Chapter 54 Empty bed
Greyson woke to an empty bed, and for a moment, the world tilted on its axis.His hand shot out instinctively, searching for Cassie's warmth, but the sheets beside him were cool to the touch. The impression of her body remained in the silk, a ghost of her presence that made his chest tighten with sudden, inexplicable panic.
His eyes flew open, scanning the room with the sharp alertness of a man who'd learned to expect danger around every corner. The French doors were closed, the curtains still drawn, but weak morning light filtered through the silk, casting the room in a golden haze that should have been peaceful but instead felt ominous.
"Cass?" His voice was rough with sleep and growing concern. He also missed the note
No answer...He sat up too fast, his ribs protesting with a sharp flare of pain that stole his breath. The bandages around his torso pulled tight, reminding him of Turner's handiwork, of the hours of torture he'd endured before Cassie and Dante had found him. He ignored the pain, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, his bare feet hitting the cold marble floor.
His mind raced through possibilities, each one worse than the last. Had something happened during the night? Had Owen's people somehow tracked them to this seemingly secure location? Had Turner's men found them despite all their precautions? The images that flooded his mind were brutal, Cassie bound and gagged, blood on her temple, her eyes wide with terror as faceless men dragged her away while he slept, oblivious and useless.
The questions hammered at him as he stood, his body protesting every movement. The villa had seemed safe their host was someone he'd for years, someone who had good reason to keep them hidden. Safety was an illusion in their world, Greyson knew that better than anyone. He'd seen what Turner's men were capable of, had felt their methods firsthand. The thought of them getting their hands on Cassie, of her enduring even a fraction of what he'd suffered, made bile rise in his throat.
His breath came faster, panic clawing at his throat like a living thing. The room felt too small suddenly, the luxury that had seemed comforting the night before now oppressive, suffocating. Where was she? Why hadn't she woken him? His imagination conjured horrible scenarios Cassie being dragged from the bed while he slept, a hand clamped over her mouth to muffle her screams. He could picture her fighting, could see her eyes searching for him in the darkness, calling his name silently as they took her away.
The thought of her being hurt, of her calling for him while he lay unconscious and helpless, sent a wave of nausea through him so powerful he had to grip the edge of the nightstand to stay upright. How long had he slept? How much of a head start did they have? Was she already gone, spirited away to some compound where Owen or Turner could use her as leverage against him?
She wouldn't just leave. Not after last night and he realised he was in hid father's villa. Owen cared.
The memory of their conversation flooded back he way she'd looked at him when he'd finally told her the truth about his feelings, the tenderness in her touch as she'd helped him with his bandages, the quiet strength she'd shown in holding him while he struggled with episodes. She'd stayed when anyone else would have run. She'd chosen him, chosen this dangerous life, chosen to stand by him despite everything.
What if she'd changed her mind? What if the reality of what they were facing had finally sunk in during the quiet hours of the morning? What if she'd realized that loving him meant a lifetime of looking over her shoulder, of never knowing if they'd be safe?
What if she hadn't left willingly at all? What if someone had taken her while he slept, defenseless and trusting? The thought made his vision blur with rage and terror. He could see it so clearly armed men slipping into their room, chloroform or a syringe, Cassie's struggles growing weaker until she went limp in their arms he would have slept through it all, the painkillers and exhaustion making him useless when she needed him most.
The thought sent a fresh wave of terror through him, more painful than any physical wound Turner had inflicted. He could survive losing everything else his father's love, his fortune, even his life but losing Cassie would destroy him in ways he couldn't even comprehend. And if she was hurt because of him, because his enemies had used her to get to him, he would never forgive himself.
He grabbed his phone from the nightstand, his fingers trembling as he dialed her number. The device felt foreign in his hands, his usually steady fingers clumsy with fear.
Each tone felt like an eternity. His heart hammered against his ribs, making his injuries ache, but he barely noticed the physical pain. All he could focus on was the silence on the other end of the line, the absence of her voice.
Beep , beep...
No answer.