It’s a battle I don’t think I’ll ever win. Sooner or later I have to decide and take the jump into the dark abyss of an unknown future.
In the midst of my despair, the clock on top of the desk begins the counts down to the breakfast alarm. At 7:20, it’s well past the time when Dwight should be checking in for the night. He might not be my favorite person at the bed-and-breakfast considering I find him a little creepy, but he’s normally punctual. He’s never left me to wait this long.
By this point in the night he’s asked me out once and I’ve turned him down twice. I like to get ahead of any future proposals.
His determination to clean out the root cellar before the season is over has me walking in that direction. I’ve never been down there myself. The area seems super creepy like something out of a book I read once in middle school. People would walk into the cellar but no one would walk out.
The entrance to the old root cellar is outside and I run the short distance, not bothering to cover up with a coat. The door pulls hard as I open and step down the first three stairs, holding it open behind my back. Light shines brightly out of the root cellar in the humid air against the cold from outside. The door shuts behind me with a loud bang, but that’s not what has my attention. It’s the rows and rows of tall growing green plants laid out on tables spread throughout the area.
I walk down two rows, making it to the back of the small room where there has to be at least two hundred marijuana plants growing. It’s legal here in Maine, but not at this volume. I’ve never been concerned with the laws myself, but I know it’s only like six plans per person. Whoever is using our root cellar — and I’ve started to think it’s Dwight — as their own personal grow house either has a permit or is hiding from the police.
Along the back wall, boxes are stacked as tall as the ceiling with weird labels using different letters and initials on them where nothing makes sense.
Holy shit.
I’ve definitely stepped into something I was never meant to see. Without taking my eyes from the room, I grab my phone from my back pocket, hurrying and slipping to the corner of the room to take a picture. I search to my contacts ready to call the one person that comes to mind. Hopefully he’ll answer.
12
The room is bright and hot and stuffy. The lights blaze down on the growing plants as the walls close in on me. The shadows from the corners get closer with every fleeting millisecond it takes to scroll through my contacts and find his name.
Time stands still and then rushes forward each time the phone rings and no one picks up on the other end. What is he doing tonight?
“Please. Please. Please,” I whisper even though I’m alone in the room.
The call switches to voicemail and I hang up staring at my screen as if somehow, it’s his electronic device’s fault and not his.
I hit recall and tip the top of one of the paper boxes stacked low enough for me to see. Inside green flakes of what looks like petals are wrapped together in clear cellophane. Dwight — or whoever is working down here — has quite the operation going. It looks like something you’d find in a movie. One of those cop comedies where somehow the dumber-than-a-box-of-rocks recruits catch the bad guys and $1 billion in drugs.
The phone rings in my ear with the second call and finally on the third ring when I’m about to give up hope, he answers.
“Tara?”
“You do more than install alarms for Ridge Jefferson, right?” I whisper. It feels like the right thing to do in this kind of situation. I should qualify him before dropping this in anyone’s lap.
“Yes,” his answer draws out the questions.
I tip another top of a box and see the same thing as the last one. Nicely stacked together cellophane bricks of green leafy flakes. “What is your experience in?”
“Tara, is this important? I’m kind of busy. If you really want to know, we can talk about tonight.”
My stomach tightens knowing I’m going to have to admit what I’m looking at here in a minute. “I found something… important.”
“Where are you?” His voice goes from slightly annoyed to concerned fast.
“At the bed-and-breakfast in the root cellar and they have all these plants and lights.”
“Tara, get out of there right now. I’ll be there as quickly as possible.”
A burst of cold air sweeps through the underground root cellar and the heavy wood door slams on top of itself. There’s nowhere for me to hide, no darkness to seek out. The earlier shadows have dissipated and blaring lights from above highlight my actions. “I think I’m in trouble.”
“Tara!” Graham yells before I lower the phone for my ear. I crouch down beside the stack of boxes, hopeful maybe the person will walk away.
“No, you can’t come and get this shipment until after two. People are starting to notice the noises.” Dwight talks loudly on a phone, pacing at the front of the cellar, his body barely casting shadows in the bright lights.
I cower further back keeping my eyes on him while trying my best to hide. Maybe if I will myself to be smaller and shrink in the corner, I can become invisible. It doesn’t work and once Dwight hangs up his call, his sharp eyes notice me immediately. His eyes widen and he grins. But not a normal smile like when one person greets a friend. This is all predator when he stalks in my direction, his eyes never leaving my position as I’ve bunched myself against the floor.
“My, my, my, what do we have here?” He stops a few feet away resting his chin the back of his hand.
I stand up, keeping my back against the wall as it scratches against one of the paper boxes. “Dwight.”
“Come here, Tara.” He beckons me closer was a finger.
No way in hell I’m going anywhere near him. I’m perfectly happy in my boxy area.
“Come on, Tara.”
“No.” I don’t know where Graham is or how long it will take him to get here, but I have all the faith in the world he will rescue me, eventually. Any second now.
Except as Dwight and I stand off against one another, him smiling like he’s ready for lunch and me doing everything I can to figure out a way out of the small room even though there’s only one exit, my savior never comes. Seconds feel like hours and there’s no sign of Graham.
When I don’t move Dwight comes to me. He grabs a chunk of my hair and rips my head closer to his, putting us only a few inches apart. I refuse to make a sound not wanting to give him the pleasure of knowing he’s causing me pain. His head gets closer and runs his nose from the bottom of my neck, up to my ear, and into my hair sniffing me like a weirdo with a fetish.
“You haven’t been with him tonight.”
Ugh. How would he know that from my smell?
“It means you’ll be fresh when you’re with me.”
Finally, my fight-or-flight instincts kick in and I push away his hands, trying to get away, but he only twists my hair harder. “I’ll never be with you.”
Dwight laughs and for the first time since we started working together six months ago, I see a bit of his true colors. He’s not just the weird nephew of the bed-and-breakfast owner. There’s something darker and sinister about him. His laughter fills the room, but it’s dreadful and rough.
“You’ll regret those words soon, Tara.”
I shake my head, his fingers still wrapped in my hair. “No, I don’t think so.”
“I am on my way to ruling the underground of Pelican Bay. Your little friend and Ridge have done a great job of decimating my competition, but they haven’t gotten close to the real kingpin of Pelican Bay. Soon I will inherit everything. When I take over, you’ll wish you’d accepted all those times you turned me down. I’ll rule this town.”
He sniffs my neck again and I recoil. “You’re crazy.”
Dwight jerks my head back, slapping at the same time and dragging me from my little corner we’re standing between two rows of plants. “I’ll make you pay for that. When I take what is mine, I’m going to parade every mistress I fuck i
n our bed right through your living room as you watch.”
My eyes widen. What kind of sick fantasies is this man having?
“Look at where I started and one day you’ll see where I’ve gone.”
Because I must have more of Cammie in me than I’m willing to admit, I can’t shut my mouth and play along. No, instead I have to aggravate by asking questions, but the situation doesn’t make sense. “I thought weed was legal in Maine?”
Dwight scoffs. “There’s always room for more. The growing requirements are ridiculous and buying your product from out of state is expensive. Just like your favorite grocery, shopping local gives you better prices and fresher product. Except now I’m the only store in town.”
“Are you using the bed-and-breakfast as a weed operation?” I’ve been here six months. How did I not see this going on? All those bangs in the night. Has he been selling it here too? I thought Pelican Bay was a cute, quiet, little town on the East Coast with a charming old bed-and-breakfast. I never pictured something like this could be going on right underneath my feet. How long has the root cellar operated as a grow house?
Dwight laughs, this one deeper and more heartfelt but still evil. “This? This is not a weed operation, sweetheart. What you see here is my personal stash and overflow room. My grower has spaces situated all over the woods so it’s impossible to track them.”
“But why, Dwight?” It’s the one thing I’ve never understood when it came to criminals. Some people have a soft spot for men who live dark lives, but I’ve always wondered why they couldn’t have chosen a different path. Become an accountant or something. Why risk it all knowing at any moment you can have the world taken from you?
Dwight backs me up against the wall. I inch my face away from his, trying to get some distance, but it doesn’t work. His breath covers the air, forcing me to breathe him in against my wishes.
“I’ll make you all see. Every single woman who turned me down who laughed when my back was turned. You’ll be the one sorry when I take over this shit hole town.”
“Ridge would never let that happen.” I’ve only met the man in passing, but I hear the stories. He’s back in Pelican Bay after years as a Navy SEAL to keep the place safe. He wouldn’t let anything happen to his town.
“Soon it will be my town and then we’ll see.”
He jabs his knee between my legs and rolls his groin against mine, his tongue licking at my neck. I wiggle and squirm, trying to do anything possible to get away, but his body has boxed me in and all I get for my efforts are scratches along my arms and hair loss. I scream, but nothing works.
“Don’t worry, Tara. I promise I’ll make it feel so good for you,” he whispers in my ear, dragging it out until it’s sickly.
13
Dwight’s hand slides further up my leg as he boxes me into the wall. I hold my breath trying to stay as far away from him as possible. There’s a loud bang and another burst of cold air, but it’s not until I hear a deep voice that makes my heart soar that I let my lungs fill again. The fear still gripping my nerve endings leaves me unable to move.
“Get away from her, Shoemaker.” Graham addresses Dwight by his last name, which I don’t remember telling him.
Even Graham’s commanding presence doesn’t sway my attacker. Dwight smiles, his nose running against my ear as he laughs. His breath whips harshly against my skin, causing a chill in my bones. He’s gone mad. Or has he always been this way and I never saw? Either way it will be okay. I believe it with everything in me. Graham is here now and I’m safe. Whatever happens, he won’t let me get hurt.
“No, I don’t think I will.”
BANG!
A gun fires, the sound vibrating the walls in the enclosed cellar. I scream, trying to sink to the floor, but Dwight holds me up.
“What the hell are you thinking, mother fucker?” he yells at Graham.
“I’m not fucking around. Get away from her.”
Dwight finally steps away, but barely an inch. He doesn’t let me out of his space at all. It does, however, give me a clear view to the front of the root cellar. There’s a scuffling, feet scraping against the floor and Ridge, with his dark hair and tall muscular body, works to maneuver Graham out of the way. He’s unsuccessful but does get to the side to stand level with him.
“This isn’t the Wild West, Graham Kinney.”
Graham grunts. “You’d get more shit done if it was.”
Ridge inches forward with Graham keeping pace. “Listen, Dwight, I don’t know what’s going on here—”
“Nothing is going on here,” Dwight cuts Ridge off mid-sentence.
“Well, clearly something is.” Ridge laughs in a non-funny way as his eyes quickly scan the room, taking in all the marijuana plants and growing equipment. The bright lights are now hurting my eyes, and I blink, keeping his image in focus.
“Weed is legal in Maine, so you haven’t seen anything except you breaking and entering into my private space.”
“This much weed isn’t legal.” Ridge inches closer.
Graham steps too. “And you’ve got your hand on my woman, so I don’t care what you’re doing here, but you need to step away before I shoot you.”
Ridge cast his arm across Graham’s chest not letting him get closer.
The whole time these two have been going back and forth with Dwight, he’s done nothing but continue to press his disgusting body up against mine. The air is full of his nasty breath. I don’t know what’s taking them so long, but I’m done standing around waiting to see what happens. Someone needs to take action.
The calm that Graham’s presence brought earlier has all but evaporated. Dwight’s body moves a fraction of an inch, giving me the clearance I need. He forgets about me for a second, but it’s enough. I bring my knee up as fast as possible and he crumbles to the ground in a heap, grabbing himself and screaming.
“That’s what you get, asshole.”
“You bitch!” Dwight reaches for my ankle as I run past, but this hold isn’t strong enough to keep me this time. I run straight into Graham’s arms and he scoops me up, holding me tightly to his chest and kissing me on the lips.
“You’re okay?” he asks his hands running over my arms.
There’s movement further in the back of the cellar and a table tips over to the side, dirt and leaves scattering on the bare floor. When Graham lets me have a look over his shoulder, I see Ridge has pounced on Dwight, twisting his arms behind his back and tying them together with a clear piece of plastic like a zip tie.
“That was the dumbest thing,” Ridge says pulling Dwight up to his knees.
“What were you thinking?” Graham asks, plastering me with kisses in between words.
I was thinking of hurrying the hell up or else we’d be down here all night. “He didn’t have a gun or knife.”
When men come to a root cellar with an unarmed man, they should charge at him. There’s no room for negotiations. Someone had to take him down.
Graham brushes back a piece of my hair and holds my chin up until we’re staring at one another. His eyes are full of shock and horror, but as Ridge scrambles to get Dwight under control, Graham’s expresses changes to one of love and maybe even a little astonishment. Under the intense lighting of the staircase we kiss. It’s deeper and more passionate than any other kiss we’ve shared. One for the record books.
“Come on,” he says practically pulling me up the stairs and out of the root cellar.
I don’t complain, wanting to gather him as closely as possible. I may never be able to go into a dank underground space again. Already it feels as if there’s bugs with little Dwight heads climbing all over my body, stirring in my hair and under my clothing.
At the top of the cellar Graham continues to check me over, his hands running along my legs and my arms, over my ribs. He feels the back of my neck and his thumb moves slowly across a scrape one of the paper boxes gave me on the cheek.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks still giving me a perve
rted pat down.
“I promise.” All I want to do now is get as far away from this place as possible. The night air is cold and I wrap my arms around myself trying to stay warm. I never got a jacket before coming to search for Dwight since I didn’t plan to stumble upon what I did.
Graham takes his jacket off and wraps it around my shoulders. In the distance, sirens scream and soon three and eventually four cop cars whip into the parking lot of the bed-and-breakfast, choosing to stop wherever they please in the little parking lot. Police officers pile out of the cars and find their way quickly down into the root cellar where Ridge waits with Dwight.
“I was so worried,” Graham says. “I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again.”
It’s not that I’m particularly happy he was scared I’d die, but seeing Graham and his large frame rattled over the possibility of missing me brings me more joy than it should. Maybe being locked away with Dwight in the root cellar did more damage to my brain then I realized. PTSD.
“I’m sorry. I went to look for Dwight when he was late and that’s when I found everything. I didn’t know what to do.”
His thumb rubs against the box cut again, looking at it concerned, but it must not be deep because I barely feel it even with a brush of his skin against mine. “Did he touch you because I’ll kill him.”
I shake my head no. They saw the worst of it.
“Threatening to kill a suspect under police custody? My, my, my, Ridge is starting to hire them with fewer brains,” a man in a long brown trench coat with the police badge strung around his neck says shaking his head as he walks by the two of us still huddled together.
“Anderson. I don’t think he’s in police custody yet since you were so late.” Graham squeezes me tighter, putting his body between me and the detective.
“If anything happens to him once we have him in custody, I’ll make sure I pay you a special visit.”
Sweetest Obsessions - Anthology Page 295
