He closed the garage door and walked into the house. Standing still inside the kitchen in front of the sink, prepared to wash the blood off him, he cocked his head. Grace remained on the couch where he'd left her.
He could hear her breathing.
Chapter Fifteen
As soon as the door leading to the garage closed, Grace's body tensed. Keenan promised to return. But a man had already come into the house and beat the shit out of her.
"It's me," he said seconds before stepping into the room.
She looked over her shoulder because she trusted no one anymore. Thankful it was his voice, his face, his body, and he was alone. The pressure in her chest eased a little.
Then, she remembered why he'd left her.
"What did you do to him?" she whispered.
"Forget it happened." He sat down on the couch and let his head fall back on the cushion. "He won't hurt you again."
Of course, the man wouldn't come back and hurt her. Keenan had killed him.
She'd witnessed the stabbing. She'd overheard the conversation. The emotions coming from both men had filled the room until she tasted them and wanted to vomit.
Knowing what he was capable of doing should've reinstated her belief that Keenan would kill her once he tired of holding her captive.
She knew the statistics. If a missing person wasn't found within the first twelve hours, the odds of finding them alive dwindled with each passing hour.
She couldn't even remember how long he'd kept her. Maybe two or three weeks.
By now, her sister probably had every law enforcement officer in the state looking for her. She swallowed. Her sore throat protested the natural movement.
Or maybe Amelia already believed she was dead. It would be easy to jump to conclusions. Her tent and Jeep were still at the campsite. After so many days, it was a normal thought process to believe something tragic had happened to her.
Amelia would mourn her. Alone and suffering, her sister would forever blame herself for not coming with her on the trip.
She refused to let her sister live the rest of her life in that kind of hell. She had to find a way out. She needed to get back home.
Even if it meant compromising herself to gain her freedom.
Keenan sat with his head back, eyes closed, and breathing deeply, evenly. As if he hadn't a care in the world.
Meanwhile, her heart raced. Her arms and legs tingled. Her sore neck made her nauseous and worried for her next breath. The long captivity was wearing on her body. Not only the beating she'd taken today from the man who'd broken into the house but from lack of sleep and fear since she walked up to the cabin.
"Keenan?" she whispered, not sure if he had fallen asleep.
He grunted without opening his eyes or moving.
She whispered, "Thank you."
He ignored her, not giving her acknowledgment that he understood what she was trying to tell him.
"He was going to kill me." She gulped, still trying to wrap her head around what had happened. "I don't know why."
"Because he's a killer."
She blinked, replaying his response. Keenan was a kidnapper. The man was a killer. Knowing he belonged to a motorcycle club, she understood without anyone hitting her in the face that being here wasn't safe.
"W-was he your friend?"
Keenan opened his eyes and lifted his head to look at her. "I don't need friends like that, and those who know me wouldn't want to be friends with me."
The strange paradox confused her more. She ducked her chin, looking down at her clenched hands. While he protested about needing anyone in his life, she'd seen how the other two bikers treated him as an equal. The man today was completely different.
Her head pounded. "Are you going to stay home now?"
"For tonight."
She nodded and unfolded her legs from underneath her on a groan. "I'm going to bed."
Her side hurt with every movement. She wanted to go to bed and find a spot that made breathing easier.
Standing, she stepped toward the hallway and stopped because dizziness hit her out of nowhere. Her heart pounded, thinking about being alone in the room. "I'm sorry you had to kill someone because of me."
She hobbled to the bedroom, not needing a response. Life was precious. After losing her mom, she couldn't imagine wishing death on anyone. While it was hard to understand what had happened tonight, in her heart, she believed if Keenan hadn't arrived home at that second, she'd be dead.
Closing the door to the bedroom, she padded her way to the bed and crawled up onto the middle. She laid her head down on the pillow, wincing at the throbbing along her cheekbone. Not once had anyone ever hit her in the face.
She normally got along with everyone. On the rare times she'd argued with a past boyfriend, she preferred to walk away rather than fight. Drama was for other people, not her.
Fear hung onto her, clogging her throat. She couldn't even cry because it would hurt too much.
Her sore ribs made her body ache. Hollow inside, she feared breaking.
The bedroom door opened. She jerked to a sitting position, regretting the movement when her sides squeezed her.
Keenan held up a wet towel. "There's no ice in the freezer, so I filled up the trays. In the meantime, you can put this on your neck or face."
She took the towel from him. "Thanks."
He stayed standing by the bed. She pressed the cloth against the side of her face.
"How many messages did you put outside?" he asked.
She sighed, having forgotten about her attempt to get help before the break-in. "I don't know."
"You realize if someone finds a paper, bad things are going to happen?"
She nodded. Earlier, it was a risk she was willing to take.
"Is that why...?" She grimaced, regretting what she'd done. "Is that why the man broke into the house?"
She never thought of what her actions could do except bring someone to save her from Keenan. Bad things happened to other people, not her.
All she wanted was to go home. She hadn't done anything to deserve being kidnapped, beaten, and treated like a prisoner.
"No. He wasn't here because of the messages." He sat on the edge of the bed. "Not this time."
"What do you mean." She leaned forward. "Is someone else going to hurt me?"
He stared down at the floor. She wasn't asking for anything or for him to let her go. She was asking if she was in more danger than what she was in with him.
"I don't know," mumbled Keenan.
"You don't know?" She dropped the wet towel. "You're scaring me."
He glanced at her. "You should never have come to Avery Falls."
She leaned back at the intensity rolling off him. "How would I know that? I had a job to do."
"Not here."
She frowned and instantly stopped when her head pounded. "I was paid to come here."
"Who paid you?"
She swallowed. "A man named Kyle Bowman."
Keenan's gaze narrowed. "Did you meet him?"
"No. Not face to face." She hugged her middle. "We corresponded by email. He hired me to come to Avery Falls and take a picture of a Pekania pennanti. Then, he sent me an advance, including money for the expenses to travel here, and reserved the campsite for me. If I successfully produced a picture of the Idaho fisher, he's obligated to pay me the set price we negotiated in the contract. Whether I do or don't get a sighting, the amount of money he gave me made the job worth doing."