by Danah Logan
"You have to face the consequences of Miss Rosenfield’s virtual rampage eventually, but while you are here, I would advise concentrating on the task at hand. There is nothing any of us can do about the girl at the moment."
Or to the girl.
My fists ball, and I visualize using Rhys’s ex as a Sparring Bob. Executing every single offensive move Spence has taught me over the years on her in my head, a diabolical grin spreads across my face.
"Miss Lilly?"
Hearing my name, the red haze clears, and I blink a few times. "Uh, yes?"
"Dare I ask what just went on in that head of yours?"
No doubt I looked like a rabid animal poised to strike. "Um, probably not."
Suddenly, a thought hits me as if George has slapped me across the face. "Do you think Katherine leaked the information about me to the press? I mean, she saw Rhys in the park."
"No."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Miss Rosenfield is fixated on the relationship with Rhys. I would know if she had anything leading toward Nate or what actually is happening." His response is matter-of-fact.
"Nate did something to her phone," I state, not ask.
"I underestimated the girl once. I will not make the same mistake again." His sneer makes the scar around his mouth contort, and he looks downright terrifying. Thank goodness his contempt is not directed toward me, or I'd pee my pants.
Trying to make light of the situation and distract both of us, I quip, "Why George, that's, like, the fifth time this morning you've shown some emotion."
The man in front of me lifts a hand to his chest and grins—a full-on toothy grin from ear to ear.
"Don't tell your brother. You have that effect on people." He winks.
Feeling all warm and fuzzy, it sinks in. I was so focused on the secrets that are piling up higher than Natty’s collection of classic novels and my guilt of putting my adoptive family and Rhys in the middle of me figuring out the relationship with my criminal brother that I ignored what I did find. Amid this pandemonium, I have gained a new family. A slightly—scratch that, a dysfunctional family, but both men, Nate and George, care deeply about me. And I’m pretty sure George’s affection extends to Rhys as well.
Taking a sip of my tea, I voice the question. "So, who?"
"Leave that up to me," Nate's voice interrupts from the door, and I take in his disheveled appearance of a rumpled gray t-shirt and low-hanging blue-and-green plaid pajama pants. I was so concentrated on George that I didn't hear the usual buzzing sound of the door opening. He slouches in, and when George makes a move to get out of the second chair, my brother waves him off and, instead, makes his way to the leather couch, grabbing the laptop off the desk in passing.
George focuses back on me and amends our previous conversation. "I believe the statement was to clarify your blood relations with the McGuires."
Oh.
"Oh!"
Settling into the couch, Nate opens the computer and starts typing. Not stopping at all, he informs us casually, "Lilly, we will have to start medicating you, effective immediately."
Wait, what?
"Excuse me?" Oh, goody. Minnie Mouse is back. I must’ve heard him wrong.
Nate completely ignores me and addresses George. "I need you to call your guy and get everything we need. Come Wednesday, her bloodstream needs to match the story."
Oh, hell no!
My body tenses.
George nods and is about to get up when I latch onto his wrist. The guy who could haunt the nightmares of grown men raises an eyebrow, but I don't care if no one ever touches him. "You’re not leaving until one of you explains to me What. The. Hell. Is. Going. On." They can't just dump this shit on me and move on, like, "Oh, let's go grab some donuts for Lilly before we send her off."
What. The. F?
George lowers himself back down while I intensify my grasp on his wrist.
I steady my tone and turn to my brother. "Explain!"
Nate closes the laptop and pinches the bridge of his nose. "This is the only way I can protect you."
"By drugging me?" I shriek. So much for keeping it together.
Nate's voice is eerily calm, almost detached. Over the last week, I’ve suppressed this side of my brother—the scary, calculated part of his genius personality. "We have two separate situations to deal with. I told you sending the video would have consequences. Your friends and parents know that you are not a typical kidnapping victim. Even if you manage to keep the truth from Heather and Tristen for a while longer, the media will tear you apart. You are not a scared child anymore; you should remember what happened to you, especially if nothing traumatizing happened to you." He makes air quotes around traumatizing. "You don't have a mark on you. I didn't beat or rape you." I flinch, but Nate continues with brutal honesty. "The other issue is the fucking press release and all the shit Barbie has put online the last few days. Your relationship with your brother will be another focus. How long have you been together? Have your parents known and condoned the relationship?"
My heart beats so fast I have trouble catching my breath.
For the first time since starting his speech, my brother looks me straight in the eye. "The only way we can take some of the pressure off of you is by letting the public believe that you don't remember a thing from the last two weeks. I can't help you with the other problem. I can try to block and take down some of the posts, but I won't be able to get them all. Someone will question who is doing it." With a sigh, he finishes, "I'm sorry, little sis."
Nodding, I shove my shaking hands in the pocket of my white hoodie.
I'm sitting in the kitchen when George returns with a large black duffel bag slung over his shoulder. I nearly choke on a cracker when he drops it on the table with a thud. How many drugs do they need? My entire body would fit in that thing.
I still haven't been able to reach Rhys; all I know is that he's at home and that Wes and Den are there as well. Nate wouldn't let me hack into the feed; he said it would only make it harder for me to see them. There was some yelling and throwing of a wireless mouse involved—he never used that damn thing anyway—and in the end, he kicked me out.
George settles across from me. "Talk to me, Miss Lilly."
"Can you drop the Miss? I think we're way past that." I try to sound annoyed but can't stop the smile forming on my lips.
"As you wish, my lady."
I roll my eyes.
At that moment, my phone starts ringing, and my breath hitches. My hands start shaking so violently that the device slips though my hands twice.
"Shit!" I hiss.
George reaches over and picks it up, pressing the speakerphone button. "Rhys." His tone is stoic, but he winks at me.
"Uh."
"How can I help you, Rhys?" George sounds murderous but cracks a smile.
Good Lord, he's enjoying this.
"Um."
"Oh, for fuck's sake, George. Give the kid a break," Nate snaps, coming from the hallway, and I jump. I snatch my phone, turn the speaker off, and press it to my ear.
"I'm here. Sorry."
Nate saunters over to the fridge, George still grins to himself, and I turn around to leave the room when my brother calls after me, "Tell the boyfriend that you will be out of touch the next two days."
Wha—?
I face Nate again and raise my eyebrows.
"Lilly?" Rhys’s voice echoes in my ear, but I can't form a reply.
He points his head toward the duffel on the table, and it clicks. I won't be able to contact him. Oh God, my memory. My brother is going to mess with my mind. My chest tightens and everything starts to spin. I race up the stairs. I need to be alone.
Somehow, I make it to my room. Leaning against the back of the door, my legs give out, and I slide down in slow motion. Every breath feels like it stops in the back of my throat, the oxygen not making it to my lungs.
Between the blackspots, the face of a man flashes in front of my eyes. The memory is acc
ompanied by the sharp pain I almost forgot about—almost. A moan escapes me, and I press the heel of my free hand against my forehead. He has thinning brown hair, beady eyes, and an oval face, but the lower half is covered with one of those surgical masks. The memory doctor.
Bile rises in my throat. The stabbing sensation won’t go away.
Why won’t it go away?
"Babe, are you there? What's going on?"
Why does his voice sound so far away?
Leaning forward, I put my head between my legs and mumble something along the lines of, "I'm here. Need...a...moment."
"Lilly, what is going on? Put George back on. You're freaking me—"
That’s the last I hear before the phone slips out of my hand.
"—dehydrated—"
"—fucking panic attack—"
"What the fuck are—"
"Calm the fuck—"
"Stop saying fuck!" I rasp out, and everyone goes quiet.
"Babe?" Rhys’s voice is close to my ear. He's here? No, he can't be.
I blink my eyes open, and my brother's face slowly comes into focus, hovering above me.
"What happened?" My words are slurred.
"Rhys called me when you didn't answer. We came to check on you." I turn my head and see George squatting beside me, phone in hand and lit up with a call.
I pat next to my body.
Where is my phone?
"Are you looking for this?" Nate holds something out. "You dropped it when you passed out."
I push myself into a sitting position and take my phone, cradling it to my chest like it's my actual boyfriend. He's not even on that line.
"I felt dizzy. I couldn’t breathe…" I trail off, neglecting to mention the migraine.
"I had to push the door open because you were blocking it. Never knew your tiny body could be that heavy." My brother winks.
"You had another panic attack. Not surprising, considering what’s about to happen," George says matter-of-factly.
"Dude, what is he talking about?"
Wes?
"Oh great, the whole Scooby gang is on the phone," Nate snarls.
"Rhys, Lilly will call you back in a few minutes." Before anyone on the other end can respond, George ends the call.
About ten minutes later, I'm alone in my room. Two glasses of water downed and propped against a mountain of pillows—not sure where they all came from—I dial Rhys’s number.
"Oh, thank fuck!" are the first words through the earpiece.
"Hey." I still sound raspy.
"Babe, what the hell happened? Why did you have a panic attack? George wouldn't tell me shit. I was about to drive to the fucking airport." He speaks so fast it takes me a moment to comprehend it all. I don’t want to talk about it.
"I'm sorry. It's been a…long day." I exhale slowly. "Is Wes with you?"
"No, I am," my best friend's voice startles me, and my pulse accelerates instantly.
"Oh."
"Yeah. Oh. What the fuck, babe?" Denielle whisper-shouts.
"Where is Wes?" I mumble.
"He's on watch duty—not that it is any less suspicious that Den and I are in the bathroom together," Rhys huffs out with a laugh.
"D?" I ask meekly.
"Yes." Her tone is clipped.
"I’m so sorry." Moisture building in my eyes, I sniff loudly.
"Babe. All I care about is that you are okay. The rest is fucked up, and I'm sure there is a shit-ton Rhys hasn't told us yet, but seriously? Your brother? And what's up with the scary scar dude? I'm just glad he's not going to kill us; Wes can finally stop pissing himself."
A sound between a sniffle, a hiccup, and a laugh comes out of my throat. "I swear I will tell you guys everything soon."
"I'm going to hold you to it." Den sounds more like herself again.
"Can I talk to Rhys for a moment?" I feel bad asking her to leave, but it's bad enough having to tell him about the upcoming days.
After a prolonged pause, she says, "Sure, babe. I'll see you soon?"
"See you soon." I force some enthusiasm into the three words.
A minute or two go by without anyone speaking; then, I hear the voice my body has been craving all day.
"Okay, I'm alone. Now tell me what's really going on, Cal!"
He knows me well. A sob bubbles up. "I love you!"
"I love you, too. What. Is. Going. On? Why are you freaking out, babe?"
I inhale and exhale several times before I lay out Nate's plan.
"ARE YOU FUCKING SHITTING ME? NO! NOT HAPPENING!" Rhys didn’t take the medication part well.
"It's our only option." No matter how much it scares me that someone will mess with my memory again, it's necessary.
"There has to be another way!" He sounds desperate.
"Nate would never harm me." Am I reassuring Rhys or myself?
"FUCK! Babe, I don't like this." In front of my mind's eye, I see Rhys pacing the small bathroom, tugging on his hair. "I want George to keep me updated if you can't. But if you can, you have to call or text. Give me some type of sign. I need to know you're okay." I'm pretty sure I can hear Rhys choke up.
"I promise." Not that I can enforce the promise, but I believe that my brother and George will follow through.
We talk for a few more minutes, about nothing in particular; I'm simply not ready to get off the phone.
After we hang up, I swing my legs off the bed and make my way to the NCC. Both George and Nate sit in front of the desk. Newsfeeds are still playing on half the wall monitors; the other half is our local security feed.
They turn, and I ask, "Anything new I need to know?"
Nate shakes his head. "No, same stuff."
I inhale deeply then look at the bag that's now sitting next to George's chair. "Okay, how are we going to do this?"
Chapter Thirty-Two
I’ve barely slept in over 48 hours, and even caffeine doesn’t help anymore. I feel like I’m in a constant state of being buzzed with a side of jitters. In short, I’m a mess. George followed through and sent regular texts. I even got two messages from Lilly, but all they said were, "I'm fine. Don't worry. See you soon." Nate could've sent those for all I know. The only reason I believed Lilly herself sent the texts was that "worry" was spelled with three Rs and "soon" with four Ns. What the fuck were they pumping into her bloodstream?
I’ve successfully dodged spending more than five minutes with either of my parents. Avoiding Mom makes me feel like a piece of shit. The only reprieve is that she’s barely left the third floor, which has reduced the likelihood of me randomly blurting out that her daughter would be coming home in a few days. Also, the increased testosterone presence in the kitchen was making my dick itch. But it served as the perfect excuse when Dad cornered me yesterday as to why I'm holed up in my room. Wes and Denielle are an additional buffer toward my father, taking turns babysitting me since he’s ordered me home.
By day two, I've caught my friends up on everything I know, including the constant surveillance by my own family. That tidbit freaked Den out more than Lilly being kidnapped by her biological brother or said brother’s mental issues. We talked in the confinement of my bathroom—shower and faucet running—which would raise questions in itself if my father checked his feed. He's not stupid; he could put two and two together. Why he hasn't confronted me yet is a mystery.
One would think that a tragedy like this would bring a family together—not mine. Everyone is on their own, hiding more secrets than Area 51.
Lilly has been officially missing for fifteen days, and George filled me in on the plan last night. Nate already left for LA and is meeting with his business partner to solidify his alibi—part of me still believes that this is all just a ruse not to have to get locked up. Before reaching the drop-off point, Lilly would get another dose of God-knows-what. George refused to reveal their destination, probably assuming I’d be on my way immediately.
He knows me well.
A buzzing under my pillow, which is w
here I keep my second phone at night, made me jerk to a sitting position around five this morning. I couldn’t have slept more than an hour and a half, because the last time I rolled over to stare at the alarm clock on my nightstand was 3:32. I stumbled out of bed and beelined for the bathroom, having to get away from the prying eyes of our home surveillance. Denielle and Wes both slept over, but in my groggy haze, I forgot about Wes’s sprawled-out form in front of my bed. Denielle took the recliner while Wes ended up on the floor. Neither wanted to co-sleep—more space for me. Fumbling my way across the floor, eyes mostly closed, I stepped on Wes in the process, who, in return, started bitching like a little girl. Ignoring the whining, I locked myself in the bathroom–the only room where I’m not being watched these days.
Now, several hours later, I’m again sitting on the closed toilet seat, re-reading the text messages for the hundredth time. They were the first coherent messages from Lilly since Monday.
We’re about to leave. I’m scared.
Letting her words sink in, nausea made me swallow several times before I was able to respond.
I know, babe. I will be there as soon as I can. We’ll get through this. ILY.
I didn’t expect her to reply again, so when I saw the bubble pop up immediately, I held my breath. Her next words calmed my churning stomach but caused an entirely different reaction in another body part.
I love u so much. I can’t wait to be able to touch u again. You have no idea how badly I want to kiss u.
No matter how many times I read the message, my brain is unable to tell my groin area how inappropriate its reaction in the current situation is. My dick will never be mine again when it comes to Lilly.
I just put the phone back in its current hiding spot and am about done readjusting my jeans once more when my father’s shouts fill the house.
"RHYS! HEATHER! COME DOWN HERE!"
Showtime.
We arrive in Podunk, Nebraska a little after nine p.m. local time. I don't bother remembering the town's actual name. Nate chose this place for two reasons: the security is minimal, and George would be able to get in and out undetected. Nate can monitor everything through the hospital's security system which hasn't been updated in over a decade.
