by K. Webster
The man has millions of dollars and he’s going to send them “a little” at a time. Maybe he’s no better than Gabe after all. Rage explodes from within me and I fist my hands at my sides.
“I promised you I’d stay and you promised me lots of money in return. My mother needs it, War. She’s dying,” I remind him with a fierce glare.
He winces at my tone and hangs his head. His mouth moves ever so slightly as he mouths words, numbers, nonsense—who the heck knows. Both of his hands slide into his hair and he grips at it, as if he can yank answers from his head. I almost feel sorry for him and his internal battle he’s waging. But that changes nothing because he’s still making things hard on me.
“Whatever,” I huff and damn near shove past him. He’s lucky I have self-control and compassion for others—even if they are sick individuals. I know he’d probably pass out if I touched him. And no matter how angry I am at the moment, I’m not cruel.
When I step close enough that our chests nearly touch, I expect him to jerk out of the way or hiss at me to stay away from him. Instead, he snaps his wild gaze to mine. My fury quickly dissipates as I get swept up in his stormy eyes. His eyelids droop closed and he leans in to inhale me, mere inches from my cheek. From this proximity, I can smell his soapy scent.
“Knowing you’re naked under here drives my already crazy head onto a new plane of madness—one I don’t understand and can’t navigate,” he whispers against my hair, his breath tickling me. “So it’s in your best interest to find clothes first and then we’ll continue this conversation afterward.”
His words twist inside of me and my knees wobble. “Why does it make you crazy?” I can’t help but goad him. I’m curious to know what it is about me that disrupts his normally structured life.
“Because,” he groans and a shudder ripples through his massive frame. “I want to touch it.”
“My naked body?”
A hiss of his breath sends a wake of goosebumps creeping down my neck. “Yes.”
“Send my parents the money they need to make this happen and you can touch me all you want,” I murmur. Did I really just try to bargain for more money with my body? I’m sick.
He growls, that same possessive growl from earlier today, and jerks away from me much to my dismay. “Go get dressed, Baylee.”
I huff at his clear rejection and storm away. It isn’t until I’m safe inside my room that I burst into tears again. Gabe prepared me for sexual abuse and pain. Not…whatever it is War is. It’s confusing and difficult for me to navigate.
Thankfully, the clothes in the bureaus are all simple and comfortable. For some reason, I’d expected business suits. Something demure and conservative. Items that matched War’s crisp, professional style. Instead, I find several pairs of jeans folded neatly in the drawers beside some yoga pants. Many T-shirts are tucked away in another drawer. I also find socks, bras, and underwear. The undergarments are all simple.
Nothing ostentatious.
Nothing sexy.
Just normal.
And I couldn’t be happier.
In the closet, I find a few nicer things including a couple of dresses but still no shoes. Why didn’t he give me any shoes? Slamming the closet door, I huff and storm back over to the dresser. I’m sure he’d prefer the dresses, but after his blatant display of control, I want to dress as unappealingly as I can for him. With that in mind, I choose a pair of fitted jeans and a soft pink V-neck shirt. I tug my hair out of the bun and weave it into a long loose braid in front of my shoulder.
When I emerge, a delicious aroma fills the kitchen. I find that something is baking in the oven. I didn’t know War even knew what delicious was.
“Greek-style vegetarian lasagna,” a deep voice rumbles from down the hallway.
I snap my gaze from the kitchen to see him standing several feet away from me. His dark hair is now slightly disheveled as if he’s been running his fingers through it. The dress shirt is completely unbuttoned baring his fitted white tank underneath. He’s rolled up his blue sleeves, showcasing beautiful forearms, and his hands are shoved into the pockets of his slacks. The expression on his face is still the almost feral one from earlier, and I’m surprised when a quiver of excitement runs down my spine.
Yesterday, he was such a mess.
Today, he’s messing with my head.
Today his normal obsessive patterns and displays are there but a different side of him pulsates from behind those composed behaviors. I want to scratch at him and free that side.
“I’m ready for the e-mail you promised,” I clip out and attempt to keep my cheeks from reddening. I’m supposed to be angry at him, not drooling.
“Come into the living room,” he says in a low, seductive voice. A voice you could nearly make love to. “I want to give you something.”
On shaky legs, I follow him out of the kitchen. The sun is setting and it will be dark soon. He leads me to the couch and motions for me to sit. Once I’m seated and attempting to regain my composure, I stare up at him. For a brief moment, hunger flashes in his eyes before he stalks off.
Okay…
Moments later he returns and sets a laptop down on the coffee table. “This is yours. You’ll have access to the Internet and the e-mail account I set up for you. Social media accounts are blocked for your own safety. I have safeguards in place to make sure you don’t accidentally divulge your location.”
Our eyes meet and I hold his stare. “Thank you.”
He frowns but offers a curt nod. “Dinner will be ready in thirty minutes. We’ll dine together, so send your letter now while I take a quick shower.”
I force a smile as he starts to walk away.
“Oh,” he says with a shy voice and turns to flick his gaze down over my body, “I want you to know that you look really nice. Pink is a great color against your flawless skin. With your blonde hair spilling out over the top of it, you remind me of an autumn sunset behind the ocean. Simply beautiful.”
And on that note, he strides away.
I blink after him for several moments. Something he said on a whim was quite possibly the nicest compliment anyone has ever given me. And here I’d thought he’d be repulsed by my simple clothes and messy hairstyle.
Instead, he thinks I’m as pretty as the sunset above the ocean he so clearly loves.
With an annoyed, but secretly satisfied grunt, I flip open the sleek MacBook and open my e-mail. I have one unread message.
From War.
Peace,
I’m sorry it has to be this way. Give me time, and I promise I’ll make it up to you. Your light is already seeping into the dark parts of my soul and I’m not about to let that slip away for a second. Call me greedy. Call me smart. Whatever it is, I know I can’t live without that light. I’ve been existing for so long in the darkness. Alone. Twenty-two breaths per minute.
Today, I forget to count them though.
War
I stare at his words and a flurried mixture of guilt and satisfaction settles over me. I’m a distraction from his mind. The fact that he’s called me Peace only further proves what he thinks of me.
War,
I’ll hold you to that promise.
Peace
After I hit send, I open a new e-mail. Dad doesn’t have e-mail but Mom does to help her keep up with our extended family in Indiana. I wonder how exactly War plans on keeping me from writing her the truth about where I am.
But then she’ll tell Gabe.
What will Gabe do to them if they realize he was behind everything?
He’d probably kill them. After all that he did in the cabin, I can’t imagine him doing anything less. The man is psychotic.
Mom,
I pray to God you’re feeling okay. I hope that somehow they’ve moved you up on the transplant list. I’m sorry I left without as much as a goodbye. I met someone and we’re in love. I’ll try and contact you when I can. Hopefully, this will all be over soon and I can come back home. I’ll bring you a seashell souvenir. You always
loved taking us to the beaches in southern California. I love and miss you and Dad so much.
Love,
Baylee.
P.S. Please don’t mention this e-mail to Gabe. This is a private family matter and I’d appreciate it if we kept it inside of our family.
Pleased with my e-mail littered with hints to my parents that Gabe probably wouldn’t pick up on, I hit send. I frown though when it sits in the outbox. Many attempts later, it still goes nowhere. With a huff, I sit the computer down on the table and pace the floor in front of it. Safeguards. That really meant he was going to monitor each e-mail before I hit send?
I glance back down at the screen when I see a flash of movement. I’m dumfounded when the cursor moves, opens the e-mail, and my words change before my very eyes.
Mom,
I pray to God you’re feeling okay. I hope that somehow they’ve moved you up the transplant list. I’m sorry I left without as much as a goodbye. I met someone and we’re in love. I’ll try and contact you when I can. One day we’ll come for a visit. I’ll bring you a souvenir. I love and miss you and Dad so much.
Love,
Baylee.
PS…please don’t mention this e-mail to Gabe. This is a private family matter and I’d appreciate it if we kept it inside of our family.
What the hell?
I abandon the computer and storm toward his bedroom. When I burst into the room, I take a moment to admire the sight and almost forget why I’m there.
War sits on the edge of his bed, one leg hanging off and the other bent with a laptop resting on it. The towel around his hips gapes open revealing a hairy thigh dangerously close to his cock. He’s affected by me just as I am by him. It’s kind of hard to hide an erection when all you’re wearing is a towel.
Water rivulets are running down his sculpted chest from his recent shower. His dark hair is wet and messy on his head.
He’s a picture of perfection.
A chiseled god of a man.
Beautiful.
My cheeks burn because I can’t even formulate words to say to him. I’m no longer angry but instead snared in his intense gaze.
“I changed a few things,” he says in a gruff tone as he drags his laptop over his lap covering what I’d already seen.
“That was invasive, War.” I’m glad to have finally remembered the reason I barged in here in the first place. It was to chew him out, not ogle him. “I didn’t give anything away.”
He sighs and swipes some hair from his eyes. “Invasive is having a fleet of fucking FBI agents terrorizing my home. I may have problems, Bay, but I’m not at all stupid. Your little hints will be used to find you.”
Tears well in my eyes. “I just wanted to let them know I was okay.”
He flicks his gaze over my body before closing his laptop. “And you did. But I told you, we’ll have to play this by ear. I need you, Baylee. We have to do this my way.”
“Fine. Whatever Master,” I utter sarcastically. “Once again, I’m reminded I’m your prisoner. When can we eat? I’m starving and ready to go to bed.”
He rises to his feet and I can’t help but skim over his chest once more before meeting his glare. The white towel hangs low revealing dark hair which leads right to the bulge beneath the towel. I avert my eyes to the floor because if I keep staring at him, I’ll lose my hold on sanity. The thoughts whirring around in my head are unnatural and wrong.
“You’re not my prisoner,” he says softly. His steps are slow and unsure but soon he’s towering over me just inches away, the heat of his body nearly melting me to the floor. “But you are like a miracle drug, Bay. For some reason, I don’t obsess over numbers and germs and patterns. Each time you open your mouth, I’m fixated on your words. I’m drawn to the way you say them. When I’m around you, I don’t obsess over my problems because I obsess over you.”
The man is certifiably crazy. His words and actions are no better than those of Gabe, yet I find my lips turning up on one corner into a half-smile. I like that I control his happiness. It opens a dark door inside of my head—one that Gabe never let me see. Gabe controlled every aspect of me.
War’s not the one in control here despite his monitored e-mails, vegetarian meals, and clothing choices he’s picked for me. No, he knows I hold the power.
I just wish I knew what to do with that power.
“Why do you like me so much?” I question, lifting my eyes to meet his smoldering stare. “Why do I have the ability to make you not think about those things?”
He leans forward and takes a deep breath. “I have no idea. But I want to explore it. You have no clue how relieving it is to not be assaulted by the demons in your head—even if only for a few moments. I’m exhausted. So fucking exhausted. And for the first time in what seems like forever, I’m living a little outside my head and it’s refreshing as hell.”
My eyes find his tender ones and I shiver. His stare penetrates inside of me and carefully unravels every secret thing about me. I feel exposed at his visual dissection.
I raise a palm to his cheek but don’t touch him. His entire body shudders at the nearness of me. Moments earlier, I was angry with him but when he flays open his heart and exposes raw parts of him, I can’t help but be intrigued.
He clenches his eyes closed and grinds his teeth. His muscular chest heaves with each breath he takes. I watch as his eyebrows pinch and relax over and over again as if he’s battling with his mind once again.
“I wasn’t trying to hint to my parents in hopes that you’d take the fall for something Gabe started, you know,” I say and drop my hand.
His eyes open and he frowns. “I know. And it’s not your father I’m worried about. You said so yourself—Gabe will find you if you’re not careful. I’m just being careful, Baylee, not crazy.”
A shudder ripples through me at the thought of being in Gabe’s rough clutches again. I’ll do anything not to let that happen again. Even if that means letting War have his control over my e-mails. “Okay then. I’ll be more careful,” I concede.
He smiles at me, as if my words have the power to make him happy, and I can’t help but return the gesture.
“How’d you do that anyway—getting on my computer like you were some ghost? If I’m being honest here, that was creepy,” I tell him with a feigned disgusted curl of my lip.
His warm laughter fills the room—deep and throaty—and it smooths away any lasting annoyance about his taking over my message to my parents. “If I told you, then I’d have to kill you.” He waggles his eyebrows and attempts to plaster on a fierce gaze to which I laugh.
“I’ll take my chances.”
He saunters over to his closet and disappears. I can hear the sound of hangers moving as he hunts for something to wear. “Actually, it’s called remote access,” he calls out from inside. “The computers in the house are all joined to the domain. From the server, as admin, I can manage any computer in this house easily. I was actually logged in remotely from my laptop to the server, and then to your computer. Then, I—”
“Oh my God,” I groan and head back to the doorway to leave his room. “You’ll kill me with boredom. Forget I asked.”
More of his boyish laughter, muffled by the closet, causes me to smile but I hurry and leave his space where I wonder about what he looks like under his towel. Being this close to him—smelling him, hearing him, almost feeling him—is too much for comfort. My body is hyperaware when I’m near him and I’m not sure I like that about myself.
I’m supposed to be afraid or angry, but there in War’s room listening to him chuckle, I’m not. I’m far from how I’m supposed to be feeling. In fact, for the first time in a few weeks, I actually feel safe and dare I say happy.
And that is what scares me.
ONE WEEK WITH Baylee and my life has drastically changed.
Everything seems softer. Quieter.
The hammering in my head—the constant banging of numbers and calculations, of bloody possibilities, of sickening disasters
—is all quieted whenever she’s around. I lose track of all of that, and focus on her.
Her voice.
Her movements.
Her scent.
We’re both trying to figure out this situation. She, at times seems to tiptoe around me, careful of her words, when I’m particularly moody and the monsters in my head creep up on me. And I try not to obsess over her. Obsessing over her is easy. I’ve timed every single thing she does. I know that she chews every bite of food almost nearly the same amount each time. Twenty-six. Twenty-six chews. I also know that she blinks twenty-four thousand four hundred eighty times a day. Seventeen blinks per minute. Twelve hundred blinks per hour. This is the average—but the variance is so nil, I can almost count on her blinking seventeen times each minute.
I know this because I stare at her. A lot. Not just her pretty blue eyes but most often her mouth. Pouty and pink and perfect. It’s hard to look away when she turns her gaze my way—to not stare at her lips.
And the girl can talk. I never imagined, although I’d been plenty hopeful, that the sound of someone’s voice could lull most of my demons to sleep. Demons that roar and slash the inside of my head to fragmented bits are now being silenced. As if she wields a sword, her tongue, which they solemnly fear.
Her reverent and soft, almost whispered, stories of her mother.
Her fond, proud tales of her father and how much she felt protected by him.
Her happy memories of school and track. And even her boyfriend Brandon.
I could listen to her speak for eternity. To put her voice on an endless loop that would get me through my maddening existence.
With Baylee, my life has become positively endurable.
And Jesus Christ do I wish it were mirrored by her.
To have her revel at my words, even though they’re much less in quantity than hers. To have her stare at my mouth as if it had the power to perform miracles like hers seem to do. To have her listen to my stories and memories with intense interest.
But that’s far from the case.
With every frown she tries to hide. Every tear she swipes away. Each unanswered email from her parents, I know.
