Dark (Beautiful Ashes #1)(8)

She cried for what would never be.

For a family she could never have.

For a man she had to let go.

His arms pulled her closer as she breathed against his heart, “I do love you, though you’ll never know. I’m sorry, Tarius. I’m so sorry.”





Chapter Four





Tar woke up to a peculiar feeling. A grief he never knew existed overtook him as he sat up, looking around. He wanted to be careful not to harm the sleeping, wounded beauty beside him as he moved to stand. That was when his brain came fully online. “Where the hell is she?” he asked as panic began to fill him. He took a calming breath before searching the most logical of places, the bathroom. No Keeley. Next, he combed the halls. Again, nothing. He went to the bedroom they had been in. Nada. Terror locked into his muscles as Tar forced himself to keep looking for her, all the while he called out, “Miiiiiiiitch!”

“Shit, man, you trying to wake the dead?” He stood there in a sleep haze and scrubbed a hand over his face.

“Keeley’s gone,” Tar grit out, fighting like hell to tamp back the howl.

“No. That’s not possible. Did she go to the bathroom?”

Tar’s hands grabbed a hold of Mitch’s T-shirt as he slammed his friend against the wall, hard. “Don’t y’think I’ve already checked every conceivable place by now?!”

“Hey, bro. Easy. Let me go so I can help ya find her.” Mitch knew he was dealing with a live grenade and handled him with extreme caution. He’d seen Tar like this only once before and it damned near destroyed him. He wouldn’t let his brother-in-arms go back there. Not ever.

Reason returned to Tar’s features as his grip loosened enough for Mitch to step out of the line of fire. The two men searched the entire building and surrounding area before they finally came to terms with what neither wanted to admit: Keeley left without a trace. What the hell did they do now? They couldn’t call for backup. No one else was aware of her being on the premises. Mitch stayed true to his word and kept it on the down low. He knew Tar wanted no part of this gig any longer. Though he was the best in the field, Mitch respected his wishes. Tar pulled him from his musings. “I have to go. Now.”

“Wait.” Mitch tried to reason. “You have no clue where she could’ve gone. And honestly, she still needs medical attention in her condition.”

“She won’t go to a hospital. Too many questions.”

“Alright. So then, where?” Mitch queried, knowing their best bet was to contact his boss.

Tar shot him a pointed look. “Don’t you even fucking think about it. Clark is to never know. Clear?”

“Roger that. What are you going to do?” Mitch asked as he followed Tar out of the door.

“Anything I have to. She needs me. I’ll be damned if I sit around wondering what if when I can do something to help her.”

Mitch nodded as he clapped Tar on the shoulder. “I hope you find her, man.”

Tar was already zoning in on every possible scenario and route Keeley could have taken. He would find her. Question was, could he get to her in time before another horrible thing befell the woman he loved? As he made his way down the alley, Tar accepted—failure was not an option. He’d die trying. And that was all there was to it.







Keeley slunk down the cold, dirty cement wall of an abandon warehouse. Place smelled of urine and feces. The urge to throw up caused her mouth to fill with saliva, but she knew her stitches would most likely tear if she did. Therefore, she battled her body’s natural reaction to the rancid air, wincing and breathing heavily from exertion as well as pain. Ungodly agony had taken up residence in her body as she actually prayed for death. Something she had done once before. She fought hard for some sort of tether to reality as memories tugged at her consciousness.

The dungeon was freezing as she hung shackled to the wall in iron manacles. A scene straight out of medieval times, the monster approached. This time he held a red hot coal at the end of iron pinchers. God, he was as sick as they came, or perhaps that was her. The sight of him taunting with something that would scar at best, kill at worst, made her soaking wet and was what saved her that night from him ramming said coal into places she’d never recover from. Instead he used another torture device, one that did its job thoroughly. Keeley had learned, while recovering in the hospital with her sister and now brother-in-law, that once freed from the former senator, her odds were less than one percent of ever having children.

Now, that tiny sliver of hope was gone. She began to wail and slammed her head against the filthy graffiti wall. Blessedly just as the vomiting erupted, she fell into the abyss that beckoned her.