Chapter 4
Chapter Four
F iona
I wouldn’t believe a home like this existed if I hadn’t seen it on Carol Ann’s phone. I was envious when I looked through her pictures, thinking I’d never know this place in person.
She came to my house on the first of November, black eyeliner smudged on her unwashed face, brimming with stories, eager to share the descriptive details of the wild All Hallows’ Eve party she’d attended the night before.
A twelve-hour event complete with Madam Glasgow, the famous fortune teller with a podcast solving cold cases, a chocolate champagne tower as tall as a light post, and midnight hot air balloon rides overlooking the city.
The photos of the hot air balloons left me bitter with envy. While Carol Ann floated above the city, I held down the island, heating leftover beef stew with Dad and worrying over my arch nemesis, the garden weevils.
Over tea and chocolate cream biscuits, I hung on her every word that chilly November morning as she went on about the castle-style mansion that was Callum and Freya Burnes’ new home. Carol Ann, of course, took the opportunity to dress like an adult film star—but the photos of her sexy nun costume weren’t what had me staring, opened-mouthed, at her phone screen.
It was this very house that we have arrived at. And those pictures are no comparison to the real thing, the stately home I’m seeing now, in person, with my own two eyes as we pull up to the Burnes siblings’ Glasgow home.
Thank God Carol Ann came over to share her stories over endless cups of tea; it’s the sole reason I can place where I am.
I sigh with relief, knowing that the Hoax of Glasgow has not abducted me.
The driver lowers his window, and a crisp and salty breeze freshens the cab, carrying the faint scent of seaweed and brine. He punches a code into a box, and the gate slowly opens, its hinges creaking softly in protest as we drive over the pebbled drive leading up to the grand castle-like home.
A chilling realization dawns on me as we pull onto Burnes land, my momentary relief evaporating.
Suddenly, everything falls into place.
My father's addiction must have led him to borrow money from these ruthless families. And now, I am left to pick up the pieces, working tirelessly to pay off his debts while trying to maintain this home that is not truly mine.
And the man I’m to work for…is Callum Burnes.
My heart races with fear as the van screeches to a sudden halt just past the gates. They slam shut behind us with an ominous clang, the sound reverberating through my bones like a death sentence. Trapped and helpless, I realize with dread that this is only the beginning of my imprisonment.
Tightness edges into my throat, and I swallow hard as the driver raises the window. Stuffiness fills the van instantly, making it hard to breathe.
The driveway is lined with towering evergreen trees, their branches swaying gently in the sea breeze. As we approach, the sun shines through their branches, casting a golden hue over the stone facade of the majestic house. The castle-like house stands tall and imposing, with turrets approaching the sky and ivy creeping up its walls like nature's tapestry. Stained glass windows glint in the fading light, casting colorful patterns on the lush green lawn surrounding the estate.
It’s beautiful.
But it is filled with dangerous men.
And one man in particular known for his cocky smile and the glint of chaos in his eyes. Callum is handsome in a dangerous way, ink on his fingers— K-I-N-G— for the gang he belongs to, the Kings, who rule our wee island.
And now, he’s expanded the reign of his power to the city.
At the front of the home, a well-tended, landscaped garden contrasts with the stone fa?ade. A fountain stands proudly at the center of the round drive, sparkling water droplets shooting up into the dusk lighting .
I cling tighter to Mam’s bowl as we finally stop before the broad stone steps. They lead up to a glossy black door, a small circle of stained glass in its peak.
The front door of the place that is to be my new home?
And Callum…is he to be my new boss? I think of the soft-voiced professor and the milky cups of tea we share while poring over hours of research.
The thought of cleaning or cooking under Callum’s stern gaze, his eyes watching my every movement…
Those eyes…
Heat flashes over my face, and the thought of his deep gaze penetrates my insides; warmth creeps in other places.
That strong jaw, those round shoulders. The man probably drinks coffee. Black.
The idea of being near him is too overwhelming. Instead, I imagine what color I’d paint the door if it were mine. Maybe a lovely shade of dusty rose pink would match the buds on the perfectly trimmed rose bushes, but otherwise, I’d not change anything.
The exterior is perfect. Like a storybook. A fairy tale.
But this is no princess movie.
And these men are not helpful woodland creatures.
This is my life.
No Prince Charming is hiding behind the black-wish-it-were-pink door.
A beast lives in this castle .
A tall, broad-shouldered man with bottle-green eyes, the spirit of a Viking, and a beard to match. He is a playboy with a trail of women behind him so long that half the island's female population might be notches on his wide leather belt.
I’ve shied away from the man for as long as I can remember. He loved to tease me, making a game out of seeing how deeply he could make me blush. Demanding a dance, tugging on the end of my braid, saying naughty things that make me do exactly what I don’t want to…
Blush.
I turned him down every time but the mere thought of him still makes my heart race. I can't shake off the fear that rises in me when I see him. And now, his strange men have brought me here. What does he want from me? What twisted plans does he have in store?
The door opens.
My heart lurches into my throat, and I bite back bile as I wait for Callum to come into view.
Only, it’s not him who appears.
“Gah. It’s only Freya.” A slight bit of tension leaves me as I settle back in my seat.
Freya is known for her free spirit, which is a stark contrast to her brother Callum. She smiles warmly, her violet-white hair streaming behind her as she moves. She wears tasteful silver jewelry and a sleeveless black dress. The air she gives off could be that of a prime minister’s wife or a trendy art gallery owner.
Her hair is lighter, her face more gaunt, her lips more full, but it’s the same Freya, a girl a few years older than me at school who I found as intimidating as she was intriguing. She is beautiful, brilliant, and strong. I hope she can help me out of this situation, but she and Callum are tied tighter than Carol Ann’s clubbing corset.
Her heels clip at the stones as she approaches the van.
Everyone knows everyone on the island, but that doesn’t mean we’ve spoken. At school, Freya was known for smoking thin, menthol cigarettes, rolling her uniform skirt up as many times as she could get away with, pairing it with matching black-heeled stilettos, and sneaking off to the city as often as she could.
She comes striding over to the van and raps a thin knuckle against the window, her voice a low purr. “More stolen goods, boys?”
The driver rolls his window down, a salty sea breeze freshening the cab. “G’day, Madam Freya. We’ve got the goods. Boss’s orders.”
“Let’s have this door opened, please.” She moves to the van door, crossing her slim arms over her chest.
The driver eyes her a moment, then obeys.
The man beside me gets out on his side, walking around to meet Freya. Gripping Mam’s bowl, I watch the van door slide open, a rush of fresh air swirling around me. Freya’s beautiful face appears as she leans toward me.
"Welcome, Fiona," Freya says, her voice soft and melodic. "I'm so glad yer here." Freya's presence eases the knot of fear in my stomach. The Burnes family estate looms large and imposing behind her, the setting sun casting long shadows over the manicured lawn. “I’ve not been on the island in years, but I remember ye and yer ginger hair.”
“Hello.” I nod. “I remember you as well.”
“Is that Rose’s big bowl?” She glances down at my lap. “My mum had one just like it but in cream with flowers round the edge.”
Freya Burnes, always the cool girl, the It girl, calling adults by their first names. I’m nearing thirty, and I still don’t do that. “Y—yes,” I manage to stutter. “It’s Mam’s bowl.”
“It’s lovely. My mum had a wooden spoon she kept with it as well. She waved it around, trying to keep my brother and boy cousins in line, but if you ask me, which no one does, they’re just as unruly now as they were then.”
“Is that so?” I ask.
“Come on, love.” She eyes the guards surrounding me with a wary gaze. I’m unable to read her expression, unsure if she’s afraid I’ll run or more afraid she’ll let me. Reaching out, she offers to take my arm, knowing better than to offer to take the bowl from me. “Let me help you down.”
“Thank you.” Careful not to drop the bowl, I let her grip my elbow and help me from the van.
A thousand questions rest on the tip of my tongue. But one presses its way to the top of the list, my full bladder pressing against my insides. As if I’m not already a red-headed troll compared to this beauty queen, I nervously blurt out, “I’m so sorry to ask, but I really need a wee.”
She gives a low laugh. “I’ll take you now. Are you ready to tour your new home, Fiona? First stop, the loo! ”
Knowing my most pressing need will be met, I prattle on as we make our way up the wide front steps. “I’m happy to work. I have plenty of experience cooking, cleaning, whatever you need. And I love to garden?—”
“No.” She gives a firm shake of her head. “Absolutely not.”
“What do you mean? I’m here to work off my father’s debts. Aren’t I?”
We reach the top of the steps, standing before the slightly ominous black door, a guard at each side. “Just a moment.” She holds her finger in the air, gesturing for the guard to wait before he opens it for us to enter.
Facing me, she says, “I’ll let my brother explain the terms of your visit, but one thing I know: you won’t lift a finger. Anything you want, you ask. It’ll be given to you.”
Her words hang in the air, leaving me speechless.
I have so many questions.
If not to work off debts, why am I here?
As Freya leads me into the grand entrance hall of the house, gliding along with her beautiful clothes and shiny hair, I can't help but feel like a mouse being led into a lion's den. The luxury of my surroundings only highlights my plainness and vulnerability.
What in the sweet land of Scotland could Callum Burnes possibly want with me?