by Huss, JA
“Sorry,” I say. “It’s just… I don’t want to confront my stepfather. I can’t see him, Mason. He will talk me out of this.”
“Just be strong,” he says, squeezing my hand.
But I shake my head. “No, you don’t understand how persuasive he can be. He’ll just come between us and take control and then I really will be stuck marrying stupid Dickerson.”
“No, you won’t,” he says. “I’ll be there with you. I’m not letting you out of my sight for one minute. So if he finds you, he finds me too.”
I’m not convinced but Mason turns and takes both my hands, gives them a good, hard squeeze and says, “I promise. I won’t let him take control of you again. I’m in charge now.”
I let out a long breath.
“Promise,” he repeats.
“OK,” I say. “Tuesday. But no later than Tuesday. Even if the flight is full.”
“If the flight is full, Wild Thing, I will get you your private jet.”
I repeat his words over and over again as we walk through the park holding hands.
I’ll be there with you.
I’m in charge now.
And I believe him. I really do. I put my stepfather’s reaction three days from now out of my mind and enjoy the walk through the park.
We are a couple.
“Well, this is me,” I say as we leave the park and cross the street. Both of us look up at my building. It’s much taller than Mason’s and there is only one penthouse and it’s mine.
“Pretty nice,” he says.
“It is nice,“ I say. “And it’s the only thing I have in my own name. Aside from that disgusting house in the country. This was the only thing he couldn’t steal from me because it was secured in a separate trust that came from some secret account my mother had with my real father.”
“Your real father,” Mason says. Like he’s never considered that there was another man in my life once upon a time. “What happened to him?”
“It’s a weird, sad story,” I say.
Mason looks at me like he has never been more interested in what I have to say, ever. “Tell me,” he says, squeezing my hand.
“I don’t know if I can. It’s… not normal.”
“Not normal how?” He asks.
“I don’t really know. He just left one day when I was little and never came back. Then this apartment turned up out of nowhere after my mom died and I graduated from college.”
It’s not entirely true. I know what happened to my real father. My stepfather told me that story often enough when I was small. Trying to make a point I guess. That he left. He chose to leave me and my mother behind. And that my stepfather was in control of my life now, the same way he was in control of my mother’s.
But it’s not a story you tell people. Not even a guy like Mason.
“You never tried to contact him? And he never tried to contact you?”
But I can see he’s not going to let this go. So I have to tell him some of it.
“No,” I say. “He didn’t come to my mother’s funeral. He’s not even on my birth certificate anymore because it was changed after the adoption. And that happened back when I was seven, and by that time… I don’t know how to explain it. I was just… Lyssa Baylor. I don’t even remember my first last name. And no one will tell me now.”
That part is true. I really don’t know who he is. I can’t even remember his face. My stepfather got rid of all my mother’s photos of him.
“Hmmm,” Mason says. “But he must be somebody important if he and your mother put together such an extravagant gift as this?”
“You’d think,” I say. “But… I doubt it.”
I spot the doorman as we approach and smile, ready to say hi, but he’s busy with another tenant and doesn’t see me. Inside everyone is busy so even though I’m polite to everyone here and normally say hello, I don’t get a chance.
Mason follows my lead, still holding my hand, as we walk to the elevator. Inside, when the doors open, I scowl at the elevator attendant. “Who are you?”
“Charles, ma’am. And you are?” He gives me a tight smile. “I’m new here.”
“Lyssa Baylor.”
“Ah, top floor it is,” he says, entering a key card and pushing the button for my apartment.
I glance at Mason and sigh. He raises his eyebrows at me and smiles. Be patient, that smile says. New guy.
Fine.
But I know these building people. They are like friends and I had to walk in like a nobody. It kinda kills my good mood.
The elevator doesn’t open up into my apartment, thank God. That’s always freaked me out. So we get off in the hallway outside the double doors of my apartment and I punch in the security code to unlock it.
The lock beeps green and Mason opens the door wide and waves me forward in front of him like a gentleman.
A loud noise fills my ears and then everything happens in slow motion.
Mason’s body jerks back and falls to the floor.
I scream, and someone grabs me, putting a hand around my mouth. I kick, and fight, and elbow them in the ribs.
But there’s another man and then another and another. And three large blocks of pure muscle wrestle me to the ground and stick something sharp into my upper arm. It burns.
I bite the hand covering my mouth, still kicking, and writhing, then scream when he pulls it off my face.
But they flip me over, face down, and I have to turn my head so I don’t smash my nose into the cold, stone floor.
My stepfather stands off to the side, hands behind his back, rocking on his heels like this is just another day. Just another fight with Lyssa. Just one of many.
“Be a good girl now, Lyssie. It’s OK. I’m going to take you home now.”
I breathe hard, screaming curses at him. “You asshole! You fucking asshole! What did you do?”
One man places a knee on my back, forcing all the air out of my lungs, and I feel like I’m going to suffocate. They hold me like that for several minutes as I writhe and fight.
“You will marry Dickerson Worthington, Lyssie. It’s all set up. And you will live in that house as his wife. You will be the woman I’ve spent all these years turning you in to.”
“You’re sick,” I say. “You’re so sick.”
“No, sweetie. It’s you who’s sick. But don’t worry, we’re going to take care of you. We’re going to make sure everyone knows how sick you are and get you the help you need.”
I look at Mason, collapsed on the floor next to me. “What did you do?” I scream. But it’s weak. I can barely breathe.
“He overstepped and filled your head with delusions.” My stepfather tsks his tongue. “It’s a good thing I had people watching the house. Just forget about him now. I’ll take care of everything and no one will know what happened here but us.”
His men pull me to my feet but I’m already wobbly from the drug. They have to hold me up and my feet drag across the floor as we leave the apartment.
The elevator door is open and waiting, the unfamiliar operator pressing the buttons for the lowest garage level where deliveries come in.
And then I just… fade away.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE - MASON
I come to a few times before I really have enough sense to realize I’m awake. It takes a few more times before I remember what happened and another thirty seconds to open my eyes and realize I’m… at home. In bed.
I turn over, trying to see my clock, and then groan loudly. “Fuuuuuck.” Because my head is pounding.
No clue what happens to time after that. It just fades because the next time I wake up it’s dark and it wasn’t the last time I opened my eyes.
“Lyssa,” I whisper.
I reach for her. Hopeful that I was just dreaming. That we never woke up, never walked through the park or went up to her apartment.
But the bed is empty except for me.
“Lyssa,” I moan. “What the fuck happened?”
Her stepfathe
r. I remember now. Her stepfather was waiting when we walked in. I guess that asshole really does have a team of mercenaries. Because they shot me with something.
I pat my chest with my eyes closed, checking for a wound. Then remember I was hit in the neck.
“Ahhh,” I groan. Yeah. That hurts when I touch it. A swollen lump has risen up from the muscle.
When I finally have enough coordination and sense to sit up and swing my feet over the side of the mattress, I have to hold my head in my hands to handle the throbbing.
I glance at the clock. It says five AM.
But the date is what stops me cold. Three days. I’ve been out for three days.
That motherfucker could’ve killed me.
My stomach is rumbling. My mouth is dry. I could’ve died of dehydration.
And he took Lyssa.
Oh, I am just pissed off now.
When I can walk I go straight for the bathroom and gulp water from the sink. Then turn on the shower and sit in it until I almost feel normal.
The next time I look at the clock I’m pulling on clothes and it says it’s past six now.
I need to get out to that estate. I can still get her before the wedding. Still save her like I promised.
What must she think of me right now?
My cell rings and I realize it’s on the kitchen counter.
‘Blocked Call’ lights up on the screen.
But I don’t need to see a name to know who’s calling. I tab accept and say, “What?”
“I’m very happy you’re awake, Mr. Macintyre.”
“You motherfucker,” I say. “Where’s Lyssa?”
“She’s at home. Where she belongs.”
“You can’t just drug people and then take them against their will.”
“No,” he says. “I suppose that would be a very bad idea. Probably be considered kidnapping. Probably spend a lot of time in prison for that. You would know, right? You kidnapped her the weekend before last. You’re practically a pro at kidnapping.”
“You hired me, you piece of shit.”
“I did no such thing.”
“Lyssa knows—”
“Lyssa knows, yes. She has described her encounters with you in great detail. I never pegged you as a rapist, Macintyre. I should’ve done a better background check.”
Rapist. Kidnapper.
So that’s the game he wants to play.
“What the fuck do you want?” I ask.
“Just stay away, Mason. That’s it. You got your money. Your mother is getting her treatment. Leave it alone. Your job is done and I’m sorry for drugging you, but Lyssa has a destiny and you are not part of it.”
No. I shake my head and lean against the kitchen counter. No. This isn’t how it ends.
“You’re sick, you know that?” I say.
“I’m just her father, Mason. I love her.”
“You love her?” I say.
“Of course. She’s my most precious possession in the entire world. And I’ve spent the last twenty years putting this plan in place.”
“What plan?”
“Hm,” he says. And I can tell he’s smiling. Maybe even laughing. “I’m afraid that’s my personal business, son. But your job is done, you did it well. She’s better. Thank you for that. She morphed right back into the compliant little girl I need her to be now.”
“What?”
“So be a good boy now and just run along. Forget about my daughter. Believe me, she has forgotten about you. She’s home now. In her room. Happy and content being… herself.”
“No,” I say. “That’s not her. I don’t know what you did, but that’s not her. I saw the real her that first night I met her. Everything else… that’s you.”
“Hmmm,” he says again. I know what that noise means now. Not just smiling or laughter. It’s satisfaction. “Bye, Mason. Thank you for breaking her for me.”
And the call fails.
What the fuck just happened?
I stumble back into the bedroom and sit on the bed. Feeling sick to my stomach over the part I played in his disgusting plan.
I kidnapped her from her normal life. Her normal self. And I took her back to him. I did everything he wanted me to.
I broke her.
I did that.
On purpose.
For him.
“Oh, fuck.” I lean over and prop my head in my hands.
And that’s when I see her stupid unicorn backpack. Kinda peeking out from under a towel near the bathroom. I must’ve tossed the towel on the floor and it landed on the backpack.
I get up, grab it, and sit back down. Open it up and start pulling out sexy underwear. Her sick fuck of a stepfather probably has her dressed in cotton panties and training bras by now. Knee-high tube socks and pigtails.
I reach for the last sexy bra and find… a cell phone?
She had a cell phone? Where did she get a cell phone? Her purse… she left that in the bar. She sure as fuck didn’t have it in the van.
It’s a very old flip phone. A burner phone, I realize. And there’s a list of missed message notifications on her home screen.
Daddy. They are all from Daddy.
I close my eyes and pray I don’t see something I can’t unsee. Then open them again and press the message to bring up the full stream.
And I lean over and puke right on my floor.
There are pictures of her. She was sending him daily pictures from that princess room. And there are messages to go with them.
Her father’s messages start out innocent enough. How are you doing? Feeling better? I’m so glad you’re safe now.
And Lyssa’s responses are wild and angry, as they should be. Fuck you. I hate you. I hope you rot in hell.
But as the days go on, they change. Hers, not his.
His are all the same. I miss you. I’m glad you’re safe. I’m so glad you’re home where we can take care of you.
But hers… hers lose all the fight with each passing day.
I don’t feel right. I want to go home. Please don’t do this.
And his… Send me a photo, Princess. So I know you’re getting better.
Which she does. Just her pouty face.
At first.
But then her messages morph into, I won’t be bad anymore. I promise. I’ll do what you want. I’ll be good from now on.
And his stay the same. Send me a photo, Princess. So I know you’re getting better.
Then hers become… I miss you. Will you come see me?
And the pictures that follow are not just of her face. And she no longer needs his prompting.
She sends them on her own.
I want to throw this phone at the wall. I even raise my arm up to do that when logical me takes over.
No.
I can use this this. I can use this to free her. There has to be something in this phone that will help me do that.
There is a way to fix this, I just need to think clearly and figure it out. Put all the information I gathered about her and from her and come up with the real reason why all this shit is happening.
So I pace in front of my windows and start from the beginning. Putting the pieces together like a puzzle. Like Lyssa is one of my bond jumpers and it’s my job to figure out where she is and how to get her in my possession.
First clue. Lyssa in the bar. Gold-dress Lyssa. Wild Thing Lyssa.
That was the real her. Not the one I found in the files in that office, because that’s yet some other version of Lyssa I don’t understand yet.
That girl who danced and laughed. That girl who fought back and kneed me in the balls. Punched me in the face and did everything she could to get away from me that night. That was the real deal.
She is the Wild Thing. But that’s not bad. That’s good, actually.
Second clue. Lyssa at the house. She changed into someone else almost immediately after her stepfather showed up.
I helped her. I feel horrible about that. I played right into her stepfather’s
scheming and helped her change.
The punishments. My doing. The kid clothes and food, his doing. But I delivered them to her. Just like I was supposed to.
And now that I’ve seen these messages on this phone, some of that makes sense.
But not all of it.
Because there’s the third clue. The long criminal record.
I have no doubt that record is real. No doubt at all. It’s just everything about those charges… that’s fake. I know it. It’s got to be fake. That’s not my Lyssa. That’s not any version of Lyssa I can imagine.
Then the fourth clue. The deed to the house.
This is the part I can’t prove and need to. This is the part—if my suspicions are correct—that will make this whole disgusting thing make sense.
And then what?
I think about this for a few seconds. My heart thumping inside my chest.
The last clue came from Lyssa herself when we were walking through the park towards her apartment.
That. That right there is the last piece of this puzzle.
Now… what do I do with it?
I have a friend who writes wedding announcements in the paper for socialites in the city. I haven’t seen her in a while but when I call her and tell her what I need to know—did they get married early? Or is this wedding still happening on Saturday?—she’s willing to give that information up for nothing.
No. The wedding is on schedule as planned.
Which means I have time.
Her stepfather is pretty damn sure of himself. Pretty damn certain I won’t show up last minute and make everything go to hell because I haven’t heard a word from him or any of his associates since that last call.
He is untouchable, after all. He said that to my face.
But no one is untouchable.
Not even him.
I just need to find someone just as powerful who might take my side.
Good thing I hunt people for a living.
Maybe I’m not the good guy I made myself out to be when Lyssa and I were together, but there’s people out there worse than me, that’s for sure.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR - LYSSA
I see my stepfather. His mouth is moving and I’m pretty sure words are coming out.