The Billionaire Ex-Wife's Return (Cynthia and Ethan) novel Chapter 309

Chapter 309

Ethan's POV

Consciousness came rushing back before my body hit the ground.

One moment I was falling, darkness closing in, Pascal's fist still burning against my jaw.

The next, something inside me roared to life.

A surge of strength — primal, desperate, fueled by six months of frustration and fear and the devastating realization of everything I'd just remembered.

My hands shot out, catching myself before I hit the pavement, and I launched myself at Pascal with a fury I didn't know I was capable of.

We collided hard, both of us crashing to the ground in a tangle of limbs and rage.

Pascal was strong—stronger than I expected, fueled by his own desperation and whatever circumstances had led him to be hiding in these bushes.

But I was stronger.

My fist connected with Pascal's face—once, twice, feeling bone crunch under my knuckles.

He got in his own hits, his knee driving into my ribs where he'd beaten me months ago in that warehouse, pain exploding through my chest.

But I didn't stop.

We rolled across the pavement, each fighting for dominance, blood from both of us mixing on the ground.

Around us, chaos erupted.

I caught glimpses through the blur of movement—Miguel grappling with the younger police officer, his weathered farmer's strength surprising the cop who'd clearly underestimated him.

Carmen had actually jumped on the older officer's back, hitting him with her purse and screaming in furious Spanish.

It would have been funny if it wasn't so deadly serious.

I got on top of Pascal, pinning him down, my hands going to his throat.

"Where's Grace?" I demanded, squeezing. "Where's your mother? What did you do after you shot me?"

Pascal's eyes bulged, his hands clawing at my wrists, but I didn't let go.

"TELL ME!" I shouted.

Pascal's struggles were weakening now, his face turning red, then purple.

Part of me wanted to keep squeezing.

Wanted to make him pay for everything—the kidnapping, the beatings, the gunshot, the six months of my life stolen.

But I needed answers more than I needed revenge.

I loosened my grip slightly, just enough for Pascal to gasp in air.

"Talk," I growled. "Or I finish this."

Pascal coughed, wheezing, his eyes streaming.

"Go to hell," he spat.

Wrong answer.

I slammed his head back against the pavement—not hard enough to kill, but hard enough to stun.

His eyes rolled back, his body going limp beneath me.

Unconscious.

I stood on shaking legs, my entire body aching, blood dripping from cuts on my face and hands.

The police officers had managed to shake off Miguel and Carmen and were backing away, their hands up, weapons holstered.

"Wait!" I shouted at them. "Don't you dare run."

The older officer's face was a mixture of fear and shame.

They didn't need to be told twice.

Both officers scrambled into their patrol car and peeled out, leaving tire marks on the pavement as they fled.

Miguel and Carmen rushed over to me.

"Dios mío," Carmen breathed, her hands fluttering over my face, assessing the damage. "You are hurt. You are bleeding. We need to get you to hospital…"

"No," I said firmly. "No hospitals. I need to get to Missford. I need to find Cynthia."

I looked down at Pascal's unconscious body.

"We need to tie him up," I said. "Put him in the car. Take him to the police in Missford."

Miguel nodded and went to the trunk, returning with rope—the same rope they probably used for securing produce loads on their farm.

Together, we bound Pascal's hands and feet, making sure the knots were tight enough that he couldn't escape even when he woke up.

Then Miguel and I hauled him to the car and shoved him into the trunk.

Pascal groaned slightly as we moved him but didn't regain consciousness.

Good.

I climbed back into the car, my entire body screaming in protest, blood still dripping from various cuts.

Carmen got into the passenger seat, immediately turning to fuss over me with tissues and water and worried Spanish.

Miguel started the engine.

"We go to police station," he said. "In Missford. We give them this man. And they will help you find your wife."

Miguel pulled back onto the road, driving faster now, urgency replacing his earlier caution.

I pressed my hand against my ribs where Pascal had kicked me, feeling bruises forming, but I didn't care.