Saving Hailey: Dark Academia, Enemies To Lovers, Mafia Romance (Shadows of Obsession Book 2)
Saving Hailey: Chapter 33

I stride into the high-rollers’ bank in Columbus with Broadway by my side, our steps echoing throughout the elegant, marble space.

Ryder’s right behind us, lugging a small, sealed case holding the grotesque keys—Alex’s fingers and eyes.

Broadway’s been whining about the stench of decay since we picked up the case from the dedicated freezer in my loft. I had one installed when I sent my men on their mission to the graveyard.

“It’s like they’re rotting right here in my hands,”he muttered at least twenty times on our way here, holding the case in his lap for no apparent reason, his nose permanently wrinkled in disgust.

The opulence of the bank is almost suffocating. Luxury drips from every detail, only the finest materials used to craft a hiding place for the riches of the criminal world.

The man behind the counter looks up when I stop before him, his practiced smile quickly morphing into unease.

“How may I help you today?” he asks in a polished tone.

“I’d like to access a deposit box.”

“What name is it?”

“Alex Fletcher.”

Confusion flickers across his face. “May I see some identification and the key, please?”

With a grimace, Broadway sets the case on the tall counter and makes a show of holding his breath while he inserts the key. The case pops open with a hiss, a cloud of icy fog clearing quickly to reveal the contents.

The man’s face pales further the longer he stares at the two blue eyes staring right back. Surprisingly, his voice remains steady, betraying this isn’t the first time he’s had the doubtful pleasure of seeing body parts in metal cases.

“Protocol requires that I consult with the branch manager. Please, wait here.”

Broadway snaps the case shut, green in the face as he inhales a sharp breath, quietly complaining about the foul smell. The battery-operated chiller is on its last legs after the three-hour drive from Chicago. I sure fucking hope the manager won’t keep us waiting too long; Broadway will projectile vomit across the counter if he opens the case again and the contents have completely defrosted.

“I have a feeling you wouldn’t be kept waiting if you were boss here in Ohio, Carter,” Broadway says, carefully settling the suitcase on the floor, away from his delicate nose. He wipes his hands down his pants as if that’ll magically clean them. “With all the shit happening lately, I think the idea’s worth pondering.”

“Maybe, but it’s neither the time, nor the place.”

The air thickens with tension while we wait. Two, five, ten minutes. My fingers tap a nervous beat against the marble, eyes sweeping the security cameras recording us from every angle.

“This has maybe twenty more minutes of battery life.” Broadway taps the case with his boot.

“It’s not like the contents will be instantly useless the moment the battery runs out, but it will smell worse, so…” Ryder snickers seeing all the color drain from Broadway’s face, even the green he sported for most of the ride here.

“The manager better hurry the fuck up,” he groans. “I expected more resistance. Security guards with guns, or some thugs trying to push us out of here. This almost feels a little… anticlimactic. The guy didn’t even ask for a death certificate! For all he knows, those eyes could belong to anyone.”

“You’re getting way ahead of yourself,” I say. “Instead of the manager, he might come back with security.”

“Now thatwould be climactic.”

“You sound frustrated, Broadway. Have you considered getting laid?” Ryder pipes in, studying his nails. “It helps.”

He’s about to add something else, but the receptionist returns, his face unreadable. “Mr. Chen will see you in his office.” He taps the code for the glass security door, holding it open for us. “Follow me.”

We do, passing three sets of security doors before entering a carpeted hallway lined with glass walls. The receptionist stops abruptly, ushering us inside a large, modern office where an older man sits by his desk, staring right at me over the rims of his rectangular glasses. I bet he’s had a good look at me over the surveillance system and, judging by the surprise marring his forehead, he’s wondering where he knows me from.

He stands, holding his hand out, his attention flickering between me and the case in Broadway’s hand. “Welcome, Mr…?”

“Willard. Carter Willard.”

Another flicker of recognition while we shake hands.

Surely, he knows my father. I guess what’s tripping him up is that Rhett Willard has a son.

“Tao Chen, I’m the manager here. Please, take a seat.” He points to two chairs opposite him.

Broadway immediately sets the case down, backing away to stand by the door with Ryder.

“I understand there’s a request to access Mr. Fletcher’s deposit box. I must inform you we have unparalleled security. I’d strongly advise against any… drastic actions.”

“We’re not here to cause trouble,” I assure him, though my fingers are itching to grab my Glock and dig the barrel into his temple. “Fletcher’s dead, but he left something important in his box and I’d like to retrieve it.”

“I’m afraid I can’t help you, Mr. Willard.”

There’s the resistance Broadway wanted.

“I don’t suppose Alex will have much use for it now so how about you tell me what it’ll take to make this happen without any unnecessary complications,” I insist. “Holding a deposit box here isn’t cheap,” I continue. “A dead man won’t pay any fees. I’m sure if we made a big enough donation to your security fund we could come to some arrangement about accessing his box.”

“I don’t think we understand each other, Mr. Willard. As generous as your offer sounds, I can’t help you because there is no deposit box here under the name of Alex Fletcher.”

Even though a part of me considered that scenario from the start, the confirmation and shattered possibility hits me like a physical blow, instantly deflating the tension.

My hands ball in and out of tight fists, anger simmering beneath the surface. I left Hailey in Chicago for nothing. While I trust Dante with my life, I hate not having Hailey close.

Broadway swears loudly, distracting Chen for a split second before his attention turns back to me.

“Is that all?” he asks.

I grind my teeth, staring him down, my hand slipping to the Glock hidden under my leather jacket.

“I assure you, Mr. Willard, I have no reason to lie. Here.” He turns his computer screen my way.

Beneath a search bar showing Alex Fletcher is a bold sentence stating there are no available records.

“Check under Hailey Vaughn,” I order.

Chen pauses, then nods, turning the screen back around. His fingers poke at the keyboard so fucking slowly it makes me clench my teeth to stop from ripping it out of his hands and handing it to Ryder. It takes a few seconds at most, I’m sure, but the wait is torturous, each second lasting a day.

“There’s no deposit box under Hailey Vaughn either.”

The disappointment is a bitter pill, the lead weighing down my stomach a stark contrast to the adrenaline that’s fueled me since Hailey’s flashback. The atmosphere shifts from tense anticipation to frustration. Even Broadway’s whining’s ceased, replaced by silent, seething disappointment.

Refusing to leave empty-handed, I pull an envelope stuffed with cash from my jacket and slide it across the table toward the manager. “I want to see the security footage from August twenty-seventh, between nine and ten pm.”

Chen cocks an eyebrow. “Mr. Willard, our establishment closes at six pm, there would be no footage from—”

“Who are you fooling? I know you operate after hours by appointment. Get me the footage.”

A moment of silent standoff ensues, Chen quickly yields when he checks the envelope.

“Very well. Give me a minute.”

I’m perfectly aware I’m grasping at straws right now, but I’m not leaving any stones unturned.

Chen leaves and the moment the door clicks shut, the control I’ve been clinging to starts crumbling.

“Fuck,” Broadway mutters, breaking the silence. “This was supposed to be it. The big lead. It made perfect sense. Why else would Alex stop one street over?”

“Obviously we got it wrong,” I mutter, massaging my temples, sick and fucking tired of this game. “Let’s see what Chen comes back with. If there’s any footage from that night, it could lead us somewhere.”

“And if there’s nothing?” Broadway questions, his frustration mirroring mine.

“Then we pivot.” Like we’ve been doing since the start. “We go through everything we have, see if we missed anything that could point us in a new direction or trigger another memory from Hailey. The evidence is somewhere. If Rhett’s right, she knows where. It didn’t just disappear.”

I clench my teeth, sick of the lies and secrets—and Hailey’s incomplete memories.

Everything boils down to her. She’s a Queen on the chessboard, a key to this mess, a cage for my heart.

I hate that she’s the epicenter. And I fucking hate that she’s three hours away from me. Koby’s with her. Dante’s there too, along with a dozen armed men, but I should be keeping her safe.

She’s mine to protect.

I’d never have to leave her under someone else’s protection again if only she’d remember. If only these questions would stop multiplying.

How the fuck did Rhett find out Alex was a cop?

Why was Alex parked one street over from the bank?

When did Alex tell Hailey about Aalyiah?

Who told my sister she wasn’t the only girl her boyfriend was involved with?

Where was Hailey running when—

I halt, corralling my racing thoughts. The first time Hailey saw a gun firing, she also saw herself running through mud toward concrete streets. It had to be the same night she saw Rhett execute whoever it was.

“Ryder, I need—”

The door swings open, cutting me off mid-sentence. Chen returns with two heavily armed security guards, their presence a clear sign he’s done playing nice.

“There you go, Mr. Willard, the security footage as requested. I’m afraid you won’t find anything of interest, but I know you won’t take my word for it.” He hands me a flash drive, his spine rigid, the door to the office still wide open. “Now, I’d appreciate if you’d see yourself out.”

My jaw clenches, anger and disappointment swirling in a potent mix. “Thank you for your time,” I snap, motioning at my men. “We’re leaving.”

Not that we have much choice in the matter. The security guards escort us out, closing the heavy door behind us once we’ve stepped into the biting evening air. We don’t speak until we’re back in the Range Rover and Broadway pulls away from the curb while Ryder loads the security footage.

The whole time I’m watching, hoping to see either Hailey or Alex, my mind invents a dozen new ways to proceed, each more desperate than the last.

“Nothing,” I clip, snapping the laptop closed. “Back to the drawing board. We need to check all our intel on Rhett, Blaze, Alex—anyone who could lead us to the evidence. I want everyone X-rayed again. Vaughn too. Matthews, his daughter. Throw Apollo into the mix.” I run a hand down my face. “Check Aalyiah, Babyface, the fucking nurse Rhett bribed at the hospital. Everyone.”

I know most of those people don’t matter, but I need to feel like we’re fighting for an edge. It was easier to sit around and wait for Hailey to remember while my main goal was earning her trust. Now I have it, I want to stop hiding her.

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Koby’s pouting in the wingback chair when we arrive back at Dante’s house. Its owner sits by the long bar that takes up the right wall of his living room, a drink in hand, a Glock beside him, narrowed eyes jumping between me, Broadway, and Ryder.

Instead of firing off questions, he motions toward the leather couch. “She fell asleep an hour ago.”

Hailey’s curled up under a fluffy blanket she must’ve dragged here from the guest house, her face nuzzled into a pillow. She didn’t get much sleep last night, writhing under me and screaming the guest house down.

“How was the trip?” Koby asks, the bitterness in his voice betraying he’s been bored out of his mind.

“Long and fucking pointless,” Broadway says, fetching a bottle of whiskey. “No deposit boxes for Alex or Hailey, and nothing on the camera footage.” He makes everyone a drink, settling for water himself.

Perks of being the designated driver.

I tell Dante about the bank visit in more detail, then jump into an idea I had while Chen left to fetch the footage. I ask Ryder to pull up the map of Alex’s journey on the night of the accident.

“We kept thinking Hailey was in the car with Alex the whole time and that he stopped here…” I point at the X near the bank, “to drop off the evidence, but… what if he was on his own until he stopped here to pick up Hailey? What if the night she saw Rhett executing some poor fucker was the night of the accident? She had a flashback about running through a muddy field.” I point out the warehouse and trail my finger back toward the bank. “This is nothing but wasteland. She saw Rhett kill someone, called Alex to pick her up, then ran across the field.”

“Rhett sends Babyface after them at the same time,” Ryder says, the look on his face telling me his analytical mind’s computing a thousand possibilities. “Whoever he killed must’ve told him about Alex being a cop.”

“He knew when he found Aalyiah earlier that day,” Broadway counters.

“Would he send his men after a cop without getting confirmation he is, in fact, a cop?” Koby muses, tapping his index finger against his cheek. “If not, then maybe whoever he killed gave him that confirmation.”

“It’s plausible but…” Dante downs the last of his drink, deep in thought before he continues. “How did Hailey find herself at the warehouse in the first place?”

That’s a question I can’t answer.

“Maybe they figured out Hailey was Alex’s side piece and one of Rhett’s men was bringing her in?” Ryder offers.

“That’d mean Rhett knew she was coming. He wouldn’t let her leave. Especially if she’d seen him kill.”

“It’d be helpful to know who he killed,” Broadway says.

“That it would, but given the situation, he won’t tell me shit if I ask. Letting him know I’m onto him would paint an even bigger target on Hailey’s back. The risk outweighs the reward. It’s not worth it.”

Checking the time on my wristwatch, I turn to wake Hailey and find her staring right at me, her blue eyes rested, chin touching the back of the couch. A soft blush creeps up her cheeks, but she pushes away her shyness as she sits up.

“I think I know how to trigger another memory.”

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