Chapter 34
His imperious tone tells me all about his judgmental thoughts. Thankfully, it comes from a distance, which means he hasn’t seen anything. Probably.
“You have missed supper, but your mother wishes for your presence at dessert. Don’t be late, and do be dressed.”
This is bad. This is so bad.
I blurt, “We’ll be there.”
“Very good.” His stiff tone is followed by fast and quiet footsteps, which means his previous loud footsteps were loud on purpose. When the door shuts behind him, my relief is nowhere in sight because she is going to be pissed.
June whispers, “Oh my god.”
“I am so sorry?—”
“I’ll … I’ll go clean up.” She launches from the chaise nest for the bathroom.
I can hardly blame her. Glaring up at the decorative carved wooden ceiling, I am beyond frustrated with myself. I zip up and get myself presentable, but my mind races from self-loathing to cynical. Of course, Dad had to come and interrupt the best moment of my life. I should have known better than to think I’d get to simply bask in the afterglow with June.
Oh, shit. June. Is she going to freak out? Is she going to never speak to me again? That might actually kill me.
When she emerges from the bathroom, I can’t get a read on her expression, so my heart drums. She nervously asks, “Can we get out of here?”
Okay, I enjoy hearing we out of her, but the rest is null. “I won’t make you stay, but I would ask it of you.”
“Your dad just caught us having sex!”
“He did, but he’s not going to say anything to anyone.”
She frowns. “What makes you so sure?”
“Because he’s the type of man to be more embarrassed about it than we are. Hell, he might even be jealous?—”
“Jealous?”
“That we’re young and can’t keep our hands off each other.”
“Oh.” She almost smiles at that.
“He won’t tell a soul, June.”
Her shoulders slump. “Okay. But how can I look him in the eye after that?”
“To be honest, I’m asking myself the same question. I guess we muddle through?”
She sits next to me, and I’m relieved she hasn’t run out the door yet. “This is humiliating, Anderson.”
“It’s not the best thing that’s ever happened, but at least we had that before he showed up.”
She smiles and tips her head to my shoulder. “Yeah, we did.”
“So, that was good for you, too, then?”
She nods, and I can take a full breath finally. She’s not about to run away if that was the case for her, too. “I wonder about something.”
“What’s that?”
“So, you liked me back in school, right?”
“Yes.”
“And you just didn’t know how to express it, if I’m following what you said before.”
I nod. “I had no game and no good example of how to speak to someone I liked. In short, I was a teenage boy.”
She giggles. “So, I wonder if the reason I can’t stop thinking about you inside of me is because of fourteen years of sexual tension between us.”
Her words make my cock ache. Even now, I want to fuck her again. Not that we have the time, and I don’t think I could go again quite this soon after two rounds, but dammit, if I don’t want to try. “Uh, that could be. So, do you think you’re up for dessert with the family?”
She sighs. “Yeah, I think I can manage it. Just don’t make me sit near your father. Ever.”
I take her hand and kiss the back of it. “No worries. Pretty sure he wouldn’t want that, either. Dad is … I never got the talk from him. In fact, he’s never been the kind of guy to ask me about my personal life, aside from demanding I have a girlfriend.”
“Who gave you the talk?”
I laugh, thinking about it. “Mom tried. But she got too awkward about it. So, our family physician made a house call for the occasion. He brought diagrams and pictures. It was all very clinical. Mom sat through it with me, in case I had questions for her, too, but she and I were both so red-faced through the whole thing, I couldn’t bear to speak.”
June laughs hard. “Oh my god, that’s … I mean, it’s great that she did that, but that had to be so painful.”
“Oh yeah. I was twelve, I think, and I was so freaked out about it all that I didn’t even try to sneak porn for a year.”
“You were looking at that back then?”
“Before the talk, yeah. I had the internet and had found Grandfather’s classic Playboys here, in fact. He kept them in the library, I think, in hopes Grandmother would never find them.”
She glances around. “I noticed the library is organized alphabetically. Are they under P for Playboy or something else?”
“Under P for Popular Mechanics.”
“Huh?”
I smirk, unable to stop myself. “Grandfather had slipcovers made for his Playboys—or maybe he fashioned them himself—so that they all look like Popular Mechanics magazines instead of what they are. When I found the magazines, I’d thought I’d learn about cars, but I learned about something else that day.”
She giggles. “Oh my god.”
“He was clever. It was a good way to keep Grandmother from figuring out he had them, because she hated all that stuff.”
June takes a deep breath. “So, um, do you think we’ve dawdled enough? Should we go join them?”
“Not exactly. I should rearrange the furniture back to what it was.” I get up and start, but she looks up at me with the strangest look on her face. “What is it?”
“I … I’m not sure where to start.”
“Try the beginning.” Her tone has me worried, so I sit next to her again. “What’s going on?”
She runs her fingers through her hair, and they snag on a curl, so she gives up. “This wasn’t what I thought it would be, Anderson.”
I gulp. “And what was that?”
“I’d thought we’d come here, do our little act, and you’d get your account, and that would be that.”
Shit. My heart sinks through the floor. “Are you saying you regret what happened in here?”
But she half-smiles and shakes her head. “Nothing like that. I’m saying I could never regret what happened in here. I like you. If you’re game for it, I’d like to see where this might go.”
I feel like a puppet with their strings cut, as all the tension leaves me. “Truly?”
“Yeah. But no more embarrassing your dad.”
I laugh sharply and kiss her. “No more of that. I promise.”
“Wait—how did he get in here, anyway? I thought you locked the door.”
“I did, but I forgot about the door at the other end of the library. It’s past the stacks down that way.” I point toward the far end. “The library is so large that it needs two points of entry, even with all the windows. The second door was added a few years ago to keep the place up to code.”
She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “Well, let’s not forget about that ever again.”
“Never.” I cup her cheek in my hand. “You mean it, though? You want to give us a shot?”
“If you do. Yeah.”
I kiss her again, longer and deeper. If I’m not careful, we’ll miss dessert. “Yes. Very much. But first, let’s get the room back to rights and have dessert, so we might talk about this over some champagne at my place.”
“That sounds like a good plan.”
As we put the furniture and blankets back, I keep thinking I’m going to wake up. That I must have hit my head and I’m concussed in a hospital some place. That there is no way this is actually happening. “June?”
“Yes?”
“You really stopped hating me?”
She laughs. “I would have thought that was pretty clear by now. Yes, I stopped hating you.”
I kiss the top of her head. “Thank you for that. I don’t deserve it, and I know it.”
“Shut up.”
“What? I’m serious. I remember how I was to you, and I hate that?—”
“No more self-flagellation, okay? I’m not ready to chalk it up to a, ‘Boys will be boys,’ bullshit thing, because as far as I’m concerned, boys should be held accountable, just like girls. And, Anderson, you have been accountable. You got me out of a questionable situation. You took care of me that night, and you’ve been trying to take care of things ever since. There’s been apologies and penance, and I don’t see the need to keep beating you up over everything.” She takes my hands in hers and looks up at me with such sweetness in her eyes. “It’s in the past. I’d like to think about the future.”
For a brief moment, I let myself think about her like this in a wedding dress, and my heart stops. It’s impossible not to think of it—she’s wearing my ring. June Devlin would be the most beautiful bride there ever was. Now, I have to make that happen.
“Anderson?”
I blink myself back to reality and clear my throat. “Right. The future. I’d like that, too, June.”
She gives my hands a squeeze. “Then we should get to dessert.”
“Sounds good.” I run my knuckles down her low back before settling my hand there. “Let’s go.”
Chapter Thirty-Five-June
The family dining room is a sight to behold. More of a dining hall, really. I’m not sure when night fell—sometime when we were in the library, but now, the dining hall’s city view is lit up in the darkness. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcase Boston the way it was meant to be seen. It’s gorgeous, but not as pretty as the chandelier over the table.
I can’t tell if it’s supposed to be nautical or not, but it’s glass and kind of looks like some sort of deep sea creature, with blue and gray streaks in the glass itself. A marvel of balance and light—I’m not entirely certain how it’s perched over the table. Looks like it might fall at any moment.
The table is long enough to host the entire extended family, which means there are empty chairs in a few directions. Even some that are paired. Thankfully, none of them are near his father. He doesn’t even glance at us when we walk in, and I am grateful. We take a spot a good distance from the man, and Anderson chats up his cousin on the other side of himself, pretending we got lost in the library.
His mother, sitting at the opposite end from his father, smiles conspiratorially at me and says, “The library can be such a distraction. Don’t worry, June, I won’t hold it against you. I’ve spent days in that room myself.”
I doubt she was doing anything in there like what we were up to. But given what Callie told me about her society’s thoughts on affairs, maybe his mom was doing exactly that. All the same, I smile at her. “Thank you for the grace, Kitty.”
She smiles warmly and motions toward someone, and before I know it, a group of servers come into the dining hall to deliver trays. One is placed before me on the place setting, and the server pulls the silver lid from it. On a small white plate is a ball-shaped chocolate sculpture, with dark chocolate ribbons on top and a white chocolate bowl base. Beneath the ribbons, is what appears to be a crème brule. It smells like Heaven itself.
Coffees are delivered afterward, and with no fanfare for such a sumptuous dessert, the family digs in, continuing their conversations. I’m in awe of the intricate thing on my plate, while everyone else acts like it’s just another food. Everyone except Anderson, who beams at his mother.
Kitty smiles at him. “Thought you might enjoy a trip down memory lane.”
He chuckles. “Thank you for this, Mom.”
“Memory lane?” I ask, trying to figure out where to begin.
She explains, “I took Anderson to Paris after he missed out on his graduation trip, and he took ill with food poisoning the first day. Poor thing. We were scheduled to be there for a week, and he didn’t feel well enough to do anything until the final day, when I took him to a patisserie. Ever since then, I’ve tried to recreate it, because he always says it was the best thing he’s ever eaten. I think this is a fair approximation of what you ordered?—“
“Looks just like it. You did well.”
“Try it.”
He lifts the dark chocolate ribbons and scoops the crème brule first. His eyes close when he tastes it. “This is it exactly, Mom. How did you do it?”
“Flew them in from Paris.”
I laugh, but there’s no joke on her face. “Wait, really?”
“I tried for years, but I gave up. Whatever it is French people do to dessert, I cannot replicate it. They are magic, pure and simple.”
So, I follow his lead, lifting the ribbons and diving into the crème brule. It is light and ethereal with just a hint of sweetness. I want to eat this every day. “Oh my god, that is incredible.”
Anderson tells her, “Thank you for this, Mom.”
“I wanted to have something special for you for the first time you brought a girl home, and considering the ring on her finger, I’m glad I did it.”
It’s funny—I keep forgetting the ring is there. It fits on my finger like it actually belongs there, and I am way too comfortable wearing it. But who knows? Maybe one day it’ll be there for an actual reason.
Anderson clears his throat and catches his father’s eye. “Dad, thank you for finding us for dessert.”
His father’s cheeks go rosy, and it’s all I can do not to join him. He gives a quick nod, then returns to his conversation.
I return to my dessert, focusing on the divine instead of the uncomfortable. His cousin—Evelyn, I think—asks about the ring, and I quickly recall the story we made up about our engagement. She oohs and ahhs as I embellish things a little more, and as it turns out, she’s engaged, too. She insists, “We must decide on a date soon, so our dates don’t conflict. Being that convention dictates our wedding dates must be at least six months apart, when were you thinking?”
“Oh, um, we haven’t set a date yet. Have you?”
“We were looking at, well, next June. But I doubt a woman named June wants to be a June bride?—“
I laugh. “Eh, no. Maybe the December after yours. Or later. Right now, I’m so swamped with work, the idea of planning a wedding is too much.”
“But you’ll stop working to plan the wedding, right?”
I almost laugh, but then I catch the look on her face. Oh my hell, she’s serious? “I wasn’t planning on it.”
“Right, right. You’re a lawyer. Hard to peel any of you away from that profession,” she says with a little shrug. “My Daniel wouldn’t dream of ending his career. I swear, they will have to bury him in his office.”
“We are a dedicated lot.”
She goes on about wedding planning, and Anderson gives my leg a squeeze under the table. But before long, we’re saying our goodbyes and leaving it all behind. When we get outside, the brisk breeze nearly takes my breath from me. “So, how did I?—
He wraps his arms around me and kisses me, long and deep. “You were amazing. The whole time, but especially when Jessalyn started going on about wedding stuff.”
“Jessalyn? I thought that was Evelyn.”
“Her mom is Evelyn.”
I smack my forehead. “Pretty sure I called her Evelyn. She didn’t even correct me.”
He chuckles and kisses me again. “And she was either too in the bag to notice, or she was being nice about it. They know you were inundated by a bunch of strangers. We usually give people a year to know everyone by name. It’s fine.”
“Your family is such a weird mix of snooty and nice. I don’t get it.”
“That’s Mom’s side of the family. Dad’s is all snooty, all the time.” He waves to the valet, and they run to fetch his car. “You did really well tonight, June.”
“Thanks. Still feel like an idiot with Jessalyn, but what’s done is done.”
“I’ll text you her number, so you have it—she’s easy going about most things, but she was serious about that wedding planner for you.” He pats his pockets. “Oh hell. I think it fell out … probably in the library.”
“Go on up. I’ll wait out here and warm up in the car.”
He smiles. “I’ll be quick.” He kisses me again. “I could just buy another phone. That way, I don’t have to leave you.”
I giggle. “Okay, there’s extravagant and there’s frivolous, and that is definitely the latter. Go.”
“Be right back.” As he passes me, he gives my ass a smack.
“Hey!”
He grins back at me before disappearing into the building.
I think back to our evening and can’t help but smile. I don’t know what’s to come for our relationship but I’m excited about it. Knowing him, I might not be wearing clothes for the rest of the weekend, and I am very okay with that.
A man in all black strolls down the sidewalk. His suit is well-tailored—it moves with him fluidly. Makes sense. In this neighborhood, I doubt anyone wears anything that isn’t bespoke. A vehicle rumbles by, then stops in front of the building. One of those sprinter vans, black with tinted windows. Odd, but I imagine someone in the building is getting a late night delivery. Rich people can get anything they want at any hour, I’m sure of it.
The man in black’s pace picks up as he comes near, and I smile at him and give a nod of acknowledgement. But he doesn’t smile back. In fact, he walks faster. My pulse picks up, and I take a step backward. “Hello?”
When he’s an arm’s length away, he grabs a fistful of my hair and shoves something into my mouth. I punch him in the face, but he doesn’t seem to notice. He grabs my arm and twists it around, so it’s in the small of my back, and suddenly, there’s something sharp at my throat. He growls, “Do not struggle, princess. I don’t like cutting pretty girls, but I will.”
Oh my fuck!
The van door opens in the back, and the man in black pushes me forward toward it. But I drag my feet—if I get into that van, I’ll die. I know it. He presses the knife to my throat harder. “Walk.”
“What do you want?” I ask against the gag.
He ignores me and shoves me inside the back of the van. Two more men in black are waiting for us, but they wear masks. There’s four seats back there—three for them, one for me. This isn’t just some random thing. They’ve planned this. I start to panic and struggle, but the door is shut before I can get back outside. The other two move just as fast as the first one. They throw me into one of the seats and tie my feet and wrists to it. The engine revs as they pull away from the building. I’m close to hyperventilating, and the first guy must notice, because he pulls the gag out of my mouth.
“What do you want?” I ask between fast breaths.
“I want you to breathe through your nose so you don’t pass out and hurt yourself. No one pays for damaged goods.”
“Where are you taking me? This is kidnapping.”
“And to think, she’s a smart lawyer,” one of the other guys mocks.
“But I don’t have any money. Is this because I’m in this neighborhood? I promise, you are barking up the wrong tree. I’m not from here. This isn’t where I live. I’m just as broke as you guys probably are. You have the wrong woman.”
The first guy smirks sinisterly. “And with that little speech, you’re not hyperventilating anymore.” He puts the gag back in, only this time, he ties it around the back of my head.
Okay, I can handle this. I just need to be able to talk myself out of being their target once he removes the gag again.
But then, he pulls out a blindfold, and the panic hits all over. I try to thrash away from his hands, but he pops me in the back of the head. “Cooperate, and this will go much easier for you, Ms. Devlin.”
Fuck. They know exactly who I am.
“Why?” My question is muffled and I sit still this time to let him get the blindfold on. No point in fighting this. Not yet. Save my fight for later.
“I’ll assume you asked why this is happening. It’s nothing personal against you. Just business. We’re going to see if your boyfriend and his family will pay for your safe return. We’ll see what loyalty really means to them.”
This is business. Okay. I can survive a business transaction. That’s all this is. Once it’s settled … except, he’s not really my boyfriend. Or my fiancé. We’re whatever we are, but am I someone he’d pay for? Would his family?
“It’s a pity the Wests aren’t good at paying their bills, or we would have avoided all this unpleasantness in the first place. Understand, Ms. Devlin, we don’t want to hurt you. But we will if we must. They have to know we’re serious. We will do whatever it takes to get the money they owe us. If that means sending you back to them piece by piece to prove our point, then we will.”
Chapter Thirty-Six-June
By the time the SUV stops, a cold sweat trickles down my back. My mouth is so dry from the gag, and my wrists and ankles are abraded by the rope on them. The vehicle smells new. Light and shapes stream in at the edges of my blindfold, and the longer I sit with it on, the more I wonder why these bozos didn’t use a head bag. I’ve been counting the seconds and the turns, and I’m pretty sure we are still in Boston.
The tiny details are the only things keeping me from losing my shit right now. Paying attention to them instead of what might happen is the only option I have. Otherwise, I’ll hyperventilate.
The problem is, I know too much about kidnapping and the fact that if you see the kidnapper’s faces, there’s a good chance they’ll kill you. And I’ve seen one of their faces.
Maybe he’s a mark. Someone they’re using to get the job done, and he’s the one they’ll offload, not me. Only the others seem to take his orders. Which means he’s in charge of this operation. Not good. Definitely not good.
“Ms. Devlin, we have arrived.”
A moment later, the binds are cut. I fight the urge to rub my wrists or make any other sudden moves. It’s hard though. I want to beat on the window and draw attention to myself and pray that someone sees and tries to help. But that also seems like a dumb way to die, so I don’t.
The doors open and I catch a whiff of dank air. Humidity, motor oil, and exhaust. We’re not in the open anymore. We’re in an underground garage.
Oh, goody.
“Come along, Ms. Devlin.” Two hands grab my arms and help me out of the vehicle. My ankle wobbles for a moment, but someone catches me. They don’t use the opportunity to cop a feel, so at least they’re not creeps about this. It’s discombobulating to be led around while wearing a gag and a blindfold, but the pair walking me through the place are careful not to let me stumble. It’s almost like they do this kind of thing all the time, and that thought is not making me feel better.
A door creaks open ahead, and it feels like a pressure change when it closes again. Where the hell are we?
“There are many stairs between here and our destination. Step lively and carefully.”
My guides stay with me, one on each side. So, the stairway is wide enough for three people. The light has a hazy green glow and hum like bees—old fluorescents. A foul scent hangs in the air, like a building that hasn’t been cleaned in a very long time. Musty and thick. It reminds me of the time I got stuck in the basement at my great aunt’s retirement home.
That day was hell, and I hoped to never relive it. But I’d take that over this any day.
The stairs go on forever. Nine and then a landing, and we turn for the next batch. Eight stories down, until another door scratches the cement floor as it’s opened. The door opener’s footsteps sound far away in a hurry.
Was this a bomb shelter or something? Shamefully, I don’t know much of Boston’s history in that regard. But I know bomb shelters were a thing for a while in the fifties. Maybe that’s where they’re taking me. Someplace no one will ever find me.
No. Can’t think like that. This will all blow over.
I hope.
Something clicks ahead, and then he says, “That’s right, gents, over here.” It’s the same guy who grabbed me off the street—he’s the one who has done all the talking.
They lead me toward the grabber, then plop me onto a hard wooden chair. The next thing I know, they’re tying my ankles and wrists to the chair. After I’m bound, someone unties the gag, followed by the blindfold. It takes a few blinks before I realize I won’t be seeing anyone anytime soon.
I’d thought it’d be a minute before my eyes adjusted to the light again, but I was wrong. One of those floodlights people use for interrogations is aimed right at my face. I can’t see shit other than bright white light.
I smack my lips together a few times, surprised by just how dry my mouth is. It’s hard not to panic right now. I’ve been transported to a destination that they obviously planned for. In fact, they’ve clearly planned all of this for a while now, since they know my name and my involvement with Anderson. If they think I’m this valuable to him, then they know about things from an outside perspective—they don’t know we’re not together.
Well, are we?
No, not the point. Life and death on the line. Can’t focus on my romantic life at a time like this. I have to keep my wits about me and get answers. “Who are you? Why are you doing this?”
There’s no answer. I don’t hear footsteps, but I didn’t hear them after we came in, either. It’s like the men vanished into thin air. Like ghosts. There’s a pleasant thought. I’ve been kidnapped by ghosts. Won’t that be fun to explain … assuming I get out of this place?
“Anyone there?” I shout, hoping for an answer.
Nothing. Not even crickets.
Well, at least the interrogation lamp is warm. I need it down here—basements are cold. That’s what I’ve decided this place is. A basement. Not a bomb shelter. A basement is survivable. A bomb shelter is a great place to leave a body. I am not a body. I am a person, and I will survive this.
I have definitely not been left here to die.
Okay. Let’s forget the d-word for right now and focus on what’s happened. I’m strapped to a chair in a basement after getting nabbed by a crew of thugs. The grabber said this is business, not personal. They haven’t done anything untoward. Other than kidnapping me and threatening me with violence. Fine. It doesn’t appear to be something sexual, either, which is a relief. If anything in this situation could be a relief … whatever, I’ll take it.
How strong is this chair?
It’s wooden—I can feel the woodgrain under my nails. Can I pry it apart? Should I bother to? If I cooperate, they are less likely to hurt me, right?
All the times I’ve heard about kidnappings for money, it’s the cooperative captives that stand a better chance of surviving. And even though I know that, I can’t help but try to pry my chair apart.
Tugging at the rope doesn’t do anything but hurt my wrist. Flaking at the woodgrain with my nails only hurts my nails. I have no weapons on me, but I can’t just sit here, either. If I fall over, will the chair break? Not likely—this thing reminds me of the chairs at Appleton. Thick wood designed to be abused by kids. Solid construction. No chance of breaking it on the concrete floor.
If I hop the chair toward the light and knock that over, will someone come? Do I want them to? Would the light start a fire? Not that there’s much around me to burn. And I don’t want to die of smoke inhalation before someone gets here to save me.
If they’d save me.
I huff and try not to panic. My thoughts keep circling the drain of doom, and I have got to think of something more productive or I’ll lose my mind. Okay. The grabber said Anderson’s family owes him money. If he wants to get paid, then they won’t hurt me … but also, why does his family owe him money?
That doesn’t seem right.
Anderson’s family doesn’t owe anyone anything. They’ve been generationally wealthy for many generations. Old money, as they like to call it. None of this makes any sense.
Though, people can get stupid with money. Even people with lots of it. Maybe his mom has a gambling problem. Or his dad made some poor investments. Huh. Could it be Anderson’s fault? Is that why his dad froze his accounts—to stop him from running up a tab with a bookie or something?
Whatever the reason is, I’m stuck here for now. I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths. Nothing good will come from panicking or trying to guess what’s actually happening. The only thing I can do is focus on myself right now. More deep breaths and just let myself melt into the situation. Think of this as an opportunity to meditate in the absolute quiet or?—
Who the hell am I kidding? I’ve been kidnapped. It’s okay to freak out. I blow out one of those useless deep breaths and decide to scoot the chair away from the light. At least I can explore that way.
But when I try, I discover it’s bolted into the concrete. Super.
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