Savage Little Lies: Chapter 42

Dorian – present

I heard her voice for all of a second before the call ended, and when I lowered my phone, my friends were staring at me. Wolf and I had gone back to his place, and Wells and Thatcher returned when we called them back. They’d dropped Bow off at Thatch’s before they arrived, making up some excuse. I didn’t know what they’d ended up telling her, but I wasn’t thinking about any of that right now.

“Did she answer?” shot right away in my direction, Wolf on the couch. He sat completely still between Wells and Thatcher, his hands together. He sat up. “Dorian?”

“Yeah,” I said because she had. I heard my name, but then the call ended. I shook my head. “I lost her. I don’t know if the call dropped or…”

I redialed before I could finish the statement, hoping she just had a bad connection or something. She’d answered me.

She had answered.

Pick up, Sloane. Pick up, baby.

She didn’t, the call moving right away to voicemail. It didn’t even fucking ring.

“Dorian?”

My friends had gathered around me, but only one of them spoke.

Wolf pushed his way through, his head shaking. I found him hard to look at while I restlessly attempted to contact Sloane. He’d wanted to do it.

But it couldn’t be him, though. It had to be me. It always had to be me because it was me and her. I had to bring her back.

Why hadn’t she let me?

I’d tried to talk her down. I’d tried to talk her back, but she’d shut me down. She’d shut me out. I swallowed. “Ares…”

He laced his fingers above his head, spinning out of the huddle. My buddy was on his way to a quick spiral, and I knew what had to be done next.

It was like the record stopped when I lifted my phone, my friends’ eyes on me. I spun through contacts, and Wolf pushed his way over again.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his swallow making his throat jump. He was a wreck, visible pain all over his face. I’d only seen him that way one other time, and that was the day I’d told him I was done with him. He looked like he’d died a slow death.

“I’m calling my dad,” I said, but upon finding his contact, I paused. I looked at Wolf. “But I don’t think it should just be me.”

Bringing our parents into this, all of them, was well overdue. It had been before, but especially now.

And that went triple for him.

I had no idea why my buddy kept certain things in his life so close to the cuff, but I’d be naive to think I had nothing to do with it. I’d given him reasons to doubt certain things.

I’d given him reasons to doubt her.

Wolf stayed silent, Thatcher and Wells too at his sides. The pair knew everything that had occurred tonight, of course, everything Wolf had told me. We’d told them when they got here. Wolf shook his head. “What will this do to them?” he asked, his nostrils flaring. “My mom and dad. What will this do to them, D?”

I had no answers for him, my friend, my brother opening his own Pandora’s box tonight. This one couldn’t be closed either once it was done.

I decided to do something for my friend in that moment. It was something he’d do for me, and I needed to help my friend for once instead of hindering him. I needed to be his brother like he had me.

I swiped my phone to a different contact, one he needed. I dialed after that…

Then handed him my phone.

*

Sloane

I woke to the smell of gasoline. So pungent, I choked on it, my eyes watering. I gagged, and I saw him through watering eyes.

A man in black.

In fact, he wore all black down to his boots, his bulky figure definitely indicating a man. He had a red gasoline container in his hands, and with his hood up and head lowered, I couldn’t see his face.

He was pouring gasoline everywhere. The container he had seemed to have a never-ending supply, and he worked quickly, surrounding me with it.

Though I was still hazing in and out, I realized where I was, even if I couldn’t identify the exact location. The man had me in some kind of warehouse. A factory maybe? There were big machines with the conveyor belts and stuff.

The man wouldn’t stop pouring. He continued to slosh the gas about, and I watched in horror when he made a circle around me with gas. He had me tied to some kind of chair, and I wriggled.

The guy’s head shot up immediately. The first thing I noticed was the man’s eyes, dark, haunted. He had greasepaint covering his face, his beard overgrown…

But I still saw him.

I still recognized those eyes and pretty much right away.

The man twitched in front of me, and the shock of his presence rattled me silent. This didn’t make sense.

“Dad?” I breathed out, staring at my father. “Dad, what…”

He should be dead. He was dead. I’d seen his casket. It’d been closed, but I’d seen it. After the fire, my brother and I had been told there was all but nothing left of the man we knew as our father. The authorities had said he’d been burned to the point where there wasn’t anything to show at the funeral. At least nothing that wouldn’t be disturbing, and I’d refused to subject Bru to that. Seeing our father in that condition would have killed him.

It would have killed me.

We loved our dad. He’d had his troubles, but we loved him. Love was never a question, but this, what was happening now, didn’t make sense. He shouldn’t be alive. He shouldn’t be doing this… whatever he was doing.

The man shook his head incessantly as if he was trying to shake something out of it. Ignoring me, Dad continued to pour gas, and I gasped.

“Dad,” I forced out, my mouth so dry and my body achy. I had no idea how long I’d been out and tied to this chair, but pangs in my limbs told me it’d been awhile. “Dad, what are you doing? Why are you here? What happened—”

He shushed me like a child, but it wasn’t a normal shush. His finger shook against his mouth, a vacancy behind his eyes.

“I have to. I have to,” he whispered, the words chillingly low. Severing eye contact, he poured more gas. “I need to.”

“Dad—” I cried out as he lifted the can and spilled the last of the gas on my jeans, my shoes. The smell violated my lungs, and I shifted in my chair. “Dad, stop.”

“No. No. Can’t stop.” He sounded unhinged, crazy. “I can’t stop. It must be done. It has to be done.”

“Daddy.” I hadn’t called him that since I’d been a child, my eyes watering. “Daddy, please stop this.”

He faced me then, really looked at me.

He looked so sad.

A visible pain rimmed his eyes. Like it hurt just to look at me.

He touched my face then, and where I should have pulled away, I didn’t. There was so much care there in his touch, his thumb gentle when it brushed my cheek.

“I did love you.” His lips pinching together, he gazed away. “I did, and she did too. Always did. Your mother.”

The tears rolled down my face now. Why was he telling me this?

His teeth clamped down on his lip, his hand squeezing his eyes. “I have to, Sloane.”

“You don’t have to,” I gasped, blinking down more tears. “Whatever you’re doing, you don’t have to do.”

He poured gas around me, on me, and people only typically used gas for one reason. My father was starting a fire.

And I was at the center.

Swallowing, I gazed around to find many tanks, ones with warning signs all over them. Some of them said flammable and other horribly chilly words. None of this meant anything good for me.

Dad left me then, continuing to pour a line from my seat to those very cans. After he finished, he tossed the can, then came back. He hunkered down.

“I have no choice,” he said, hanging his head. “I have to protect your brother.”

What?

“I did love you,” he repeated, nodding. He got up. “Every time I said it, I meant it. I did, and it hurt every time.”

But why would it hurt?

Dad’s throat jumped. “She was right. Everything your mother said was right.” His hands braced his arms. “I tried to honor her. I did, but it was too late. I was too late, Sloane…”

“Too late?” The words trembled from my lips, my dad blurry. I could barely see him behind my tears.

He cringed, as if seeing them there hurt him too. His mouth parted. “To save you, sweet girl.”

He lifted a match in front of me, and my eyes expanded. I thought he’d throw the flame at me, but he drew back and tossed it behind the barrels.

The flames were immediate, massive. He must have poured gas there too, and I watched in horror as the flames ate the factory’s machinery. They hadn’t caught up to the barrels yet, and when I looked away, I found my father’s eyes, his sight on me.

“Take care of your brother,” he said, backing away. He ran through the barrels, his route the opposite way of the flames.

“Dad!”

My cry disappeared within the fire’s roar, its smoke billowing up and filling the room. I coughed, large flames eating the big machines.

“Someone help!” I screamed, rocking back and forth in my chair. I tugged at the tie on my wrists.

Pop! Pop! Pop!

The sounds of rapid fire surged the air, initial rounds followed by more. It sounded like gunshots, and I jumped so bad, I teetered.

My chair fell to the floor, my face slamming against concrete. I cried out, my shoulder and hip burning.

“Help!” I cried, my wrists tugging weakly at tethers. “Someone help me. Please!”

Nothing but roaring flames surrounded me, my legs kicking. My jeans caught on a part of the chair, and I realized I broke one of its legs in the fall.

Come on, Sloane. Come on.

I kicked at the chair, my own leg coming away free. Working onto my knees, I brought the rest of the chair with me. I might be able to get my hands out if…

“Miss Sloane!”

My head shot up, a man in a billed hat and dark suit coming over to me. I recognized him as Callum’s driver Lucas, and he had his gloved hand over his face, smoke completely around him.

“Lucas?” I gasped, the man nodding. “What are—”

“Are you hurt?” He went for my hands firsts, freeing them. Once he got them loose, he kicked the rest of the chair off me. “Can you stand?”

I was so frazzled he had to help me, physically picking me up. Keeping his back to the flames, Lucas shielded me, and he ran us out of the factory so quick the journey itself felt like a blur.

I coughed once outside, both of us. The night had turned to day, and once Lucas put me down, I wasn’t standing for long.

The flames blew out of the factory’s windows, a large explosion ringing the air. Lucas grabbed me, covering me.

“My dad!” I called out. “My dad’s in there.”

I didn’t know why I said that. After all that, I didn’t know why. Maybe it was the last things he said. How he’d loved me. How he told me to take care of Bruno. My father had a lot of mental health issues. But even with them all, he hadn’t been what he’d shown me inside.

He must have just gone over the edge.

Lucas didn’t let me up until the explosion calmed, and I must have still been yelling about my dad. He held my shoulders. “Your father is gone, Miss Sloane,” he said, shaking his head. “He fired on me, and I had to act.”

Fired on him?

He opened his jacket then, showing me what was inside. He had a gun, strapped. He nodded. “I’m Mr. Montgomery’s personal security as well as his driver.”

“What…” I gasped. “My dad’s gone?”

“He is.” His head lowered. “I’m sorry, but he didn’t survive. I fired a warning shot but…”

He didn’t survive.

But how was he alive? What happened and why did he come after me?

Lucas closed his jacket. “Are you okay? Can you get up?”

Again, he helped me up, and though my hip and shoulder hurt, it wasn’t because of the fall. Physically, I could stand just fine.

I was in a daze, and Lucas had to steady me. He held my shoulders. “Are you injured?”

I didn’t think so, shaking my head. Some sirens rang in the distance, and I gazed around.

“I called for assistance,” he said. “I was already on my way over. Your father took you in your brother’s car, and my employer and I were able to track you via the GPS.”

I didn’t know that could be done, but I guess that was good.

Especially in this case.

“Bru—”

“Your brother is fine,” he said, and must have felt like I was okay because he let go of me. “He managed to get a hold of Mr. Montgomery late last night. My employer was actually already on a flight on his way back into town. He’d wanted to surprise you kids, but didn’t get your calls until after he landed.”

“Callum’s here?”

“Yes, and at not a moment too soon as it seemed.” The man nodded. “Your brother found your phone outside that motel room. Then with you and the car missing, he was obviously worried. Like I said, he managed to get a hold of Mr. Montgomery, and my employer contacted the motel. He was able to work with them and get the security footage outside your room.”

The firetrucks arrived then. They sped onto the scene with police assistance, and the already heightened situation reached new levels for me.

I teetered in a sea of words, Lucas explaining to me how they’d spotted my father on the footage. How my dad had drugged me and taken me. The words came as firemen flew out of their trucks, and the cops were with them. They all took over the situation entirely, hoses being pulled toward the fire and cops asking if Lucas and I were okay. I couldn’t hear anything. I couldn’t speak.

“Did he say why he did this, Miss Sloane?”

I faced Lucas after what he said, the only words that had apparently broken through. I’d been in a head fog, cops and fireman yelling around me…

Water spraying flames.

Lucas homed in. “Did he say why he came after you?”

My father hadn’t said why, and I didn’t know. “No. I don’t know why he did.”

Since I had no more answers for the man, I gazed away. Looking at the building, I simply watched the dying flames.

I mean, what else could I do?