Bound, #3

by Shandi Boyes

  Richard shrugs his shoulders. “It was either that or continue being turned away every hour on the hour by a Wesley Snipes wannabe.” His narrowed gaze strays to the side of the room, acknowledging he is also aware Abel is watching us.

  Realizing his cover has been blown, Abel steps out of the alcove he was hiding in. As his fierce eyes lock with Richard, he reinforces his stance. Only now do I realize the uncertainty tainting his face earlier wasn't based on worry. It was dislike. Clearly, today isn't the first time Abel has tangled with Richard, as his displeasure is too robust for someone who's just met him. Richard may be the very epitome of a chauvinistic asshole, but it usually takes 2-3 meetings to discover that, even for someone who can read people’s personalities with just a sideways glance. There are just two things unclear: why is Richard so desperate to talk to me? And why has Abel been foiling his attempts?

  Drifting my eyes back to Richard, I start at the less confusing issue. “Why have you been trying to reach me?” I ask, bouncing my eyes between his tapered gaze.

  Before Richard can answer me, the shrill of a landline telephone rings through my ears. I jump out of my skin, displaying I’m more rattled than I’d care to admit.

  Dropping his eyes to his watch, Richard mumbles, “Damn. Global Ten could take a page from their book. Their response time is impressive.”

  My brows stitch into a frown, confused by his statement, but before I can mutter a response, Richard drifts his eyes to Abel. “Unless you want a swarm of police arriving here in around ten minutes, you might want to answer that.”

  A dash of hesitation clouds Abel’s usually receptive eyes, but his stance remains firm. I can tell by the expression on his face he wants to answer the call, but he doesn’t feel comfortable leaving me alone with Richard.

  I adjust my position to face Abel front on. “It’s okay,” I assure him, nodding.

  I may have only said two short words, but my eyes offer Abel more assurance than my words ever could. Richard is no doubt a blood-sucking leech, but I don’t fear him. Although his taunts the past five years nicked my heart and bruised my ego, they have never once caused me physical harm, so I don’t see that changing in the near future.

  Abel’s hesitation only lasts as long as it takes for his caller to hang up and redial. After issuing a final warning to Richard solely using his eyes, he quickly pivots on his heels and heads for the landline phone stationed in the office nook at the side of the kitchen.

  My focus returns to Richard when he says, “Since that’s most likely Marcus's security company calling to advise a breach of his security, I better make this quick." He steps closer to me, filling the last portion of air left between us with his imposing frame. "I told you last week I was trying to change. This is me proving to you I’m a changed man. I’m standing here in front of you, being as upfront as I can be, because I figured you of all people would appreciate the honesty.”

  My lips twitch as a witty comeback attempts to escape my mouth, but no matter how much my tongue tries to fire off a rebuttal, my mouth refuses to relinquish it. My brain is too rapt on reading his forthright gaze to do anything more. Richard's eyes are the frankest I've ever seen them. They not only expose a man who has a sickening amount of confidence; they also reveal he is telling the truth. His naturally engrained arrogance may have me doubting his motives, but he truly believes what he is saying. He thinks he is a changed man.

  As Richard’s eyes sweep the room to ensure we are still alone, his hand delves into his trouser pocket to produce a folded-up piece of paper. Horrid unease makes it hard for me to breathe when he holds it out for me. Pretending I can’t feel my hands shaking a hundred miles an hour, I accept the document from his grasp and unfold it. For every second that ticks by in silence, the air becomes more stifling. You know that feeling you get when your whole world is about to become undone? That's what I am feeling right now. I’ve only felt like this one time before. It was the day my parents and little brother Tate were involved in their accident.

  I take a moment to fill my lungs with oxygen before dropping my eyes to the sheet of paper I’m clutching for dear life. The air I’ve just sucked in is vehemently removed when my eyes absorb the badly pixelated image. Although the photo is grainy and small, there is no doubt it's a photo of Marcus and me. With my cap-covered head held high as I take in the affluent surroundings of the hotel lobby we are entering, my entire face is exposed.

  “Where did you get this?”

  Acting like he didn’t hear a word I spoke, Richard spins on his heels and heads for the door. His long strides are so efficient, he is halfway across the foyer before my brain registers he is leaving. In a flurry, I push off my feet and follow after him. “Where are you going?” I ask, my high tone displaying my utter bewilderment.

  He can’t just bequeath me a snippet of information like this then leave me hanging. That's the worst form of torture to a person as inquisitive as me.

  Richard cranks his neck back to peer at me. “If my Spidey-senses are right, we have around two minutes before our conversation is interrupted by an old man who doesn’t realize he is well past his prime.” He nudges his head to Abel slipping down the corridor situated between Marcus’s studio and four-car garage.

  My heart rate spikes as the hairs on my arms prickle with roused apprehension. Where is he going?

  Continuing for the door, Richard adds on, "Considering I traveled all the way here to talk to you in person, I don’t fancy doing that while sitting behind bars for trespassing, or even worse, in the hospital with a bullet wound.”

  I gulp in a shocked breath, startled by his assumption he’s about to be injured. Abel may have guarded our conversation with a protective mentality, but he’d never take it to the level Richard is concerned about. Would he?

  Richard nudges his head to a dark sedan barely visible behind a green hedge sheltering Marcus’s property from the road frontage. I discover how Richard gained access to Marcus’s estate when I follow the direction of his gaze. There is a heap of industrial-sized wires hanging out of a security panel positioned on the wrought-iron gate. The fear curled around my throat tightens. Why is Richard so desperate to talk to me, he’s willing to risk his freedom to do so?

  “Come with me, Cleo, and I’ll tell you everything I know,” Richard implores, reading the silent questions streaming out of me.

  When he locks his eyes with mine, my defenses waiver. His pleading eyes are persuasive, not only begging for me to give him a chance to prove he is a changed man, but also pleading for me to not believe everything I've been told—to properly evaluate the situation and make my own informed decision. But how can I do that without having time to contemplate? Not taking time to assess things usually leads me into foolish territory, and since I've spent way too much time in that zone the past three months, I'm hesitant to tiptoe toward it once more.

  “I can’t go with you, Richard,” I whisper starkly, shaking my head.

  Although my resolve is teetering on a very steep cliff, it isn’t rattled enough to place Richard’s request above the desires of my heart. I trust Marcus so much, I have faith he will protect us from any storm trying to destroy us. Even one as vicious as Delilah.

  For the quickest second, Richard’s cocky mask slips, exposing a side of him I’ve never seen in the five years I’ve known him: unbridled fear. “Alright, but if anything happens to you or Lexi, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  “Lexi?” I gasp out in panic, stepping closer to him. “What does this have to do with Lexi?”

  Richard doesn’t reply; he just slips down the side of Marcus’s house and advances towards his vehicle. With the shadows of the arched awnings sheltering his large frame from the multiple security cameras monitoring Marcus’s property, he moves undetected through the vast space.

  Not taking the time to stop and think, I follow after him, my steps surprisingly quick for how much my thighs are quaking. “Richard, please, if Lexi is in danger, I need to know.”

  I
can't believe I let the desires of my heart lead me so far astray that I've placed over twelve hundred miles between Lexi and me. The furthest I've ever been away from her is an hour. Even Marcus's fancy jet couldn't get me to her in an hour if something terrible were to happen.

  A breathless squeal escapes my mouth when Richard splays his hand across my stomach and roughly yanks me back. The sharp edges of Marcus’s property scratch the skin on my back when he draws me far enough under the awning to hide my frame from Abel, who is racing toward the house. His speed is so fast, gravel kicks up from his feet, dusting his polished black shoes with icky gray dust. I attempt to call out to him, but with panic curled around my throat, not a syllable escapes my thin grim lips.

  The worry making my skin a sticky mess grows when my eyes zoom in on the weapon Abel is carrying. It's a replica of a gun I’d expect to see on a cattle farm or in a war movie. It's large, bulky, and looks like it could cause more harm than the gun Lexi threatened Marcus with.

  Once Abel enters the house, Richard turns his eyes to me. “Is that a response you’d expect from a man not concerned about your safety? Or is that how a man who’s been lying to you would react? Look closer, Cleo. The people surrounding you aren’t who you think they are.”

  Stealing my chance to negate his false assumptions, Richard hightails it to his car mere feet from us. When he reaches the driver's side door, he lifts his head and stares at me for several moments, begging me to go with him. I stand in the shadows, drifting my eyes between Marcus's house and Richard's vehicle while contemplating. It feels like hours pass as I strive to clear the muddled confusion in my mind, but it's more like seconds. I don’t know why I bother taking the time to deliberate. My brain is too fritzed with panic to let rational thoughts congregate.

  Pretending I can’t hear Abel shouting my name from inside Marcus’s residence, I move out of the shadows and dash toward Richard’s car. My intuition is screaming blue murder at my stupidity, but the urge to protect my sister far outweighs any concerns thickening my blood. She has, and always will be, my utmost priority, and I’m not below putting myself in danger to ensure she remains safe.

  As I slide into the passenger seat of Richard’s car, Abel charges out of Marcus’s house. For a man in his mid-seventies, he has the core of a man many years younger. Standing in the dust cloud his brisk pace created, he cranks his head to the right before swinging it to the left as he strives to find me amongst the sprawling manicured grounds. My lungs fail to breathe when his eyes lock in on me sitting in the passenger seat of Richard’s car. Although the windows are heavily tinted, I have no doubt he has seen me as the concern in his eyes triples the instant he spots me.

  The smell of burning rubber streams into my nose when Richard plants his foot on the accelerator and pulls his car away from the curb at a frightening speed. Not the slightest bit hindered by chasing a vehicle with a 1500 horsepower motor under the hood while wearing a fitted black suit and polished dress shoes, Abel pursues us on foot. His speed is so unchecked, he reaches the end of the driveway in two heart-thrashing seconds.

  A frightened squeal emits from my lips when the sound of the gun being fired booms into my ears not even two seconds later. Its loud bang echoes down the dead quiet street, rattling my heart straight out of my chest.

  “Jesus Christ,” Richard mutters under his breath as his panicked eyes bounce between the road and his rearview mirror. “Is he fucking insane? He’s shooting at us with a shotgun.”

  My terrified eyes turn back to Abel standing at the end of Marcus’s driveway. He has his gun braced on his shoulder as his fierce eyes stare down the long barrel. Although my insides are jittering like a hooker on crack, I know I’m not in any danger. Call it intuition or a stupid case of idiocy, but I know Abel would never hurt me. Richard, on the other hand. . .

  My words trail off when a loud bang ricochets down the street for the second time. Noticing the direction of Abel’s gun, reality smacks into me.

  “He’s isn’t aiming for us; he’s trying to take out your tires.”

  Wanting to test the accuracy of my assumption, Richard dangerously veers his car down an isolated dirt road on our left. Dust billows around us as his vehicle weaves down the rapidly narrowing track. Just as I suspected, the instant Richard’s tires left the pavement, Abel’s gun stops firing.

  I sink deeper into my seat and sit in silence for several miles, pondering if I just made a careless mistake. Several minutes of deliberation award me with even more confusion. Nothing makes any sense. Why would Richard go to such lengths to talk to me face to face when he could have just spoken to me over the phone? And why did Abel react so fiercely to me leaving with Richard? I’m at a complete loss as to what the hell is going on.

  Hoping Richard will be the key to unlocking my confusion, I swing my eyes to him. The concern blackening my blood grows when my impromptu scan of the car’s interior has me stumbling onto more evidence of my idiocy. There is an open box of ammunition and a handgun stashed in the console between Richard and me. If that isn’t concerning enough, it's sitting on top of a massive pile of polaroid photos. I’m not talking one or two random snaps Richard may have taken during his travels from New York to Florida. I’m talking about hundreds upon hundreds of photos taken from multiple angles, in multiple locations.

  I’m in every single image.

  2

  Watching Richard from the corner of my eye, I unlatch my seatbelt and carefully pull it across my body. The thin black material sliding through the belt mechanism sounds through my ears, closely followed by a noisy clunk when it's latched. I freeze, panicked beyond belief that it has advised Richard of my intended stealth-like moves. It hasn’t. Richard’s focus remains on the narrowed dirt track we are traveling on.

  With the road careening along the glorious coastline of Bronte’s Peak, his usual astuteness has vanished. I can’t say I don’t understand his fascination. The view is so spectacular, if I weren’t fearful about being trapped in the confines of a vehicle with a man who’s apparently been stalking me for months, I’d also stop to admire the wonderment of Bronte’s Peak in all its glory. But since I’m on the verge of a panic attack, I leash my desire and keep my focus on the task at hand—my imminent escape.

  After taking a few moments to gather the composure I still hold, I continue with my mission. I clamber to the edge of my seat, sitting so close to the window, my shoulder blade touches the rigid, salt-blasted glass. I take in a lung-filling gulp of air before curling my hand around the door latch. Although Richard’s speed is fast enough my body must brace for impact; it isn’t fast enough to worry a tumble out of his car will threaten my life.

  The air I’ve only just sucked in is forcefully evicted when my tug on the door handle fails to open the latch. It remains locked—trapping me in the car with Richard.

  Gritting my teeth, my eyes scan the area, seeking an alternative exit. There isn’t one. Other than crawling over Richard’s well-formed torso to scale out the driver’s side window, I’m trapped, hostage of a man who has two dozen photos of me sleeping.

  Realizing there is only one way out of this car, I creep my hand toward Richard’s gun nestled between us. My hand freezes halfway to its target when Richard suddenly shifts his eyes to me.

  “Some people have more money than sense,” he mutters, nudging his head to the palatial mansions balancing perilously on the cliff edge. “It would be a great view, but I wouldn’t be hanging around during hurricane season.”

  My brows stitch when his voice comes out with an amused huskiness. He is acting like we’re friends on a leisurely Sunday drive, not him kidnapping me under the pretense he is helping me.

  “Yeah, crazy,” I mumble when his stare lingers, waiting for my reply.

  Richard eyes me curiously, unable to ignore the shakiness of my voice. I plaster the best fake smile onto my face, vainly trying to pretend my stomach isn’t lodged in my throat. He stares at me for several more seconds before sketchily shaking his head. I
inhale my first breath in a long minute when he devotes his gaze back to the scenic view zooming by the driver’s side window.

  Happy he is no longer paying me any attention, I lift my knee, adjusting my position so the ball of my foot rests under my backside. To an outsider, it appears as if I’m getting comfortable, only I know I’m preparing for battle.

  Once I’m satisfied I have a proper defense to fight off Richard’s attack, I dive for his gun. My movement is so agile, I have the barrel of Richard’s gun pointed at his temple before a single heartbeat sounds through my ears.

  “Pull over,” I grind out through clenched teeth, my gaze fixated on Richard.

  Richard’s fingers flex on the steering wheel. “There is a café a few miles out. I’ll stop there,” he replies, unaware of the dangerous situation he is in.

  I cock back the gun’s hammer. Its loud click is barely audible over the pounding of my heart. I’m so nervous, sweat is slicking my palms, making me anxious I’ll lose my grip before I’m safely off Richard’s radar.

  After firming my hold, I demand again, “Pull over.” My words are dangerously low as anger envelops every nerve in my body.

  Hearing the underlying fury drenched in my voice, Richard slants his head to the side. His brows become lost in his hairline as the air in his body leaves in a brutal whoosh.

  “Jesus Christ, Cleo, what the hell are you doing?” he mumbles, his undeveloped words coerced out of his mouth in a rush of panic.

  The dust billowing around the car slows when he eases his foot off the accelerator. As he veers his vehicle to the side of the road, the mad beat of my heart slows to a brisk canter. Richard pulls to the very edge of the road, leaving plenty of space for vehicles to pass us before shifting his eyes to me.

  “Cleo. . .” His tone is low and full of silent warnings.

  I glare at him, soundlessly advising he isn’t the only one who can issue threats with a rueful stare. After hitting him with the worst death-stare I’ve ever released, my eyes drop to the large collection of photos stashed in the console.