Chapter 2

Marcus took a step forward and I squeezed the trigger—

"Wait!" I shouted. "Ryan's paying you, right? I know where he keeps his money. I can get you more!"

They exchanged glances, then burst out laughing.

"Money?" Marcus shook his head. "Sweetheart, we don't need cash. What we need is... entertainment."

As they closed in, I fired.

The gunshot echoed like thunder. Marcus stumbled back, clutching his shoulder, blood seeping between his fingers. But it only pissed them off.

Tony and Jake rushed me. I put a bullet in Tony's thigh, but when I pulled the trigger again—

Click.

Fucking Bureau-issued piece of shit jammed when I needed it most.

Jake ripped the gun from my hands and backhanded me across the face. I hit the concrete hard, tasting copper.

"Feisty bitch," he said, pinning me down as he started tearing at my clothes. "I like that in a woman."

I fought—clawed, bit, screamed until my throat was raw. But three desperate cons against one agent was never going to end well.

Marcus loomed over me, blood still dripping from his shoulder. "Nobody's coming for you, princess. Your boyfriend made sure of that."

He was right.

No cavalry was coming.

Because the man I trusted had delivered me to hell personally.

I squeezed my eyes shut as rough hands tore away my clothes, cold concrete against bare skin, their laughter echoing off the walls like something from a nightmare.

My last coherent thought before the darkness took me:

Ryan, I'm going to destroy you for this.

When I regained consciousness, I saw a white ceiling and harsh fluorescent lights.

The smell of antiseptic, the rhythmic beeping of machines, and pain—pain everywhere. Especially my lower body, which felt like it had been torn apart.

Hospital. I was in a hospital.

"Ella!" A familiar voice broke through, thick with emotion. "Thank God you're awake."

I turned my head with effort to see Ryan sitting beside the bed. His eyes were red and swollen, his face etched with exhaustion and guilt as he clutched my hand. That hand was warm and trembling, like someone grasping at their last lifeline.

If I didn't know the truth, I might have been moved by his performance.

"You..." My voice was sandpaper-rough. "You have the nerve to show up?"

Ryan's expression crumbled instantly, tears actually falling down his cheeks. The Academy should send him an Oscar.

"I'm so sorry." He pressed my hand against his face, his tears wetting my skin. "It's all my fault. I panicked. When the stairs collapsed, I thought they were coming for me next, so I... I ran out to get help. But by the time I found a signal and called 911, you were already..."

He couldn't continue, dissolving into sobs.

I stared at him. Just stared. The heart monitor beside me showed my pulse quickening—not from emotion, but from rage. Yet I was too weak to even push his hand away.

"You called the police?" I asked, each word like swallowing glass.

"Of course!" Ryan looked up, his expression painfully sincere. "I called 911 immediately, then contacted FBI dispatch. I was the one who brought SWAT back to save you, Ella. Those three animals have been arrested. They'll pay for what they did."

A perfect script. Heroic boyfriend returns just in time to save his girlfriend, three criminals captured, everyone lives happily ever after.

Except for me, lying in a hospital bed after being gang-raped.

The door opened as two detectives walked in, a man and a woman, both with grave expressions.

"Miss Harris, I'm Detective Miller with LAPD." The male detective took out a notepad. "We need to take your statement about last night's incident. We can reschedule if you're not feeling up to it, but the sooner we document everything, the better."

I nodded, though every movement hurt.

"Please describe what happened last night," Miller said.

I took a deep breath and began. From Ryan bursting into my office with the tip, to our arrival at the warehouse, to the staircase being sabotaged, to Ryan driving away, to the appearance of the three fugitives.

With each word, Ryan's expression darkened.

When I reached the part about "Ryan using me as a bargaining chip," he shot to his feet.

"No!" He interrupted, his voice shaking. "Ella, you've got it all wrong. I didn't abandon you—I left to get help."

"Then how did the staircase get destroyed?" I stared him down. "It just happened to break after you left?"

Ryan hesitated for a second, but recovered quickly. "The criminals must have done it. They didn't want us to escape. Ella, you were traumatized—your memory might be affected..."

"Affected?" I laughed bitterly, pulling at the cut on my lip. "I remember everything crystal clear. The sound of your car engine, you driving away, and Marcus saying 'your man said you were a gift.'"

The detectives' eyes moved between us.

"Mr. Blackstone," the female detective finally spoke. "Did you leave the scene immediately?"

"To get help!" Ryan's emotions flared. "Detective, check the surveillance footage. I called 911 less than five minutes after the estimated time of the attack. Five minutes! How could I possibly be involved?"

Miller frowned, jotting something in his notebook.

"Besides," Ryan continued, his voice breaking, "Ella and I have been together for two years. I love her. How could I hurt her? She was the one who insisted on going to that warehouse. I tried to convince her to wait for backup, but she said we couldn't miss the opportunity..."

"You're lying!" I struggled to sit up, but the pain forced me back down. "You were the one pushing for it! You said we couldn't wait for backup!"

"Ella, calm down." Ryan reached for my hand, but I slapped it away. "You're emotionally unstable right now. What you're saying—"

"I'm perfectly lucid!"

"Miss Harris." Miller cut in. "I understand your anger, but we need objective evidence. According to Mr. Blackstone's 911 call and the timeline, he did report the incident immediately after it occurred. And..." he paused, "we found no evidence of contact or transaction between Mr. Harris and the three suspects at the scene."

My heart sank.

Of course there was no evidence. Ryan was an Assistant DA—he knew exactly how to cover his tracks.

The rest of the interview felt like a trial, with me as the defendant.

The detectives asked why I'd gone in without backup. I said Ryan insisted; Ryan claimed it was my idea.

They asked why I went to the second floor. I said Ryan directed me there; Ryan said it was my decision.

For every question, Ryan had a perfect answer, deflecting all responsibility.

Finally, Miller closed his notebook and gave me a complicated look. "Miss Harris, get some rest. If you remember any additional details, contact us anytime."

They left, leaving just Ryan and me in the room.

"Ella." Ryan's voice was soft, carrying the gentle condescension of a victor. "I know you're traumatized and might be experiencing... memory distortions. The doctor says it's normal—PTSD. I'll be with you through therapy. We'll get through this together."

I looked at him, this man I once loved deeply, who now disgusted me more than the three criminals who'd assaulted me.

"Get out," I said. "Get the fuck out."

Ryan sighed like he was dealing with an unreasonable child. "Get some rest. I'll come back tomorrow."

At the door, he paused and looked back. "I love you, Ella. No matter how much you misunderstand me, that won't change."

The door closed, and I stared at the ceiling as tears silently streamed down my face.

Not from hurt, but from hatred.

I hated my powerlessness, hated that I had no proof, hated that I'd ever fallen in love with such a monster.