“Relax honey. I told you, there's no way out.”
Then I heard him walk away, towards the door. I turned to see him quickly slide through it, pulling it shut and locking it on the other side. I ran to it and turned the handle, but it wouldn't budge. I looked desperately around the room for another way out, a way to escape, but there was none, nothing, nowhere to go.
No, I was a prisoner now, a prisoner in my own home.
There was nothing that I could do.
Chapter 16
Jude
THREE MONTHS LATER
I heard the sound of letters dropping to the floor at my front door. The sound always made my ears prick up and my eyes open fast.
I rolled out of bed, glancing at the clock on the wall as I did.
8.30 AM.
I'd only been sleeping for a handful of hours, but it didn't matter. That sound always woke me up, no matter what.
I didn't expect anything, I never did any more. In fact, I never did in the first place. She'd told me she'd call me, but she hadn't. I'd expected to hear her voice on the phone soon after she'd left, but I didn't. So when I checked the post every morning, hoping to see a letter, a postcard, a note of some kind, from her, it was always more in hope than expectation.
So it was on this morning. Two letters, two bills.
I laughed ironically. One was a cell phone bill.
It had been just over 3 months since she'd left town, since I had been kidnapped and dragged to that fucking cellar to be beaten and scared the shit out of. I genuinely thought that was it, that I was going to die, or rot in that dank prison forever.
When they set me free on that cliffside I could barely move for an hour. I just lay there, under the sun, my arms outstretched, and gazed up at the blue sky. I remember laughing with relief, laughing with the knowledge that I'd won, that I'd beaten Conor O'Brien. Amy had escaped, and I'd be seeing her again soon. I didn't care what he told me, what he said to me before leaving me in the dirt. I was going to see her again, and nothing was going to stop me.
Nothing, except her.
I never heard from her. I waited for days for her call, excited to hear about where she'd gone, when we might meet again. But she never called me, she never sent a letter or even tried to get in touch.
I racked my brain to think of whether I'd given her the right number to call me on. I started to think that maybe something had happened to her, that something had gone wrong. Then, as the days turned to weeks, I realized that maybe, just maybe, she'd done the same thing she did the first night I met her.
Maybe she'd come to her senses. Maybe she'd realized that it was too risky, that we could never have a relationship like this. I couldn't decide whether she might do that for herself, retracting back to the closed off, introverted girl that I'd met; or whether it was for me, to protect me from her father, to protect me from myself, from my own desire for her.
So when I heard the post that morning, there wasn't anything inside me that expected anything from her. No, I'd begun to give up that hope, lose the belief that she'd ever contact me again.
With everything that had happened, however, that might just be a good thing.
….
It was later that same afternoon that I found myself behind the wheel, cruising through town towards my poker club.
I'd spent the previous half hour or so talking with Crash, as per our usual Sunday business catch up. Over the last few months he'd been keeping a slightly closer eye on me, ever since the whole situation with O'Brien blew up in my face.
I'd told him about what had happened, of course. Frankly, he needed to know.
When I did, his reaction was mixed. On the one hand, he was furious with me for not leaving it with Amy, for staying involved after everything that had gone on. One the other hand, however, I knew that all he wanted was to keep me safe, and that if O'Brien took another step against me, he'd have to take action.
It was interesting to see how Crash was becoming more like our father as his responsibilities grew. Only a couple of years ago he'd have flown into a rage and probably done something he would have regretted, Conor O'Brien or not.
Now, though, there was something different about him. He'd learned to control his anger, bottle it up inside, seek revenge in his own way and on his own terms. It's exactly how my father had been with anyone who wronged him. He was calculating and shrewd, and Crash was becoming just the same.
These days, however, when I met with Crash, there was an extra element to our discussions. He was interested to find out whether Amy had got in touch, to see if I had any plans to visit her, or vice versa. When I told him 'no', there was no hint of a lie in my eyes. I think, on the contrary, he could tell from my disappointment that she hadn't been in touch.
Every time I told him I could see the relief on his face. He wanted me to stay away from her as much as O'Brien did. The last thing he needed was for me to rock the boat with the most dangerous man in town, a man who already harbored a deep resentment towards our family.
But, call me selfish, call me what you want, I didn't care. Whatever the stakes were, they weren't enough. I wanted to see her again, I wanted to hear that she was OK and that she'd managed to escape the clutches of her dad for good. I wanted to touch her and smell her and feel her hands on me.
Above all it was the not knowing that got to me the most. If she called to tell me that she didn't want to see me again, or that she thought it was too dangerous for us to be together, I'd understand. I'd disagree, but I'd understand.
But no. I heard nothing. No sight or sound of her for over 3 months. I think, in the end, that was probably enough of a sign in itself.
….
When I turned round the corner of the street and began to cruise towards my poker club, however, my heart beast faster than it had for months.
A car was parked outside, a car I recognized, or thought I did.
I drove faster, further up the road, inching closer to get a better look.
I'd thought at times I'd seen Amy's car, her white Porsche convertible, zipping around the streets of Branton. One time I'd even taken chase for a few blocks before realizing that it was a fat guy behind the wheel, not the hot red head I'd fallen for.
But this was different. The car was outside my poker club. That can't be a coincidence, surely?
Yes, it is it! It's her car!
I noticed the number plate as I got closer. I'd never taken time to memorize it or anything, but it just jumped into my head. I must have clocked it subconsciously, locked it deep in my mind.
It is her car! Amy's at my poker club!
I pulled up to park just behind it and quickly jumped out and towards the entrance to the alley.
Within a flash I was rushing through the main door and casting my eyes down into the room, excited to see her, to hear what had been happening, to find out what her damn excuse was for not getting in touch earlier.
The door must have closed behind me with a heavy thud because everyone looked straight up at me from below. I stood at the top of the metal staircase, looking down and scanning the players for Amy.
No, she wasn't there. There were no women there at all, only men. There were four I knew quite well, and one I didn't. He'd been here once before, but I barely remembered him.
A frown hit my face as I opened my mouth and called down into the room: “The white Porsche outside, whose is it?”
The new guy put his hand up. “It's mine Mr Logan.”
I moved down the stairs. “That's your car? The Porsche is yours?”
He nodded. “Yes.”
I glanced around at the confused faces, looking at me as though I'd gone mad. Maybe I was going mad.
“Mr Tiller, if I'm not mistaken?” I asked.
“Henry Tiller, yes.”
“Would you mind stepping into my office for a moment?”
He looked slightly worried.
“It's nothing, Henry, please, it'll only take a moment.”
He nod
ded and stood up from the table as I quickly moved towards my office and shut the door behind him.
Had I got it wrong? Was I wrong about the number plate? Did I just want it so much that I'd made it all up?
“Is there a problem Mr Logan?” he asked as I perched on the end of the desk in front of him.
I shook my head quickly. “Not for you, no. I just need some information.”
“Information?”
“About that car. Where did you get it from? You didn't buy it new, did you?”
His eyebrows arched down. “Well, erm, no. I bought it second-hand, from a used car dealership.”
My breathing intensified, my words growing quicker. “And when? When did you buy it?”
“Um, a few months ago...not long at all....”
“Three months?” I asked quickly, staring at him.
“About that, yeah.”
I slid back off my desk and into my chair, the words settling in my mind.
It was Amy's car. She must have come back into town....sold it, or sold it before she left. But why? Why would she do that? No....she wouldn't. She was on her way out, she'd have escaped first, then sold it somewhere else, once she'd put distance between herself and the city.
Unless.....maybe she was forced? Forced back into town...
I could feel my heart rate increasing by the second, my eyes growing more intense as the thoughts ran through my mind.
Had her father forced her back? That's why she hadn't called....that's why I hadn't heard from her. Not because she didn't want to, or because she was protecting me. No, she hadn't contacted me because she couldn't. Maybe she'd been caught just like I had?
“Is everything OK Mr Logan?”
I arched my eyes up to see Henry looking at me, an apprehension on his face.
All I could do was nod, slowly, and gesture to the door for him to leave.
No, everything was not OK. Everything was far from fucking OK.
It must be him. Was he keeping her in the mansion? Had he done anything to her, hurt her? No, he wouldn't do that, not to his own daughter. But then, the guy was a psycho, so who knows what he was capable of...
I heard the door open and Henry start to walk out.
“Wait,” I said, looking up. “Where is this dealership?”
He thought for a second before answering. “Denver Cars, across town.”
Denver Cars, I knew the place.
And I was about to pay a visit.
Chapter 17
Jude
“This car,” I said, holding up a picture of the Porsche, “who sold it to you?”
The man looked closely at my phone and then back to me quizzically.
“I can't tell you that, it's confidential.”
I felt my fist curl up at my side, my fingers digging into my palm.
“I don't want to cause a problem here,” I growled, “but if you don't tell me, we're going to have one.”
I looked down on the man sitting behind his desk. He was short and overweight, his hair thinning and his cheeks red. I continued to stare at him as he mumbled a few more words of refusal, my eyes growing more intense.
“Do you know who I am?” I asked him, cutting him off.
He shook his head.
“Do you know the name Logan in this town.”
His eyes widened slightly and he nodded slowly.
“Then you know who I am,” I said. “Now tell me who sold you that car, and I won't cause a scene.”
That did it, it was all I needed to say.
“I do remember the person who sold me that car,” he said, his words shaking slightly, “but they didn't tell me their name.”
“You don't have records?” I asked quickly.
He shook his head. “Not for this one. I paid them in cash, underpaid them really. They wanted a quick sale.”
“So, no name?” I questioned again.
He shook his head.
“What did the man look like? What did he sound like?”
“That I do remember. He was a big man, wore a black suit, black sunglasses.”
“Shaved head? Looked like a marine?” I continued for him.
He nodded.
I felt my face contorting in anger and the salesman retreated slightly at the sight of me. But my anger wasn't directed at him.
“Thank you for your help,” I growled again, “you've been very useful.”
Then I turned and walked out of the shitty office and through the lot, dozens of used cars with cardboard price plaques littering the open space on the side of the road.
So it was O'Brien. He must have found her, taken her car, passed it onto his men to sell. She couldn't contact me because she couldn't contact anyone. She couldn't get to a pay phone, couldn't write a letter. He must have her somewhere, and I was sure I knew the place.
….
It was night time when I sat in a car down the street from Conor O'Brien's mansion. I wouldn't have known the place had he not taken me here before to be interrogated in his dungeon, but now I had a vague recollection of it, a base knowledge of the layout.
I stepped out of the car and onto the street. It was dead of night, not a single light on at any of the large houses lining the road. And silent too, so silent I could hear my heart beating in my chest.
I wore dark clothing now, black pants and a black top, my face covered in a balaclava. This was a secret mission, a silent mission. I couldn't be seen or heard, no one could know I was here.
I moved silently down the street and arched my neck round the corner up the pathway to O'Brien's mansion. I could see the gate just ahead, and a guard sitting lazily inside a small control room to the side. He yawned as he looked down at a magazine, flicking through the pages as he tried to stay awake.
I scanned the space around him. There was no way through, the path blocked by a gate at the front and walls at the side.
Fuck it, I'll never get through this way. He'll be sure to see me.
I turned and looked along the boundary of the property. There was a large wall lining the street, blocking any view or access to the grounds. I crept further down the street, turning a corner and rounding to the back. The wall still stood, tall and imposing, to the rear of the house, right up against a quieter road that winded its way along the back of the property.
It seemed to be further back from the mansion here, away from prying eyes. There were no other houses lining the road, just the wall lining one side and woodland to the other. I could see trees growing high on the other side of the wall too. It looked as though the wall had only been fairly recently built, the brickwork fairly new and unspoilt.
I looked up and down the road and listened intently for any sound. There were no cars, no voices, nothing. I was alone.
Then, suddenly, I heard a mechanical whirr. It drew my attention up to the right where my eyes scanned quickly for the source. I saw it, fixed up against the wall, looking inward towards the mansion. A camera.
It was moving slowly to the left, scanning the landscape beyond for signs of any intruder. I stood close to the wall, in case it turned all the way round to see me, and watched it carefully.
Was it being manually controlled? Had someone seen me?
No, it looked to be on a timer, scanning to the left, stopping a moment, and then scanning back to the right, just like a fan.
I waited for a few minutes, memorizing its movements, before checking further down the wall for other cameras. There was another, 100 feet away, scanning to the left and right just as the first was, covering a different area on this part of the grounds.
Jesus Christ, this place is like a fucking military complex.
I stood for a moment, considering my options.
I didn't even know whether Amy would be in there or not. And if I got caught, God knows what O'Brien would do to me. Should I call the police, tell them about everything? No, he'd bribe them, pay them off. I had no idea how many cops he had on his own payroll, but I'd imagine they'd be a few. And would t
hey get a warrant to check his house anyway, based on my own biased hunch?
No, I needed to check myself, and I needed to do it now, while I still had the nerve.
I looked again at the wall. It was too tall jump and reach for the top, the bricks smoothly piled together and impossible to grip. I looked along it, searching for a groove, somewhere where I'd be able to stick my toes and push myself up.
There!
I saw a chip, a corner of one of the bricks broken off a few feet off the ground. I thrust at the wall, sticking my toe into it and pushing hard up it. I reached up with my hands, feeling for the top and just clasping the summit with my fingers. I pulled hard, dragging my frame up and reaching over the top with my arms.
I held myself there for a moment, my view of the inside of the grounds now clear in front of me. There were a few trees ahead, mingled in among bushes and other plants and ponds. It looked fairly natural, and untamed in the immediate foreground, but further beyond were landscaped gardens and paths stretching around the main mansion. Over to the left I could see a couple of tennis courts, silhouetted against the night, and several large and small outbuildings separated from the main mansion.
The mansion itself stood like a citadel in the middle of the grounds. I was looking at the back, so couldn't see the pathway at the front or the steps leading up to the main doorway where I'd been taken several months before.
I scanned for movement around the property, my eyes searching for any sign of a guard on patrol, but could see nothing. I looked along the wall to my right to see the first camera I'd noticed only 10 or so feet away, still turning quietly.
Despite the nature of what I was about to do, my heartbeat was slowing now, my nerves settling, my mind set on the task at hand. I had to find out if she was in there. I had to know.
I pulled myself up to the top of the wall and knelt on top of it, before quickly dropping down onto the inside. As I did I made sure to stay back close to the wall, standing almost underneath the camera as it scanned the area ahead.
The Logan Brothers - Books 1-4: (EXPOSURE, CRASH, TWIN PASSIONS, and ADDICTED TO YOU) Page 67
