Blyssfully Undone: The Blyss Trilogy - book 3

by CLIFF, J. C.

  I need time to clear my head and think straight, something I haven’t been able to do since I regained my memory. Yes, if I were able to take a step back and get away, I believe I could objectively reevaluate my circumstances, and decompress from all of the shock and mayhem. If Travis and I are truly meant to be, it’ll still be there once I figure myself out.

  My heart thrums with anxiety from the mere thought of making an attempt to escape. I sit here and consider my options if I were to try. Thinking of simply walking out the front door, even at this hour, I wouldn’t make it two feet off the porch. Quinn is sleeping on the pullout sofa in the living room, which is basically at the bottom of the steps. My only other option would be the windows. I cringe; there’s no way I’d jump down two stories. I’d break my neck.

  I leave the blanket behind as I get up to check what lies on the other side of the window in our room. Moonlight creeps in through the slats of the mini-blinds as I slowly inch them open just enough to peer out. I’m surprised to see I have a three-foot ledge only two feet down. My forehead wrinkles as I think about this puzzle. The ledge below is still too high for me to jump to the ground, but I wonder what would happen if I could manage to get to the A-frame of the roof, and walk around to the back side of the house. I remember seeing the screened-in porch from the kitchen window when I was doing dishes. I noticed it had a flat ceiling and thought it odd, because I’ve never seen one like that. I can only presume the roof is flat too. It must have been an addition the guys built onto the back of the house.

  I look back over my shoulder to see Travis lying flat on his stomach facing the other way. I bite my lower lip out of nervousness. I can’t believe I’m about to attempt this. What’s the worst that could happen? I guess the worst that could happen is I’d get caught, then maybe tied up, and then afterwards, I’d get a good yelling at. All those things are punishments I can handle.

  Shoes…shit. Where are they? I look around in the dark, finally spotting them. My tennis shoes are underneath the edge of the bed. I tiptoe slowly to retrieve them and slip them on with no socks. I can’t be choosy, now can I? I pause for a moment and decide it best to leave his engagement ring behind. I place it carefully on top of the nightstand and silently back away.

  If I’m going to do this I can’t think about this beautiful man sleeping only a few feet away from me. One who has spent every waking breath trying to protect me. Every cell in my body is screaming at me to get back in bed and cuddle up to him. Go back to sleep and forget this ever crossed my mind. I shake my head free of the conflict, and suppress thoughts of everything Travis—his masculine smell, the way he makes love, the way he looks at me with such endearing love, but has yet to say the words. Not only am I a victim of Stockholm and captivity, but I’m a victim of love.

  My heart begins to race as fear bubbles up from the pit of my stomach when I creep back toward the window. My palms are slick with sweat, and I rub my hands against my jeans to rid myself of the moisture before I attempt to raise the window. I pray it’s not screwed shut, or worse yet, one of those windows that squeak in their tracks upon opening. The fact that these windows are not wooden, but newer-looking, might be in my favor.

  Through the moonlight shining in, I spot the lock and slowly flip it to the left, disengaging it. I wiggle my fingers to release the growing tension for the agile task at hand. I brace myself for the worst as my fingertips find the lip at the bottom portion of the pane, and slowly, inch-by-inch, I begin to raise it. Once I get it halfway up without a sound, the night’s warm air wafts in, and I look back over my shoulder to see Travis hasn’t budged an inch. If anything were to wake him right now, it would be the sound of my pounding heart.

  Holy crap, this is anxiety city. I look long and hard at him one last time before I shimmy myself out the window. Since there’s no drop, I’m able to shut the window except for the last inch or so. I don’t want to push my luck, especially at this point. What could I say if I was caught? Oh, gee, I thought I’d just open the window and get some fresh air, you know? Yeah, right.

  Wasting no time, I carefully walk on eggshells as I follow the roofline in the moonlight above. Once I reach the end of the house, I thank God it’s a three-tiered house. The roof continues on in such a way I’m able to take a large step over to the second half of the house. I’ve never considered a fear of heights before, and if I did, the thought would be greatly overshadowed by the exhilarating sense of freedom, which is beginning to wash over me. I feel a little more in control of my future suddenly, and it’s a giddy feeling.

  I reach the peak of the roof, and then begin to descend toward the back of the house. The closer I get to the back porch, the faster my pulse races. I let out a breathy sigh of relief when I see that the screened-in porch roof is indeed flat. I’m down to a twelve-foot drop now, which is still too high for my liking. After a few seconds of thinking this through, I lay down on the scratchy shingles, perpendicular with the edge of the roof. My heart is literally pounding, and I swear it’s going to explode.

  I take a deep breath, begging myself not to screw this up. Slowly, I edge myself backward until both my legs dangle from the roof’s ledge, my stomach pressing into the edge of the roof’s shingles. My fingers find their place along the border of the roof as I scoot my body back a little bit more, praying I don’t sway too far one way or the other and lose my grip. A soft grunt escapes me. I’ve successfully maneuvered myself to hang from the top of the porch. I figure what was once a twelve-foot drop should now only be between a four and five-foot drop with my arms extended. I can do this.

  I let go and land on my feet, then promptly fall back on my ass. I’ve hurt nothing from the short drop. I take stock of myself; I feel good. I look around first to make sure I’ve not been spotted, but the house is pitch black. I stand up and carefully begin to slink my way around the front of the house before I make a break for it. As I do so, a motion detector light clicks on, and every organ I own is lodged in my throat. I’m standing in the middle of the yard like a deer caught in the headlights of a moving vehicle. Panic-stricken, I know how they feel now.

  My feet start moving before I realize what I’m even doing, my legs pumping as I sprint across the soft grass. The further I get away from the house, the faster I run. This is the first taste of freedom I’ve had since this entire fiasco unfolded and I was captured. It feels fucking liberating, the feeling causing a spike of adrenaline to surge through my bloodstream, allowing me to run faster and longer until my heart feels like it will explode. My sneakers hit the asphalt in a rhythm all their own. My lungs start burning, but I savor the pain and the pleasure all at once.

  The further I run away from the house, the more guilty I feel for leaving Travis behind, but I know this is the right thing to do. None of this capturing and owning another human being shit is right. There's nothing honorable, ethical, or moral about it. It's wicked and it’s wrong.

  So why does it feel like I'm losing a piece of my heart the further away I run? It's like my head knows what's right, but my heart wants me to turn around—being a human captive be damned. Stupid, Jules, just stupid. You can sort out your feelings later. I haven't seen my father and Jake in over a month, and right now, it feels like years.

  As I am running away, it's odd I even notice there are fewer stars in the sky as opposed to the night sky at the cabin. Memories taunt me as I remember warm nights out on the front porch of the cabin. Travis and I would talk about the stars and how much brighter they were out in the country. Why am I thinking of stars at a time like this? All of it was a fairytale. A lie.

  My legs start to give out and I stumble. I’m forced to slow down my stride and focus on my breathing. I’m growing tired, but I refuse to give up, so I force myself to push on as I half-stagger and half-jog. I let the thoughts of having my entire life ripped out from under me fuel my anger, which in turn feeds my energy to keep moving forward. I've lost so much of my future, the most important thing being Adam.

  My vexation has me pu
mping my legs faster and harder. I feel beads of sweat beginning to trickle down the side of my face, and the cool early morning air feels good against my overheated skin. The only thing I can hear is the rhythmic pounding of my feet on the asphalt and my hard breathing. My lungs continue to constrict as they fight for air.

  My mind is willing my body to go the distance, all the way to Atlanta, but my body has other ideas. Against my will, the muscles in my legs, combined with the lack of oxygen in my lungs, have my body coming to a screeching halt. Dammit. I can’t push myself any farther, and I bend over, grasping my knees with my hands as my chest heaves like a seventy-year-old chain-smoker. I turn around and glance back, and see nothing but a bright-lit moon against a clear, dark sky. I don’t know how far I’ve run, but it feels like a couple of miles at least. I look around and notice the sky is changing to a lighter gray. I haven’t seen one single car since being on these back roads at this hour, and to me, that’s a good thing.

  Placing my hands on my hips at the small of my back I lean back and stretch out, taking another deep breath to fill my lungs. Then I start to walk out my fatigued and tired muscles.

  I have to keep moving, especially if I’m going to make it. It feels as if another half-hour has gone by. I’ve resorted to power walking now, knowing it’s better than just walking, but not as tiring as running.

  When the guys drove here, I knew we were out of the city limits, but my gosh, these roads are just going on forever.

  Since I fell asleep on the way here, I have no idea if I’m headed in the right direction or not. All I know is I'm still on a two-lane country road, and hopefully making my way toward the city of Raleigh. I have no idea what I'm going to do when I get there either, other than try to find a way to phone home.

  The quiet morning I’ve been used to hearing for the past hour is interrupted by the sound of what could only be a diesel truck. It’s coming from behind me, and I immediately tense up.

  These are the moments I wish I had a gun to defend myself if I needed to. Unfortunately, the guys have them under lock and key, or they’re kept on their own body. There would be no way any one of them would let me have a firearm either.

  I quickly turn around and see a large red Ford pick-up truck. It looks very used and abused, and at the sight of it, I slightly relax, knowing it’s not Travis. However, I swallow hard against the lump in my throat when the truck doesn’t drive by. It slows down, and then comes to a full stop a few feet away from me. I’m about to find my second wind and run, but before I do, I catch a glimpse of the driver. He’s a good-looking guy; I guess you could call him a redneck, but he’s a handsome-looking redneck.

  He leans his head out the window, giving me a friendly smile, and I minutely relax.

  “You lost, darlin’?” he calls out with a rich southern drawl.

  I quickly shake my head. "I'm fine, thank you."

  He eyes me up-and-down then pitches his head to the side, a lock of blond hair spilling over his forehead while he watches me warily.

  “You don't look fine. In fact, I’m a little concerned for you. Don’t find many women walkin’ along a dark country road, ‘specially at 5:30 in the morning. Not unless you’re doin’ a serious walk of shame with nothing but the shirt on your back.”

  I don’t know how to respond to that comment, but at least he's nice enough to say I don't look like a hooker. Even though it's 5:30 in the morning, and I’ve cooled off from my long run, the hot and humid air has started to seep into my skin, rendering me parched and fatigued.

  “Why don't I give you a lift into town?” he offers. “Is that where you're headed?”

  Shifting my feet, I don't answer. I’m wary as hell going anywhere with strangers. For obvious reasons. As if he could read my mind, he holds his hand out of the truck window with his palm facing me in a friendly gesture to show me he’s harmless. “I’m just a country boy showin’ a little southern hospitality. I just want to help a lady who looks to be in distress.” His southern accent, charm, and the twinkle in his eyes have him looking so sincere. Trying to ascertain his intentions, all I can come up with is he truly wants to be a Good Samaritan. I decide to take a chance. “C’mon, what do you say? It’s a long hike into Raleigh from here.”

  “Okay,” I meekly reply, biting my lower lip with worry.

  I’m tired, and it would be best if I get off the road and out of plain sight, especially with daylight breaking. I’m sure the guys will be freaking out the second they find me gone. I make my way to the passenger side of the truck and open the door. When I step up on the running board, I glance into the back seat and suppress a grin. This is definitely a man’s truck. It's filthy, full of trash, with old crumpled paper bags of fast food and empty water bottles strewn across the entire cab.

  “Sorry about the mess. This is my work truck. If I'd known I was going to be picking up a pretty little lady this mornin’, I would've brought my brand new GMC Sierra Denali 2500, v8 engine with 420 horsepower and 460lb-ft of torque,” he says as if he is Tim the Tool Man, and then his lips twitch before he breaks out into a beautiful smile. His grin and silliness is infectious, and I giggle, returning his smile.

  “Well, damsels in distress can't be choosy now, can they?”

  His smile dissipates, and his expression grows serious as he looks at me out of the corner of his eye. “Are you…a damsel in distress?” I pause, hesitating to step fully into the truck. He must see the conflicting emotions running across my face, because he tries to reassure me.

  “It's okay, sweetheart. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm happy to help. It's what real gentlemen do here in the south.” Oh, if he only knew what other gentlemen do here in the south, he wouldn't be saying that.

  I take a moment to study him before climbing in. He has a strong build, and a very nice tan, as if he works under the sun, on a farm maybe. The color of his striking blond hair is one that even I’m jealous of. He can't be much older than me.

  He pats the empty seat beside him, garnering my attention. “C’mon,” he encourages with a smile, “I don’t bite.” I go ahead and hoist myself up into the front seat and close the truck door.

  Judging from his helpful and sweet personality, I could see where he wouldn’t have the first clue about what debauchery goes on in the business sector of the south. This handsome young man is what the real south was made of. I have to remind myself not everyone is out to hunt me down. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding as I let the tension out of my shoulders and relax.

  He puts the truck back in gear, glances behind him, and then gets back on the road. We ride in silence for about a minute before he takes his eyes off the road for a quick second as he looks at me with concern.

  “I don't know what you're going through, but whatever it is, you can trust me. I can get you the help you need.”

  “What I really need is a phone,” I mumble, not expecting him to produce one.

  “Well, why didn't you say so?” My eyes open wide with disbelief as he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out an iPhone. Judging from his attire and the condition of his truck, I wouldn't have thought he would own such an expensive phone. My face must be all-telling, because he lets out a hearty laugh. I pull my gaze away from the phone cradled in his hand and look at him with confusion.

  His lip twitches with mirth as he speaks, “Don't let the looks fool you, sweetheart. I'm in construction, and I make damn good money. I don’t dress nice onsite, and by the end of the day, not only have I been rough on my truck, but I’m dirty.” His lips spread into a beautiful white smile with perfectly straight teeth, and two of the sexiest dimples appear in his cheeks. “I wasn't kidding when I said I have a nice truck. I’ve got a lot of other nice things too,” he says as he holds out his hand, offering me his cell.

  I just bet he does have a lot of other nice things. I grin at his innocent comment and take the phone from his hand. I turn it over in my hands a few times, realization dawning that I haven’t had a communication device in ov
er a month. It’s a precious piece of technology I’d always taken for granted. I don’t know what to think it feels so weird.

  “Do you need some help turning it on?” he asks, breaking into my thoughts.

  Still staring at the phone, I answer him, “I’ve never seen such a thin plastic protective case before is all.” Which is a lie.

  “It’s one of the best covers money can buy. It’s waterproof too,” he explains.

  “Mm,” is all I say as I press the button to turn on the phone, and then swipe across the screen to access the keypad. With shaky fingers, I type in the numbers nice and slow, trying not to dial the wrong number from over-excitement. The time on the phone says it's a little after 5:30 in the morning, and I'm positive my dad won't care if I wake him up at this hour. Knowing he keeps his cellphone by his side at all hours, I know it is right beside his bed. Heck, he even takes it into the bathroom with him when he showers in the morning. He's that busy.

  The phone rings three times before he picks up, his voice groggy from sleep. “Hello?”

  “Daddy?” I breathe in a relieved gasp as I close my eyes, thankful to hear his familiar voice.

  “Oh, my God! Princess!” he shouts, immediately awake. “Where are you? Are you okay? I've been looking for you everywhere. I’ve turned every corner of the world upside-down trying to find you.” His words rush out in a panic.

  “Daddy, I'm okay,” I reassure him. “I’m in Raleigh, North Carolina right now. I need you to help me find a way home. I don't have any money or ID on me, so I'm in a big bind.”

  As I explain to him I’m in a stranger’s truck heading toward Raleigh, he asks to speak with the young man. I hand the phone back over to the stranger, and I find out through their conversation that his name is Heath. I guess it's pretty rude of me that I didn’t even find out his name, and he's rescued me off the side of the road. I hear him exchange personal information with my dad as they talk for a few minutes longer, and then he ends the call.