Donald jumped back into his car after spotting Grace's battered notebook on the sidewalk.
He felt something was wrong. Fear gripped his chest as he hoped he wasn't too late.
He sped down the narrow road, gripping the steering wheel tighter. Grace's phone still wouldn't connect.
"I need to find her." He said to himself.
Then he saw it. A black van parked awkwardly by the roadside. It rocked faintly, like something, or someone was struggling inside.
At first glance, it could have been kids fooling around or men unloading cargo. Donald didn't want to take chances.
He came down from the car, then walked to the vehicle. The windows were too dark. He could barely see a thing. He came closer and heard a sound. Muffled, Desperate like a woman's cry had pressed down a gag. His blood boiled.
Donald smashed the windows with his elbow, and opened the door from the inside.
Every man inside, turned toward him in shock.
In their middle was Grace. Her blouse was torn, her wrists bound painfully behind her back, her mouth gagged. Sweat and tears streaked her face, mixing into a silent cry for help.
One of the men already had their trousers open, grinning with filthy hunger.
Donald dragged the first man out as he landed him a blow. He slammed his face against the edge of the Van door.
Another tried to stab Donald, but he dodged. Donald caught his wrist, twisted it until the bones cracked. He hit the man on his stomach with his knee.
The third barely had time to zip his trousers before Donald dragged him by his collar and hit his head against the street light pole.
Donald wasn't just angry, he was possessed. Every punch carried the weight of his rage. He beat them until they were too weak to stand or run. Only then did he turn.
Grace knelt. Her dress was tattered, and her hair was messy. Donald removed her gag. And untied her hands.
"Grace." He said with so much fear in his eyes. "Are you okay?"
She didn't answer. When he reached for her, she recoiled, trembling. The terror in her eyes cut deeper than any wound
"It's me, Donald." He said, touching his chest. Grace stared at him like she didn't recognize him.
Donald took off his jacket and placed it around her shoulders. He lifted her into his arms in bridal style and carried her out of that cursed van.
The car ride was silent. Her soft, broken sobs filled the air. She sat almost pressed against the window. She didn't want to look at him. Donald felt so helpless. He swore to find those men and make them suffer for laying their hands on her.
When they reached the mansion, he parked in the driveway and turned to her. "Are you okay?" he asked.
Grace turned to him, her eyes were red and swollen. She snapped. A slap landed on his cheek.
Donald felt hurt not because of the slap but because of the pain she was going through. He couldn't do anything but look at her.
"You bastard," Grace spat angrily. "Do you think I am stupid? You send those men after me, then come play hero? To confuse me? To get close to me so I'll tell you what I know? How low can the Coles stoop? You disgust me. You want to kill me just like your parents did Bernard. I hate you, Donald Cole." Her voice broke at the end, trembling with pain and fury.
Her words cut through the air. Donald stared at her, the weight behind her words made his heart ache.
"If I sent them," he said slowly. "Why would I save you?'
"Because it's all a game to you," she cried, voice trembling. "A rich man's game."
"Do you know how many threats I have had since I started chasing this story? It always comes back to you, your family. Don't lie to me, Donald. I know how far your people will go."