by Penny Dee
But I couldn’t get Missy out of my mind. Or shake the thought that she’d gotten herself into something bad. Was it drugs? Had Craig stolen credit cards or gotten her mixed up in something equally as illegal?
It ate at me. So when I saw her pull up across the street from the diner, I couldn’t help myself; I had to know what was going on. I had to know she wasn’t involved in something that could send her to jail.
Without a word to Chance, I got up and burst out onto the sunny street and confronted her.
Missy looked surprised.
No. She looked busted.
“Cassidy, w-what are you d-doing h-here?” she stammered, glancing around us nervously. “I thought you left town.”
She had on a full face of makeup and the dress she wore was new. This close, I could smell the expensive perfume.
“Well, you thought wrong.” I looked over her shoulder at the shiny red pickup. “Nice pickup. Is it Johnny’s?”
“No.” She looked uncomfortable. “Why haven’t you left town? You were supposed to go yesterday.”
“Stop trying to change the subject. Who does the truck belong to?” I narrowed my eyes. She was up to something. She and Craig. “Oh my Lord, Missy, did you steal it? Did Craig make you do this?”
“No!” She raised her chin. “For your information, it’s mine.”
“Yours?” Two days ago, she didn’t have two pennies to rub together. Now she had a new car? “Where did you get the money to buy a pickup?”
When she looked away, the tingle of an alarm started at the base of my spine.
“Answer me.” I grabbed her wrist. “Missy, where did you get the money to pay for it?”
She yanked her wrist free. “Why didn’t you tell me you came from a rich family?”
Her words floored me. I mean, she couldn’t have surprised me more with a sledgehammer to the face.
I took a step back. “What do you mean?”
“All this time we’ve been struggling on the street, going without food, working our fingers to the bone, when all along you’re a rich girl.”
Panic rushed from my toes to my head, making me see stars and stealing the air from my lungs.
“I’m not rich,” I managed over the lump in my throat.
“Yes you are. Craig found out all about you online. Saw your missing person poster. Your real name is Chelsea. Your father is Kerry fucking Silvermane!”
My hand went to my stomach. I felt winded.
“My foster father,” I rasped.
“Whatever. He is worth billions. And he has been looking for you.”
“You contacted him?” I asked breathlessly.
Blood whirred in my ears.
“Not him, exactly. If you must know, we spoke to your brother.”
Oh God.
My knees went week.
“You don’t know what have you done,” I breathed out, dazed by the sudden knowledge that my life was in extreme danger.
If Missy noticed my panic, then she didn’t show it. In fact, she rounded on me like I had done something terrible to her by not letting her know where I came from.
“We went for days without anything to eat. Slept under bridges and in bus stops because we were so broke. We hitched rides with men we didn’t know. We went without so much, but all this time you were fucking rich!”
The footpath felt like liquid beneath me. I stumbled backward, fighting the bile rising in my throat.
“You told Barrett where I was.”
It wasn’t a question.
“For the right price,” she replied.
“He paid you?”
“There was a reward out for information on your whereabouts.”
I was going to be sick. My nightmare was coming to life.
“You just killed me,” I whispered, dizzy with fear.
But Missy simply scoffed, because not only didn’t she understand what she’d done, she didn’t care.
I needed to get out of there.
I was losing time as it was.
Without another word, I staggered away from her and began sprinting down the street as the realization that Barrett would already be on his way hit me.
Or worse.
He was already here.
In the diner, Chance must’ve seen me take off down the street because I heard him call out my name. But I didn’t stop. I had to get back to the motel. I had to grab my things and get out of town.
Missy didn’t know it, she was too naïve to realize, but she and Craig had signed my death warrant the moment they spoke to my brother.
I heard the Harley roar up the street, heard it come closer, and as I raced across the road, Chance cut me off.
“Please,” I cried, about to have a meltdown in the middle of the street. “I need to get back to the motel.”
He didn’t waste time with questions. Instead, he guided me onto the back of his bike, handed me a helmet, and we took off for the motel.
My heart was in my throat as we rode.
Was Barrett here?
Could he see me now?
The terror was like ice in my veins. And if it wasn’t for the warmth of Chance’s body against mine as I held onto him, I would be trembling from the fear.
When we arrived at the motel, there were no other cars in the parking lot—but an empty parking lot didn’t mean he wasn’t waiting for me inside the room. A bomb of fear exploded in my chest.
The Harley was barely parked when I climbed off and raced toward my room. My legs shook, and my breathing was labored as I paused at the door. I was mentally bracing myself. If he was inside, I would run. I would run so fast from this place my lungs would burn and my muscles would melt from overheating. And even then I would keep running. I’d keep running until I died.
Breathing heavily, I opened the door and the relief was instant when I saw the room was empty.
Pausing in the doorway, my eyes darted around the room.
It was exactly how I left it.
Like a rocket went off under me, I raced inside and started grabbing at my belongings, shoving them into my bag and making sure there was no trace of Cassidy Lewis left behind in the room.
I was barely aware of Chance walking in. He said my name, his voice gentle at first. When I continued to hastily pack up my stuff like a crazed person, he said it with more force.
“Stop!” He stalked over to me and put his hands on my shoulders, forcing me to look at him. “You need to take a breath.”
“You don’t understand. He’ll be here soon.”
“Who will be here soon? Who are you running from?”
My chin quivered. My heart pounded. Fear had me in its claws, and I couldn’t shake free. “The fucking Devil.”
CHANCE
She was scared to the point where she was talking crazy. She called him the Devil, and I could see how frightened she was. I barely knew her, but her reaction was genuine. I studied her beautiful eyes. They were overflowing with fear and torment, and her hands were shaking. She wasn’t just afraid. She was terrified.
“What are you talking about?” I asked, taking her by the hands.
“Please, we have to get out of here before he arrives.”
“Who?” I gripped her hands tighter.
“My brother. Missy told him where I am, and it’s the worst thing she could’ve done. He’ll be here soon.”
She tried to pull her hands away, but I held onto her tightly. In order to help her, I needed to know what was happening. “Listen, I can help you. But I need to know what is going on.”
“We’re wasting time. He’s probably already in town.”
“Why are you running from him?”
“We have to get out of here.”
“You need to tell me what’s happening.”
“Are you deaf?”
“Why are you running—”
“Because he raped me!” she yelled.
It was like a sonic boom went off in the room and the shockwave settled over us. Time stopped as t
he R-word rippled in the air. I released my hold on her, and she took a step back, wrapping her arms around her waist.
“Your brother?” I finally asked.
“My foster brother.”
I wanted to know what we were dealing with, but right now I needed to get her somewhere safe where we could work out what to do next. I needed to get her calm.
If her brother didn’t already know where she was staying, he would soon. He would search the most likely places for her, like motels, diners, taverns, and then he’d enquire at gas stations, the post office, and other stores in town.
But I knew one place he wouldn’t look.
“I’ll get you out of here,” I said, pulling out my phone to call Caleb. He answered almost immediately. “I need a favor. Can you meet me at the Black Cherry?”
“Sure, is everything okay?” he asked.
“No, but it will be. Can you bring the black van, the one Red uses to run errands?”
Caleb must’ve checked to see if the van was in the parking lot of the clubhouse because he paused before replying, “Sure, I’ll bring it.”
“Great, I’ll see you soon. And Caleb—?”
“Yeah?”
“Drive fast.”
When I hung up I went to the window and checked the parking lot. It was clear. There were no cars or guests, and the street was empty. Crossing the room, I picked up Cassidy’s bag, stopping to put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. She was trembling.
“Caleb’s coming with the van. It’ll be safer transporting you to the clubhouse in it than riding on the back of my bike, okay?”
“The clubhouse?”
“I’m taking you back with me. We’ll work out where to go from there.”
“You don’t need to do this. Getting involved is dangerous.”
Her voice was calmer, but I could see the violent pounding of her pulse in her neck.
“Danger is my middle name, sweetheart.” I gave her a wink, and a weak smile tugged at her lips. “Let’s get you out to the clubhouse. Then we’ll work out what comes next.”
The drive from the clubhouse to the Black Cherry Inn was twenty minutes. Caleb got there in twelve. He didn’t ask any questions, but judging by the look he gave me I had a lot of explaining to do once we were alone.
“You take her in the van with you, and I’ll follow behind on my bike,” I said to my younger brother.
When Cassidy was in the safety of the van, I quickly visited the motel office and slipped the manager fifty bucks for his silence.
“If anyone asks you who was in that room—”
“I’ll tell them it was an out of town businessman here with a lady friend.”
“And his name?”
“George Brown. Probably an alias. Arrived by cab. Paid cash. Checked out early.”
I nodded. “Thank you.”
“No,” he said. “Thank you, soldier.”
His words stopped me.
“I know who you are,” he explained. “My son was a marine. I know the SEALs provided our marines with the critical cover they needed while over there. I know what you did, what you saw, the decisions you had to make with only seconds to decide. My son would write home about it. He was good writer. Used to tell me what went on over there before he …”
He didn’t finish his sentence. He didn’t have to. I knew the look on his face, knew what it meant. His son never made it back.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “This country has lost a lot of good men.”
He nodded regretfully, the pain still ripe on his face. “You have my unwavering respect, sir. Thank you for serving our country.”
His appreciation was unexpected and evoked an uncharacteristic surge of emotion in me. But my face remained rigid. My eyes hard. My teeth clamped together. I gave him a sharp, albeit appreciative nod before I turned and disappeared out the door.
I felt humbled by his appreciation. Grateful. But I put it behind me the moment I stepped onto the pavement. Because he was right. I was a SEAL. A trained observer who noticed what other people didn’t. And I couldn’t afford for any emotion to distract me or cloud my instinct.
Because a devil was coming to town, and I knew they only responded to fight and force. You had to face them head-on and take them out with lethal precision.
Yeah, I knew a thing or two about devils.
Because I was the son of one.
CASSIDY
They took me back to the Kings of Mayhem clubhouse. Caleb parked the van next to a row of gleaming Harley Davidsons. Before I knew it, the passenger door swung open and Chance appeared.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Dude, you really think my driving is that bad?” Caleb joked as he climbed out and closed the door behind him. “She’s fine.”
“Thanks for your help,” Chance said to him.
Caleb nodded. “Anytime.” He looked at me and his face filled with gentle empathy. “Whatever is going on with you, darlin’, you’re safe with him.”
I bit back tears. He was being kind and it was the straw that broke the camel’s back on this overly emotional Wednesday morning. He threw the keys to Chance and then winked at me before sauntering away.
“I’m going to pack up a few belongings and get us some supplies from the kitchen,” Chance said as we approached the entrance to the clubhouse.
“We’re not staying here?”
“The clubhouse is not a long-term solution. Guests are usually only permitted to stay one night.” He guided me out of the sunshine and inside the building, and it took a moment for my eyes to adjust. “My grandmother has a cabin on the river just out of town. We can stay there until we work out what you want to do. Okay?”
I didn’t need to work out what I wanted to do, I already knew what I needed to do. Run.
Dazed by the morning’s events, I followed him through the spacious bar, past a couple of pool tables and over to a set of booths on the other side of the room. Black Stone Cherry’s “Burnin” was playing on the surround sound, and in the bar a one-armed man was carrying around a clipboard and taking some kind of stock of liquor bottles.
“Wait for me here. I could be a while.” He gave me a reassuring but closed-lipped smile. “You want anything to drink or eat while you wait?”
If I put anything in my stomach, I was going to bring it right back up again. My life was spinning out of control, and I had no idea where I was going to land.
I shook my head and tried my best at a smile.
“No, thank you. I’m fine.”
“I’m going to talk to Bull, and then we have chapel. Afterward, you and I will talk and work out a plan.” He paused, his beautiful eyes trailing over my face. “Try to keep calm. He’s not going to find you here.”
I huffed out a breath and forced a smile. He really didn’t know who he was dealing with.
As Chance walked away, I watched his broad back with the Kings of Mayhem patch blazed across it and felt a stab of longing, wishing this wasn’t unfolding this way. He was the kind of man you could fall in love with if your life wasn’t as frenzied as a shark attack.
I watched him disappear around a corner before I pulled out my phone and brought up Facebook. I had an alias account, Hope Lee, with a profile picture of an Asian girl that I’d stolen from the Internet and a few fake posts with more images that didn’t belong to me. Every month I added a new post about something that never happened, with people who didn’t exist, in a town I wasn’t in. It was my only means of keeping an eye on my foster brother, Barrett. It was my only link to him. And at times, my only peace of mind, because knowing where he was meant I could stay ahead of him.
It made me sick to befriend him. And when he accepted my friend request, that connection alone was enough to make me violently ill. But it was necessary because I needed to keep my eye on him.
And he made it easy because Barrett Mather Silvermane was an arrogant rich boy who liked to show off, and Facebook was the perfect playground for him to boast. To shout to the world a
bout how awesome he was. Not to mention handsome. Rich. Charming.
Criminally insane.
Something he conveniently left out of the façade he created on social media.
Instead, he showed the world the made-up Barrett Silvermane. A successful realtor who knew how to work hard during the week and then party harder on the weekend with his lascivious buddies and a string of beautiful women. The handsome man with a charismatic smile that hid a twisted mind. Pictures of a pretend life. Playful images with a dog I knew would mean nothing to him because he didn’t have feelings. Only a primal instinct to inflict pain and fear.
Instagram was the same. Just like I did with Facebook, I created an Instagram account, but I didn’t follow him. I simply searched for him whenever I needed to know what he was up to. Social media gave me an advantage; it meant I could see him without him seeing me.
At first, I used to check it every day. But seeing his posts left me feeling sick and anxious, so I only let myself check once a week, and usually before I went to do something I knew would keep my mind preoccupied afterwards.
Now as I brought up his page, I felt the bile at the back of my throat. My hands began to shake and my stomach churned, but I needed to see when he last posted something and where he was.
Relief flooded me when I saw Barrett had posted this morning. It was a picture of him in front of a property he’d just sold in Huntington Beach. He posed with a married couple and was shaking hands with the man. Smiles all around. The caption read: So happy to see this beautiful property to go such a beautiful couple. Congratulations Mr. & Mrs. Sanders. With the hashtag #soldtoday
The syrupy sweetness was hard to swallow.
I quickly hopped out of Facebook and into Instagram. There were two new posts. The first was a picture taken outside a very exclusive restaurant in Newport with the caption: Heading to this dive to celebrate another generous sale. #SoCalEats #slummingit
The second was a split picture of two different watches, a gold Rolex and a diamond-rimmed Cartier, with the pretentious caption: Couldn’t decide. Rolex or Cartier. So I bought them both. #iwearcartier #rolex #richboy
