Fear laced my veins, knowing that there was every possibility that mom had called him, he was here because of me. Because I had broken up with Brandon and was with them, with Ashby? Surely that would not bring him back all of the way here from Los Angeles?
"Bring her here" the man continued to drag me as I tugged myself out of his grip and stepped around him to see where my dad was.
"Don't be difficult," the stern British accent made me instantly follow his lead. Thick fingers dug into the skin on my arm roughly once again. The pain was shooting down my arm, but I was unable to show any emotion. I was scared. What was going on?
Stepping through the threshold into the bar, that one light was illuminating the man I had not seen for months. Martin Reeves.
Sat next to him was one of the bikers. I didn't know his name, and I had never spoken to him before. On closer inspection, I could see that his hands were bound to the chair, like a prisoner of sorts.
Standing in front of him, with these men, I knew instantly that something was not right. The entire room was electrified, and not in a good way.
"Well, well, Nala," he didn't move to stand, just sat there staring at me in a way that made my bones feel as though they were dissolving. "Quite the situation, isn't it?"
"What is?" My eyes were darting to all of these men, standing there like bodyguards.
"A doctor from the hospital called the cops," Marilyn? "Reported your mom for drugging you, allegedly."
"What?"
"Is it true?"
My silence only angered him because he stood furiously, throwing the table he had been sat at across the floor, splintering the wood, sending shards across the linoleum.
Turning his back to me, he leaned down to the biker he had tied to a chair.
"Now the cops are sniffing in places they shouldn't be because of your doctor friend" turning around, he looked to another one of his henchmen "get her stuff."
My stuff? "What? No"
"We're leaving Nala, you will never set foot in this town, this country again."
What? "I can't."
"This isn't up for debate" is all he says before pulling a shotgun out of the breast pocket of his suit jacket, the silver shinning under the light above him. Rubbing the side of it against his thigh, he finally looked me in the eye.
"No," Ash, I had just got him, I couldn't leave now.
"No negotiations, Nala, this is what is happening," an evil smirk on his lips as he moved the hand holding the gun. "You have fucked up, not only with that doctor friend who will be dealt with, in time, but also with Brandon. Lost me a lot of fucking money."
"Money?" I didn’t understand, what did he mean? What money?
An evil laugh fell from his lips. "You were to be his wife."
Unable to speak, all I could do was shake my head. I would never have married him, ever.
"They paid a lot of money for you. Were going to pay even more afterwards"
"What?" He… he had what, sold me? "Ho….. how could you?" my blood ran cold. Brandon, his dad had paid money, for me? It didn’t make sense, at all.
"It's what had to be done," raising the gun, he held it against the biker’s temple. "And now I can't let him get his hands on you, not with the feds sniffing around," a bang rang out as he put a bullet through the man’s head. A scream left my mouth, and I felt as though I was going to drop to the floor. Blood was, god, it was everywhere. I couldn't take my eyes off the scene before me. My god, my dad just killed someone, right in front of me.
I needed to get out of here, as far away from him as possible. There were too many of them in here, even if I could escape out of the one grip of the one who had ahold of me, I would not be able to get very far before they got me.
The one he had told to get my stuff came out, holding just one duffle bag. His eyes held nothing but pure and utter evil.
No, I can’t go with them, I couldn’t leave.
I should have gone with Ashby; I should have gone out. To Claire’s, god, I wish I had been anywhere than here right now.
Moving the gun, he aimed it at me. "Don't make me do something we'll all regret, Nala."
The screams died in my throat, but the tears continued to fall. Finally, finding some words, all I could say was, "Where are we going?" My eyes, unable to move from the gun aimed at me. Only, he didn't give me an answer or even acknowledge that I had spoken.
“It’s time to make a move” the one who was still holding me spoke “We need to leave, Weston” Weston?
What… my dad was Weston?
Ashby had told me he was a drug mogul, that he was the scum of earth.
Weston was my dad?
“Clean this shit up, dump the body”
Screaming once again, as the one who had grabbed me lifted my feet off the ground and threw me over his shoulder.
None of them spoke.
They didn't say a god damned word.
Even as I was dragged onto a private jet none of the staff so much as gave me a glance. No matter how much I shouted or screamed.
Ashby.
My eyes follow the raindrops slowly running down the rectangle pane of glass, my face pressed against the cold wooden frame. It was the only thing that separated me from the outside world; from feeling the damp fresh air on my skin was this godforsaken window. If only I could smash my way through it, I would just stand out there in the rain and let it drown me.
God, I don't think I even remember what that felt like anymore. Feeling the rain soaking through your clothes. Of it making you so cold, down to your very bones, as though it was penetrating through your very skin.
Those were the things that I had missed the most. The feel of the rain and, in turn, the sun on my skin. Although in England, we saw more overcast days than sunny ones. I would take a hundred million days in that place, the place I used to call my own personal hell. Well, before I realized what that actually felt like, what it was like to be In this house, with him. This was hell.
Those are the things I told myself that I missed the most, at least. It stopped my heart from screaming out in pain if I told myself that was what I missed the most.
The clouds above looked impossibly darker, as though it held gallons more rain, ready to pour down on us. It had already been raining for three full days. How much longer would this last?
Jumping at the sound of doors slamming in a room beneath me, I was filled with nothing but dread. What could possibly be happening now?
Deep voices floated up through the large country house's vents, followed by a wailing cry. Unwilling to move, I stayed in my spot on the window seat. Knees tightly held against my body and my eyes on the gray and wet view surrounding me.
I had seen enough destruction and death to last me a lifetime over the last few years. I couldn't even so much as acknowledge what was happening down there right now.
Keeping my eyes trained on the raindrops, I blocked out the sounds downstairs.
I had been here so long now that I was losing track of the day, month……. God what year was it even now?
Since the minute we arrived at this house, hidden In the English Countryside, I had not stepped outside. Not even once.
A part of me knew that the more years that past the possibility of leaving was that little more out of reach. Soon enough, it would just not be an option anymore. I would never get out of here. It could be too late already.
All I could do was stare out of these windows, at the fields and trees, imagining what I would do if I could escape this house, my own personal prison.
I had thought White Church Creek was my own personal hell, but god, what I would give to be back there. I would live a thousand days and eternity at Hudson High just to be home. Home.
When I had first arrived here, I spent every single day dreaming of being back there.
At night I would lay in bed reliving the moments, the memories that I wish I had been back in. Now though, I would wake in the middle of the night from those very memories. Plaguing my thou
ghts like tiny nightmares, ones that I couldn't escape. The cabin, that was the one I had the most. Waking with damp eyes every single time that I had that dream, for two very different reasons. A part of me hated having those dreams because it made hating him that little bit tougher.
A flash of black in the distance caught my eye, pulling me away from the raindrops and the dark gray clouds. Focusing my eyes as the large black car came speeding down the drive, a Bentley, and one I knew very well. He was home from whatever business he had been doing. The people he did business with now did not know him as Martin Reeves or Matthew Weston. No, they knew him as his new persona, another one he had created. William St. Clement.
"Nala," Lizzy's quiet, British voice came from the doorway of my bedroom. Turning, I saw her eyes narrow slightly, seeing me sitting on the ledge, staring outside, again,
"Your dad has called an early tea" A small smile fell on my lips. It amused me when she could call dinner ‘tea.'
Sighing, as that smile fell, I turned back to my view. No part of me felt even one ounce of love for him anymore.
Not after what he had put me through. All of these years, he had kept me in this house. Like I was a god damned Disney princess, only no prince was coming to rescue me.
Once upon a time, I had thought he would, but after my letters went without any reply, that hope had shriveled up more than a flower after a hot summer day in a California during a drought.
"Now, Nala," her gentle steps told me she was getting closer, the warm feel of her hands touching my skin as she caressed my shoulder. "He's mad today."
"More than usual?" I asked, turning to look at her. That long blond hair was pulled up into a tight bun making her look harsher than she actually was.
Nodding, she was the one to sigh this time, "Come on, you need to get downstairs, darling."
Following the only friend, I had in the world these days downstairs, to a place that I didn't want to go.
Men were standing by every window and door we passed. Blocking any exit that I could take. Prison guards.
Following behind Lizzy I sighed, she had shown me so much kindness since we were brought together in this house. When he had not responded, she tried to get me to write to Claire, but I couldn't. How could I bring my best friend into this world I had found myself thrown into?
I knew, without a doubt, that she would be banging down this door within days of finding out where I was.
Everything that had happened was because of Marilyn; good intentions did not always lead to good results. My life was the biggest example of that.
The problem was with the way that she had been acting towards me in those few days before I was dragged here, kicking and screaming, I was not so sure that Marilyn had even had any good intentions with what she had done. Reporting my mom to the cops. She knew who he was, that my dad was Weston. This big bad man, and yet she did it anyway. It was like a flashing calling card doing what she had done. If she had just listened to me, I would not be living this way right now. Maybe it was my fault, perhaps I should have stayed away from him. Maybe then none of this ever would have happened?
Lizzy's hand pressed into the middle of my back as we neared the dining room. Where I knew he was going to be.
Stepping into that very dining room, I felt an icy sensation slither down my spine. My cold, almost dead eyes found my dad, sat at the head of the table in one of those black suits he was always in. A guard on guard at each window, weapon in hand and nothing but pure and utter evil in their eyes. Each and every single one of them was bad to the bone.
"Sit," his cold and stern voice vibrated around the room, putting everyone on edge. Lizzy was right; he was mad today. What had happened?
Darting my eyes to the opposite end of the table to mom. She looked so pale these days without the California sunshine, as though she was anemic.
Moving slowly to sit between the two of them, I felt bile rising in my throat. My eyes lingered on my mom for a second longer. She looked like a ghost of the former woman she used to be.
Months after I was brought here, she arrived, kicking and screaming as she was dragged into the house by George. She didn't want to be here either.
For days she screamed from the room they had put her in, her own cell, so to speak. You would have thought that fact alone would have brought us closer, but it didn't. She barely looked my way, let alone talked to me. Ashamed of her actions, I suspect. The very actions that had put us in this situation in the first place. If she had not spiked my food with those appetite suppressants, then none of this would have happened. He would never have been in my life, and I couldn't decide if that was a blessing or a curse. Would I rather be Brandon's prisoner or my dad's? Neither option was one you would wish for.
Lizzy moved to pour wine into his glass as mom let out a frustrated groan to my right, causing his enraged eyes to fly in her direction.
"Got something to say, Patricia?" His voice dripped with nothing but anger, which only increased as she stayed silent. Just watching him with those empty green eyes.
A phone began to ring in another room, dad’s office. Not saying a word, he continued to throw a stern look at her as he stood, his legs almost seemed as though they were unstable as he moved. It was like he was drunk off of just one sip of that wine. Huh.
Lizzy came back into the room, placing a bowl of dad's favorite pasta dish in the table's center. She never looked at any of us when we were all together like this. It was as though she thought if she didn't make eye contact when we were all together, she could make herself believe that we weren't being held here against our will. Like we were some kind of happy family enjoying this food she had cooked for us together.
Several minutes passed as we all stayed in silence, not daring to move to eat a single thing before he came back into the room. Still clutching that wine glass that was now half full of the red wine Lizzy had poured for him.
Wiping a tissue across his brow, my own quirked as he stayed standing, leaning one hand on the large table we were sat at. Sweat was beading as soon as he attempted to dry it. Huh, what was that about? Was he sick?
"Did you find what it was you were trying to say, Patricia?" He asked, his words slurring as though he had been drinking for hours.
"Sir?" One of the armed men spoke, stepping forward out of his position by the large patio door.
Ignoring his henchmen, dad stumbled forward, draining the last of the wine from the glass, lifting it in the air. As though he was going to throw it at mom, with his arm high in the air, he took a shaky breath as more sweat beaded on his brow.
What is wrong with him?
In the very same second that George stepped into the room, my dad just dropped to the ground, knocking the open bottle of wine onto the floor with him.
The wine glass he had been holding shattered across the wooden floor as the red liquid from the wine bottle stained the cream rug under the table. It looked like blood.
A part of me wished it was, that it was his blood flowing, soaking into the carpet.
Unable to move, I just sat there, static, watching as his men poured into the room.
The years spent in this house had been making me emotionless.
Not one single tear was shed as they pulled his lifeless body out of the room, out of the house, to the hospital leaving just the three of us and one guard in the entire house.
Lizzy was moving frantically.
"Nala, you don't have a lot of time."
"What did you do, Lizzy?" everything in me knew she had done something, put something in his wine.
At those words, she stopped, moving her eyes to me slowly. "We don't have a lot of time to get you out of here."
"Lizzy"
"I… I did what had to be done, Nala….. hopefully, he won't…."
"How?"
"Now is not the time." She repeated.
"He'll kill you." And he would, without even so much as a second thought. Lizzy was dead when he came back, if he came back.
&n
bsp; At this, she smiled, slightly, a knowing look in her eyes.
"Nala, it will be a miracle if he is ever able to so much as blink again."
Dropping my head into my hands, I didn't know what to think, let alone say.
"It had to be done, my…"
Looking up at her, I wanted, no, I needed to know exactly what this was "Your?"
"My son, he……."
"Lizzy, you need to tell me everything." I had only heard her talk about her children a handful of times but…… "Who's your son, Lizzy?"
Peaches: MC Romance (The Unholy Confessions Book 1) Page 12