Yield

by Sawyer Bennett

  "Yes," she says bluntly. "She can keep her trust fund, less the original investment. That still leaves her sitting pretty with the return she's made. And she can keep the apartment."

  And now it all boils down to this.

  "What do you think she knows about Coppens?" I ask, not even attempting to hide the dread in my voice.

  "When his name came up in our original analysis of the financial documents, we did a basic search. That always includes running a foreigner through Interpol. We got a hit."

  "He's a criminal?"

  "No. He's not been convicted of anything. Not even arrested, but he is on a watch list for the Federale Politie as well as Interpol."

  "For what?" My stomach is rolling from the anxiety of this slow feed of information. I know I'm getting closer to the source of Macy's darkness, and while I want to know what it is... I don't want to know at the same time.

  "Illegal abortions," Dee says. Those words hang in the air, dirty and rotten.

  "I don't understand. Abortions are legal in Belgium." I'd seen on Dr. Coppens website that he did perform them, so I just assumed they were legal.

  "That's right. Since 1990. But he's suspected of doing a very specialized type of abortion," she says, and her words are coming out with a tinge of disgust. She knows what she's getting ready to tell me is bad.

  "Just lay it out," I growl.

  "It's suspected he performs them on underage girls. Girls that are being forced to have the procedure done against their wishes," she says quietly.

  Oh, fuck. No. Fuck.

  "And you think that's why the Carringtons took Macy there when she was fifteen?" I ask... my voice so choked up, I can barely get the words out.

  "That's what I suspect," she says sadly.

  "FUCK," I yell as I explode out of my chair, causing it to tumble over backward. I start pacing even though I'm feeling a bit dizzy. My hands come up to cover my ears, almost as if I'm afraid to hear anything else about Macy and her tortured past.

  A thought strikes me.

  A vicious, angry thought.

  I wheel on Dee and slam my hands down on the opposite side of her desk, leaning in and almost spitting at her in fury. "Why in the fuck hasn't this been investigated further? Why isn't this guy under arrest? If her parents did that to her... why aren't they under arrest?"

  "You're not going to like my answer," she says hesitantly.

  "I don't like a fucking thing about any of this," I growl at her, and then take a deep breath. I turn on my heel, walk over, and pick up the chair, setting it to right.

  "Coppens is small potatoes," she says from behind me.

  My fingers curl inward, digging into my palms. I want to slap this woman who can say Macy isn't important enough to get justice for.

  Turning back to face Dee, I force myself to calm down. I tell myself this woman still holds the power to help Macy keep her life intact. "Then why are you interested in Coppens? In what he did to Macy?"

  "We don't know he did anything," Dee corrects me. "I just suspect."

  "I know he did it," I say absently as I walk back to the chair to sit down. Dee doesn't press me on how I know, because she knows I won't tell her.

  Attorney-client privilege and all, but fuck... it doesn't take a rocket scientist to know that monster took something sacred from Macy against her will. It all makes sense now. Her physical reaction to that man's name, her hatred of her parents.

  It all started in Brussels.

  It's when my love turned to hate, she had told me.

  For the first time in my life, I have an almost insane urge welling up within me to kill. I'm thinking it would be Coppens. Most definitely her father. And fuck... her mother too. Who does that to a child?

  Dee's voice is calm... rational... enlightening. "If Macy confirms that is what happened, I can use it as leverage against Travis Carrington in our plea deals. I can tell you right now, he's not going to entertain our offers. His high-priced attorneys will want to drag this out as long as possible. They'll defend this to the bitter end. But if I have something like this--"

  "You mean sordid," I mutter.

  "Yes. It's a shameful act for a man to have done to his child. The threat of it going public could induce him to plea out. The others will follow."

  "But you just said this is small potatoes. You're not actually going to aid in a prosecution of this, are you?"

  Dee shakes her head sadly. "No. It would be a bluff. Again, maybe Interpol or the authorities in Belgium would do something, but the US government has no power."

  "You want a woman to tear her heart out, open old wounds, expose her father, and send him to prison... all on a bluff?"

  "That's what I want," she affirms.

  Fuck. Just... fuck.

  As soon as I clear New York City toward Warwick, I call Mac.

  "We got everything moved," she says into the phone as soon as she answers.

  "I know what happened to Macy in Brussels," I say, and I know by the deep gasp on the other end of the line that I've shocked Mac.

  "Macy told you." She says it as a statement, not as a question. She says it as a statement because I think she knew all along that I'd find out from Macy eventually.

  "No. Dee Switzer, the woman prosecuting her father, told me."

  "I don't understand," she says quietly.

  "They want to use the threat of this against her father to induce him to take a plea deal."

  "Oh," she murmurs into the phone, and I can almost feel her mind racing.

  "Is it true?" I ask, my voice choking up again. "Did her parents force her to have an abortion?"

  "It's not my story to tell--"

  "Just fucking tell me the truth, Mac," I yell into the phone. "Fuck your little secret friends' pact and tell me what happened to the woman I fucking love."

  "You love her," she murmurs, a happy note tinged with equal parts sadness.

  "Tell me," I ask again.

  "Yes, it's true," she says quietly. "But Macy needs to tell you the story. Don't you push her if she doesn't want to share."

  My voice is shaking with fury. "How in the fuck can her parents get away with something like that?"

  "Because they have billions of dollars," Mac says with disgust. "Because they cowed Macy and made her afraid. They made her feel guilty. They shamed her. It got swept under the rug and the only person who ever thinks about it is Macy. And well... me, of course."

  "And now me."

  "Where are you?" Mac asks.

  "Heading back to my parents' house. The prosecutor says she'll get rid of the forfeiture order if Macy will give her what she wants. I'm going to have to talk to her about it."

  "I need to come," Mac says quickly. "She's going to be upset."

  "I know," I say tiredly. "You better hit the road."

  Chapter 11

  From the Diary of Macy Carrington:

  Dear Diary,

  I'm sitting under an apple tree. I'm on a farm. I'm breathing in fresh air.

  I'm missing Cal already and he's only been gone a few hours.

  He woke me up early with a sweet kiss on my cheek as I lay in the guest bedroom of his parents' house. Told me he needed to handle some urgent business in the city.

  And then he left me.

  In a strange place.

  Among strange people.

  And...

  And I'm at peace with that.

  I flipped out yesterday when that attorney started asking me about Brussels. I thought I would die, the pain of my memories was so great. And then... there was Cal.

  He pulled me up.

  Supported me.

  Protected me.

  Brought me to a safe place.

  I think... I can handle this.

  I had an amazing breakfast this morning with Cheryl and Martin. They may be possibly two of the coolest people I've ever met. Cal is the perfect combination of them. Warmth and affection from his mother. Determination and generosity from his father.

  I thought the
se people might be an oddity to me, since I don't really understand the concept of what normal parents should be, but instead, I find myself deeply drawn to them. Instead of putting me off, Cheryl's motherly attitude toward me causes a peaceful feeling. Martin's wit and humor put me completely at ease.

  I love it here.

  But I miss Cal and can't wait for him to get back.

  Love,

  Macy

  Chapter 12

  As I drive down the dirt lane to my parents' house, I immediately see Macy on the porch swing. She has on denim shorts and a gray, athletic t-shirt. Her hair is in a ponytail, no makeup, and no shoes on her feet. Leaning back into the swing, she has one foot planted on the seat, raising one knee up in front of her, while she pushes the other foot against the wooden porch to swing back and forth. She has a book resting against her knee that she's reading, and she actually looks relaxed.

  When she hears my car's engine, her face tilts toward me.

  Instant recognition.

  Welcoming smile.

  Warm eyes.

  As if the only care in the world she has at this moment is that I've come back to her. I only hope she'll feel that way after we talk.

  I bring the car to a stop, put it in park, and cut the engine. Macy closes the book, stands from porch swing, and arches her back a little, as if to crack her spine. Sucking a deep breath in, I watch as she steps into a pair of flip-flops sitting there before walking to the edge of the steps where she halts and waits for me. I let the air out... slowly, and I pray I can keep a level head. I'm still vibrating inside with the need to do violence to those people who hurt Macy.

  My heart is shredded. I've never in my life felt such sorrow for a person. Grief. I'm actually grieving for the loss of Macy's innocence. For the horrid family she was born into. In this moment, I can almost understand Macy's disbelief in a God. How could He do this to her?

  I get out of the car and walk around it... right up to the bottom of the porch where I look up at her. Putting a smile on my face, I try to mask my haunted eyes.

  "What's that you're reading?" I ask as I give a nod toward the book in her hand. Now that I'm closer, I can see it's a leather-bound journal of some sorts.

  Macy looks down at it briefly, and then back up to me. "My diary."

  I can only begin to imagine the agony those pages must hold. I wonder if the pages are tearstained. I wonder if I'm in there, and what exactly my role is.

  "Want to go for a walk?" I ask her, holding out my hand.

  "Sure," she says as she trots down the stairs, her flip-flops slapping against the wooden boards. Her fingers link with mine while her other hand carries her diary.

  We head toward the orchard, the edge of it sitting only about a hundred yards from my parents' house. It's hot out today, and I wore jeans and a button down for my meeting with Dee. Not ideal for a walk outside on a summer day, but at least the trees will give us a little shade.

  "I was out here earlier this morning," Macy says. "Plopped right down under a tree and just relaxed. Do you know I don't think I've ever done anything like that before?"

  I squeeze her hand in reflex, but I don't say anything. My mind is spinning with how to bring this subject up to Macy. I need to talk to her about it because, as her attorney, I have to let her know I can get the forfeiture rescinded. I have to talk to her about the repercussions of what will happen if she talks to the prosecutor again.

  And that means I have to make Macy confront her dark secrets, which is not how I wanted this to happen. I wanted Macy to one day trust me enough with her story. I didn't want to have to find it out from someone else, and then force her to deal with the fallout. It makes me feel like the bad guy here, and I'm afraid that's exactly how Macy is going to see me.

  I fear it might just be the end of us.

  "What's wrong?" she asks, her voice worried. She comes to a stop, giving a tug on my hand in a silent indication she wants me to look at her.

  It's a brutal struggle to bring my eyes up to meet hers. To meet the worry that now possesses her gaze.

  Blue eyes, clear and cogent. Brow creased a little, yet her head tilted to the side in curiosity. She looks concerned... for me.

  "I went back to the city to see Dee Switzer this morning," I tell her.

  "Why?"

  "She said she could make the forfeiture order go away." My voice cracks. I drop her hand and lift my face up to the sun overhead. It's bright and glaring, yet still not as painful as looking at Macy. "I wanted to know exactly what she wanted from you, and why she wanted it."

  It's silent... just for a moment, and then she murmurs. "You know, don't you?"

  I close my eyes against the harsh light from the sun. "Yeah."

  "I told you to run. I told you I was no good for you," Macy chokes out.

  My eyes snap open, and my head whips around to face her. Macy's face is drawn and pale. Tears glisten in her eyes, and she's actually backing away from me.

  "I'm soiled, Cal," she says with a tiny sob. "Broken. You deserve so much more."

  Oh, fuck no, she's not saying that to me.

  I lunge forward, fury raging through me. Not at Macy, but everything that has led me up to this point. For the shameful way I just handled this with her, giving her leeway to even think those things about herself. I handled this badly.

  So fucking badly.

  My hands come to her shoulders, and I jerk her to me so hard that her head snaps back. I bring my mouth down onto hers and pour every bit of desperate apology into her mouth. One arm around her waist, the other to the back of her head so she won't even dare to think to try to pull away from me, I kiss her so hard I'm sure her lips will be bruised.

  "Don't you ever say those things about yourself," I snarl as I stop the kiss and grasp her face in my hands. I keep her in place... our noses just inches from each other. I pin my eyes to hers, and I tell her, "I love you, Macy. No matter what has happened to you in the past or what happens to you in the future, I am never leaving your side, so quit trying to push me away. And I don't care if you love me back. I'm going to make you love me one day. I'm going to show you that what we have is beautiful and meant to be."

  I give her head a little shake... forcing her to believe in me. We stare at each other, locked tight.

  "You say that now, but you don't really know it all. You just think you know what happened in Brussels."

  Leaning forward, I close my eyes and press my forehead to hers again. "Then tell me. Share every damn secret with me, Macy, and let me show you that it will only make me love you more, not less."

  We stand like that for several long moments, nothing but birds chirping and the wind gently rustling through the leaves on the apple trees.

  I wait patiently to see what Macy will do. I've given it to her straight. Laid my heart out there. It's up to her now.

  Finally, she pulls back from me and while her eyes are filled with sadness and regret, I also see something that gives me hope.

  I see determination.

  Macy takes my hand and leads me under one of the large apple trees. She sinks to the ground, pulling me down with her until we're sitting face to face. I manage to cross my legs to sit Indian style, and Macy just pulls her feet up, raising her knees and wrapping her arms around the bottoms of her legs.

  Her voice is whisper soft, yet still strong when she finally decides to open up to me. "I was thirteen the first time I really knew it was wrong what my uncle Luke was doing to me."

  Wait? What the fuck?

  Is she saying...?

  Rage boils inside of me like a nuclear inferno, and I explode off the ground. Is she saying... her uncle... molested her?

  My stomach folds over on itself, causing bile to back up into my throat. My fists clench hard as I stare down at her beautiful face and a low moan comes out of my mouth, begging Macy for this not to be true.

  She just blinks up at me, patiently waiting for me to process.

  And I am... my brain whirring fast.

>   I have to fight against the insanity that seems to be clawing at me from the inside, whispering evil thoughts to get up right this minute, drive back to the city, and murder Luke Carrington.

  I envision wrapping my bare hands around his throat and slowly squeezing the life out of him. I imagine just before he loses consciousness, I'd ease up on my grip, bring him round for a bit, and then start choking his existence from this earth once again. I'd torture him over and over again until he was begging for death, and then I'd torture him some more. I'd make him hurt so fucking bad his heart would explode from the stress of it.

  Yes, I like that vision a lot.

  I think that's exactly what I'll do.

  Spinning away from Macy, I let my long strides start to eat up the distance back to my car. I can hear Macy scrambling up from the ground and running after me, those silly flip-flops slapping against the bottoms of her feet.

  "Cal... wait... where are you going?" she calls out to me.

  "To kill your uncle," I throw out over my shoulder.

  "No," she shrieks as she grabs ahold of my arm and pulls on it violently. I stop and turn to face her, my chest heaving with fury. "You are not going to go after him."

  I know she expects a fight from me, or at the very least more flight because I'm eager to get back to the city. But I want her to know that not one thing she has told me has diminished my feelings. On the contrary, my heart is nearly bursting with the depth of emotion I have for this woman. I need her to know I'm not running from her but rather running to avenge her.

  So I pull her into me, wrap my arms around her, and hold her close. I lay my cheek against the top of her head and tell her, "I love you. Now more than ever."

  "If you love me, do not go after him." She pulls back to look up at me, her eyes begging and wet. Her lower lip trembles. "I don't want to lose you. Not now. Not when I need you the most."

  I don't want to lose you.

  It's the closest that Macy has ever come to affirming her feelings for me. She hasn't said she loves me, but I can wait for that. Just knowing she wants me... is dependent on me... has accepted I love her... well, that right there casts a little bit of reality over me at this moment.

  While my anger doesn't recede, I do allow rationality to process my thoughts in a better manner. Of course I can't commit murder. My life would be over, no matter how fucking justified I think I would be.