Tied Down

by Vanessa Waltz

  I don’t recognize the hands on the steering wheel, and yet they take me—us—to a forest. The car bounces on the dirt road. Then I park where there are no lights and open the door. It’s cold, but I don’t feel a thing.

  When I open the trunk, Adrián rolls on his back.

  He’s still fucking alive.

  I drag him out as his mouth forms the same word. Mom. Dump him on the ground. Grab the gun. Aim it at him. His wild stare finds me. An animal pleading for his life.

  Don’t do this.

  The voice is my father’s, but it’s so distant, and I hardly remember who he is anymore.

  I pull the trigger. Adrián’s head slams into the floor and then it’s done. He’s dead, and killing him was the easiest thing in the world. The headlights of my car illuminate every detail, and a swell of self-disgust crashes inside me. A line of nausea rises in my throat, and even that passes quickly, too.

  It was so easy.

  Adrián has a shovel in his trunk. What a considerate guy. It takes me hours to dig a grave, and by the time he’s tucked in the ground, there’s no more doubt I did the right thing. No more anything.

  Still more work to do. Adrián was a made man, and I’ll be facing retribution if anyone ever finds out what happened. The car needs to be destroyed.

  I take it to a junkyard where I pay the guy to smash the Volvo into a pulp. He doesn’t ask questions when I show him a roll of cash. The cab takes me to the parking lot, and by the time I drive home, the sun is rising. Again.

  Forty-eight hours with no sleep.

  I’m dead to the world.

  Back home, Eva sits at the kitchen table. I see her through the curtains, and I curse out loud. When will she learn to stay away from the windows?

  I park the car and climb the front steps to my apartment. I open the door. Balled-up tissues surround Eva’s clenched hands.

  She wheels toward me, eyes filled with tears. “You’re a fucking cop.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Eva

  I didn’t want to believe it. I spent the whole train ride home trying to rationalize why Bastien would lie about being a cop to Carter. My husband is a police officer, and my father will kill him. The man who makes me laugh, greets me every night with a smile, and said he wanted me forever is a liar. I signed my life to a man I don’t even know.

  Bastien stands at the threshold, stony faced. His clothes hang on him like rags. A dark stain—blood—spreads over his shirt and dirt covers his slacks.

  “You were supposed to go home,” he says.

  Betrayal twists in my chest like a knife. I should have known. He was too good to be true, and if I weren’t so desperate, I would have smelled his scam a kilometer off.

  “Yeah, too bad I didn’t make it easier for you.” I stand, releasing the ball of tissue in my fist.

  He walks inside. Closes the door. “How much did you hear?”

  It enrages me that the first words out of his mouth aren’t an apology. “You’re an undercover cop, and I’m your job.”

  The two-faced son of a bitch hoodwinked me into marrying him. He lied. Even worse, he wasted my time when he knew—he knew how important this was to me.

  Bastien’s face stirs with life. I back into the kitchen, horrified by the sight of him. The floorboards creak as he walks toward me. “That’s not what you are.”

  Another lie? “Fuck you.”

  “It might’ve been that way at first, but then I got to know you. And I’m not sorry that you’re mine.”

  Bullshit. “I can’t wait until I tell my dad what you are.”

  Air in my lungs freezes into a block of ice. I forget to scream when he takes my arms and wrestles me against the wall. “Say that again, and I’ll tie you to the bed.”

  The grip around my wrists isn’t painful, but his eyes make me wince. They’re endless and dark, like tunnels. He’s wearing my husband’s clothes, but I don't recognize him.

  “And do w-what?”

  He’s close enough to kiss. “Maybe fuck the hate out of you.”

  “I’ll knee your balls.”

  “And destroy your chance of becoming a mother? I don’t think so.”

  “Fuck you! You lied. You manipulated me to marry you!” He doesn’t flinch from my accusations, nor does he deny them. “Why? What did I do to deserve this?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Then why did you do it?” I feel myself sinking like quicksand. The longer he holds me, the more I’m trapped.

  “I didn’t want to drag you into this, and I couldn’t let you go.”

  My stomach caves in. I try to inhale, but I can’t squeeze air through my lungs. He was sweet with me. Told me he wanted me forever, promised to raise a family with me, and it was all lies. From the start, it was a deception to get close to my father.

  Nothing more.

  I collapse into sobs and Bastien holds me upright, his eyes devoid of warmth. “With any luck, Eva, you’re pregnant. I’ve fucked you enough times that there’s a good chance you’re carrying my baby.”

  “No.”

  “Yes,” he says. “And if you want a husband to help raise your children, you'll keep your mouth shut. Kill me, and you’ll be killing your baby’s father.”

  “Who the fuck are you?” I scream, wrenching out of his grasp. I don’t recognize this soulless creature standing in front of me, radiating darkness. There’s no playful glint in his eyes, no recognition in that dead-eyed stare. He’s nothing but a pretty shell.

  “I’m an undercover police officer,” he says evenly. “At least, I was. They put me on your father six months ago. I’ve been reporting every detail about the family ever since.”

  Half a year of spying on my dad. “What do they want with Dad?”

  “I don’t know. They told me to report everything he did. I thought I was fighting the mob.”

  “You were going to destroy my world and leave me when it was over.”

  “No,” he says in a rough voice. “That wasn’t the plan.”

  “Then what was it? I’m curious—what did you think would happen with us? That after you jailed my father, wrecked my life, and lied, we’d still be married? You must’ve lost your mind.”

  “Maybe I fucking have. All I knew was that I wanted you enough to sign my soul away. I could’ve stepped aside and let some other asshole marry you, but you told me you hated this life.”

  “Don’t try to make this better. You’re a fucking liar.”

  “I’m not, but you said you wanted a normal husband.”

  “This isn’t what I meant!” I pace the kitchen, glaring at him. “You’re my father’s enemy, for fuck’s sake.”

  “I’m not yours. We can leave this place,” he says in a hoarse voice.

  “And go where and do what?”

  “Live. Be free.”

  I shake my head, eyes brimming with tears at the hope on his face. “Every detail of your backstory was a lie, and if you think my father won’t find out—he will. He’ll never forgive this.”

  I storm out of the kitchen, heading for the bedroom, where I spot a duffel bag stuffed in the closet. In a rage, I grab bundles of clothing at random and toss them inside.

  Bastien watches me from the doorway. “What the hell are you doing?”

  I look at him through a haze of tears. “I need to get out of this house!”

  He crosses his arms. “No, you don’t.”

  I glance at him, unsettled by the dark tone. “Are you going to force me to stay?”

  “If I have to.”

  He’s bluffing. “You wouldn’t.”

  “Try me,” he says with the faintest hint of a grin.

  I seize the bottle of aspirin in my bag and throw it at his head.

  Bastien bats it aside. “If you leave now, you’ll do something you’ll regret for the rest of your life.”

  “Like get you murdered? I still haven’t ruled it out.”

  His tone flattens. “Eva, we both know you’re not a killer.”


  What the hell is wrong with him? “I’m not, but my dad is.”

  “Eva, you were the last person I wanted to hurt.”

  Everything he says is a lie.

  My hairs stand on end when he sinks to his knees beside me. “If you try to stop me from leaving, I’ll call my father.”

  “How long do you think you can threaten me with that?” His hand grazes my shoulder. I flinch from his touch, but there’s not a flicker of recognition in his eyes.

  What the fuck happened to him?

  The question dies on my lips as I grab the bag and walk out of the apartment.

  “Honey, are you okay?”

  I want to snap at Madison’s simpering tone, but my mouth is full of vomit.

  No, I am not. I’m puking into a fucking toilet.

  My arms shudder as a tide of yellow bursts from my lips to coat the porcelain bowl.

  She knocks on the door. “I’m getting worried, Eva.”

  “Sick.” The vomit disappears in a swirl of acid as I flush, and then I slam the lid shut. I huddle with my hands around my knees. God, I feel like shit. Not a big surprise with the steaming pile of crap Bastien left on my doorstep. Every time I think about it, I get another wave of nausea.

  The door cracks open, admitting a sliver of a woman dressed in leopard-print leggings and a long black tank top. Madison smiles, but it’s more of a grimace. “Are you sure you don’t want me to call Sébastien?”

  “Yes. He’s the reason I’m here. Please don’t tell him where I am.”

  I fix Madison with a glare, and she halfheartedly nods. “We all have bumps in our marriage.”

  Yeah. Okay. “This isn’t a speed bump. He lied to me.”

  The four-inch heels rap the cream marble tiles of the bathroom as she walks inside, looking sympathetic but confused. I didn’t tell her my husband’s secret. As far as she knows, this is a lover’s spat.

  Madison pauses past the gilded mirror and primps her hair. “I know it’s disappointing, but our husbands have difficult jobs. They can’t tell us everything.”

  I could’ve swallowed that line of bullshit if was a mobster. “He shouldn’t have lied.”

  “Not all lies are bad, hon. Maybe he thought he was doing you a favor.” She sits on the edge of the claw-foot bathtub and smiles at me. “Trust me, Sébastien is one of the good ones.”

  She doesn’t know him any more than I do. “He was different today. Weird. When he came home, he was just—off.”

  “That happens sometimes,” she says, nodding. “After Reg has a bad day at work. It freaked me out in the beginning, but I got used to it. You will, too.”

  Why the hell am I worrying about this asshole?

  Another lurch seizes my guts, and I flip open the lid. It’s nothing but stomach acid at this point. The bathroom fills with my moans.

  Madison’s heels rap like gunshots on the floor. “When was the last time you took a pregnancy test?”

  I raise my head from the bowl and flush the toilet, a thrill running through me. “It’s been two weeks.” The constant disappointment was wearing on my spirit. Bastien suggested that I take a break from taking the tests.

  God, could I be pregnant?

  Madison’s face cracks with a wide grin as she searches through cabinets. “Oh my God. I think I have some under the—yes!” She grabs a long, thin box.

  I take it from her, hardly daring to hope.

  “Take your time,” she says as she leaves the room. “I’ll be waiting outside.”

  The last thing I need right now is a baby. The timing couldn’t be worse with Bastien’s confession, and the fact I still don’t know what to do about him. I fucking hate him, but I don’t want him dead.

  Unboxing the pregnancy test, I yank out the thin strip of plastic and hover over the toilet. When I’m done, I place it on the counter and wait. My pale face stares back at me through the mirror.

  I could be pregnant. My period was supposed to start weeks ago. Oh my God, this could be happening. Three damn minutes, and I’ll find out.

  “Eva,” she says, knocking again. “Sorry to interrupt, but your husband is here.”

  “What?” My shout echoes throughout the bathroom. “How did he find me?”

  “I’m sure he’s making the rounds until he finds you. Should I tell him to come inside?”

  Grabbing the test, I march to the door and fling it open to a shocked Madison. “No. I’ll deal with the asshole.”

  Not one to miss a scandal, Madison follows me down the stairs of their garish house with cream walls and floors. My stomach protests as I bound down the steps, heading for the tall figure in the foyer. He took a shower, combed his hair, and put on fresh clothes, but he still looks just as dead. Bastien’s stricken face relaxes the moment he sees me. “Eva.”

  Asshole.

  “Let’s go home. My mom taught me a good remedy for an upset stomach.”

  Pretty sure he’s full of shit. “I don’t think so.”

  “Why not?”

  I can’t speak freely with Madison hovering nearby, her fingers clasped together. “You know what you did.”

  “And I’d do it again,” he says, grabbing my waist.

  “Don’t touch me!” I push his chest with the hand still holding the pregnancy test.

  Madison’s earsplitting scream hits the air, so loud both of us jump apart. My husband grabs his gun, searching for the threat. “What—what is it?”

  Shrieking, she flaps her hands and points toward the test. With two solid lines.

  An explosion erupts in the pit of my stomach.

  I’m pregnant.

  I stumble back as Madison’s arms wrap around my waist. “Oh my God! I’m so excited for you! You’re pregnant. Finally!”

  She squeezes the breath out of me.

  Yes, finally. It couldn’t have come at a worse time. The shock is like lidocaine. I can’t feel a damn thing but numb disbelief. My husband plucks the pregnancy test from my fingers, his eyes widening. Tears stream down Madison’s face. She grabs my shoulders and gives me a little shake, beaming ear to ear.

  I can’t get it to sink in.

  Bastien looks at me, pale faced and scared. I sneer at him. “Congratulations, you’ll be a father.”

  He takes me in his arms, holding me so tight I believe the lie in his embrace. Hell, it’s in his eyes, too. They’re gleaming. He tips my head and kisses me. I’m seething with rage, but I’m pregnant, and I’ve wanted a baby for a long time. It’s all so confusing.

  He pulls back, a smile staggering across his face. “You’re not still mad at me, are you?”

  Is he fucking serious? Of course I am.

  “No, she’s not!” Madison says.

  “Yes, I am,” I shoot at her.

  “Eva, you’re having a baby!” She bounces up and down, looking as giddy as I should feel. “Whatever fight you had, it doesn’t matter anymore.”

  Bastien beams at her. “See?”

  “Don’t take his side!” I rip myself from Bastien’s arms and stalk toward her.

  Worried, she looks from me to Bastien, chewing her lip. “You have to stay for supper. Eva, I’ll make you some chicken broth. Please. We’d love to have you over.”

  He shakes his head. “I don’t know if this is the best time—”

  “Sure.” Anything to prolong the inevitable.

  Dinner at the Trillos is a ridiculous affair. I’m two—maybe three weeks pregnant and everyone keeps trying to shovel food down my throat. Even worse is the way Madison fawns over Bastien. Reg, Madison’s husband, laughs at his jokes and digs into the seafood paella. Their toddler sits in a high chair, mashing bread into his mouth. The aroma saturating the dining room turns my stomach, but I sip the broth anyway.

  Reg rolls up his sleeves and gives Bastien a wry grin. “So what did you guys fight about?”

  “Reg!” Madison scolds.

  “What? I want to know.”

  “It’s fine,” Bastien says with a smile. “It was fucking stupid—e
xcuse my language. We had an argument about parenting. Eva doesn’t believe in the kind of discipline I was used to growing up.” The bastard gives me a loving grin over his plate of food as he mimes giving someone a slap. “She doesn’t want us to spank the kids.”

  Reg bursts with laughter. “Oh, Jesus.”

  Our big blowout was about spanking? Really?

  “My mother raised me with a firm hand,” he says with a shrug. “I don’t see what the problem is.”

  “Me either,” Reg agrees. “But you need to choose your battles, friend. Want some advice? Let it go.”

  I stab the salad plate, my fork piercing a carrot. “I’ll be the one home all day, raising the kid.”

  Madison nods in agreement. “She’s carrying the baby for nine months. Let her decide.”

  “I already told you I’m not going to be an absentee dad. This is a joint effort, and that means we need to compromise.”

  I roll my eyes at him. There’s no way his mother ever laid a hand on him, and I won’t put any more energy into this stupid fake fight. “Guys, please don’t tell anyone about the pregnancy. I want to wait until after the first trimester at least.”

  “Of course,” she says, face cracking with a grin. “I am so excited!”

  I’m not. This is a disaster.

  “Thank you so much for the food,” Bastien says, standing. “We appreciate it.”

  Guess it’s time to go. I get up, making a show of clutching my stomach. The chicken soup settled it, but I still don’t feel perfect.

  We thank them profusely as Reg and Madison escort us to the door. My husband’s arm curls around my waist as we step outside.

  Madison waves goodbye as she clings to her husband. “We should have another baby.”

  “Not happening,” Reg says.

  The door cuts off Madison’s angry hiss.

  We walk down the winding gravel path surrounded by flowers. When we’re safe from the view of the windows, I shove Bastien from my side and stride through the lawn. My sandals kick through blades of grass.

  He’s quick on my heels. “Let’s talk about it at home,” he says.