Auctioned to Him 7: The Contract

by Charlotte Byrd

  A million thoughts rush through my head. He isn’t telling me the truth. And I want to – have to – find out what is really going on. If he’s having an affair, then I need to know that so I can dump his sorry ass.

  I walk passed the business center. I peek in through the little window on the door. It’s completely empty.

  Shit, I lean back against the wall. He’s lying. Of course, he is. You know this already. So why are you so surprised?

  Because a huge part of me, all of me, in fact, wants to believe him. Why can’t he just be this wonderful guy who’s in love with me? Why does he have to be a liar?

  I take a deep breath. Suddenly, another thought enters my mind. What if he’s not having an affair on me? What if I’m the affair? What if he’s married and I’m the other woman?

  No, he isn’t married. Dolly would never set us up if he were married. Though, he could have a girlfriend, and he could be cheating on her with me. I mean, why else would he have another phone? And have it password protected?

  I have to find him. But how? I have to see if he left the resort at least. Go to the parking lot and see if the car is there.

  I head outside. The car we used earlier is there. But then again, he could’ve rented another car. Or maybe this isn’t our car at all. We were in it for like a second and haven’t used it since arriving at the resort.

  I’m at a loss as to what to do, so I head around the building and toward the water. I don’t want to walk past the business center again and not see him. I need time to reflect on this, and out by the water is probably the best spot.

  I welcome the ocean breeze in my face, allowing it to cool off my scorching body. It’s hot and humid, even at night, but my blood is boiling for other reasons.

  I make my way past our suite and then another and another. By the time I reach the last suite, I’m pretty certain of the fact that Logan is cheating on me. It’s hard to comprehend all of the conflicting emotions that I’m experiencing at the moment. I hate him. I’m angry with him. I want to punch him. And yet, I want him. I know that what we shared less than an hour ago wasn’t a lie. It felt real. And, when he told me that he loved me…that couldn’t be a lie as well? Why would he go out of his way and say that? I didn’t bring it up. This is only our third date. There’s no pressure on him at all. Why would he say that to me, if he didn’t mean it? And why would he say it to me if he were cheating on me?

  I trip on a piece of driftwood and fall down, head first into the sand. Shit. When I look around to get my bearings, I see the shadow of a man who looks a lot like Logan. Carefully, I get back on my feet. My ankle hurts a little, but it’s not really injured. I limp toward the closest palm tree and hide in its shadow. From there, I squint to get a better view.

  Yes, it’s Logan. I’m certain. I don’t see his face, but his deliberate way of walking is very familiar. I look around the patio and inside the suite. This isn’t our place. What is he doing here?

  The lights inside the suite are off, and the bed is illuminated only by the light of the television screen. As my eyes adjust a little more, I make out a large fat figure, probably a man, lying in bed. Logan walks through the open patio doors and toward the bed.

  What the hell is he doing? I wonder. I need to get a better look. Quietly, I tiptoe toward a closer palm tree and again hide behind it.

  Logan grabs a pillow off the sofa at the foot of the bed and takes it between his hands. He walks up to the man and puts it over his face.

  What!?

  I peer into the darkness just to make sure that I’m seeing what I think I’m seeing. The man’s legs and arms flail around as he struggles for life. But Logan doesn’t give in. He leans over him more and presses the pillow harder into him.

  I need to yell out. Scream. But I’m frozen in time and space. I grasp onto the palm tree with all of my might, and I can’t let go.

  And then it just comes out. This blood-curling scream. It sounds so primal.

  “Aghhh!” I scream at top of my lungs. It’s so loud that when I do stop, my ears continue to buzz.

  Logan stops and stares in my direction. Suddenly, the front door to the suite opens. Logan lets go of the pillow and pulls out a gun. He aims and shoots. It hardly makes a sound, but the man drops to the floor. He points the gun at the man he was suffocating with the pillow and shoots him as well.

  He turns to head back toward me, but three more men come in through the front door. That’s as much as I can handle. My body takes off before my mind even realizes what it is doing. I run back to the suite as fast as my legs can carry me. I fall a couple of times, landing with my legs and knees in the sand, get up and continue running. When I finally reach the suite, I lock all doors and windows and grab my suitcase. I don’t dare to turn on the lights out of fear of being found. I throw every article of clothing that I see into it and zip it up as quickly as I can. I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t have a plan. All I know is that I can’t stay here.

  Downstairs, I don’t bother to wait for the cab. Instead, I ask the concierge to drive me two hours to the airport and pay him extra so that he doesn’t tell anyone where he took me or that he saw me at all. At first, he’s reluctant to take my $700, but I convince him that he has to. He promises to not tell anyone about my whereabouts and I believe him.

  As I wait at the empty Cancun airport, I pace nervously near the gate. Please, let me get on this plane. Please, please, please. When I’m finally on the plane and the gate closes, I take a deep breath. I’m on my way home. But as the plane takes off, I realize that I’m not anywhere close to being safe. I just saw Logan murder someone. And not just someone, two people. He killed two men as if it was no big deal. And who knows what the hell happened with the other three who came in just as I left. Something tells me that either he is dead or they are all dead.

  My hands go numb. My feet feel incredibly cold. I feel my forehead and there are sprinkles of cold sweat all along my brow-line. Who the hell is Logan? A serial killer? A murderer? Well, he is definitely that.

  Oh my God. Suddenly, it occurs to me, he knows where I live! And he knows where I work! What am I going to do when I get home? I don’t just live in an apartment. I can’t just pick up and leave. What about my customers? How am I going to make a living? One thing’s for sure, I can’t go back home. He’ll find me there for sure.

  My worries about my ex, Cal, all of a sudden seem like a walk in the park. Yes, he tried to choke me, but Logan is a whole other deal. He’s a murderer. And he knows that I’ve seen him kill someone. What the hell is he going to do to me to make sure that I don’t tell anyone? There’s probably nothing that he wouldn’t do.

  Chapter 25 - Avery

  After getting back from Tulum, I didn’t know where else to go, so I spent the week at Cynthia’s. Of course, I had to tell her something. I couldn’t just invite myself over without so much as an explanation, but I don’t tell her anything important. All I say is that we had a fight and I need some time away from my place. I don’t think she fully believes me, but it’s as good of an explanation as she going to get. I don’t want to involve her. I’ve seen something that I had no business witnessing, and I have no idea what the fallout will be. What happens if you are a witness to a murder? Will the murderer come after you?

  “Are you sure everything’s okay?” Cynthia asks me coming home from work one day. I haven’t been in the shop for five days. I took some of the days off earlier for the trip, but now I’m just avoiding it. At first, I thought that I needed time to get together a plan. But now, I’m not so sure. The more days that pass, the less of a plan I’m able to come up with.

  “Yeah, fine,” I nod, eating a bowl of cherries. “Why, did something happen at the shop?”

  “No. Something happened to you. I’ve never seen you like this before.”

  I shrug, trying to pretend that everything’s fine.

  “You never skip work willingly. You have to tell me what’s going on.”

  “Nothing’s going on.
Logan and I just had a very big fight, and I don’t want to see him, in case he comes by.”

  “Did he hurt you?” she asks with a concerned look on her face.

  I shrug. Shake my head. No. Not yet, I think to myself. She waits for me to say the words.

  “No,” I say, raising my eyebrows. “What?”

  She doesn’t believe me, but she lets it go.

  Later that night, while we watch the People’s Couch on Bravo, I get a call. I look at my phone. I let it go to voice mail.

  “Who’s that?” Cynthia asks.

  “Cal,” I whisper. My hands grown numb. Not this again. What the hell is going on?

  I freeze, unable to move. She takes the phone from me and plays the voice message on speakerphone.

  “Hey Avery. What’s up? I was just thinking about you? You know that I love you, right? I’m sorry about everything. But we can’t keep doing this to each other. I know that you love me too, no matter how much you try to deny it. I’ve made some mistakes. But you’re not perfect either….Oh, who am I kidding. You are perfect. I miss you. I don’t care about the restraining order. I need to see you again. And you better be there. You better act nice. Otherwise…I don’t know, Avery. You just can’t keep pushing me away like this. I want you. I need you back, honey. You have to take me back, honey.”

  I get up and walk toward the kitchen. Tears are building up within me.

  “Are you okay?” Cynthia asks. Suddenly, they all flow out of me like a torrent. A rainstorm. I start sobbing. I can’t stop. I can’t breathe. I can’t utter a word.

  “Oh my God! Avery!” Cynthia runs over and puts her arms around me.

  “I’m so, so scared,” I manage to say through the sobs.

  “You have to go back to the police.”

  I nod. I try to take a breath, to calm myself down, but I can’t. Waves of pent up emotions continue to flow through me. After a few moments, I stop fighting them. Instead, I just let them go. I collapse onto the floor, wrap my hands around my knees and bury my head in my chest. I feel Cynthia’s presence, but I don’t really see her. I feel her rubbing my back and head, but she seems so far away that she might as well be on the other side of the country.

  “I just don’t know what to do,” I finally say after the tears slow down a bit.

  “You have to go to the police.”

  “But they don’t do anything. They just give him citations and that’s it. Nothing’s different.”

  I take one deep breath after another, but despite how much air I inhale, I continue to suffocate.

  “Maybe you should get a gun,” Cynthia says quietly. I look up at her. She wipes my cheeks with her sleeves and fixes my eye makeup. I must look like a fright.

  “What?”

  “Maybe you should get a gun for protection. In case, he tries something.”

  “A gun? I can’t get a gun. I don’t know how to use a gun.”

  “You could learn. It might be helpful. I mean, what if, God forbid, Cal had a gun?”

  My whole body gets covered in goosebumps at the thought of that. I take more breaths, but I start to choke.

  “You’re hyperventilating, Avery. Here, bury your head in your knees. Don’t breathe so fast. Breathe in. And then out. In and out,” Cynthia says calmly. I try to follow her instructions. At first, it is futile. But after a few breaths, it gets better.

  It takes me close to half an hour to get myself under control. Eventually, my tears dry up. My breathing becomes more even, and I’m able to think a little more clearly. Cynthia helps me off the floor and makes me a cup of green tea. The steam coming from the cup puts me a little bit more at ease, but decisions still have to be made.

  “Maybe, I should get a gun,” I say looking directly at Cynthia. “No, I will.”

  She nods. Both of us know that getting a gun will be crossing some sort of line. Life is not like the movies where people shoot each other with little consequences. Owning a gun is a responsibility, and one that I should only take on if I’m really ready. I’m not ready, not today, but perhaps I will be in the coming days. The one thing I know for sure is that I can’t just sit around and wait for Cal or Logan to come after me.

  Chapter 26 - Avery

  A couple of days later, I go back to my apartment. At first, I enter cautiously, terrified of my own shadow, but nothing seems amiss. Everything is exactly as I left it before my trip, only a little dustier. That night, sitting with the curtains drawn and the television on low, I realize that I’ve never been more grateful for the fact that I have a small, studio apartment. I can only imagine how I’d feel in a large spacious three-bedroom house all by myself. At least here I can see the whole place from my bed, and I know that no one is secretly climbing in through one of the other bedroom windows.

  After a couple of days of coming home after work, I finally start to relax. Maybe Cal isn’t going to come and surprise me. Maybe Logan will let me just be. Carrying a large bouquet of baby’s breath and my groceries, I struggle to find my keys in my purse.

  I really need a smaller purse, I say to myself. Everything in this one just falls to the bottom and it takes me forever to find it again.

  Finally, I open the door and head straight to the kitchen.

  “Hello Avery,” I hear an unfamiliar voice coming from somewhere behind me. I think I have my purse on the counter, but I drop it to the floor with a large thump sound. All the contents spill out.

  “What the hell do you want?” I ask, grabbing at my purse and pulling out my new gun. I just got it two days ago, and I just learned how to load it. Unfortunately, I hadn’t loaded it yet.

  “Hey, hey, hey, Avery. Please put that away,” the man says. I peer into the darkness. The curtains are closed and I can’t see his face very well.

  I don’t listen to him. Instead, I stand up straight and point the gun right at him, with my arms extended just like I’ve seen Detective Benson do hundreds of times on Law and Order: SVU. I’m bluffing, but he doesn’t have to know that.

  “Get the fuck out of here,” I say. I hold the gun steady. I don’t want him to know how terrified I am of it and of the very act of pointing it at him.

  The man remains seated. He looks calm.

  “Avery, I am Director Franklin Truman. I work for the CIA. I am happy to show you my credentials if you just promise to not shoot me.”

  He motions toward his jacket’s breast pocket and waits for me to respond.

  “Can I get it?” he asks.

  I nod, but keep my arms extended. What the hell is the CIA doing in my apartment? He has to be lying, I decide. But I secretly hope that he isn’t. My gun isn’t loaded, and this is pretty much the extent of what I can do with it.

  Slowly, he reaches into his pocket and retrieves a badge.

  I take a few steps forward to get a better view. The picture looks like it was taken years ago, but it’s him. Even if he is fifty pounds heavier now. For a second, I hesitate. Maybe it’s not him after all, but I know that I have to take a chance. I don’t have any bullets, and I’m not going to shoot him anyway.

  I put down my gun. Director Truman lets out a sigh.

  “Nice to meet you, Avery,” he says, standing up and extending his hand. We shake hands.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask. “What do you want?”

  “Are you always this rude?”

  “I am to strangers who barge into my place and scare me half to death.”

  “I am sorry about that,” Director Truman says. “You are very good with a gun,” he adds with a coy smile. I stare at him as if he had lost his mind.

  “I hate guns. I have a lunatic after me. My ex-boyfriend and the cops aren’t doing shit.”

  “Still, I’m impressed.” He pulls out a pack of cigarettes.

  I stare at him. He doesn’t seem to notice and pulls out a lighter.

  “You can’t smoke here!” I shake my head. “This is my apartment. And if you hadn’t noticed, it’s not very big.”

  “Okay, I’m sorry
,” Director Truman puts everything away. “You just left me a little unnerved. Do you have a drink or something?”

  I shake my head. “Aren’t you not supposed to drink when you’re working?”

  “Do you know a lot about the CIA?” he asks, with an amused look on his face.

  “I know enough. I watch TV.”

  “Oh yes, television. Television makes every Tom, Dick and Harry think that he knows about the inner workings of government organizations.”

  I shrug. “I still don’t really understand why you have broken into my apartment?” I ask.

  I need to get this guy out of here, one way or another.

  “Okay, then let’s get right to it,” he says. “Where’s Logan?”

  “What?”

  “Logan Davenport? You were with him last week in Tulum. Where is he?”

  My heart drops to my feet. I feel my face lose all color. I feel like I’m going to faint right there and then. You didn’t do anything wrong, I say to myself. Why are you so worried?

  “I don’t know. I left after the wedding, and I haven’t seen him since,” I say in my most confident tone.

  I can’t tell him what happened. He’s the CIA. They arrest and detain people without fair trials! I saw Logan murder people. What does that make me? An accessory to murder? An accomplice. Various legal terms swirl around in my head. Homicide. Accessory. Death penalty. Fifth amendment.

  “You had plans to leave the day after on his private plane. But instead, you took a 6 a.m. flight out of Cancun. Something must’ve happened.”

  He walks up to me. Stands too close. He’s trying to intimidate me. And succeeding perfectly!

  “We had a fight. I didn’t want to stay with him any longer. I could take my own flight,” I say. I meet his eyes, even though I’m terrified. I don’t look away. I don’t mumble, but inside, I’m trembling.

  Director Truman takes a step back. He goes to my refrigerator and pours himself a glass of orange juice. These people don’t really have a lot of respect for private property, do they? I wonder in disgust. I mean, who the hell does he think he is?