by Selena Kitt
Tilly smiled, watching her son’s protest, thinking, “He’s already just like his daddy.”
Then panic ensued. She didn’t remember much about that either. Something about heavy bleeding and a retained placenta. She just remembered hearing her baby crying, her arms aching to hold him, as everything faded to darkness. Later, Liv told her they’d had to put her under general anesthesia for some sort of procedure, but Tilly didn’t care about that.
She wanted her baby. She needed him. She begged her mother to just let her hold him.
But Liv was adamant. The baby was gone.
She didn’t remember much about those first three months after her son was kidnapped either. That’s how she thought of it, at first. Tilly stayed in her room—her own room, now, the upstairs once again shut up and locked—and slept. Liv insisted she “eat right,” and “exercise every day,” and to that end, hired a new cook and personal trainer, both of which Tilly ignored as much as she possibly could.
“Have to lose all that baby weight, Mathilda,” her mother would say—but only when they were alone. Tilly actually loved hearing her say that, because it was the only time anyone ever acknowledged that she had, in fact, had a baby.
By June, when Tilly was supposed to return from Europe, Tilly was quiet, withdrawn, and hardly spoke to anyone. Scrabble—a hard-fought battle Tilly finally won—was her only companion. But then, her mother had called Frankie. She was home for the summer, and Frankie came in and found Tilly still in bed at one in the afternoon, unshowered for two days, at least, feeding her ferret Corn Nuts—one for you, two for me—and immediately asked, “What the hell happened to you?”
Tilly smiled to herself at the memory. God, she loved Frankie. Tilly had burst into tears and had made up some story about lost love that wasn’t so far from the truth. She had lost not one, but two of them, both the loves of her life, and she knew in her heart that she’d never see either of them again. The letters she’d finally dared secretly write to Beast in Afghanistan, now that she was out of hiding and had a little more freedom, came back marked “refused.”
Refused.
Frankie had let her cry. She had rocked her and held her and wiped her face of snot and tears. Then she had slowly started drawing Tilly out again, like luring a hungry, wounded animal from its cage with a trail of treats. The movies—summer blockbuster films were being released practically every week, and Frankie knew how much Tilly loved movies, and that had been the first lure. The next had been restaurants. Good food, lots of Frankie-stories that made Tilly laugh until her stomach hurt, and shared desserts they fought over with dueling forks. Frankie had introduced men again carefully. Double dates only, guys who would admire Tilly’s upturned nose and freckles and shapely form—she never did lose all of the “baby weight”—and bolster her self-esteem. And it had all worked like a charm. Frankie had managed, by the time their sophomore year at Mt. Holyoke began, to shine Tilly up like a penny.
Her light had come back—although it never would shine quite the same, Tilly thought.
And Liv had been behind it all. Tilly’s mother had known exactly what Frankie would do for her daughter, Tilly was sure of it. And once real classes had started, and she was rooming with Frankie, sometimes it felt like a dream. Like it had all happened to someone else. And that was just what Liv had intended, of course.
She couldn’t help remembering the way her mother had looked, so small and fragile in her hospital bed. That was the woman who had given birth to her. Had Liv felt about her daughter the same way Tilly had felt, when they put Miles in her arms? She had a hard time believing it. Because that was the same woman who had taken him from her.
But she hadn’t taken him far, had she? Meg and Kate had brought Miles back into her life that year, just before she was headed off to Mt. Holyoke. The moment she had picked him up and held him, something in her had recognized her son. Had the thought crossed her mind, to take him, to run away? It had. The instinct had been so strong, in fact, she remembered having to sit down to keep from bolting.
But where would she go? How would they live?
And what if she was wrong?
Her mother was sitting across the room, talking to Meg and Kate—mostly to Meg—telling them that Mathilda’s life was really about to start. She had a whole new wardrobe, even if it wasn’t quite the size Liv hoped she’d be in by then, and college would be a wonderful experience. Liv hinted at the possibility of her daughter finding a husband there, which was par for the course.
So Tilly had given Miles back to her Aunt Meg and Meg’s unacknowledged lover, Kate, and she wondered if they knew who their new son’s “birth mother” really was. But she never asked. She’d wondered, she speculated, she’s suspected, but she had never spoken to anyone about it. Because that’s how they lived their unacknowledged lives.
Even her mother’s illness had been a secret as long as she could keep it one.
And now, she was dying. It might be the only thing in Liv’s life she’d never been in control of. She wondered if, under the wig and make-up and armor, if her mother was scared. Because Tilly was terrified.
Something caught Tilly’s eye—the flash of a green and white street sign illuminated under the orange fluorescent glow of a street lamp—and she sat up, alarmed.
“Erich?” She rapped on the Plexiglas. “Erich, that was our turn! We have to go back.”
Erich shushed her. He was still on the phone. She knocked again, insistent. He was going to take them way out of the way at this rate! Erich waved her away again impatiently and Tilly sat back, a little shocked. He’d been all about where’s-Frankie-I-have-to-talk-to-her, but now this phone call seemed to be the only thing he cared about. Who the hell was he talking to that was so important?
The further they got away from where they were supposed to be going, the more nervous Tilly got. She waited a few minutes, leaning in a little closer to the glass, hoping she could overhear, but he was using low tones, and whoever was on the other end was clearly doing most of the talking. Hurry up, she thought, willing him to hang up and realize how far he’d traveled away from their destination. She pictured him being surprised, apologetic, a little sheepish as he turned around.
She just wanted to make sure Frankie was okay and the sooner they got to Frankie’s parents’ house, the better.
“Erich!” She knocked on the glass again as he hit “end” on his call, sliding his phone into a slot on the console. “You missed a turn back there.”
“Sorry,” he dismissed with another wave of hand. “I have to make a pick up.”
Make a pick up. What did that mean?
“I’m really worried about Frankie,” Tilly said, reminding him. “Can’t it wait?”
“Sorry,” he apologized again with a shake of his head, eyes not leaving the road. “Time sensitive. But as soon as I’m done, we’ll head over.”
Tilly sat back, crossing her arms, fuming. He’d dragged her out, all concerned about Frankie, and now they were taking a detour to—where, exactly? She peered out the windows, trying to see where they were headed, but she didn’t recognize anything now.
“Will it be long?” Tilly asked, trying to keep the annoyance out of her tone. Then she said again, “I’m really worried.”
“It’s right up here.” He nodded, making a turn, and Tilly was surprised to see they were by the water. She could see the glint of it, even in the darkness. Where the hell were they? She craned her neck, looking for a sign. There were big boats—ships really—anchored nearby.
Erich slowed the car to a stop and his phone rang again. He swore at it and picked it up, getting out of the car as he answered. Tilly sat, waiting, watching him lean against driver’s side door as he talked. So he would pick up whatever he needed to pick up—she glanced around, hoping he didn’t want to put it back here with her—and then they’d head over to Frankie’s.
But the more he talked—he was pacing now, back and forth, outside her window—the more nervous Tilly got. Her heart
was already racing, at first because she was angry, but now, it was because she was scared.
Something’s wrong.
That wasn’t Beast’s voice and it wasn’t her mother’s, it wasn’t even Frankie’s. It was that small, still voice that sometimes spoke to her at the strangest times. She’d discovered, having ignored it on more than one occasion, dismissing it as the voice of “Silly Tilly,” that it was usually spot-on.
Tilly reached for the door handle, pulling, and blinked in surprise when it didn’t move. The handle lifted, but the door didn’t open. Broken? She slid to the other side, away from Erich, and tried the other one. Locked. Or maybe—just stuck? She tried to shoulder it open but just bruised her arm.
Tilly slid back to Erich’s side, knocking on the window. He glanced at her, scowling, saw the look on her face, and gave her a brief smile, holding up his finger. One minute. Right, like she had a choice? Angrily, she grabbed her purse, searching through it for her phone, and a sinking feeling settled in her belly, causing a wave of nausea so strong she had to hang her head between her legs for a moment.
You should have brought the gun.
She didn’t know whose voice that was in her head, but she shoved the thought away. That was ridiculous. Erich wasn’t some psycho. Okay, so he was acting a little weird, and maybe his interests skewed to the unorthodox, but that didn’t make him Hannibal Lecter or anything.
He’s got Frankie somewhere, and now he’s got you too.
Where the hell had that idea come from?
In her panic, she pounded on the window again, yelling at Erich to let her out. He glanced over his shoulder at her, rolled his eyes, and paced the other way. What the hell?
Tilly’s fingers touched her phone and she sighed in relief. All she had to do was call 911. And tell them she was—where in the hell was she? Tilly scanned the harbor in the dark, squinting, looking for any indication of where they were. They were at some sort of dock, but Connecticut had a ton of those. It could have been a marina or a—
Guilford Harbor.
Was that it? She frowned, trying to remember where she’d heard that recently.
She stared at the phone in her hand, hesitating. She pictured calling 911, telling them she’d been kidnapped, a dozen police cars driving up, and then what? Erich hadn’t hurt her. He hadn’t threatened her. He had simply made a detour on their trip to find Frankie, and was now taking a phone call. Where was the crime in that?
It was the thought of Frankie that stopped her. She could almost hear Frankie cackling with laughter at the thought of Tilly calling in the troops because she suspected Erich was up to something, when in fact, he wasn’t. And that was the best case scenario. The worst case involved being on the receiving end of Frankie’s wrath, especially if the cops arrested him under Tilly’s false pretenses.
Then Erich opened the back door and Tilly sighed in relief, taking in a gulp of cool night air.
“Sorry,” Tilly apologized. “I just got scared when the door wouldn’t—”
She yelped when Erich seized her by the wrists, hauling her violently out of the car. Her phone, still in her hand, went flying, skittering across the pavement.
“Hey!” she protested, and her body responded faster than her brain, twisting, trying to strike out at him, but Erich was faster. He bent her arms behind her back and shoved her up against the car with the full weight of his body.
I should have listened to Beast, Tilly thought. I should have stayed home.
She saw the light of her phone, face up, on the ground—was someone trying to call her? Frankie? Beast? The hospital? If she could get to her phone, hide somewhere, she could call for help.
“Ow!” Tilly cried out again as Erich bound her hands with zip ties, and if she’d had any thoughts that this might not be as bad as it seemed, those went scattering like the plastic pieces of her phone case all over the ground.
She did the only thing she could think of. She screamed.
But Erich was ready for that, too, and shoved a gag into her mouth, quickly fastening it behind her head. It was a ball gag, soft not hard, but it prevented her from being too loud, and that was clearly the point. She tried anyway, her cries strangled as she twisted and bucked against his weight and his strength.
“Just shut your mouth and do what you’re told,” he snapped and Tilly whimpered when she felt his erection against her ass. Was this turning him on? Was that what this was about? Did he bring her out here to rape her? “This isn’t how a submissive behaves, is it, Tilly?”
His words made her freeze and he chuckled.
“I think you’re going to fetch an even higher price than your whore friend.” Erich grabbed a handful of her hair, pulling hard, forcing her head back, and Tilly screamed again, although it was muffled behind the gag. His hand moved down her throat, and he shoved it under the neck of her t-shirt, into her bra, fondling her breast. “I can’t wait to see what you’ve got under here. You’d be surprised, across the ocean, they like them with a little more padding.”
She screamed for Beast. It was a helpless act and she knew it, but she called his name, unintelligible, praying and wishing and hoping for him, knowing he wouldn’t come. Her voice was strangled, hidden behind the gag. She sensed the futility of fighting Erich, but continued to struggle in vain against him anyway.
Clearly annoyed by her acts of protest, he pushed her towards the front of the car, one hand on the zip ties, pulling her arms painfully back and up, the other hand between her shoulder blades. Tilly couldn’t walk very well this way, and every time she tried to stand taller, Erich simply pushed with the hand between her shoulder blades and pulled with the other on the zip ties, painfully prying her bound arms up again.
Tilly searched frantically, head turning wildly from side to side, for someone she could signal. But it was now dark and deserted everywhere. In the distance were blurry lamps, which seemed to blend with their reflections on the black water beyond the edge of the dock. Her breathing was harsh through the gag, and she found herself panting and snorting like an animal.
Then Tilly heard the unmistakable sound of a car. Her heart nearly leaped out of her chest at the sound and she almost collapsed. Erich seized her more firmly, holding her up. The car roared and raced towards them, skidding in next to Erich’s. She blinked through her tears—she hadn’t even realized she’d been crying—and recognized the car with an enormous flood of relief.
The door swung open and Beast got out of his Mustang, walking quickly towards them.
How had he found her? Had he put a tracking device on her phone? Oh bless his paranoid, crazy, mother-fucking heart, Tilly thought, really sobbing now at the sight of him stalking toward them. The only sight more welcome would have been Beast with a gun in his hand—but she knew he was carrying one at his side, and that was second best.
“It’s about bloody time,” growled Erich, pushing Tilly in Beast’s direction, still holding onto the zip ties. “Where were you? You’re late. The rest of the girls are already on board. I decided to bring this one at the last minute.”
Beast stopped and put his hands on his hips, staring at both of them, shaking his head. “Seriously, Erich. You’re going to sell my sister? What am I supposed to tell her mother?”
“No choice.” Erich shrugged. “Look, Frankie got a call off to her, so as far as I’m concerned, she knows too much. Too many people know too much as it is.”
Beast sighed. “Let’s not start this again.”
“Well goddamnit, I’ve been on the phone half the night, now we’ve got all these multinational connections, a whole crew who’s supposedly gonna keep quiet? I don’t like it. So I’m not leaving this little mouse anywhere she can squeak.”
Beast rubbed his chin, looking half-way convinced.
Tilly stared at him, aghast, too stunned to move, even if she wasn’t already restrained. She tried to call out to him, but there were no words available to her, not through the gag. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. The puzz
le pieces were whirling around in her brain, but none of them would go into place.
“Come on, man, you know I’m right,” Erich said. “And, no offense, but—isn’t her mother dying? Who’s gonna be here to miss her anyway? Frankie’d be the only one left around to complain about her missing friend, but—well, they’re going to disappear together, aren’t they?”
Beast smiled wryly at this, still scratching his chin, while Tilly choked on Erich’s words, spittle flying from her mouth, feeling like she couldn’t get enough air into her lungs. She felt like she was dying. Her vision was actually starting to fade a little at the corners. She struggled against her bonds, appalled by Beast’s apparent acceptance of her abysmal fate.
I’m dreaming. Wake up, Tilly, wake up!
But it was real. Beast was looking at her, assessing, his gaze hard and cold, and she felt the life go out of her.