Something Like Love

by Monica James

  I don’t have the energy to read too much into his admission because I’m so damn happy that he’s here. After a minute or two of being in his arms, I no longer feel cold—I feel warm, and I also feel complete. My family is slowly coming together, and the feeling is one I wouldn’t trade for the world.

  “Sorry for the PDA.”I sniff, unwrapping myself from his body and wiping my eyes with the back of my hand.

  He chuckles with a shrug, rewarding me with his trademark dimpled smile. “Don’t mention it.”

  It doesn’t feel weird that I pretty much threw myself at Tristan because back home, this is how we were. But now, now because of Quinn and me, I should maybe hold back on my enthusiasm.

  Scanning our surroundings, oblivious to my inner thoughts, Tristan asks, “Where’s Quinn?”

  I bite my lip, ashamed that I allowed myself to forget about him for a split second and reply, “I don’t know. I was actually out here looking for him.”

  “He’s not around?” he asks, concerned, cocking his double pierced eyebrow.

  “No,” I anxiously reply, shaking my head. “I’ve looked everywhere, but I can’t find him.”

  “I’m sure he’s somewhere. Have you looked upstairs?”

  “No, I didn’t get a chance,” I answer, gnawing on my lip.

  “Let me go look. You do another sweep down here, and we’ll meet here in ten minutes, okay?” Tristan says, giving me a small smile. “He’s fine, Mia,” he reiterates, rubbing my arm when my bottom lip trembles.

  I nod because he’s right. I know I’m just overreacting, but I won’t calm down until I know where the hell he is.

  “Okay, see you soon,” Tristan says, putting his mask back on and giving me a dimpled smile over his shoulder, before pushing through the crowd.

  I watch him disappear into the sea of people and let out a shaky breath because my emotions are all over the place. I need a minute to compose myself before I go back out there. I still have a sinking feeling that something sinister has happened to Quinn.

  Turning to look over the railing, deep in thought, I still can’t believe Tristan is here. I know that’s selfish, but having him here brings back all the memories of our good times together, and also, of Hank. Tristan brings back memories that sometimes I too easily forget.

  Wiping the stolen tear which falls from my heavy eyes, I take one final look at the twinkling lights, feeling collected enough to go out there and not break down. I push off the railing, but suddenly, the hair at the back on my neck stands on end, and I feel as if I’ve swallowed a bucket of acid, and it’s quickly eating away at my soul.

  Instinct kicks in, and I instantly reach for my knife, which of course is tucked away upstairs, as I carelessly let my guard down for one fucking night.

  A hand painfully seizes my arm to stop me from turning around and taking a swing. I know without a doubt that I’m trapped when that hand ensnares my waist, thrusting me backward and holding me prisoner.

  Everything in this moment is heightened. Every sound is amplified. Every single, disgusting memory of my past overloads my senses, and I almost blackout, unable to take the pain.

  But three simple words, three harmless words, have me wishing I was anywhere but here, because those words open up a wound I wish would close over and let me be.

  “Merry Christmas…Princess.

  Chapter 17

  Family Reunion

  “Not so fast,” my father warns as I strike my head back, praying I make contact with his nose. But he’s too quick and dodges my attack with a menacing chuckle. “Too slow,” he chides. “Some things never change.”

  “Obviously not. You’re still a sadistic asshole, I see,” I sneer, attempting to twist out of his painful grip, hoping to break free. But he has a strong hold around me, and I’m futilely expending energy which I need to survive.

  “I’ll scream,” I threaten, looking around me, wishing someone would look my way.

  But everyone is in party mode, too intoxicated on expensive spirits and Christmas cheer to notice my dilemma.

  “Go ahead,” he mocks, and I experience the unmistakable feeling of a gun barrel being pressed into the small of my back.

  Most people would be afraid, but I’m not most people. I respond to my father’s threats of violence by letting out a sarcastic laugh. Is he really that pathetic, that he thinks I care about my survival right now? All I can think of is what happens when Tristan returns. My father will have no qualms in taking us both prisoners, and that’s the only thing that has me afraid.

  “Just in case you missed it,” he spits. “I’m holding a revolver against your spine. One wrong move, and you can say goodbye to your legs.” I cringe at his marijuana-scented breath as he inches his lips to my ear.

  “I know,” I calmly reply. “I just don’t see how that’s supposed to scare me. If you’re going to kill me, just do it already, and stop boring me with your melodramatics,” I say, hoping he buys into my detachment.

  Now it’s his turn to laugh as he replies, “Kill you? If I wanted to kill you, I would have done so weeks ago.” I realize he’s right.

  He’s had ample time to do it, so now I know for certain that he has another plan for my fate.

  “So, what, you’re going to bore me to death?” I say roughly attempting to pull out of his clutches.

  “Always the smart ass,” he snarls, pressing the barrel into my back.

  “I’ve learned from the best,” I reply, holding onto the railing as he digs the gun deeper into my spine.

  He takes a deep breath. The fact I’m no longer afraid of him is obviously pissing him off. “We’re going to move, and you’re not going to cause a scene,” he growls, and I know this is my chance to save Tristan from walking in on me and trying to save the day.

  “Fine, but lose the gun. It doesn’t really imply I’m going anywhere willingly with you,” I reply, hoping he buys it, because the moment he sheathes that gun…I’m going to kill him.

  I don’t know how, but there’s no way I’m going anywhere with him because if I do, I’m as good as dead.

  “You will come willingly, Mia,” he scowls. I’ve never hated my name more than I do right now.

  “What makes you so sure?” I ask, once again attempting to break free as I buck against his hold.

  But his reply has me ceasing all movement, because there’s no way there is any truth to what he just said.

  “Because Phil has your little boyfriend upstairs, and if we don’t move now, he’ll put a bullet in his head—just like he did that stupid, old man.”

  Shock, horror, pain, but most of all, rage, animates me as I snarl, “Don’t you dare talk about him that way.”

  Adrenalin courses through my veins. I roughly pull out of my father’s grip and turn around to face him. I don’t care if he shoots me because there’s no way I’m going to allow him to speak about Hank as if he was nothing. It’s bad enough they have Quinn, but to speak so callously about Hank has my pent-up rage and anger bubbling to the surface, and I’m about ready to explode.

  “You killed an innocent man, and for that, you will pay, and you’ll pay in the most painful way possible,” I hiss, inching toward him, my eyes narrowing, and anger clouding my vision.

  But he stops me as he places the gun flush against my stomach, stopping my advance. “One more step and he’s dead,” he says, referring to Quinn.

  “He’ll kill Phil before Phil has a chance to pull that trigger,” I growl, fury lacing my words.

  Deep down, I knew Quinn was missing because something sinister had occurred. I just never imagined something like this would be the cause. This is all my fault.

  Looking at my father in disgust, I realize that this is the first time I’ve seen him since the night he killed Hank. The feelings of hate and loathing I feel for him are amplified by one thousand, and I decide this asshole doesn’t deserve the title of being my father.

  “Thomas,” I sneer, and I don’t fail to see him flinch at my formality. “If
you’re holding my boyfriend as collateral, then good luck with that. He’s a bigger pain in the ass than I am.” I chuckle with indifference, hoping I’m doing the right thing, as I don’t want him to see how affected I am that they’re holding Quinn prisoner.

  If he knows how much he means to me, he’ll be the one leverage they have over me, and I won’t risk his life that way.

  The shock is clear across Thomas’ hollow face, and it’s only now I realize he’s also dressed for the ball in a cheap suit, his mask pushed back off his face.

  “Maybe I’ll just kill you in front of him, then. Or even better, kill him in front of you.”

  The thought of Quinn’s life being in danger kills me, but I must remain composed and make sure my poker face doesn’t slip. “Fine, let’s go,” I spit, shoving past him.

  “Slow,” he hisses between clenched teeth, replacing his mask, just as I do mine. “You make a scene, I shoot the first person I see. Here’s hoping that person is your whore of a mother, or her bastard child,” he casually states.

  I freeze when he mentions them, as there’s no denying the sheer vehemence in his tone, and I have no doubt he’ll shoot them as they are no value to him. But I am—why? What does he want with me? I’m almost too afraid to find out.

  “You make one wrong move and I’ll make sure you regret it,” Thomas says, roughly grabbing my bicep and leading me through the sea of clueless people as he conceals the gun in the waistband of his pants.

  The black and white effect, which I once thought clever, is now utterly disturbing, and the masks, blinding people to what is happening before their eyes, now seems ironic. But would anyone help me if they realized? I knew this day would come sooner or later, and I refuse to bring another soul down with me.

  I walk as casually as possible, considering my circumstances, and try to avoid eye contact with anyone and blend in with the crowd. As we walk through the den, I pray we don’t bump into Polly or Cynthia, afraid for their safety if we do.

  Once we pass, invisible to the happy partygoers, we only have the living room left—the hardest room to pass through undetected. I wedge through a swarm of strangers who are thankfully too intoxicated to notice my startled appearance and heavy breathing.

  We’re steps away from the foyer when Polly calls out to me. I curse myself for prematurely celebrating. She runs over, holding her gown in her hands so she won’t trip.

  I attempt to lunge forward, but Thomas squeezes my arm. “One more step and I’ll kill her.”

  A breath hitches in my throat at his threat, because I know it’s not empty.

  “Mia, my mystery man has gone missing. Have you seen him?” she asks, totally oblivious to the man grinding his jaw behind me.

  “No, I haven’t, now move,” I abruptly say, attempting to push past her.

  The hurt that passes over her face crushes me, and I know I’ve just undone whatever headway we’ve made.

  “Well, excuse me,” she spits, narrowing her eyes, still ignoring my brooding shadow. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

  I have three seconds to get rid of her, as I know it’ll take five, before Thomas blows her head right off.

  “Go bother someone else, you fucking brat!” I snarl. As her eyes widen at my harsh words, I mouth the word, “Run.”

  For a nanosecond, I see confusion flutter across her features, but as her eyes flick to Thomas, she gets it.

  Giving nothing away she retorts, “Fuck you!” and shoves past us, storming away.

  I let out the breath I was holding and quickly continue walking until we reach the quiet foyer, awaiting further instruction.

  “Upstairs,” Thomas hisses, pulling me into the direction of the staircase.

  As I ascend each step, I know that whatever I’m walking into will change me forever, but I continue walking, and with Thomas breathing down my neck with his rank smelling breath, I’m actually thankful when we arrive at the study so I can get the hell away from him.

  “You ready to face your future?” Thomas chuckles, reaching over my shoulder to open the door.

  “Fuck you,” is my response, which is met with a gun barrel being whipped across my temple. I barely register the pain because as he opens the door, my eyes fall to a slumped, unconscious man, tied to chair, his chocolate brown hair covering his face. Behind him stands Phil, who is wearing a shit-eating grin when he sees me.

  The person tied to the chair isn’t Quinn, of that I’m quite certain. So who is it? I don’t have time to study him further, because Phil addresses me, making my skin crawl.

  “Mia, it’s so lovely to see you. It’s been so long.” He smiles, his arms outstretched for a hug.

  “Not long enough,” I bark, blood staining my white dress from my bleeding wound.

  “Oh, still the little smart ass, I see.” He chuckles, like this is all a big joke. “How I’ve missed you and your insolence.”

  “Go fuck yourself, you low life asshole,” I snarl, proud of myself for not submitting to either him or Thomas.

  “Well, look who’s all grown up,” Phil sneers, the smile disappearing off his face.

  This is the Phil I know. The evil, sadistic psychopath I’ve known my entire life.

  “Maybe you’ll show some respect if I start carving up your boyfriend here.” He yanks the hair of the tied man backward, exposing his beaten, bloodied face.

  I gasp, covering my mouth with a trembling hand, because the face I see may not be Quinn’s, but it’s Tristan’s. They must have been watching us when we were on the balcony and grabbed him as soon as he left in search for Quinn.

  So that leaves one question; where the fuck is Quinn?

  Tristan is out cold and his face has been beaten with enough force that his right eye is incredibly swollen and looks to be almost closed over.

  “Ah, so now the little badass shows some emotion,” Phil snickers, while Thomas stands on the other side of Tristan, pointing the barrel to his temple.

  “No!” I scream, lunging forward. “No, I’ll do whatever you want, just leave him alone,” I beg, my heart breaking at the sight of a helpless Tristan.

  He’s hurt once again because of me, and I can’t stand for him to pay penance for my crimes a second longer.

  “Oh, I like this passive side of you,” Phil snickers, letting Tristan go and running a hand over his gleaming, bald head.

  “Whatever you want, I’ll do it, just let him go,” I plead, but refuse to cry as I meet his beady eyes.

  “That’s your problem, Mia—you care. You could be something in our world, a queen.” I flinch, as we are worlds apart. “But you decide to lead with your emotions, a sure downfall, as you leave people like your little boyfriend here, an open target for people like me to use for my gain. Pathetic,” he scoffs, curling his lip at me in disgust.

  Tristan suddenly groans, and I bite my lip, scared of what happens next. Scared of what happens when he becomes a witness to all this fucked up shit. I know Phil, and he doesn’t like witnesses who could potentially bring down his empire. He’ll dispose of Tristan as easily as he did Hank, and I can’t allow that to happen—not again.

  “What the fuck do you want from me?” I yell, angrily wiping the blood from my eyes. “Because whatever it is, this game is growing old, and I’m done playing.” I hope to come across as self-confident, even though I’m shaking in fear.

  “You’re an impatient little thing.” Phil snickers. “But you’re right. I’m tired of this cat and mouse game. A game you were bound to lose. You see, when you ran, you cost me a lot of money. And you know how I hate to lose money,” he scolds, waving his finger at me. “So as I see it, you’re indebted to me. And you’re no good to me dead…so it’s time to pay up.”

  I must have misheard him because he’s surely not implying I go back to working for him, like nothing happened, is he? If he is, then I’m just as good as dead.

  “You’re out of your fucking mind!” I shout, taking a step forward, about ready to beat the confident smile off
his reptilian face.

  My father, however, instantly stops my tirade when he pulls back Tristan’s head, exposing his neck at a painful angle, the gun still pressed to his temple.

  Freezing, I retreat and raise my hands in surrender, my eyes meeting Tristan’s, who is wide awake. He looks dejected and desperate as he mouths, “I’m sorry.”

  I shake my head, giving him a weak smile, because he has nothing to be sorry for.

  “No,” I sneer, my eyes flicking to Phil’s. “There’s no way I’m doing that. I can’t,” I add, hating how weak I sound.

  “Oh, you big cry-baby,” Phil says playfully. “You’ll go back to being my number one girl, and for the moment, we’ll forget the idea of you spreading your legs.”

  Tristan’s eyes widen at my horrible truth, and I don’t blame him. It’s an awful reality, and sadly, it’s mine.

  “For the moment?” I ask, wiping my eyes, refusing to allow my tears to break free.

  “Yes,” he replies with a smile. “See? I’m a reasonable guy.” He chuckles. “Besides, I wouldn’t want you to throw another temper tantrum and shoot your daddy again.”

  Temper tantrum—is he serious? This isn’t some little issue I’m rebelling against. It was my life—my humanity. But I can’t go back to that. Whether I’m a drug dealer or a whore, it all leads to my ultimate demise. My soul slipping away with each deal I make.

  “No,” I spit one final time, shaking my head.

  “Is that your final answer?” Phil asks, crossing his arms over his broad chest as he leans back against the oak desk.

  “Yes,” I reply with finality, my eyes flicking to Tristan, who concurs with my decision.

  “Kill him,” Phil says casually to my father, who cocks the trigger.

  “No!” I scream, diving for Tristan, but Phil pulls a gun from his waistband, pointing it straight at me.

  “You move and you’re both dead.”

  The tears I’ve been trying so hard to keep away fall and I openly weep, so afraid for Tristan’s life.