Secrets: Web of Sin

by Aleatha Romig

  I stepped back again. “Please.”

  His chiseled chin bobbed. “You like it. I can tell. I see it in the way the vein at the side of your neck pulsates and the way your breathing has grown shallower.” His eyes scanned downward. “The way your nipples have grown hard. You want me to touch more than your regal, sexy neck.” The desk light reflected as a shimmer in his eyes. “And don’t worry, Araneae, I will. In time.”

  I pushed his hand away. “I don’t know you. And I sure as hell don’t know who you think you are, but you’re wrong. I’m leaving Chicago tomorrow, and I’m not coming back.”

  This time he took a step back, lifted an envelope from the desk, and handed it to me.

  In flowing script on the front was the name he’d called me, but there was more. There was also a last name: Araneae McCrie.

  I couldn’t stop the tears. “I-I’ve never been told...” I looked up at his face. If my emotions were affecting him, he wasn’t showing it. “How do you know this?”

  “The same way I know that you belong to me. Your father promised my father when we were both quite young that you would be mine. The day has come to honor his word.”

  What? An arranged marriage?

  That was absurd.

  “My father? A man with the name McCrie? I didn’t know him. I never knew him. This isn’t the Middle Ages and even if it were, his word means nothing to me.”

  “A man’s word is either his most valuable tool or his most respected weapon. There is nothing more binding. Tonight, I’m giving you my word. By this time next week, you’ll be back with me, and you will be asking me to touch you.” He once again caressed my cheek. “And I don’t mean your face.”

  I didn’t want to believe him. Yet he’d already given me more information about my past than I’d ever known. “Will you tell me more about my family?”

  Shit!

  Did that sound like I was agreeing? I wasn’t. I was…curious.

  “In time.”

  I let out an exaggerated breath. “Forget it. You gave me enough. I can search the internet with what you’ve given me.”

  “You won’t.”

  My brow furrowed. “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “It isn’t safe.”

  “And when I don’t come back?”

  “You will.” When I didn’t answer, he went on, “Because not doing so is also not safe.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “Open the envelope.”

  As I turned the thick paper over in my hands, I had a flashback of an envelope in a car ten years earlier. I ran my finger under the flap. This time, the contents were sparser. I pulled the paper back to reveal a picture, the real kind with a glossy front that had been developed.

  My breath caught as I stared down at the candid photograph of Louisa and Jason. They were dining at a restaurant in Boulder. By the look of her midsection, the picture was taken recently.

  “Tell no one,” he said, “about this. Only that you’re moving to Chicago.”

  “She’s pregnant and you’re threatening her? You’re a monster.”

  “Do as you’re told and she will never know, nor will her husband. They will remain blissfully ignorant.”

  I opened the envelope wider. There was nothing else inside. “Tell me who you are.”

  “In time.”

  “Stop saying that!”

  Again, his lips moved into a grin. “For now, all you need to worry about is arranging your move. Don’t worry about a place to live. You’re leaving on a red-eye tonight. And then when you return, Patrick will pick you up at the airport. The airline tickets are already in your app. Once you arrive back to Chicago, he’ll deliver you to me.

  “And that Google search or whatever search engine you think to use, don’t do it. All of your devices are monitored. Believe me when I say, it’s for your own good.”

  My mind swirled. It was too much, too unbelievable to comprehend. “I don’t know you. And as for my own good, you’re telling me to give up my dream and move to Chicago. No. This is preposterous. As for believing, I don’t believe a damn word you say.”

  Maybe it was three steps, or with the length of his legs, it may have been only two. I wasn’t sure. All at once, my shoulders crashed against the wall. His massive body pushed against mine, his hands capturing my wrists and pinning them to my sides. Chest to chest, he encompassed me, his heartbeat and even his words vibrating from him to me—all of me.

  “Believe me,” he said, his tone colder than before. “You don’t know me yet, so we will let this one instance slide. In the future, remember that no one speaks to me like you just did. No one. And do not ever...” With each of his words, his hips moved toward me until his growing erection probed against my stomach. “...make assumptions about me.”

  Fear was a strange bedfellow. For all my life I’d done my best to keep it at bay, to avoid danger and ignore its power, its raw potential to be so much more than distress. As the emotion flowed through my coursing bloodstream, the excess was energizing and empowering.

  The man’s granite features from before had morphed. And that wasn’t my only clue that I had an effect on this monstrous yet mysterious man.

  I moved my hips ever so slightly his way.

  His dark eyes hooded as his nostrils flared. “Araneae, you have no idea what you’re doing.”

  I straightened my neck, raised my chin, and stared deep into his darkness. “Then tell me. Tell me what assumption I’ve made.” Because most have been unspoken: You’re a bully. You’re used to getting your way. You won’t tell me what I need to know. And for some unknown reason, having you against me was the most turned on I’ve been in years—forget that. Not in years—in forever.

  I didn’t say any of the examples aloud. Instead, I continued my unblinking glare into his dark gaze and willed my hands not to fight his grip.

  “Your nipples are hard as rocks under that expensive silk.” He took a deep breath. “And you’re so wet my mouth is watering at the idea of tasting you, teasing you, and making you scream so loud as you come that Patrick will hear.”

  Pressing my lips together, I held back my retort, instead saying, “Those are not assumptions.”

  He loosened his grip and stepped back, his tone once again cold and demanding. “Do as you’ve been told. Get on the plane tonight. Do what you need to do in Boulder and return next Wednesday night. Do not tell anyone about me or this arrangement, and your dream will remain intact. You assumed that I have a desire to take Sinful Threads away. You’re wrong. I have neither the desire to take it away nor ruin it forever. That is, as long as you obey my instructions.

  “The issues you’ve had here with merchandise will no longer be a problem as long as you behave. If there are any thoughts in that pretty little head of yours of disobeying, the demise of your business partner and your business will only be the beginning of your punishment.”

  He ran his finger once again over my cheek, now damp with tears. “For the first time, you have a choice in your future. The next step is currently in your hands. I believe you’ll do what is best for everyone.”

  With his last word—his warning—hanging in the air, he turned, opened the door, and disappeared into the dark hallway. I stood motionless as his footsteps faded away, lost in my memory of his presence—his scent, his touch, and the way his body pushed against mine.

  My mind spun and chest filled with the burden bestowed upon me.

  A choice?

  What choice was he giving me in effect—me in exchange for my best friend and our company?

  How was that really a choice?

  As the reality struck with the decision before me, dazed and bewildered, I bolted toward the doorway. “Wait! Stop. I have more questions. I need more answers. Damn you…” My voice trailed away in the silence. “I don’t even know your name...”

  My words echoed through the empty distribution center as more tears flowed down my cheeks. I leaned back against the wall with my arms wrapped around my mid
section, trying to decipher what had just happened. In the distance new footsteps grew closer with each second.

  A mix of panic and excitement washed through me. The instinct to run, to flee, pulled at my already-taut nerves. With my hand on the door, I contemplated closing and locking it, keeping him out, but reason took over. This wasn’t my mystery man approaching. The new footsteps were Patrick’s.

  “Ma’am, your car is ready. Your plane is leaving soon.”

  Kennedy

  A noise escaped my lips, somewhere less loud than a growl, but nonetheless, an audible sign of my displeasure. This man who had been hired to protect me didn’t. He’d betrayed me.

  As Patrick continued to look my way, my head shook in disagreement. “No, I’m not sure where I want to go, but I’m most certain it isn’t with you.”

  “Ma’am, as I said, you’re my job.”

  My fist came to my hip. “Who assigned you that job? Not the company Winnie contacted.”

  “You’re right; nonetheless, you are my job.”

  I let out another long breath. I could call an Uber or a Lyft. However, Patrick was here. Did I want to be left alone at the empty facility?

  “Fine. I’m your job. No matter what, first I need to go back to my hotel room. And I have a meeting tomorrow. Vanessa is expecting me.”

  Patrick only nodded as we walked through the darkened hallway back out to the summer night’s warmth. With a quick memorized code, Patrick secured the building.

  Wracked with too many thoughts at once, as I sat in the back seat, I pulled up the app to my airline. The man had been right. Not being certain of my schedule, I hadn’t booked a flight to return to Boulder, yet just as he’d said, I had one, leaving in an hour and fifteen minutes. I also had a return flight for next Wednesday, leaving Boulder at 6 PM and getting me to Chicago nearly the same time as tonight’s situation at the distribution center.

  Patrick remained silent as the car moved through the night streets. Near my feet was my carry-on bag. Maybe leaving was the best. Returning wasn’t, but I’d work that out once I was safely out of this town. I looked again at my carry-on. “Why is my carry-on here? Where is my suitcase?”

  “In the trunk, ma’am. Everything was packed.”

  A cold chill settled over my skin as I opened my clutch and pulled out my phone, lipstick, powder...no picture. “Shit! No! Patrick, we have to go back.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible. You’ve been checked out of the room, and if we go back, you’ll miss your flight.”

  “There was jewelry—”

  “I believe you’ll find everything in the carry-on.”

  Pulling the bag up onto the seat, a new panic surged through me. The continuing changing emotions created a whirlwind set on bringing down my defenses. If the man at the distribution center was one of the people my mother had warned me about—one she was afraid of—and if Patrick found the picture…

  My skin prickled with a cold perspiration.

  I didn’t even want to think about it.

  Byron and Josey had kept me safe. By returning to Chicago and delivering that picture, I may have done the one thing to risk her safety—if she could possibly still be alive ten years later.

  The illumination within the car strobed between light and dark as we passed beneath tall streetlights. My cosmetics were all contained within their appropriate bags. It was as I dug that my fingers brushed against the soft silk of the Sinful Threads jewelry roll. It had many different-sized pockets and rolled closed, securable with a delicate tie.

  Swallowing, I held my breath as I unfurled the roll.

  Within the zipper pocket were the earrings and necklace I’d placed in the safe.

  I continued searching.

  It wasn’t until the last pocket that I found the picture, once again creased but safe.

  “Oh, thank goodness.”

  “Ma’am, is everything accounted for?”

  “How did you…? The combination on the safe?”

  I started to put the picture back when I realized it hadn’t been alone. Pulling out the second picture, I saw it was the same as the one in the envelope—the one of Jason and Louisa. No longer relieved, my stomach twisted and temples throbbed.

  Seemingly unaware of my turmoil, Patrick answered my ill-articulated question. “I was not informed of any particulars. Remember, I was with you. You are my job. Your bags were brought to me.”

  My picture was safe, and for the moment so were Louisa and Jason. The fact that both photos were found in a Sinful Threads product was part of my warning.

  I laid my head against the seat and closed my eyes. Hadn’t I already been the one to lose at every turn in life?

  My birth parents…McCrie. That was all I knew. More than I knew yesterday but still not much.

  The loving people who raised me…Bryon and Josey Marsh. What about her? Would I ever know?

  And now, to save the only family I currently knew and to save my hard work and business, I was expected to lose more?

  That wasn’t a choice.

  My eyes prickled as more tears came to the surface, streaming down my cheeks.

  I should be terrified of the man at the distribution center. My common sense told me that. Yet I was more afraid of losing Louisa and Sinful Threads.

  The man…intrigued me.

  Sniffling, I found a tissue and dabbed my eyes. From the surroundings, I could see that we were getting close. “Patrick?”

  “Yes?” he answered, his gaze again meeting mine in the mirror.

  “You work for him?”

  He didn’t verbally answer, yet his head bobbed.

  “Can you please tell me his name?”

  Side to side his head moved.

  The small hairs on my arms stood to attention. “He can hear us, can’t he?”

  “Ma’am, your boarding pass is on your phone. I do recommend you hurry. You don’t want to miss your fight.”

  The car came to a stop at the terminal.

  Once I was out of the car with my purse and carry-on and gripping the handle of my suitcase, I laid my free hand on Patrick’s arm and spoke in a whisper. “If you were me, would you come back?”

  For the first time, I paid attention to the blue of his eyes as they softened, and he contemplated his answer.

  “The decision has to be yours.”

  “If you were me…” I repeated, emphasizing the first word.

  “In your position, with what you know and understand, I admit it would be difficult. If I were you with my knowledge and understanding, I wouldn’t leave Chicago. Be careful, Ms. Hawkins. I hope to see you next week.”

  It was after midnight on the airplane, a glass of much-needed wine on the tray beside me, when I finally got the courage to text Louisa. We hadn’t taken off yet, and this would be my last chance for a while.

  “All your devices are monitored.”

  My teeth clenched as his words replayed in my head.

  * * *

  “LOU, ON MY WAY HOME. THINGS UNDER CONTROL. DINNER WAS A HIT. I’M BEAT. WILL PROBABLY SLEEP ALL DAY. SEE YOU SATURDAY.”

  * * *

  Immediately my phone buzzed.

  “Miss, you need to turn that off,” the flight attendant reminded.

  “I will.”

  * * *

  Quickly I read:

  * * *

  “YOU DIDN’T CALL. I WAS ABOUT TO SEND OUT THE NATIONAL GUARD. I CAN’T WAIT TO HEAR. YOU AREN’T STAYING TO TALK TO VANESSA? ARE YOU SURE IT’S OKAY? WHAT CHANGED? AND I NEED PICTURES OF YOU IN THE DRESS. YOU BETTER HAVE THEM.”

  * * *

  “Miss?”

  Ignoring the flight attendant, I hammered back:

  * * *

  “CAN’T TALK. PLANE TAKING OFF. LOVE YOU. TELL LITTLE KENNEDY TO LET YOU SLEEP.”

  * * *

  I added a heart emoji before making a point of turning my phone to airplane mode and putting it in my clutch.

  I’d moved both pictures to my purse also, unwilling
to let them be in the overhead away from me.

  I thought about Louisa’s question: was I sure everything was okay and what had changed?

  I was most certain that everything wasn’t okay. How would I tell her I was moving away?

  Was I?

  There was too much.

  After we were in the air and the lights were dimmed, I reclined my seat and closed my eyes. Thankfully, the seats that had been booked for me were in first class and luckier still, this one had no one beside me. Holding my purse on my lap, I said, “I’m sorry, Mom. I should have listened. Tell me what to do.”

  Kennedy

  I woke with a start, bouncing in my seat as the plane touched down. I’d been dreaming...or maybe it was real. Whatever it had been left my breathing erratic and hands gripping the large arms of the seat. As consciousness seeped through my brain, my nightmare was forgotten, replaced with the terrifying reality of the last few hours. Images—so real that I still smelled his cologne and felt his warm touch on my skin—of the scene from hours earlier at the distribution center held me mute and captive as the plane taxied forward toward the gate.

  “Tell no one about this arrangement.”

  “You are mine. Your father gave his word.”

  “Araneae McCrie.”

  “Do as you’re told and she will never know, nor will her husband. They will remain blissfully ignorant.”

  My stomach twisted as the picture my recollections created became complete, including the mystery man’s deep tenor and unforgiving granite features. In another light, in another instance, he could be handsome with his solid, tall build, muscular arms, and devilishly striking face. His chiseled jaw, high cheekbones, and dark eyes caught my attention in the parking lot. Yet recalling his looks filled me with dread instead of warmth. Those features weren’t welcoming; instead, in my mind they belonged to a statue, cold as stone and just as unyielding, except for when he pressed himself against me.