In the arms of two sins

Chapter 40

David's POV

I was halfway into my room when I saw Andrea standing by the bed, my phone in her hand. She startled when she saw me, fingers jerking as if she’d been burned. Her eyes darted down to the screen, then back to me—too quick, too guilty.

“What are you doing?” I asked, already moving toward her.

“Nothing,” she said too fast. “I was just doing something with your phone.”

I reached her in two strides and snatched it from her hand.

She tried to grab it back. “David, wait…”

The screen was still lit. I glanced at it and saw a call log. A recent call log. And it looked like she was trying to delete it.

My blood went cold.

“Who called me?” I demanded.

“No one,” she said, stammering now. “It’s probably spam. You don’t need to…”

Immediately, the phone rang.

The same number.

Andrea lunged for my arm. “Don’t answer that.”

I shoved her hand away and hit accept.

“Hello?”

At first, there was nothing.

Just static. Breathing.

Then—

“Let me go!”

The scream tore through the line, raw and panicked. A struggle followed—grunting, voices, the sound of something hitting the ground.

My heart stopped as I recognized the voice.

“Mara,” her name slipped out of my mouth without thought.

The call ended.

I stared at the phone like it might ring again. Like she might still be there, like I could still save her.

Andrea grabbed my arm. “David, listen—”

I shook her off hard. “Don’t touch me.”

I was already reaching for my jacket.

“You can’t just leave,” she said, desperation creeping into her voice. “You don’t even know if it’s really her.”

“I know enough,” I snapped. “She called. And I know you were trying to delete the call log so I wouldn’t find out.”

I was out the door before she could say another word.

Sleep didn’t come that night.

Every time I closed my eyes, I heard her voice again. Let me go.

Fear clawed at me, but beneath it, something else twisted painfully in my chest. I was glad she still remembered my number. Out of everyone, she had called me first and I would not fail her.

First thing the next morning, I was already at the police station. I met with the detectives and told them everything.

The call.

The screams.

The number.

And I was certain, it sounded like Mara.

“We’ll track the signal,” one of them said. “But we wait until tonight and move quietly. We don’t want to alert the kidnappers.”

I didn’t argue.

Night fell too slowly.

When they finally moved, it was only three of them. No sirens. No uniforms. Just disguises and intent.

I followed.

The street we reached was dead—rows of dark houses, windows empty, like the place had been abandoned years ago. No lights. No sound.

We saw the phone booth.

The place where we believed Mara had made the call. The traced signal led back to it.

It was almost a miracle the call had gone through. The booth was old, worn out, barely standing.

Then there was a brief flash of light from a second-floor window.

“There,” one of the detectives whispered.

We assumed that was where they were keeping her. We were about to move when headlights swept across the street.

A car pulled up behind us.

The door opened.

Elias stepped out.

I stiffened.

How did he know?

Anger surged through me, sharp and immediate.

Of course he was here.

“I informed Mr. Lawson,” one of the detectives said quietly.

My hands curled into fists.

I wasn’t backing down.

Elias didn’t wait for permission.

The moment he stepped towards us, a sound cut through the night.

A muffled scream.

Mara’s scream.

It came from the room above.

“Mara!!,” I shouted, already moving.

The detectives reacted instantly.

We ran up heading to the room.

Up the cracked stairs, two at a time, footsteps pounding against concrete. My pulse thundered in my ears, my lungs burning as the scream echoed again, followed by chaos—voices, a struggle, something heavy crashing to the floor.

Then there was silence.

We burst into the room ready to attack, but there was no sign of anyone.

They were all gone.

Mara was on the floor, hands and legs still tightly bound, her body curled slightly inward. A dark cloth covered her eyes. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, shallow breaths breaking from her lips.

She was shaking.

“Mara,” I breathed.

I rushed toward her, but Elias moved faster.

He pushed past me without hesitation, dropping to his knees beside her. His hands were already working at the ropes, his movements rough, urgent, almost frantic.

“It’s okay,” he said, his voice low but strained. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

Something sharp twisted in my chest.

Jealousy.

It hit me hard, unexpected and ugly.

I stood there, frozen, watching as he untied her wrists, then her ankles. The cloth came off her eyes, and she flinched at the sudden light, gasping softly.

Her head turned at the sound of his voice.

“Elias,” she whispered, broken and disbelieving.

That was all it took.

My hands clenched into fists at my sides. I squeezed so hard my fingers dug into my palms, skin breaking slightly. I welcomed the pain, it grounded me, kept me from doing something reckless.

Of course she said his name first.

Of course he was the one holding her.

I swallowed hard.

She was safe.

That was what mattered.

Even if it hurt more than I was ready to admit.

Elias helped her sit up, his arm firm around her shoulders, shielding her without even thinking. She trembled, her head bowing as the shock finally caught up with her, and she blacked out.