by René, Dani
“I’m doing all right, darling. What can I do for you today?” the older lady asks her with a smile, hinting in her tone.
“I’m looking for anything dark and foreboding. Like crime thrillers?”
“Ah, I have a few that came in today. Follow me.” They move through the store, and I cast a glance over my shoulder to see her long, dark hair hanging to the middle of her back. She looks like she’s just had a shower, possibly after her run. My gaze trails down her body, and that’s when I see it — the bracelet.
Surely, she must know that if I’m in town, and perhaps walking around the streets, I could bump into her and see it. Is it a sign that she wants this as well? I haven’t checked my messages, and I left my phone at the hotel. I can’t even log in to see if she’s replied to what I asked of her.
The women are hidden by a bookshelf, and I make my escape, racing through the wet streets back to my room. My chest is tight with anxiety. I wonder if she is considering being mine. Would she? If she knew who I was. Or would that change her mind about me completely? Without both our fathers getting involved again, perhaps there’s hope. But I can’t show her who I am yet.
Not yet.
When I laid my eyes on her, I was livid my father expected me to be happy about his choice. At the time, she was nothing more than a child. I think back to the day I first saw her.
“This is Vera Rose,” my father tells me. My disgust is evident on my face as I regard my father. The girl before me is not even a teen yet. We’ve just bombarded her tenth birthday. She smiles up at me, unsure why we’re looking at her.
Stephen looks at his best friend, my father, and smiles. They’ve arranged this, and I’m about to refuse their plans. My father expects me to want this . . . girl?
“No.” I turn on my heel and head back to the front garden and out to where the car is parked in the enormous driveway. It snakes around a fountain of two angels fighting over a water jar.
“Logan.” My father’s voice halts me for a moment, and I know he’s angry, but I don’t care. This is ridiculous. How can he think I would want her? “When she’s eighteen, she’ll be yours. You can take her as your wife, and even if you don’t love her, there are other ways to ensure you’re happy.”
I spin on my heel to face him. “Like you’ve done? Taking mistresses when mother is at home, waiting for you to return?” My words are filled with venom, dripping violently in the space between us.
“You’re the Prince,” he smirks. “You can do as you wish.” He means that I’ll be stepping into his shoes one day when I’m twenty-one. The asshole King of Chicago named so by his acquaintances who obey him daily.
“I want nothing of yours,” I bite out. Frustration grips my gut, holding it fiercely, and I can’t breathe. I’m never going to be like him. He’ll have to kill me first.
“You know the legacy is there for you. You’re in it by blood,” he tells me. “You will be like me even if you attempt to run away, Logan.”
“I’ll never be a monster,” I rage, turning on my heel and getting into the driver’s seat of my car. I know he’ll track my movements. He’s done that all my life, but this time, I’ll make sure it’s the last time. I’m twenty fucking years old. I’m done being his lackey.
I speed down the drive and out through the metal gates that slide open, allowing me to leave. I’ll be disowned if I don’t obey him, but I’ll make it easy for him. I don’t need him or his blood money.
My grandfather’s inheritance was bequeathed to me after he died, so I have a nest egg just waiting for me to claim it. And I’ll finally do it because I need to get out from under my father’s thumb.
My mind momentarily flits back to the girl. She’s so young, and her life is already being mapped out for her. It makes me feel sorry for her, just for a moment, though. I shove the feeling away and focus on leaving the Oakridge house for good.
That was the last time I was on my father’s radar. But I never stopped thinking about the girl I was meant to take as my wife. The same girl that now lives in a small town where she hides away from . . . something.
Was she given to another? Is that why she’s in this shithole town?
Well, she doesn’t need to hide anymore because she’s mine. She was mine first and foremost, and I’m here to collect. I doubt she’ll recognize me. She was only ten when she first saw me, and it was also the last time she laid her pretty eyes on me.
Back at the hotel, I open my laptop the moment I get into the room and log in. The browser loads and I type in my username and password. With a smile, I see two notifications waiting for me.
SB: I have to admit I’m scared. But I’m also confused at why you’d send me something instead of just introducing yourself. Are you some weird creeper? Like, I mean, are you going to stalk me now? I’m not sure I feel safe. I want to log off here and never return. But you already know where I am.
That’s the end of message one, and I consider her fear for a moment. She should be fearful because it’s dangerous to be talking to anyone online. Doesn’t she know that?
SB: Can we meet in the coffee shop on Main? I’d like to sit down and talk to you face-to-face. Would it be so wrong of us to perhaps see how this is going to go? You’ve found me, so let me know you.
I consider this. Perhaps I can let her know me. Perhaps I can tell her I’m just a random person who is interested in her because we connected on a level that most women can’t with me. But then I realize if she does recognize me, she’ll know I sought her out. I tracked her since the moment she turned eighteen, and then when my contact found out she was on this shitty site, I signed up just to learn more about her.
I never made contact before. I waited, bided my time, and now that I’m here, I’m having second thoughts. It’s not right what I’m doing, but then again, I grew up with a man who will do anything to make money, even if it’s illegal. What about my life is right?
The carnal hunter who lives in my soul yearns for the chase. And I wonder if she’ll enjoy the hunt. Of course, she will. It’s woven into her DNA. Only she doesn’t realize it.
Will she accept me the way I am?
Or will this be one big mistake?
4
Vera
In my apartment, I open my laptop and find a response from him.
BP: Would you run when I come for you? I’m not a man who sits in a coffee shop to talk. I have violence in my blood and sin in my veins. And nothing you can do can change me.
Frowning, I think about what he means. He doesn’t realize what I grew up with. My family is far from perfect. I grew up around violence and destruction, and the sins of my father and his acquaintances have made sure that my past is littered with overheard threats, with gunshots ringing in my ears, and most of all, the fear of being forced into a marriage of convenience that I ran away from.
I know if they find me, they’ll push me down the aisle, make me say “I do,” and then I’ll be made to bear the children of the asshole my father has practically sold me to. But Dad is in prison, and he has no way of keeping me safe now. The man who was supposed to be my husband ran, he saw me and left, and my father brokered a new deal to have me married off to his father, the man I knew to be Dad’s best friend. Older, unforgiving, and just as volatile as a criminal that needed to be locked up.
That wasn’t happening, at least not under my watch. So, I ran away. At eighteen, I left the home I grew up in and found myself here, in Pine Lake. I managed to use my father’s old contacts to buy a new identity. The moment I had the documents, I pulled a trigger to make sure he couldn’t run his mouth off and cried for months. But I knew the moment I walked out, they would call the man I was meant to be bedding on my eighteenth birthday and inform him where I am.
One thing I learned from my father’s mistakes is that you should never leave a trail. My mind wanders to the man, to the prince, and I wonder if he knows who Herbert is. Does he work for him? Is that why he found out where I lived?
No.
If he did, I’d be dead already, or worse. I would be kidnapped and taken to the Oakridge house, where I know the man does terrible things to good people. He’s evil, and if he found me, I’d be tortured for running. Herbert Oakridge isn’t someone who just gives in, or forgives easily, and what I did will only earn me death by his hand.
SB: What if I didn’t want to change you? I’ve lived my life with violent men, and I’ve grown up around sinful acts. I’ve watched things that no girl my age should. Danger doesn’t scare me. It’s the emotion that comes with allowing someone in that forces fear into my gut. Into my soul. Then we don’t meet at a coffee shop. Perhaps we meet somewhere private. The park, at sunset. There’s a small blue bench that overlooks the town. I’ll be waiting.
I hit send. Then I move to the closet and pull open the door. The box that’s been gathering dust sits on the top shelf, half-hidden, but still visible for when I need it. I haven’t touched the items inside for over a year. When I was seventeen, I watched my father get taken to prison. When Dad told me that I had to be careful, I knew something was wrong. Even though he signed the contract for me to marry Herbert, there was something else he didn’t tell me. And now I can’t even contact him to get the truth out of him.
I stood aside and saw how they cuffed his hands behind his back. There was nothing I could do but look on as the tears streamed down my face. And in that moment, I knew if I stayed, Herbert would make me his bride. Even though I was a teenager and he was an almost fifty-five-year-old man.
I lift the lid of the box and find the custom-made gun sitting in the holster. It was carved from metal and marble with my initials in the grip. My father gave it to me on the day of my seventeenth birthday. I hid it away until I needed it the day I collected my new identification. And now, the second time I’m holding it since that day I shot a man, I feel uneasy. I strap the holster around my thigh before slipping on black shorts that fall just below the weapon.
I have about thirty minutes before sunset, and I hope he sees the message before then. I’ll wait for an hour. If he doesn’t come, I walk away forever. And if he does, then I can try to find out if he’s working for the old man. That’s why I have the weapon. I may not have been trained to properly use it, but I know how to unlatch the safety, point, aim, and shoot. I’ve done it before, and I can do it again.
My computer speakers alert me of a new message causing my body to still and my stomach to flip-flop wildly. The bench I suggested we meet at has cameras overlooking it. He doesn’t realize the town has a security system that is monitored, so even if something happens, it will be on video.
I open the message and find his words staring back at me.
BP: The park it is. Till sunset, Beauty.
* * *
It’s been almost an hour. I don’t feel as if anyone is watching me. But I’m nervous all the same. I keep turning my head, looking left, right, and even behind me, but I don’t see anyone making their way toward me. I should’ve brought my air pods. Perhaps music would’ve calmed me down somewhat, but then I wouldn’t have heard if anyone was approaching.
The sun is almost gone, the sky a bright orange filtering off into dark red. It’s always so beautiful at this time of day. Normally, I’d be running through the trees, maybe even all the way up to the lake. But for now, I’m sitting on the park bench, flicking through social media I no longer use.
The life I left behind halted the day before I ran off. The photos of my past staring back at me, reminding me of a time before all the bad shit went down, and for a moment, I miss it. My friends, the college I wanted to attend.
My dad was meant to keep me safe, not have me sold off to someone. Sadly, the marriage he had arranged wasn’t something I wanted. He never asked my permission, and he never allowed me to speak up about my feelings.
All those memories are shadowed in darkness now. I blink, allowing a tear to fall, and then I quickly swipe it away. I don’t need to get melancholy right now; I need to keep my focus on my surroundings.
I’m about to stand when a hand lands on my mouth, silencing a scream attempting to tear from my lungs. The hot breath of him is on my neck, and my heart leaps into my throat as fear grips me.
“Don’t scream, Beauty,” he murmurs. “I’m not going to hurt you, I just . . . I can’t show you my face, and this was the only way to do this.” He doesn’t move his hand, but his lips whisper along my cheek. I could grab my gun; I could shoot it into the air and alert passersby that I’m afraid, but I don’t.
I nod, hoping he’ll release me.
“Once I move my hand, I need you to keep looking forward. You wanted to talk; I’m here to talk. But that’s all I can offer you.”
I nod again, my eyes shut tight as I pray silently that he’s not going to pull a knife on me. But for some unknown reason, I feel confident that if I need to, I can run. We’re in a fairly public place, and if I scream, someone will definitely hear me.
Slowly, his hand moves and my mouth is free. He trusts me not to scream. I can feel his heat, but he doesn’t touch me. I don’t turn around because I promised him I wouldn’t, so instead of looking into his eyes, I look ahead of me.
“Why did you want to meet?” His voice is a deep baritone filled with gravel. There’s also a hint of confusion in his words.
“Because you understood,” I tell him.
Silence greets me, and I wonder if he walked away, silently, just like he appeared. But then he responds, “I do. I grew up around darkness, and I became it.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“Why?”
“Because if you were, you would’ve hurt me already.”
“Is that why you brought a gun?” he challenges, forcing a gasp of surprise to tumble from my mouth. “I can see the holster strapped to your thigh.”
“I had to protect myself.”
“It’s stupid of you to come here.” He’s right; it was stupid, but I trusted my gut. Intuition has never led me astray.
“Perhaps.” I lean back against the cool wooden bench. The feel of him closer now, and I wonder what he looks like. “Why don’t you want me to see you?”
“Because if you do, I can’t promise I’ll be able to let you go.” His words spike a shiver that races through me. There’s a dark promise there, hiding in plain sight.
“Then you’re just like the men I grew up around.”
“Were they bad like me?”
I laugh. “Yes, more so. I was promised to a man when I was seventeen. He wasn’t the first, though. He was my father’s second choice.”
“An arranged marriage?”
I nod.
“Tell me about the first choice. Why aren’t you with him?” he asks, and I think back to that day. I was ten. My birthday party was in full swing, and my father pulled me aside to introduce me to two men. One old and gray, and the other, he was like a prince from my fairytale books. But he wasn’t happy. He was so angry, and then he looked at me like I was annoying before he turned around and walked away. It was the first and last time I ever saw him.
“He didn’t want me.”
“Why?” the stranger asks, curiosity pinching the word, as if he’s pained for asking me such a question. My heart aches when I recall not being wanted. It only really sank in years later that even before I could understand the way the heart worked, a man who could’ve saved me didn’t want me at all.
“Because he thought I wasn’t good enough.” It’s not the whole truth, and it’s not a whole lie. I leave out the part that my father was selling me off at the age of ten. There’s more silence, but this time I know he’s still there because I hear him breathe.
“That can’t be true,” he tells me. “He would’ve been an idiot to not notice your beauty,” he continues as if I weren’t even here. As if he were trying to convince himself of this fact. “He lost out, and now you’re here.”
“With you,” I tack on, wondering if he’ll disagree, but he doesn’t. “Why can’t I see you?” My body is
alert, needing to know what this man looks like, but I don’t turn. He asked me not to, so I obey, but my restraint is wearing thin.
“What is your name, Beauty?”
“You don’t need me to tell you my name,” I tell him. “Because you already have it, or you wouldn’t have found me.”
“Your IP address gave away your location, beautiful girl,” he chuckles, and I picture him shaking his head at my naivety. “Tell me your name?”
“Tell me yours,” I counter, and another laugh bounces through his chest, and I smile to myself as I shut my eyes. I decide I love the sound.
“You’re a feisty one.”
“Does it turn you on?” I question easily. This is like chatting to him online. I can’t see his reaction, and it makes me braver than I should be.
Once again, I feel the heat of his breath on my neck, and a small whimper escapes me. The soft whispering of his lips tingles along my ear before he responds, “Do you want to turn me on? You did a good job of doing that last night.”
I gasp, my eyes snapping open as I stare up at the sky, my head tipped to the side, giving him access to me. “What?”
“I was hard for you. Reading your words, I pictured you sleeping soundly in your bed as I made my way into your bedroom. I would tug at the sheet covering your lithe frame, and then I’d stare at how beautiful you look in those tight panties and your tank top. While I watched the rise and fall of your perfect tits, I’d stroke myself.”
Every dark whispered word falls from his mouth and trickles its way from my ear down to my nipples, hardening them, and then traveling to my core. I squirm on the seat, the image he’s painting vivid in my mind.
“I’d take my cock out, hard and needy, but I wouldn’t touch you because just the thought of your porcelain skin under my fingertips brings out a beast within me. And then I’d grip my shaft and slowly move my hand up and down, making the tip of me glisten with arousal. The image of me painting your soft parted lips with my precum dances in my mind, and I lean in to do just that. My sweet Sleeping Beauty.”
