by J. D. Mason
Jordan’s expression must’ve begged the question for him.
“Manicure-pedicure,” she clarified.
In lieu of everything that was happening, it took everything in him not to scoff at something as inconsequential as a pedicure. But Phyl couldn’t know that anything was wrong. Jordan’s instinct warned him that no one could know that Abby had been abducted.
“I need you to gather some information for me,” he continued, preparing to wrap up their meeting.
“Sure.”
“Find out everything you can on who the investors are on the Dakota Pipeline project. Names of corporations, individuals, investment amounts if possible.”
She stared blankly at him. “Anything in particular you’re looking for?”
“No.”
Phyl paused for a moment, but when he didn’t elaborate, she finally stood up to leave. “I’ll get you that information as soon as possible.”
“Thank you,” he said curtly.
Jordan stared at his computer screen, forcing himself to read and respond to e-mails. Without realizing it, he glanced constantly between that screen and the cell phone on his desk, waiting for it to vibrate with news about Abby. None came.
He had to go through the motions. Jordan trudged through meetings during the course of the day like a fish swimming through mud. He held conversations with people, pretending that he was listening, that he gave a shit about whatever it was they were talking to him about. Push through. That’s what he did. Minutes ticked by like hours. Was she still alive? How badly had they hurt her? Were they still hurting her? Why the fuck hadn’t Wells contacted him yet? Jordan remembered that passivity was not in his nature and he decided to be the one to make the first call.
The phone rang several times before going to voice mail. “Where are you?” he demanded to know.
Maybe it was too soon for him to be calling, too soon for the man to have discovered anything, but still, Jordan couldn’t sit here waiting and doing nothing.
“Have you been by the house? Let me know what you found,” he said before hanging up.
This was his fault. Jordan should’ve known better than to make their relationship public. He’d dated more than his share of women, but Abby was different. He made it a point when they were in public together to kiss her, hold her hand, showing the world that he was truly in love with this woman, and that was where he’d fucked up. Even with Claire, things had been different. He wasn’t as well known back then. His face wasn’t on the covers of national and international magazines. He wasn’t who he was now, but he had been careful with Claire, providing security for her whether she knew it or not, whether she wanted it or not, because Jordan had enemies. He always did and always would.
“Jordan,” Jennifer said over the intercom, “you’re late for your two o’clock. They want to know if you’re still planning on joining?”
Jordan glanced at his watch. The meeting had started ten minutes ago.
“Yes. Let them know that I’ll be there momentarily.”
This was just the first day. Jordan needed to keep his sanity in check and not panic. He had to pace himself, to not give in to his darkest fears, but to brace himself for whatever happened. It was the first day of what would undoubtedly be the longest week of his life, and if he was going to get through it, then he had to know that he would get her back. Abby had to believe it, too. Jordan momentarily closed his eyes and willed her his determination, his promise that he would find her. Abby had to know that he was coming for her. God! Please let her know that.
Games, Changes, and Fears
BRANDON’S HALF SISTER, BIANCA, had finally managed to get him to visit one of her coffee shops. Drugstore Cowboy, on the surface, was everything you’d expect from a modern-day Texas saloon, with its rustic wood bar, tables and chairs, cement floors, and exposed ductwork. His opinion was sarcastic, of course. Located in downtown Deep Ellum, on the outside it was nothing fancy, but inside it was a millennial’s dream. With things on the menu like Honey Greek Yogurt and Maple Bourbon Coffee, he doubted that many real cowboys actually frequented the place. But surprisingly, he liked it.
“You saw him today?” he asked, staring across the table at her.
She nodded slightly. “Only briefly, on the elevator.”
“How’d he look?”
“Tense,” she said simply. “And handsome.”
The twinge of jealousy sparked by her last comment caught Brandon by surprise. She was his sister, after all. And Brandon shouldn’t care that she found Gatewood handsome, but again—it was the admiration, near cultlike worship, of the man by Brandon’s family that had been a thorn in Brandon’s side for too many years.
He sighed heavily, wondering if it were possible to pass down hatred through DNA. Or was it really something that was taught? Either way, Brandon and Bianca had come from a highly potent gene pool, or their father was one hell of a teacher.
“It seems silly,” she said introspectively. “Don’t you think? Carrying on with this elaborate scheme for something as insignificant as a thirty-year-old grudge.”
He returned a seesaw nod. “Perhaps if you look at it that way, then, yes, I suppose it does.”
She smiled. “What other way is there to look at it?”
“As more than a grudge. A disease, perhaps,” he offered. “Like cancer, spreading and festering, changing you, even defining you.”
“You let it go before it gets to that point, Brandon. Our father should’ve let it go.”
“Our father should have,” he responded thoughtfully. “Had it been anyone else but Gatewood, he likely would have.”
“His hatred of that man has poisoned him.”
“Only because he underestimated Jordan and it cost him.”
She lingered on that thought.
“Jordan turned the rules of the game, our father’s game, against him, and played it better than he ever could,” Brandon explained. “I don’t know if it’s that Dad hates Jordan Gatewood as much as he hates himself for losing to him.”
“It’s a shame.”
Brandon was thoughtful for a moment before responding. “You have to look at the bigger picture.”
“How so?”
“In a perfect world, a man like, say, David can take down Goliath with a slingshot and a stone.” He chuckled, amused, but then he stopped laughing. “But the world’s not perfect and it takes more than slingshots to bring a giant to his knees. Gatewood wasn’t created overnight. It has taken decades of fire and pressure to build him up into the Goliath he has become.”
She pondered his analogy.
“Defeating him requires a more systematic approach to his unraveling.”
“Taking him apart at the seams?”
He offered a curt smile. And then his thoughts drifted to her. “I met her,” he said, suddenly lighting up at the memory. “And until I did, I didn’t believe that the man had any weaknesses. His staunch and dignified demeanor, worn like armor, had always made him seem absolutely infallible.”
“Is this hero worship I’m seeing in you?”
He was caught off guard by her observation. “Yes,” he said, making the surprising admission.
“Where is this coming from?” she probed.
Again, he thought long and hard before answering. “He is truly self-made,” he explained. “Oh, sure. He inherited the business from his father, but he was ill equipped to run it, nearly destroyed it, and yet, despite all of the obstacles—being a person of color, his youth, having those he trusted most sabotaging his every move—he still succeeded. He found a way to overcome and to not only keep the business from going under but to turn it into something his own father would never imagined it could be.” He leaned back and sighed. “And who knows, left to his own devices, how much farther he could take it?”
She nodded affirmatively. “You’re right.”
Brandon chuckled again. “Me against him was like Daffy Duck going head-to-head against Superman until I saw her. No. Until I
saw the way that he looked at her.”
He hovered over his cup of coffee and recalled the memory. No man is ever prepared for the kind of effect that she had on Brandon that night. He looked up at the landing in the governor’s mansion, right on cue, as she emerged through the entrance and stood on the landing above the crowd, looking out across the room searching for Gatewood.
“She appeared like something out of a dream,” he said, staring into his sister’s eyes. “A dark beauty with sensuous curves poured into a sky-blue sequined gown. Her hair worn short, and you know me, I hate short hair on a woman, but on her it was perfect, highlighting beautiful cheekbones, full lips, and bright dramatic eyes; oh, she was lovely.”
He shook his head slowly in dismay.
“And I watched him make his way up the staircase to her, locking on to her the whole time, unable to take his eyes off her. She met him halfway, placed her hand on his shoulder, smiled, and whispered something to him.” He smiled, too. “He kissed her cheek, held out his arm for her to take, and escorted her down the staircase. The whole room watched the two of them as if they were royalty.”
He’d never seen anything like it, and Brandon had been to a dozen Governor’s Balls in his lifetime. He’d even been to a royal wedding once in Denmark, and seeing the two of them together had at least that same effect. He was sure of it.
“All of a sudden, Jordan Gatewood was just a man.” He looked amused again. “Or rather, he was still Superman, but she was his kryptonite.”
And just like that, his hero had fallen. What he thought of Gatewood defied logic. Yes, he loathed him because he’d been taught to believe it was the thing to do, and he understood his father’s reasons behind why he felt the way he did, although he didn’t necessarily agree. But above all else, blood was loyal. Jordan Gatewood was also his hero, for all the reasons that he’d just explained to his sister, but he was also something else. He was everything that Brandon could never be.
“You made them promise not to hurt her,” his sister reminded him. “But no matter what, it doesn’t make sense to let her go, Brandon,” she regrettably explained.
“I spoke to her,” he said, forcing a smile. “She surprised me, because she wasn’t the type of woman you’d expect a man like him to be with.”
“What you mean? You said she was beautiful?”
“Oh, she was—is. But he’s used to having beautiful women on his arm. She stood next to me at the bar, waiting while he stood across the room holding a conversation with someone.” He waved his hand dismissively in the air. “She leaned over to me and she admitted to feeling out of place. She joked about how awkward she was and how worried she was about offending someone by being blunt and too damned honest.” He laughed. “She asked me who I was and shook my hand. It wasn’t long before he, of course, came looking for her,” he said, disappointed. “Before she left, she placed her hand on my arm and told me how nice it was to speak to me, and she thanked me for my patience.”
A dreadful feeling washed over him.
“I told them not to hurt her,” he said, collecting himself.
“But when this is over?”
Abby Rhodes was never far from his thoughts. It mattered to him that she was safe, as safe as she could be under these circumstances. She was a sweet beauty who didn’t belong in their world, caught up in their deceitful webs and ugly games. Gatewood kept her close to him for the rest of that night, hovering over her like some protective guardian, being selective about whom he let into their small circle. Shame on him for falling in love with that woman and for letting her fall in love with him. Shame on all of them for what he knew to be their only recourse.
“She won’t feel a thing,” he said sadly.
He Loves Me Wrong
FLOWERS ALWAYS DID THE TRICK. Thomas believed that and she’d let him. Naomi stood over the kitchen sink, staring out the window into the swing set in the backyard. The kids never even played on that thing anymore. It was just in the way now, an eyesore, really.
“Hey, baby,” he said, coming up behind her, tenderly wrapping his arms around her waist, kissing her on the side of her neck.
It was best not to cringe. So she pressed her lips together to keep her protests to herself.
“What’s for dinner?”
Mercifully, he didn’t hold on to her for too long.
“Your favorite,” she said, mustering up as much sweetness as she had left inside her. “Steak, potatoes, and a salad.”
“Sounds good, sweetheart,” he said, making his way through the kitchen, out into the living room, and up the stairs to shower.
The kids were well trained. They knew to be quiet and sit and do their homework by the time he came home from work.
“Hey, Daddy,” she heard them call out in unison when they saw him.
“Y’all ’bout done with that homework?” he asked, pounding up the stairs.
“Yessir.”
This house was full of eggshells that Naomi and the kids were careful to try not to break. And he was full of appreciation and apologies and compliments and guilt. This was the cycle of abuse. Everyone knew the rules and how to play. Of course, he loved the meal, and she looked so pretty tonight. He was proud of the kids. Everyone smiled and paid special attention to every word said at the dinner table, politely waiting until it was their turn to speak, especially if he was talking. You had to make sure that he saw you hanging on every word, that he had your undivided attention, admiration, and forgiveness. And you’d better be convincing.
Making love with a cracked rib was excruciating. Naomi had to pretend that she wasn’t in as much pain as she was. She had to pretend to get lost in the throes of his lovemaking and to cum with such abandon that he believed he was a god. He had to believe that the tears she shed were a result of being so overcome with her release that it made him stick out his chest a little more tomorrow when he went to work.
While Thomas slept, she stared up at the ceiling, recalling the fear she felt when that woman escaped. It had happened so fast, and Naomi had been left scrambling, frantic and confused. Even if she’d chased her and caught her, what then? DJ had promised her that this would be simple. All three of them had had their roles. Naomi’s was to keep the woman fed, but the situation had turned crazy in a matter of seconds.
“What the fuck happened, Nay?” he yelled after shoving the woman back into the room and slamming the door shut behind him. “How the hell did she get out?”
Naomi yanked off the hot ski mask. “It … it just happened,” she tried explaining. “I don’t know—”
He grabbed her by the elbow and ushered her outside. Naomi winced from the injury Thomas had caused a day ago to her side.
“We can’t fuck this up, Nay,” he said, forcing himself to calm down. “You have to be more careful.”
“I know. I know. I’m sorry.”
She didn’t want to do this. But Naomi needed this. It was her last chance, her only chance, to get away from Thomas.
She swallowed. “I was careless,” she said apologetically. “It won’t happen again.”
DJ had promised her more money than she’d ever dreamed she’d get her hands on, and she’d nearly blown it. Naomi could not afford to blow this.
Naomi was a dispatcher at the trucking company where DJ drove. She’d been there the day he’d applied for the job and she’d liked his smile. Not in a sexual way, but he reminded her of a younger brother. DJ was always quick with a joke. When he was in, he made it a point to see if she wanted anything back from any one of his trips. He was easy to like, and observant.
“What’s going on, Nay?” he asked one day when she’d failed to adequately cover up a bruised cheek.
She’d gone out of her way to avoid people as much as she could, but he found her sitting in the back of the cafeteria. He sat down and immediately noticed her piss-poor makeup job.
“You okay?” he asked, half smiling at her.
“I’m good,” she lied. “Ran into a door,” she said,
embarrassed.
“Right,” he said doubtfully.
She could see it in his eyes that he didn’t believe her. Eventually, she stopped lying. And she started telling him her dreams, about taking her boys and getting away from Thomas. When DJ came to her with this plan, at first she thought he was joking. And if he was, it was cruel and she had made up her mind not to be his friend anymore. But when she realized that it wasn’t a joke, and that he had a way to help her get some money together to follow that harebrained dream of hers, it was as if God had finally heard her prayers.
“It’s crazy,” he said at a restaurant they’d agreed to meet at outside of town. “I know.”
If word had gotten back to her husband that she was meeting another man in a restaurant, Thomas would’ve killed her.
“It’s not crazy, DJ,” she retorted. “It’s criminal. You could get life in prison for something like this.”
“Or I can make a whole hell of a lot of money. We could make a lot of money.”
“For kidnapping?” she said, being careful to keep her voice down, but still glancing around the room to make sure no one heard her. “Do you even know these people? These people who want you to do this? Who are they?”
“I don’t know and I don’t want to know. Look, they found me. All right?”
“How’d they find you?”
He turned his gaze from hers. “I can’t say, Naomi. Look, the less you know, the better. I’m just—”
DJ was a young man, with a young family, and it wasn’t surprising that money, or the lack of it, was an issue.
“They promised that it’d be easy. Nobody gets hurt. Some rich dude has to part with some money. That’s it.”
“Yeah, and some woman is abducted and afraid for her life.”
“But she won’t get hurt. They made me promise, Nay. They made me promise to keep her safe, and it’s for less than a week. Five days. Tops.”
She couldn’t believe what she was hearing from him, and she wanted no part of it.
