Chapter
1
Lily
*
* *
The tumbler turns in the lock. I hold my breath.
Two…Three…Four.
Nothing.
If it weren’t for Sophie and Mom, I’d run.
My ears strain for signs that someone’s awake. In the living
room, the muted television’s flickering light illuminates the figure sprawled
on the sofa.
My pent up breath escapes. It’s just Mom, not him. I spread
the quilt over her and turn off the TV.
Down the hall, I push open Sophie’s door and stumble over
toys to her bed.
She rubs her eyes. “Mom took those pills for her somnia. Is
she asleep?”
My heart cringes. It does every time Sophie asks about Mom.
“It’s insomnia, Soph. Yes, she’s sleeping. Seven-year-olds should be too,
kiddo.”
A door slams. Every muscle in my body grips the nearest bone.
Sophie inhales like she’s going to speak, but I cover her mouth. We wait, eyes
wide, watching for movement or shadows in the crack of light around the door.
Sophie’s jaw clenches under my palm. A banging in the kitchen
is followed by shattering glass and slamming cabinet doors, then cursing.
Minutes inch by on their hands and knees. Footsteps come, and
then retreat. I count to ten and whisper, “Was he gone all evening?”
“Yeah.”
Relief
floods my veins. Maybe he’ll go straight to bed and leave us alone.
I climb
in next to Sophie, brushing the hair off her forehead. Once again, I stay the
night in Sophie’s room to guard against the last person she should need
protection from— our father.
*
* *
The fridge may as well be the
barren tundra of Siberia. Our cupboards are in the same sad shape. We’re down
to our last three pieces of bread, and not much choice of what to put with them.
*
* *
It’s been three days. I’ve called
everyone who might know where Cynthia is. It’s a short list. Of course, no one
has a clue where she might be. I’m not so upset about the unpaid bills now,
just worried something’s happened to her.
What if some guy from the bar
where she works snatched her and she’s tied up in some dude’s trunk right now?
Or she could have accepted a ride from some douche who strangled her and dumped
her body in a ditch.
I pick up the phone and dial 9-1,
but then I stab the on-off button. No police. What if they call Mom and Dad?
On Sunday night, Cynthia comes
stumbling up the walkway with some guy I’ve never seen. She’s giggling and he
lets out an obnoxious guffaw as he almost goes down. Then he bounces up again
like an awkward jack in the box.
I hustle Sophie into her room and
push the chest of drawers in front of the bedroom door.
“Why are you doing that?”
“Because, we don’t know that man.
He could be a mass murderer. I’m keeping us safe.”
Soph and I cuddle close on her
single bed, which I’ve parked against the chest of drawers for reinforcement.
I say, “Okay, and this is how it
goes: My toaster’s name is Boaster.”
She giggles. “Boaster likes to
ride roller coasters.”
A thousand miles from home and
we’re playing this damned game again, pretending to have fun, pretending we’re
safe. As if safe is something anyone
can ever really be. Sophie eventually drifts off while I keep watch. Using her
nightlight, I sketch her sleeping form on a piece of spiral notebook paper I
found crumpled under the bed, trying to distract my own mind from the demons
that lurk at the edge of my sanity.
The walls might as well be made
of paper for all the privacy they provide. Cynthia’s bed springs creaking
scratches the edge of my brain. At least it’s not Sophie’s door hinges squeaking
as someone creeps in, threatening to steal away her innocence. I pull my pillow
over my head, trying to block the noise, hating that my ear buds are in my
room, while I’ve barricaded us in next door.
I roll over and snuggle into the
covers. Sophie’s nestled in and warm next to me. A shadow falls over me. I
barely get my eyes open, when my scalp screams in pain. My eyes go wide. He’s
got me by the hair, pulling me from Sophie’s room.
“Daddy!”
“Girl, if I told you once, I’ve
told you a hundred times—don’t leave dirty dishes in the damned sink!”
I grab his hand, trying to pull
myself up. He drags me through the living room. Mom is asleep on the couch. Her
jaw hangs open. A small snore escapes. Hope bubbles in my chest. “Mom! Mom,
help.”
She’s out—sleeping pills. Hope
deflates like a balloon at the end of a spear.
“Stop your squalling.” He yanks
me forward, sending shards of pain through my head. My socked feet slip on the
wood floor. Unable to get traction, I hold on to his arm. I try to lessen the
pain as my hair is ripped out by the roots.
We round the corner into the
kitchen. Still struggling to get my feet beneath me, I flail. Tears stream down
my hot cheeks. “Daddy, I did the dishes before bed. I promise. I did them!”
His hand grips my underarm and he
stands me upright. “Oh? You did?”
I try to look up at him. The
light blinds me. It doesn’t matter. He turns me toward the sink and pushes. I
slip. Throwing my arms in front of me, I try to stop myself. It’s no use. My
forehead strikes the edge of the counter with a loud crack. Pain explodes
through my head and down my neck.
Oh, God, help me.
I cover my face with shaky hands.
Warmth runs over my fingers—wet and metallic smelling. The air drains from the
room and I gasp for breath.
Then he’s got me again, wresting
me to my feet, shoving my head into the sink. I blink several times, straining
to see through the tears and blood. The Formica cuts into my ribs.
A lone glass rests upside-down on
the sink mat. My lower lip trembles, but I know better than to let out the wail
pushing at the back of my throat.
Crying will only make it worse.
“Lily. Lily!” Sophie’s shaking my
arm.
I bolt upright, my chest still clutched
in the slashing claws of my nightmare. “What? What is it?”
“You were breathing weird.” Her
big eyes are frightened.
I do fine ignoring all the crap
that comes with being me—during the day, at least. I’m able to numb all the
things that might rip the scabs off my feelings. But at night, when the
nightmares come, no amount of emotional scar tissue can protect me from my
memories.
I sit on the side of the bed,
rubbing my face, ridding it of the remaining sting of my nightmare. “Did that
guy leave?”
She lifts one shoulder and both
eyebrows in reply.
I move the furniture away from
the door. “Stay put. Okay?”
Floorboards creak as I tiptoe
down the dim hallway, fingertips skimming the wrinkled wallpaper on either side.
My gut is lined in lead. I stop for a moment outside Cynthia’s bedroom, but
there’s no noise. Good, maybe he’s gone.
Relaxing a bit, I step through
the kitchen door and end up chest to chest with the guy. Wearing nothing but boxers
and black socks, he breathes funk into my face. I throw my hands up, back peddling
into the wall. A hairy hand reaches for me, but I skitter to the side before he
can get a hold of me.
His smile reveals a black spot
where he’s missing a front tooth. “Whoa there. Sorry, didn’t mean to scare
you.”
I stand taller and harden my jaw.
“You didn’t scare me. I just wasn’t expecting you.”
He rubs his whiskered chin,
swaying like he’s still drunk. “You must be the older niece, right? Nelly?
You’re a pretty little thing.”
“Yeah, whatever. Do me a favor
and honk when you leave.” I turn to go, but he grabs the strap on my tank top,
almost pulling me off my feet. I jerk, and the strap tears loose, but I’m out
of his reach now.
He says, “Where’re you going?
Don’t you want to get to know me a little better?”
“No.” I all but run to Sophie’s
room.
“Bitch,” he calls after me.
I barricade Sophie’s door again
and promise her I’ll get us breakfast as soon as the creeper’s gone.
An hour later, an engine rumbles
outside and tires squeal. I chance leaving the room again and find Cynthia
slumped on the sofa, eyelids at half-mast. She looks so much like Mom it hurts.
“Cynthia, we need to talk.”
“Not now. I’m too tired.”
I straighten my back and force
myself to stand up for Sophie’s sake. “Too bad.”
Cynthia scowls, sending me death
glares.
“You buy new boots instead of
paying the bills? And then you decide to take off for days without telling me?
Calling me? I thought you were dead in an alley somewhere.” Oh, God, I sound
like my mother.
I pause and she jumps in. “Well
that’s just tough shit. I’m a grown up, so what I do is my business. If I want
new boots, I’ll buy new boots.”
“But you left Sophie by herself,
with no food in the house and no electricity. What’s wrong with you?” Stopping, I take a deep breath. I can’t believe
I’ve let her reduce me to yelling.
“Wah, wah wah. I didn’t even want
to take you two in, but your mom begged me. So suck it up, princess.”
I flex my hands at my sides, resisting
the urge to wrap them around her neck.
“Oh, quit your belly aching. That
money order had my name on it, so I can do whatever I want with it. You need
something, get a job. That’s what I’ve always had to do.”
She heads off down the hall, the
bedroom door closing with a bang behind her. Through it, she yells, “And if I
decide to take off for a few days, or a week, or even a month, that’s my
business. Got me?”
Then the door opens again and she
pins me with a hard look. “And don’t call my work looking for me. You’re gonna
get my ass fired. Understood?”
The door slams shut again.
Oh, Mom, what were you thinking? Who
sends their kids to live with a thirty-four-year-old child who barely takes
care of herself?
A month ago, Mom came in, still
dressed in her robe and slippers. She grabbed my duffel from under my bed and
started stuffing my things into it. I sat like an idiot, unable to move to
help. Once she packed a few sets of clothes, she zipped it up.
She sat on the bed next to me.
“All right. Now, listen to me.”
Her face was so tired, hair
mussed, and mascara smudged under her eyes. The one on the left was turning
purple and green—it matched the bruises on my ribs. She grabbed my jaw, a bit
too tight and said, “Are you listening? This is important, Lilianna.”
“I’m listening.”
“I contacted my sister. She’s
agreed to help you out until Sophie can go to school and you get on your feet.”
“Wait. Your sister? Cynthia?”
“Yes. Cynthia.”
My stomach plummeted.”Isn’t she
the one who I’ve heard you on the phone with—telling her how she needs to find
a steady job and quit moving every three months?”
Chapter 2
Jax
*
* *
I thought getting into the Air Force
was a shitload of red tape, but that was nothing in comparison to what’s
required just to work for a private investigator. After I finished all the
paperwork and my background checks were complete, they called me and told me to
come in and fill out my tax forms.
The blue haired HR lady, who
seems to have her frown sculpted into her face, hands me my photo ID card.
“Thanks.”
“Don’t lose it. You have to pay
for a replacement.” Her beady eyes bore into me.
“Yes, ma’am.”
She shoves a sheaf of papers into
my hand and grumbles. “Here’s your first assignment. This one’s for a friend of
the big boss. So don’t screw it up.”
“Yes ma’am.” I smile, but she
doesn’t even slightly.
Stepping into the sun, I head to
my old truck, glad I don’t have to work in an office with her every day. I
slide my fingers under the long envelope’s flap and pull out the signing bonus
check. Very nice. The five figure amount sends a thrill through me. Maybe this
was a good idea after all.
Getting out of the service after
four years was daunting. I floundered for eight months, trying to decide what I
should do with my life. This makes it much easier to think I’ve made a good
decision. I’ll have to thank Dad for telling me about this opportunity. Of
course, if it doesn’t work out, then I’ve screwed myself.
Flipping through the papers, I
find the name and phone number of the guy I need to meet to get started. I dial
the number as I pull out of the parking lot.
*
* *
I sit at a picnic table, in the
shade of an old oak. A breeze blows my hair. I brush it aside as an Expedition
pulls into the parking area. A man steps out of it. Other than the kids working
at the Chargrill across the street, I haven’t seen anyone for the last half
hour. This must be him.
The guy’s bald head shines under
a few strands of his comb over. A wind gust flips the hair up. I stand as he
comes closer.
“Mr. Blanco?” I offer my hand.
“Call me Ethan.” He shakes it
with a firm grip and looks up into my eyes.
“I’m Jax Alexander with P-Eye
Corp. Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise. So, you’re going to bring
my girls back to me, eh?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good.” He wipes his hands on his
knees, almost like he’s nervous—probably just worried about his kids.
“If you don’t mind my asking, why
didn’t you contact the police and let them handle this, instead of a private
firm?”
He swipes his hands over his face
and slumps onto the bench. “My daughter, Lilianna, took her sister. I don’t
want her to go to jail. She’s a little off, I guess you could say. So, no
police. Just go find them, bring them home.”
“The office said you’d provide photos
for identification.”
His chin falls to his chest as he
shakes his head. “No, I can’t, I’m sorry. All the pictures burned in a fire.”
My stomach tightens. “Oh, wow.
Sorry about that. Okay, well, I have a basic physical description. Are there
any scars or tattoos?”
“No, there aren’t.”
I pull out my note pad and a pen.
“You understand I can’t detain them without a warrant, right?”
He lets out a deep sigh. “Just
find them. If she won’t let you bring her home, I’ll take care of it.”
“I’ll do everything in my power
to do so. Now, can you tell me where they were last seen?”
“I believe they took a bus from
here to Vegas. But from there, well, I have no idea. But I’ve got a friend of
mine looking for them as well. If he comes across anything, I’ll contact you.”
“Okay, that’d be great. I’ll need
to get some personal information which may help in my search.”
“Sure, whatever you need.”
*
* *
Easing off the accelerator, I
roll past the clapboard house. The curtains are closed, lights out. Loose
shingles flap in the breeze on the wavy roof. I pull into the driveway of the
house next door. This one’s detached garage leans a bit to the left. A jigsaw
puzzle created by broken slabs of concrete with gravel filling the holes takes
the place of pavement.
Home temporary home.
I got damned lucky that the place
next door was available for rent. It will sure make surveillance a hell of a
lot easier, at least until I know I’ve got the right girls.
Unloading my motorcycle from the
trailer, and then the boxes from the truck, I half expect someone, anyone, from
the surrounding houses to come and introduce themselves. No one does, though
almost every house on the street has someone checking their mailbox or watering
the grass. Some don’t even bother to pretend—those just stare openly.
After checking the perimeter of
the property, I look over the entry points of the house for weaknesses in
security. Then I stack my personal boxes in the corner of my room, where
they’ll probably stay until I blow this joint and head to my next assignment.
Luckily, the electricity is already on, but the cable isn’t, so I hook up my
video game instead.
Then I pull out the dossier on
Lilianna Blanco, for probably the fifteenth time since I received it.
Age: 19
Height: 5’6”
Hair: Dark Brown
Eyes: Brown
I’ll have to get a picture of her
or the sister, to send their dad for a positive ID. Shouldn’t be too hard, I’ll
just use my phone. When they aren’t looking, snap and done.
In the living room, I flop onto
the couch and pop the top on a beer. Hell, I figured my first gig would be
something a little harder than just finding a couple of girls and returning the
little one to her parents. I’ll probably be done in a day or two, and then
maybe they’ll give me something a more challenging.
Chapter 3
Lily
*
* *
Pushing the screen door open with
my foot, I slip outside. I make my usual check, side to side. Up and down the
street. No sign of him. Guess we’re
safe—for now.
Faded paint peels and scatters
across the deck like crispy chocolate curls. Honeysuckle hangs thick on the
humid air as I sit on the porch swing. I munch on my cereal, while somewhere
down the street two dogs bark back and forth. Something about sitting on this
front porch swing relaxes me, lessening my anxiety about the jobs I can’t get,
the colleges I’ll never attend, and the past I can’t forget.
A squirrel stops a few feet from
the steps. He sits on his haunches, cussing at me in squirrel speak, bushy tail
whipping at his back. Then a string of human curses erupts from the rickety
garage next door.
I stop the swing. More cursing. A
push mower is hurled out of the mouth of the darkened doorway, clunking across
the gravel drive to a skidding stop on its side. “Piece of shit!” follows it.
Holy crap!
I lean over the rail, trying to
get a look at who’s ticked enough to chuck their mower across the yard.
The screen door slaps against the
doorframe behind me. I whip around. “Sophie, don’t slam the door.”
Sophie frowns, arms crossed. “What’s
all that noise? I can’t hear my cartoons.”
I eye the lawnmower, which still
lies in a heap at the edge of our yard. Bending to Sophie’s level, I say, “I
don’t know. But maybe you should go inside, he sounds mad.”
She looks past me and her eyes
get huge. Then her arm shoots straight out in front of her. “Look, it’s Thor.”
I cover her mouth. “Shush, it’s
not polite to point.”
She dances away, dodging my hands
before I can get a hold of her again. “No, really, it’s Thor. Lookie.”
“Sophie, Thor’s make-believe.”
“He’s not! Look, Lil, he’s right
there.”
She darts off the porch and
across the grass to the mower now being circled by a tall, shirtless guy with
blond hair and more muscles than any one human being ever needed.
I rush after her. There’s no
telling who this guy is. What is she thinking?
Sophie is two feet from him and I
don’t even think he’s noticed her. Before I can retrieve her, she says, “Could
you tell my dumb sister, you are too
Thor?”
When he turns, I stop short. The
wrinkles in his forehead smooth, and the jagged line of his mouth transforms
into a smirk.
Breathing is impossible for a
moment.
Two.
Three.
Then he winks and my heart flops
on its side, like a fat puppy begging for a tummy rub.
He squats in front of Sophie,
dotting the end of her nose with the tip of his finger. “Sorry, squirt, but I’m
not actually Thor, just his stunt double.”
I haul her backward. “Sorry about
that. She’s—she’s five.”
Stunt Man stands. “No problem.”
He tosses a glare at the wreck
lying on the grass, but when he turns his tropical blue eyes on me, he’s
smiling. “Sorry if you heard that. I’ve been working on it for fu—sorry—for-freaking-ever,
but that—that piece of crap refuses to start.”
I drag Sophie another couple of
steps. “Yeah. No—I. I mean, it’s fine.”
God, what is wrong with me?
I try to retreat further, but
Sophie digs in, saying to tall, hot, and muscle-bound, “But you at least know
Thor, right?”
“Well, we’re not best friends. Still,
I could get a message to him if you wanted me to. But, only if you introduce me
to your bodyguard.” He winks.
She covers her mouth, giggling.
“She’s not a bodyguard, silly. She’s just Lily.”
“Nice to meet you, Lily. I’m Jax
Alexander.”
His large, grimy hand sticks out,
waiting. I swallow hard as it closes over mine, warm and slightly callused. Our
handshake sends vibrations through my whole being.
He really does look like Thor, a
little younger than Chris Hemsworth maybe, but still a couple of years older
than me. Maybe twenty-three or twenty-four.
“I—yeah, we should go. Leave you
to—to fight with your mower.”
I pull Sophie toward the safety
of our front porch, my eyes never leaving Jax. His brow furrows for just a
second. Then he gives a quick wave. “Okay, well, nice to meet you.”
Sophie struggles under my hands,
wiggling loose. She runs to Jax, unencumbered by nerves, or hormones, or
whatever’s strangling me at the
moment. He drops to one knee and she slides right up to him, one arm around his
broad shoulder. I might be a little jealous of that arm. Then she’s whispering
with her hand cupped at his ear. His face lights up and his eyes land on me.
He stands, tousles her hair, and
says, “Sure thing, kiddo. Hey, what’s your name?”
She throws her arms up, smiling
like I haven’t seen her do in months. “Sophie!”
“Okay, Sophie, consider it done.”
Pumping her fist in the air, she
skips across the grass and breezes into the house, leaving the screen slamming.
I’ve got to get that thing fixed before it completely falls off.
After picking up my cereal bowl,
I let the door bang shut behind me too. Then I lock it, because sexy or not,
Sophie doesn’t need to be talking to strangers. And no way am I staying outside
watching Thor’s younger doppelganger abuse his lawn care equipment.
Cynthia sits up, rubbing her
tangled head. “Hey, hold it down, would you? A girl can’t even get a little
sleep around here.”
“Sorry,” I ruffle Sophie’s hair. “C’mon
Soph, we’ll play a game in my room.”
“Good. And don’t come out until
at least three.”
Every morning she drags in around
four, since her bartending shift at Chief Fire Water’s is over at two. I have
no idea what she does during the in-between hours, but she’s not been out
buying groceries, that’s for sure. The pantry and refrigerator are almost
empty, again.
I need to stand up to her and
stop letting her run over me. She’s almost as bad as dad.
No, that’s not true.
Dad at his best is way worse than
Cynthia at her most horrible.
That’s why Mom sent us away.
While Sophie sets up a game for
us, my mind replays for the hundredth time the events that led to our leaving
home. I’d gone to a graduation party and Dad found out a few days later.
I was lying on my bed with my ear
buds in, listening to my favorite playlist, but drowning out Dad’s yelling
wasn’t easy. Cranking the volume up, I closed my eyes for a second, focusing on
my happy place. Running my thumb back and forth at the bottom of the page where
I’d sketched it out, I blended shades of grey for depth. There was a beach,
palm trees on either end of a hammock, and a good book I could imagine losing myself
in.
Dad had been home all of fifteen
minutes and already he was on what Mom called “a tear.” Even if everything was
perfect, he’d still find something to gripe about. His cup was too big or the
wrong color or his underwear was folded incorrectly.
When my door burst open and slammed
against the wall, my eyes went wide and my heart lurched. Dad snatched the cord
from my ears and flung the whole thing across the room. “What the hell is this
about you going to some party?”
All my false courage crash landed
against my lungs. Mom came to the door, wringing her hands. “I told her she could
go, Ethan. It’s my fault.”
His brown hair stuck out around
the back of his bald head and his eyes burned. “I told you about fucking
around, girl.”
I jumped from the bed, gaping at
his accusation. “But I wasn’t. I don’t—”
“Oh, don’t give me that. I know
you were out there, spreading your legs for whatever smooth talking jackass
looks twice.”
My jaw dropped and I could only
stare. Spittle spraying, he got in my face. “Weren’t you? Was it good, to feel
his dick pounding you? Did you like that?”
A sick chill spread down my back
from the top of my head, seeping into my gut. I pressed my lips tight, gritting
my teeth and blanking my features. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of
making me cry.
Chin up, I stood, staring at the
wall past his ear, waiting for him to run out of filth to spew. Mom tried to
pull him out of the room, but he shook her off and pushed her away. She stumbled
against the doorframe, yelping when her head slammed against the wood molding.
After a few minutes, when he
started repeating himself, I let my mind wander to the beach on my drawing pad.
Every few minutes or so, I’d say “yes, sir,” so he’d think I was listening. But
then I messed up, said it at the wrong time, or for the wrong thing. My cheek
exploded in pain and I flew across the room, falling against the far wall.
Tears gathered, too many to stop,
and I tucked into a ball as he rushed at me. His foot found its mark on my back
and sides. I screamed, but it didn’t stop him. One. Two. Four times he kicked,
all sharp reminders that he was the one in control.
Mom threw her body over mine.
“No, Ethan! Stop. Just—” She let out a cry, and then another, as his foot
connected. Each thump vibrated through her to me, but only enough so I knew he
was still taking out his rage.
Finally, Dad turned and stalked
out of the room.
Mom crawled off and swept her
arms around me, sobbing. “Aw, baby, I’m so sorry.”
I sniffed and my chin wobbled,
but I blinked until my tears receded. He couldn’t make me cry, not anymore. I
was done letting him have all the power.
Raising my head, I looked into
her crumpled face and said. “I swear I’ll get out of here.”
And I promised myself I’d never
again put myself in the position of having a man take care of me or be in control
my life. Ever.
Later that evening, after Dad
left to go to a meeting, Mom came to my room, where I’d been holed up all day.
She sat next to me and brushed my hair behind my ear. “I don’t know why your
Daddy would get so upset about you going to a party. I’m so sorry he reacted
like that.”
My lip trembled, so I bit the
inside of my cheek.
She took my face, looking into my
eyes. “What is it, baby girl? Please talk to me.”
Mom’s dark eyes reflected my face
like a mirror. Our expressions were probably almost identical. Sadness. Regret.
Fear. Most likely for different reasons.
She has no idea. If I gave her my
answers, they wouldn’t be to the questions she was asking. My answers were for
other questions, ones she didn’t even know she should ask. Things she’d never
imagine she needed to ask.
Mom has always kind of looked at
the world through her own lenses, even more so than most people. If something
is too hard, she hides behind her happy-glasses and puts off dealing with it
until tomorrow. Most of the time, tomorrow never comes. If I answered her questions,
her lenses would shatter and the truth would bury her. I couldn’t do that.
So I took a deep breath, my
bruised ribs screaming. Looking her right in the eyes, so she wouldn’t doubt my
words, I said, “I don’t know what his problem is.”
Fanfreakintastic! !!
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