19
Notes:
Sorry this chapter is late. I got trapped under a fallen banana tree.
Rowan
My head is pounding when I wake up. My tongue is thick and my mouth is dry, and my stomach has that sloshy feeling I can’t stand.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think I have a hangover.
I’ve got that awful feeling like a bowling ball has replaced my brain.
There’s a heavy sluggishness when I try to move my limbs.
Air conditioning kicks on with a blast, making me shiver. It doesn’t feel right. I never keep my place this cold. I groan and reach to pull the blanket back over me, but my hand hits air. The mattress feels too hard, for that matter, and there’s a spicy smell I can’t stand lingering in my nose.
It takes a while to even pry my eyes open, let alone look around. When I do, I’m confused. This place is familiar, but it’s not my apartment, which is where I was when—
“Shit. Tucker.”
That’s why this place is familiar. I’ve been here before. Technically, this is the house I lived in for almost four years, except the leather sofa I’m prying myself off of is in Tucker’s office. In the past, I wasn’t allowed in here.
“Oh, good, you’re awake.” The person speaking sounds the opposite of pleased.
“Jonas?”
When I turn toward the voice of Tucker’s longtime assistant, it’s too fast for the lingering effects of whatever Tucker gave me. Every cell in my body rebels. “Ugh.”
The neatly dressed man sighs. “You shouldn’t be back here. I told you to leave for a reason, Rowan.”
“I-I left. Tucker’s the one who brought me back.”
He looks disappointed. Or sad? “You shouldn’t be back here,” he repeats.
Now my stomach’s really rolling. “Why am I? Tucker came to see me. I think he did something to me. If he didn’t want me here, why didn’t he let me stay gone?”
“Because he’s running for Congress, and he can’t control what you do or say when you’re out there on your own. Can’t have people knowing you like fucking teenagers when you’re a married father of two running for office.”
Considering all the scandals I’ve heard about online that didn’t seem to ruin a person’s career, I’m still not sure I get it. “I signed an NDA.”
Jonas shrugs. “People can break NDAs. There would be legal consequences, of course, but one can’t simply shove the cat back into the bag.
” He shakes his head. “Which is why I insisted that you go. You’re not the first young man in Tucker’s life who mysteriously disappeared.
I should’ve realized he’d drag you back. I’m sorry.”
“Oh my God.” The dizzy sickness inside me gets worse. “H-how many?”
Jonas clutches his ever-present clipboard, giving me a rueful smile and a slight shrug. “Since I’ve worked for him? At least two. Before that? I don’t know. He seems to tire of them when they get too old.”
Gross. I’m thinking back to Milo asking me if Tucker could have wanted me dead. How quickly I dismissed the possibility. Maybe I didn’t think Tucker loved me anymore, maybe I wasn’t sure I’d ever truly loved him, but I trusted him.
I trusted him.
“Look, I promise not to say anything. I’ve been working on saving up enough money to get back to my family, and I want nothing else to do with him.
Sure as hell don’t want to tell anyone about the time I fell for the oldest lie in the book when an older man told me he loved me. Jesus, he’s a fucking creep, isn’t he?”
Jonas takes a breath. “Unfortunately, yes. The reason I still work for him, the reason I keep his secrets, is that he knows my secrets too. I can’t expose him without blowing up my own life as well.”
More sloshing in my stomach. “Mutually assured destruction.”
“Exactly.”
It’s a long shot, but I have to ask. “Any chance you can help me get out of here? I promise not to tell anyone. I wouldn’t.”
Well, I told Milo, but I never used Tucker’s last name. He won’t know what happened to me.
That same searing pain strikes in the center of my chest. Now I really wish I’d said a better goodbye. Maybe it’s for the best that Milo left town, though. Contract killer or not, Tucker caught me completely off guard. What if he’d been able to catch Milo off guard as well?
Jonas looks genuinely guilty when he says, “If he realizes I helped you, I’ll be the next person to disappear. I’ve done as much as I can, Rowan. I need to worry about my own family.”
“Right. I get it.” Mutually assured destruction.
He takes another deep breath. “I have to leave soon. Tucker’s doing a press conference in DC this evening, and a campaign donor has offered to loan him their private plane. Most likely why Tucker wanted to get you back here. There’ll be no surprises if he’s got you under lock and key.”
“Sure. Makes sense.” Fucked up though it is.
Jonas starts for the door, already shifting into all-business mode. “Well, I need to get to the airport to ensure everything is ready with the plane. By the way, I wouldn’t suggest trying to leave. He’s got security on the premises today.”
“Great. Thanks for trying to help.” If we can call it that.
He gives me a grim smile as he leaves. It doesn’t do anything to help. I don’t think it’s supposed to.
When I’ve sat by myself for who knows how long and my head’s begun to clear, I decide my only option is to look around.
I’m not sure if Tucker kept me out of here because he wanted to hide things from me, or if he simply needed solitude to concentrate.
Whatever the reason, I will not sit politely on the sofa waiting like Tucker’s “sweet boy” would have.
The large office is all leather and polished wood—the stuffy shit you’d expect a wealthy man with status to have.
There’s more of his personality here than in the rest of the house.
A #1 Dad trophy acting as a paperweight on his desk, alongside a picture of his wife and kids.
Maybe that’s why he didn’t allow me in here.
Never felt good about knowing Tucker was using me to cheat. He insisted there was no love in their marriage, and he’d leave when the time was right. It shames me that I bought into his lies.
I run my fingers over the spines of books I’ve never heard of.
The covers are all old looking and plain and boring.
Ravi, one of the former male escorts who comes to brunch a lot, likes to read romance novels.
Some of his have fun-looking covers and even the ends of the pages have fancy designs.
I pull one book out, unsurprised to see nothing but plain, boring paper.
I bet Tucker’s never even read these. Probably professionally decorated like the rest of the house.
How did I not notice sooner how pretentious he is?
The desk is so clean it looks barely used.
Not a single errant pen or scrap of paper.
There’s one of those ink blotter calendar things sitting on the glass top, but there’s not a single thing written in any of the date squares.
My mom’s fridge calendar had scribbles and notes and stickers all over the place.
Tucker’s center drawer holds office supplies, neatly arranged and appearing unused. The pencils look like they came pre-sharpened out of the box. A drawer to the left has a stack of lined notepads, not even a single page torn off.
“Everything about him is so fucking fake,” I mumble. Then again, I spent four years with him, so what does that say about me?
I built my entire life around his false bullshit.
Milo would say Tucker took advantage. Admitting that’s true is embarrassing, but he did, didn’t he? All I can do now is try to be smarter. If Jonas was suggesting what I think he was suggesting, it might be too late.
When I tug open the drawer to the right, I have to laugh. There’s a neatly arranged row of cigars, but like everything else, they’re wrapped and brand new. What does he have these for? I don’t even see a lighter.
The laughter dies in my throat, though, when I see what else is in the drawer.
A notebook-style check register, open to what’s probably the most recently used page. It’s the only thing with any wear. My mom had one of these for her floral business.
Tucker’s bold, blocky handwriting stares back at me, and the line at the top of the page lists a check written to someone named Oskar Hansen for fifty thousand dollars.
Why does that name seem familiar? It’s not exactly common.
Oskar Hansen. Anyone you know?
All at once I’m back in a dark room at Shadow, with Milo tossing a passport at me. I gasp and shove the drawer closed.
The guy who ordered the hit. Tucker paid him fifty thousand dollars.
My heart speeds up, battering at the walls of my chest.
I’ve never been great at math, but I feel like I can figure this one out.
Jonas said Tucker brought him back here so he could monitor me. He also mentioned other young men who disappeared. At first, it didn’t really hit me. After all, I disappeared when I left.
But now? “I need to get the fuck out of here.”
“You can’t go yet, you just got here,” Tucker says as he walks in.
I’m backing away from the desk. Did he see me closing the drawer? “Why the hell did you bring me back here? It wasn’t to have a proper goodbye, was it?”
He tips his head to the side the way he always did when he thought I was saying something a little silly. The head tilt used to be followed by fondly calling me “sweet boy,” but that endearment is missing now.
Tucker turns for the small wet bar at the other end of the room. He takes his time pouring some dark liquor into two crystal glasses. “I wanted to talk. Really talk. Here.” He holds one out. “Have a drink. You’re old enough now.”
One sip has me gagging. “I don’t like the taste of bourbon.” He ought to know that. I told him so shortly before I walked out. The one other time he offered me some.
He makes a noise with his tongue. “I’m afraid my decision to run for office means you’re an added complication I can’t afford.
The official announcement will be this evening.
Unless you and I can have a conversation that assures me you will not share anything you know about me, I have someone coming here to monitor you while I’m gone. ”
I’m shaking like I’ve had way too much espresso. Adrenaline, I guess? It’s probably what makes me blurt out, “Are they coming to monitor me or are they coming to kill me?”
He was approaching slowly, but my words make him pause. “What on earth makes you think I’d do that?”
My drink sloshes when I slam it down. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe because I’ve had, like, three people try to kill me in the last few days.”
My ex shakes his head. “Rowan, I’m so sorry. I had no idea.” If I hadn’t seen the name on the check register, I might even believe him. The concern on his face is so infuriatingly sincere.
“The fuck you didn’t.”
“Language, sweet boy.” He approaches with his hand extended as if he’s going to place it on my forehead. “Clearly, you’re not feeling well.” He pulls out his phone. “I should have my doctor come and check you out.”
“Oh, fuck you. You know what?” For the first time in my life, I smack his hand away. “You’re nothing but a giant bag of lies inside a suit, aren’t you? It explains why you could never make eye contact with me when we were in bed. It probably also explains your disappointing penis.”
Honestly? At the time, I didn’t mind his size. But I’m fed up and I want my words to cut.
His fingers twitch, balling into a fist and releasing again. Guess I hit him where it hurts with that penis comment. “I know you’re upset, but that talk is inappropriate, especially when I’m only trying to help you.”
Not anyone’s sweet boy now, am I?
Though I’ll be honest. If Milo had stuck around, I wouldn’t have minded being his whore.
Tucker’s face is stormy, though. Red and mottled with anger I’ve never seen from him before, and it makes me wonder if it was always there and he was just good at keeping the mask in place. Right now, he looks downright murderous.
Which doesn’t make me feel safer. Especially not when he reaches out and brushes a knuckle along my cheek.
I used to feel so treasured when he did that.
“Rowan, all I’ve ever wanted to do is take care of you.” But his expression doesn’t match his words.
“You don’t drug and kidnap a person you care for, Tucker.” Maybe I stayed too sheltered when I was younger, but about this I’m pretty damn sure.
His lips thin. The way his face changes in front of me reminds me of his glass tea kettle downstairs in his kitchen. The way the water would get cloudy as it heated, and then simmer, then great angry bubbles would form before steam poured out the top. Looks like we’re almost at the steam stage.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen Tucker angry before.
“Listen, I’ve been working toward this for decades, and I will not let you take it away from me. I’ve got friends backing me in prominent places. Accuse me of whatever you want. Nobody will believe you.”
I’m sure I’ve lost my mind. I’ve got no other explanation for why I say, “They might when I draw them a diagram of every mole on your dick.”
“You fucking—” His hands shoots out, fingers squeezing around my throat.
When I first met Tucker, I was smaller than him. Hadn’t hit my last growth spurt. Thinner, for sure. I’m bigger now, but he’s really squeezing hard. I’m trying to pull his hand away when he drops his drink and adds the other.
“You know what? You’re right, you little shit.
I was going to leave for the airport, get on a plane, and your death was going to be staged to look like a tragic home invasion gone wrong.
So sad that my intern was here when it happened.
But I’m tired of you, and I’m especially tired of your smart mouth.
Maybe if I want something done right, I need to do it myself. ”
I struggle to pry his fingers free, but I can’t get enough leverage. With my size, I ought to be able to get him off me, but I’m still feeling the effects of those drugs. Spots dance in front of my eyes, and I’m honestly worried I might puke on him. Would serve him right.
My right arm drops. I’m trying to brace it behind me on the desk. Maybe I can use my body weight to—
My hand hits something hard. Something square, with what feels like a star shape on top. Like a paperweight that says #1 Dad. My fingers scrabble until I’ve got it in my grip.
I’m still looking into his furious eyes when I swing.