My stomach dropped. Had they really gotten this comfortable with each other?
Linda and I had been together for years. Forget underwear—she had never once washed so much as a dress shirt for me.
Because she'd told me, in no uncertain terms, that her hands were made for making money, not for waiting on me.
Yet here she was, doting on Kerry hand and foot. How was I supposed to explain that?
Kerry turned to me with an easy smile.
"Darrell, after the kidnapping, Linda was left with some serious psychological trauma. While you were gone, I kept her company. That's all."
"Don't overthink it. We sleep in separate rooms."
"Mm." I gave a quiet murmur, but the weight pressing down on me only grew heavier.
Nothing that came out of either of their mouths had a shred of credibility left.
Linda produced an expensive bottle of red wine, uncorked it, and poured two glasses—one for herself, one for Kerry. Then she glanced at me.
"Darrell, the doctor said your heart can't handle alcohol. You'd better sit this one out."
A table full of Kerry's favorite dishes. The two of them clinking glasses right in front of me, calling it a celebration of my safe return. The whole thing made my skin crawl.
I didn't care for sour food. But three years without a decent meal had left my gut hollow, and the sight of those dishes set my mouth watering against my will.
Even so, I didn't touch a single bite.
Because I knew none of it had been made for me.
Linda and Kerry put on a show, picking up food with their chopsticks and placing it in my bowl. When I still didn't eat, Linda's expression soured.
"Darrell, it's not that I won't let you drink. The doctor won't let you drink."
"You can't even stand on your own two feet anymore. Are you really going to throw a fit over something this small?"
I let out a hollow laugh, then picked up my chopsticks and started pushing the food around my bowl.
"It's nothing. Just spaced out for a second."
After lunch, Linda wheeled me out into the yard to sit in the sun.
"The doctor said you need more sunlight. The midday sun is strongest right now, so just soak it in for a while. I'm going to go wash the dishes."
She left before I could respond.
She seemed to have forgotten that she was the one who'd arranged for me to be baked under the sun for three straight years.
The blinding, scorching heat—I'd had more than enough of it.
I rose slowly from the wheelchair.
That's right. I could move just fine. I'd paid the doctor to tell them I couldn't stand.
I crept back inside the villa and saw what they'd done to the place. The entire interior had been remodeled.
Kerry liked brown tones. Kerry liked vintage decor. And the house had been redesigned to match his taste down to the last detail. Every trace of my life here had been erased.
I checked the kitchen. Linda had told me she was going to wash the dishes, but there wasn't a sign of her anywhere.
I made my way up to the second floor, out onto the balcony, and the scene that greeted me sent rage tearing through every nerve in my body.
Linda was in the pool, wearing a bikini that barely covered anything, nestled in Kerry's arms. He wore nothing but his underwear.
"You know, now that he's back, we won't be able to do whatever we want like before..."
"Relax. He's finished. He can't even stand up. There's nothing he can do about us."
"Besides, doing it right under his nose... doesn't that make it even more exciting?"
They pulled each other close and kissed, deep and hungry, just like the time I'd caught them three years ago.
No. This time was worse.
Kerry lifted Linda out of the water, carrying her by the waist, and set her down on the lounge chair beside the pool.
The chair began to rock in a steady rhythm. My teeth ground together so hard they creaked. I whispered under my breath:
"Enjoy it. It's the last time you'll ever touch each other."
Forty minutes later, they fell asleep in each other's arms.
I went downstairs and dialed a number. "Move in."
Maybe the dose had been too strong. Linda didn't wake up until dusk, groggy and unsteady on her feet.
The evening breeze had turned cool. She was still wearing that barely-there swimsuit.
And Kerry, who had been wrapped around her, was gone.
She threw on a bathrobe and grabbed her phone, dialing Kerry's number.
The call connected immediately, but the voice on the other end wasn't his.
"Ms. Fox of the Fox Group, is it? I've got your husband and your little boyfriend. If you want them alive, bring everything you've got to the abandoned factory on the south side. Every last cent."
"Come alone. Otherwise, they're dead."
The line went dead. Seconds later, Linda received a video: me and Kerry, bound and gagged.
