by Nikki Chase
Maybe my guess is right, after all. Perhaps, like Sisyphus, I’m doomed to repeating the same heart-wrenching things, over and over again.
It’s almost the end of winter in a city that doesn’t normally snow anyway. But as I step outside the building, I’m struck by how dull and lackluster everything is. I feel like I’m living in a black-and-white movie.
As usual, I take the shortcut through the park. It’s already dark but it’s not that late. Besides, it’s ridiculous to worry about some mugger who wants whatever change I have in my wallet when my whole world is crashing down.
Besides, I like that it’s quiet here. During the day, there are kids hanging off the colorful playground equipment and joggers listening to their iPods while they exercise.
But at night, there are only plants and empty walking paths. The darkness means at least I’m seeing this place as it is. There are no colors here so it’s natural for everything to be in grayscale.
I stare ahead, my gaze empty and my mind filled to the brim with tangled thoughts.
I don’t even see anything until it’s too late. Of course I don’t hear anything either.
The first thing I notice is the hand over my mouth and the warmth of a body pressed against my back as another hand pulls me back.
I scream out but my voice is muffled by a large, coarse hand that smells like metal.
Labored breathing draws near to my ear. In a low voice, the man who has captured me says, “Shut up, or I’ll cut you, bitch.”
Logan
This is for the best.
I tell myself the same thing I’ve been repeating in my head the whole week.
What the fuck has happened to me? I’ve become soft.
This is what happens when I let someone get too close. Just because Harper looks like such a sweet, innocent, harmless girl doesn’t mean she’s an exception.
But I did make her an exception, and not I’m regretting it.
People only complicate things.
Sure, that sounds ironic considering my job. As a doctor, of course I work with people.
Maybe I should’ve been a vet instead, but that doesn’t pay as well.
Despite the sense of loss boring a hole through my chest, I chuckle to myself. Imagine Robert Foster paying me a mid-six-figure salary just to take care of his dogs.
I measure my steps, careful not to step on any dry twigs. I don’t want to surprise the rabbits. They’re so jumpy and nervous; the slightest sound would send them bolting straight into their underground burrows.
I crouch down and raise my hunting rifle. As I line up my shot, my breathing slows down.
Then, I pull the trigger, and a white rabbit falls to the ground, its body cushioned by the green grass it was eating just a moment ago. The other rabbits scatter and disappear in a matter of seconds.
Some people meditate to find their inner calm. I kill wild animals.
It’s not always rabbits. Sometimes it’s porcupines, raccoons, and even deer. Depends on what I come across.
That’s the fun of it. I never know what I’ll encounter, but I’ll probably come home having killed something.
The body is still warm when I grab my hunt of the day. Its white fur is stained with red.
For a moment, I feel great. I forget about the outside world. It’s just me and nature, doing the dance that mankind has been doing since time eternal.
But it doesn’t last long.
The dirty work of cleaning and dressing the animal absorbs all my concentration, but as soon as it’s done and the carcass is in the cooler in my truck, I’m restless again.
On my drive home, my mind flies back to her. Harper.
I wish she’d be home when I got there, greeting me with her sweet smile and saying something to deliberately annoy me.
But I know that’s not going to happen. She’s home. Because I sent her there. Because it’s safe there.
For a few nights now, I’ve awakened to the ghostly sound of knocking from the front door. Each time, I’ve run down the stairs, hoping Harper would be on the other side. But there was never anyone or anything there.
It was probably just my imagination. Just a dream.
Things would be much easier if only I could convince myself Harper was a mere dream. A fantasy I came up with.
Then I wouldn’t have to send her home. I wouldn’t have to do what’s best for her safety. I wouldn’t have to hold myself back with her.
But she’s real. And she’s way too pure to get my dirt all over her. I’ve done enough damage already.
When I pulled over right outside her apartment building, and she asked me for my number, I swear I almost caved.
I wanted to pull her into my arms and kiss those sweet lips. But I knew I wouldn’t be able to let her leave once she was in my embrace.
And if I so much as opened my mouth, I knew I’d ask her to stay by my side. To hell with danger. I would keep her safe, the same way I had protected her during her short stay in my house.
But that would be selfish. I know I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if, one day, I come home to the sight of Harper hurt in any way—or worse, dead.
I’ve thought about my options. Going back to work in a hospital as a regular doctor is possible, of course. Robert Foster is fond of me and would be willing to recommend me to any one of the hospitals he has donated to over the years.
But I’m not made for that life. I’ve worked my ass off to get to where I am. Would I really be willing to risk it all for a girl?
My chest squeezes at the question. If I were honest with myself . . . the answer is yes. I would. In a heartbeat.
But Harper doesn’t want me. She only wants her dead boyfriend to come back to life, and I’m the closest thing she has come across.
I’m not fooling myself. I’ve seen the look on her face. She thinks she wants me. And she might take me. But eventually, she’d realize I’m not him.
I’ve got issues.
I know everybody says that. But if I weren’t me, I wouldn’t have anything to do with me. I’m angry, cold, violent, and reckless.
Harper deserves better. She should be with a nice, sweet guy like my dead twin brother was. Maybe someone normal with a regular job in an office.
I park my truck in the garage next to my BMW 640i Gran Coupe. I haven’t driven that car since I drove Harper back in it.
I haven’t even entered it yet. I’m worried I’d be checking the seat or floor, looking for strands of her red hair or do something equally weird and obsessive.
I close the garage door and walk inside.
Everything looks exactly the way it was when I left the house in the morning. The only difference is the direction from which the sun rays enter through the windows.
Disappointment spreads through me. As stupid as it seems, a part of me wishes Harper would magically appear, cooking something up in the kitchen or just lounging around in the living room.
I walk up to my bedroom and take a hot shower in the en-suite. Maybe if the water is hot enough it’ll scald away whatever remnants of Harper that are stuck on my skin.
But even after the shower, she remains. Somewhere along the line, she has gotten under my skin.
Maybe working will take her off my mind. I dry myself off and go downstairs, hoping there’s actual work I can do.
Unfortunately, my job doesn’t involve long hours. In fact, most of the time I’m idle, just waiting for a text or a phone call.
Whenever something dangerous is about to go down, I book a hotel in the area and stand by just in case my skills are needed.
I used to enjoy the freedom to sleep and wake up whenever the fuck I wanted. I could also indulge in any one of my hobbies any time I felt like it.
I could go hunting every day of the week. I could pick a spot in the woods to camp and stargaze. Hell, I could build a huge-ass pyre in the backyard if I wanted, and nobody would even notice.
All those things used to be great. But right now, nothing seems to work.
Every fucking thing reminds me of Harper.
Like the door to my office. I grab the handle and remember that night when Harper came in with a cup of coffee.
Or the corner of the office where Harper and I hid when Rosa’s men paid me a visit.
Or the desk where Harper exploded in ecstasy with my hard cock buried in her pussy.
I grab the phone I left on the desk.
I never take it with me when I’m out hunting. There’s no point because there’s no signal out there anyway. Inside the house, it’s a different story because I’ve rigged things so that every single one of my gadgets would work.
I press the button on the phone and the screen lights up.
Ten text messages and two voicemails?
What the fuck?
Did something happen?
I open the text messages first.
“Call me.”
“Fucking call me.”
“You need to call me or you’ll regret it.”
“Logan. Call. Now.”
“Call. Or else.”
I let out a big, relieved sigh when I realize they’re all from Rosa. She must’ve gotten my phone number somehow.
They’re not from the boss. I haven’t missed anything important.
I’m already planning to watch something on TV when I read the next messages.
“I’m with your girlfriend.”
“If you don’t call, I swear I’ll cut her.”
“It would be such a waste. She has such a pretty face.”
“I’ve got a gun and I’m not afraid to use it, too.”
My girlfriend . . .?
Harper?
Fuck.
How does Rosa even know about her?
I take a deep breath.
Calm down.
Maybe these are just empty threats.
“If you don’t call by midnight, you won’t ever see your girlfriend again . . . or your baby.”
Baby?
What the fuck is she even talking about?
Jesus. Forget about the voicemails. They’re probably from Rosa, too. And they probably contain the same threats.
I don’t know if she’s for real, but I need to find out. If Rosa really has Harper and something happens to her, I don’t know how I’ll be able to live with the guilt.
As my thumb moves to tap on Rosa’s number to call her, another message comes in.
It’s a picture this time. A picture of Harper.
A chill rips through my body, and suddenly the room feels like it’s freezing.
In the picture, Harper’s shoulders are pulled back like her hands are tied behind her, although I can’t see the bindings. A piece of black cloth stretches across her open mouth, forcing her beautiful lips apart.
Her eyes . . . Fuck, her eyes kill me. They look so scared and helpless.
My finger shakes when I tap on Rosa’s number.
Calm down, I tell myself as I listen to the connect tone.
At least she’s alive and unharmed.
Unless that picture was taken hours ago, in which case Harper’s body could be lying in a ditch somewhere.
And what the fuck do they mean by my baby? Is Harper . . . But she told me she was on birth control, and we used protection.
Maybe she’s pregnant with some other guy’s baby? But that means she was lying when she told me she hadn’t slept with anyone other than Mark.
So, Harper either lied to me or she’s pregnant with my baby. Great.
Fuck. Why won’t Rosa pick up the phone?
“Finally,” says a cheerful, female voice from the other end of the line. “I thought you weren’t going to call. I was so, so sad.”
I don’t have to see Rosa’s face to know she’s probably pouting right now. Fuck! Why the fuck did I have to talk to her at that party?
“What do you want, Rosa?” I ask.
“You don’t sound very happy to hear from me,” she sulks. “I’ve been looking forward to this for so long.”
“To what? To kidnapping and blackmail?” I try to hold myself back and stay calm, but anger burns hot within me.
It occurs to me that maybe I should’ve called Robert Foster before complying with Rosa’s demand. But I wasn’t thinking clearly, and I can call him later.
Rosa giggles. “You’re so serious. I’m just playing.”
“You’ve had your fun. Now, let her go,” I say slowly. I can’t blow up on this unstable girl when Harper is at her mercy.
“That wouldn’t be very fun,” Rosa says. “But, you know what? I like that you’re so serious. Intense. It’s sexy.”
“Is Harper there?”
“You’re hurting my feelings, Logan,” she says. “I’ve gone through so much trouble to talk to you, but you only care about that girl.”
I take a deep breath. I should probably play along if I don’t want her to hurt Harper.
“Sorry, Rosa,” I say into the phone. “I do want to talk to you, but I want to make sure Harper is okay first. You could get in trouble for hurting her, and I don’t want that to happen to you.”
“Are you threatening me?” Rosa asks in a bizarrely cheerful voice.
“Of course not,” I answer quickly. “I just don’t want you to get in trouble.”
“Aww . . . That’s so sweet of you. Isn’t he sweet, Harper? I can’t stand how sweet he is.”
“Rosa. Rosa.” I drag air into my lungs and try to speak with less urgency. “Can I speak to Harper, please? I just want to make sure she won’t get you into trouble.”
Rosa laughs. “You’ve seen the picture, Logan. She can’t cause any trouble.”
“I just want to be one hundred percent sure. Would you let me speak to her?” I ask again, my heart hammering against my rib cage.
Rosa pauses for what seems like an eternity. Then, to my relief, she says, “Okay.” She seems to hold the phone away as she tells someone in the background to “take off her gag.”
“Logan?” Harper’s voice hits me like a bus, giving me a small drop of relief and a huge dose of reality. Rosa really does have her. Suddenly, this feels more real than before.
“Yeah, it’s me. Are you hurt at all?”
“No,” she says, her voice shaking.
“Listen. Don’t worry, okay? I’ll get you out of there. Trust me. You trust me, don’t you?”
“Yeah, I—”
“That’s enough,” Rosa says, cutting our conversation short. “Logan. I can let her go home as soon as . . . Hmm . . . Let’s see . . . Tomorrow?”
“How about tonight?” I ask.
Rosa giggles. “No, silly. It’s too late to get a reservation tonight.”
“Reservation?”
“Yeah. If you want me to let her go home tomorrow, we’ll have to meet up for dinner. I can forgive you for cheating on me with her, but I want you to apologize and promise you won’t do it again.”
“I’m so sorry, Rosa. I promise you I won’t do it again.” At this point, I’d do anything she wants.
“Not like that.” Rosa lets out another unsettling giggle. “You have to do it in person. I’ll text you the time and place. See you soon, baby.”
Harper
“See you soon, baby,” Rosa says before she hangs up on Logan.
Her bright-red lips spread into a wide, manic smile, which turns into a big, crazy grin, which turns into frenzied laughter. “I said ‘baby.’ I crack myself up sometimes.”
She turns to stare at my midsection, her dark eyes cold and scheming. She lifts her gaze up to my face but seems to be looking right through me, like I’m not a person sitting right in front of her but just a thing, a means to an end.
I’ve been sitting here for hours, watching Rosa as she orders her oversized, black-clad bodyguards around. In my mind, I’ve taken to calling them her minions.
She’s tiny—shorter than me with a petite body. Her long, wavy hair is dyed a harsh black. She’s wearing a tight, dark-gray tank top, a black pair of skinny jeans, and a pair
of black, leather boots.
She’s not beautiful, but there’s something about her that demands attention.
She looks exactly like the kind of mean girl who would’ve been popular in high school, the kind who would’ve had a posse of girls following her around, doing her bidding.
So, this is Logan’s type, I guess? Jealousy jabs its sharp needle through my flesh and into my heart, injecting me with its poison.
I understand now why he said we weren’t meant to be together. I’m not as tough as Rosa. I’d look like an idiot in the midst of Logan’s usual associates. Like a scared, awkward squirrel with foxes and wolves prowling around me.
Sure, Logan called Rosa crazy when she visited his home, pounding on the door, calling his name. But Logan lives on his own up in the mountains where nothing ever happens. Maybe a little bit of drama is exactly what he needs to keep life interesting.
“Pete,” she calls the bald guy with the handlebar mustache and too many tattoos. She grabs the plastic bag I got from the drugstore and gestures at me with her chin. “Take her to the bathroom and make her take this.”
Rosa hasn’t addressed me even once since they took me into this drab, gray warehouse.
Before Logan called her back, she just paced around furiously, the sound of her boots echoing in the big, empty space. She cursed at her phone and her minions, complaining about everything from the leaks in the ceiling to the location of the power socket in the far corner of the warehouse.
Now, her mood has changed. She seems to have calmed down. She has stopped biting her red fingernails.
As Pete removes the ropes binding my wrists together and my waist to the chair, I wonder if it’s a good thing that Rosa is calmer. She seemed dangerously unstable before, but now she seems to have the mind space to come up with elaborate schemes.
My muscles ache when Pete grabs my arm and pulls me up to my feet. He drags me with him as he takes the plastic bag Rosa is holding out for him, then he takes me past rows of cardboard boxes, stacked so high they almost reach the ceiling.
I hear a click as Pete pulls on a cord, then a single lightbulb turns on.
We’re at the edge of the main warehouse area. In front of us are three doors, leading to two offices and—judging from the smell—a bathroom.
