by Aria Cole
"Someone will be over to check it out."
"I'm going to check it out." I left my coffee cooling and Alice's jaw on the floor as I whipped right back out of the doorway I'd come from, heading to my car and 784 Bakker Lane.
I was hoping like a motherfucker I wouldn't find what that neighbor had described over the phone. The idea made my skin crawl and the rage build. I was too young to stop it back then, but I sure as fuck wasn't now.
Maybe it was a cousin, a niece visiting, something perfectly normal.
But my gut told me the odds were it wasn't normal. And if it was something disgusting and sinister like I expected, I needed to get that girl out of there. I had to save her, couldn't let her be another statistic because some self-involved asshole shrugged the situation off as normal.
I shoved my foot down on the pedal, my black F-250 roaring down the road. I didn't bother with the red flashing hood light; this town was so empty there wasn't another car to disturb. With my heart pounding against my ribcage, I eased around the corner of Bakker Lane, then came to a stop across the street from the house.
Oranges and pinks streaked the sky and lit up all the shabby corners of the old house. Shingles lay scattered in the front yard from one of the last storms we'd had, mildew crawled up the dark eaves, a broken fence overgrown with rose bushes welcomed no visitors.
"Jesus Christ," I murmured as I cut the engine and lowered the window, prepared to eagle-eye this place until I knew what I might be dealing with. The odds didn't look good. The house wasn't the most rundown on the street—our northern corner of Idaho had been starkly affected by the depressed economy—but this place looked like it was owned by someone trying to keep people out for a reason. A Beware of Dog sign couldn't make the message clearer.
My eyes flicked across the windows of the house. Some of them were boarded up with sheets of plywood, others with heavy curtains obscuring my view, a slice of neon from a screen flashing in what I assumed was the living room was the only sign of life. I licked my lips, thinking maybe I should go have a chat with the neighbors and ask them exactly what they'd seen, then I saw the dim light from the living room flicker off.
I watched silently as the front door slid open and a fat old man toddled down the front steps, his eyes darting around the neighborhood then up to a second-story window. One of the boarded-up ones.
Damn if he didn't look like he had something worth hiding in that shit hole.
I watched as he climbed into the rusted Cadillac sitting in the driveway, the old car firing to life before he backed down the driveway and went off down the street.
Shit, this was it. Act, don't think. If she's in there hurt, this is your chance to get her out.
I launched out of the cab of my truck, striding across the street and up the driveway of the rambling house. Taking the front steps two at a time, I gave two loud knocks on the front door, biding my time before I could crash through and investigate the house. I didn't expect anyone to actually answer. I expected to have to do my own recognizance.
I rested a palm on the knob just as the cool metal turned and the door cracked open.
Not a single word was said, only a pair of wide crystal-green eyes peered out at me. My mouth went dry as I realized what I was facing.
"Ma'am, are you hurt?" The stranger's eyes widened for a moment before she bit down on her bottom lip. So hard the front incisors piercing the ruby flesh turned it ghost white. "Can I come in?"
Her eyes narrowed for a moment, and I remembered she'd probably like some identification. I pulled out my badge, the one I kept tucked in my work jeans for times just like this. The gold flashed in the dim light, and her eyes seemed to relax marginally.
"I-I don't know if I should let you in." The first sentence she strung together, and it was like a siren song to my ears. Who was this girl?
"Well, just the fact that you don't know if you should let me in means you should probably let me in."
"That doesn't make much sense." Her eyes shimmered with some unspoken emotion.
"I work with the local police department, so actually, it does." I placed the toe of my boot in the small crack she held open. I didn't want to push her, but I needed confirmation of her safety before I just sauntered back out of here.
"He'll be back any time." The sliver of door cracked wider as my heart died a slow death in my chest.
"Who's 'he,' sweetheart?" I placed a spread palm on the paneled wood, pushing gently.
"My father. Stepfather," she corrected, pulling the door the rest of the way open.
The view was like a sucker punch to my throat.
She was so much younger than I thought. My eyes crawled up her body. A worn old dress hung too large on her shoulders, her eyes sunken in and skin pale from lack of sunlight.
Fuck, this was bad.
"Your stepfather is keeping you here?" I struggled to understand the circumstances.
She nodded, her eyes darting across the floor and landing at her feet. Her fists twisted together nervously, and on instinct I covered them with my palm. Her fidgeting stopped instantly.
"I want to help you." I caught her chin with my thumb and forced her emerald eyes to mine. "I'm prepared to take you out of here right now, sweetheart. Just say yes or no. Has your stepfather hurt you?"
She sucked a lip between her teeth, and tears welled in her eyes. Her face twisted as she crossed her arms over her body and shook her head back and forth, tears finally crashing in rivers down her cheeks. "I don't want to be here anymore."
"Jesus, that's all I need to hear." I swooped her small form into my arms and turned on my heel, walking straight down the steps and across the street. This girl needed saving, and that asshole needed to burn in Hell for whatever he'd done to her. I planned on taking care of both.
3
Tessa
I smiled, my cheeks turning up in my sleep as the scent of pancakes and bacon curled around my nostrils. This must be heaven or a very vivid dream. No one had ever made me breakfast before, so it certainly wasn't reality.
I yawned, digging at my eyes, then stretched my arms above my head and rolled over into the fluffy pillow.
The fluffy pillow.
Pancakes.
Pancakes?
My eyes shot open and a scream nearly tore from my lungs as my gaze searched the unfamiliar surroundings, the realities of last night came crashing in on me.
I'd been taken.
My heart thrummed like a butterfly in my chest as I thought about what to do next. The night had happened in such a blur—one minute my stepfather was hauling me in the door by my hair, the next he was gone and a police officer, not much older than me, was knocking on the door.
I'd heard Father leave, the unmistakable rattle of his muffler alerting the entire neighborhood to his comings and goings. I'd padded down the stairs in the hopes of finding some leftover spaghetti to fill my rumbling stomach when the two loud knocks had shattered the silence of my prison.
I'd only stalled for a minute about what to do. Father had instructed me a thousand times to never open the door, but we'd never gotten a knock, like, ever. So I'd never been confronted with the option. Before the stranger could bolt, I'd launched across the room and cracked the door open.
When the cop's clear blue eyes had landed on mine I'd known I was safe. Like calm washing over me, it felt like I'd stepped into the eye of the storm, and suddenly decisions were mine to make. I tasted freedom, saw it twinkling in his stare, and the only thought that ran through my head was, this is my chance, my opportunity.
This was it.
So I'd taken it. Nearly crumpled to the floor in complete relief before he'd gathered me into his massive arms and walked me out of my seclusion and into the light. I'd trembled when he'd locked the seat belt around my waist. Tears had washed down my cheeks in uncontrollable torrents when he'd told me he'd take me to the hospital to be checked over.
I couldn't be poked and prodded and asked a thousand and one more embarrassing que
stions. The cop had taken pity when I'd begged him to take me anywhere but there, and finally relented to taking me back to his house. He'd promised we'd talk about it more in the morning, said I'd need to provide a statement, mumbled something about other girls.
My brain had gone soft by then. He sat me down and gave me a ham and cheese sandwich to calm the sounds of my stomach. His eyes looked haunted and he seemed genuinely interested in my wellbeing. He wouldn't take his eyes off me. The only time he did was when he showed me where to shower and allowed me my privacy. With my stomach full and the warmth of the hot water cascading against my skin, I was beginning to feel whole again. After my shower, I'd pulled on the only things the cop had offered me, a plain white T-shirt and a pair of boxer shorts to sleep in. I'd taken the fresh, clean-smelling clothing gladly before falling into the bed in his guest bedroom, sleeping away my demons.
And now here I was, swimming in his clothes, the smell of pancakes luring me out of bed.
I walked across the hallway to the bathroom first, cleaning myself up before stopping to assess my face in the mirror. Long, dark waves fell loosely over my shoulder, the strands glossier and silkier than they'd ever been with the fancy shampoo I'd used last night. Fingertips traced the dark circles still shadowing my eyes, the rest of my skin a pale, ghostly shade. My collarbones peeked out of the T-shirt, my hipbones from the boxers.
I sighed, thinking I looked like I'd been locked in a closet my entire life, then gave up and left the room, heading down the padded stairwell I faintly remembered being carried up last night, until I reached the first floor. My feet landed on gleaming, polished wood. The hallways in the house were extra-large, the furnishings and trimmings classy with modern flair. I felt like Dorothy dropped in the Twilight Zone, I couldn't be more out of place in a home like this.
I glanced down at my bare feet and up to the front door that opened out onto the street. I could run, if I wanted to avoid questions and hospital trips and official reports. I probably should, but something told me that would be the worst decision. I didn't have clothes, not even a pair of shoes on my feet. I needed help. If I was going to make it alone in this big, bad world I'd need support from generous people. I couldn't be too naïve or too stubborn to turn that away.
I sucked in a fortifying breath and continued down the hallway, following the scent of pancakes on the air. Turning the corner, I finally caught sight of my savior.
The cop who'd come to my door last night, the one who had swept me away to his place and was now making breakfast, stood over the counter, his back turned to me while he flipped pancakes onto a plate.
I opened my mouth, but no words would come out. "Uhm..."
His head whipped around, his ocean-blue eyes stopping any further words from forming. "Mornin'."
I only nodded, my eyes riveted, before fat teardrops trickled down my cheeks.
"Oh, come here. Shit, I'm sorry. I don't know what I did, but I'm sorry." He crossed the kitchen and pulled me into his arms.
"It's just..." I wiped at the tears. "No one's ever made me breakfast before."
"What?" He paused. "Really?" He swiped the tears with the pads of his thumbs and forced me to look at him. I nodded, ashamed of what, I wasn't quite sure. "Well, get used to it. I like taking care of people."
His words froze me in my tracks. I'd never met anyone like him, I'd only known self-serving people, but now that he said it that way...I think I liked taking care of people, too. Maybe I had something in common with my handsome stranger. "I'm sorry, I don't think I remember your name. Last night feels like..." I pushed a hand through my hair, searching for the words.
"The end of a nightmare?" he offered sadly.
"Yeah," I hummed. "Something like that."
"My name is Cage. Cage West, officially.”
His name fit him. His broad shoulders, wide stance, and chiseled jawline gave him a bit of an outlaw look. I liked it. I liked him. "I'm Tessa Talbot."
"I know," he said when I gave him an odd look. "You told me last night. After you fell asleep, I ran your name through the system. Comes up clean. You're not a missing person?"
"No." I shook my head, shocked. "I guess I could see why you'd think that, but Tom is my stepfather. My mom passed away a long time ago and there was no one else to take care of me."
Cage turned and set two white plates stacked high with pancakes at the breakfast bar in the kitchen. He poured glasses of water and orange juice to accompany them before gesturing me over. I sat, stabbed at a corner of a pancake, but my stomach was churning too much to digest anything, so instead I blurted, "Are you going to take me to the hospital?"
"Nope." He shoved a bite into his mouth and chewed. "You said you weren't hurt."
"I wasn't." The butterflies in my stomach calmed enough for a tiny bite. I chewed and relished the perfectly golden buttery cakes. "Are you going to take me to the police department?"
"I should. You were kept against your will for years. You were a child, and he had you locked away for years. God, who knows what that piece of trash could have done to you. You need to report the situation, and I need to make sure you are okay and that he didn't hurt you." His eyes cut to mine, then back to his plate.
"I don't think you need to."
"And why's that?" He paused, one dark eyebrow arching in question.
"There was no crime committed. It's just a waste of time and resources."
Cage took another bite while working my words over in his head. I got the sense he was a man of very few words, but when he spoke, people listened. "There was a crime committed. If nothing else, the neglect of a child, and that is at minimum. But I will hear you out. I promise not to do anything until I get the whole story. I need to know a few more things before I make that decision."
I paused, suddenly feeling like we were in some sort of tête-à-tête that was only twisting my tummy. "You know, I'm nineteen, I could just walk out of here and never turn back."
"But you won't." Cage stood, his massive body now looming over the small space. It hadn't registered before how big he actually was, his biceps straining at the cotton fabric of his shirt, jeans hugging his waist perfectly. I wondered what my hands on his body would feel like. I'd never touched a man, was never even attracted to TV personalities, but this man made feelings churn deep inside me that had never churned before.
"How do you know what I will and won't do?"
"'Cause you're safe here." He tipped my chin up to meet his eyes, and suddenly his touch was charged with something else entirely. "And we both know that means everything." He was right, I did feel safe with him around, and like a woman for the first time ever. "Washed up your dress last night. When you're done eating, go get ready and I'll take you shopping, get you some things that actually fit."
He thumbed the cotton at my neckline and sent shivers cascading through my bloodstream.
"You washed my dress?"
Cage only nodded before turning away and cleaning up the small mess he'd made in the kitchen. "We'll talk more later, but I can't stand to see you in rags anymore. You look sweet in my shirt, but I have a feeling you don't want to smell like me all the time."
He was wrong. A very big, very shocked part of me did want that. He'd saved me from a life of horrors in that house, and now he was here taking care of me. How could I not be utterly taken with him? I remember my mother reading me stories as a little girl about these princesses locked up in a tower and princes coming to rescue them. I never thought anyone would come for me, but here was this man, this handsome, kind man, and he was my knight. He was what I was dreaming about all those nights when I was scared and alone. I was instantly terrified that all that would be taken away, if my step-father came to find me, if Cage decided he didn’t have time and asked me to leave, then where would I be?
Cage hauled me through every women's shop in the mall, from the trendy and cheap to the high end and glamourous. I'd never been doted on so sweetly before, and when his palm nestled at the small of my back as h
e led me through a crowd, my heart had done flip flops in my chest. Cage made me feel things I never knew a girl could feel. Sure, I'd caught a few TV shows, I knew about dates and one-night stands and men who used women for one thing only, but deep down I knew Cage wasn't like that. Just in the short day I'd known him, he proved to be so attentive, so thoughtful and aware. The sharp cut of his jaw and that unmistakable way he had with words didn't hurt either.
I was completely taken with him.
"One more store?" Cage's words pulled me from my thoughts.
“I think I have more than enough. I could have made do with one change of clothes and some pajamas. You've been so generous." I gestured to the almost dozen store bags he had looped in his hands.
"You need one nice dress. My mama always said a woman needs one nice dress."
"No, really, I mean, where would I even wear it?"
"To a nice dinner, with me." His eyes crinkled adorably with his words.
"I'm learning once you've made your mind up, you're all but impossible to argue with," I teased.
"You're a quick learner then." He winked as we walked into a shop outfitted with only dresses. Evening gowns, strappy gold numbers, office-appropriate styles. It was completely overwhelming.
"I don't even know where to start in here."
"I've got a few things in mind." His eyes did that sparkling thing that brought excitement rushing into my stomach.
"Can I help you?" The saleswoman cooed.
"Just need a couple things for my girl. Something to complement those pretty green eyes, don't you think?"
"Oh yes, we've got a few options back here that would look lovely."
Cage wagged his eyebrows at me and nearly had me choking on a burst of laughter. He was silly, sweet, and sexy—was there anything better?
"How about this one?" The sales clerk held up a slinky black number with a deep vee.
