Three Breaths (The Game of Life Novella Series Book 3) Read online

“Kids are hard work, right?”

  “That they are. Thank God I get to leave for work and take a break from kid-wrangling. I’m not sure how my wife does it all day and night.”

  “Morgan’s an amazing mother.”

  “So is my Sophia.”

  There’s silence.

  “I’ll take that smoke now.” I sigh. “I need something, anything to try and keep me calm.”

  Maloney reaches into his pocket, removing the packet for the second time. “After this, Reid, you need to try and get some sleep. Even if it’s only twenty minutes, it will help.”

  I shake my head. “I can’t sleep. I don’t think I can until I have my wife home safe.”

  “You can’t stay awake forever; your body will eventually shit itself … Trust me.”

  “I’ll sleep when my wife is home. That’s when I’ll sleep. Not before.”

  White water lilies bob up and down in a small pond in front of us. Morgan pauses briefly before taking the microphone to her mouth. “Reid, today you’re mine forever, and this makes me the happiest girl to walk the earth. They say when you find the real thing you know, and you don’t hesitate to hold it tight in your possession. I knew from the day on those university grounds when I said, ‘Hi, I’m Morgan,’ that I’d marry you. I truly did.” She smiles broadly. “I will love you for all the days of my life. I will hold you in your darkest hours. Honour you in all you accomplish, and laugh with you through every great milestone. Nothing will ever be too much for us to handle, for we will always have each other and will find strength when rough times seek us out.” Tears well in her eyes. “Your lips are my home, your hands are my comfort, and your heart guides my future. I’m honoured and privileged today to be your wife. Keep me safe, keep me warm and loved, Reid—that’s all I’ll ever ask of you, and in return, I’ll be by your side no matter what. You’re my everything. My Friend. My lover. My now husband. My Reid.” Her hands tremble as she grasps the thick gold wedding band between her fingertips. “I, Morgan Amelia Cuttings, take you, Reid Elis Banks, to be …”

  The sound of a door closing causes me to jump. Where am I? Why are doors slamming?

  “Reid.” It's an unfamiliar voice, and for a moment I’m confused until I find myself standing in a room that brings me the sensation of peace.

  I’m looking down on a wooden floor. I’m calm. I know I’m alone, yet waiting for someone.

  “Are you ready, baby?” Her hands brush my waistband.

  I smile in response.

  “You are edible in that suit, Mr Banks.”

  I turn swiftly and breathe in her vanilla perfume. Morgan’s my life. It’s all I can think when my eyes meet hers. “I’m ready to sweep you off your feet and show these clowns how it is we dance, baby.”

  Morgan smiles as her big brown eyes fill with mischievous intent. I can read her like a book. I’ve never felt so close to another person in my life.

  “You’re my Aphrodite, Morgan. Beauty, pleasure, and procreation draped in a white wedding dress; I’m so glad you said yes.”

  A sweet giggle slips from her mouth as my arms desperately fold her in, pressing her body taut to mine.

  “I love you, Morgan,” I whisper against her cheek.

  “Reid finally succumbed to sleep. Just leave him there. There's no point waking him.” That unfamiliar voice returns, and as I search for the man who has ownership of it, I feel Morgan slipping out of my arms. What’s happening?

  The room we had our first dance in grows dark and as it does my stomach rolls with worry and the hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention.

  “Come away with me,” Morgan whispers, and I’m drawn to follow her bright silhouette invading the darkness.

  I smell the ocean salt before I see crystal blue water. There’s a light breeze rushing over my body as a white curtain sways impeding the ocean view.

  “I love it here in Barbados, Reid, and I never want to go home. Can we stay forever?” Morgan lays peacefully in my arms. “I love the sound of ocean waves crashing on the shore. How will I ever sleep when we return home without this sound?”

  God, she’s beautiful. I don’t want to leave her. I don’t want to go home. “Hmmm,” I moan. “We should stay here forever.” I nip gently against her neck. “I love you, Morgan.”

  “I love you too.” She rolls until she’s perched up on her elbows. Her adoring gaze tells me of her love. “I love you so much.”

  I can’t help but pull Morgan down on top of me and hold back the hair falling over her face by cupping my hands to her cheeks. “The honeymoon might be almost over, Morgan, but I can’t wait to start my life with you. I promise every day will be just like this.”

  Her smile is a gift from God. Oh, that smile of hers is a mix of pleasure, peace and heaven.

  Ring, ring.

  It’s a faint sound.

  Ring, ring.

  It grows louder.

  Ring, ring.

  “What the fuck is happening?” I rub my eyes, trying to figure out why I hear ringing in our hotel room since we specifically asked for no electronics to be included.

  “Here, take it.” It’s a woman voice.

  It’s not Morgan’s.

  “What?” I’m half asleep. Lost.

  “Take it. Wait for my signal.” A phone is held an inch from my nose. “Reid, get ready to answer the phone. It’ll be him.”

  “Who?”

  “Reid. You were asleep. Now you're awake. Your wife is missing. The guy who has her is calling. You need to fucking switch on.” Maloney holds my chin in a pistol grip while glaring into my eyes. “Reid, you need to take this call. Morgan's missing. Wake up.”

  I fell asleep. I was only dreaming. I’m not surrounded by love and happiness.

  I’m living a fucking nightmare.

  Morgan

  I’m weightless, and I know I’m being carried because I can feel his chest expanding and then deflating against my cheek. I can also smell the aroma of sweat mixed with something that reminds me of my grandfather’s shoe polish. His fingertips are digging into my ribcage and at my thigh, and I desperately want to pry his hands from my skin, but I can’t move my arms or open my eyes.

  He whistles. It’s the same eerie tune I’ve heard many times now.

  Where is he taking me?

  “Oh Red, Red, Red, you’ve had a rough day out there today, haven’t you?” He sports a strong British accent.

  I want to scream, who are you? But my tongue, like the rest of me, seems paralysed.

  “It will all be over soon.” He speaks so calmly, and the pressure below my ribcage and digging in at my sides vanish. My body lowers.

  At first, I can’t place the cold sensation travelling up my legs, over my stomach, then on to my breasts. All I know is I’m suddenly freezing. Inconsistent splashes follow. Water. I’m wet.

  “Just a few more smudges to wipe away,” he says, as my lips begin to sting. “They’re busted up pretty bad.” His words are laced with contentment. “I know you can hear me now, Red.”

  My head jerks back, and I hear the thud before the dull ache travels across my skull. I want to scream out, but I’m unable to open my mouth.

  “This next bit I will leave up to fate. You will save yourself or you won’t. Your life is resting upon your desire to live. You can move, Red; you just have to want it bad enough.”

  My only response is my heart, pumping hard and fast in my chest.

  There’s a soft creak followed by the shifting of a latch, and then the sense of someone being close to me is lost. Am I alone? Every breath I take is quick and harsh. Move, Morgan; you need to move. But I can’t. Impending danger awaits me. The threat of death lingers in the air. A neck-prickling fear creeps along my skin.

  Water trickles down my cheeks, and without warning I flinch. I moved. I can move. The taste of salt seeping in between my lips alerts me to my flowing tears. I’m crying. My lips twitch as tears continue to race over them, and by the time I take three long breaths to bring myself
calm, I have managed to wiggle my fingers.

  Move, Morgan! I scream in my mind as I continue battling my conscious state and my limbs, which feel as heavy as stone.

  Left. Right. Left. Right. It’s only minimal movement, but I rock my head. Urgent warnings sound off in my brain, telling me to stop because I can’t see what it is I’m facing. Why can’t I open my eyes?

  I slide. I’m slipping. I try to press my hands down to stop myself, but I can’t. Help me!

  I’m halted abruptly.

  Don’t breathe, don’t breathe, don’t breathe. I hear this chant as I struggle against my muscles, which ache intensely. My face becomes as cold and wet as the rest of my body.

  My head is underwater.

  I flick my eyes wide with ease as if I’ve been able to do so the entire time. What is happening to me? Dirty brown fills my vision and in this brown colouration drifts small clear bubbles, bubbles that resemble those created from expelling air, the air I acknowledge is escaping through my now pressed lips.

  I’m fucking drowning. MOVE!

  In my mind, I’m thrashing my limbs, but in reality I’m barely moving at all. I’m running out of oxygen. I know this because my desperation to claim any is frantic.

  “Baby girl, Daddy’s here. I’m here. You’re strong. You can do this, Morgan. Show me. Find the surface.” I hear my father’s voice as if his lips press against my ear. “Take my hand.”

  I’m reaching, and searching for his grip.

  “My hand’s higher, Morgan; you need to stretch higher."

  I manage to. Curling my fingers, I clutch onto something hard, and with one loud scream bursting through my gaping mouth, I yank myself upwards until I’m left, hung limp, over the side of a stable structure. It’s a gaggled gasp that has me coughing, and then my torso jerks as water exits in a vomit from my mouth.

  Every breath I take burns as I moan, “Holy fuck.” I pant when I spot the concrete floor below, and the need to lift myself out of this water becomes strong … but I’m weak to the point where lifting my limbs seems impossible.

  Just keep reaching, I tell myself, as I extend my arms and grunt my sheer desperation, walking my fingers along the flooring below. You can do this, Morgan. Pressing my palms downwards brings with it the suspicion I’m being tipped over, and without a second to contemplate what’s happening, my body smacks hard into the ground. “Fuck,” I wail, coiling myself into a tight ball. Protection.

  I shiver.

  I’m naked.

  It’s cold.

  Soft whimpering grows loud and more forced until my nose becomes blocked and I’m alerted to the fact that I’m the one howling. My wet hair wraps across my face, and in between the gaps it’s creating, and through the tears pooled in my eyes, I’m able to locate a wall the colour of silver.

  The room. The wolf has brought me back to his prison.

  I shuffle on my arse until my spine presses against the wall, and I shift my knees to my chest. I rest my chin on my knees and wrap my arms around my shins.

  What the …?

  I brush my fingers across thick threading, threading positioned where my once open gashes were on my shins. Sliding my feet across the concrete has my legs extended, and I gasp when I see the stitches now closing my previous injury. The wolf stitched me. Why? Isn’t revenge the point of his game and to cause pain and death?

  It’s then I remember him placing me in the water and washing my lips. I’m urgent in inspecting every inch of my body. I’m terrified when I see the deep purple bruising, cuts, grazes, and rashes covering me. The five words, one through to five, that are tattooed on my inner arm remain, only now there’s a strike through ‘one’ in black.

  Slowly, I bring my knees back to meet my chest and wrap my hands around each ankle. I whip my head left then right, searching, wondering if the wolf is somewhere in here, hiding, waiting to attack. I stop in a stare when I locate a clawfoot tub, one that not long ago almost claimed my life. Why? Why would he patch me up, clean me? Why did he offer care?

  It takes some time to focus on the rest of my surroundings. There’s no longer a stretcher, or a table littered with blank papers. The rusty tap that dripped is also gone, as is the drum which had the backpack on its top. The only thing in the room is the tub and a tied garbage bag sitting on the floor right near where the blank projection screen hangs on the far wall.

  “Where are you? Go on, show yourself. I know you can see me.” I try to yell the words, but they’re shaken and hoarse.

  Will he appear on the projection screen, armed with vulgar taunts and vacant cold eyes? To my surprise, he doesn’t, yet I don’t shift my vision from the screen. Where is he? I know he’ll be watching my every move. I blink and then stare until my eyes burn, and I blink once more. I do this over and over. The screen remains blank. Where is the wolf? Is this my chance to find a way out? Is this my chance to escape? But how? There’s still no door. How can there be no door? How does he get me in and out of here?

  Reid

  Detective Dyson holds her hand across the mouthpiece of the second cordless and hovers her finger above the Accept button. “Go,” she mouths.

  “It's Reid speaking,” I answer, preparing for the worst.

  “I think you’re missing something more than your wife. Would this be correct?” He still speaks with the same British accent.

  Dyson's eyes are wide as she shakes her head in a way that alerts me not to speak.

  “Crisp green bills, wrapped in clingwrap … I’m guessing the wrap was your doing?”

  “The money,” I growl.

  “Bingo. Fifty thousand dollars is quite a sum to keep in a sports bag in your safe. I bet those Bizzies have given you a tough day. You can thank me for that tip-off. Those coppers are nothing more than brainless puppets on strings.”

  Dyson is rotating her fingers in circles as she mouths, “Keep him talking.”

  “How did you get in? How did you know where the money was? Or that I’d even withdrawn that amount?”

  “Taking things you want isn’t hard. Do me a favour—tell that bitch detective to hang up the other line or I’ll fuck your wife up so bad you won’t be able to recognise her when I send her back to you in garbage bags.” He’s eerily calm.

  I swallow hard as my eyes bulge from my head. This fucker is insane.

  Dyson lays the cordless down on a couch cushion and raises both her hands, palms out, into the air.

  “It’s been done.” My voice rattles.

  “Detective Astin West? Now he can listen. Not her. She needs to leave the room. Tell her to leave the room now.”

  “He wants you to leave the room,” I say robotically, gauging Detective Dyson’s reaction.

  She only shakes her head.

  “She can’t.” I can’t believe I just admitted this out loud to the man who has my wife. Comply with his requests, don’t deny them.

  “Well, in that case, let me get your little lady, and I’ll kill her while you’re listening.”

  “He’ll kill Morgan if you don’t.” My tone laced with panic.

  Detective Dyson’s eyes narrow as she mouths, “I’m going.”

  “No. Don’t. Detective Dyson is leaving. Don’t hurt Morgan.” My panic is entwined with these words.

  Dyson draws her weapon from the holster wrapped around her waist. She lowers to the floor and crawls the short distance from the lounge room to the entryway.

  “She’s out of the room. I swear.” I look to Maloney who mouths, “Keep him talking.”

  “Say hello to Max for me, will you?”

  Can he see us? He must be able to see us. I don’t pass on his greeting.

  “I would follow my instructions. I have Morgan. I have your money. I even have a collection of your photos and home movies, too … I’ll destroy all of it.”

  “He says ‘hi Max’.” I blurt this out fast, my heart pounding as rapidly as Tarzan beats at his chest.

  Maloney’s eyes narrow into a scowl.

  “Good.”
I can hear the smile in his voice.

  The line goes dead.

  Slowly I drop the cordless to the ground and bring my hands up, cupping my face. “Motherfuuuuuucker.”

  “Shit.” I hear Maloney say. “I’m ringing Astin.”

  Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump.

  Urgent feet beat against the staircase. Maloney grabs my arm, yanking me with him behind the couch. “Stay down. Don’t make a sound,” he whispers.

  I watch as Dyson performs an army roll, which sees her back in the lounge area and scrambling behind the small wall that exists before the opening. She kneels with her weapon drawn.

  Is he in the house? Fright launches from the bottomless pit of my stomach to the back of my constricted throat.

  “What’s going on? What’s with all the yelling?” It’s Ronald shouting.

  I exhale with relief.

  “Where are you?” Ronald yells.

  “Loungeroom,” Maloney answers.

  Ronald stands in the doorway wearing the same white cotton singlet and loose cotton boxer shorts I saw him in before he retired to bed. His head is tilted to the side as he scratches at the smooth part of his head. “What’s happened?”

  “Another phone call.” I stand so he can see me as clearly as I can see him.

  “Is Morgan okay?”

  “I don’t know.” I shake my head because I’ve no clue if she is or she isn’t. Her abductor hasn’t let me speak to her. He just makes references.

  Ronald throws his arms down and slaps them simultaneously against his outer legs. “I’ve had enough. I’m going out to search for Morgan. I’ve barely slept a wink. I can't continue lying around while my baby is out there. My daughter needs me.” He turns sharp on his heel.

  “Stop, Mr Cuttings. It won’t achieve anything.” Dyson reaches out her hand and lowers it to Ronald’s shoulder. “Take a seat. I’m calling Detective West.”

  “Have you pigs found any leads yet, or is this lunatic controlling everything that’s happening? Because from where I’m sitting you haven’t the faintest idea what you’re doing, and you look like a bunch of bloody chooks with your heads cut off.” Ronald’s once sleepy appearance disappears with his outburst, his limbs now tensed. His biceps are bulging, and his face glows red.