by Fields, Sara
“Where are you from?” he asked. I’d piqued his curiosity now.
“Montana,” I replied.
“No shit. I’ve got a ranch out there.”
“How does a cowgirl like you find yourself lost in a big city like this?” he questioned.
“Family. My sister lives out here and she’s not doing well. Breast cancer and all,” I replied sadly.
Tim was a family man. He’d been married a few times already, but he took care of his ex-wives and his kids. They wanted for nothing and from what I could tell, everyone was perfectly happy except Tim was single now and he very much didn’t like being single.
Insert me and my pretty blonde hair and lengthy curves and cowgirl boots.
Tim’s perfect storm.
“What’s your name?”
“I’m Tina,” I answered with a smile.
“Tim,” he grinned, taking a sip of his top-shelf whiskey.
He waved over the bartender and ordered me another drink. The man topped off my now empty whiskey glass and I took a long draw, looking back curiously at Tim.
Just over his shoulder, I saw a man in the corner. He was alone in a black coat. His face was covered in a thick brown beard, his scalp thick with luscious brunette locks that begged to be touched.
If I wasn’t on the job, I might have been curious enough to sit down at his table. His eyes flicked up to mine and I jolted.
Blue.
Familiar blue eyes that I’d memorized some time ago.
No. It couldn’t be.
Dean.
I turned my head, trying to convince myself that I was just seeing things. I took a big swig of my drink, which made Tim chuckle, and I quickly looked back to that dark corner of the bar.
No one was there.
* * *
One week passed. Then two.
Tim and I were going steady. He took me out to several dinners, picking his favorite steakhouses that reminded him of the down-home cooking back in Montana. He told me stories about the ranch he had in Montana and I told him made-up ones about the life I never had there.
By week three, my fake sister had passed away and Tim was there to catch me through my contrived grief. My Tina persona had no other family and now I was all alone.
Tim couldn’t resist a damsel in distress.
I was heading out to meet him for coffee one morning along the paths of Central Park when I stopped for a bottle of water. As I was handing the merchant money to pay for it, I caught a glance of someone who looked deceptively like Dean again.
It couldn’t be him. I was seeing things I wanted to see.
I thought about him often. Sometimes when I was alone, I would slip my fingers between my thighs and make myself come with him in my fantasies. I would think about that tongue tangling with mine, kissing every inch of my naked skin, making me shiver with desire.
I shook my head.
None of my marks ever came for me after I left. The Father made sure of that. With each one, he held something dark over their heads as blackmail and if he couldn’t find anything powerful enough to keep them quiet, he simply ended them instead. They couldn’t come after me if they were dead.
Dean would be the same. The Father would send someone to threaten him if need be and he would step down like all the rest. He was sweet and gentle. I knew him. He wasn’t a fighter. He would take his lumps and turn the other way. He’d move on and so would I.
I’d never been found, and I never would be.
I turned and rushed down the street, gulping down water to soothe the sudden thirst that made me feel as if I’d been in the Sahara Desert for a week.
The country-style café wasn’t far. Tim had a gift for finding every western-themed place in the city and I told him I liked it. To be honest, it was cute that he just wanted to give me a little taste of home. Too bad he didn’t know that it wasn’t real.
* * *
For weeks, images of Dean plagued me. I thought I saw him in bars, in groups crossing the streets, and even in the hallway of the building where my tiny studio apartment was. Everywhere I looked, I saw those soulful blue eyes. I told myself it wasn’t real, that his beard was too thick and that his hair was longer than it used to be.
His gaze wasn’t soft like it used to be. It was hard. Firm. Expectant.
None of it was real. He was just a figment of my imagination. Maybe I was feeling guilty or nostalgic now that I’d been assigned a new mark. Maybe I missed his kind nature, the way he cared for me and the way he spoiled me just to see me smile for him.
Tim was a pretty good guy. He didn’t deserve what I was going to do to him either, but none of that mattered. My job wasn’t about what I wanted.
It was all about pleasing the Father.
I hadn’t chosen this life. It had been forced on me long ago.
The Father was the leader of a deep underground organization. Once upon a time, they would have been called the mafia, but the changes in laws and police structure had made it difficult for them to operate out in the open like they used to. Now they’d taken to a secret network of interconnected people like me to carry out tasks. They used to launder money, sell drugs and women and all sorts of nefarious things, but with technology came new ways to make money.
It birthed the emergence of women like me who were taught to be anyone they needed to be.
It was the marriage con.
And I was the best.
I’d been working at it for a very long time. I didn’t have parents. I’d been abandoned on the Father’s doorstep when I was a baby and he’d taken me under his wing. I’d gone to the best schools. I’d been trained by the best acting coaches in the world. I knew several different languages and my ability to take on an accent was unmatched.
When I got older, the Father placed me in a home with a couple who taught me everything there was to know about romance. They’d studied it. The year I turned eighteen, they tutored me in the art of seduction, and I became someone to be feared.
I could be whoever I wanted to be.
The perfect con.
The perfect bride.
The perfect everything.
I turned thirty this year and I’d bested more than a dozen men in the marriage game. I’d made the Father a great deal of money. I was one of his greatest assets.
My phone rang in my pocket and I answered it. No one but Tim had this number. It was a burner phone that would get tossed in the sewer the second I cleared his accounts.
“Sophia,” a voice purred. My blood ran cold.
It wasn’t Tim.
“Who is this?”
“I’ve found you,” he growled.
“Dean?” I asked fearfully.
The line went dead.
I stared at the phone for a long time. I swallowed heavily. The blood was roaring in my ears. My heart pounded in my chest and my stomach churned with nausea.
No. This couldn’t be happening.
I had to get out of the city.
I dialed Tim’s number.
“Hey there, gorgeous,” he answered. Good ole dependable Tim.
“I want to get out of the city,” I said in a rush.
“What’s up? Missing the big sky country?” he asked.
I sighed. I had to get a hold of myself and hide the panic in my voice.
“Yeah. I feel trapped by all these buildings all around me. I just really need a break from it, you know?” I replied.
“You okay, Tina? You know you can talk to me, right?” he asked.
“I’m okay. I just want to get away for a few days,” I said softly. “New York makes me think of Maddie.”
Maddie was my fake sister who just died of fake breast cancer.
“Why don’t I send a car for you? I’ll take you to my ranch for the weekend,” he offered.
“God, that sounds perfect,” I said quickly.
“Then it’s a date. Pack a bag. I’ll be there within the hour,” he exclaimed.
“Thanks, Tim,” I said in relief
.
“Don’t worry, babe. I got you.”
If only he could save me from myself.
* * *
I walked out of the back of my apartment building where I usually met Tim whenever he picked me up. It was mostly deserted but the weather was growing warm and there were a number of tents set up along the street. The pavement was littered with garbage.
I couldn’t be living in the penthouse and still be Tina from Montana staying in the city. My story didn’t exactly scream money.
I shrugged my leather bag onto my shoulder and crossed my arms over my chest. The sun was just beginning its downward arc in the sky. It wouldn’t be dark for another several hours. Tim’s car turned the corner and I smiled, brushing my blonde hair back into place in preparation for seeing him again.
A driver hopped out of the extended cab and walked around the back. He opened the back door and I peered in, expecting to see Tim’s happy face waiting for me as he held a glass of whiskey out for me to take.
Jack Daniel’s. On the rocks. Just like always.
He wasn’t sitting in the backseat though. Maybe he was on the other side with some sort of surprise.
With a hesitant step, I handed the driver my bag. He nodded and I climbed into the back of the car without delay. I brushed off my thighs and lifted my gaze.
Tim wasn’t waiting on the other side, but another man was.
Very slowly, he lifted his chin and I saw those same blue eyes staring back at me.
“It’s good to see you again, Sophia,” he said.
Dean.
This was definitely not my imagination. This was really real.
“How?” I asked. I was too in shock to formulate any more words than that.
“That doesn’t matter. The important part is that I’ve found you again and I’m not going to let you go,” he said firmly.
I rushed toward the door and grabbed the handle, lurching it sideways in an attempt to get out, but it didn’t work. It was already locked, and I wasn’t going to get out that way. I pulled my arm back as far as I could and then threw it forward, hoping I could punch the glass out and escape that way. My knuckles collided hard with the glass and it didn’t even fracture, but the splintering pain in my hand felt like it did. I rolled and drew my foot back hard. I could try to kick the window out, but before I could give it a go, Dean rushed to my side.
“I knew you’d fight, but I didn’t expect this,” he snarled.
I lashed out at him next, but he was so much bigger than me, so much stronger and so much more than I could handle. I was good at the con, not at wrestling.
“I’m not going to let you hurt yourself,” he insisted firmly.
He reached in his pocket and I never stopping trying to escape. I kicked. I pounded his arms with my fist. I twisted and turned as much as I could.
“I didn’t want it to go like this,” he said sadly and before I could do anything to stop him, a wet handkerchief pressed over my mouth and nose.
A sickly-sweet scent surrounded me.
Chloroform.
I tried not to breathe. I tried to escape, but a body can only hold out so long and this wasn’t something I’d trained for. Ten seconds turned into twenty and then into thirty before I was forced to draw in a breath.
I breathed in that scent and my vision went hazy. Black dots danced at the edges of my sight and I wriggled hard in one last-ditch effort to escape.
It was useless.
Flowers.
Nothing.
Blackness.
The last thought in my mind before I passed out was that I hoped that I never woke up to find out what came next.
Chapter 4
Fuck.
My head hurt. With a groan, I turned my head to the side and laid my cheek on the cool silky sheets beneath me. I couldn’t bring myself to open my eyes yet and my mind slowly lurched to piece back together what had happened to me.
Had I drunk too much whiskey with Tim? Was I hungover?
God. I felt like I was about to heave up whatever was in my stomach. I groaned as a ball of nausea roiled inside my belly. What was in my stomach? When did I last eat?
Where the fuck was I?
I went to draw my arms in to hug my chest, but they didn’t move. Instead, something metal clanked against metal and I came to the very slow realization that there were leather cuffs surrounding my wrists. I was bound.
My arms were spread out wide. My chest was pressed against a bed. I was lying face down.
In a rush, I opened my eyes.
What the fuck?
At first, all I saw was darkness, but as my vision very slowly started to adjust, shapes began to form. I blinked several times in an attempt to speed up the process, but everything still felt fuzzy from the sedative that had knocked me out cold. All of my senses seemed dulled. The only thing that would make them return to normal was time. I knew that, but that didn’t make it any easier to process.
I sighed.
Fucking fuckity fuck.
This really wasn’t good.
I tried to move my legs, but I soon realized my ankles were lashed to the bed too. I blinked, trying to force away the dull haze. When my sight finally fully returned, I could see that there was a chain attached to the leather cuffs around my wrists that led somewhere beneath the mattress. From what I could tell, there wasn’t any sort of release.
I’d been kidnapped and now I was bound face down to a bed.
At least the mattress was soft.
It’s crazy the places your mind goes in an attempt to escape the terrifying fear that’s brewing just beneath when you’re trying to come to terms with the impossible.
I flexed my fingers and my toes. Those felt fine. The bonds were tight, but not tight enough to cause any sort of lasting damage in either the long or short term.
Another thing to be thankful for, I guess.
I was still dressed. The familiar feeling of jeans and a t-shirt was comforting against my skin. My cotton panties and matching bra were still beneath, so I could guess that nothing untoward had occurred while I was passed out. Nothing really hurt, so I hadn’t been beaten either. At least I’d still be able to do my job if I could find a way to get out.
God dammit.
How the fuck was I going to tell the Father about this? I’d been careful. I never hit a city twice. I didn’t have any sort of social media accounts to track. With every new identity came new credit cards, banking information, a new social security number, a birth certificate, the fucking works.
Dean had changed everything.
I pulled on the chains again, trying to test them for weakness and finding none.
Fuck me.
The screech of unoiled metal hinges echoed somewhere in the distance and I stilled as a frisson of fear raced through me. My blood rushed icy cold through my veins and I found it terribly hard to breathe.
Why had I been bound face down? Why wasn’t I on my back?
I wouldn’t be able to see who was coming.
I pulled even harder on the chains and cried out as the leather pinched the skin of my wrists just a tiny bit. There wasn’t much give. I could only move about an inch.
That was especially concerning.
I needed to get out. Now.
I tried harder. Still nothing.
Was he going to take out his revenge on me? Would he kill me?
I heard the sound of footsteps coming closer, reverberating against the tile or stone or whatever he was walking on. It was so loud that it was competing with the pounding roar of blood in my ears, and I turned my head to try to see who was coming as the door to my dark room squealed open behind me. I couldn’t turn it enough to see who was coming though. I didn’t need to look to know it was him. My breath was unsteady. I couldn’t seem to draw in enough air.
Fuck. Shit. I was fucked.
“Sophia,” he purred.
“Let me go,” I demanded.
“No. I don’t think I’m going to do that.”
<
br /> There was something different about his voice. It was darker. Rougher. Grittier. I didn’t know what to make of it.
“What do you want from me?” I asked. Maybe he would be willing to negotiate. Maybe if I tried hard enough, he’d let me go. I could get his money back and we could pretend like none of this ever happened.
“I want answers,” he replied.
The warmth I was used to was gone from his voice. I almost didn’t recognize him and that terrified me to the core.
“Dean, please. Let me go. Let’s talk about this,” I whimpered. I played up my fear and let it slip in the way I spoke, allowing my words to shake with emotion. None of it was faked though. My fear was real this time.
“Oh, you’re so good at that, aren’t you?” he murmured. The question sounded almost like a purr, which was deeply unsettling when it was twisted together with the foreign hardness in his tone. For a moment, I didn’t even know what to say.
“What? What do you mean?” I exclaimed, growing more nervous by the second.
“Why do you do it, Sophia? Is someone making you do this?” he asked gently and there was the tiniest flicker of the man I’d known from before.
Please. Come back to me, Dean.
“It wasn’t personal,” I answered quietly. I swallowed, trying to figure out what I should tell him and coming up with nothing.
I’d never thought about what I’d say if I ever ran into one of my marks again. I didn’t know how to answer his questions in a way that might appease him. I didn’t know if I could say anything at all to make him feel better. I was usually good at piecing together a story on the spot, but this time nothing came to me.
He was silent for a long time and I struggled in the chains that bound me. The quiet all around me was oppressive and it made me entirely too uncomfortable. The clanking of the metal didn’t make it any better and my fear got the best of me.
“What are you going to do? Are you going to kill me?” I blurted out, unable to bear the silence any longer.
This time, my terror was absolutely genuine. It was clear that Dean was a very different man from when I’d last left him. Maybe my betrayal had broken him. Maybe he’d never be the same again. Maybe I was going to die today. How would he do it? A bullet to the back of the head? A knife slipping across my throat?