EIGHT
Blair’s limp body falls into my arms. Luckily, it doesn’t attract too many straying eyes. The spotlight is still on the motherfucker Adams, and for the first time since I’ve learned the name, I’m grateful.
By the time the lights are turned back on, Blair and I are long gone. I came here on my bike, but I can’t drive her unconscious body on it. That’s a recipe for a disaster, or worse, my butterfly could get hurt.
Instead, I call Hudson, and he sends a driver our way immediately. With her body in my arms, I wait outside for around ten minutes before a car pulls up, and I can safely put her in the backseat. Usually, I’d sit in the front, but right now? I don’t want to be separated from her for even a split second.
Once we arrive at the penthouse, I push the door open, and it automatically locks behind us.
Now, I have two options.
Lay her to sleep in the guest bedroom or my own.
Of course, the only logical solution is my bedroom.
Tomorrow, she’ll definitely ask questions, and once she sees that there are more available beds, she’ll likely throw a fit. I just can't let her sleep elsewhere. I’ve been without her for way too long, and now that she’s finally here, I’m not letting her sleep alone.
I call the same driver to come upstairs, and the man is standing in front of me, confused. I’d be confused too if I were in his shoes. Since Dad trusts him, I’ll trust him enough to help me with this one simple task.
He finally agrees, only after I promise him a hefty sum of money.
The next hour is spent with him and me taking every single bed apart in the penthouse, five in total, except the one in my bedroom where Blair lies. Now, the guest bedrooms are empty, with mattresses tossed out and the bed frames ruined.
The couch in my living room is big enough to fit five people at once, in a gorgeous shade of pearly white. I walk into the kitchen, grab the cheapest wine possible, and pour it all over the couch. It’s stained, so I couldn’t have possibly allowed her to sleep there.
Satisfied with myself, I sit behind my laptop and watch Blair sleeping peacefully in my bed.
The only thing I took off her body was her shoes.
I wouldn’t dare touch anything else.
With a sigh, I pick up my phone and dial Dad’s phone number. It’s well past midnight, but the matter is rather serious, and I can’t wait until the morning. Besides, I’ll have my hands full with my butterfly once she wakes up, and she deserves all of my attention.
“Why the fuck are you calling me this late?”
Immediately, I gag, almost throwing up in my mouth a little. Dad is out of breath, trying to regain his composure. I’m thrilled that my parents love each other, I really am, but I definitely don’t need to know when they’re having sex.
“To fill you in on Adams, unless you think it can wait.”
I raise my voice a few octaves, enough for Mom to hear on the other side of their bedroom. It’s silent for a moment, then she cusses at Dad, demanding he put me on speakerphone. He grumbles under his breath, cohesively, and listens.
“What did you find out, Arlo?”
The night started off great. I was the main pianist for the evening, with the grand performance being done by me only. The rest of the time, I was free to roam the venue, eat all the food, and drink everything they had to offer as long as it was non-alcoholic. Alcohol was strictly off-limits.
I was unable to catch Adams’ wife, Zoe, alone. There were at least two guards on her at all times, or he was with her himself. Despite the amount of makeup she was wearing, the bruises around her throat were visible under the thin scarf. The rest of the people either didn’t notice or didn’t care enough to speak up.
Fucking vile.
Zoe was trembling the entire night, but whenever the spotlight was on her, she would smile widely, pretending that everything was fine. She’s a terrific actress. If I didn’t know the reality of her situation, I would’ve thought the smiles were all sincere.
I didn’t miss how she flinched whenever he would whisper in her ear, or how she’d clench her hands by her sides when he touched her. The security guards were staring at her, almost as if they were waiting for her to mess up and make a mistake.
She didn’t mess up, which means she’ll likely get to see tomorrow.
“I didn’t get anywhere with his wife,”
I sigh in defeat. “I’ll keep trying with her. It will take me some time to sneak into her circle undetected. But that’s not why I called.”
“Go on,”
Mom urges, and I take a moment to gather my thoughts. The words I’m about to say, the things she’s about to hear, will change the trajectory of this all. Everything we thought we knew is about to change, and the path we’re taking is about to become ten times more difficult.
“Paul Simmons was there.”
“The senator?”
“Yes,”
I confirm, swallowing thickly. “And…”
The day before the banquet, I dressed as a cleaner. I managed to sneak my way inside and plant bugs all over the place, from the venue itself to the kitchen, restrooms, and even bedrooms on the upper floors.
And what I heard is enough to make my blood boil.
“Adams and Simmons are… doing something shady.”
“They’re politicians. Of course they’re doing something shady, Arlo,”
Dad snorts. “Did you hear anything useful?”
“Yes,”
I take a deep breath. “They were talking about where they would be keeping the girls.”
Silence.
Utter, complete, and deafening silence follows.
“Are you fucking sure?”
I nod, although they can’t see me. I pull the phone off my ear and quickly send Mom the recording I got from the listening devices. I hear it buzz on the other side of the line, and Dad groans.
“Fuck,”
he curses. He’s aware that whatever the two are planning to do with the said girls, it’s much more sinister than any of us had expected, much more complicated than my aunt’s murder.
“Dad,”
I say, voice lowering. “I need you to think. I can’t say it out loud.”
Another round of silence.
Nothing except my rough breathing and rapid heartbeat echoes in the deadly silent room. Aside from the light that’s coming from my laptop, it’s pitch black, darkness all around me. It’s deadly, gut-wrenching as I wait for Dad to come to the same conclusion I did.
But Mom beats him to it.
A defeated cry slips from her lips, and her sobs follow. My eyes close, chest aching at the thought of Mom’s trembling body and the sound of her choked weeping.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,”
Dad says, then hangs up before I can say anything else.
Mom is the strategist amongst our family. Her plans have never failed us.
My aunt, Jane, was a single mom to my little cousin, Luna. Luna would be around twenty years old right now. Jane married her husband, Josh, when Luna was six years old. They didn’t want to marry young, so they postponed it until Luna grew up a little and they became more stable.
Uncle Josh passed away in a car accident when Luna was eight. Jane vowed never to date again, or marry, out of respect for Josh. And it was true, until she met Nelson Adams.
He was wealthy, treated both Jane and Luna right, and quickly fell into the role of a fun stepfather. Mom begged Jane not to rush into a relationship with a famous politician because, well, they’re all scumbags.
Jane didn’t listen.
She saw Mom’s interference as a direct attack on her intelligence and parenthood, so she ended up cutting Mom off for a while.
Two months later, Jane was found dead in her house.
Unbeknownst to Aunt Jane, Mom filled her house with bugs, listening devices, and everything of the sort, wherever she possibly could. Adams wasn’t aware of it, either. He was a clueless fool.
Mom’s the one who heard Jane’s last breath on the recordings. She heard Aunt begging for her life, begging to at least spare Luna.
And the guilt is still eating her alive, even after a decade. Mom never got the chance to say goodbye to her sister, and it’s haunting her. She’s convinced that she could’ve helped more, that she should’ve done more.
Since the day Jane was killed, Luna has vanished into thin air.
Soon after, Adams left the States. He went overseas and laid low for years. Mom had hoped that once he returned, he’d come back with Luna.
That didn’t happen.
With the revelation of him having a place to keep the girls, it either means he’s trafficking them, or kidnapping them, or selling them. Or all of the above. And the senator himself is fucking involved in it, too.
It hurts to even think about it, but if it’s all true, and if they are involved in something so vile, I know where Luna ended up.
The thought of her being sold off, used, abused, and kept as a prisoner is enough to tick me off.
It almost makes me want to go and kill him, right then and there, tonight.
But I can’t.
Not until I’ve found Luna.
I can only hope that she’s still alive.
By noon the next morning, Blair is still asleep.
I couldn’t sleep a wink last night, given that I decided to put on a small duvet on the floor next to the bed where she slept. Her scent filled my senses and kept me awake all through the night. Someone needs to take care of her, and that someone will be me. Only me.
It’s almost too surreal. Almost as if she’s going to slip through my fingers, leave my sight at any given moment. The mere thought of that makes me physically ill, my stomach twisting and turning uncomfortably.
My butterfly can’t leave me. I won’t survive it.
Well, not that she can, anyway. The front door can only be opened with a key or a password, neither of which she has access to. The key is always with me, and she’ll have to physically take it off me if she wants to leave. Now, that would be impossible not to feel.
The passcode is her birthday, though I doubt she’d think of that and test it out.
The breakfast I made is long cold, but it doesn’t matter. I’ll make her a new one, a better one. Anything her little heart desires will be hers. Except letting her leave. I can’t do that.
I take a shower, knowing that I need to look my best in front of her. Even the blow dryer doesn’t wake her up. Granted, I blow-dried my hair downstairs so she can get as much sleep as she needs. And now, I’m sitting in a chair across the bed, just observing how peacefully she’s sleeping.
If soulmates are real, she is mine.
She’s right where she belongs, in my home, in my bed, surrounded by my scent.
My ears perk slightly when a soft groan slips from her lips.
She tosses and turns for a while, her eyes fluttering open.
Evidently, she’s disoriented. Her nose scrunches, and it makes my heart swell. She slowly sits up, eyes puffy from sleep. She rubs them with the back of her palms, yawning. Her hair is sticking in every which way, messy, tangled, and falling down her back.
She blinks a couple of times, and it’s as if alarms start going off in her head. She starts panicking; her eyes widen, and then they land on me. Her lips part, and she’s breathing heavily, clutching the blanket on her body.
“Good morning, butterfly,”
I softened my usually rough voice, trying not to spook her.
Immediately, she pulls the blanket up her body, scooting backward in the bed until her back hits the bedpost. I’m itching to go over and wrap my arms around her, but I restrain myself, remaining seated.
“You,”
she breathes out, voice still laced with sleep.
That goddamn voice of hers sends shocks right down to my cock, and I shift in my seat, finding it uncomfortable to sit.
“How did you sleep?”
Blair struggles to comprehend the question, or rather, this whole situation. Her eyes skim through the room, taking in the interior and the new surroundings. She swallows a knot in her throat, eyes landing back on me.
“Where am I?”
“My home,”
I elaborate. “You fainted last night.”
“And instead of taking me home, you brought me to your place?”
“You’re the safest with me, so yes. To ensure your safety, I brought you home.”
Blair rolls her bottom lip between her teeth, and I try my best not to stare. She’s having an inner debate, her brows narrowing at me, unwilling to lose the staring competition she started in the first place.
“Why are you doing this?”
She whispers, barely audible.
“As I said,”
I cleared my throat. “I want to keep you safe.”
She brings her knees to her chest, hugging them tightly, resting her chin on top of her knees. “Am I just supposed to take your word for it?”
“Open the drawer to the left.”
Her brows shoot up in surprise, and reluctantly, she reaches for the small bedside table, pulling the drawer open. She maintains eye contact while her hand rummages through the drawer, then her eyes widen significantly, snapping to the object in her hands as she pulls it out.
“You do realize that I could stab you in the heart with this, right?”
She waves the dagger around.
“Cut my chest open, rip my heart out, and you’ll hear its final beats singing your name.”
Instantly, the dragger drops from her delicate hand, landing on the soft carpet next to the bed. Blair blinks a couple of times, my words registering in her head, and she’s unsure what to say to the cheesy line.
Then, the most beautiful sound echoes in the room.
Blair laughs.
When she laughs, her eyes crinkle in the corner. The most beautiful, heart-tugging sound comes from her soft lips, head thrown back, deeply enjoying the corny line I used on her.
And I fucking mean it.
Every single word.
My heart only beats for her. Without her, I’m nothing. I need Blair’s presence more than I need the air I breathe. Her entering my life wasn’t planned, but it’s fate.
And who am I to test fate?
One way or the other, we’re bound to each other. The immense need for revenge runs through our veins, both in the desperate need to see those who had harmed us going down on their knees.
With her by my side, I fear nothing.