by Julia Derek
“Well,” I began. “People in L.A. are always smiling and it’s always sunny. At least it doesn’t stay cloudy for more than a few hours and it rarely rains. It doesn’t ever get very cold like here. Pretty much everyone I know is in incredible shape unlike some people I’ve met here. People in L.A. value their health and looks a lot more, I guess. Are you from New York?”
“Yup. From Long Island.”
“How was it growing up here?”
He shrugged noncommittally. “Okay, I suppose. My family didn’t have a lot of money, so I started working at a young age.”
“How young?”
“Nine.”
I stared at him, shocked. “Nine? Really? Who lets a nine-year-old work?”
He stiffened, reverting back to looking at me in that cold way I’d become so used to while working at the office. “My parents, that’s who. We were really poor, so everyone had to help out. I’m not surprised that someone who comes from as much money as you do would ever be able to relate to this.”
I felt instantly bad for having offended him. I removed a strand of blond hair that kept wanting to end up on my nose and placed it behind my ear. “I’m sorry I said it in such a way. I didn’t mean to be rude. You’re right that I’m not able to relate to how that must have been. Would you mind explaining to me?”
He looked at me for a long, quiet moment, as though trying to decide for himself whether I was worth the trouble of explaining himself further.
“My father became paralyzed when he fell off our tractor,” he began, “so my mom and the rest of my siblings had to work to make ends meet and pay for his medical bills. My parents refused to take any handouts from the government. Which I’m very proud of.”
“As you should be.” I cleared my throat, feeling even worse now for having sounded so condescending at his revelation. Maybe I deserved for him not to like me. “I’m sorry about your dad and for sounding so judgmental. I think I said it in such a rude way because I was always under the impression it was illegal for children to work. What kind of work did you do?”
“It may be illegal, but lots of places are happy to overlook that. You’d be surprised. Besides, my siblings and I were mostly doing farm work. They don’t really keep track of your age in that line of work.”
“Oh. What did your mother do?”
“In addition to taking care of us six siblings, she was a seamstress and fixed clothes for people in the area. We kids were picking berries and fruit during harvest season, and during the other seasons we helped building houses and delivered newspapers.” He turned his head away and gazed at one of the covered windows. “I know to someone like you it sounds like my parents were slave drivers, but I believe it made a man out of me. More kids should be forced to work at an earlier age and maybe they wouldn’t be so entitled.”
In a huff, he pushed himself off the bed and strode up to the nearest window. He leaned onto the windowsill and stared before him, as though he was looking outside. Since the window was completely covered up, obviously this wasn’t the reason he was doing it. He was doing it because he was mad.
That was what I first assumed at least. As he remained there, his shoulders stiff and his neck turning increasingly red, it slowly dawned on me what was actually going on—he wasn’t mad at us entitled kids as much as he was ashamed of his own impoverished background.
But I suspected he was much too proud to ever confess this to me.
While I’d always known Chase was of humble beginnings, I’d never realized he’d had it that rough growing up. No wonder I was nothing more than an incredibly entitled rich kid in his eyes, someone who would never have gotten to where she was if it hadn’t been for her background. But he was wrong for acting like I’d been handed everything in life, even my job at a firm as reputable as Goldman Sachs. While it may be true that my life had been a lot easier than his, I had worked my ass off to get to where I was at the firm. Just like he had. Also, my parents had decided to donate most of their money to charity when they died, leaving very little over for me and my brother, Dylan. Neither of us had ever had a problem with that. We both wanted to earn our own way in life. Besides, our parents had given us every opportunity to succeed by loving and supporting us from the moment we were born. How could we not succeed on our own?
So I didn’t think I deserved for Chase to feel the way he did about me. I’d better set a few things straight with him right now.
Chapter Five
I left the bed and walked over to him. While he didn’t turn to look at me, I could sense that he didn’t disapprove of me joining him either. It was a start. Maybe he wasn’t as stubborn as I had feared.
“I know you probably won’t believe me,” I said, “but I didn’t use any of my family’s influence to get into the firm. I even made sure I used my mother’s maiden name on my application to be sure I wasn’t given special treatment. I wanted to be accepted because of what I had done so far in my life, not because of who my parents are. And I’m not a trust fund kid either. All my brother and I’ll get when our mom dies is $25,000 each. The rest of the family’s money will be given to charity.”
He turned to look at me. “Really? Why would they do that?”
“Because they believe we need to make our own way in life, the way they did. Which we are, but not without them having given us plenty of guidance along the way. Like paying for all our schooling, so we don’t have to start out with massive debts.”
He gazed at me for a long moment. “Huh. So you really didn’t use any of your family’s contacts when you interviewed to work for the firm?”
“Nope,” I said. “All they had to go by was what was on my resume. Though I guess having gone to Harvard does increase your chances of being hired. What college did you go to?”
I already knew he’d gone to Princeton, but I wasn’t about to let that on.
“Princeton,” he confirmed for me.
“Really?” I pretended to be surprised. “Did you have a scholarship or did you have to take a loan? Because I assume your parents didn’t pay for you.”
Again, I was pretty sure I knew the answer to this question.
“I got an athletic scholarship.”
“Oh.” Well, that was something I hadn’t known. Tessa had only said he’d gone to Princeton on a scholarship, so I’d assumed it was on an academic one given how metrosexual he appeared. He seemed to be the kind of guy who worked out only to make sure he maintained a good physique and health, having no interest in sports.
“What sport did you play?” I asked.
He sat on the windowsill. “Ice hockey.”
“Really?” I felt my mouth drop open a little I was so surprised; I had expected him to say something safer and less violent, like track and field maybe.
“Yep. Got most of my teeth knocked out of my mouth while playing, too.” He gave me a pleased grin, as if this was something he was proud of.
I couldn’t help but smile back as I thought, so that is why his teeth seem so fake and perfect. They were fake and perfect.
“Did you play any sports at Harvard?” he asked.
It was a harmless question to pretty much anybody, but not to me. I found myself unable to answer and just looked at Chase. The idea was always that I should have continued to play basketball when I went to college, but after what had happened in high school I was no longer able to pick up a basketball and play. I had tried, but the memories of what I had been part of made it impossible for me to play for more than a few minutes. The ramifications of it stretched years after it was over, almost succeeding in killing my own brother.
Chase put a hand on my arm. “Are you okay?”
I forced myself to talk. “Yeah. No, I didn’t play any sports. I just ran whenever I got the chance instead. I’m not that into team sports.” Anymore.
He nodded, then he removed himself from the windowsill. “Excuse me. I need to use the restroom.”
It was only when he locked the bathroom door after himself that I re
membered that my undies were hanging over the shower curtain rod. Just the thought of this made my cheeks heat up. What would he think when he saw them there? They were black and the shower curtain shades of pink, making them stick out like crazy. Surely he wouldn’t miss them.
Well, one thing he would realize was that, unless I was a weirdo who wore double sets of panties, I was naked under my skirt right now. Very naked.
I buried my face in my hands and let out a quiet sigh. So embarrassing.
As I heard him flush the toilet a few minutes later, I quickly pulled myself together, however. There was nothing I could do about it. Besides, he and I both had more important things to worry about than me being naked under my skirt.
By the time he was back in the bedroom, I had managed to completely make my face cool down. If he had been at all affected or even noticed my panties, he didn’t let this on. He probably hadn’t seen them, I decided. Maybe he was legally blind or something. Yes, he must not have seen them. For all I knew, he’d gone to the bathroom to hyperventilate for a minute. Even if we were both acting like the situation we were in wasn’t nearly as serious as it was, it was. Chase may just be every good at holding himself together under stress in front of me.
The sound of heavy boots approaching our room reached our ears then and we both turned our attention to the door. Chase snuck up to me and grabbed my arm. Staring at me with excited eyes, he hissed close to my face, “Lie down on the floor and pretend that you’ve passed out. Quick!”
As silently as I could, I bent down and lay on the floor. I positioned myself so I ended up sideways next to the bed and closed my eyes at the same time as I heard a key enter the door. I hoped I was far enough from the door and that the bed was shielding me, so whoever was coming had to come far into the room to spot me. And that he would forget about Chase while trying to figure out what had happened to me.
I inhaled through my nose in order not to shiver as I heard the door swing open. This had to work.
Heavy boots entered the room and came closer to the bed. It sounded like it was only one person as before. Had he seen me yet? Where was Chase? I’d heard him step away from me as I’d dived to the floor. He’d better take this thug down. Any time now I expected to hear the sound of blows and moans as Chase jumped him, followed by a heavy body crashing to the floor. The thug’s body. But the seconds ticked by and nothing happened.
“Why is she on the floor?” a gruff voice asked far above my head finally.
“It’s too damn hot and stuffy in here,” Chase said, his voice tense. It sounded like he was standing several steps away from me. What is wrong? Why isn’t he taking out the guy like we planned? Please do it now, I urged him in my head . But instead of hearing the scuffle that I wanted, Chase said, “She fainted. Look for yourself. I think she’s in really bad condition.”
Oh, no, I didn’t want this creep coming anywhere near me. What the hell was Chase thinking?
A moment of tense silence ensued during which I barely dared to breathe. What was going on? Even though I dreaded it, I was now expecting to hear boot steps approach me and the thug to do something to me, but it was dead quiet in the room. Had the thug realized this was all just a big hoax? Why wasn’t Chase doing what he was supposed to be doing? My heart was beating so hard in my chest it hurt and I desperately wanted to open my mouth to get more air into my lungs. But I couldn’t do that if I was supposed to be passed out.
“Get over in the corner,” the gruff voice ordered.
“Why do I—” Chase said, but the thug cut him off. “Don’t fuckin’ argue with me. Get over in the corner and kiss the wall. Now!”
There was the sound of feet walking farther away from where I was lying and then they stopped.
Heavy boots walked toward me and stopped right beside me. I was sure I was about to have a heart attack any second now, the way my heart was tearing up my chest. I felt a hand grab a big chunk of my hair and pull me upward. My head, then my shoulders left the floor. It was all I could do not to scream out loud it hurt so much. But I didn’t think someone who was supposed to be passed out on the ground would feel the pain I felt right now. At least not immediately. The hand kept pulling and pulling until my entire upper body was off the floor and then I couldn’t take it anymore. A loud groan floated out from between my lips.
The hand let go of my hair then and I crashed back to the floor, the side of my head slamming into the hard surface. It hurt so bad I felt dizzy and my eyes filled with hot tears. I opened my mouth and sucked in deep breaths I was in such pain, gasping when I couldn’t get the air in fast enough.
“I think she’s awake now,” the thug said. A boot kicked me in the stomach, but not so hard it hurt, thankfully. Or maybe I was just so numb from the intense pain shooting through my head that I couldn’t tell. “Open your eyes.”
“Leave her alone!” I heard Chase yell, his voice furious. “If you need to beat up someone, come over here.”
A shot went off then, making me squeeze my eyes shut with terror. Oh, God, did he just shoot Chase?
“Another word from you and the next bullet will be in your kneecap,” the thug warned, his voice cold as ice. He nudged me with his boot again. “Open your eyes.”
I was too scared not to do as I’d been told. As I did, I saw the big man with the black leather coat above me, but all the tears in my eyes made him blurry. I blinked a couple of times, which made the hot tears flood my cheeks in steady streams.
“What’s wrong with you?” he demanded from me while throwing glances over his shoulder. He must be checking what Chase was doing. Please dear God, let Chase be okay. “Why are you on the floor?”
“I—I don’t know,” I stuttered. “I think… I think I fainted…” It wasn’t hard to act dazed and confused after having been dropped onto the floor like that. The side of my head was still aching so much I worried that my cheekbone might have cracked from the impact, and my crown burned with pain from the way he’d pulled my hair. Maybe it wasn’t only tears that I felt on my cheeks. Maybe it was also blood from my skull having split open in some place.
“Sit up,” he ordered, throwing another glance over his shoulder. His eyes lingered behind him and he pointed his gun in that direction. Then he turned back to me. “Sit up, I told you.”
I placed my palms against the floor and began pushing myself up. It struck me that maybe it was better if I wasn’t able to get up that easily if I had passed out from being overheated and lack of oxygen. So I made myself collapse back on the floor again. “I can’t breathe. There’s no air in here…”
The second I was back on the floor, I regretted not having followed his orders and expected a hard boot in my stomach as punishment. I was such a fool. But the boot didn’t come, and instead the thug spun around and walked away. Is he leaving? I wasn’t about to quickly push myself up to check what he was up to, not when I had just acted like my arms were so weak and jelly-like. Suddenly it seemed he stopped somewhere and did something. He returned to me and before I could try to see what was going on, a flood of cold liquid poured over my head.
“Ahhh!” I yelled and shot up from the floor.
“Feeling better?” the thug asked and threw a big paper cup somewhere beside me. It took me a little while to make out what it was for all the sticky, cold liquid that was getting into my eyes. But as I wiped some away, I saw that it was a large soda container. He’d poured friggin’ soda over my head …
He dropped a brown paper bag next to me. “Your food is in there and a bunch of napkins. Use them to wipe yourself. You’re a mess.”
I made myself sit up all the way and reached for the brown bag and got some napkins out that I used to wipe myself. It was best to do exactly what this psycho wanted. He looked over to a corner of the room and aimed his gun in that direction. “Don’t you fucking move.”
Then he walked around the bed and headed toward the windows. I didn’t dare turn my head to see what he was up to but just sat there, wiping soda off my face, nec
k, and hair with trembling hands.
Suddenly, several shots were fired from that gun with the silencer. Each one felt like someone punched me in the gut, my stomach clenched so hard. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine… I soon lost count of them and I became certain that I’d be the target of the next one. As the thug kept firing the gun, I crouched back onto the floor and tried to make myself as small as possible. Maybe he would forget about me, let me be, if he didn’t see me… I didn’t want to die… Oh, God, I don’t want to die… I was so terrified I’d begun to shake.
Then, as suddenly as the shots had begun, they stopped and it got quiet again, eerily quiet. All I was aware of was how my heart was pounding so loudly it seemed like it was echoing through the room. What had he shot at? Had he shot Chase? Oh, God, please let Chase be okay…
