“Gypsies are criminals,” he argued. “I understand who they are. So do the police!”
“You can’t judge them all by their worst elements. Sure, maybe some are hardened criminals. But what if others were driven to crime by desperation? What if some are trapped by economics or blackmail?”
Lincoln tossed back another shot.
“That’s it,” I said. “Get drunk like last night.” I turned my back to him. “You probably don’t remember anything that happened. And you’ll forget this conversation by morning. Alcohol’s a great way to escape your conscience, isn’t it?”
“I wasn’t drunk last night.”
I turned to read his expression, but it was icy.
“I remember everything.”
I looked away.
“I’m not the only one who judges others. What about you—judging me for being rich. For being the CEO. That’s prejudice, too.”
I didn’t have to listen to him.
“Do you have any idea how many people hate me because of my money? They assume I think I’m superior, so they justify stealing from me or destroying my reputation. They think I’m lazy and had success handed to me, and so they work to strip away everything I’ve struggled so hard to achieve. Nobody knows how many years I lived in a crummy apartment with Joe, eking out an existence as I poured every piece of my soul into EcoCore.”
We sized each other up. Admittedly, he’d given me a new perspective to consider, one that made me feel small. He was right. I had judged him for these reasons. And I hadn’t even realized it.
“I apologize for what I said about gypsies. About Romani. Obviously, I should do some research about them. But maybe you should look inward. You and me, we come from different backgrounds, but does that make me better than you because I’m rich? Or you better than me because you’re not?” He took a step closer. “I get the impression you assume things about me which aren’t true.”
“Like what?” I shivered as his hands caressed my arms.
“That I could never care for a woman like you unless I was drunk.”
“I…uh…” The uncanny way he seemed to read my mind made me squirm.
He raised a brow. “Let me make myself clear. I want to kiss you all the time. Drunk or sober, it doesn’t matter.”
Helen Keller. His body pressed into my space, and I stared at the carpet.
“What do you want from me, Gemma?” Goosebumps erupted clear down to my fingertips as he rubbed me. “You give off so many conflicting signals. Sometimes, I feel as if you want me, but the next, you’re pushing me away.”
“W-what about you?” Stupid traitorous voice. “You kiss me like that but then talk about how this is an act and our future marriage will be annulled?”
He scowled. “You kept emphasizing the annulment. Not me.”
“Liar. You look at me with adoration one second, then want Casey to change who I am the next. Do you have any idea how small that man makes me feel? I’ve tried to be a good employee and do your bidding, but you and Casey see me as a gutter rat who’s invaded the pristine kitchen. You say I’m biased against you because you’re rich. But you’re biased against me because I’m poor. Admit it! You don’t think I’m good enough for you. You think I’m a gutter rat. An alcoholic!” I turned my back to him as I choked on emotion.
“What a mess.” He stretched out on the couch and pulled a blanket over himself. “I don’t feel like talking anymore. I need some sleep.”
My world tipped precariously at his dismissal. I’d bared my heart, and he’d tossed it aside. I’d hoped he would pull me close and say I was good enough. That he wanted me. I’d hoped for courage to tell him the same. But not having a clue about where I stood made that scene impossible. Actually, watching him turn his back to me sent a clear signal about where I stood.
Lincoln McConnell would never love me. Tomorrow, I might grab his attention when I wore the dress I’d bought with his mom the other day—well, the dress he’d bought—but I’d never win his heart.
29
Lincoln
My heart beat out of my chest as Gemma entered the room. Late, but spectacularly so. Talk about making an entrance. Mr. Wilder had insisted on holding a formal dinner to bid us adieu. And Gemma had just brought light to a dark room.
Her dress couldn’t be of Casey’s choosing. He would’ve turned his nose up at it. Gemma was right. I’d tried to make her into something she wasn’t. And suddenly, I hated myself for that. Gemma was magnificent, not because she’d conformed to the silent rules of high society, but because she’d shattered them to become a masterpiece.
“Ah, my dear Gemma,” Wilder said. “You look breathtaking.”
“Isn’t she lovely, son?” Mom said beside me.
I pulled Gemma’s seat out for her. “You do look stunning.”
She frowned, and I read her doubt. I’d have to fix that. Honestly, I had tons of things to fix between us. But not here, with an audience. When we returned to Salt Lake, we’d talk.
“I love the dress,” I said, once we both were sitting.
“Thanks. You bought it for me.”
“I have good taste.”
Focusing on the amazing dinner became impossible. All I wanted was to be alone with Gemma. We’d gone horseback riding earlier, but Mom and Wilder’s wife had monopolized Gemma’s attention.
I wanted this weekend over so we could finish our talk from last night, the one that’d stunned me with possibilities. Could Gemma harbor real feelings for me, as I did for her? I hated that she’d linked me to Casey, saying we’d made her feel small and insignificant. Casey, maybe. He was an arrogant ass. But I respected her.
After dessert, everyone insisted on hugging as we made our way outside. I hugged Gramps.
“I’ll see you at the wedding, my boy.”
“Yes, you will.”
I threw Gemma’s suitcase into the trunk and relaxed as we drove away. Neither of us spoke. But we would soon.
A half-mile down the road, at a bend in the road, I ran over something that caused several loud explosions that brought us to a halting stop.
“What in the jello was that?” Gemma said.
I hopped out to see that all four tires had been shredded by a puncture strip. “Damn it.” What in the hell was that doing out here? There’d been no warning sign.
“Put your hands up.”
I spun around to find two masked men with guns. They must’ve been hiding in the brush on the side of the road.
Gemma screamed.
I spun around to see two other men pulling her from the car. “No!” I took off to help her but something hard hit my head. I slumped to the asphalt, watching helplessly as Gemma was carried, kicking and screaming, to a van.
Must get up.
I rolled onto my hands and knees. “Gemma,” I said, right before the hard thing hit my head again.
Quicksand of Injustice
“A fall from such a height is rarely straight downwards.”
The Hunchback of Notre Dame by Victor Hugo
30
Lincoln
My head throbbed. Had I drunk too much? I went to turn but couldn’t move my arms or legs. I opened my eyes, but the hammer in my head made me groan and close them again. I needed a bathroom. And what was in my mouth?
Water dripped nearby. Where was I?
Then it hit me like an ax to the head. Actually, something had hit me on the head before I could rescue Gemma. I tried to flail my arms, kick my legs, thrash my head, scream, but I was fully restrained. My eyes adjusted to the darkness, and I noticed zip ties binding my ankles and wrists to a chair. Cloth had been wedged into my mouth.
Oh, God! Where was Gemma? Was she okay?
I heard footsteps, then a voice.
“Is he awake?” Shadows hid my captor’s face.
“Yes,” another voice answered, making me flinch. I hadn’t been aware of anyone else in the darkness with me.
“Leave us.”
The one disappeared.
The other grabbed my hair. I choked as the cloth was ripped from my mouth.
“Welcome to my mansion, gadjo.” The shadowed man spat in my face. “It’s not as nice as your friend’s posh cabin, but it’s more secure, no?” He laughed, making my skin crawl.
“What have you done with my sister?” I hoped that title would protect Gemma.
“You mean your tempting fiancée?” He held my head at an agonizing angle.
I gritted my teeth, wondering who he was, how he knew so much. “I demand to see her.”
“You’re in no position to make demands.” His fist slammed into my gut. Again. And again. And again.
When I gained consciousness, I knew from the agony in every part of my body that I was a prisoner. The zip ties had been cut, freeing my feet and hands. But I couldn’t move because of the pain.
“You know your place now, Mr. McConnell?”
I couldn’t see my captor, but I hated him. Hated his superiority, his smugness.
“Where’s…my…fiancée?” I groaned.
“I’m glad you asked.”
A computer screen lit up, revealing the outline of my captor’s masked face. A live feed appeared, showing Gemma tied to a chair, still wearing that alluring off-the-shoulder dress she’d had on at dinner. She was blindfolded and gagged, and a masked man stood behind her, holding a knife to her neck.
Seeing her in that vulnerable position made me regret wasting the time we’d had together. Why hadn’t I confessed my feelings as soon as I’d recognized them? I’d guessed near the end that she might have felt the same. Would I ever get the chance to find out now? Would we survive?
“Let her go. Keep me, but don’t hurt her. Please. She has nothing to give you.”
“She could give me much.” His finger moved over the screen, stopping on her chest. “Yes,” he licked his lips, “I could get much pleasure from your temptress.”
“Don’t touch her!” I shouted.
Something heavy slid in front of me, and the man shoved my head into water. I flailed my arms and tried to free my head, but he held me down as precious air eked away.
Just when I was about to give in to death’s embrace, he yanked me out by my hair. I gasped for air to put out the fire in my lungs and sputtered and coughed.
“Remember your place, Mr. McConnell. You will make no demands of me. Are we agreed?” When I kept coughing, he slapped me. “Are we agreed?”
“Yes.” My body couldn’t stop shaking. “Please, don’t hurt her.”
“She’s a beauty, yes? My men would have much fun with her.”
Oh, God! Facing death and seeing the woman I loved threatened made me reconsider a Higher Being’s existence. I wanted Joe and Mom and every other Christian to be right about a living, loving God who could rescue sinners. Who could rescue Gemma! If He saved her, I’d give my life to Him. Literally.
“Please,” I begged, both to my captor and to the God I hoped lived.
“If you want your fiancée back untouched, it’ll cost you.”
“Name your price. But swear you won’t touch her. Please,” I added when his brow lifted.
“Three million cryptocurrency for her release. We know you invested in Bitcoin in 2017. This should be simple.”
Damn Angeline. Her lawyer’s machinations had probably put my assets out as open-source information.
“If you want her untouched though, I’ll need three million more. Two million for your freedom.”
He was unhinged. That was everything Angeline had encouraged me to invest. That nest egg had been all I’d had left after the divorce.
But it was only money. If it could free Gemma, I’d gladly give it all up.
“How do I know she’s alive? This could be a recording.”
He hit a button. “Unmute and ungag her.”
Gemma’s captor pulled the knife from her throat and moved in front of the screen. She whimpered as he pulled the gag out of her mouth, much more gently than my captor had taken mine out, thankfully.
“Gemma!” I shouted.
“Lincoln!”
I closed my eyes. Praise God! She lived. “I’ll get you out of this!”
My captor punched me. “Mute,” he said.
I watched helplessly as Gemma’s lips kept moving and her face contorted before her captor gagged her again. My captor brought up another screen, and Gemma disappeared from view.
“Complete the transaction.”
“Free Gemma.”
Even in the shadows, I saw his face grow splotchy. “Don’t make demands of me.” He dunked my head in the water again until I became frantic for air.
He pulled me up and pointed to the computer. “Transfer the money.”
I coughed to clear water from my lungs. “Not until I see Gemma.”
He shoved my head under water again. But this time, I knew he wouldn’t drown me.
He needed my money.
31
Saemira
Age 14 – Fushë Krujë, Albania
TERROR: paralyzing fear you never want to speak of or think about again.
Engjell gave Saemira a playful shove. “I should get you home,” he said.
Sometimes his motivation to please Baba made him lame. “The sun’s not even down yet. Let’s play another game of Hansel and Gretel.” They were too old to still play the game, but she wanted to see if the rocks she’d painted with the new solution would glow under the black light.
“I don’t know.”
She shoved the black light into his hand. “Stay here. Count to three hundred.” She took off to hide before he could protest.
“Don’t go far!” he yelled.
He couldn’t tell her what to do. Saemira dropped rocks sporadically on the way to the warehouse. She couldn’t pick locks so she slipped into the back lot, thinking to challenge his finding skills by hiding in one of the empty cargo containers littering the area. But she’d only leave a rock by the container she hid in. It was kind of cheating, but Engjell was a good tracker. He’d find her. Eventually.
She giggled and ran past several rusty containers, zigzagging toward the middle. A squeak made her stop and look around.
Had that been a rat?
She shuddered. Engjell had chased many of those away. She dropped a rock and moved forward, but a strong hand covered her mouth, and someone kicked her pebble away.
She tried to get traction as the person dragged her backward, but whoever had her was strong. Her heart raced as she was pulled into a pitch-black container and shoved to the ground.
“Ah, my little thief.”
Her legs warmed with urine as Engjell’s uncle spoke.
“You’re not so high and mighty now, are you, Temptress?” His hand pulled her skirt up, and he touched her urine-soaked panties. “The scent of fear.” He put his fingers to her nose, and she wanted to die of shame.
“Gem!” Engjell called from a distance. Not close enough to help, even if she could call out, which she couldn’t. “Where are you? Come out. I need to get you home.”
“If you make a sound, I’ll kill him.” Something hard and cold touched her cheek. “I’ll slit his throat. Nobody will miss the ugly devil boy. I’ll kill your baba, too. And I’ll make a whore of your mama.”
He lifted his hand from her mouth, and she choked back sobs.
“Gem!” Engjell called again, closer, but yet so far.
“Should we let him find us,” he hissed, “so I can cut him up?”
“N-n-no,” she stammered.
“You’re a wicked little whore. A thief, stealing my mind like you have.”
Engjell called her again, sounding farther away. That was good. She didn’t want her friend to die.
“Spread your legs, Temptress” the monster growled. “It’s time you repaid me.”
Gemma
Lincoln was alive!
It seemed as if hours had passed since the masked men had kidnapped me. I’d been terrified that they had killed Lincoln and left him on the side of the road.
The men had driven forever with me tied up in the back, before pulling me out and leading me down a steep walkway. I hadn’t gone back up. We must be below ground, in a basement or tunnel.
But who had kidnapped me?
After Duke had terrorized me as a child, I’d had nightmares for years. But this kidnapper seemed somewhat decent. He hadn’t assaulted or groped me. He’d made me lose control of my bladder a few minutes ago when he’d pressed a knife to my throat. That’s when I’d heard Lincoln scream my name from a computer monitor.
What would they do to him? Would they hold us for ransom? If so, I’d never be freed since I had no money. Duke had made sure of that. But Lincoln had plenty, something he’d claimed made people see and treat him differently.
I hoped our kidnappers would treat him differently now. That they would let him go. I only wished I could tell him that his stupid portfolio meant nothing to me. I cared only for him.
My kidnapper untied the blindfold and let it fall to my lap. I looked up and inhaled sharply.
“Angel?”
He leaned in and pecked my lips. “Sorry to scare you, but it worked. Your rich gadjo’s transferring millions to Duke as we speak. Cryptocurrency. It’s untraceable. We can live like kings and queens, you and I. You don’t have to marry a man you don’t love and who definitely doesn’t love you back.”
I dropped to the floor to dry heave. Angel? My best friend. My savior. The boy who’d sacrificed everything for me and Altin. He had kidnapped me?
He pulled hair back from my face. “You all right?”
“How could you do this?” I whispered.
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