by Sky Winters
Running a hot bath, Olivia slid into the water, letting her mind blank as she soaked, letting her limbs stretch in the water of the spacious tub.
After a time, she stepped out of the tub, the water cascading down the curves of her body. A full length-mirror on the other side of the tub surprised her with her reflection, and she took a moment to look over her body. Her slim arms and legs appeared to her as a humorous contrast to her large, round belly—which seemed incongruous to the rest of her slender body. She regarded her breasts, which had always been small and pert, but were now ripe with impending motherhood. Her auburn hair hung wet and loose over the pale skin of her small shoulders, and even from this distance across the bathroom, she could make out the cool, impassive blue of her eyes, the red ripeness of her full lips, the sharp angles of her beautiful face.
She dried and dressed, her stomach heavy with worry at the idea of having to tell her story to this strange family that she barely knew. What if they felt she was complicit in Brody’s criminal activities? What if they didn’t believe her when she told them she didn’t know the extent of what Brody got up to? Would they send her back out into the cold, angry that Olivia had expected them to have sympathy for someone like her? And what about Ian, who seemed to be repulsed by the sight of her? How could she live with someone like him who didn’t seem to want her around? And why did he feel so strongly about her?
Olivia took one last look in the mirror, admiring the way the black and white maternity dress somehow managed to flatter her pregnant body before going back down to the living room. Once there, she found Tessa and Atticus waiting for her.
“There she is,” said Atticus, rising as a woman entered, in true gentleman form. “Come on down, little lady.”
“You want some coffee?” asked Tessa as Olivia made her way down the stairs.
“That…sounds really nice,” said Olivia. The perking-up effect of a warm cup of coffee sounded like just the thing she needed after her lazy soak in the tub.
“Sure,” said Tessa, disappearing from the room.
Olivia plopped onto the attractive, black couch across from Atticus, a coffee table made from a treated cross-section of a tree trunk between them. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, she could spot traces of salmon and lavender in the sky as the sun made its way down into the trees. A fire was still crackling in the fireplace to her right, the heat warm and pleasant on her skin.
“Good soak?” asked Atticus, a warm smile on his attractive face.
“Heavenly,” Olivia said, sinking back into the soft fabric of the couch.
Tessa returned a moment later with three hot cups of coffee, placing them on the coffee table.
“Lots of cream and sugar, right?” asked Tessa.
“Yes, thank you,” said Olivia.
“That’s how I was when I was pregnant; couldn’t get enough dairy and sweet stuff.”
“Oh, and peanut butter,” said Olivia.
“Lord,” said Tessa, “how many jars of extra crunchy Skippy and bags of Oreos I went through, I don’t even want to think about.”
Olivia smiled before sipping her coffee, her fingers wrapped around the warm mug.
“Well,” she said, knowing why they were there, “where to begin?”
“That’s the problem with any story,” said Atticus.
Olivia took a deep breath, and started.
“I met Brody a few years ago, right after college. I was new to New York, working an internship by day and waiting tables at night, still barely able to keep my head above water. When one day, the most handsome man that I’d ever seen in my life came in through the door of the dingy bar where I worked. He was flashy, cocky, well-dressed, and seemed to be loaded. I had no idea where a guy his age could get the money he had; just goes to show you how naïve I was.
“And when he spotted me from across the bar, it was like magic. He took me aside, told me I was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen, that it was love at first sight—all those silly words you want to hear when you’re a dumb kid. That night, I left work and he was waiting for me, sitting on his motorcycle, telling me to come with him, leave this go-nowhere job behind and be his girl. It was so much to take in, but it was like something out of a movie.
“I quit my job—both of them, to be exact—and moved into his apartment within a week. Only then did I realize that he wasn’t just some rich kid, or a day-trader with a bad boy style. He was a criminal. And not just any criminal, but a thug for a local gang, an enforcer for the Gabrizis. He worked on the bottom-rung of the gang, doing the dirty work that I don’t even want to think about. There were nights he’d come home bloody and beaten, and I’d run to his side, worried, treating his wounds. And he’d have this look on his face, this crazy, wild-eyed look, as though he weren’t scared in the slightest by the danger—no, he actually liked it.
“Part of me knew I should’ve gotten as far from him as possible as soon as I knew what kind of life he led, but he was sweet at times, and took good care of me. And he seemed to be able to sense when I was thinking about leaving, because there’d always been a new dress or piece of jewelry waiting for me, with Brody always ready to take me out for a night on the town right after. This went on for years.
“Eventually, he moved up higher in the organization, and our lifestyle went up with it. By then, I was totally, willingly blind to the life he was living, just happy to be able to spend the days shopping with his credit card or having long brunches with my girlfriends. But the stress of being so high up started to get to him. He’d come home irritated and tired at best, drunk and angry at worst. And one day—I remember it clearly, it was the first really cold day of the year—when he was especially wasted, I made the mistake of telling them that he needed to get his act together, and take better care of himself. That was the first time he hit me.
“The day after, as I covered up marks on my face where he slapped me, I swore that I would leave him, that I would never be with a man who could treat me like that. I went off to brunch with my friends, ready to declare that I was leaving Brody for good. I expected them to encourage me, to tell me I was doing the right thing. But instead, they got quiet. One—Ellen, the wife of one of the really-high-ups—told me that I needed to think about what I was saying, to be careful who heard me.
“I was shocked. What did she mean? But the other girls shared the sentiment, telling me that ‘it wasn’t that easy.’ It was then that I learned the awful truth about my situation—that I wasn’t free to come and go at any time when dating a man like Brody. I was essentially a prisoner. They were surprised that I didn’t know all of the strings attached to my lifestyle. Sure, I’m taken care of, but I’m in the relationship for as long as he wants, only to be tossed to the side whenever he gets tired of me. If I’m lucky, they said, he’ll marry me, we’ll have a couple of kids, and he’ll have a steady stream of mistresses that I’ll never have to hear about. That was the life I signed up for.
“I should’ve run then and there, out of the city, away from all of this. But I didn’t. I went right back to how things used to be, eventually even telling myself that it’d be okay if he hit me, making all kinds of excuses about how stressful his job is—the usual delusions. After another year or so, I found out I was pregnant. I was ecstatic, sure, but I was scared. I thought about what kind of life I’d be bringing this child into. But what could I do? Brody proposed, and I tried to tell myself that I was happy—he’d promised me the wedding I’d always dreamed of, after all.
“The day of the wedding drew nearer, and Brody had even been avoiding hitting me. Respect for the baby, I assume. I was eight months or so along, and I told myself that no matter what kind of man Brody might be, he would soon be both my husband and the father of my child, and I would be a wife and mother. I let myself get wrapped up in the joy of wedding planning, my girlfriends’ joy lifting my own, despite my hesitations.
“Then he came home drunk, again. I spotted blood on his clothing, and a gun was tucked sloppily in
to his waistband. He yelled at me for one thing or another, and hit me. I’d gotten used to his abuse, but never had he hit me while I was with child. It was unacceptable. My hand on the stinging skin on my face where he struck me, I looked up at him, his eyes wild with booze and drugs, and swore that I’d never let a man like him raise my child. He scoffed, then went to the bedroom and passed out in a heap.
“He left his phone on the table, and I guessed his password and looked through the pictures. What I saw, I don’t think I’ll ever forget. There were nude women at strip clubs, pictures and videos of him having sex with other girls, shots of him doing drugs with his boys—what I expected. But as I scrolled along, I began to find pictures of men tied to chairs, their faces swollen and bruised. The next pictures would be those same men, dead on the floor with a gunshot to their heads. I saw Brody for what he truly was: a low-life killer.
“I packed what I could while Brody was passed out—just the essentials—and drove off. I didn’t know where I was going to go, and upstate sounded remote, I guess. But it’s hard to make a getaway when you’re eight months pregnant. I stayed at a hotel nearby, and he found me, him and a couple of his thug friends. Not knowing what else to do, I drove into the forest, and then I ran.”
Her story done, Olivia looked deep into her coffee, the liquid still and dark. After a time, her eyes flicked up at Atticus and Tessa, who were leaning forward in their seats in rapt attention.
“Jeez,” said Atticus, leaning back and looking away. “And that brings you to right now.”
“That’s right,” said Olivia.
A moment passed, Olivia’s gaze now drifting to the gentle swaying of the few branches visible in the ever-increasing dark of the oncoming night.
“You…did the right thing,” said Tessa. “You got out of that horrible situation, for the good of you and your baby. And you’re safe now.”
“That’s right,” said Atticus. “You’re safe here.”
Olivia let relief wash over her as she realized that Atticus and Tessa weren’t going to toss her out for being a passive accomplice to a criminal.
“I know all about being with a man like that,” said Tessa. “But with mine waiting until after we were married to show his criminal colors.”
Olivia perked up at this.
“I’ll tell you about it, some time,” said Tessa. “But I think you’ve been through enough just telling us your story.”
“Thank you,” said Olivia, taking a slow sip of her coffee.
They allowed the silence to hang in the air as they sipped their coffee, the information settling on the three like a fog.
A movement from above snapped Olivia out of her reverie. Focusing her eyes on the floor above, she saw a figure move through an open door, as though whoever it was had been listening to their conversation and was now leaving listening distance. She couldn’t tell who it was at first, but she made out the lean, ropy body and thick, lustrous hair—it was Ian.
Olivia wondered, her stomach cold and tight, just how much he’d heard.
CHAPTER 4
A week passed, and Olivia was slowly but steadily becoming more comfortable in her new home. Atticus and Tessa had made it clear that she could stay for as long as she needed. Olivia’s pride bristled at what she thought of as charity, but she realized she didn’t have any other options. She spent most of the time around the compound making herself useful—cleaning here and there, cooking when she could—but any time one of the men would spot her doing anything even slightly strenuous, they rushed in and took over the job for her.
“I appreciate the sentiment,” said Olivia to Clyde as he replaced the large, plastic bottle of olive oil in one of the higher kitchen cabinets one day while Olivia was preparing a simple salad, “but I’m starting to feel a little like an invalid.”
“I just like to help,” said Clyde, his face reddening. “Food is what I do, you know?”
Olivia was getting to know the men and women of the compound better as the days went on. Clyde, she learned, was a sous chef at a nearby upscale hotel. Atticus was an electrician, Roland was a day trader, and Ian…she didn’t know. Olivia knew very a little about him. Aside from their brief encounter on the deck, she and him hadn’t exchanged a single word. He moved through the house like a ghost, a heavy pall following him wherever he went. The few times they made eye contact, Olivia could detect an almost palpable sadness in his eyes, a sadness that he hid from anyone who spoke to him.
Her attraction to him was something she couldn’t hide, either. Olivia found herself hoping to spot him around the house, to catch a glimpse of his gorgeous face and perfect body. Now that Brody seemed to be out of the picture, Olivia seemed to be permitting herself the space to be attracted to another man, as strange as it felt to her. But she didn’t dare act on it or say anything; she was content letting it be a simple crush. Though as the days went on, she found herself thinking of him more and more. And she still wondered just what he’d heard of her story that evening a week ago.
And there was something else about this family, something that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. She knew the official story of why they lived in the woods, that they liked their solitude and the scenery and whatever else, but something about that didn’t sit well with Olivia. It seemed too simple. And her suspicions only grew when she would occasionally spot one or more of the men of the family, or some of those who lived in the cabins on the compound grounds, stepping out of the woods. Sometimes they were half-nude, sometimes fully nude. She wondered what they were doing out there, and why Atticus seemed so secretive about it when she asked.
“Just enjoying nature,” he’d say in his typically genial tone. “What’s the point in living out here if you can’t enjoy it, you know?”
“I wouldn’t mind getting some fresh air,” Olivia said to him once. “Can I come with sometime?”
Atticus shook his head quickly, instantly. “’fraid not. It’s kind of a way for the men to get some quiet time in, nothing you ladies would want to be a part of.”
He turned to her, his mouth spreading upwards into his cheeks, his smile warm. “Besides, what kind of hosts would be if we let a woman almost nine months along wander around the woods? You’d end up giving birth in some bear cave.”
Olivia smiled at this, but still wasn’t ready to shake the idea that there was something much more to the Swift family.
One night, Olivia found herself alone in the house. Atticus was on an emergency repair call, Clyde was off at a dinner shift, and Roland was somewhere in Jersey meeting with investors. The women were all off with their children, taking part in an evening play date with the seven or so other kids of the compound. They extended an invitation to Olivia, of course, but she was craving solitude, and knew that in a few weeks she’d have more kid-time than she’d know what to do with.
She wandered through the massive compound, a can of coconut La Croix in her hand as she moved from room to room, not bothering to flick on the lights. Thoughts of Brody slipped into her mind; she wondered why, despite knowing where she was, he hadn’t bothered to come after her. Was he scared? Was he more interested in some other woman, and happy to let Olivia scurry away, if that’s what she really wanted? Maybe he was embarrassed to tell his peers that he’d been jilted.
But none of these explanations sat right with Olivia. In the years she’d known Brody, she’d come to learn he wasn’t a man to let a slight pass by unsatisfied.
“Someone’s restless,” came a voice from the second floor, a low, sonorous voice that jolted Olivia out of her thoughts.
Looking up, she saw that it was Ian. He stood looming over her, his hands on the railing, his handsome face blank.
“Just…pacing, I guess.”
Ian said nothing, instead heading to the stairs and descending them, appearing in the living room moments later.
“Hi,” said Olivia, her voice far away, not sure what to say to the man who stood before her.
“I’m going to have a glass of
wine,” he said. “Care to join me?”
She didn’t know what to make of this offer. Why was he going from distant and cold to chummy and friendly?
“I can’t really drink,” she said, her hand on her belly.
“Roman aristocrats drank nothing but wine, you know,” he said, standing in the kitchen and popping open a bottle of red. “They considered water to be beneath them.”
“Yeah,” said Olivia. “Then Rome collapsed.”
Ian let out a dry chuckle.
“Fair enough.”
Olivia knew she shouldn’t, but a glass of wine did sound heavenly.
“I suppose a small one couldn’t hurt.”
He flashed her a sensual half-smile, and poured her a small draw of wine. Olivia’s eyes were on him the entire time he poured; she couldn’t look away from this gorgeous specimen standing before her.
“Let’s go out to the deck,” he said.
Olivia nodded in agreement and followed him as he went outside. The evening was cool and still, the approaching fall chill not yet arrived. Once outside, Ian handed her the large glass with a splash of ruby red wine within. Olivia smelled it, letting the heady, strong smell rise into her nose. Then, as though, committing a crime, she sipped the wine, letting just a few drops slip over the rim of the glass and onto her tongue. The liquid seemed to dance as soon as it touched her tongue. She closed her eyes in delight, opening them a moment later to see Ian leaning over the deck railing, looking off into the forest, his own glass cradled in his hand.
She moved near him on the deck, a little unsure of herself.
“Nice night,” she said, unsure of what else to say.
“Mhmm,” came the response.
More silence.
Olivia took another sip, the barely ounce of wine Ian poured already nearly gone.
“Um…not working tonight?” asked Olivia, her eyes on Ian, his hard, long body leaning over the railing of the deck, his face impassive.
