring, he picked up.
"What is it, Rachel?" His impatient voice clipped. I could hear beeping in the background, He was still with Camilla. "I'm busy."
The knife pressed harder against my throat. I felt a sting, the warm trickle of blood.
"Vincent." I whimpered, I couldn't help it, despite knowing he didn't love me, had never loved me, I was terrified. "Vincent, please. I've been kidnapped. I'm in a warehouse somewhere, I don't know where, and they want money and I'm so scared, please—"
"Are you serious right now?" He yelled. "This is what you're resorting to? Fake kidnapping calls? For God's sake, Rachel, I told you to reflect on what you did. I told you to stay away from Camilla. Instead, you're calling me with this ridiculous story?"
"Vincent, please—" Tears were streaming down my face now. "Please, I'm not lying, I'm really—"
"Stop." He barked. "Stop playing these tricks to get my attention. My energy is focused on caring for Camilla right now. She almost died because of you and you have the audacity to call me with this nonsense?"
"Vincent, you didn't even—"
The line went dead.
He'd hung up.
I stared at nothing, the phone still pressed to my ear by the shorter kidnapper. The silence stretched out, broken only by my ragged breathing.
"Call him again," the tall one said, but his voice had lost some of its edge.
The shorter one dialed. It rang once, then went straight to voicemail.
He'd blocked my number.
They tried two more times. Same result.
Finally, the tall one stepped back, lowering his knife. He and his partner exchanged a look I couldn't read.
"Jesus," the shorter one muttered. "What kind of husband—"
"Shut up." The tall one turned away, running a hand over his masked face. "This is unbelievable."
They stood there for a long moment, talking in low voices I couldn't quite make out. I didn't try to listen. I just sat there on the cold concrete, my hands still bound, blood trickling down my neck from the shallow cut, and felt the last piece of my heart turn shatter.
Vincent hadn't believed me. Hadn't even considered that I might be telling the truth.
He'd hung up on me while I begged for my life.
A weak sound escaped my throat—half laugh, half sob.
Something slipped from my coat pocket as I shifted.
A folded piece of paper.
The shorter one noticed it first. "Hey—what’s that?"
He bent, picking it up before I could react. My breath caught as he unfolded it, his eyes scanning the page.
His expression changed.
"What?" the tall one asked.
The shorter one didn’t answer immediately. He just handed it over.
The tall man read it once. Then again.
Silence.
A heavy, suffocating silence.
“…She lost the baby?” the shorter one said quietly.
I squeezed my eyes shut as the embarrassment filled me.
The tall one exhaled sharply, “Damn,” he muttered under his breath.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then he stepped toward me.
I flinched instinctively—but instead of grabbing me, he crouched down and pulled a knife from his pocket. The rope around my wrists loosened, then fell away completely.
"You're free to go."
I blinked at him, certain I'd heard wrong. "What?"
"You heard me." He stood up, jerking his head toward a door I could barely see in the darkness. "Get out of here. We're not getting any ransom for you, and honestly..." He trailed off, something almost like pity crossing his face. "Seriously, why did you marry a man like that? He despises you like you're dog shit."
- Writer
