by T. L Smith
“Who is she fucking?”
“No one. She’s a prude with a vicious mouth.” She scrunches her nose up. “Thea can be mean with her words.” Lucy lies back down and continues to talk while looking at the ceiling. When I get sick of her droning voice, I walk out with ocean blue eyes stuck in my head.
A prude? In that skirt she had on? I don’t see that at all.
No, I see her bent over with that skirt around her waist and my hands in her hair as I fuck her from behind.
Shit.
Shaking my shoulders, I get back to work.
Chapter Three
Theadora
I don’t go back to work that night to get my car, even though that’s where they took me from. I can’t seem to get up enough courage to go back there. Not yet. I stay in my small house all night, and the following day I struggle to get up in the afternoon.
Was it a dream? If it was, it was an unbelievably bad dream.
I call Lucy more than once, five times to be precise, and not once does she call me back.
Does he have her? Is she okay?
We may not be the best of friends, but she is my baby sister. And that has to count for something, right? I mean, I agreed to do whatever it was that man wanted from me to protect her.
For fuck’s sake, what has she gotten herself into?
Throwing off the covers, I get out of bed and quickly pull on whatever I can find, which consists of gray tracksuit pants that have seen better days and a hoodie that’s ten times my size. Putting on my old sneakers and placing my cell in my pocket, I start the trek to Lucy’s place. She’s living with a friend, and it’s not too far from where I live, but we still hardly see each other. Running my hand through my messed-up ponytail, I start to run. She has to be there. If she isn’t, then what happened wasn’t a dream. Which, right now, I am really hoping it is.
But what about my car?
You left it, so you will have to run. But it doesn’t matter, I like running because, for some reason, it calms me.
I slow down when I reach the building where Lucy lives with a roommate. Hers is more open apartments, this one is a block, and Lucy lives on the third floor. There’s an elevator that is always broken, so I know I will have to take the stairs.
Kids are out the front kicking a football as I make my way into her building complex. Glancing at the elevator, the closed sign taped to the front confirms my previous thoughts. Taking the stairs two at a time until I reach the third floor, I walk to her door and notice it’s open. Knocking anyway, Mandy ducks her head around and offers me a smile as she stands there with weed in one hand, a lighter in the other.
“Sis.” Mandy says with a wave.
I hate when Lucy calls me that—you can guarantee it comes with her wanting something.
“Lucy with you?” Mandy looks past me, then starts to roll the joint in her hand.
“You haven’t seen her?”
The joint goes to her lips, and her hair, almost every color of the rainbow, covers her face as she goes to light it. I wonder how often she’s set herself on fire, then shake my head at the thought.
Mandy looks up at me, taking a long drag. “Nope, but when you do, tell her rent is overdue. She can’t keep expecting me to cover for her.”
“You shouldn’t cover for her to begin with, Mandy,” I say.
Mandy shrugs. “Lucy doesn’t have much help. I’m it, you know?”
What a load of shit! Lucy can get anyone to do anything for her. She has that type of charm. She can weave me around her little finger, and I know it. And now look where the fuck that has gotten me. It’s also the reason why I’m here. This little visit isn’t to see my sister. No, it’s to work off her damn debt.
Fucking hell, Lucy! I want to scream the words so loudly, but I hold myself back. Will this sister of mine ever grow the fuck up? She has to. Lucy’s twenty-three, and it’s time for her to work out what she’s going to do with her life.
I’m not her mother.
I’m not even her guardian.
Even if that hurts to say.
I have looked after her for way too long. I cut the strings with her when she reached twenty-one, when she showed me she wasn’t planning to do anything but drugs and party for as long as she could.
I won’t be an enabler.
I can’t because my mother enabled my alcoholic father, and in the end, it’s what killed them both.
I will not be the same.
“How long has it been since you’ve seen her, Mandy?”
Mandy, who’s clearly forgotten I’m standing at her front door, looks up and smiles. “Ummm…” She scratches her head, and I can see the nicotine marks all over her fingers. “About two weeks or so.”
“It’s been ten days, to be precise.” That dark, menacing voice comes from behind me, and my heart takes a leap in my chest. My hands, which were by my side, reach up to grab the door frame.
“Mandy, do you know this man?”
Mandy, who’s way too busy getting high, doesn’t even look up, nor does she care by the looks of her.
“No, she doesn’t,” he answers for her. “I’d prefer to keep it that way. How about you take a walk with me, Theadora, since you’re clearly dressed for one.”
Removing my hands from the door frame, I manage to turn around to face him. It’s slow and awkward, but I need to turn around to make sure he’s real.
My eyes stay downcast as his shoes come into focus—black boots. His jeans are rolled up at the bottom—they are ripped and hugging his legs. And as my eyes move farther up, he’s wearing a long, white T-shirt.
“Are you working up the nerve to look me in the eye, Theadora?” he teases.
“Yes,” I answer truthfully, my eyes sitting at his neckline.
He doesn’t move closer, simply reaches his hand up and goes to touch me. I freeze on the spot as he caresses my cheek ever so softly, and pushes up so I have to look at him. When my eyes meet his, his hand drops, and he wipes his fingers on his jeans, as if touching me was somehow dirty. I don’t have any makeup on, so I’m not sure why he felt the need to do that.
“How about we take a walk?” He turns then and starts down the stairs.
Contemplating if I should follow, I wait, just watching him. Looking back over at Mandy, she’s now lying on the floor, face toward the ceiling with her eyes closed.
“Theadora.” My name comes impatiently from his lips.
“Do you have her? Answer me, and I will follow. Do you have Lucy with you?” I yell. I can’t see him anymore, so it means he’s already down the first flight of stairs.
“Yes, I have her. You know this.”
Something inside of me deflates as I close my eyes. I put one foot in front of the other and walk to the stairs. Touching the railing, I feel its cold metal between my fingertips and look down. He’s there, standing halfway down the next flight of stairs, looking up, watching me with his hands at his sides, his mouth in a straight line, and those eyes locked onto me. Does he know what emotion is?
Stepping down the stairs quickly, I come up behind him, stopping until he starts to move again. I can smell him. The scent is of smoked wood and the ocean, and I think, How is that even possible?
When we reach the bottom, he holds the door open for me, letting me walk out first. The sun hits my face as it starts to set. Turning back to look at him, he’s watching me, eyeing me up and down, which makes me feel like I shouldn’t have left the house in what I’m wearing in the first place.
“You dress like this normally?”
Ignoring his words, because he does not need an answer as to how I dress, I walk past him until I am on the side of the road to head back toward my place. I pause, thinking if that’s a smart idea, then realize he has been there before. He knows where I live, and probably a whole lot more than he’s letting me believe.
“You’re wondering if you should go toward your house, but then you realized I know exactly where you live.”
My head flicks back to
him, fast.
“Am I wrong? I am hardly ever wrong.” His mouth moves, but there’s hardly any real movement. There’s no emotion; everything he says is dry and lifeless. He steps in front of me until he reaches a car that is similar to the one my boss owns. I know it’s expensive because when she purchased it, the first thing she did was bring it out and show it off. Then she told us the price tag; it was more than what I could make in years of working.
He opens the passenger door, then looks at me, his eyes on my baggy clothes before he waves to his door. “Let me take you to get your car, which I know you haven’t collected from your work.”
“What is your name?” I ask, realizing he’s never given it to me.
Oh, Thea, when was he meant to give it to you? When he kidnapped you?
I shake my head at his open door and his non-answer of my question.
So, he can know everything about me, but I am not allowed to know anything about him?
“Get in the car, Theadora, we have things to discuss.”
“You won’t hurt me?” I touch my forehead where a bruise is still forming from when he took me.
His gaze skims over the spot, then focuses back on my eyes. “No. I will not touch you at all.”
I believe him. I don’t know why, but for some reason, I do.
Walking over to his car, where he’s already standing, I climb inside, and he shuts the door behind me. Looking forward, I see the car is even flashier inside than my boss’s and think that maybe this is an upgraded model.
“You don’t plan to kidnap me again?” I ask while buckling my seatbelt.
“Not today,” he says, pushing the button to start it. He heads off in the direction of where I work. At first, no other words are spoken, and my leg starts to involuntarily bounce as I wait. He can’t seriously offer me a lift and demand I get in the car with him if he doesn’t plan to speak to me. What’s the point?
“You seem agitated. Do you get agitated a lot?” he asks with his hands firmly on the wheel, staring ahead.
“Just when I’m in a car with a kidnapper,” I retort while scrunching up my nose, but with a smile.
He huffs as if he finds my words amusing. “Maybe you should take better care of your family.”
Oh no, he didn’t just say that! He has some cheek, I will give him that. Take better care of my family? Who the fuck does he think he is? All I have ever done is take care of Lucy. In the end it got tiring, and I couldn’t keep doing it. The fact it was bringing me down as well meant I needed to allow her to stand on her own two feet. She is an adult, and it was time for her to grow up.
“You know fuck all. Keep your damn words to yourself, unless you plan to use them in a way you know is true.” My hands clutch together, and I sit there waiting for him to tell me off, to tell me he’s planning to punish me for the way I’ve just spoken to him. Anything. But he does nothing but drive in silence until my blue car comes into view parked exactly where I left it.
Guess he didn’t want to talk after all.
When he comes to a stop, he clicks the doors unlocked and stares straight ahead. “You’ll accompany me tomorrow night to a function. Your payments start then,” he growls with his fists clenched and eyebrows firmly pinched together in a scowl.
I know there’s no room for me to argue. I am to go to whatever function he wants me to and do as he asks, it’s part of the deal.
“Dress?” I ask, in a voice that I hope isn’t shaky. I don’t want to give him anything.
“Cocktail. Something will be sent to your house in the morning.”
“I have work.”
“It will be there before you leave.” He dismisses me.
I slide out of his car and head to mine, and when I turn back, he’s watching me. But I can’t make out his expression.
And that?
That’s what scares me.
Chapter Four
Theadora
My hands freeze in my hair as I’m tying my locks up into a messy bun, due to a knock on my front door that comes hard and fast. Taking a deep breath, I quickly finish tying it up and walk with steady steps to my front door. Another knock, louder this time, comes before I get there. Whoever it is, they’re impatient. Touching the door, I pull it open, but standing there is a girl with glasses on her face, black hair tied back into a tight ponytail, her lips painted red, and dressed in a black dress shirt and pencil skirt. I have never seen this woman before in my life, but the way she is looking at me makes me believe instantly that she dislikes me.
“Theadora,” she snaps.
“Thea,” I correct her.
“Yes, well, here is your dress. Be ready by six sharp. The car will be here to collect you.” She pushes the dress into my hands and turns, walking away while I watch. As she reaches a waiting black car, she turns back. “Don’t be late. He hates tardiness.” Then she climbs in and drives off.
I look down at the dress in my hands, which is covered in a bag reading Gucci. Closing the front door, I take it to my couch and lay it down, unzipping the bag. At first, I’m shocked. I’ve seen this dress online—it’s part of what I do, hunt for outfits and what is popular. This dress is one of the popular ones, and it was one of the first to come up in my search. This dress is also over four thousand dollars.
Holding it up in front of me, I admire the beautiful garment. It has slim shoulder straps. One side is gold and falls just to the knee, while the other side is black and sits higher on the upper thigh. It has rumpled fabric where the gold and black meet in the midsection.
Placing the dress back down, I shake my head and step away from it. He would have rented it. High-end clothing stores do that now, let you hire expensive dresses for a night so you can show off, then return them the next day. Our boss has been looking at doing something similar.
Grabbing my purse, I look back one more time at the dress.
Who is this man?
And what am I expected to do tonight that requires me to wear a dress that costs so much?
I’m late. Dammit! I can’t help it because work ran over. Our computer system crashed, which left us manually entering orders and hoping and praying we have the stock to cover it.
Arriving at my house at quarter to six, there’s a limousine sitting out the front. Grabbing my bag out of the car, I run past it and up the few stairs until I reach my front door.
“Theadora.” He inflects the last part of my name, making me feel like a naughty schoolgirl. “My assistant would have told you I hate tardiness. Yet, here you are, not even dressed.” I turn at the sound of his voice and see him standing at the limousine door, holding it open with one arm. He’s dressed in a black suit, and instead of a white undershirt, it’s black. It makes his amber eyes appear even darker.
“I’ll be ready in fifteen minutes,” I tell him.
He looks to his watch and frowns.
I don’t waste any more time as I run inside and start tearing off my clothes and going straight to that dress. It’s already laid out on my couch, so once I am naked, I slide it on over my body. A dress like this, that’s body-hugging and fits perfectly, does not require me to wear a bra, which might show straps, or even underwear, which will show lines. No, this dress requires nothing but a pair of heels. I borrowed a pair from work that are gold, matching the color of half of the dress. Untying my hair, I let it fall and twist half of it into a loose bun, pulling strands around my face to give it a waterfall effect before I switch to a black bag and walk toward the door. When I open it exactly fifteen minutes later, right at six o’clock, he looks up at me in surprise, as if he wasn’t expecting me to be ready.
“Will you give me your name now? Or what shall I call you at this event?”
“You aren’t at this event to impress me. I want you to make my guys spend.” He holds open the limousine door, waving a hand impatiently for me to get in. When he slides in, he glowers, and I wonder what on earth has him so angry at me now. I am on time, just like he asked me to be.
“S
o, you’re like my pimp? You dress me and tell me what guys I should talk to?” I ask while screwing up my face.
As the limousine takes off, his hands come to his lap, and I watch as he screws them up in balls clenched so hard that they are turning red then white.
“It’s best you stay quiet,” he says, looking out the window.
What the hell ever! I huff and reach for my cell and lipstick. It’s the only thing I didn’t have time to apply. Turning on my camera so I can see, I apply it, turning my pale pink lips more of a blush color. Wiping the edges, I put both my cell and lipstick away, and when I do, I feel his gaze hard on me.
He asked me not to speak, so not speaking is what I will be doing.
My cell dings, and I smile at my co-worker’s message. It’s a picture of her eyes wide and a big fat smile on her face, with a caption that reads, ‘Computers are working again.’
Typing back a smiley face, I send her a selfie along with a thumbs up. Hitting send, I turn to see amber eyes trained on me. Remembering he doesn’t want me to speak, I raise an eyebrow at him.
With amused eyes, he studies me before the car comes to a stop and my door is opened for me. A hand is offered, but I don’t take it. For all I know, that hand could have been one of the ones that grabbed me to begin with. Touching my forehead where I know the bruise is located, I shake my head and stand waiting for him to get out.
A voice comes from behind me and says, “Atlas,” and nothing more. My eyebrows pinch together as I turn to look at him while he smooths out the wrinkles in his suit and does up the button on his jacket. With his lips in a thin line, he walks past me, leaving me standing there confused by his single word.
He turns back, noticing I haven’t moved, and offers me his elbow. “The name is Atlas.” His lips turn up in a wry smile. “But you can call me, sir, along with everyone else.”
