Her movements became more natural; she stopped thinking about how to dance and let her arms and hips move on their own, knowing she was doing something right from Leila’s approving smile.
Soon Leila was dancing with a strange man, but Mary didn’t care. She kept dancing, kept enjoying the rare moment where worry didn’t weigh heavily on her heart and spirit. Now, she could be sexy, could finally feel good about herself and let others see—
A hand grabbed the back of her shirt and pulled her back, causing her to stumble. Layers of dancers gyrated between her and Leila, whose eyes were on the redheaded man she swayed with. Good. Mary didn’t want her to worry.
She turned to face whoever had grabbed her.
It was the dark man. She’d been right—his eyes were as black as the starless sky outside.
Mary didn’t care that her head didn’t quite reach his shoulder, or how he was almost twice as wide as her. She shoved him back, hard. She was done being manhandled. No man would ever touch her again without her permission. He actually stumbled, and he smiled. It was a real smile, with dimples that could barely be seen from behind his stubble.
“Don’t—”
You won’t be able to hear me, he signed.
He could sign?
You and your sister need to leave.
She sent him her most intimidating glare. Why?
That man put something in her drink.
Her stomach lurched. She looked over to her sister. Her moves, normally so graceful, had turned sloppy. Her eyelids drooped. The redhead leered.
Mary grabbed Dark Man’s hand, intending to lead the way to Leila. When the dancers didn’t move, Dark Man shouldered his way through, clearing them a path. He didn’t let go of Mary’s hand, his calloused fingers swallowing hers.
When they reached Leila, she was swaying on her feet. Mary wrapped an arm around her, struggling to support her sister’s slight weight. She internally chastised herself for never attempting to lift weights.
Then the weight was lifted. Thor had cradled Leila in his arms as if she were a guarded treasure. Good. The man’s gaze on Leila was tender. That is the type of man she should go for. Mary approved.
Dark Man had the redheaded dancer by the neck, was forcing another path to the door of the club. Mary followed, Thor and Leila beside her. The last man trailed behind their group, his gaze hot on Mary’s back.
When they stepped out the door, Mary felt like she’d just left a bubble of chaos. Relief sagged her shoulders, quickly replaced by indignation as she looked at her sister, now sleeping in Thor’s arms.
“You asshole!” she shouted, marching over to the redheaded man and kneeing him right between the legs. “I’ve had it with men like you. Do you hear me? This city is not big enough for people like you. Stop being a dick or leave.”
I have some serious pent-up anger. She surprised herself.
Dark Man, who still had a hold on the man, smiled at her. The lean man looked at Dark Man strangely with eyes the color of pine needles. Thor laughed, his big body causing Leila to shake. She didn’t stir.
“I’m Alex,” Thor said, adjusting to hold Leila with one hand as he held the other out to Mary. She shook it, smiling sheepishly.
“That’s Heath.” Alex gestured to the green-eyed man. “And Raphael.”
Raphael. The name seemed so fitting, Mary felt like she’d already known it. “I’m Mary, and that’s my sister Leila.”
“I’ll see you two home,” Alex replied. “My car isn’t too far from here.”
Even when she’d been in college, Mary never allowed men she met in bars to come home with her. But she couldn’t carry Leila home herself, and the way Alex held Leila told her everything she needed to know about the man. There was no faking that level of gentleness, not from a man who could obviously snap them both in two without breaking a sweat.
Mary wished Raphael would join his friend, but his focus was on the slumped-over redheaded man. Raphael had been angry in Thump; now he was furious.
“I’m going to take care of this bastard.” A muscle flexed at his jaw as Raphael spoke.
“I’ll help,” Heath said, his voice quiet.
“No.” Raphael didn’t spare him a glance. “I won’t let you—fine,” he gritted out. His eyes were on Mary.
Knowing they were about to part, she rushed forward and placed a kiss on his cheek. He was rough and warm and smelled clean, like soap and spices. “Thank you for helping us.” Immediately, she knew why she whispered. She wanted the closest thing she could have to a moment alone with him.
There was a connection between them, so close to being tangible she could almost see it in the damp heat of the night.
Raphael seemed speechless, but his gaze was hungry. Finally, he nodded.
Mary forced herself turned her heel on Raphael and Heath, following Alex over the cracked streets as he led her and Leila home.
* * * *
The name the man gave Raphael was Phil, although Raphael didn’t bank on it being his real name. He suspected this man was Leon, a name that had come up more than once when he asked thugs for the identity of their boss.
Men wouldn’t give the name of someone who truly scared them, like someone high up in this syndicate, and this man had been attempting to find these women off the streets. Guaranteed, Leon’s boss did not touch the girls while they were still out in the open.
Raphael watched the man with distaste. He whimpered like a baby, one of his eyes swelling shut.
“Tell me your real name, or I’ll take that eye out.”
“No, he won’t,” Heath said from beside him, just loud enough for Raphael to hear.
Raphael fought the urge to bodily toss his friend from the small, windowless room that used to be a large pantry for the firemen.
The man moaned. Raphael punched him in the other eye.
Tears ran down his cheeks. “Leon,” he cried. “I’m Leon.”
Progress. Raphael smiled without humor. “Leon, tell us about what you do with the girls once they’re drugged.”
He shook bodily, his tears now forming streams down his face. “I don’t know, man,” he sobbed. “I only take them where I’m told to, tie them up, and then leave. I don’t see them again.”
“You’ve been drugging girls and leaving them helpless for how long?” Heath said, his voice quiet but lethal. He turned to Raphael. “This is why you were killing humans?”
Raphael shrugged.
“You should have told us.”
Raphael pointed to Leon. “We need to deal with him now. We can talk about the rules later.” He looked at the now-whimpering man. “Tell us what you know.”
An hour later, Raphael knew Leon was a go-between who received instructions followed by payments from his boss, instructions meant for Leon’s own men, all of whom were dead. Leon had to find a woman in a certain age bracket, based on a certain description, and deposit her where he was told. Rarely did he have the same type of woman to find, or the same address to take her to.
The address where Leon had intended to leave Leila was in Raphael’s hand.
Heath took a wicked-looking dagger from a hole in his jeans as he walked swiftly toward Leon.
The man cringed, waiting for his deathblow.
Raphael held out a hand, putting himself in the path of Heath’s knife. “We can’t kill him.”
“You killed the others!” Heath shouted indignantly. “You were right, they deserved it. You deserve death,” he said to Leon, menace lacing every word. He raised his knife again.
“I didn’t kill them.”
The knife dropped. “What?”
“I followed the rules,” Raphael said truthfully. “I hurt each one of them, badly, but it wasn’t I who dealt the killing blows.”
He’d never dreamed of killing a human, a creature so beneath his level of raw power that the death would be akin to squashing a bug. More importantly, once he’d finished with Leon’s men there was no reason to kill them. Had they lived, they wou
ld have been far too scared to so much as accidentally bump into a woman, much less kidnap another.
Heath crouched low, rubbing a hand down his face. “Whoever it was, they have to know who we are, the rules we follow.”
Raphael nodded. “They’re trying to get me killed.”
Chapter 2
As Mary made eggs-in-baskets, Leila put on coffee and tea. Their first houseguest, Alexandre Henri Villeneuve, talked and signed at them animatedly as he ignored the Saturday morning cartoons he’d insisted they put on. He paid special attention to Leila, who seemed both embarrassed and thrilled.
“Thank you again for letting me crash on your couch,” he said.
It was so nice of you to look after us, Leila signed. It’s nice to have a guy around.
Alex had insisted on staying over, just in case someone else came for Leila. Mary had wanted to protest, but Leila had been in enough danger in her life. If Alex, an almost total stranger, helped her feel safe, he could come over whenever he wanted. Besides, Mary knew she could trust him. No one who looked like Alex could be anything but kind. He had the anti-bitch face. He looked and acted like Thor’s carefree surfer brother.
“For me?”
At Mary’s nod, Alex released a high-pitched “Yay!” and settled himself at Mary and Leila’s small bar. Mary stacked three pieces of toast, each with an egg cooked in the middle, on his plate. The other two she gave to Leila.
Aren’t you eating anything? Leila signed, frowning.
“I’m not hungry,” Mary lied. She was starving, but Richard’s cold words rang through her head. “I don’t pay fat people because they don’t need to eat.”
She put a bit of honey in her tea to cut the bitter taste. As she sipped, she watched Alex and Leila. They both kept their eyes on each other, smiling when their eyes would meet. When Alex, his plate now cleared, reached for a piece of Leila’s breakfast, she stopped him with a fork to the hand. I’ll eat your arm off, she signed, smiling wickedly.
Alex held up his hands in defeat, grinning.
Her sister deserved more joy in her life. She loved her classes, and would be hired to dance once she was out of school, but she struggled socially. Now, a gorgeous man who knew how to sign was paying attention to her. As he should. What a win for her sister!
Despite her happiness, she released a sigh. Never had someone looked at her as Alex currently looked at Leila.
Mary hadn’t dated since her parents died. Because of the jobs she’d kept, there simply was no time. Maybe, when Leila was out of school and they were out of the Van Otterloo’s house, she would find someone nice. Someone she would always want to be around, someone who could make her smile even when she didn’t want to.
Someone like Raphael, she couldn’t stop herself from thinking.
Before any of that could happen, she had to get to work. She needed to take care of Molly until this afternoon, and then wait on the men before and after dinner. “I have to get going,” she told Leila and Alex. “Please feel free to stay as long as you like,” she added, smiling at him.
We’ll see you out, Leila signed, following her to the door. I want Alex to glimpse inside the McMansion.
Leila loved to sit on the bench outside the carriage house and wave until Mary made it inside. Mary knew she also liked to see the glamor that was the inside of the home; she was sure they didn’t own a single knickknack worth less than ten thousand dollars, a notion that caused her to take great care when she worked.
When Mary took the short path to main house, she was surprised to see Richard waiting for her at the door.
“You had a man stay the night,” he said. His normally handsome face was mottled with red. She could have sworn his eyes turned from brown to black, his normally straight white teeth forming sharp, yellowed points.
“Yes.” She wouldn’t apologize. She wouldn’t let this man scare her anymore.
“That is not allowed,” he spat, inventing the asinine rule on the spot. “You belong to me.”
She stepped toward him, angling her chin up. “No, I work for you. You don’t own me.”
A hard slap cut across her face. Lights blinked in front of her eyes; the pain dazed her. She felt blood drip from beneath her left eye.
Never in her life had she been hit. I will not cry. After everything Richard had said and done, she should have expected this. I will not cry.
Only one more year of this. I will not cry.
She looked out the window at Alex and Leila. Had they seen? She was so ashamed; she desperately hoped the tall shrubbery blocked their view.
Leila seemed untroubled, signing to Alex excitedly. For a split second Alex’s eyes met Mary’s, his gaze uncharacteristically hard. He shook his head slightly.
Leila hadn’t seen, and he wouldn’t tell her.
Thanking God for small favors, she tried to brush past Richard for the pajama stairs that led to Molly’s room.
Richard grabbed her wrist in a punishing hold. “You’re going to regret crossing me,” he promised. He smiled, his teeth still appearing impossibly sharp as he let her go.
* * * *
A few hours later, Mary’s cheek still stung. When she first walked into Molly’s playroom, the four-year-old reached out a small hand and touched her face, asking, “What dis, May Wee?”
Mary told her to always be careful when playing catch. Richard’s action made her scared and ill, washing away any trace of rebellion like a tidal wave. When she saw Molly, her anger came back. What will Richard expose this child to? She’d rarely seen him and the child in the same room together.
In this city, children were generally involved in their parents’ social scenes. The Van Otterloos were an exception—they kept people like Mary, and backups like Mary’s friend Thérèse, who was on staff as a maid, to ensure they had minimal contact with their child when she wasn’t in her preschool program.
It wouldn’t last. What would happen to Molly when she was older and no longer needed a nanny? Would Richard hit her when she mouthed off to him, as most teenagers would?
It’s not my place to save her. She should be safe for now, anyhow.
Mary knew she wouldn’t continue to work for this family in ten years. She had a feeling she would, however, find a way to check up on the child who was currently trying to draw a Jazz Fest poster, her brown ringlets swinging around her cherubic face.
Large, rich brown eyes looked up at her. “Do you like my picture?” she asked.
“I love it,” Mary said honestly. She knew the girl would be an artist someday, or something else wonderful. Molly could do no wrong.
As Molly moved from drawing to playing with Barbies, their smiling heads rolling, Mary’s thoughts turned to Raphael. The strangely handsome man looked like no one she’d ever seen before. He was pure male; he wore no jewelry except for wicked black rings on each finger of his right hand, and he had a deep tan that obviously wasn’t courtesy of a bed or a bottle. His long black hair had been tied into a ponytail.
That ponytail made Mary want to change her stance on the man-bun debate. His body was large and honed in a rugged way, as if he did manual labor on a daily basis. Did he work on an oilrig?
“Why did Midge’s head come off?” Molly asked, interrupting Mary’s daydreams. She picked up the decapitated plastic head by her red hair, studying Midge closely.
“Because she didn’t drink enough milk,” Mary answered.
“Do I drink enough milk?”
“Yes.” Mary smiled. Molly loved nothing more than to ask endless streams of questions.
Mary wanted to ask Raphael a few herself. How did he know to watch over her and Leila? What had he and Heath done with the man who’d tried to drug her?
Why hadn’t Raphael left that man with his friends, and escorted Mary and Leila home himself? Alexandre was nice—and more importantly, seemingly trustworthy—but he didn’t command Mary’s attention like Raphael. Alex made her want to give him a hug, not leap into his arms and beg for a kiss she’d never be
able to forget.
I really need to go on a date.
From Richard’s reaction to Alex, dating wouldn’t be in the cards for a long time. As if I’ll ever see Raphael again anyway. She sighed. She would probably have to ask Alex not to come back.
Leila would be furious, and Mary wouldn’t blame her.
Again, her anger had left her, leaving her feeling helpless. She couldn’t do anything about Richard. This was too great of a job to leave, despite its drawbacks.
She had a safe home, which Richard had the key to. She earned what most people with Master’s degrees earned per year for watching a child. The loans for her sister’s tuition were being slowly, steadily paid off. At this rate, Leila would begin her working life debt-free.
It would be selfish to leave only because she was unhappy—because her boss had hit her, and would again—or because Mary had no control over her life.
She could put up with anything for Leila, and for only another year, when she would hopefully have sixty more to enjoy? She would stay. One more year. Her stomach clenched, and she gagged. Her body physically rejected the idea. Tough shit, Newman. Life is hard, but it’ll only make you stronger.
“Does Mom drink enough milk?” Molly asked.
“I’m sure she does.”
“Daddy said she gots no head no more. She needs milk?”
Cold, stark fear lanced through Mary. “Your mom has a head, silly,” she said, smiling tightly. “It’s up on her shoulders just like yours.”
“I don’t think so, but milk will fix her.” Molly nodded decisively.
Mary wished it would. Natasha can’t be dead. Richard wouldn’t kill anyone, would he?
She remembered his teeth, and the way his ringless hand had cut deeply into her cheek.
Had her boss killed his wife, and then bragged to his daughter? Mary had seen Natasha two nights ago, but she’d been absent from last night’s dinner. Had Natasha been dead this whole time?
Deep down, she knew Richard was a monster.
She found it hard to breathe, dark spots clouding her vision. She raised her knees, resting her forehead against them, her long hair forming a curtain around her. A small hand patted her shoulder.
Punished Page 2