by Nikki Wild
Right?
Right, I told myself, letting out a long breath. Delfino is many things, and all of them are especially cruel, but he’s not a mind-reader. He’s not in control of every aspect of your life. Not enough to know what move you’ll make next.
Except, where Leo and I sleeping together was concerned, that was a very real possibility—that he had predicted what we would do before we’d done it.
Which brought me right back to the question of why? Why would he let this happen? What was in it for him?
It was a wonder I wasn’t dizzy from going ‘round in so many circles over this. It had to stop.
But what could I do? Leo was still injured. His bike was MIA. We could maybe steal Father’s car, sure, but no way we’d make it past the town limits without getting caught—the cops in Pleasant Lakes were all under his thumb, just like everyone else was.
I’d think of something. I had to. Even if it took me all night. Something had to be done, and soon, before whatever plans Father had for me came to fruition. I appreciated that Leo had come back here to save me, risking life and limb—I really did. But being with him this past week had made me remember who I was.
And I was a girl who was more than capable of saving herself.
Fifteen
Leo
“What’s wrong?” I asked Lucy at breakfast the next morning. Poor thing looked like she hadn’t slept a wink. The circles below her eyes were so dark that if I didn’t know any better, I’d have thought they were bruises.
Vaguely, as if she was still asleep, she shook her head at me. “Later,” she mouthed while serving up real, honest-to-God waffles onto my plate—none of that frozen crap. The kitchen smelled incredible, sweet and sugary, the kind of fragrance you’d expect to invoke fond memories of childhood. But I didn’t have any of those—just hunger-pang memories of wanting fond memories of childhood.
I reached out to take her wrist, but footsteps from the foyer stopped me in my tracks. I busied myself with applying a shit-ton of syrup to my spread instead, letting it not only fill the indents in my waffles, but allowing it to overflow and pool against my sausage and eggs, as well.
Delfino appeared in the doorway a moment later, adjusting the cuffs of his button-down shirt. The top buttons were undone, both ends of a silk tie draped over his shoulders. Lucy went to him immediately, like it was some kind of reflex, and saw to his dressing. She closed up his shirt, flipped up the ends of his collar, and had his tie in a perfectly elegant knot before I’d even finished cutting up my food. I wondered how many times she’d done it, but doing that kind of math in my head just depressed me.
It reminded me of how long I’d left Lucy twisting in the wind. It reminded me of the hell she’d endured every day in my absence. It roused an anger in my belly so fierce it made my hands shake. My knife slipped from my hand, clattering noisily against my plate.
Lucy startled. Every unexpected sound seemed to hit her like a gunshot. I recognized the wild flash of fear in her eyes, the one that only stayed for a second before her gaze deadened and went flat. I recognized that particular defense mechanism, too. I knew she was preparing for the worst.
Delfino cocked a brow at me. “Problem, Leo?”
I shrugged. “Still reeling from the accident, I guess.” I watched as Lucy crossed the kitchen to fetch him a cup of coffee. No cream, no sugar. The man really was the devil. “What about you? You’re heading out early today.”
“I didn’t realize I had someone tracking my schedule,” Delfino said, accepting the mug from Lucy. He brought it to his lips, took a sip, and then set it on the counter next to him. He held my gaze all the while. “I have business in town.”
I put on my best imitation of a pleasant smile. “What else is new?”
But Delfino wasn’t taking the bait. Like any good predator, when I bared my teeth, he returned the gesture. “Indeed.”
It fucking killed me to have to sit here and do nothing. To watch Lucy pamper and fuss over him like he was some kind of celebrity instead of the two-bit conman I knew him to be. But in the shape I was in, I didn’t have much of a choice. Not if I wanted to get the hell out of here with my bike, my girl, and my life intact.
“I’ll be back for supper,” he said to Lucy, his hawkish gaze trained on her hands as she went through the trouble of boxing his breakfast into a Tupperware container. “Chicken tonight. Cordon bleu. There’s money on the console by the door, if you need it.”
“Can Leo walk me to the store?” she asked, pulling another container out of the fridge that appeared to hold Delfino’s lunch. She stacked them both and then grabbed a thermal bag from one of the lower cabinets, placing the meals inside and then zipping it up.
He shrugged without so much as casting a glance in my direction. “I don’t see why not. Boy doesn’t have much else to do around here, does he?”
There was something in the way he said it—some kind of edge to his tone that made me feel like he knew more than he was letting on. But Delfino was otherwise unreadable. He might have been probing, needling Lucy to see if there were any soft spots she could exploit—to see if he could get her to react and give herself away. To her credit, if that was the plan, she didn’t so much as blink, only offered Delfino a smile as she put the bag of food into his hands.
“Thank you,” was all she said.
With a curt nod, he finished his coffee the way most men I knew finished a shot. Then he turned and Lucy escorted him to the door. A few moments later, I heard it close, followed by a heavy silence as she waited and listened for the sound of his car fading into the distance.
I stood as she made her way back into the kitchen, pain writ across her pretty face. I ushered her into a chair at the table, forcing her to sit while searching the cupboards for plates.
“It’s later,” I said. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
“Top right of the stove,” she answered. It took me a minute to realize she was telling me where the plates were.
There were scrambled eggs, hash browns, and sausage still warm in the pans. I put them all onto Lucy’s plate and set it down in front of her with a fork, then pulled the OJ out of the fridge and poured her a nice, tall glass. When that was done, I sat down across from her at my own plate again and stared at her hard.
“Lucy. What the hell is going on?”
She gazed down at her food for a long time, shoulders slumped, mouth pressed into a thin slash. When she looked up at me again, she heaved such a sigh that it rattled her bones.
“I think we’re in deeper trouble than I thought.”
“Okay,” I said slowly. “How so?”
She picked up her fork and used the side of it to cut into her hash brown. “Delfino knows.”
“You mean what he said a few minutes ago?” I shook my head. “He was just trying to rattle you, Lucy. Guys like that… they like to feel like they’re the smartest person in the room.” I put a piece of waffle in my mouth, savoring the sugary syrup and whatever the hell spices she’d used in the batter. Vanilla, maybe. And cardamom?
“No, Leo. It’s not just that.” She chewed and swallowed. “He knows. I’m sure of it. And I think maybe it’s always been that way. I think…” Here she shifted uncomfortably, the chair creaking beneath her as she did so. “I think maybe he wanted me to sleep with you. Right from the start.”
I set my utensils down again and leaned back in my chair, looking away from her. Shit. I’d been having similar thoughts, wondering how in the hell a man like Delfino could fail to suspect what had been going on under his roof. In spite of Lucy’s phenomenal cooking, it left a bitter taste in my mouth. If she was right—and my gut told me she very well could be—then we’d been playing into that bastard’s hands this whole time.
“But why?” I turned to her again just in time to see her get up and head toward the coffee machine. “Why would he want that? I mean, I always figured these niceties were some kind of distraction, but that’s… that’s taking it a little far.”
&nb
sp; Lucy poured herself a mug of high-octane caffeine, which she then diluted with cream and way too much sugar. “Are you familiar with the term ‘honey pot’?” she asked.
I narrowed my eyes. “Yeah. Are you?”
“I am now.” She stirred her brew with a small spoon, then licked it clean. And then she added more sugar. “I did a little research on Delfino’s laptop while he was asleep last night.”
I blanched. “Jesus, Lucy. I hope you used an incognito window.”
“Come on, Leo,” she said, stirring again and tasting. Satisfied, she returned the sugar bowl to the cupboard from whence it came. “I’m a little sheltered, but not stupid.” Mug in tow, Lucy sat down at the table again in front of me. “Anyway, I went looking for reasons why he might want to use me as bait, and I came across the idea of women as lures. Guys like him do it all the time, dangling some poor girl in front of a mark to distract him while they go in for the kill. Only…” Her cheeks reddened. “I mean, usually the woman is in on it. And she’s some kind of… voluptuous vixen.”
I chuckled. With a foot, I pulled Lucy’s chair closer to mine and then reached down to grab her legs and hoist them into my lap. “You’re beautiful. And you’ve got curves. I think you qualify.” Still, the underlying idea—that Delfino was using Lucy to distract me—had my guts tying themselves sin knots.
“I’m not in on it, though,” she clarified as I removed her shoes. With both thumbs, I worked the arch of her left foot. She closed her eyes and groaned. “God, Leo. No one’s ever done that for me.”
“You’re on your feet most of the damn day,” I muttered, kneading her overworked muscles. “Somebody should.”
Lucy tipped her head back until it nearly hung over the edge of the chair. “I can’t even remember the last time someone got me breakfast.”
I’d had an inkling before of how life in captivity must’ve been for Lucy, but the magnitude of it hadn’t hit me until that exact moment. For so much of her life, servitude had been her priority. Not just in the obvious ways, either. Who took care of her when she was sick or hurt? Who made her food and coffee in the mornings? Did Delfino so much as take her out to eat on occasion, or was there no reason to when he had a live-in servant just waiting for him at home? Was Lucy nothing more to him than a glorified Roomba—just another tool in his arsenal?
“A honey pot,” I mused aloud, fingers steadily encroaching upon the territory of Lucy’s ankle and calf. “So you think you’re the magician’s assistant, huh? The girl who distracts everyone from seeing the reality behind the smoke and mirrors?”
“I think it’s a possibility,” Lucy answered, humming appreciatively at my efforts. I hadn’t seen her look this relaxed in… well, ever. It made me grin like an idiot in spite of the subject matter. “But that raises a more disturbing question.”
I nodded. “What’s he trying to keep under wraps?”
Lucy opened her eyes and took a sip from her coffee. “Precisely.”
“Well, how do you propose we find out?”
She set her mug on the table. “Simple. I asked if you could walk me to the store later. Remember? And Delfino said yes. Which means we can be seen around town together and no one will be the wiser. If someone reports it to Delfino—”
“—he’ll assume it’s on the up-and-up,” I finished for her, nodding my assent. “Smart move. Cunning, one might say.” Playfully, I eyed her. “You sure you’re not in on this? You’re starting to strike me as one hell of a double agent.”
When Lucy smiled, it was strained. Her lips quirked, but she didn’t show her teeth. “We do what we have to, if we want to survive. Figured you’d understand that better than anyone.”
I did. And it broke my heart to know that she understood it too. And so intimately.
“Come on,” she said, withdrawing her feet from my lap and taking to them. “I’ll get all this cleaned up. Then we’ll go for a walk.”
As she reached for the plates on the table, I took her by the wrist instead. Lucy looked up at me, brows knit in a frown, one that only deepened as I used my free hand to pick up the plate she’d been eyeing.
“No,” I told her. “We’ll clean this up together.” And I kissed her lips as they parted in surprise. I wasn’t going to let one more man demand servitude from Lucy. Not ever again. Even if that meant this rough-and-tumble, biker bad boy was gonna have to learn how to properly load a dishwasher.
Sixteen
Lucy
Leaving the house was not a regular event for me. Delfino didn’t like me going outside. He didn’t like people “knowing his business,” he said, as though I was just some name jotted down in a ledger somewhere. Like my existence was part of balancing a checkbook.
On those very rare occasions I did leave the house, he acted as my surly chaperone. I remembered clearly the first time he’d begrudgingly taken me to the store to get pads because he couldn’t, for the life of him, figure out what kind he was supposed to get me. Red-faced, he’d shuffled behind me through the women’s health aisle and scowled at the clerk when she asked him if he’d found everything all right.
To any passers-by, I was sure he looked the part of a perfect gentleman. He held me, gently but firmly, by the elbow as we walked, carrying my bags and traversing the outer rim of the sidewalk to put himself between me and any cars. The reality was that he held onto me to ensure I couldn’t bolt, and used his body as a way to block any avenue of escape in case I managed to wrench away from him. Carrying a bag or two was the least he could do, given the actuality of our circumstances.
Today was different. Not only was I out of the house with someone whose company I actually enjoyed as an escort—but it was the most beautiful day I’d seen in recent memory.
The sun on my face hit that sweet spot between not too warm and not too distant, heating me through to my bones as a cool wind rustled the trees lining the streets. The neighborhood looked positively idyllic with its well-manicured lawns, cheerily colored (if a bit uniformly constructed) houses, and white picket fences bordering the sidewalks. Most people were at work this time of day, but a few retirees and housewives dotted the front yards, gardening or weeding or washing their cars. Many waved as we passed them, surprise plainly etched on their faces as they realized they were catching a glimpse of one of Delfino’s most prized possessions out and about.
As well as the young stranger she was with.
“If you can forget what’s going on here,” Leo said, smiling and nodding at a woman sunbathing on a lawn chair in her driveway, “it almost looks like a nice place to live. Y’know, if you’re into suburbs and the like.”
“After everything that’s happened to me here, I’m not sure I could stand the sight of a neighborhood like this ever again,” I muttered. A strand of my hair wriggled free behind my ear, tempted by the wind. God, how long had it been since I’d taken a walk just to enjoy the breeze? “I think places like this will always come off a little… disingenuous to me.”
“You shouldn’t let a dickbag like Delfino ruin the American dream for you,” he said, frowning as he reached for my hand.
I let his pinky skirt the edge of mine before pulling away. “No. Not until we get out of the neighborhood,” I whispered, and obediently, Leo slipped his hands into the pockets of his jacket—a windbreaker on loan from Delfino—instead.
But what Leo had said made me think. He’d called this place the American dream, and on the surface, he was right. Pleasant Lakes as a whole was what most people thought of when they heard those evocative words. We were thriving small-town America at its finest, all “good morning, neighbor!” with our bedroom walls painted in the most tasteful shade of eggshell you ever did see. We had seasonal festivals the whole town gathered for—save for Delfino and the girl he was holding prisoner, of course—and carolers on Christmas and parades on holidays like the Fourth of July and Memorial Day. We did our best to live up to our name, and on top of that, we were boring. Completely unassuming.
We were postcard-pictu
resque. Stepford for the twenty-first century. But just like Stepford—and America in general—there was a darkness lurking underneath our star-spangled exterior. Not all was as it seemed here in Quaintsville, USA, and no amount of handmade charm was going to erase that knowledge from my mind.
This, I was pretty sure, was the American reality: that the dream was just a cover-up for the nightmare. It made me wonder: whose dream was this, really? It sure as hell wasn’t mine.
We exited the neighborhood onto a backroad that led downhill and through a covered bridge to Main Street. It was a little-traversed part of town, and the solitude it afforded made it one of the prettiest. Tall evergreens loomed on either side, shifting and swaying in the wind, the songbirds in their boughs quietly crooning as we passed. This was when I allowed Leo to take my hand; immediately, he twined our fingers like he’d never let me go.
“Didn’t really get to see this part of town last time I was here,” he admitted. “We kinda stuck to the east side and downtown proper.”
“Where the bar and the motel is,” I said, side-eyeing him with a grin. “Or were, I guess I should say.”
Leo looked down at me, lifting his brows. “They’re gone?”
I nodded. “Delfino had them bulldozed right after you guys left. Said he didn’t want to attract any more riff-raff.”
“Fucker.” He ran the pad of his thumb over the length of mine. “What’s a guy supposed to do for fun now?”
I pursed my lips in faux-pensivity. “Hm. I’m not sure. Up until now, I thought we’d done a pretty good job of making our own.”
