I had to stay calm. Breathe. “You’re in control of your mind now, Oliver. We are going to get out of here, get Kaya somewhere safe, then do whatever we can to stop Henry Lowen from ever hurting another person.”
Oliver wasn’t listening. He was bee-lining to the scotch with blinders on, not wanting to look around the room at the countless memories I could tell were being awakened in him. He put the bottle to his lips and drank heartily.
I went on, mostly talking to keep myself together. “We need to find clothes so we can blend in. Get some of those camo getups the guards are wearing. You must have a stash of stuff in here, Oliver. And there must be some food somewhere.”
I let my voice trail off. Oliver was staring at the thick drapes covering the window. “This place really is a fucking prison,” he said dismally.
I crossed the room, gently taking the bottle from his hands.
“Yes. It is,” I agreed.
“Why didn’t I see that?” he said, his tone thick with guilt and sadness. “Why did I think this was okay? Hell Luke, I wanted to marry her, to keep her here. I took advantage of a young girl who depended on me for her safety, and I thought it was okay because I loved her. What on earth was wrong with me? What have I done?”
I took a swig of the scotch, silently agreeing with his every word.
“I went along with it,” Oliver continued. “With everything. Good Lord, I didn’t give her one second of freedom. Not even in her own bed.”
His gaze travelled to the door nestled beside the bookcase. It was there Kaya had slept. I gulped down a queasy feeling—and it wasn’t from the scotch. Oliver was shaking now, his chest rising and falling, hands balled into fists. His eyes met mine for a moment, and they were about to spill over.
“This whole time, she wasn’t safe… from me,” he choked out. “I was just as bad as her father. I should have… I should have known better.”
The big lug fell to the floor with a thud. Down on his knees he went, body slumped forward as he cradled his head in his hands. Was he crying? Oh, dear Lord, please no. I could handle angry Oliver, jealous Oliver, sick and vomiting Oliver, but not this.
Man. I really wished I hated him.
Oliver sniffed, rubbing irritably at his nose. “I should have taken her away, like she wanted. She begged me to take her away, but I was too loyal to Henry. If I would have listened to her, opened my eyes to what was going on, we wouldn’t be in this mess. We wouldn’t be… she would—Oh my God.”
I took another swig. “Oh, shut up,” I said. “No more ‘coulda, shoulda, woulda’ from you. What’s done, is done. It’s blatantly obvious that you realize your mistakes and have learned from them. So, time to forgive yourself, all right? I mean listen, we’ve both screwed up. Done stupid things. Heck, Oliver, after my mother committed suicide, I ended up selling drugs and moving in with a child molester, which resulted in having my little sister hurt and taken from me. Then I kidnapped a girl, too. Do you hear me, knucklehead? Kidnapped a girl. So, we are both guilty of doing wrong. But I know Kaya understands why we did the things we did. I have to believe that in my heart or I might as well just lie down on the floor next to your pitiful face and drown myself in scotch.”
With an eyebrow arched and a stunned expression, Oliver’s pity party ended instantly. He nodded toward the bottle in my hands.
“Didn’t you used to have a drinking problem?” he asked.
The sip I was about to take never made it to my lips. Instead I thrust out my hand to pull Oliver to his feet and handed him back the scotch. My mouth and racing mind were watering for more of the liquid fire that turned my insides out and numbed my emotions. But I needed my wits about me, and booze wouldn’t help. It sure hadn’t in the past anyway.
“Thanks,” he said shaking off his meltdown and capping the bottle.
“That’s what friends are for.”
Oliver cleared his throat. “Apparently you are. One. Err, friend. I guess.”
I had to laugh. “So, what now, Bestie?”
Oliver huffed. “I tell you what. I won’t call you Golden Boy, and you don’t call me Bestie. Ever again. Never. Ever.”
I had to laugh. “Got it.”
Now we were both staring at the curtains.
“Day or night?” Oliver asked.
There wasn’t the slightest suggestion of either, and I feverishly hoped these windows weren’t painted over, too. “Are we putting money on it?”
“I have none,” he said.
“Have you ever had any?”
“Nope.”
“Have you even had any other girlfriend besides Kaya?” I asked.
He seemed uncomfortable. “Uh, no.”
“Any other job?”
Oliver shook his head. “What does this have to do with the time of day?”
I shrugged. “Just makes me understand you a little better.”
Oliver cleared his throat. “You don’t gotta understand nothing but this; if it’s day, you shower first. If it’s night, I shower first and get first dibs on the stash of granola bars in the mini fridge, and you don’t judge me when I get to the bottom of that scotch afterward. And—”
“Oh c’mon, Oliver.”
“—and I get the couch. You get the bed.”
The thought of sleep buckled my knees. The thought of sleeping in Kaya’s bed made my mouth go dry. “Fine.”
Oliver reached for the heavy velvet drapes, pulling them aside just a bit, enough to see the glare from the light inside the room hitting the window—and the shadow of the heavy iron bars behind them. We both gulped; it really was a fucking prison.
“All dark,” Oliver said, uncapping the scotch. “No sun. But no stars either.”
We had interrupted Dan binge-watching Game of Thrones, so he was already irritated when he answered the door, then completely horrified when he recognized my face.
“Good Lord, child,” he said anxiously scanning the towering trees and the long stretch of empty road behind us. “It's after midnight. What are ya doin’ here?”
He didn’t invite me and Thomas in or bother with formalities. Just stared at me—his ex-boss’s very wanted daughter—like I’d just killed Daenerys’ dragon.
“I need your help,” I said, snow falling on my shoulders, shivering, feet soaking wet from walking all day. Dan’s log house on the outskirts of town hadn’t been easy to find or get to. Perched on a steep incline with a backyard stretching up the side of a mountain, his home was remote and nicer than I’d thought. When he finally did invite us in, the warmth and coziness of it began to soothe my frayed nerves.
“Anyone see you come here?” Dan asked, rubbing his bald head, slipping a dead bolt in place behind us.
“No. I swear.”
“The police have been here, and your dad’s men, and your dad himself. All was askin’ about you. Digging through my house and turning over everythin’. Whatcha gone and done, Miss Lowen? Got yerself in a whole mess of trouble, have ya?”
I could see a couch in his quaint living room, thick and inviting, with popcorn on the table next to it. It was all I could do to continue standing in the threshold of his home and not make a beeline for the couch. I felt oddly hot and cold and a deep shiver kept rolling up and down my spine.
“Miss Lowen?”
“The only thing I’m guilty of is not wanting to go back to my cage,” I said, needing badly to sit down.
Thomas’s hand pressed against the small of my back, steadying me as he spoke. “We mostly just need a place to rest for a while. It’s been a long day. We would be so incredibly grateful for your help.”
I could hear the fatigue in Thomas’s words, but I leaned into him anyway, sighing with relief when his arm stretched across my back and pulled me tight. He was holding me up.
Dan sucked on his teeth and adjusted the waistband of his flannel pajamas. Making the decision to let us in was hard for him. “You know, I always thought it ain’t no way for a kid to live. Cooped up like that. Like you is. You got
no public schoolin’, or friends, or nothing that kids should have. It ain’t done ya much good now, has it?”
“No.” I agreed.
He ushered us into his home, and I could have fallen over with relief. My socks made wet prints across the floor to his kitchen table. He asked us to sit while he started a pot of coffee. Then, he locked every door and covered every window. When he joined us, so did a box of Oreos that tasted so good I thought I’d died and gone to cookie heaven.
“So, why is yer daddy so hell bent on rippin’ the town apart to find ya?” Dan asked, stirring his coffee… and stirring and stirring… “How on earth did you find me?”
My head spun with every turn of his spoon, I was mesmerized by the movement.
“Kaya,” Thomas prompted, watching me with concern before gesturing at the fourth cookie I’d taken, but only mangled into a crumbling mess and forgotten to eat. “Dan asked you something.”
“Oh. Sorry. Yeah, Georgia,” I said, meeting Dan’s curious stare. “Your daughter. I recognized the earrings she was wearing. The ones I gave you the night you snuck me out to the Derrick bar. And as for my dad, he’s just an asshole. It’s all about money. Always has been. You know that, Dan.”
“Hmmm. But he’s got a real bee in his bonnet. Something’s under his skin, and it’s more than a couple of bucks.”
“Yeah. Because I’m worth a billion of those bucks,” I said flatly.
Dan turned white, then pink, then red, then shoved an entire cookie in his mouth.
“I need you to hide me. Please. I have nowhere to go,” I said.
Dan munched and took a very long time to swallow. Then he shook his bald head. “Can’t do that. Sorry, Miss Lowen.”
Thomas wearily put down his coffee. “Every hotel and motel in town is under watch. We have nowhere to go.”
The glasses Dan was wearing made his eyes bigger. Like a fish. Bulging. Like a fish squirming on a hook, caught and dangling… spinning… squirming… I had to look away, at anything else.
“Do you know what would happen to me if I got caught hiding her?” Dan said, jutting his chin in my direction. “I gots three kids to care fer, and all I know how to do is drive for a livin’. I went from being a well-paid limo driver to pizza delivery man. Henry ruined me the last time I helped her, and heaven knows he don’t give second chances. So I’m sorry, but you folks is on yer own.”
“I can pay you.” My words flopped all over the table, lighting up Dan’s fish-bulging eyeballs. “My jewelry bought you this house. Imagine what my cold hard cash could do.”
Dan pushed his glasses farther up his nose. “Keep talkin’.”
“When I turn twenty-one, I will inherit—”
“Whoa there,” he put up his hands to cut me off and was shaking his head again. “That’s a long way away.”
I struggled to remain calm and upright. “Not really.”
“Uh, I’m sorry, Miss Kaya. I can’t risk it. Now, finish up yer coffee, and I’ll make ya a couple of sandwiches for the road. Ya best be on yer way. It could be worse than losing my job if yer daddy finds you here. The only reason I’m still livin’ after that Derrick incident is because I have history with him.”
My heart sank. Thomas reached over and put his hand on mine, but I had to pull away—his affection and understanding would only encourage the tears behind my eyes. Also, his hands were so cold. Like ice. It didn’t mix well with the strange unsteadiness and odd thickness in my head. Cloudy vision was making my temples throb. It made me question what I was seeing when a figure appeared in the kitchen doorway and pointed in my direction.
“You’re that girl I gave Dad’s address to.”
I blinked hard—floral pajamas, messy blonde curls, piercing brown eyes puffy with sleep, and bad teeth.
“Hi, Georgia,” I said, struggling with my tongue.
Crossing her arms over her chest, she glared. “You tricked me. You’re not here to give away squat.”
No point lying. We couldn’t stay here anyway. “Yes. And I’m sorry. I’m desperately in need of some help, and your father was the only person I could think to ask.”
Dan sat back and crossed his arms over his chest, too. “Uh Georgia, this is Kaya Lowen,” he said.
Georgia rolled her eyes. “Yeah, Dad, I kinda figured that out from listening to the entire conversation through these paper-thin walls. Thought she’d look different, though.” My ratty appearance was assessed and then Thomas received the once over, too. “And who are you?”
Thomas absently dragged a hand through his hair. “The name is Thomas. I’m Kaya’s uh, friend.”
Georgia’s piercing gaze returned to me. “So, you’re the one they say is locked up all the time at the estate and never allowed out?”
“They are correct—whoever they are.”
“You have bodyguards?”
“Had,” I corrected.
“And one of them was Oliver, right?” There was a shift in her eyes at the mention of his name. “Yes.”
“And you’re runnin’ away?”
I couldn’t help but sigh. “I’m trying to.”
“Huh,” Georgia said. Her eyes stayed fixed on my face. “I’m eighteen. Same age as you,” she said. “You know, some people around here think you don’t really exist, but I knew you did because Dad told me about you. Are you running away because you’ve got it bad there?”
I took in the cozy house with family pictures everywhere, drawings and notes pasted to the cupboards, counter full of cookies and fruits, and I imagined that Georgia had a fairly good upbringing with her single dad.
“There’s a bit more to it than that,” I said, swallowing back the sudden desire to tell her everything—that my mother was a monster and now dead, that I killed a man, that Ben died because of me and that the refrigerator in this kitchen seemed too loud… and didn’t Gwen Stefani have a song about a refrigerator? Sweet Escape? “Let’s just say that if I get taken back to the estate, I will have to kill myself before I turn twenty-one.”
Dan cleared his throat. Thomas choked on his coffee. Georgia just stared, eyes laser focused as if peering into my mind. “Why is that?”
“Money. Power. Both falling into the hands of those who will abuse it and use it to hurt people.”
Thomas gulped hard.
Dan regained his composure and rolled his shoulders. “Sorry you’re in this predicament, Miss Lowen, but I can’t help you.”
Georgia turned on her father. “What? That’s all you have to say, Dad? Did you not hear what Kaya Lowen just told you?”
“Shush now, Georgia,” Dan said. “They’re leavin’. We don’t want no trouble from Henry.”
To my shock, Georgia shook her head of curls, rounded the table, and came to stand behind me. Her lemon-scented hand clamped down on my shoulder.
“No, Dad. My bedtime stories used to be about this girl’s life and how she was treated like some piece of property. She’s no different than me, ya know. Remember how you always used to say that you’d like to bring her home ‘cause you felt sorry for her?”
Dan shifted nervously in his chair. “That was years ago.”
“Well, the only thing that’s changed over the years around here is money, and from what I recall, she’s the reason we have this house and why Jeremy and Leah were able to go off to college. It hasn’t changed who we are. We have to help her.”
Georgia remained behind me, hand not budging from my shoulder, staring her father down, and although it was clear Dan didn’t agree with her, his face was beaming with pride when she spoke.
“We are going to do the right thing,” Georgia said. “She can have Leah’s bedroom for as long as she wants. It’s the least we can do.”
Dan sighed heavily, but eventually he nodded his head in agreement.
Georgia victoriously clapped her hands like we were about to have a slumber party and braid each other’s hair.
“Thank you, so much,” I said, wondering why my throat felt like I’d swallowed shards
of glass, and why Georgia’s blonde curls were swirling now too, winding and dangling from her head like little staircases leading to her scalp… the spoon in the coffee… the refrigerator singing…
Thomas stood from the table. He thrust his hand out to Georgia, took it firmly and sandwiched her petite palm between his. “Thank you so much,” he said.
Georgia melted. Her pink lips struggled to stay over her bad teeth. She started talking about sandwiches… what kind would Thomas like? She thought he looked hungry. I heard her ask me something, but the loud refrigerator had turned everything to mud in my ears. I was fading, resisting the urge to put my head down on the table and nod off. It was now one-thirty in the morning according to the clock above the stove. I stared at the second hand, imagining the noise it was making… tick… tick… tick… like a horse’s gait. Hooves in the snow. Ben… Ben had died. I’d shot a man in the barn. I’d let Luke believe I didn’t love him. I’d taken solace in Thomas’s arms for my own selfish needs. I was…
“Kaya?”
Thomas’s hand over mine was so cold it hurt, but it anchored me to the table while my body seemed to slide off the chair. I heard him mumble something about needing rest, and I didn’t resist when his arms moved under me. I felt strange. Hot and cold at the same time. Stomach queasy now too and swallowing really hurt.
“Good Lord, she’s burning up,” I heard Georgia say with a rushed and urgent tone. Was her hand on my forehead?
Voices. Swirling blonde curls. Cookies… the fridge yelling now… and I was in Thomas’s arms, moving past school portraits of Georgia and her siblings on the walls when Thomas released me onto a soft bed. “Was there something in that coffee?” I heard myself ask. “I feel weird.”
And then, nothing made sense.
I couldn’t tell if I was dreaming or awake.
There was a storm in my head, icy gusts making my heart jump out of my chest. I was dragging my feet, trying to outrun it, only to dig a trench with my toes and move deep into the blackness of the earth. I seemed to stay there a long while, until Thomas lifted me up and into a room cast in golden light. His voice, soothing and kind, melted the ice clinging to my skin and brought lavender painted walls into focus. He was putting wet cloths on my forehead and bitter liquids in my mouth. I watched him, needing to keep my eyes open because the moment I shut them, I saw the past; the musicians at the motel… what were their names? Thomas, what were their names? I can’t remember. I need to know their names…
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