by Susan Stoker
Thoughts of being able to eat what she wanted, wear what she wanted, do what she wanted for a living, and spend time with whoever she wanted dangled before her like a steak hung in front of a starving lion. Grace suddenly wanted that independence more than she’d wanted anything in her entire life. Even more than she wanted appreciation and approval from her parents.
Margaret tugged her into the bedroom she’d slept in all her life and pointed to the bed. “Sit.”
“Mother, can we-”
“All your life you’ve been a disappointment,” Margaret said in a monotone voice, crossing her arms in front of her chest as if she were addressing a child rather than a grown woman. “From the moment you came out of my womb, you were a failure. You were supposed to be a boy. The only reason I married Walter was to get a son. After you, I couldn’t have any more children because you ruined my womb.”
Grace sat stock-still on the bed. She knew her parents had wanted a son, of course she did, but the venom in her mother’s voice was something new.
“We tried to bring you up right. If we couldn’t have a son, then at least we could mold you into the kind of woman we could rely on. But you just wouldn’t cooperate. We gave you blocks to play with, and you only wanted to read. We gave you Legos, an Erector set, and even bought an expensive computer program you could use to build simulated buildings and towns. And what did you do? Ignored them in favor of dolls, playing teacher, and watching childish movies on the laptop we got you.”
Margaret wasn’t pacing. She didn’t even look all that agitated, but Grace knew she was seething. She stood there, her arms crossed, spitting the words out as if they were repugnant and would tarnish her soul just for having come from her lips.
“So with you being an architect out of the running, we decided the only thing you’d be good for was being a secretary in our company, taking care of us, and giving us a grandson we can mold into what we’ve always wanted.”
Grace gasped and stared at her mother in horror. What was she talking about? A grandson?
Walter came into the room carrying something in his arms that Grace couldn’t see. What in the hell was going on?
Margaret continued. “You’ve become more and more willful as the years have gone by, and it’s time it stopped. Picking the wrong friends, sneaking out of the house when we needed you here, signing up to take marketing classes behind our back . . . oh yes, you think we didn’t know about that? Poor Grace, so naïve thinking you can keep anything from us,” she tsked. “Hold out your hand.”
“Mother, can we-”
“Hold. Out. Your. Hand.”
Grace’s hand shot out immediately. Her mother was scaring the shit out of her. How she’d found out about her applying to take more college classes, Grace had no idea, but it just reaffirmed her belief that Margaret Mason had spies everywhere. She’d known she was a disappointment to her mother, but had no idea the depth of the woman’s hatred for her.
Her father grabbed her wrist and wrapped something around it. It was a cuff of some sort. It was lined with lambs’ wool and was soft against her skin. He clipped the leather together and tightened it until it felt like it was cutting off her circulation. She watched dumbfounded as he did the same to her other wrist, locking them onto her.
“I didn’t want it to come to this, you know,” her mother went on, as if she wasn’t watching her husband handcuff her daughter. “I could tolerate you sneaking out of the house every now and then. Your little mutinies were expected. But it comes to an end now. Hear this, Grace. You belong to us. You will do what we want, when we want, and with who we want.”
“And what do you want?” Grace found the nerve to ask. She was still scared, but seeing her mother with absolutely no humanity in her eyes had broken the last string of affection she’d been hanging onto for so long. She’d never gain Margaret’s approval. Never. No matter what she did. The thought gave her the ability to speak out. Finally.
“You will seduce Bradford Grant. Your only job is to get pregnant. You’ll lie and say you’re on birth control. He and his parents won’t be able to stop a wedding once you’re carrying his child. Of course you’ll have to quit your job and spend the days here with us, where we can watch over you, make sure you’re not pushing yourself too hard. Once you have our grandson, we’ll have you declared unfit to raise him and we’ll finally have the son we always wanted. If you don’t want to be a loving daughter and help out your parents in their golden years, being a brood mare is all you’re good for anyway.”
Grace stared at her mother with her mouth open. She was looney tunes, batshit, off her rocker, daft.
Feeling a tug on her wrist, Grace looked over at her father. She’d been so distracted by the crazy coming out of her mother’s mouth that she hadn’t realized that her father had attached a chain to the headboard of her bed. He’d grabbed her wrist and locked it to the chain.
Grace pulled hard on her hand and cried out in pain. She looked in horror at her mother. “What? You’re going to keep me chained to the bed until I agree?”
“No. I’m going to keep you chained to this bed until you realize that I can do whatever I want. You only have your own apartment because I allow it. You eat lunch with your tattooed friend because I let you. And if you defy me now, it’ll just get worse for you . . . and those people you think are your friends.”
Her father grabbed her other hand and connected it to another long chain attached to the opposite side of the bed. Grace had plenty of room to move. She could stand, lie down on the bed, but she couldn’t reach the door, window, or even the bathroom. She wondered exactly how long they’d been planning this.
Margaret leaned down until her face was only inches from Grace’s. “And make no mistake. I will win. You’ve always had a defiant streak. It’s why I haven’t been able to love you. If you’d been more . . . just more . . . you could’ve been a person I wanted to be around, to love. But this is the last straw. You will eat what I tell you to eat. You will say what I want you to say. You will do what I want you to do. Period.”
“And if I don’t?” Grace managed to ask.
Margaret stood up and laughed. And it froze Grace’s bones.
“If you don’t, I’ll ruin Felicity. And her little gym.”
“You can’t,” Grace cried desperately.
“Stupid. You’ve always been so stupid. I can. And you know what else? I know you’ve been drooling over that Anderson boy again. How lucky for you that he and his white-trash brothers came back into town, huh? You’ve wanted in his pants ever since high school. Thank God you didn’t get pregnant with his offspring as a teenager. You would’ve had an abortion if you had. I want a son, but not one with a speck of DNA from that disgusting Anderson family. I’d rather you had a child by anyone than one of them. Did you take him down your throat when you had your little talk at that revolting party last night?”
Grace gasped. How in the world did her mom know any of what went on last night? Now she was just pissed. It was one thing to talk shit about her, but bad-mouthing Logan and Felicity was a whole other thing. She took the bull by the horns. “Why did you hide his letters from me?”
“Seriously? Did you not hear me earlier?” Margaret sneered, not even denying she’d hidden the letters he’d written her. “He wasn’t good enough for the Mason name. And I was right. His mother murdered his father. That’s about as low as it could get. White trash to the core. Besides, there was no way I was letting you get away from me, daughter. I knew Logan was infatuated with you back then, and that his feelings were returned. It was never going to happen. No way in hell. I needed you here. With me. Doing what I wanted you to do. And it worked perfectly. I have the last letter that boy sent, if you want to see it. I kept that one, didn’t return it. He’d written “last chance” on the back and I knew it was going be the last one he ever wrote to you, thank God. I have to hand it to him, though, he wrote for longer than I expected him to. I figured one day you might find out what I did to protect you
from becoming a tramp, and you’d want to know how he really felt after you returned all his letters.”
Grace tried not to hyperventilate. How was she even related to this monster? Why had she spent her entire life trying to gain her approval? Her love? It was hopeless, it had always been hopeless. Margaret had hated her from the moment she found out she didn’t have a penis. She turned to her father, hoping to get some support from him. “Father?”
“You brought this on yourself. If you’d only been a better daughter, this all could’ve been avoided,” Walter said, not even looking at her.
Even after everything he’d done to her tonight, his words still held the power to hurt Grace. So much for him helping her.
“I don’t need to show it to you,” her mother told her with no inflection in her voice. “I remember every word of it. It was short and to the point. You want to hear what he said?”
Grace didn’t. She really, really didn’t. She merely glared at the woman who’d given birth to her but had never loved her, not showing any outward sign of how badly she was hurting.
“Dear Grace,” her mother recited as if reading the long-ago-sent letter. “You win. I get it. This will be my last letter to you. But you fucked up. I would’ve given you the world. Treated you like a princess. If you didn’t want to go slumming with me, you should’ve just told me and saved us both the time and effort. Well, fuck you. You’re a stone-cold bitch. I wish I never met you.”
Margaret smiled evilly when she was done. “He hates you. I have no idea what nonsense he’s told you now, but he’s obviously only pretending to like you to get back at you. To get you to lower your guard and trust him, so he can drop you, just like you did him. It’s revenge, daughter. Plain and simple. He doesn’t care about you, not after you returned all his letters.”
Grace gritted her teeth and willed the tears not to fall from her eyes. She didn’t believe a word her mother was telling her. Not now. Twenty minutes ago, if Margaret had shown her the letter at breakfast, she might’ve. She might have thought that Logan really was just trying to get back at her. But chained to her bed, after hearing the plans her parents had for her life? No.
Logan probably had written that letter. Grace wouldn’t blame him, especially after getting all of the letters he’d sent to her returned. But there was no way he talked to her as he had last night only to play some juvenile game of revenge. There was no way the passion in his eyes and body was a lie. No way he would’ve tenderly swiped his thumb over her tattoo over and over if he hated her. Grace might be naïve and stupid for thinking she’d be able to get out from under her parents’ yoke, but she knew to the marrow of her bones, Logan was a good person. That he hadn’t said the things he’d said to get back at her.
Grace kept her mouth shut, refusing to give her mother the satisfaction of thinking she’d gotten to her.
It worked. Margaret Mason was pissed.
“I’ll let them know tomorrow at work that, unfortunately, you’re under the weather and won’t be in today. Or the next day. Maybe not even this entire week,” her mother spat, her arms crossed over her chest. “Think about it, Grace. I’ll keep you chained to your bed as long as I have to until you realize that you’re ours to do with as we want. Free will doesn’t exist in this household. Never has. Never will.”
“If you piss in your bed, you’ll sleep in it,” Walter said with no emotion in his voice from the other side of her mattress.
Grace looked over and saw he was holding a bucket.
“Just pretend that it’s the 1800s and this is your chamber pot.” He laughed without humor as he dropped it. Grace flinched at the hollow sound the bucket made as it hit the floor.
Margaret took a step back and tugged on the bottom of her blouse, straightening out the non-existent wrinkles. “Do have a good day, daughter. I hope you don’t get too hungry. Think of this as a new diet plan. We’ll see you later.” With that parting shot, she turned and waltzed out of the room, her husband following close behind her.
Grace tugged hard on her wrists, wincing at the clanging of the heavy chains. She snorted in amazement. It looked like they’d bought some sort of bondage cuffs for her. God forbid her mother bruise her skin in any way and make visible the pain she’d been causing her daughter for years. The cuffs were soft on the inside, but absolutely impossible to get off.
She was stuck.
A prisoner.
Her parents were evil.
She’d known they weren’t the nicest people on the block but had never thought they’d go this far.
Grace lay back on the bed in defeat. She could defy them. And she would. But Grace knew she’d give in eventually. She had no choice unless she wanted to live the rest of her life chained to her bed.
Marrying Bradford wouldn’t be too bad. But she’d never give up her son to Margaret and Walter. Never.
Chapter Twelve
“You haven’t heard from her?” Logan asked Felicity in disbelief the day after he’d gotten back from the escort job in Colorado Springs. It had gone off without a hitch, the asshole who’d taken his ex-girlfriend to court over some petty bullshit hadn’t said a word to her before or after the hearing, which was the goal of the escort in the first place. Logan knew the woman would still probably have to deal with the man at some point, but he’d told her that if she needed more assistance, not to hesitate to contact Ace Security.
He’d gotten home late last night and as much as he wanted to call Felicity to check on Grace, he knew it was too late. So he’d slept like crap, tossing and turning, worrying, and had gotten to the gym half an hour before his usual time.
Felicity had shown up after he’d showered. Logan had been waiting impatiently in the lobby, shooting the shit with Cole. The other man knew most of what had been happening, but didn’t know anything new about Grace.
“No,” Felicity said in a worried tone. “I’ve texted and emailed, but she hasn’t answered. I even bit the bullet and went to her office yesterday, but there was a temp sitting at her desk who said that Grace was sick, and she didn’t know when she’d be back.
“Fuck,” Logan swore. “She’s in trouble.”
“You don’t know that,” Felicity told him, although she didn’t sound convinced. “She was really stressed the other night. It could’ve gotten to her. After learning that you didn’t dump her, making the decision to break some of the ties with her parents . . . it was a lot.”
“Or maybe they did something to her,” Logan said, gritting his teeth in frustration.
“Now just wait a minute,” Cole held up his hands in capitulation. “Do you really think the Masons, who have lived here their entire lives, who own one of the most successful businesses in the city, offed their daughter because she said she wanted a second degree and didn’t want to sleep over at their house anymore?”
It did sound ridiculous, but the hair on the back of Logan’s neck was sticking up, and he wasn’t going to put anything past Grace’s parents. Not after what they’d done to sabotage his relationship with their daughter. He ran his hand through his hair in agitation. “I didn’t necessarily mean that they’d kill her, but they’re extremely controlling. You said it yourself, Felicity, and who knows how far they’d push that?”
“They’re a bit stiff, but I can’t see them doing anything crazy,” Felicity said firmly. “Why don’t you just go over there and see her? I’m sure she’s probably just sick.”
Logan ran the suggestion over in his head. He wasn’t sure he could be polite to Grace’s parents after what they’d done to the both of them, but if it meant seeing firsthand that Grace was all right, he’d do it. “Okay, I will.”
“You can’t just bust in there all Logan-like and demand to see her,” Felicity warned.
“Logan-like? What the hell does that even mean?” he demanded.
“Look, you have to play their game. If you go in there acting like the former Army soldier you are, they’ll shut down. Believe me, I’ve known people like this. Go home. Ch
ange. Put on a pair of slacks and a collared shirt. Ring the doorbell civilly instead of pounding on the door with your fist. Greet them politely, ask if Grace is home. Tell them you heard she was sick and you were concerned about her health. Shoot the shit about the weather. Whatever it takes. Play. Their. Game. If you don’t, you won’t get to see her.”
Logan ground his teeth together. He knew Felicity was right, but it still pissed him off. “Fine.”
“And call me right after.”
Logan rolled his eyes. Sometimes Felicity was a badass business owner who took no crap from anyone, and other times she was like a fifteen-year-old.
“You want backup?” Cole asked Logan.
“Yeah, but I don’t think it would help Grace,” he told his friend honestly. “I appreciate it, though.”
“You gonna tell your brothers?”
“Of course. But I need to know what I’m dealing with, if anything, first. I don’t want to start something if there’s nothing going on.”
Cole nodded. “Get the lay of the land. Recon.”
“Exactly. I’ll be in touch as soon as I have a better idea of what’s happening.”
“I’ll be waiting,” Cole grunted.
“We’ll be waiting,” Felicity corrected with a huff.
Logan nodded absently, already running different scenarios over in his head about how his visit to the Masons could go as he headed out the door to his motorcycle. He wanted to ignore Felicity’s advice, but knew he couldn’t. She was right. He needed to change, get cleaned up, look respectable . . . even if it was a façade. He’d never been respectable, and putting on nice clothes wouldn’t make it so, but he’d do it. For Grace.
An hour later, Logan rang the doorbell at the Masons’ house. He’d forgone his motorcycle and instead drove his truck. It probably wasn’t the kind of car the Masons would respect, but it was a lot better than his bike. He resisted the urge to shift in discomfort. He was wearing a gray suit Nathan had insisted he purchase when they started the business, and it felt awkward as hell. He’d forgone the tie, but had put on a white button-up shirt and a pair of his brother’s black dress shoes.
