Nodding, I turn back to look at Oliver. My stomach churns as I observe him. The bastard is smiling. His wrists are cuffed to the arms of the chair, but he’s sitting there like he’s having a fucking tea party, relaxing back with a casual smile on his face. Cosy. Calm. He cocks his head at the detective’s comment but doesn’t say anything, seemingly unruffled. My breath is coming in harsh pants, my throat screaming as air burns my damaged airway from where his hands strangled me.
Detective Gibson gets something out of his pocket, a book, and starts flipping through it. This seems to get a reaction from Oliver—his eye twitches. Of course the detective notices this and picks a page, opening the book wide.
“Don’t,” Oliver demands, and it sounds just like it did before. Quiet, unassuming. How was I to know he was a monster? A murderer?
“She touched them tonight. She has to go,” Gibson reads, his voice even, but I can’t stop my shudder, knowing that was written about me.
Ash reaches out and touches my arm, silently asking if I need to go, but I shake my head.
Not yet.
“Stop.” Oliver’s tone has changed. Gone is the quiet, gentle timbre. I can see the monster in his eyes now as he leans forward, his eyes locked onto the book in the detective’s hands.
Gibson simply turns to a different page. “I dreamed of him again last night. It was the same dream as before, and she was in it. Together, we destroyed her, peeling her skin and—” He stops reading and looks up with an arched eyebrow. “My, my, my, Oliver, you have a vivid imagination.”
“I fucking said stop!” Oliver bellows. He tries to stand, the cuffs straining against the chair until he’s forced back down. Oliver clutches the chair as if he could rip his arms from the handcuffs. Although there’s bulletproof glass between us and he doesn’t know I’m here, I can’t help but recoil from the sudden shift. It’s like a switch has been flipped inside him and a different person has appeared. Gone is the composed man, and in his place is a killer.
Completely keeping his cool, the detective places the diary on the table between them in full view but out of Oliver’s reach. “Does me talking about The Wild Boys upset you?” When Oliver doesn’t answer, he tries again. “What about Gabby?”
Snarling, Oliver leans forward, straining against his restraints. “Don’t say her fucking name around me.” Eyes blazing, he thrashes in the chair, his usually neat auburn hair falling in his face. “When I get out of here, I’m going to—”
With a short laugh, Gibson cuts him off. “Oh, Oliver, it’s going to be a long time before you go anywhere. You won’t be seeing The Wild Boys again.”
This seems to be the wrong thing to say because it completely sends Oliver into a rage, his face becoming unrecognisable as madness overtakes him. “How fucking dare you? I will kill you. Is that fucking bitch here? I will—”
A hand lands on my shoulder, and I cry out in horror, jumping around and wincing as my broken ribs protest, only to see it’s Detective Ash gesturing for me to follow him. “Okay, Gabby, time to go.”
I depart without complaint, happy to leave the screaming behind me. I’ve learned something from watching this—Oliver is a true psychopath. I saw it when he switched so easily from being sweet and innocent to evil and back again. However, I also know they have enough evidence to lock him up for a very long time. We will be safe. So although I’m exhausted, in pain, and still terrified about what’s happened, when I walk into the relatives’ room and see it filled with the people I love, I have a smile on my face.
It’s over.
It’s finally over.
Mark has justice…and I have peace.
I let the guys handle everything else. I feel exhausted now, my body cramping and in pain. My throat is raw, leaving me almost unable to talk, and my head hurts and my ribs ache something fierce. I say goodbye to the detective, and then we are escorted to the cars outside.
The police take us to our hotel for the night, and once there, Kingston picks me up and cradles me in his arms. All of the guys’ faces are sad and worried as they watch me. Their hands touch me in whatever way they can as Blake checks us in and gets the keys. I hear him arguing about something, but I lay my head on Kingston’s shoulder and just accept the comfort he’s offering.
My mind is stuck on that last second I saw of Oliver before I left. Of the pure hatred and anger on his face at the mention of my name. He hated me. No, hate isn’t a strong enough word. Detested me. He would have killed me if he had the chance. The detective was right—I am lucky to be alive, and I will never forget that. I won’t take my life for granted ever again…because the stalking is finally over.
I should feel something…anything, but I’m just…tired.
So much has happened, and now that I can finally relax without looking over my shoulder, I’m crashing. A minute later, Blake is at my side. “Sorry, had to get a bigger room,” he mutters angrily before his eyes soften and his lips pull down. “Come on, Baby Girl, let’s get you to bed,” he whispers lovingly.
I nod, and he leads the way. Kingston’s still carrying me, his hands so gentle and soft. Liam walks by my side, holding my hand, and Leo is next to him. Damon watches me worriedly. Emmett is here too, and he kisses my cheek as we all load into the elevator, staying close. Blake presses a button, and I close my eyes for a moment as we start to rise, my ribs protesting the movement. We stop and get off, and Emmett kisses my cheek again, forcing my eyes open. “I’ll be in the next room, okay?”
I start to talk, but he covers my lips with his hand, smiling softly. “You need them tonight, and they need you. It’s okay. Rest, Gabs, I’ll be close by,” he promises, and with one last, loving look at me, he takes a key from Blake, unlocks a golden door, and slips through. Blake unlocks the one next to it and holds it open for Kingston, who carries me into the darkened room. He doesn’t stop, even as the lights flicker on ahead. He walks through the small living area with two sofas and a small kitchenette to the side. I guess we have a suite, I think almost idly.
There’s a sliding door on the back wall, which is open, and it leads to a huge bedroom. Kingston holds me as Leo and Liam rush to drag in a bed from somewhere else. I don’t even question it. My eyes burn with exhaustion as they move the side tables and lamps and press the other double bed to the king-sized one, creating a space large enough for all of us to lie together. There is just enough room on the left-hand side by the curtain-covered window for Kingston to squeeze through. He climbs onto the bed gently, but the movement jars me, making me whimper, and he freezes before looking down at me.
“Sorry, baby,” he whispers.
I dig my fingers into his shoulders and shake my head. “It’s okay,” I croak.
He gently lowers me to the bed as Damon rushes to arrange the pillows for me. Kingston slowly shuffles me over until I’m basically lying on a mountain of them. They cushion my side and head without straining my ribs or throat. It’s comfy, probably as comfy as I’ll get.
Liam strips off my shoes and rubs my toes as he watches me from the bottom of the bed. I see worry and fear in his gaze. “I’m okay,” I croak, and then hold out my arms to him. He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he climbs up the bed and very gently lies between my legs with his head on my belly as he observes me.