“Robert was a fool, always chasing after you like a dog with his tongue out. He couldn’t see the potential in front of him. We could have made a fortune off your lazy ass, but he hated sharing any of his toys.”
I look at her in utter disgust. What kind of mother is disappointed that she didn’t get to pimp out her daughter? I often wondered if she thought about what kind of man Joe was when she had signed her parental rights away by allowing me to marry him, but the truth is glaringly obvious—she just didn’t care at all.
“Well, that doesn’t matter now, does it? He’s gone, and I have a nice buyer already for you.”
“Are you out of your freaking mind? I’m not some faceless teenage runaway anymore who no one would miss if they disappeared. I’m the teenage girl who married a man three times her age only to inherit his fortune five years later. This will be all over the newspapers, you fool. I’m about as high-profile as they come, with people who care about me and who will never stop searching, and the number one suspect is you. Let’s not forget that they have a witness who will testify that you drove your car into Steve before fleeing.”
She stands up and paces the length of the bed and back again, worry briefly flashing across her face before she shakes her head.
“No, it will be fine when you marry the buyer. He will have access to your money, and he is going to give me half. That’s not including the ten thousand I will get for handing you over. I will leave the country and start over where nobody will find me.”
She goes back to pacing, scratching at her arms distractedly as she mumbles to herself. It finally clicks into place. I don’t know how I didn’t notice before, but her erratic behaviour finally makes sense. She was always smart, two steps ahead of anyone else, but now her actions are downright reckless. Add in the scratching and the desperate need, as opposed to want, for money, and it isn’t hard to figure out that my mother is a junkie.
“Are you even listening to yourself? You are talking about selling your own daughter. What the hell is wrong with you? You know what? It doesn’t matter. I won’t be marrying anyone. I would rather die first than let you see another penny.”
Her hand connects with the side of my face before I’ve even finished speaking. It stings like a bitch but it’s nothing compared to the hits I’ve receive from Robert over the years.
“If that’s the best you have got, then you’re screwed.”
She tilts her head, ignoring my words, before carrying on as if I never spoke.
“You were a mistake that I planned to get rid of the second I found out I was pregnant, but your father wouldn’t hear of it. He insisted that we get married and then he went on to spoil you, his precious daughter.” She spits out her words filled with malice.
“He never had time for me anymore. Well, I’m nobody’s fool. I played the part, always the good wife, but he could hardly stand to look at me. That was okay, though. I was used to playing the part, plus I had Robert in the wings, treating me like a goddess. Everything was fine until your father found out about Robert and me. When he said he was planning to leave me and take you with him, leaving me with nothing, I snapped. I couldn’t let him win, so I got Robert to mess with his brakes and offered you up as a toy in payment. It was so easy it was almost anti-climactic.”
My chest is heaving as I try to fend off the vicious blows caused by her words. I refuse to show her a reaction, so I bite down on my lip until I can taste blood and use the pain to keep me focused.
“I cashed in his life insurance policy, but it didn’t last long, so I had to find another way to bring in some money. Turns out the only thing I was good at doing was men, so I worked with what I had. I started targeting married idiots who couldn’t keep their dicks in their pants. I got them doing all kinds of messed-up crazy shit whilst Robert secretly filmed them. It was just like playing a game of chess, and when I had all my pawns in place I moved them around and around, doing my bidding whilst they protected me, their queen.”
“I guess that was your downfall. It’s the queen’s job to protect the king, not the other way around. Robert's mistake was thinking you would protect him. He should have known you would sell your own daughter for a few quid. Oh, wait! You already did that.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Robert was never a king. He was my first and favourite pawn, at least until he developed that obsession with you. Why do you always have to take what’s mine?”
She takes a vial of something out of her pocket and places it on the bed before pulling out a syringe. I tense in preparation, but when she doesn’t move I relax slightly.
“The stuff I gave you before was to make you sleep. This stuff will rob you of your own free will and make you more susceptible to other people’s suggestions, like saying ‘I Do’ at a wedding, for instance.”
She leans back on the bed and picks up a teddy that looks like it’s been forgotten over the years, and rubs it against her face. She inhales deeply, but then sighs, a flash of sadness crossing her face so briefly I’m not sure if I imagined it or not. Placing the teddy down, she turns back to me.
“This used to be my room. My mother left when I was a baby, but that’s okay, because my daddy loved me enough for them both.”
Goosebumps break out across my skin. A sense of foreboding looms in the air.
“I was his special girl, and he loved me more than anyone… but then you, you took him from me!”
Okay, I’m lost. I’m thinking her special relationship with her father (I refuse to refer to him as grandfather) was special in all the wrong kind of ways. I think a motherless little girl was groomed by her daddy and ended up becoming a monster, just like him.
I gulp down the bile rising in my throat at the thought of all the fucked-up DNA running through my system and focus on something else she said.
“How can it be my fault? I never met him, or if I did, I was too young to remember.”
“He was so angry when he found out I was pregnant, because I was supposed to stay his good girl. I tried to tell him I was sorry, that I was going to get rid of you, and that your father tricked me, but he wouldn’t listen. He just kept screaming at me, calling me a whore, and then he grabbed his chest and fell. I tried to help him, but he pushed me away and told me he had always known I was a whore and as a result I would be left with nothing… and then he died. I had no choice but to keep you, just so that your father would stay and pay my way. If I had just gotten rid of you before anybody found out, none of this would have happened and my daddy would still be here. Instead, your stupid father had to find the test.”
With so much information being thrown at me, I’m finding it hard to digest. The familiar feeling of numbness washes over me, but I can’t afford to fall apart now. I can deal with all this later, when I’m safely in the arms of my boys and Jacob. For now, I need to figure out how to get out of here.
“I’m sorry he hurt you,” I offer, hoping I can talk my way out of these restraints.
“He didn’t hurt me. He loved me.”
Okay, she is beyond fucked up. Backpedalling, I try a different angle.
“I mean when he called you names and told you to leave. He told you he would keep you forever, and he abandoned you when you needed him the most.”
“He didn’t abandon me. He died, you stupid bitch. If I could get away with more than slapping you, I would knock some sense into you, but the buyer wants his property unmarked. It’s a shame, really. I would have loved to carve up that pretty little face. Let’s see how good you are at stealing other people’s husbands then.”
She seems to be blurring her reality with mine. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, as it seems the only person she might dislike more than me is herself.
The knock at the door breaks the death stare she has on me, replacing it with what could have been a beautiful smile if it wasn’t so sinister. I’m trembling hard now, adrenaline coursing through me as shock tries to set it. I pull and twist my arms until I feel the blood running ov
er my hands, but the restraints don’t budge. Frustration makes me want to scream but I keep quiet and watch my mother as she opens the door.
“What are you doing here? Where is Dimitri?”
I’m not sure what I was expecting but the guy who steps into the room isn’t it. Call me an arsehole for stereotyping but I was expecting someone who is clearly involved with human trafficking to either be dressed to the nines in a three-piece suit or dressed like a gang-banger in baggy jeans, with a plethora of prison tattoos. This man could easily pass for a college professor, dressed in his beige corduroy trousers with a brown tweed blazer. A blue check shirt, brown sensible shoes and a pair of black wire-framed glasses finish his look. He is older than me by at least fifteen years but still kind of attractive for an older man, with his dirty blond hair streaked with silver, and light brown eyes which are now flicking over me.
He takes in my current state like it’s an everyday occurrence, and who knows? Maybe it is. His eyes are what confuse me. It doesn’t matter how you dress, your eyes are a window to your soul, and I have looked upon evil enough times to be able to recognise it. So why don’t I feel threatened by him? His eyes are not cold and calculating, like I expected them to be, or full of sexual intent. They just pass over me with a mild interest before he addresses my mother. His voice is another matter altogether. His eyes might not be cold and hard, but his voice certainly is, and I’m glad it’s not aimed at me.
“Did you honestly think Dimitri would come running here just for you? You might have something he wants but he’s not stupid enough to trust you. Luckily for you, he sent me, because if Dimitri was here and saw the red mark on her face and the bruise forming on her cheek bone, he would not be pleased.”
“It was an accident. She fell.”
He looks at her with astonishment clearly showing on his face before looking at me for confirmation.
Don’t speak, don’t speak, I silently chant to myself.
“Yes, I accidentally fell into her fist.”
For fuck's sake. So much for not speaking.
Before I can finish reprimanding myself, he turns around and backhands my mother across the cheek, which sends her sprawling across the bed.
“What the fuck?” she screams at him.
“Yes, you should watch your step. I would hate for you to fall into my fist again.”
I don’t know whether to laugh or throw up. It’s hard to take comfort from him reprimanding her for hurting me when it just highlights how little care he has for hurting women. He steps towards me, and I fight back the urge to flinch as he runs his finger over my tender cheek.
Ignoring my mother, who is sitting on the bed muttering to herself, he reaches inside the satchel he has over his shoulder that I hadn’t noticed before. Yep, definitely a professor. The implications of that are staggering, knowing the access he would have daily to unknowing victims.
Withdrawing a knife, he steps towards me and bends down to cut through my ties. The pain in my fingers as the numbness wears off and the pins and needles kick in makes me gasp, and I pull them to my chest. Cradling them, I look down at how bloody they are and worry about how much damage I’ve done. The professor guy takes in the state of my wrists and starts cursing.
“Grab her a fucking towel, you cunt. What part of undamaged did you not understand?”
Mother dearest scowls at him before disappearing into the adjacent bathroom and reappearing with a towel. Once upon a time, I’m sure the towel used to be white, but after who knows how many years it’s been in there, it is now an icky grey and layered with dust. I think I will take my chances of bleeding out over a towel that will likely require a tetanus shot.
The professor must come to the same conclusion, because he starts cursing again before stripping off his blazer and shirt. Underneath, he has on a white wife-beater, which he strips off before wrapping it around my right wrist, which is the worst of the two. Standing up, he puts his shirt back on before turning back to my mother.
“It’s like you want me to put a bullet in you. If you think Dimitri is going to pay you a penny when he sees her, you are sadly fucking mistaken.”
“If he isn’t going to pay me, then you can fuck off. You can’t take her. She’s mine.”
I don’t know who the lesser of two evils is here, the devil I know, who is twitchy and unpredictable, or the devil I don’t, who doesn’t want me hurt but who will hand me over to his mystery boss to do God knows what to me. Turning towards me, he places his hands under my armpits and gently lifts me from the chair, holding me steady until I find my balance.
“Watch me,” he tells her, but his eyes never leave mine. Therefore, he doesn’t notice when she pulls her gun and aims it at him. I don’t think I react. I’m not a hero, not by a long shot, and lord knows I owe this guy less than nothing, but sometimes instinct takes over and your body acts before your mind can catch up.
I grab his arms and twist us, switching our places so when the bullet fires it tears through my shoulder instead of his heart. I scream as the burning white-hot pain steals my breath before dropping to my knees.
“Motherfucker,” the professor roars before charging my mother, knocking her flying into the wall with a sickening thud. She drops like a stone and stays there. He gathers up her gun and slides it into the back of his trousers before crouching down next to me.
He pushes his hand down over my wound and I yell out in agony, but somehow I know his intention is to stem the bleeding as opposed to causing me any unnecessary pain.
“You stupid girl,” he hisses at me, but his voice lacks the maliciousness from moments ago. Reaching into his trouser pocket, he pulls out a phone and dials a number.
“It’s me.” He is quiet for a minute, just watching me while whoever is on the other end of the line speaks.
“When I pulled up I could hear shouting, and then a gun being fired. Cops were pulling up before I even got out of my car. The girl is on her way to the hospital with a gunshot wound. It doesn’t look like she is going to make it. My advice, boss, is steer clear of this whole mess whilst there is nothing to tie you to it. I will take care of any loose ends.” He listens some more before agreeing and hanging up.
“Are you going to kill me now?” I wonder aloud, accepting that I’m probably one of his loose ends.
“You just saved my life. I’m repaying the favour. What are the chances that you will keep quiet about me?”
I take a minute to think about it. A lot is going on, and the pain from my shoulder and wrist is making my head cloudy, but I know something about this doesn’t feel right. I need to keep my mouth shut.
“If I don’t say anything you will just take more girls, won’t you?”
I spoke. Of course I fucking spoke. Clearly, I want this guy to kill me.
He leans closer until our noses are almost touching.
“So fucking brave. I give you my word that no girls will come to harm because of me.” I search his eyes looking for any signs of deceit, but I don’t find any. “Trust me, please.”
It’s the whispered please that convinces me. Something in his tone sounds tortured. He is not what he pretends to be. The pieces of the puzzle move and shift until the picture becomes a little clearer.
“Who are you, really?”
“I can’t tell you. Someone I love is in danger. I have to find them. That’s all that matters.
“Who is she?” I ask, because I know with a sudden clarity that he is not the bad guy here. Everything about him screams protector. I should know. I’m usually surrounded by them.
“My sister.”
I take a chance and hope I don’t regret it.
“You were never here. Good luck.”
He kisses my forehead before standing up and gathering his things. Phone to his ear again, I hear him call for an ambulance before the darkness pulls me under. Right before I pass out I hear a voice telling me to hold on a little longer.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
RYAN
I look around the drab grey hospital room and wonder how the hell anybody stays positive stuck here. I mean, I’m fucking depressed just sitting here, waiting. The monotonous beeping of the heart monitor is both a comfort and a curse. Its constant reassurance that Frankie is still alive and with us is all that matters, but after this, if I never have to hear that machine again, especially connected to someone I love, it will be too soon.
Jacob stirs slightly, having fallen asleep in the chair next to her bed after refusing to go home. I turn to see Sam watching him in full protection mode. We all love Jacob, but the bond he has with Sam is extra special after Sam watched him break apart in front of him. He hasn’t let him out of his sight.
The door cracks open and Caleb walks in with coffees for each of us. Coffees we all need desperately after being awake for more hours than I care to count. All I know is they were the longest hours of my life. When she wakes up, I’m done giving her space and letting her work things through at her pace. If I must tie her to me, I will, and I know Caleb and Sam are feeling the same. Too many times now we have nearly lost our girl. I’m not willing to lose any more time with her. She is too important.
Caleb hands me a coffee after giving one to Sam and sits next to me on the floor.
“Any change?”
“Not yet. Doc says she is stable. The bullet went straight through and the cuts on her wrists have been cleaned and stitched. She lost a lot of blood, so she needs the rest, but otherwise he says she will make a full recovery. How’s Steve?”
“Grumpy as fuck. He is happy at the centre, and the friendship he has struck up with Conner is great for them both, but he’s frustrated that he can’t be here for Frankie. He made me promise to bring her over for a visit when she is feeling a bit stronger.”
We both turn towards the bed when we hear Jacob whisper Frankie’s name, and sure enough, he is holding her hand and gazing at her in wonder as her eyelids flutter open. When she spots us and Jacob, she offers us a small smile before beckoning Jacob up to lie next to her. I rush to help so that he doesn’t get tangled in any of the wires and find myself choking up when he curls himself into her and sobs quietly into her undamaged shoulder.
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