by Huss, JA
“No,” Mason says. “You’re bleeding.” And then he swipes a fingertip over the back of my head and shows me blood. “Does it hurt?” he asks.
“What do you think?” I ask, taking a step away from him.
“Hey,” he says, taking hold of my arm again and gripping it tight. “I’m on your side, OK?”
“Are you sure about that?” I ask him. “Because you’re on his payroll.”
We both look at my stepfather, who is staring at us. Watching our interaction.
“I’m afraid I can’t do this,” Lanrey says. “I knew your daughter was a troubled child, and I’ve worked with many troubled young ladies. But she’s the first to physically attack me.”
I growl at him, baring my teeth. Wild Thing.
Mason growls back, shaking me by the arm. “Knock it off, Lyssa. Just stand still and be good.”
My stepfather is shaking his head. “Mr. Lanrey, you’ve already been paid—”
“He’s been paid?” Mason says. “He didn’t even do his job. Why haven’t I been paid?”
“You’ll get your money, Mr. Macintyre,” my stepfather says, then turns back to Lanrey. “Mr. Lanrey, as I stated—”
“Consider yourself refunded,” Lanrey says, glaring at me. His face is all red and his eyes are still watering. “I do not work with animals.”
Hmmm. Well, there you go. I’m an animal.
“Your car can take me back to the city now,” he says, then walks to the front door and pulls on it.
I smile. I know I shouldn’t. I know it’s inappropriate, especially when I just humiliated this man. But I don’t care. I smile because he’s locked in and the door doesn’t budge.
And then I start giggling at the irony. Giggling like a stupid little schoolgirl who smoked pot on her way to class and is now having a fit.
“Stop it,” Mason grows at me. He’s still holding on to my upper arm, so he tugs on it again.
“I’m sorry,” I say, smiling at him. “It’s kinda funny though, right? They lock me in and then he’s—” I giggle again.
“Lyssa, I’m not going to repeat myself,” Mason hisses. “Shut. Up.”
I huff out a sigh and make a face at him. “I don’t have a lot of joy in my life, OK? Why can’t I laugh when I find something funny?”
“Because you’re laughing at his expense, that’s why. Jesus Christ. Who the fuck raised you?”
Everyone looks at my stepfather. He tilts his chin up, then sucks in a deep breath of air, walks over to the door, and unlocks it.
Lanrey rushes through like I’m gonna chase him down like a wild dog.
I almost laugh again, but Mason Macintyre is on to me now because he preemptively whispers, “Don’t you dare, princess. Don’t you dare.”
“Lyssa,” my stepfather says, looking at us in again. “Go upstairs to your room.”
I yank my arm out of Mason’s grip and say, “Go fuck yourself,” to my stepfather.
But I do leave. And I do go upstairs.
But I do not go to my room.
CHAPTER NINE - MASON
Baylor walks to the office door and says, “Mr. Macintyre, please. Come into the office.”
“So we can discuss my payment, I hope,” I say under my breath.
“You’re going to get paid. I told you, I have cash. You’re the one who refused it.”
“Because I don’t need cash, Baylor. I need a fucking wire transfer.”
“You can transfer it—”
“Look,” I say, losing patience with this asshole. “We made these terms. I explained them to you when I accepted the job. I have my reasons and you don’t need to know why I want a wire transfer instead of cash, OK? This is just how it is. So transfer the fucking money.”
“It’s Sunday,” he says.
“So what?”
“I only do transfers through my bank so it won’t go through until tomorrow anyway. I don’t understand what the big deal is?”
“The big deal is you didn’t take me fucking seriously. You came here with cash—”
“I made a mistake,” Baylor says. “I apologize for that. OK?” He spreads his hands out in a mea culpa.
I don’t say anything. I’m too angry. I was counting on that transfer going through last night and now I find out it didn’t. So I think I’m justifiably pissed off.
“But since you’re already here, how would you like to make a little more money?”
I shake my head and laugh.
“I mean to say a lot more money. I’ll pay you double what I paid Lanrey.”
“Yeah? How much was that?”
“Two hundred and fifty thousand.”
Well… that makes me shut the fuck up.
Baylor smiles. Because he knows he’s got my attention.
“You paid that asshole a hundred and twenty-five thousand to what? Tame your daughter?”
“No, you misunderstood. I paid him two fifty. You I will pay five hundred.”
“What the hell? Why would you—”
But he cuts me off by making a stop motion with his hand. “Just as I do not need to know your business, Mr. Macintyre, you do not need to know mine.”
I shake my head again. “No. No, I’m afraid I’m not interested in being part of your sick daddy-daughter plans.”
He laughs a little. “Sick? What?”
“She showed me her bedroom. That’s pretty fucked up.”
“What are you talking—” Then he sighs. “Oh. OK. I get it. She told you that story, did she?”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Which story?”
“The one where I make her sleep in a child’s bedroom? Did she tell you I decorated that princess room for her?”
I don’t say anything. Which is the answer he was expecting.
“I see,” he says. “Would you like to come with me?”
“Why?”
“Because I’d like to show you something.”
“Show me what?”
“Just indulge me, Mr. Macintyre. Please. I’ve had a very trying morning and it would be wonderful if I could get someone to cooperate.” He walks over to the door and waves his hand, beckoning me to come forward.
“I’m pretty sick of the games,” I say. But I go with him over to the stairs. We walk up the closest staircase and stop on the second floor.
He points to the end of the hallway where the princess room is hidden behind the closed double doors. “That room,” he says, “is for my future grandchildren.”
“So I’ve heard,” I grumble.
“Yes, I’m sure she told you quite a story. But did she show you all the rooms? Or just that one?”
“I saw a few of them.”
He walks down to a closed door, one we didn’t peek into last night, and opens it wide. “Go ahead, take a look.”
God, these people are fucking weird. But I go to the door and walk into the room.
It’s a little boy’s room. Sports theme. Big Fathead stickers of pro ballplayers on the wall. Blue and orange-themed color. Twin bed. The kind with a bunch of drawers underneath. A desk with a football light.
“There’s more,” Baylor says. Walking down the hallway. I follow him and he opens another door we didn’t look into.
A nursery. Neutral yellow on the walls. White crib, teddy bear mobile hanging over it. Changing table, rocking chair, and a toy box filled with toys.
“I know what she told you. Or at the very least, what she implied. You aren’t the first person she’s lied to about me, Mr. Macintyre. She is the most manipulative, selfish, out-of-control young lady I’ve ever seen in my life. And yes, I raised her. So maybe I turned her into that. Or maybe…” he says, lowering his voice as he stares down the hall.
I turn to follow his gaze and see Lyssa down the hallway. Leaning against an open door like she hasn’t got a care in the world.
“Or maybe,” he continues. “She was just born that way.”
I look back at him.
“She was a difficult child and now she’s
a very disturbed young woman. And she’s gotten herself into a lot of trouble over the years. I have a whole file of her police record down in that office. It was for Lanrey, but you’re welcome to read it. I am only trying to help her. And this marriage? It’s good for her,” he says. “It will be helpful for her to have structure in her life. To be here, in this house. One that is hers and hers alone. And to have a man like Dickerson Worthington beside her, keeping her steady and straight. He is steady, Mason. He is straight. And my daughter needs that more than you can comprehend right now.”
I cringe a little when he uses my first name. Because it changes our relationship somehow.
“She will tell you he’s boring, but he’s just calm. There is nothing wrong with being calm. She’s just been running wild for so long, she’s lost her way. And ever since her mother died two years ago, she’s only gotten worse. That’s why we set up the marriage. And she agreed to it. Make no mistake about that. She took his ring and told him yes. But… she’s gotten worse over the past several months. Much, much worse. The toll of her mother’s death has changed her in ways that might not be reversible if she doesn’t get help and settle down. She needs that, Mason. She needs help. So I’m begging you. Help her. It’s clear that the two of you formed a bond over this little abduction job. She listened to you down there. But more than that, she wanted to listen to you. I will not only have your wire transfer of fifty thousand dollars for last night’s job go through first thing tomorrow morning, I will add half a million more to that same transfer. Money up front. Just like I did for Lanrey.”
He stops to frown at me. Let me take all that in.
Shit, man. Five hundred fifty thousand tax-free dollars? How do I turn that down?
“Two weeks,” Baylor says. “That’s it. All you have to do is keep her here. Tame her a little. Make her into the lady I know she is. And then you walk away a rich man.”
“Rich?” I laugh. “That’s nothing to you.”
“OK,” he says. “How about five million?”
“Fuck off,” I say.
“I’m serious,” he says, leaning in to me as he continues to stare at Lyssa all the way down the hall. “I need this problem solved. Now.”
Interesting way to put it. But I tuck that away for later consideration.
Because five million tax-free dollars really does make me rich.
But everything about this man feels dirty and wrong. Lots of parents are disappointed in their children. It’s not really their business once they turn eighteen. Like… I want to tell this guy to get a life. To move on, let her go and do her thing, and forget about her.
But I already know what he’ll say next.
He can’t. Not when he is who he is. This important billionaire who dominates the stock reports. He can’t have his daughter flashing her pussy at nightclubs and getting into trouble.
It’s bad for business.
I have a lot of feelings about that. Mostly disgust, but there’s a healthy dose of indifference in there too. Because I just do not relate to these people. It makes no sense to me.
My mother didn’t raise me like this. We weren’t poor. I wasn’t bullied, I didn’t grow up in a bad neighborhood or go to bad schools. It was all very middle-class average. It was all very normal.
And nothing about these people strikes me as anything close to normal.
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m sorry, Mr. Baylor. I kinda like her, and I really do wish you all the best, but… I just want my fifty grand and I’ll be on my way.”
He smiles at me. Except it’s not a smile. Because smiles are meant to convey happiness and this isn’t happiness. It’s… something else.
“I know why you need that transfer, Mr. Macintyre. I do my research before I hire people to take care of sensitive situations for me.”
“Sure you do,” I say.
“Your mother is in Sweden. Some non-FDA approved cancer treatment?”
What the fuck?
“I know that team. She’s still in the preliminary trial stage, right? Oh, it’s a very promising treatment. I’ve heard that the last trial had some remarkable results. More than half of the patients are now cancer-free. I really do hope your mother gets accepted into the full program. Could save her life. Probably will save her life.”
“Fuck you,” I growl, low and dangerous. Because this asshole doesn’t get to have an opinion about my mother’s cancer, or her treatment, or her chances of survival. He hasn’t earned that privilege.
“Five million dollars,” he says. “Five million dollars and I’ll make sure your mother is accepted tomorrow. I’m sorry the wire transfer will be late, but it won’t matter once I make a simple phone call.”
This motherfucker did this on purpose. To get my mother accepted into the new trial I have to put up fifty thousand dollars to show I can support her over the next several months while she’s in treatment. Baylor knew the deadline was Monday morning at nine AM Swedish time. And he came here with cash just in case his little princess-reform-school headmaster didn’t work out.
He knew. He planned this down to the very last detail.
“You can call her,” Baylor says. “She’ll be excited. She’ll want to tell you all about it.”
I glare at him. “You really don’t give a fuck, do you? You really have an impression of yourself.”
“What impression is that? That I’m untouchable?” He laughs. “Well… I am, Mr. Macintyre. We both know what kind of power I wield. Your mother needs something and so do I.” He holds his hands up like it’s just that simple. “Besides, you’re already in too deep to just walk away.”
“You’re a sick fuck, you know that?” I say.
“I have no idea what you mean. I care about my daughter. And even though I don’t know your mother, I’m sure she’s a very deserving woman. I’m only trying to help you help me.”
It’s wrong. The whole thing is wrong. The stuff with Lyssa. The blackmail with my mother.
But… she’ll get the treatment. And with that money I can buy her a little house near her doctors so she doesn’t have to stay in the hospital ward. So even if it doesn’t work—it will, but even if it doesn’t—she’ll have a nice home at the end of her life.
And if I say no to this man right now? Well, it’s not hard to predict that future. He’ll make sure she doesn’t get accepted. And then she’ll die there. Or here. Doesn’t matter. She will die.
“Are we agreed, then?” Baylor asks.
I sigh, then turn to look at Lyssa. Turn back to Baylor and nod. “Fine. It’s a deal. What exactly do you expect me to do with Lyssa?”
“Force her to stop all this lying, and slutting around, and drug use. Make her into the wife Dickerson Worthington thinks he’s getting. I might be untouchable, Mason. But you’re not. Your mother isn’t. And my daughter isn’t either.”
Then he smiles at me in a way that sends a chill up my spine. “So go ahead. Do whatever you want. Touch her all you need to. Just be sure to break her by the time you’re done.”
CHAPTER TEN - LYSSA
Neither of them say anything to me as they walk back to the stairs and descend. Something has been said. Some deal has been struck. That’s all I can figure. I sit on the top step and watch them go into my stepfather’s office and close the door. Close the deal too, I suppose.
About thirty minutes later, the doors open again and my stepfather walks out. He looks up at me and smiles. “Goodbye, Lyssa. See you in ten days. The event planners will arrive and begin setting up for the wedding. Your dress is in your room. Please try it on and decide if you think it needs any alterations. Then have Mason call me and let me know.” He smiles wider, which just makes me want to puke. “You’re going to look lovely.”
Then he unlocks the front door, leaves, and locks it back up behind him.
“Well.” I sigh. “I guess that’s it.”
When I glance back at the office, Mason is standing in the doorway. Arms folded across his chest.
“So you’re in charge of me now,” I say.
“Looks that way,” he says.
I take in a deep breath and let it out. “Now what?”
He laughs a little. “Well… I’m not really sure, wild thing. What do you usually do with your days?”
“Sleep off a hangover.”
That makes him laugh louder. “OK. Well. Do you have a hangover? Do you need to sleep?”
I think about this. Since I was out drinking last night and he did drug me. But I say, “No. Not really tired anymore.”
“Well, your old man left me a boatload of cash to go shopping. You wanna go shopping?”
“Shopping?” I say.
“I didn’t bring any clothes,” he says, his voice deep and rumbling. Like he’s the one who’s tired and need a day off to sleep. “And I’m not allowed to go back to the city to get some. But there’s a mall about forty minutes away. So…” He shrugs. “How about it? Wanna blow this place?”
For a second I feel like he’s asking me to run away with him.
My body responds before I can stop it.
My heart beats faster with excitement.
But then he holds up something in his hand and says, “But you gotta wear this.”
I squint at it. “What is it?”
“It’s a tracking bracelet.” He pulls out his phone and says, “I’ve got an app now that lets me know where you are at all times.”
“Wonderful.” I sigh. The possibility of running away with him evaporates. “I don’t really give a fuck what we do.”
“Language,” he says. Same low, growly voice.
“You don’t like my fucking language?” I ask.
“Don’t,” he warns me.
“Or what?” I ask. “You’ll promise to spank me and then not fucking do it?”
Even from all the way up here I can see him raise his eyebrows. “Are you complaining about last night?”
I look down to hide my smile, then get it under control and look up again. “Not really. It’s just…”
“Just what?”
“You did fucking promise.”
“Lyssa,” he snaps. “I’m not kidding about the language. Your stepfather wants you to behave. And he’s gonna pay me a lot of money and a pretty big favor to tame you into something presentable for your wedding. So if you think I’m not going to complete that job—if you think this is gonna be just ten days of flirting and fun—then you’re sadly mistaken. So stop saying ‘fuck,’ or ‘shit,’ or any other cuss word that’s not appropriate for a lady of your position and rank, and be good.”