by T. L Hodel
“For who?” My brow arched at the men strategically placed in the room, “Charles Manson?”
“I see many people. Your mother was one of them.”
Mom saw a shrink?
“She was?”
He nodded. “We have a well renowned addiction program.”
Wasn’t that great.
Mom still crashed her car into a telephone pole.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Mr. Kessler said, sitting back and folding his hands on his crossed legs. “Your mother was a very troubled woman.”
“Be glad she didn’t take you with her,” Micha added in a grumble.
Anger burned through me as I snapped my gaze his way. “Did I ask for your opinion?”
“No, but you’re going to get it.” Though his face dropped in a blank expression, I could see anger tugging at his features. “Your mother was a useless piece of shit, who’d rather drink than take care of her child. You’re better off without her.”
My fists balled, fingernails digging into my palm. “You don’t know anything!”
“I know she almost killed you four years ago. Didn’t stop her from drinking though, did it?”
I looked away, swallowing the lump in my throat. The doctors said they weren’t sure I was going to make it. I died three times, and sometimes still got pain in my abdomen where the chunk of metal skewered me.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you, how are your balls?” I growled through clenched teeth. Micha, of all people, had no right to talk about Mom! He was constantly berating me about her problems, and now thought he could use her death? Don’t think so. “Cause if they’re still sore, I can get you some ice?”
Not even a twitch.
“Huh? Guess, I’ll have to do better next time.”
Next thing I knew, my chair was screeching across the tiled floor as Micha drug me closer. He braced his elbow on the table and leaned in. Sandalwood with a hint of citrus assailed my nostrils. Pissing me off that on top of everything else, the bastard also smelled good.
“Don’t get too close,” I hissed, glaring straight into his swirling chocolate eyes. “I might use my mousy little claws again.”
“Careful, Mouse,” the corner of his mouth tipped up, and suddenly egging him on didn’t seem like such a good idea anymore, “If you keep running that smart mouth, I’m liable to take you over my knee and spank you right here, in front of daddy.”
I gulped. Not because I was scared, but because I believed him. Thankfully, my dad chose that moment to speak up.
“Get your hands off my daughter!”
Micha’s dark eyes snapped up and he glared over my shoulder. “I’m not touching her. I could . . .” he challenged, sliding his warm palm up my thigh, to toy with the hemline of my shorts.
Appalled by the sparks shooting across my skin, I slapped his hand away. A black look took over Micha’s face, darkening his glare as he seized a fistful of my hair.
“Push me away again,” he growled, yanking my head back and making me cry out. “and I’ll make daddy watch me defile his baby girl.”
I often wondered if something was wrong with me. Why else would I dream about the person I hated most in this world? Now I knew there was something wrong with me. The last thing I should be feeling is heat tingling low in my belly. I clamped my thighs together and closed my eyes, hoping to shut out my body’s response.
“This is turning you on, isn’t it?” Micha’s hot breath wafted over my ear, turning my traitorous body even more against me. “Dirty little mouse. Not so innocent after all, are you?”
I don’t know if it was the sound of my dad yelling, or the soft click of what I thought might be a gun, but either way, I managed to snap out of it.
“Get away from me!” I snarled, slapping Micha. “I don’t want any part of your sick games!”
His fingers tightened in my hair, as he forced me to go nose to nose with him. “Then why are those little virgin panties sticking to your skin?” he growled, then tossed me back, like I disgusted him.
That was fine with me. I liked it better this way – him hating me, and me hating him. I didn’t have time to stew in my anger because when I turned around, the first thing I saw was a gun. I recognized the gold engraving in the handle. It was the same gun Mom had given my dad on their tenth anniversary. Except this time, it wasn’t in my dad’s holster. It sat on the table in front of Mr. Kessler with the barrel pointed at my dad.
“Are we ready to proceed?” Mr. Kessler asked.
My eyes were stuck on the black Glock. “Can you put that away first?”
“You needn’t concern yourself with that, my dear.” Micha’s dad said, dropping a briefcase on the table and popping it open. “Isn’t that right Derek?”
“Fuck you,” my dad grumbled.
His curse was immediately followed by a harsh slap across his already bruised face, from the goon standing behind him. I cringed at the drop of blood sliding down his now split lip.
“You see, I have other ways of dealing with your father’s impetuous nature. The gun is simply to remind you that your father’s safety is entirely dependent on you.”
My wide eyes flew up just in time to see Mr. Kessler pull a file out of his briefcase.
“This, my dear,” he said slapping it down on the table, “is a contract signed by your father and myself.”
I glanced warily at the manila folder, wondering what my dad got himself into. “What’s the contract for?”
“You, my dear.”
I didn’t think it was possible for someone’s heart to stop with a single word, but it did. Stopped dead in my chest.
“W-What do you mean, me?”
“Your father agreed to give you to my son when you turned sixteen. And I do believe you recently had a birthday.”
I did. Turned sixteen the day before I buried Mom.
“I-I don’t understand . . .” I stuttered, staring dumbfounded.
“It’s quite simple,” Mr. Kessler stated like he was ordering a cup of coffee. “You now belong to Micha.”
I couldn’t breathe. Where did all the air go? My chest heaved but my lungs remained empty. It couldn’t be true! My dad wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t!
“Dad?” I questioned in a shaky voice.
My heart dropped when he hung his head and muttered, “I’m sorry.”
This wasn’t happening. I closed my eyes and held my breath. As if that simple act would make this all disappear.
“I told you,” Micha whispered in my ear. “I own you, Mouse.”
I lost count of how many times I’d heard him say those exact words. I never expected this! Thought it was just another one of his ego trips, like when he enlisted other people to humiliate me or laughed when I used to try to get help. I quickly learned help would never come. Most people in this town wouldn’t so much as look wrong in the Kesslers direction. Guess my dad could be added to that list.
He was just sitting there. Guilt written all over his face.
“Is that why Mom left you?” I snarled, with angry tears brimming in my eyes. “Because you gave her daughter away?”
“What!? No!” He actually had the gall to look insulted. “Riley, you don’t understand . . . I didn’t have a choice. They were –”
“Shut up! All the shit you say about Chase . . .” I released a stuttered sigh, “He would never do this to me.”
Chase threatened to rip the ears of a boy who tried to kiss me in the fifth grade. He helped me get caught up, when I fell behind in math, and even came with me to Mexico to bury Mom. He would never hand me over to the enemy.
“Ah yes, Chase Mathers,” Mr. Kessler said, dropping a picture of Chase on top of the folder. “Former president of the Lost Souls motorcycle club. Did you know his brother had his wife and child killed? All so he could take over the club. Sad really.” He shook his head. “It’s a good thing he thinks Chase died with them. I’d hate to think of what would happen if he learned otherwise.”
A tear rolled
down my cheek when the next picture was dropped.
“Shelby Grace. Junior at Ashen Springs High. Based on the numerous tickets she’s gotten, I’d assume she has a pretense for speed. It’d be a shame if her brakes failed.” He flipped to the next picture. “Trina and Marnie Dupire. They’d make me a decent sum, working in my club. Twins are always big sellers. Shall I go on?”
I swallowed the lump in my throat, and shook my head. The threat was clear.
Mr. Kessler nodded and clipped the briefcase closed. “Marco, Levi, clean the sheriff up and take him to his wife. I’m sure she’s worried about him.”
My dad didn’t fight. He looked as defeated as I felt, as he was drug out of the room. I sat there with my jaw clenched, digging my fingernails into my thighs. I wanted to lunge at Micha. Maybe grab the gun and shoot Mr. Kessler, but I’d probably just end up getting someone I cared about hurt.
“Come on, son,” Mr. Kessler stood and smoothed his suit jacket. “We’ll give Riley the night to consider her options. Choose wisely my dear . . . Your loved ones are counting on you.”
“Not so brave now, are you?” Micha said, sweeping my hair over my shoulder.
“I don’t know how, but I will bring you down” I promised, glaring all my hatred at him, “and then we’ll see just how brave you are when you’re on your knees!”
He chuckled and kissed me on the forehead. “I look forward to it.”
His dad’s cold eyes narrowed in on me. “I don’t need to tell you what will happen if you run, do I?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“I’m glad we understand each other. You should be honored. One day you’ll be a Kessler.” He frowned at the tears streaming down my face. “I suggest you learn to act like one.”
Chapter Eight
Riley
Take the night to consider my options, was that some kind of cruel irony? What options did I really have? Refuse and risk putting someone I cared about in danger. Didn’t seem like much of an option to me. If Louis Kessler was anything like his son, there was no doubt in my mind that he’d carry through with the threat. There was only one plausible way out of this situation.
I had to gain the upper hand. Find something to use against Micha. Even the devil had a weakness, but try as I might, I couldn’t think of one.
I’d been at war with the bastard for years, and not once had I seen a crack in that icy exterior. It looked like I was well and truly fucked. A claustrophobic feeling that was only increased by the goon left to stand vigil outside my bedroom door. Thankfully, he stopped coming in to check on me, and I was eventually able to fall asleep. Besides, I was running out of stuff to throw at him.
I hadn’t seen my dad. He tried to come and talk to me in the morning, but I told him I was getting ready for school. I wasn’t ready to face him. Didn’t know if I ever would be. It hurt just to hear his voice. Fathers were supposed to protect you from shit like this. They were the one man a girl could always rely on. Guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Mom left me why should he be any different?
The black Escalade I was practically thrown into this morning, pulled through the gates to Ashworth. On any other day, I might’ve found the big brick building beautiful. Shelby and I used to try to peek through the oak trees bordering the property, hoping to get a view of the elusive school. But right now, all Ashworth looked like was a fancy prison, complete with iron gates and pretty little stone walkways. Even the students walking around in their uniforms, seemed like inmates. Perfectly put together inmates, but inmates nonetheless.
I scowled at the red plaid skirt around my waist, mad that the boys got to wear black slacks. I think I was around eight the last time I wore a dress or skirt. Shelby would get a kick out of this. She’d been trying to get me to girl things up for years. I was kind of tempted to text her, but texts led to phone calls. And the second she heard my voice, she’d know something was wrong. I was pretty sure the whole, ‘don’t tell anybody about this, or else,’ thing went without saying. Not that anybody in this town would care.
“Don’t try anything funny.” The goon, who was apparently my new shadow, said. “I’ll be right outside.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to run off and get one of my friends killed.” I snarled and hopped out of the Escalade.
“Oh they won’t be killed,” the goon said, giving me a sideways glance. “Dead men don’t make good leverage.”
I swallowed and closed the door. Well, that’s comforting.
The Escalade drove away, and I was left standing in front of Ashworth. I looked up, scanning the many windows. Each one was pristine and spotless. The prettiest thing Ashworth High had was the back wall of graffiti – a wall I proudly started two years ago. I doubted any of the students here would appreciate something like that. Sighing, I told myself I could do this and walked through the doors.
It turned out somethings were the same in rich kid school as public. Take the office, for example. A large white room by the main entrance, full of middle-aged staff who looked tired and bored. Completed by the two misfit kids sitting outside the principal’s office, and the crotchety white-haired receptionist.
I looked at Mrs. Green from my seat on a big plush chair – okay, so not everything was the same . . . Her hair was pulled so tightly back that it stretched her face over her bones. Making her lips look thin and angry. She looked at me over her square-framed glasses. “We have certain standards at Ashworth, Miss. Adams.”
“So, no orgies then?” I gave her a thumbs up. “Got it.”
She stared at me unimpressed.
“Not a joker, huh? Guess I’ll return the camel.”
“Your former school warned us that you might be a problem.”
“Yeah, they didn’t like the camel, either.”
She sighed and wrote something down on a note pad. “That’s three demerits for an improper uniform.”
“What! I’m wearing the stupid uniform! See,” I argued waving my hands over the crisp white shirt, and skirt.
“You’re missing the tie,” she explained, with a point of the pen in her hand.
My mouth dropped open. The stupid thing was impossible to figure out. I gave up trying to tie the tie, and tossed it on my bed.
“You can’t be serious?”
When her steel-gray eyes fixed on me, I reared back. Suddenly I felt like a complete asshole for knocking over Tommy Gunderson’s block tower in the first grade.
“Here’s your schedule.” Mrs. Green held out a piece of paper, which I quickly took. “I hope you’re not prone to tardiness?”
“No ma’am.” I shook my head, not wanting to initiate another look into my soul.
One of the misfits burst out laughing, and all it took to silence him was one glare. Should I slip out while she was mental dissecting someone else? Or would she come looking for me? I wasn’t sure which would be worse. Thankfully a small girl with deep red hair walked in, taking the soul sucking attention of the receptionist.
“You wanted to see me Mrs. Grier?”
Okay so it’s Grier not Green. Thanks, little redheaded chick.
“Harper, this is Logan Hudson’s stepsister.” Mrs. Grier absently waved in my direction. “I want you to show her around.”
I rolled my eyes. I have a name, people!
“Hi . . .” I paused to give Mrs. Grier a sideways glance. She was staring at me again! “I’m Riley.”
“Harper,” the redhead replied.
Harper reminded me of a doll. Not those crappy plastic ones I played with as a kid, but the perfect porcelain ones Shelby collected. She had the same long eyelashes, big doe eyes, spattering of freckles and full bouncy curls.
I guess Harper wasn’t a fan of being under Mrs. Grier’s stare either, because the next thing I knew, she was spinning on her heels and heading out the door. I tried to follow. Tried being the operative word. For a small thing, she was fast. Moving through the hall with her head down. She somehow didn’t crash into a single person. I bumped into at leas
t three, and I could see where I was going. F.Y.I Ashworth students were just as snobby as I had expected. One girl glared at me like I dirtied her up, because I brushed her arm.
When we reached my locker, Harper stepped back and pressed her back against the wall. Her brown eyes bounced around like she expected a monster to jump out of the shadows. Maybe one would? This was Micha’s school after all.
“Are you okay?” I asked opening my locker, which was surprisingly easy to do. My old locker I had to hit the top hinge, kick the bottom, and lift the door to get in.
“I’m fine,” Harper muttered, ducking behind her hair.
“Are you sure?” I closed and opened my locker again, utterly fascinated in the properly functioning door. “You seem kind of jumpy?”
She murmured something, but spoke so softly that I wasn’t sure she said anything at all. Maybe Harper was just nervous? Not everyone was a social butterfly like Shelby. I was with Harper. People sucked!
“We both have Mr. Walker for homeroom,” she announced, staring at my schedule.
“Great.” I smiled. “We can sit together.”
Her face dropped, full of shock. Or was that terror? Who knew with this chick?
“Why would you want to sit with me?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” I asked, crinkling my nose.
“I-I’m not . . . someone y-you want to be seen with.”
“I’m pretty sure the same goes for me.” I rolled my eyes and sighed. “I fit in here about as well as cheese digests in a lactose intolerant stomach.”
Except for the uniform, I was nothing like the princesses walking the halls. Even Harper with her terrified eyes and trembling body was more put together than me. I paused and cocked my head. Harper wasn’t just trembling; she was full on shaking. All the color had drained from her face, and her eyes were wide with panic.
“Run,” she whispered.
But it was too late. Before either of us could move, I was slammed back into a locker with Micha glowering down at me. “Hello, Mouse, did you consider your options?”
Logan smirked and leaned against the wall while a guy I knew to be Micha’s little brother, Mason, cut Harper off. Though little isn’t the word I’d use for Mason. Except for the for the green eyes, Mason looked just like Micha, right down to the brick wall build he had going on. Though, Mason was a little bigger.