Young Lies (Young Series)

by Kimble, W. R.

  Though I made the decision earlier this evening to put in my resignation at the travel agency—the folder I discovered today was beyond disturbing and I won’t put my son in any situation that might get him hurt—this seals the deal. Frank had problems with Matthew. Matthew had problems with Frank. If I’d spent more time in Frank’s office today, I’m convinced I would have found more evidence supporting my theory that Frank has an unhealthy obsession with my family. I don’t know anything about Frank aside from the fact that Leo seems to like him. Normally that would be almost enough for me to trust a person, but I’m convinced Frank Marone is bad news.

  Around midnight, I manage to calm my mind enough that I think I might be able to sleep. I’m in the basement, watching cop-drama shows. I begin to shut things down and at the exact moment I switch out the basement light, all the power in the house shuts down. I’m in complete darkness, trying to figure out if flipping the light switch I use a dozen times a day has somehow tripped a breaker in the electrical box. Sighing, it takes me a few moments to remember where the electrical box is located—I’ve never had necessity to locate it; the one or two times the power went out, Matthew took care of it.

  My eyes begin to adjust and I know there’s a flashlight in the end table drawer beside the couch. I feel and bump around blindly, hissing and cursing when I stub my toe or slam my hip into the sharp corner of the table that sits behind the couch. Finally I locate the flashlight, switch it on, and smile in relief that the batteries aren’t dead. I head into the home gym just off the entertainment room in the basement and shine the light on the wall until I find the metal door in the wall. I’m trying to avoid looking around the room, knowing wherever I look I’ll see Matthew everywhere. Towels. Equipment. Even the cabinet that holds his water bottles for when he works out.

  I reach the electrical panel and open the door, searching for which breaker was tripped. Everything seems to be the way it’s supposed to be. I have half a mind to call Leo and see if he knows what’s going on. A board creaks upstairs and I stare straight up as though I’m expecting to see through the ceiling at whoever is walking through the house. My first thought is that it’s Tyler. Maybe he woke up and found his nightlight wasn’t working and got scared, so he came looking for me. Just as I start to call out for him to let him know where I am and everything is okay, I realize the footsteps are far too heavy to belong to my son. My next thought is that it’s Leo. But if it were, he’d have called out for me by now.

  Unless he thinks I’m asleep and doesn’t want to wake me up.

  It’s then I hear voices. Plural. They’re whispering, the voices carrying through the vents upstairs. I can’t make out what they’re saying, but I know damn well there should not be anybody in this house. Even the security team, aside from Leo, ring the doorbell or call cell phones if they think there might be an issue. Matthew made it clear when I first started living with him that they weren’t to invade my privacy or come up to the house, especially when he was gone. I understood his security team is a necessity and I appreciated their presence, but I never felt comfortable with them wandering around the house when I was alone. Clearly they remembered that when Tyler and I moved in here again.

  Which leaves me with the problem of who is in my home in the middle of the night and what they want. I start out of the gym, heading towards the couch for my phone before remembering I left it in my bedroom while I was doing laundry earlier and found Matt’s gift. My fingers fly for my neck, seeking comfort in the locket and wishing it could somehow protect me and—

  “Tyler,” I breathe, my eyes widening in horror at the realization that I’m two floors below my son and there are people wandering around between us. Immediately my maternal instinct kicks in and I look around the room, searching for anything to use as a weapon when I go upstairs to get to Tyler. A baseball bat is sitting in a corner and I grab it, switching off the flashlight, stopping for several very long moments to let my eyesight adjust to the darkness. When I can’t wait any longer, I put the flashlight in the pocket of my hooded sweatshirt, get a grip on the bat, and start up the stairs cautiously. As though by instinct, I recall which parts of the steps made noise and easily avoid them until I reach the top, listening for any signs of where the intruders might be. There are faint noises in the kitchen and the living room as though they’re searching for something. I’m suddenly afraid I know what that something is.

  Slipping out of the basement door into the hallway, I’m barely breathing, sliding against the wall towards the staircase. I don’t see either person, nor do I know if there are more, but as long as I can get to Tyler, I can stop and think of how to get us out of this mess. And where the hell are Leo and the security team?

  Upstairs something breaks. I freeze and I hear the two intruders—both male as far as I can tell—pausing to listen as well. I can’t tell where the noise came from, Matthew’s office maybe, but I can’t wait any longer. If these two decide to investigate they’re going to see me immediately. Keeping the bat at the ready, I start up the stairs, relieved that I’m not being followed. My relief is short-lived as I reach the top of the staircase to find a hulking figure approaching me, carrying something wrapped in a blanket that I am certain is my son.

  “There you are, sweetheart,” whispers a voice behind me before an arm wraps around my neck, pressing into my windpipe. I try to fight, but he’s too strong and I feel myself beginning to blackout.

  -------------o-------------

  My wedding day was quite possibly the most nerve-wracking day of my life. Despite my repeated protests, Leo insisted on throwing me a typical bachelor party which included booze, girls, and more booze. I managed to convince my friends to stop paying the girls to give me lap dances, but they had their fun and I enjoyed sitting back and getting it all on video. Naturally my thoughts were locked on my soon-to-be bride. Last I saw her, her sister and Claire were dragging her out of the house with the insistence that she’d see me tomorrow. I barely got to kiss her before she was pulled out the door.

  I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Samantha Everett loved me and wanted to be my wife. The logical side of my mind knew she wouldn’t leave me standing alone at the altar. What had me most concerned as I stood in my Armani suit waiting to set eyes on my fiancée in her wedding dress was the thought that she had a night with several of her friends from Iowa, most of whom didn’t like me because they thought I took her away from Tom Saunders, who will have probably tried to talk her out of marrying me. I also know Claire was there and will have stopped this sort of talk immediately.

  But that doesn’t mean Samantha hadn’t spent the night thinking I might not be right for her. I can’t think of any reason she should put up with my bullshit for the rest of our lives. My best friend lives on my property. I have a very dangerous profession that keeps me away from her much more often than I want. Wherever we go, women fall over themselves to get my attention, completely ignoring Samantha regardless of the fact that I hold onto her for dear life. I would never even have considered cheating on her—why would I, when she’s everything I wanted and more? I know she knows that. I have a short temper. I behave like a frat boy at times. Possibly my only redeeming value is my net worth and the fact that I could take her to bed and make her scream my name over and over. Though I was always aware she had no interest in the balance of my bank account.

  Her, though. There was nothing to not love about her. Beautiful. Brilliant. Funny. Quirky. Accepting. Compassionate. Thoughtful. I could spend hours listing all the different adjectives to describe her. From the moment I set eyes on her, I had to know her. And even after getting to know her, I needed to know more. It didn’t matter how much I learned about her, it was never enough. I always wanted more.

  She breathed new life into me at a time when I was trying to figure out what my role was in the world. Her energy and innocence and eagerness were like a breath of fresh air. The pull she had on me was inexplicable and unlike anything else I’d ever experienced. I’d seen fr
iends fall in love and get married to the person they believed to be their soul mate only to find out months down the line how huge a mistake they’d made. I’d also seen friends fall in love and get married, and they’d never been happier. In my life, there was no such thing as love at first sight. Until I met her.

  We’d discussed children several times, and as eager as I was to start a family with her, we agreed it wasn’t the right time. She was still in school and my career was skyrocketing. And then one afternoon she arrived at my office in the middle of the day shaking and upset, and I thought someone had died. It took fifteen minutes to calm her down enough that I could understand what she was trying to tell me through her sobs. I knew she’d been sick the week before that day, but we just assumed she’d caught Danny’s stomach flu. Claire took her to the doctor that morning and she found out she was pregnant. Nearly three and a half months at that point. She even pulled an ultrasound image from her purse to show me. I still have the photo. I remember staring at it for what felt like hours, tracing the outlines of our baby’s face, his nose, his fingers and toes. The shock I felt was so great that I didn’t realize I hadn’t said anything to Samantha in response to the news she’d just shared with me. I think she was expecting me to get upset or angry. Honestly, it was upsetting for a few brief moments—I didn’t think I was ready to be a father, not by a long shot.

  This had been far from a planned pregnancy, but I made sure Samantha left my office that day knowing I couldn’t have been happier at the thought of her having our child. If I thought my life would never be the same after meeting Samantha, that feeling was blown out of the water the second I laid eyes on Tyler.

  But I digress.

  As I stood at the altar with Leo as my best man beside me, staring down the aisle of the church and waiting for the doors to open revealing Samantha and her father, I felt a moment of panic. Between my dad, my sisters aside from Claire, Samantha’s friends, and even her older brother, there was every chance in the world she had been smuggled back to Iowa. In that moment, I felt my heart beginning to break.

  Looking back, I feel like a right idiot for doubting her. The moment the doors opened and the bridal party started down the aisle, ten years were added back onto my life. I’m sure my sister and Sam’s sister and Sam’s two friends from Iowa were gorgeous. All I had an eye for was the woman walking in wearing the most incredible wedding dress I have ever seen. Off the shoulders. No sleeves. Fabric flowers sewn all over it. The material was little more than several pieces of thin lace wrapped around her body, a long train trailing behind her. Her hair was pulled back from her face and she wore long dangly earrings. My knees actually went weak just looking at her and watching her approach me. And the look in her eyes... At once it was relief, incredible joy, a ridiculously amazing amount of love.

  I’ve spent the last five years thinking about that expression in her eyes on our wedding day. Every time I swore I would do positively anything to see her look at me like that again. She’s barely been back in my life two months and I’m already trying to figure out what I need to do. Of course, first things first: I need my family safe. At whatever cost, I will make that happen. They will not be hurt because I’m too Goddamn stubborn to give in to threats. Then, technically, I’m still dead. Though it won’t be long before I can rectify this problem. There are people who need to answer for the things they’ve done, people who have betrayed my trust one time too many. People I knew I shouldn’t have trusted from the get-go, even though enough people told me to take a couple chances. Well, look where it’s got me.

  I’m currently speeding through the dark towards my home terrified of what I might find once I’m there. Marcus recommended keeping me a safe distance from anyone who might recognize me. I drew the line at hiding out in a different country—the most likely being Canada—because if the time came that I needed to be at Samantha’s side quickly, the last thing I would have patience for is US/Canadian border customs. I’ve been moved all around the state of New York from crappy motel to crappier motel. Now I’m near the end of a two hour drive to Santa Clara from Carthage and if I have my way, I won’t be leaving my house for the next six months.

  Leaning back, I glance over at the driver’s seat. Marcus hasn’t said a word to me in nearly two hours. Can’t say I blame him, all things considered. But even he’ll admit these circumstances are far from normal and they do say desperate times call for desperate measures. I wonder vaguely whether he’ll give me the gun back even after I pointed it at him when he tried to stop me hotwiring a car in the motel parking lot. I’m guessing not.

  “You’re lucky I didn’t break your fucking neck,” Marcus growls, still looking straight ahead at the road. “That’s what my training tells me to do, Young, especially when some rich young punk decides to point a fucking gun between my eyes.”

  I snort a laugh, covering it with a cough. “You could have just let me take the car, played stupid like you thought I was still in the room,” I remind him.

  He gives me a look of warning. “Are you going to tell me what was in that email?”

  Sighing, I pinch the bridge of my nose. “They’re monitoring her calls and moves. Following her. Watching her. They’re too close and apparently even my security team can’t keep them back.”

  “So we’re back to the inside leak?”

  I nod. “I’m no closer to knowing who it is, though I have my thoughts.”

  “Look, Matt, I know you’re concerned, but this rushing off in the middle of the night bullshit has to stop. You want me to do things that could have me thrown into federal prison and you don’t even give me any real answers. I’ve got a lot on the line for you right now and you need to start letting me in—”

  Marcus’ lecture is interrupted by a call on his cell phone. “West,” he snaps into the handset. I look over at him as he listens and I’m on edge again as I see his shoulders tense, his fingers grip the steering wheel more tightly. “You’re sure?” His eyes dart to mine. “When?” He listens intently for a few moments and his eyes close very briefly. “We’ll be there in ten.”

  “What?” I demand the moment he switches the phone off.

  With another darting glance at me, he reaches beneath his seat and I watch in confusion as he passes me my handgun. “I’m giving this back to you on the grounds that you’re not going to do anything stupid,” he tells me. “The other agents will not hesitate to shoot it out of your hand if you stop listening to our orders for even a second. Is that clear?”

  I hesitantly take the gun. “Marcus,” I say, feeling my heart beating in my throat. “What’s going on?”

  “Three of your security guards at the house are dead. Necks snapped. They cut the power to the house, killed anyone who got in their way...” He trails off, unable to finish the statement.

  “Samantha and Tyler?” I whisper, gripping the gun in my hand.

  “Not there,” he says grimly.

  I smile in relief that is so short-lived I remind myself not to react until I know the entire story next time. “Where are they?”

  “Don’t know. They’ve been taken.”

  The rest of the drive is a complete blur. Marcus’ car breezes past the entrance gate which is wide open and I see several sets of flashing lights in my driveway.

  “Leave that for now,” Marcus tells me, looking at the gun as he puts the car in park. “Those aren’t my guys,” he nods towards the team of agents swarming my front lawn, “and I’m not in the mood to negotiate your release from jail for carrying a gun without a permit.”

  I nod my agreement and shove it beneath my seat, jumping out of the car. The power is back on—lights are flooding the yard, every lamp inside my house seems to be lit. There are people everywhere, none of them I know. I search their faces for my guys—Leo or Mike or Brandon. I wonder who was killed. Knowing Samantha and Tyler aren’t here is both a relief and terrifying. If they’re not here, they could still be alive. But if they’re not here, where the hell are they?

&nbs
p; Marcus and I speak to the lead investigating agents, several of whom recognize me, none of whom stupid enough to mention it. Finally I’m allowed to get into my house and everywhere I look, my heart wrenches as I see signs of struggle. Photos that were once hanging on the wall leading upstairs are broken or smashed. There are holes in the walls themselves, fists or feet. I stop at the top of the staircase as I see the wooden baseball bat I keep in my basement gym. I wonder whether Samantha found it and was using it as protection. My office is turned upside down, only my aquarium is untouched. Chairs have been sliced by knives, drawers pulled from the desk. The lighted display case where I keep my favorite trinkets that I’ve developed over the years has been smashed open and I notice immediately the microchip is missing. Inwardly, I gloat. They grabbed the wrong one. Again.

  It won’t be long until they realize their mistake, which is probably why they have Samantha and Tyler. I leave the office and head down the hall to where I can see something lying in the doorframe to Tyler’s bedroom. All the breath in my body rushes out at the sight of a stuffed toy penguin. Reaching down, I pick it up and hold it close for a moment, wondering how long it took for Tyler to discover it in here. I bought it years ago. For him. Even though at that point I didn’t know if he’d ever see it, let alone play with it. I imagine him curled up in his bed, holding his penguin to his chest as he slept and some stranger coming in and yanking him from his bed. Was he awake? Was he scared? Did he cry when he dropped his penguin? Or did he inherit my deep sleeping patterns and not wake up at all? For his sake, I hope it was the last.

  Turning away, still gripping my son’s toy, I start down the stairs again. Whoever did this is going to pay. And if anyone harms my family, I’ll fucking kill them.