by Sweet, Izzy
James looks at me. “I gave him a chance.”
I have no clue what he’s talking about. Absolutely none.
Lifting his fingers to his mouth, James blows a shrill whistle. “Oh, Mitzy, baby! Uncle Johnathan is here to play with you!”
“Fuck you, motherfucker!” Johnathan roars as Mitzy comes racing toward him from the living room.
“Uh… maybe we should head upstairs…” I say to Beth and Amanda as I turn away from the ridiculous scene.
I have no clue what that is all about, and I have a feeling that if we don’t leave now, we’ll be stuck watching the guys all day.
Snapping their jaws shut, both Beth and Amanda nod their heads.
“Don’t worry, Charlie, she doesn’t like the taste of little boys. She prefers big boys with dad bods that taste like french fries,” I hear James say behind us as we head up.
“Ah shit!” Johnathan curses as Mitzy starts to growl. “Call your fucking rat off, James.”
“No. Not until you take it back,” James says firmly.
“Um, they’re not going to kill each other, are they?” Amanda asks when we reach the upper landing and hear Johnathan let out another angry roar.
Beth and I both pause for a moment, looking at each other.
We both know it’s definitely a possibility…
I mean, I wouldn’t put it past either of them after what I just saw.
But we shake our heads for Amanda.
Smiling at Amanda, Beth makes a dismissive motion with her hand. “They should be fine.”
“Yeah, I made James agree that he wouldn’t kill Johnathan in front of Charlie,” I add.
“Did you?” Beth asks me with an amused smirk.
I nod my head, my own smirk curving my lips.
“That was smart.” Beth giggles at me then looks to Amanda. “We’re good.”
“Okay…” Amanda drawls out, looking at us both like we’ve suddenly turned into a couple of weirdos. Then she sighs and shakes her head. “Whatever.”
Taking a step to the side, she lets me take the lead.
Walking in front, I lead them up to James’s bedroom, thinking it will give us the most privacy until I hear them both gasp.
“Oh my god, what happened here?” Beth asks as she peeks into the room.
Shit. I totally forgot about the little fight James and I had before they got here.
The floor is covered in clothes, mostly my thongs, and half my toiletries are spilled on the bed.
I cringe. “Uh… it’s a funny story actually…”
Grabbing me by the shoulders, Beth turns me to face her and looks me hard in the eyes. “Sophia, I’m serious this time. Are you okay? Is everything okay?”
Amanda whips a switchblade out of nowhere and waves it around menacingly. “Yeah, do I need to cut his fucking balls off?”
Beth and I both look at her in shock.
Out of the three of us, Amanda has changed the most since we were kidnapped and sold by the Russians. Probably because she endured the most during our captivity.
I never saw what happened to her when we were separated.
What they did to her.
What was so bad that all she could do was cry and fall into an unresponsive stupor whenever one of the men tried to touch her…
And I don’t know all the gory details, but through Beth, I know enough to make me sick.
Sick to the very depths of my soul.
The friend standing in front of me now, the chick dressed all in black with all her glossy brown hair chopped off above her ears, waving a switchblade around with every intention of using it, is not the same girl that was grabbed that night with me. That sweet girl is gone, replaced by a woman that’s harder and stronger.
For better or worse.
“I’ll do it,” Amanda says, looking me dead in the eyes. Her eyes hard and shimmering with old, repressed rage. “Just tell me yes and it’s done.”
And I know she would.
There’s no doubt in my mind she’d chop James’s balls off for me if I asked.
Hell, she’d probably do it even if I didn’t ask for the fun of it.
“It’s not what you’re thinking…” I say softly.
“Then what is it?” she part asks, part demands, both of her brows lifting and her jaw tightening. “Because I still don’t understand what the fuck is going on. Or why the fuck Johnathan let him take you. It doesn’t make any sense to me.”
I glance at Beth, seeking a little help.
But she just looks at me as if she’d like to know too.
Unfortunately, I have no fucking clue what is going on or what any of this is. If they would have asked me two days ago, I would have told them that James was forcing his presence on me. That he was kidnapping me. That he was harassing me.
But today?
Today… fuck, I don’t even know what is going on today. Not after last night or this morning.
All I know is that I don’t completely hate him, and I believe he is being sincere with me.
Sincere when he says he wants to protect me and take care of me.
Something more is going on with what happened with my father. After all the stuff James showed me yesterday, I know something is going on.
And I need his help to figure it out.
Not knowing what to tell them, besides what James keeps saying to me, I simply say, “He’s keeping me safe.”
Amanda frowns and repeats, “Safe?”
I nod my head and sigh.
“What is he keeping you safe from?” Amanda asks.
When my face falls at the thought of trying to explain it, Beth glances sharply at Amanda.
Unspoken words pass between them. Words I can only guess at.
But whatever it is, Amanda gives her own sigh a second later and nods her head. Then she turns her attention back to me. “So he’s not hurting you? Just to be clear?”
I shake my head and feel my cheeks warming with heat. “No, he’s not hurting me.”
Not in the way she’s asking, at least.
Amanda scowls as if she’s not entirely convinced. “You’re sure?”
“Amanda,” Beth says sharply and frowns at her.
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. I’m just worried,” Amanda says and throws her hands up in front of her.
“Don’t be sorry, it’s fine. Really. I would be worried too if it was happening to either of you. Thank you for looking out for me,” I say, looking between them.
Hoping that will put an end to the whole thing.
They both smile at me.
Then Amanda looks down at the switchblade she’s still gripping. A thoughtful expression passes over her face before she retracts the blade and holds it out to me.
When I just glance at the switchblade in confusion, she takes a step forward and places it in my hand.
Curling my fingers around the handle, she holds her hand over my hand. For a heartbeat, the girl looking at me is the same silly, innocent girl I grew up with.
Then she fades away.
“I believe you.” Amanda says. “But I want you to have this just in case…”
Staring into her eyes, eyes that are no longer rock-hard but on the verge of cracking, I know she isn’t doing this lightly. Nor is she doing this to be insulting.
She’s giving me her switchblade because she honestly cares about me.
“Amanda,” I gasp and immediately try to give it back. “I can’t…”
I can’t take away her protection or what she keeps around so that she feels safe.
As if she knows exactly what I’m thinking, she shakes her head before shoving both of her hands in her pockets. “Don’t worry, I’ve got plenty more where that came from.”
When I continue to frown at her, she whips both hands out of her pockets, each gripping the handle of a switchblade.
Pressing the buttons at the same time, two blades snap up and she waves them around with a wicked grin.
“Oh my god,” Beth and I both g
asp at the same time, which only causes Amanda to cackle with dark joy.
When our initial shock finally fades away, Beth asks, “How many of those things do you have?”
Amanda stops waving the blades around and lifts the right one up to tap against her chin thoughtfully. “At least one for every pocket…”
Beth nods, as if she’s thinking that’s rather reasonable.
“And one strapped to each arm and leg.”
Beth nods again.
“Plus a couple of smaller ones hidden in my shoes and bra.”
Beth glances at me.
“Oh, and the surprise that’s in my panties.”
Beth jerks her attention back to Amanda. “Surprise in your panties? Do I even want to know?”
Amanda smirks. “Probably not because it’s between my legs.”
When Beth just looks at her with disturbed confusion, Amanda snickers and snaps her teeth.
Beth and I both squeal and jump back at the same time.
Which only causes Amanda to grin with more wicked glee.
“Amanda,” Beth says with wide eyes “Seriously?”
Amanda nods her head up and down.
Beth and I both giggle out of nervousness and share a look. A look that says we both think Amanda has gone batshit insane.
“Okay…” I drawl out after I finally stop giggling, totally done with the turn this conversation has taken. “Enough talk about knives and teeth...”
Beth nods at me in agreement. “Seriously.”
Sobering almost instantly at what I’m about to ask, I look at Amanda then her backpack. “Did you bring it?”
Humor vanishing as quickly as mine, Amanda clears her throat and nods her head. Then she carefully closes each switchblade before stuffing them in her pockets. “Yes. Just in case you wanted it.”
Do I want it? Do I want to do this now?
Can I even handle it?
What if… What if James has been lying to me?
But what if he’s been telling the truth?
“We don’t have to do anything,” Amanda adds as I hesitate. “I’ll keep it safe for you until you’re ready.”
Ignorance is bliss.
But it could also get someone else killed.
It’s tempting to put the whole thing off, but until when? When will I ever be ready to do this?
Probably never.
Besides, despite what my gut is telling me, there could be nothing.
I could be making a big deal out of this for no reason at all.
The only way to know is to look.
“I’m ready,” I say.
“Are you sure?” Amanda immediately asks, almost like she doesn’t want me to do this.
“We don’t have to do this now. I can always have Johnathan brings us back another day,” Beth chimes in.
I shake my head at that. “I’m sure.”
Amanda nods and Beth sighs.
Then Amanda looks around the bedroom. “Where do you want to do this?”
Biting my lip, I look around the room as well then point at the dresser. “There would probably be the best.”
Nodding again, Amanda heads over to the dresser to get set up while I close and lock the door behind us.
Taking a deep breath to steel myself, I walk over to Amanda as she pulls my father’s personal laptop out of her backpack and carefully sets it on the dresser.
“Were you able to figure out the passwords?” I ask, my breathing starting to race a little because of what we’re about to do.
Sometime during the first couple of days after my father’s death, while I was drowning and choking on my grief and misery, I had the sense of mind to entrust Amanda with my father’s laptop for safekeeping.
I don’t know if it was because I simply had a feeling about it, or because I caught a couple of the officers stationed at my house sniffing around my father’s study when they thought I wasn’t paying attention.
But even in my darkest hours, I knew it was important and had to be protected.
I just wasn’t in the right state to do anything about it at the time.
Hell, I don’t think I’m in the right state to do this now.
My heart pounds harder and harder with each step I take toward the dresser.
But again, if I don’t do it now, when?
After James gets me pregnant and I’m stuck with him?
“Yeah,” Amanda nods her head as she types in the password to get past the lock screen. “It wasn’t hard to crack them.”
When the desktop pops up, Amanda looks to me, her eyes full of sympathy and sadness. “The passwords are simply a combination of you and your mother’s names and birth dates.”
I squeeze my eyes shut for a second, fighting off the dark cloud of grief and loss that wants to swallow me up.
A hand touches my back, rubbing and trying to soothe me. Another one wraps around my arm in a version of a hug.
Opening my eyes, I force a smile for my two best friends, grateful to have them with me to do this.
Clearing my throat, I ask Amanda, “Did you read any of the files?”
She shakes her head. “No, I only cracked the passwords. It didn’t feel… right to read the files.”
Nodding, I turn my attention back to the computer.
Using the touchpad, Amanda navigates the pointer for me and clicks through a few layers of folders.
My father was a meticulous notetaker, so I’m not surprised to see he has folders and folders full of documents.
I remember when I was little, probably around five or six, I would find little scraps of paper and post-it notes all over the house with things scribbled on them. He would just write things down on whatever was around whenever a thought or idea struck him so he didn’t forget it later.
And almost everything he scribbled down had something to do with a case he was working on or helping with.
When I couldn’t read, it wasn’t a problem, because I had no idea what any of the scribbling meant. But the day I found an envelope with the words rape, torture, and strangulation on it and asked my mother what they meant, all hell broke loose.
My parents argued from time to time, of course, but the fight they had that day was the worst I had ever seen. My mother was beyond livid and even threatened to leave him to protect me.
It took my father agreeing to keeping his notes in a place I couldn’t find to appease her. When they made up, my mother went out and bought him a laptop the next day.
This very laptop.
Every case he’s ever worked on since then, all his notes, thoughts, and feelings about them, is right here, at our very fingertips.
“Here…” Amanda says thoughtfully and finally stops clicking. “This is what I think you were looking for.”
When I glance at the folder and see the name—Sophia Cronin—I immediately feel sick to my stomach.
My father was a man of truth, logic, and numbers, he possessed very little creativity. In fact, I’m pretty sure he preferred to live in reality and not fantasy. I don’t think I ever saw him read a book for pleasure.
The fact that he named the folder after me, a folder buried deep in his case files, already confirms what I’ve been fearing all along.
He was personally trying to hunt down the Russians behind our kidnapping.
I’ve had my suspicions. After my rescue, I gave up my townhouse and moved back in with him because I didn’t feel safe by myself.
But he was rarely home, always working on something.
And this… this just further cements it.
Reaching for the touchpad, I double-click to open the folder.
A prompt immediately pops up asking for a password.
I just stare at the prompt for a moment, wondering if it’s a sign I should stop and turn back. That maybe I’m better off not knowing…
Because what if there’s more to my father’s death than what’s on the surface? What if there’s more than the Russians taking the opportunity to take him out?
>
That’s what James seems to believe. Why he’s so gung-ho about protecting me. I know he thinks someone betrayed my father. Someone on the force.
Yesterday, when he showed me the department’s personnel files and explained his suspicions, it took every ounce of self-control I had to keep from showing him my surprise and worry.
Brushing him off was almost as hard as lying to him about being sore and having terrible cramps.
Speaking of which…
Turning to Amanda, I ask, “Hey, you don’t have any birth control pills on you, do you?”
There’s no point in asking Beth, she’s already knocked up. She’s only a couple of months pregnant, but I doubt she still carries them around with her.
Amanda blinks at me in surprise. “Uh… no. I have an IUD. Why?”
Trying not to show my disappointment, I shrug. “No reason.”
“Sure,” Amanda says like she doesn’t believe me, but then she rolls her eyes. “Whatever. We’ll talk about that later. Do you want me to put the password in?”
Pulling my hand back, I nod at her because my throat closes up so tight with anxiety I can’t speak.
Amanda quickly types the password in, opening up the folder. Inside, there’s file upon file, all dating back to seven months ago.
I point at the very top file and Amanda double-clicks on it, opening it in the word processor.
The three of us fall into silence as we read my father’s personal account of what happened when we were grabbed by the Russians.
Of how he first learned that I was taken.
He received a call from Lucifer himself informing him that his daughter had been grabbed and thrown into a van outside a bar.
Naturally, at first, he suspected Lucifer was behind it, that it was some kind of scheme or blackmail situation. After all, Lucifer had warned him not to let anyone know what had happened, and not to investigate or go public.
That if he did, me and my friend’s lives would most likely be forfeit.
Lucifer assured my father that he was working on the situation and he would do everything in his power to safely rescue me.
Of course, my father didn’t completely believe him, and he couldn’t sit around and do nothing. He ended up driving around the city himself, searching for us. And when he came up empty-handed, he confided in his closest friend and confidant, Jacob Morrison.
Together, secretly, they worked on figuring out what happened to us. All other investigations were pushed to the side, and the officers under their commands were utilized without being aware of what they were really working on.
