Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
LOLA
Being driven around with a blanket covering your head is not fun.
Having said blanket replaced with a smelly sack also over your head midway through the ride is even less fun.
Add to it the fact that our hands are tied behind our backs, and I bet you can imagine the joyride.
And now we are here. Wherever "here" is.
The sacks are removed from our heads, and I blink to adjust to the light.
We emerge somewhere gated and gaudy.
The grounds are big and green, and the driveway, what little I can see of it, is flanked by trees.
The mansion itself looks like something made for a tacky TV show.
Where the hell are we?
They poke us in the back, and we walk, stumbling. Not to the house but past it, to a guesthouse that is a two-story building a little to the side and back of the main house.
I would take Lyndall's hand, but they haven't taken off the ties.
The door opens, and my bladder presses down.
I don't really need to pee, I just think I'm so damned scared for Lyndall and the baby that it's the only reaction my stupid body can think of.
One of the men cuts the ties on me, and my hands rush with a tingling warmth that grows until it feels like tiny needles are constantly pricking me.
The woman at the door is pretty, blonde, and maybe in her early thirties. She's wearing a gray and white maid's uniform.
While we didn't have maids, I have memories of being places with maids.
They are either part of the furniture, eyes down, ears closed, or always try to keep out of people's way while being available for whims and needs.
All I know is there is a confidence to her, a hard look in her gaze as she ushers us in.
She smirks. "Exactly what I ordered."
She goes to shut the door when the biggest man plants a hand on the door, slamming it open.
"Boss man said to take them upstairs to the big room. Some people will be here to see them in a while. You can feed them if you like, Gretchen."
She nods and closes the door.
"This way." She turns, heading for the stairs.
I grab Lyndall as she lunges for the door.
The maid doesn't stop. "I wouldn't. They'll have locked the door, and those men will shoot you on sight, no matter who you are. Death is very good for altering facts."
I drag Lyndall with me. "Please, there has to be a way—"
She laughs. "Out? No. Not unless he chooses to let you go. And it has never happened yet." She spins on the landing as we reach it and pulls down the high neck of her uniform. "From the beatings and rape when I tried to escape."
Lyndall blanches. "I think I'm gonna hurl."
Gretchen shakes her head. "No. You're not. Because I'm not cleaning it up."
"You could help—"
"This is the room. I'll bring up food in a bit." Her eyes fall to Lyndall's arm, how she's rubbing it. "What happened?"
"Car accident. It's how they got us."
"Then a doctor will be coming. Now, you have a bathroom, two beds, and some books. The window is painted and it's nailed shut. The door will be locked. Don't cause trouble." Gretchen turns and heads for the door.
I frown at her. "Why won't you help us? They raped you."
"They killed my brother. He owed them money. I was seventeen when they took us. Dom is...nice enough to me. And now I'm his maid. I live here, too." She shrugs.
"You're a prisoner, too?" Everything in me churns.
"Something like that... I'll bring food."
With that, she leaves.
As soon as she does, Lyndall scrambles for the door, but nothing happens.
We're locked in.
She whirls to face me. "She said Dom. But this isn't where he took me last time. I...I... He didn't do this, crash into us, I mean. Maybe she's a crazy lady, spurned by Enzo."
In spite of the situation, my lips twitch.
It's not funny, there's nothing funny about this. But still, I want to laugh.
Only if I start, I won't stop.
"Your brother—"
"Not my brother. I'm your sister, remember?"
"Your—Enzo is hot and all, but I'm not sure any of his spurned women go around kidnapping other women that are connected to him." I sit on one of the beds.
It doesn't seem bad, and at least the room is clean.
"Lyndall, it seems like he sent someone to crash into us."
Tears shine in her eyes. "J-Jack... Oh God. They said he was dead."
I rise and hug her. "I know. But I stand by what I said. We don't know if he's alive, or if they were just messing with our heads."
Because that's what kidnappers do, right?
"Enzo is going to come for us," I say to her.
"M-my arm hurts. What if I can't play? What—"
"Don't. You'll be fine, and we'll get out of this. I promise. I've got a baby to live for and a newly found sister."
"What did you do to this man? Did you scorn him, too?"
I have no idea. And even if I did, what can I tell her at this point?
My brain is scrambling.
But maybe she just wants to talk. Needs to.
And so, I do. I keep it simple.
"I've never met him before the day he took you. That I know. Maybe I did as a small kid. Hells, maybe you did as a baby...our parents were friends back then."
She snorts and pushes me away so she can prowl the room. "Yeah. They knew each other too well, if you know what I mean."
I do. And I really wish I didn't.
I have memories of Enzo's mom, vague. And then hers, but beyond that...
"I know."
"So, what did you do to this Dom?"
"Nothing. He's the man our father owed money to.
"Our father."
I want to say to her that parenthood isn't just by birth and blood, it's about love and the person who chooses you.
Mario sure sounded like he'd known of the affair, of the parentage, for a long time, and he still chose to keep her close.
Sure, she went to boarding school, but I'm aware that two sides exist.
Maybe this man wanted her to have a good education. Maybe he didn't know what to do with a girl.
Or maybe he's just an asshole.
But I do know one thing. Brutal mafia men will get rid of an embarrassment or something they don't want.
And he could have done that. Easily, I imagine. But he didn't.
It must mean something.
But I keep it to myself. Again.
"So what? Enzo is rich, he can pay him. Da—Mario as well. They both owe me."
"Enzo said he had a deal with Dad before he died. And I was apparently meant to marry him." My stomach twists with queasiness at the thought.
"Eww. Gross."
"Agreed."
She finally sits on the other bed. "We need to get out, though—"
"Wait. What about the phone?"
Her eyes light up as she goes for her pocket.
Then the light fades.
"It's gone. I think I lost it when I was thrown around in the car."
I shut my eyes for a moment. "It's okay, it'll be okay."
"I'm not five."
I sigh. "I know. I just... it was for me, too."
"But wishing won't help. There's got to be a way out. That maid, what was her name? Greta?"
"Gretchen."
She wrinkles her nose. "She said she's essentially a prisoner, too, right?"
I sigh. "I don't think she's going to help us. She's been here a long time. Probably long enough to have developed a very healthy fear of consequences."
Either that or... people can get caught up in their kidnappers, and—
Shit, is that me? With Enzo?
The moment the thought comes, I dismiss it.
I've known Enzo all my life, and I've probably crushed on him for two-thirds of that. I might have thought it was hate for a while when he abandoned me, but that was the crush getting crushed down.
He comes back in, and...
And this is different.
Enzo didn't hurt me, didn't torture me. He didn't rape me like what happened with poor Gretchen.
If we get out, I'm getting her out. Somehow. This isn't a life for her.
She's shut down, closed off, and she needs friends, a life. A chance.
Of course, I might never get out of here.
"Lyndall, I don't think she's in a position to help. I don't think she leaves."
"Then she'd want to, right?"
I just look at her.
Lyndall takes in my expression. "Oh, Stockholm Syndrome."
"If you accuse me of that, I'll be upset."
But she shakes her head. "You're all over the place with Enzo, and you tried to run once, and you like punishing him. You're good. Even when you do disgusting things with him, you're good."
"Disgusting...?"
"Sex. I told you, I'm not a child."
I shake my head. "Can you not...? So embarrassing."
The door opens, and Gretchen comes in with a tray. Sandwiches and water.
"Hey—"
But before Lyndall can finish her sentence, the maid turns and leaves.
"Greta..." She huffs out a breath and reaches down for the thick-cut bread with lettuce, cheese, and tomato in it.
And takes a bite.
Her eyes go round. "It's good."
I'm not hungry, and I'm about to tell her to slow down as I don't know when we'll be fed next, but I stop myself. I know I have to eat, too, and I honestly don't think Dom's intention is to starve me.
After all, I'm going to be his bride.
The thought is enough to send me to the big bathroom and grip the vanity, fighting off the urge to throw up.
I don't want to be his bride.
But I have to keep it together for Lyndall.
I splash water on my face, taking a moment.
Her voice is soft as she knocks on the door. "Hey, Lola? Are you okay? Is it the baby?"
Oh, God. Dom can't know I'm pregnant. He's a brute, after all. He kidnapped Lyndall when he couldn't take me, and then he hit our car, possibly killing Jack, hurting Lyndall, and now we're locked up here with a maid who just might have a screw loose. One who's been tortured by him and his men.
"I feel sick," I whisper.
But then I look at myself in the mirror.
Being weak and teary isn't a luxury I can afford. So, I straighten up, open the door. "No, I'm fine. Just...needed a moment."
"We all need moments," she sounds way beyond her years.
I put my forehead to hers. "Listen, as far as we're concerned, I'm not pregnant, okay? Squish doesn't exist—"
"Squish?"
My heart hurts. "Enzo has fallen for the little thing growing inside me. Named him Squish."
"Lord, you guys have it bad. Squish is cute. But Squish is a she, not a he." Then she stares at me. "And she doesn't exist."
She mimes locking her lips and throwing away the key.
"Thanks."