Say the Word

by Julie Johnson

  Sure enough, though, when I stepped out of the diner into the brisk January night, his Mercedes was there idling in the parking lot. Dismissing my rattled intuition, I waved goodbye to Minnie as she locked up and hurried for the car, eager to see Sebastian. The dark tinted windows were impossible to see through from the outside, but I knew he saw me — I heard the locks click open as I approached. Reaching for the handle with a smile on my face, I slid into the passenger seat and turned to kiss him hello.

  Before I could so much as strap on my seatbelt, the car lurched forward with a jolt that slammed my still-open door shut and sent my stomach reeling into my throat. Yet the shock induced by our abrupt departure was quickly overshadowed when I realized the man in the driver’s seat was not my boyfriend.

  It was his father.

  “Lux!” Andrew grinned over at me, then looked back at the road. “So glad you could make it.”

  I reached for my seatbelt and strapped it on, my heart pounding as I eyed the speedometer. We were hurling away from the diner at breakneck speeds, inching past fifty miles per hour within seconds of leaving the parking lot.

  “Senator.” I tried to keep my voice steady. “What a surprise.”

  “Ah, well, I knew my boy was out of town tonight. Figured you could use a ride home.”

  “Minnie would’ve taken me.”

  “Nonsense! I’m happy to drive you.” His perfect smile was too unwavering to be genuine. “Plus, this way we can chat.”

  I didn’t want to “chat” with him. I didn’t want to be in this car, traveling at this speed, without anyone knowing where I was or who I was with. I wished more than anything that I had a cellphone to call Bash, Minnie, or Jamie. Hell, I’d even call my parents at this point, I was so eager to escape this man’s presence.

  “Want to hear something funny?” Andrew asked.

  I didn’t respond. I had nothing nice to say – any words I spoke would only anger him.

  “No?” He laughed with forced good humor, his tone disingenuously cheery. “I’ll tell you anyway. My maid, Greta — you remember Greta, don’t you?”

  I clenched my hands tightly together in my lap and I looked out the window at the trees speeding by in a greenish blur. In the movies, people always jumped out of cars going a hundred miles per hour and walked away without a scratch; at what speed could I hurl my body from the passenger seat in real life and still survive?

  Not this fast, that much was certain.

  “Well, Greta didn’t come back to work after you were sweet enough to drop her off the night of Sebastian’s birthday party a few weeks back. Quite unlike her — she’d never been late a day in her life. And then suddenly she simply doesn’t return?” He made a disapproving tsk sound. “Very unlike her. Strange enough to make you think someone else might’ve convinced her to stay away.”

  My palms began to sweat — I wiped clammy hands against my jean skirt, focusing on the feeling of denim scraping against my skin to regain a sense of calm. “Where are you taking me, senator?” I bit out in as polite a tone as I could muster.

  “Home, of course, darling girl.” He laughed boyishly. “After we’ve finished our chat.”

  Great.

  “Anyway, like I said, it’s been a terrible time at the house without Greta.” He paused for a beat. “We all miss her, but Greta and I had a… special bond… you might say.”

  I flinched.

  “But anyway, I didn’t pick you up to talk about Greta.”

  “Then why did you pick me up?” I muttered.

  “Don’t get testy, darling.” He laughed again. “We’ve still got a lot of ground to cover.”

  “Why don’t you just skip to the point?” I asked, tired of all the false pretense littering this conversation.

  “Fine, have it your way.” He pulled the car to the side of the road and shifted into park. My heart leapt into my throat when he leaned across the center console into my space and my hand groped blindly for the door handle, but it wouldn’t open — the child locks must’ve been enabled. I stilled when the glove compartment fell open and Andrew removed a thick white envelope. Still hovering over me, he turned his head over his shoulder and grinned, no doubt emboldened by our proximity and my clear discomfort. For a small infinity of time, with his arm pressed against my torso, I ceased even to breathe. One hand worked its way into my purse, as I searched desperately for my ring of house keys. When I grazed them, I clutched them between my fingers like tiny knives — prepared, if need be, to defend myself.

  I felt a surge of relief when Andrew shifted back into his own space.

  “Here,” he said, tossing the envelope onto my lap. “Open it.”

  “What is it?”

  He stared at me with that unflinching grin. “You’ll see.”

  I felt a chill whisper up my spine as I ripped the package open. Inside, a single sheet of paper — embossed, in a curling archaic font was a phrase that stopped my heart.

  Deed In Lieu of Foreclosure

  Beneath the scrawling script were two signatures I recognized easily — they belonged to my parents. I knew, instantly, that this was the document they’d agreed to sign several weeks ago, which granted complete ownership of our property to the bank. We were now existing as renters on what had once been our own property, and still so far indebted to the bank it was hard to imagine ever being free and clear again.

  “Why do you have this?” I whispered, not looking at him.

  “It’s a matter of public record, my dear! Any housing liens or foreclosures can be accessed with a simple trip to the Registry of Deeds.” He chuckled. “I must say, I had no idea your family was in such dire straights when I met you on Sebastian’s birthday. I suppose it does explain why he was so touchy when I brought them up. But after that night, I was inspired! I looked into your situation, my dear, and I must say, everything I discovered was a pleasant surprise.”

  I stared at the words on the paper until they began to swim before my eyes, wishing I could erase them with sheer force of will. When I began to feel nauseous, I closed my eyes against his words, trying desperately to shut him out.

  “Shame about your brother, though.” His voice was full of false remorse. “James, is it?”

  My eyes flew open and my head snapped in his direction. “Do not speak to me about my brother.”

  “I do believe I’ve touched a nerve.” He grinned again. “But James is such an important piece in all of this.”

  “What are you talking about?” I ground out the words through a tightly-locked jaw.

  “Your house is in foreclosure. Your brother is ill — perhaps dying. His osteosarcoma has a precarious prognosis. And you have no resources to pay for his care.”

  I stared at him, horrified realization beginning to dawn.

  “It’s simple, really. You need money.” He stared at me, a gleam in his eyes. “I have plenty of it.”

  My mouth went dry and I tried to convince myself that this was some kind of terrible nightmare, from which I would awake at any moment. This couldn’t be happening — could it?

  “No.” I shook my head in denial. “I don’t want anything from you.”

  “Don’t be so quick to turn me down, my dear. You haven’t even heard my offer yet.” He straightened his tie and seemed to gather himself, as I’d seen him do countless times before political rallies and public appearances on television. This was it — he was gearing up before the big pitch. I tried the door handle again, but it was useless.

  “You and I both know you aren’t meant to be with my son. He’s destined for greatness. You are destined for…” His gaze scanned up and down my body, lingering on my chest. “A different life. One with a nice farm boy, perhaps, in a double wide somewhere out in the country. You’ll pop out a few babies, eat Hamburger Helper for dinner, maybe even make your way to the polls to vote for a politician like me who promises to really change things for you.” His eyes were empty of feeling. I didn’t bother to answer, afraid to show how much his scathin
g words mirrored my deepest fears.

  “But my son — he could be great. A congressman, a senator. Even the President someday. And you, my dear, are poised to ruin all of that.” A flicker of annoyance flashed on his face, but was quickly smoothed away into a clear expression meant, no doubt, to persuade me. “You love him, that much is obvious. Don’t you want what’s best for him? Don’t you want him to have that future? Because, if you do, we both know you have to let him go. To Princeton, to Washington, to the successful life he’s meant to live — without you.”

  I took a steadying breath. “Sebastian is an adult. I think he’s old enough to decide what he wants in his future. If that doesn’t include you, or your plans, well — I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m really not. You’re just going to have to let him make his own choices. It’s not my place, or yours, to decide a damn thing for him.”

  His grin widened in response to the challenge my words had presented. “Even if it meant you could pay off your family’s debt? Even if it meant James would have the best care?” He paused to guarantee that his words would have the ultimate impact. “How much is your brother’s life worth, Lux? Is one, short-lived, high school romance that, in all likelihood, won’t even last, worth your brother dying before he turns twenty? Face it – men like my son might fuck girls like you, but they certainly don’t marry them.”

  I pressed my eyes closed. As much as I hated to admit it, as much as I wished it weren’t true, his words had their intended effect. They rattled around my mind like loose marbles in a jar, jumbling everything I thought I knew — turning immovable morals and ethical codes into adjustable, ever-shifting margins. I had to consider his offer. The stakes were too high to disregard it without a thought.

  Money could change things for my family — for Jamie, especially. He could have the best treatment, at a state-of-the-art facility in the city rather than a small, regional hospital in Jackson County. He could afford to apply for a place in clinical trials and have a private nurse to help him with rehab for his leg. He’d have the best doctors, surgeons, and medical staff at his disposal. A custom-fitted prosthetic. A unique treatment plan specifically tailored for his condition. A house with more than four rooms — somewhere that he could walk and exercise his atrophied muscles until his strength was fully recovered.

  But could I give up the love of my life? My heart began to tear at just the thought.

  “I can’t,” I whispered, seeing the beautiful future I’d painted for Jamie in my mind dissipate and fade to black. “I won’t.”

  I’d find another way to give Jamie that life — this bribe wasn’t the right path for us. No one made a deal with a devil and walked away wholly unscathed.

  “Tough girl.” Andrew chuckled, his Cheshire Cat smile only widening. “I thought you might say that. Thankfully, the first rule of political negotiation…” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out another thin envelope. “Never put all your cards on the table in the first round, dear.”

  He slid a thick, off-white document from the package, his fingers tracing the county clerk’s green stamp by the signature line with reverence.

  “This, my dear, is a very special piece of paper. Do you see what it says here?” His index finger pointed to a line at the top of the sheet.

  Deed of Sale

  When I saw the property address and the name Andrew Covington listed as the new lot owner, I knew, with absolute clarity, that he’d backed me neatly into a corner. I’d been outmanned, outplayed — he held all the cards in this game, and I’d never even had a shot at beating him. There was the date of sale, in clear black and white — signed and stamped last week, by officials at the bank. My home, in the hands of a monster. My life, my family’s life, at his mercy.

  “This is the deed to your house, dear.” Andrew turned fully in his seat to face me. “So, you see, I’m not just holding a document — I’m holding your fate in my hands. I thought you might need a little extra incentive to see things my way.”

  I swallowed roughly.

  “What, no brave words? Where did all that honor and courage go?”

  I bit my lip to contain my scream.

  Andrew chuckled. “I’m really doing you a favor by teaching you this lesson early on in life. See, honor only gets you so far.” He leaned in closer and I shied as far away from him as possible in the confined space, my side pressed firmly against the cool glass of the window. “I’ll let you in on a little secret: people who fight with honor are the ones who lose their battles. The winners write the history books — and winners rarely let things like integrity get in their way, dear.”

  I took a deep breath. “What do you want?” I forced the quiet words from my lips, feeling like the worst kind of traitor.

  “There’s my good girl! I knew you’d come around,” he crowed, tasting victory. “Tell me, Lux… Do you know what a non-disclosure agreement is?”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Now

  “Are you sure I have to do this?”

  “Yes,” Fae said.

  “It’s the only way,” Simon agreed.

  I sighed. We’d been going back and forth about this for hours, discussing options and strategies for getting inside Labyrinth. Despite the absolutely feasible alternative plans I’d suggested — bribing a bouncer, finding a back-alley entrance or window, locating and utilizing Harry Potter’s invisibility cloak — they were resolute: I had to ask Sebastian to get me inside.

  “But he’ll think this means he’s won,” I appealed, hoping they’d see reason. “He’ll think I’m conceding to tell him about our past. He’ll think I want to sleep with him!”

  “You do want to sleep with him,” Simon pointed out.

  “And you should tell him about your past,” Fae added.

  “You know I can’t do that,” I muttered. “Plus, I called out sick from work today! If I call him, he’ll know I was lying. I could get in trouble.”

  “Love, chances are he already knows you weren’t sick. You’re a terrible liar, so it’s doubtful Andrea or Angela or whatever her name is even bought your story.” Fae laughed lightly. “He probably thinks you’re just avoiding him — which is partly true. He just doesn’t know the rest of your reasoning.”

  “True,” Simon chimed in.

  “Also, I need a copy of that NDA,” Fae said in a casual voice, her eyes averted.

  “What?!”

  “I won’t even read it, I swear,” she promised in a bored tone, staring at her cuticles.

  “Let me guess…” Simon quirked an eyebrow. “You know a guy?”

  Fae shrugged. “I just want to show it to a friend of mine, see what he has to say. He’s a lawyer, he really knows his stuff. Maybe there’s a loophole in that contract. If there is — he’ll find it.”

  “If I give you the NDA, do I still have to call Sebastian?”

  “Yes,” Fae said.

  I sighed.

  “It’s the only option that makes any sense,” Simon said, handing me my cellphone. “He’s the only one who can get you inside.”

  I grimaced as I accepted the phone, but resigned myself to their plan. After everything we’d learned about Labyrinth since opening that package yesterday, it was more imperative than ever that I get inside that club.

  The document had been a manifesto of sorts, containing a detailed history of the exclusive organization as well as a list of members’ names. After we’d scanned through a few pages at the bar last night, we’d headed back to my apartment where we could pour through it with a fine-toothed comb, safe from watchful eyes out in public.

  From what we could tell, Labyrinth was more “secret society” than it was “club” — its history was full of tawdry love affairs between famous members, high profile business mergers that had shaped our country’s economy for hundreds of years, and backdoor political deals that had far-reaching effects on our government to this day. The society had been around for so long, no records could pinpoint its exact year of origin. One source claimed that
the decision to invade Vietnam had been made in a tea parlor on the second floor of Labyrinth in the early 1960s. Another, that the Constitution itself had been drafted by our country’s forefathers in the front atrium at the original club site, long before the document ever made its way to the Philadelphia Convention in 1787.

  Despite those high profile anecdotes, there was one piece of information that captured my attention more than any of the rest. In 1981, a reckless, still-wet-behind-the-ears rookie of the NYPD had stumbled onto something far above his pay grade.

  Thomas Monroe, a twenty-six year-old New Jersey native, was on patrol when a transmission went out over the police scanner about a white moving truck parked illegally in an alley outside a new restaurant in the Upper East Side. When the call came in, Monroe responded that he would follow up. His supervisor also heard the call and quickly radioed back that Monroe should stand down, as another officer was already en route to the scene. But Monroe, eager to prove his worth on the force, disregarded that order and arrived at a chic address on E. 65th Street within minutes.

  What he saw that night became the source of immense friction within the NYPD. Monroe attested that he’d witnessed three large men dragging what appeared to be a half-dozen bound, listless women from the white truck into the back door of the club next door to the restaurant — a club, according to city records, by the name of Labyrinth. His supervisor contradicted Monroe’s statement, reporting that another officer arrived at the same time as the young recruit and had seen no such thing in that alleyway.

  Monroe became the laughingstock of his precinct, the butt of every joke from his fellow officers. He was branded a too-keen rookie, an attention-seeker, and accused of imagining grand scenarios in which he’d be the hero of the force.