Chapter One Hundred Nine: The Sand Beneath
896 Words
-----Axtons POV-----
6 months later
The air was thick with salt and sun.
Axton leaned back in the beach chair, one arm draped lazily across the back of Helen’s as she sat beside him, Luca tucked against her chest in a soft sling. The baby was asleep, tiny lips parted, lashes fanned against his cheeks like feathers. Helen was glowing—bare legs stretched out, toes buried in the warm sand, sunglasses perched on her nose. Her hair was up in a messy bun, a few strands trailing down her neck. She looked like a goddess on vacation.
His goddess.
The girls were about twenty feet away, just where the wet sand met the dry. Lily, now seven and more serious than she had any right to be, was leading the charge on their castle project. Emma, five and wild with imagination, was darting between Lily and the waves, shrieking with laughter every time the water nipped at her toes.
It was perfect.
Too perfect.
He tried not to think like that, but after everything… after everything he’d done, everything he’d seen… peace felt borrowed. Like a borrowed book. You read it knowing you’d have to return it eventually.
But for now? For Helen? For his kids?
He would hold onto it for as long as he could.
The trip had been his idea. A full week of uninterrupted time in a private beach house he’d hand-selected through a broker he trusted with his life. The place was isolated but elegant. The beach felt untouched. The staff discreet. Security quiet but everywhere.
Day one had been magic. The moment they arrived, Lily and Emma ran through the house squealing. Helen had barely unpacked before the girls were dragging her toward the shore, Axton carrying Luca with a grin he couldn’t fight.
Day two had been just as perfect. They strolled a nearby market, Helen finding cute little trinkets for everyone—small carved animals for Rourke and Morgan, a leather-wrapped lighter for Price, a set of hand-painted glasses for Silas and Sierra. When she saw the baby onesie with “Island Vibes Incoming,” she grinned so wide he nearly pulled her into the alley just to kiss her breathless. It was perfect for their soon-to-arrive niece or nephew.
Now, on day three, the sun was high and hot, the sky cloudless.
Luca stirred against Helen’s chest, and she shifted him gently, whispering something soft and sweet that made Axton’s chest ache.
He stood, stretching.
“Just going to check in,” he murmured.
Helen nodded, not taking her eyes off the girls. “Okay, but don’t be long. They’re already asking for snacks.”
He smirked. “Can’t have a beach day without goldfish crackers.”
He stepped back toward the beach house to make the call. Price answered on the second ring.
“Everything good?” Axton asked.
“All quiet,” Price replied. “Silas is off his feet. Sierra’s nesting hard. Rourke’s still pretending he doesn’t want Morgan and failing miserably. And you? Enjoying paradise?”
Axton’s eyes scanned the horizon. “Trying to.”
They chatted a few minutes longer, mostly logistics, a few minor updates. Price was holding things down, and Axton appreciated it. He ended the call, slid his phone back into his shorts pocket, and turned toward the beach—
—and froze.
Helen was standing now. Upright. Stiff.
Her hands were empty.
The sling was loose.
Luca was in the bassinet nearby, safe.
But her mouth—her mouth was moving.
Then came the sound.
Screaming.
Not just loud.
Panicked.
Axton sprinted.
“HELEN!”
She whirled toward him, eyes wild.
“I can’t find Emma!”
He was at her side in seconds.
“What do you mean you can’t find her?”
“She was just—” Helen gasped, turning in circles. “She was playing with Lily and then she—she was chasing a shell, I think, or a crab, I don’t know—she ran down the beach and I turned for one second—”
Lily stood beside her, holding the remains of their sandcastle, face pale.
“I told her not to go too far,” she whispered.
Axton’s blood turned to ice.
He scanned the horizon. Beach chairs. A few tourists. Palm trees. And farther down the shore, nothing but dune grass and a bend that led out of sight.
He dropped to one knee.
“Lily. Which way did she run?”
She pointed, lip trembling. “That way. Toward the big rock.”
Axton kissed her head, stood.
He tapped the mic clipped discreetly to his swim trunks.
“Price. Emergency. Beachside. Emma’s gone.”
Static. Then: “Say again?”
“Emma is GONE.”
Silence.
Then: “I’m on it.”
Axton grabbed Helen’s shoulders.
“Take Luca inside. Lock the doors. Do not let anyone in. Not staff. Not security. No one but me."
Helen’s eyes filled with tears. “Axton—”
“I will find her.”
He didn’t wait for a response.
He ran.
Sand kicked up behind him in clouds. His feet hit the packed shoreline like hammers.
He tore down the beach toward the rocks.
He didn’t see her.
Didn’t hear her.
Every breath felt like fire.
She was five.
She was his.
And someone had taken her.
- Writer
