by Hamel, B. B.
He grins. “You do that and I’ll never let you leave.”
There’s a gleam in his eye as he says it and I feel myself blush a little bit, a nice, warm sensation.
“Anyway, come on.” He helps me along, back to the big, huge windows. “I own the land around here. Everything you can see right now, I own it.”
“Wow.” I stare out at the trees. “It’s really something.”
“I think so too. It’s the sort of place I want preserved, you know? I’ve had offers, but I’m not selling.”
“Since you don’t need the money.”
“That’s right. And plus, I don’t want some fucking mall in my back yard.”
I smirk. “It would really enhance the view.”
He sighs dramatically. “But the traffic would be a nightmare.”
I laugh and he helps me along. There’s a small gym, a garage that’s mostly filled with tools and wood scraps from some project he’d been working on, a laundry room, and a bathroom.
“The rest is upstairs,” he says. “But we’ll avoid that for now, unless you want to hobble up there. Or I could carry you.”
I grin at him. “Carry me? I don’t think—”
But before I can finish the sentence, he whips me up off my feet. I gasp, surprised, as he lifts me like I weigh nothing.
“Since you’re up…” he trails off, grinning, and carries me upstairs.
“You’re unbelievable,” I say. “Ask next time before you just pick me up.”
“Sorry. Can’t help myself. I was just trying to grab your ass.”
“I felt.”
He grins and leads me down the hall. “This room’s yours. This is another extra room but it’s basically empty right now. Don’t have a use for it. Then here’s my room.” He shows me the master bed with its big, open spaciousness, its huge central bed, and simple furniture.
“Bathroom in the hall and another attached to my room. You’re welcome to use whatever you like.”
“Thanks.”
We pause in the hallway. He stands close to me. I’ll need him to carry me downstairs but I don’t want to ask.
He puts his hands on my hips. “Should I lift you up again?”
“I guess.” I stare in his eyes. “We could just stay here.”
“Yeah? And do what?”
“I bet you can think of something.”
He gives me this look. It’s hungry and dark and it makes me want to explore him even more. His hands get tighter on my body and pull me close against him.
But my phone starts to buzz in my pocket. He cocks his head. “Interesting,” he says. “Didn’t know I could make you do that. I’m good, just didn’t know how good.”
“Shut up, idiot.” I take the phone from my pocket, grinning, but the smile fades. “It’s my dad.”
“Don’t answer.”
I slip it back into my pocket after sending him to voicemail.
He lifts me without another word and we go downstairs. He deposits me on a big, comfortable chair.
He sits across from me. “You know, you’re the first guest I’ve had in here.”
“Really? This is one hell of a bachelor pad. I’d figure you’d have… thousands of girl through here.”
He laughs. “Believe it or not, the clinic takes up all my time. And anyway, I put the playboy lifestyle behind me already.”
“Oh, yeah? You were a big player, huh?”
“Sure, back in the day. It was easy.”
“Easy?” I roll my eyes. “You really are arrogant.”
“You don’t know who I am,” he says softly.
“You’re Brent Lofthouse. You’re the cocky physical therapist that just won’t leave me alone.”
He chuckles and shakes his head. “Here’s the thing. I told you about my family… well, now it’s your turn to believe something.”
I sit there for a second and feel my breath coming in faster. His eyes are serious on my face and I want him to keep going. He opens his mouth to start talking…
But there’s a banging at the front door.
He stops dead and narrows his eyes.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“I don’t know.” He stands up. “My nearest neighbor is a few miles off.”
“Brent.”
“Stay here.” He walks to the door. He hesitates before opening it.
I hear my father’s voice, like an ice cube rolling down my spine.
“Where the fuck is my daughter?”
“Mr. Gibbins,” Brent says. “You’re not welcome here.”
“Shut the fuck up with the Mr. Gibbins shit, you fucker. Where’s my daughter?”
“Dad.” I stand up and hobble over.
“There you are.” Dad pushes past Brent.
But I can see that was a mistake. Brent grabs him by the shoulder and slams him against the wall. Dad groans and his eyes go wide as Brent gets in his face.
“Did I invite you into my house, you motherfucker?”
“I’m here for my daughter.”
“I know why you’re here.” I get in his face and sneer. “You want to kick her down some steps again?”
The room goes still. My father’s breathing stills and his eyes widen as he stares back at Brent. I let out a groan of pure fear, not sure what else to do. I feel like I can’t move, like my feet are made of anvils.
“She tell you that, huh?” Dad says finally.
“She did.”
“Well, you listen to me.” Dad stands up straight. “I don’t care what she said. That girl’s a fucking liar. And you can’t keep her here.”
“I’m not keeping her anywhere,” Brent says. “That’s your problem. You think she’s just a little toy to be kept places. But she’s here by her own design.”
Dad’s eyes move to mine. I take a step back.
“Come home,” he says.
“No.” The word comes out and it surprises me just as much as it surprises him.
“No?” He barks a laugh. “The hell you saying? You want to stay here, with this fucking… nobody?”
“He’s helping me,” I say.
“He’s your goddamn doctor. I can’t even imagine all the ethical rules he’s violating right now.” Dad turns to Brent. “I’m going to have your license suspended, you motherfucker. You’re taking advantage of my daughter. You’re her doctor, you should—”
Brent slams his fist into the wall next to my father’s face. He winces and shrinks away, letting out a pathetic yelp.
“Threaten me again,” Brent says.
“You can’t—”
“Go ahead. Threaten me. Tell me what I can and can’t do on my property. You see, the thing about Texas is, they love it when you defend your fucking homestead from some weasel little shit like you.” Brent stares at my father.
“You’re making a mistake,” he says.
“And you have five seconds to leave before I hurt you.”
Dad looks at me. “And you’re making a bigger one.”
“Better get moving, Dad,” I say. “He’s not joking.”
One look at Brent convinces Dad that I’m right. He turns and walks out as fast as he can. Brent follows him to the door.
“Don’t show up here again,” he says. “Next time, there won’t be a countdown.”
Dad makes it to his truck before he turns back toward us. “You’re both making a mistake,” he says. “I’m not going to let this go.” He points at me. “You’re not finished.”
Brent closes the door.
I stand there and stare at him. He turns to me and pulls me against him, hugging me tight. My heart’s racing so fast in my chest I can barely breathe.
“How… how did he find us?”
Brent shakes his head then stops. “You said he looked at your texts.”
“Yeah. I didn’t know he looked at my phone.”
He sighs. “Think he knows your passwords?”
“I wouldn’t be shocked if he did. So what?”
“He can use your Find My Phone
app. He just tracked you with your own damn phone.”
I stare in horror at the thing poking out from my pocket. I hold it up. “Seriously?”
“Can’t say for sure, but that’s my guess.”
I turn it off and throw it on the couch. “I don’t know what to do.”
He pulls me against him again and kisses me. There’s an anger in his kiss, a tight, animal rage.
I have to admit, I like it.
Watching him stand up to my father like that made me wild with excitement. It’s insane, I know, but I’ve never seen a man stand up for me before. He was intense and aggressive… and I liked it.
“I told you,” he says softly, breaking the kiss off. “You’re mine now.”
“Yeah.” I kiss the stubble on his cheek. “I think I am.”
He pulls me tight and for the first time in a while, I think I might have a chance.
8
Brent
Amber goes to bed early. I take her phone out back and smash it with an ax.
I could probably get away with just turning it off and leaving it in the microwave or something. But there’s something satisfying about the heft of the ax, the cold night air biting against my skin. I smash it down and cut the fucking thing in half and leave its broken electronic guts splattered all over the stump in my side yard.
I let her sleep late the next morning. When she comes down, I’m sitting in the kitchen with a pot of coffee and some bags already packed.
“Hey,” she says. “Good morning.”
“Morning. Got you some coffee. You hungry?”
“No, thanks, I’m okay.” She takes some coffee though and curls up on a chair, legs folded under her gingerly. She looks so small and vulnerable.
“Listen.” I walk over and sit down on the coffee table, leaning forward with my elbows on my knees. “We gotta talk.”
“I figured.”
“About your dad.”
“What else would we talk about?”
I shrug. “Stock market. Price of gas.”
“I hear it’s up.”
“Which one?”
She gives me a flat look. “Both.”
I laugh a little. “We can’t avoid this, you know.”
“I know. As much as I want to crawl into a hole and pretend like none of this is happening, I know.” She looks down at her leg. “I’m reminded every time I move.”
“I have a plan.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Yeah?”
“I’m not sure you’ll like it.”
“Does it involve me marrying some stranger?”
“No, it does not.”
“Then it’s already great.”
I sigh a little and rub my eyes. “Honestly, I’m not sure I like it, either.”
“Just tell me.”
I take a deep breath. “We’re going to my parents’ house.”
She frowns, just a little bit. “Why’s that such a big deal?”
“You’ll find out once we get there.”
“Ominous.”
I get up and stalk into the kitchen. She watches me but doesn’t say anything. I pour my fourth cup of coffee and sip it, unable to help myself.
“Look, I haven’t been home in a long time, okay? At least, not for longer than a day or two at most.”
“That’s not really that uncommon.”
“It is in my family.”
“Brent.” She unfolds herself and struggles to her feet. I’m by her side in a second, helping her. She gives me a grateful smile. “Listen. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. There have to be a million things we can do to get away from my dad.”
“There are, but I promise you none of them will be as good as going to my parents’ house.”
“Do they live in Fort Knox or something? Are they aliens and you’re keeping the secret from me?” She grins a little. “Are you going to abduct me?”
“And probe you.”
“Okay, don’t be gross.”
“Sorry. No, it’s none of that. They’re just… look, they’re very wealthy, okay?”
“Wealthy.” She frowns. “That’s what rich people say when they’ve been rich for a long time.”
I don’t respond to her. I just give her a flat, level stare.
She doesn’t know the half of it. She has no clue what wealthy really means.
There are rich people in this world. People that don’t have to worry about money or really work if they don’t want to. Then there are people that have rich parents. They have some money too, but it’s not endless. Their grandkids likely won’t be rolling in it.
Then there are the select few in America that are truly, truly wealthy. The select few that have had money and land since this country was founded. The select, lucky few that have hoarded it all, saved it all, fought to keep every penny for generations. The select few that have bent policy to their will, made governments weep for their whims.
My family is one of those.
“Oookay,” she says. “That doesn’t change anything. If you don’t want to go, we won’t go.”
I step closer to her. “I’m going to do what’s best for you. And I know the best thing is to go to Lofthouse Manor.”
“Your house is named… after your family?”
“Of course.” I run a hand through my hair. “Really, my family is named for the house, if you want to be technical about it.”
“Lofthouse…” She raises an eyebrow. “Is it one big loft?”
“No. Sort of. Not really.” I clench my jaw. “Just listen, okay?”
“Okay. I’m listening.” She perches on a stool and blows on her coffee before drinking some again.
“My family is wealthy. Obscenely wealthy. But we don’t exactly get along.”
“So we don’t have to—”
I interrupt her. “But that doesn’t matter. Lofthouse Manor is like… a fortress. My parents are incredibly paranoid. Private security, private staff, cameras all over. We’ll be safe there. I might argue with my parents, but we’ll be safe.”
She lets out a breath. “Brent…”
“I know I’m making this harder than I need to.” I walk over to her and take her hands. “But after last night, I’m sure we need to go.”
“If you want to do this, I’ll come with you. But I just want to make it clear that I’m okay with anything else.”
“I know you are.” I smile at her. “But you don’t have much of a choice. You don’t have anywhere else to go.”
“No, I do not. And I don’t have any clean clothes.” She looks down at herself.
“Ah, well, I took care of that. A little bit, at least.” I walk over to a bag and open it. Inside are a bunch of new bras, underwear, and some shirts and pants. “More or less your size. I had to guess.”
“Where did you get all that?”
“Called in an order last night and had it delivered this morning.”
“What… how?”
I give her a flat stare. “Obscenely wealthy family, remember? That’s the sort of shit rich people love to do. Bending the rules, making things happen that otherwise shouldn’t.”
She chews on her lip then walks over and looks inside. She picks out some underwear, a plain sweatshirt, and a pair of shorts. “These should work.”
“Go get changed. We’ll leave when you’re done.”
“Can I shower?”
“Sure. Probably a good idea. It’s a long drive to Virginia.”
Her eyes go wide. “We’re driving to Virginia?”
“Yep.” I laugh a little bit. “It’ll be fun.”
“I’m not sure you know what that word means.”
I look at her, a little smile on my lips. “Oh, I definitely do.”
She shakes her head but gets upstairs with my help. She showers and I pack the truck. When she’s done, she comes back down and smiles. She’s wearing the new clothes, simple shorts and a black fitted crew neck sweatshirt, and they fit pretty good. She looks fresh and gorgeous, alt
hough she’s leaning on a cane.
“Ready?” she asks.
“Ready. Come on.”
We head outside. I help her down the steps and toward the truck. As we go, she glances over at the ax lodged in the tree stump.
“Is that… my phone?”
“It was at one time, yes.”
“You murdered my phone.”
“We’ll get you a new one on the trip.”
“But… my phone. It’s murdered. You ax murdered my phone.”
I laugh and help her up into the truck. “I did what I had to do.”
I shut the door and climb into the driver’s side.
“I’d hate to be on your bad side,” she says.
I just smile, start the engine, and pull out.
* * *
“It’s only a twenty hour drive,” I say about four hours into the first day.
“Wait—what?”
“Twenty hours,” I repeat. “And we’re doing it in two stretches.”
She groans and rubs her leg. “No way.”
“Yes, absolutely way.”
“We’re doing it in three days. No arguments.”
“Sorry, little Amber. But we’re doing it in two ten-hour stretches.”
She glares at me. We’re driving down I-40, heading east. The truck hums along, mostly on cruise control. These new trucks have all these insane bells and whistles, like radar that helps keep me in the lane, and automatic speed control that slows down for traffic and speeds back up again.
It’s crazy. I barely even need to drive. Soon enough, I won’t have to at all, and these twenty-hour trips won’t be so bad.
Unfortunately though, I’m still stuck paying attention, although there’s not that much traffic around. We haven’t made it out of Texas yet, though Arkansas isn’t too far. Then it’s into Tennessee, and from there it’s right into Virginia. Strange how driving twenty hours only gets us through four states.
“We need to stop,” she says.
“No, we don’t.”
“Seriously. We gotta stop. We need gas. We need something. Right?”
I check the tank. “Nope. Refilled while you were asleep a couple hours ago. We’re good for a while longer.”
“My leg’s tired. It’s aching. I need to pee. We have to stop.”
“Are you really complaining already? We’re not even halfway through the day.”
