Unmasked (New Adult Romance) (The Unmasked Series)

by Karin, Anya

  And then he realized what it was: the most important thing was the only one he completely forgot.

  "Oh, no," he groaned. "Don't tell me..."

  "Yeah, she was snooping around in the forest, had a brown sack full of mushrooms. Good ones, too. She probably had a hundred bucks worth of fungus in that bag."

  "You didn't hurt her, did you? Please tell me you didn't hurt her."

  "Well, no, not really."

  "That sounds like a sly way of saying yes."

  "Boss, she almost knocked one of us out, and knocked the wind out of another one. I remembered what you said about not being rough with her, and I tried – really, I tried – but as soon as I got the bag on her head and we were heading for the-"

  "The what?" Preston almost shouted. "What did you do?"

  "The bag. On her head. So she couldn't see where we were taking her. Anyway, before she calmed down enough for me to let her walk, she was really kicking the hell out of me for most of the trip. Pretty sure she bruised one of my ribs."

  "Oh my God, Peter, oh my God."

  "What's wrong, Mr. Webb? We got her. I know you're sweet on her, but we still have to take the same precautions as with everyone else. We can't just let her beat up the guards and see where all our security is. What if-"

  "I gave you orders not to hurt her." Preston hissed. His face tightened, so that his painful scarred lip ached. "Orders! And then there you go, not paying attention to me."

  Peter didn't know what to do. He'd never heard anger like this from Preston Webb, never once. He'd never heard it from his father, either, except the one time that he almost ran the old man over at night.

  "I – I'm sorry, sir, I was just doing what I was told."

  "Told? I told you not to hurt her at any cost. I instructed you to bring her to the house if you saw her again. In no way were you told to put a bag on Alyssa's head and drag her around, and throw her in some security outpost." He sucked his lip between his teeth and chewed.

  "I'm sorry sir. It's just that there was a note in my email to make sure to take her with whatever force was necessary. I thought maybe you got a little more spirited in your pursuit. I didn't-"

  "Wait a minute. What? An email from me? You know I don't have a computer. I have to check something. Take Ms. Barton to one of the guest suites. Apologize profusely. Make sure that anything she wants, she has. There will be clothes delivered to her later, to replace the ones that I'm sure have been torn and dirtied. Oh, and Peter?"

  "Yes Mr. Webb? Look, I'm really sorry about what happened, I didn't mean to go against your wishes at all. I wouldn't ever do that. Not in a million years, I just wasn't thinking."

  "It's okay Peter, don't worry. Alyssa's a tough girl, as I'm sure you learned by her kicking you for a half-mile or so." He had to laugh at the image in his mind of big, round Peter being beaten half to death by Alyssa who barely stood to his shoulders. "Do me a favor though. Whatever you do, never, ever, ever mention to Gadsen that you talked to me about this, because I have a feeling that old weasel has something to do with the mysterious message you got. Alright?"

  "Gadsen," he said. "I should have known. That damned old snake."

  "Yeah, exactly," Preston whispered. "Do you understand what I told you? Not a word. Something's cooking, I can smell it."

  "Alright sir. Not a word."

  Chapter Thirteen

  "Oof!" Alyssa grunted as she hit the floor.

  "Mr. Webb will be in shortly, or someone else will. For now, just wait." Peter's voice echoed off the walls. "If you want to take the mask off, feel free. And, if I hurt you, I'm sorry. Really. There've been some mixed signals about why you're here."

  Without responding, Lys rubbed her wrists for a moment and pulled off the hood. She blinked twice at the light, but her eyes quickly adjusted. Aside from a lavish bed, one of those four-poster frames, and a table covered in colorful, elegant perfume bottles, the room was completely barren of decoration or life. A prison cell though, it was not.

  Lys stood from where she was deposited on the ground, massaged her wrists again and prickled a bit at the remnants of the burning sensation from the rope. A little tingle crept up her arms to her shoulders and warmed her neck.

  "Well this is a good spot you've got yourself in, Lys." Out loud, her voice seemed like it wasn't part of her. Somehow that made the trembling in her hands calm for a moment. "All for a few mushrooms, huh? But where's Preston? And..."

  Feet scuffed against the floor outside the door that Alyssa had not bothered to try and open. Briefly she considered a flying shoulder tackle to burst it open and knock back whoever was there, keeping her inside. Rubbing her arm where it was still sore from being stretched behind her while she was bound, she reconsidered.

  Whoever lurked outside the door was close to it, though, and if she could just knock it open, she had a real chance of getting out. She pushed herself off the mattress and rubbed her arm again.

  If I can knock this thing down, get out into the house and away from whoever is behind that door, surely I can find Preston and figure out what's going on.

  Softly, she crept to the door and tested it. The hinges gave the vaguest hint of a squeak. She was satisfied that even though the door seemed solid, she could manage. Backing up, she took a deep breath and prepared for what she was absolutely sure was going to hurt.

  It was going to hurt, yes, but she was also sure that after a little pain, she'd get answers.

  A deep breath held in her chest steeled Alyssa's nerves.

  She tensed her legs, balled her fists and exploded forward.

  The door she was so sure was going to give as soon as she hit it only thudded. She yelped from the blinding pain that shot through her shoulder and fell to the floor.

  Suddenly, it all hit her. Being snatched out of the forest where until then she felt so safe and secure and alone. Tossed in this cold, blank-walled room, and locked away to wait. For what? She had no idea. Something, for sure, but no one was telling. Outside the door that bruised her shoulder and maybe cracked a rib, she heard a deep-throated, grunting laugh.

  "Don't make me tie you up to keep you from beating yourself into a pulp against the door. Did you really think it'd just be open?"

  Alyssa couldn't summon the strength to protest, or to respond. She just sunk down with her back against one of the hard bedposts, her shoulder throbbing. So badly she wanted to say something, to respond with some pithy quip and talk her way out of this room – out of her prison.

  But she didn't even try. She just sat, slumped over, hurting and tired and shaking.

  "You okay in there?" Peter's voice poked through the silence again. Alyssa thought she was going to scream or cry or both. "I heard you hit the door and then the floor. Alyssa?"

  "Y – you said my name. How did you know my name?"

  "Oh, sorry. Found this in your little satchel." He then went on to recite her driver's license number and a litany of other personal identification numbers that she always meant to take out of her wallet but never quite got around to actually putting in a safe place. "I guess that means I know pretty much everything important about you."

  "You don't know anything about me!" She shot back, venom on her tongue.

  "I said I know everything important. Pay attention. It'll get you a long way." It was Peter's turn to sound nasty. "If you want I can list off your phone number, address back in town and everything else."

  Once again, a response was right on the tip of Lys's tongue, but she held it in, but not without significant effort. When she finally managed to think of something to say that wasn't snippy or angry, all that came out of her mouth was begging plea.

  "Just...just tell me what's happening. I don't understand any of this."

  Peter didn't respond, but she could hear the big, red-faced man's heavy breathing right outside the door.

  "Oh!" He said, "Mr. Webb, I didn't expect you so soon. Is everything alright?"

  At hearing the name of the oil man to whom she was being deliv
ered, Lys's ears perked up and she crept nearer the door, forgetting the throbbing pain in her side. With her head pressed to the door, she was barely able to make out the exchange between them.

  "Is she in there? Is she safe? You didn't do any further harm to her?" His voice had an unfamiliar leathery sound. It was smooth as she remembered, but had just a twinge of an edge.

  "She is in there, yes sir. But, I think she might've hurt herself when she rammed into the door. Sounded pretty painful, anyway."

  "I thought I told you to keep her safe, Peter." Preston sighed. "But alright. Thanks for getting her inside safely. Remember," he said. "Not a word to Gadsen. Understood?"

  Silence hung between the two for a half a minute, in which time, Alyssa's stomach tied itself right into a knot. She understood the words being said, but not what they meant.

  "Right," Peter said, breaking the stillness. "I'll keep it quiet."

  "Good." A heel clicked on the floor and Lys heard a footstep, then a squeak. "Oh, and Peter? Make sure she has whatever she needs. Whatever she wants. Food, clothes, a bath, anything. Understand?" His voice sounded a little more like the Preston she knew that time.

  "Y – yes of course, boss. Sorry about that, again, I'm sorry. I didn't mean for-"

  "That's enough. I'll be back. See that it's done."

  The footsteps trailed off, down what Alyssa assumed to be a hallway. As the doorknob groaned, a deadbolt that sounded like it was about a foot long retracted.

  Are there more than one of him? I mean, is there the one he showed me, and then the way he acts around his employees? That wouldn't be strange at all. But still, that was a whole lot more different than I would have imagined.

  Peter grunted and the door began its slow, labored opening. When he pushed it, Lys saw that it was a good six inches thick.

  "Mushroom girl Alyssa, listening at doors." the big man said as he pursed his lips in a mocking smile. "You're lucky. Mr. Webb likes ingenuity. I guess it's kept him alive this long, so he figures it must be a good thing." His eye twitched.

  For a moment, Lys just watched him and he watched her. Neither of them said anything or moved past breathing.

  "Any questions?"

  "No." Alyssa swallowed what she really wanted to ask.

  "Right. Mr. Webb has very specific tastes. You'll wear this." He handed her a lavender dress which was the right size. That was a bit curious, because Alyssa always had trouble finding the right fit for clothes. "And this," he handed her a long, black swatch of cloth that immediately tossed a lump in her throat.

  "What's this for?" She said as she reached to take it with a trembling pair of fingers.

  "Mr. Webb doesn't like to be looked at."

  Lys nodded, and so did Peter right afterward.

  "You're not leaving? But I need to change."

  "Oh, sorry. My thoughts were somewhere else. Listen, just like I'm sure you heard Mr. Webb say, if there's anything else you need, just ask. Alright?"

  Something about his sudden shift in tone, about the way big, red-faced Peter stared when he finished speaking, made Lys shift her feet back and forth and bite down on her lip as much to quiet herself as to calm her chattering teeth.

  She was so tired of being hot and sweaty and dirty that without even thinking about it, Alyssa started to undress.

  "Forgot something," he said. "Be back in just a second. I'll be outside until someone else shows up to take over."

  "Should I finish changing?"

  "Well, yeah, I'd say so. Listen, Alyssa, I know this is strange. To be honest with you, I've never seen the boss act like this. He's a lot more on-edge than usual. It makes me wonder if something's wrong. But that's not my place to stick my nose. Not yours either. Get dressed. Right?" He shuffled out the door, mopping a few collected beads of sweat off his forehead with the back of a big hand.

  On the edge of the bed, rubbing absently at one of her many sore ribs, Alyssa looked over to the nightstand where she saw a very curious and very old hairbrush. She flopped backwards, reached out, grabbed it, and turned it over in her hand. Against the heat of her nervous, wet palms, the brush's handle was very cool, almost cold to the touch.

  "Huh," she said. "That's weird. Some kinda stone. What's this thing carved on it?"

  Turning it over again and looking more closely, the lines all came together in a very obvious pattern, but she couldn't quite wrap her head around what it was exactly. Like all good, old brushes, the bristles were stiff, but a little softer on the tips. She was surprised that her hair was so tangled as she tugged out a few knots here and there, but then again, considering the wind sprint, and everything else, she thought maybe a few tangled hairs wasn't the worst outcome.

  As Peter returned with a small, steaming basin and a bowlful of towels that carried a light scent of rose oil, she was just finishing with her hair.

  "You – I'm sorry, but I have to say, I never expected you to look so nice."

  "And now you've made me blush even though apparently stripping to my underwear in front of you wasn't embarrassing at all. What is this?" She stuck the brush forward so he could see.

  "Oh, that. Well, like I said, Preston – I mean Mr. Webb, he's got a thing for roses. This is an old house with a lot of old memories. A lot of painful ones, a lot of strange ones, too. Anyway, he wouldn't want me prattling on about that. I've been here long enough to know better. That's a rose. Old, old brush. Belonged to the elder Webb's wife – Preston's mother. She had it as long as I can remember." Behind his thick voice was a certain breathy reverence.

  Lys turned it over in her hand again and felt a cold spark shoot up her arm. "It's beautiful," she said.

  "Mhm. Anyway, things to do," Peter snorted. "Aside from the clothes, the young master wanted me to give you these towels in case you wanted to wash off. I'd let you use the shower, but right now things aren't exactly on an even keel here. I can't have you being spotted by our resident snoop."

  Taking the bowl of towels, Lys inhaled deeply, the rose scent filling her lungs. Even with Peter still standing there, she couldn't keep herself from grabbing one. The heat from the towel relaxed her, and the scent that filled her nose helped. Alyssa rubbed her sore, tired eyes, and her branch-stung cheeks, which relaxed her just a bit.

  "Don't forget the perfume," he said. "Or the blindfold. Best for both of us to remember what Mr. Webb wants, he gets."

  Deep in the heart of the estate, Gadsen turned in his chair. With a horrible smile stretching across his lips, he looked at a television monitor. One in a bank of a hundred, that was labeled 'Guest Room Four – Floor 2' and touched the tips of his fingers together in a slow, steady rhythm.

  "Good," he said. "Very, very good."

  The hook-nosed old man pushed a button on his desk. "Ye-hello?" Peter said.

  "Peter, good to hear from you. I'm glad that you've found our guest."

  "How did you know?"

  "Mr. Webb told me."

  "I'll bet he did," Peter snarled.

  "He's asked that you bind her, and that you blindfold her. Otherwise he doesn't feel safe."

  "Gadsen, I know damn well he didn't tell you that. I spoke with him just a few minutes ago. I oughta-"

  "You ought to be quiet and do as you're told."

  "Mr. Webb is going to hear about this. And I'm going to tell him who told me to do it, too."

  "I'm sure he will, Peter. I'm absolutely sure."

  Chapter Fourteen

  Music from another part of the estate barely penetrated Alyssa's door as she sat in silence, waiting for something to happen, but she wasn't sure what. The lilting, strange sort of harpsichord melody that was played by someone who knew the piece but had gotten bored with playing a long time ago took her back to Sundays with old Miss Helen playing the dusty organ at church in Newtown. Thinking about it, that organ was probably the only thing in town with a year or two on Miss Helen.

  Thoughts of long ago and far away kept her from panicking, at least as much as she had when Peter returned and insi
sted on tying her to the bedpost. He assured her it was just temporary, and that it was because Preston had gotten scared. She didn't believe him, but couldn't exactly fight it, either.

  There were clinking glasses, as though a party of some sort was going on down stairs, or what she assumed to be downstairs, from where she was locked with her eyes bound, her hands tied tight around the bedpost which earlier, she found to be made with the most exquisite craftsmanship. It was marked with a rose.

  Even as the strangely soft velveteen blindfold blacked everything out, after a few minutes, she realized that with her vision gone, the rest of reality was much sharper and more defined. The fuzz over her eyes lifted and she tried to think back to what it was like as a kid, when people talked about this place.

  She shifted her shoulders back and forth a little bit, as best she could.

  Years ago, decades even, her father told her never to go out so far, and especially not to cross the fence onto the Webb oil land. No one knew much of anything about the oil family except that the elder one often appeared in town and bought some piece of land or another from a real estate office on Tarp Street which was closed when he wasn't there to buy anything. The other time she remembered the old man, he had received a shipment of art – big, wall covering sorts of paintings – and picked them up from the little town museum. And then of course, she met him in the forest, with the mushrooming lessons.

  Never in her life did Alyssa think she'd ever be here. After all, as brave as she was as a kid, she'd never hazarded to do any more than peek from the edge of the forest, when she'd seen Preston and fantasized about him. Now, with her eyes closed tight and a rope biting into her wrists, Lys couldn't help but try and imagine Preston, to imagine why it was he insisted on the covers and the blindfolds.

  "I wonder if he was burned or something," she whispered into the empty bedroom. "Dad said he thought it was scars, and Peter mentioned the scars, but it was hard to believe some scarring would be enough to keep someone hidden for his whole life.

  A giggle escaped her lips, as unbelievable as it was to her that only a moment ago she'd been shaking and then found herself giggling almost uncontrollably.