Chapter Thirty
Phoebe
Idon’t remember when I fell asleep exactly, but I must’ve. I open my eyes and try to look around, but everything is dark.
The hood.
My arm aches. That’s what it was. I felt the needle prick before everything faded away. I have no memory of the drive to wherever it is I am, and I’m not in a car anymore.
I’m in a… bed?
Scotty.
Oh, I hope Scotty’s okay. And the bars! I hope Tucker got home before anything caught fire.
My nose itches, and I can reach it with my hands. Instead of zip ties like before, I have chains. Shackles. And my nose and mouth aren’t covered anymore.
I could take it off. Just rip it up over my head, but I find more comfort in the darkness. Whatever surrounds me feels safer if I can’t actually see it.
“Phoebe Phelps.”
I jump, realizing I’m not alone. The voice is unfamiliar and older. But deep. Almost as deep as Tucker’s.
“You are not my son’s type. He usually likes them dark-haired and the offspring of my enemies.”
Well, that’s kind of a blow to my ego. The insecurities I’d started to push past come back front and center. I know Joanna and I looked different, much like Queenie and I do, but it’s kind of a blow to hear that multiple people believe I’m not Tucker’s type.
This is clearly Tucker’s father. Am I in Las Vegas? How long was I out?
“Babe, you’re not going to see anything with the blindfold on, so you can stop trying to look around,” Ryan says.
I turn towards his voice and notice the hint of annoyance. The tone most people use when it comes to me eventually. And I hate that he’s right. I turn towards his voice, but I can’t see anything. Not even a sliver of light around the edges.
“Sorry for all the accessories, but we weren’t sure what to expect,” his father says.
“You were a little too calm. It kind of freaked us out,” Ryan says. “Tucker usually likes them feistier.”
Again, I’m not Tucker’s type. Great. That’s just fantastic. I’m shackled in an unknown place with a blindfold over my eyes being told by two of Tucker’s family members they don’t understand what Tucker sees in me. Real confidence boost.
“What has he told you about me?”
“He doesn’t talk much about you,” I say.
A wheeze catches my attention, and I remember that sound. Grandma sounded like that when she’d breathe after she was put on oxygen. She died of emphysema, and even with the oxygen, she had a hell of a time breathing. When it got really bad, she’d wheeze just like that.
“Are you ill?” I ask.
“What makes you say that?”
“You sound like you’re having a difficult time breathing. On oxygen, maybe? I’ve heard it before.”
He chuckles. “Tucker doesn’t know I’m sick?”
I shrug. “Not that he’s told me.”
“She’s lying. We should just kill her,” Ryan says.
“All he’s said is what happened with Joanna,” I say quickly. “How he got his scars when he tried to save her, but that’s it. He doesn’t talk about his family. Not until Ryan showed up in Gravelton.”
His father chuckles again. “That doesn’t surprise me. It hurts, but Tucker’s always been the one of my children who does things his own way. Whether it’s right or not, he does his own thing.”
There’s not much I can add to that. I’m in love with Tucker, but I haven’t known him long enough to really see anything like that.
“I’m Benito, by the way. Benito Vega.”
“It’s nice to meet you.”
Yes, I’m blindfolded and tied up, but my manners never fail to come out. One day, I’ll be strong enough to be less than cordial to people who want to hurt me.
“You’re polite. Tell me, Phoebe, do you have a good relationship with your parents?”
Shaking my head, I pause. I’m not sure if honesty is the best route, but I don’t have a great lie coming to mind. “My dad left when I was little, and my mom died when I was twelve. My grandma raised me.”
“That’s terrible.”
I can’t tell if he’s being sincere or not. Now I understand what people mean when they talk about the importance of body language. It sounds like he’s being genuine, but I imagine he’s not the type to actually feel empathy.
“It’s life. I can only move forward because going back isn’t an option.”
If it was, I’d have stopped my mom from dying that day.
“You’re the opposite of Tucker. And Ryan. But you kind of remind me of Tanner.”
Tanner? “Who?”
Why am I engaging him? I’d like to say it’s self-preservation, but it’s actually opportunity. I want to know everything possible about Tucker, including things he doesn’t think to tell me.
“My middle son. Tucker, Tanner, and Ryan.”
“You opted to veer away from the T names?”
“It was my wife’s request. She caught me at a weak moment.”
His voice is hard and clipped. He sounds so harsh, and I’m glad Tucker isn’t like his father. Not unless he has to be.
“Why do you say I’m like Tanner?”
He chuckles. “Because you have a sunny demeanor. I’m not sure we’ve ever had someone blindfolded and chained up who was so… jovial. I wouldn’t say you seem happy considering the circumstances, but you’re not quivering or cowering. It’s quite refreshing.”
“Most people find my personality annoying,” I admit.
Again, why? No idea.
“I find it delightful.”
Am I flattered? A mob boss finds me delightful. Something tells me this isn’t a good thing. Hopefully, he’s not the type who finds pleasure in trying to break me.
“You love my son, don’t you?” Benito asks.
“We haven’t known each other long. I’m just a means to an end, really. That’s what Ryan told me, anyway.”
Ryan coughs, and Benito snaps, “What’s she talking about?”
“I don’t know. She’s clearly crazy. What woman gets taken at gunpoint and remains this calm?”
“My bakery was robbed to get Tucker involved,” I say. “Tucker owns a security company, and one of his employees is dating mine. Before that, I didn’t know Tucker.”
I flinch as something hits a wall and breaks. A chair, maybe? As much as I want to take the blindfold off, there’s comfort in not being able to see what’s happening around me.
“You took a woman who isn’t Tucker’s girlfriend?”
No need to correct that. “Tucker says he can’t love because of what you did to Joanna. He has a wall built up that I’m chipping away at, but I don’t think I’ve fully broken through,” I say. “We only got close because of Ryan. Tucker felt responsible.”
“They didn’t even know each other until you started this?” Benito shouts.
Coughing follows his outburst, and I wish I had something to offer him. Water or juice.
Stop it, Phoebe! Don’t be so nice!
“Not technically, no,” Ryan says, his voice quiet. Contrite.
And I’m glad to still have the blindfold on now. I can feel the death glare Ryan shoots in my direction, and I don’t wish to see it as well.
But this might work to my advantage. Ryan’s method clearly wasn’t approved by Benito, and it might keep me alive.
As much as it hurt to hear Tucker tell Ryan it wouldn’t upset him if I died, it might be just the one thing to keep me living.
If that’s their goal, they might see my death as not meaning much.
Which is actually really sad, but if it keeps me breathing, I’m okay with it.
“Are you stupid?” Benito growls.
“You said you wanted Tucker here by any means necessary!” Ryan shouts. “This was any means necessary!”
“If he’s not in love with her, the threat of killing her won’t mean a fucking thing!” he shouts back, coughing heavily. “We have no leverage if he’s not willing to die for her like he was with Joanna!”
Die for me like he would have for Joanna? He might not. I think he’d miss me, though. At least for a little while. Which gives me a little bit of peace.
I knew from the get-go he couldn’t love me, but he’d miss me. That’s enough.
“At the risk of being harmed for tattling, Ryan was aware of this when he first showed up at the bakery. Well, let us know it was him who robbed me. Tucker told him after getting aggressive with him.”
“Ryan—”
“They’re fucking!” he interrupts.
Swallowing, I nod. “That’s true.”
“So, you must mean something to him, right?” Ryan asks.
I shrug. “He was screwing someone at the brothel they run before me. For years, I think. I don’t know if having sex with someone means what you think it does. He considers himself broken after losing the woman he loved.”
“My son is using you?” Benito asks. “Is that what you’re saying? He uses women now?”
Not what I mean. “I don’t know if I’d say that. He’s just kind of incapable of letting people in. He might miss me for a bit if you kill me, but it won’t hit the same. I don’t think I’m what you were hoping for.”
That’s actually kind of depressing to say out loud. I’m not enough. Story of my life.
“You sound sad.”
I sigh and give a sad smile in what I believe is his direction. “What girl doesn’t want to be missed after she’s gone?”
“I know it means very little considering what’s going on, but I actually kind of like you, Phoebe.”
Yeah, that’s not really a comfort. “Thank you.”
A loud crash sounds from above us, and the blood rushes to my ears. Please don’t let me be in the basement.
“I apologize, but we must leave and take care of something. We’ll be back very soon.”
Thud, thud, thud.
Unmistakable sounds of feet on stairs. And a rolling oxygen tank hitting every step.
Just because they’re walking up a flight of stairs doesn’t mean I’m in the basement. I could be on the main floor. Or the second. There’s no guarantee I’m sitting on a bed in the basement of a house right now.
Reaching out, I let out a sob as my hand touches cold concrete. I need to focus on what I can sense. What I can feel and hear. Smell.
And I want to cry when I take in the musty scent around me I hadn’t noticed before. Musty, like a basement.
My fingers touch chains attached to my shackles, and I follow them down to the floor where they’re bolted. To a cement floor.
“Breathe,” I whisper. “Breathe, Phoebe.”
Where are my bracelets? The one Tucker made me broke at the house, but where are the others? There are just these new metal accessories.
Most houses don’t have cement walls and floors in rooms that aren’t basements. And if I’m not in the basement, what happened above us? The crash I heard sounded like someone coming into the building. Which would be the main floor, not secondary ones.
If I don’t take the blindfold off, I don’t know for certain. It’s all supposition, and I can lie to myself. Come up with plausible explanations about where I am. Why I’d be somewhere like this.
Maybe they’re doomsday type people, and their entire house is built of concrete to withstand some type of disaster. Or maybe they renovated an old prison from the 1800s. Which could explain the chains and shackles. And cement everything.
No, I need to know. I need to see.
Lowering my head to my hands, I slowly pull the blindfold off my eyes. I look up, and my vision blurs as the panic sets in.
“No,” I gasp, feeling as though I’m being strangled. “No!”