10. Angie
ANGIE
I’m bundled into Connor’s Mercedes. Mom is left behind with a warning: call the police and her apartment will burn to the ground while her corpse is left in the bathtub. Father Charles pretends like he doesn’t hear any of it, smiling the whole time as though he completed a successful homily.
“I need clothes,” I say as Connor steers the car away from the only life I’ve ever known. The ring on my finger feels like fire, like there are ants crawling under my skin. “I left my phone in the kitchen. I need my computer?—“
“Everything will be provided for you at home.”
“Home? What home? I don’t even know where you live.”
His eyes cut to me, dark and roaming my body, no smile on his face. This Connor is all business. He’s the Big Boss, but morphed into a hellish monster. “I have a house in Queens.”
I laugh. I can’t help it. “Queens? Are you crazy? That doesn’t tell me anything. Queens is huge.”
“You’ll see.” His phone starts buzzing. He checks the screen, jaw twitching, but shuts it off and throws it into the back seat.
This is very, very bad.
I don’t fully understand what’s happening here.
I’m married to Connor, all because I got pregnant with his baby, and he apparently left some other woman at the altar for me?
It’s insanity.
Now he’s ignoring phone calls, presumably panicked messages from the wedding he’s skipping.
All because he already got married.
“You’re in trouble, aren’t you?” He doesn’t answer. Only keeps driving, eyes locked forward. “You should at least take their calls. What if that girl you were going to marry is worried? What about your family?”
“None of them matter.”
“How can that possibly be true? Connor, talk to me. You ran out on another woman. This is crazy.”
He says nothing and I want to scream.
Houses flit past as the car drifts further away from sanity.
We get on the highway, the Mercedes purring like a cat.
Connor changes lanes, slips between a truck and an SUV, hits the gas.
I cling to the side panel, nose against the glass, trying to hold it together.
Connor goes faster, like he’s trying to get us both killed.
Until he takes an exit, gliding down as the road curves and narrows, down into trees, through streets that don’t make sense, past houses I’ve never seen before in my life.
We’re near the water and it’s like the whole neighborhood’s bending toward it.
Massive stone structures, villas and Victorians, so different from what I grew up with.
It feels like we’re in the rich suburbs, but we’re still in the city.
“What is this place?” I ask, annoyed with myself for not knowing. I grew up in New York and there are still areas I’ve never heard of.
“It’s called Malba. Small community. Not much out here. No bodegas, no cheap bars, none of that.”
“Rich people. That explains it.”
He grunts as the car slows and turns toward a massive stone-and-metal fence, pausing in front of a gate. Connor taps a code into a pad and the gate rolls back, giving me the first glimpse of my future.
The house is enormous. I’ve never seen anything like it in the city before.
It’s like we’re in Cape Cod or something.
Multiple wings, trees all over, a driveway big enough to park ten cars or more, plus a huge detached garage with space for ten more.
There’s a fountain but it’s dry and the concrete looks cracked.
Weeds are growing in some of the flower beds, though the grass is cut and tidy.
Connor parks out front and kills the engine.
“This is the Maguire family home.” He says it like that should mean something.
“You live here?”
“I inherited this place ten years ago when I took over the business. I haven’t spent much time in this house though.”
“Why are we here?”
“Because it’s the most easily defensible place in the city.”
“Defensible? What does that even mean?”
He closes his eyes for a beat as if gathering himself and it’s like a different man shifts his body in my direction. “You will not cause trouble. You will be patient. Everything will make sense soon and all your needs will be met. But for now, you will sit tight. Do you understand me?”
“I don’t understand anything, Connor, and you’re freaking me out.”
“Get out of the car.” He pushes his door open and comes around to my side.
I flinch away but he doesn’t hesitate to drag me along behind him.
I stumble, forced to hurry to keep pace as he strides up steps toward a pair of massive double doors.
A simple key unlocks a loud bolt and the smell of must and dust hits me as we step inside.
My mouth opens to complain when his hand clamps onto my wrist but I’m too busy taking in the place to say anything.
The entryway is huge with tall ceilings, a beautiful chandelier, and all hardwood floors.
The molding looks original, dusty, but gorgeous.
Some furniture is covered in white cloth.
An oil painting of a boat on fire hangs on the wall.
I want to stop and look, but Connor pulls me up the carpeted stairs.
“This is the East Wing,” he says, turning to the left and dragging me through another set of double doors which open on more hallways.
“How many rooms are there in this house?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never counted. Dozens at least. There’s the West Wing and the South Wing, and you will not be permitted to enter either of them.”
“Why not?” I catch glimpses of rooms through half-open doors, some of them empty, most of them with cloth-covered furniture standing like ghosts in haunted corners. “Seriously, does anyone live here?”
“You do.” He reaches the end of the hall and shoves open the doors to a sprawling bedroom.
It’s the first space that looks like it has been used in the last decade.
A beautiful plush rug in front of a fireplace, a sitting area with surprisingly modern chairs and couches, and a truly massive bed against the far wall.
There’s an en suite bathroom, fully updated, and a closet bigger than my bedroom back home.
“This is too much,” I say softly, feeling dizzy and overwhelmed. “I don’t want to be here, Connor. I want to be back home with my mom.”
“It’s not an option anymore.”
“When can I see her? She’s freaked out. I need to make sure she knows I’m okay.”
“I’ll message her tomorrow.”
“I need my toiletries, my clothes, all my things. Connor, you can’t just throw me in here?—“
His face gives me nothing as he stalks over and takes me by the hips.
I yelp in surprise, pushed off-balance, and I stumble back against the fireplace.
The stones are rough and hard and hurt my back and he pins me there, one massive hand grabbing my wrists and holding them above my head.
He’s breathing hard and fast, a note of chaotic rage playing across his beautiful lips, and he looks like a handsome lion about to lose control.
I’m terrified, but when his knee presses against my legs, a pang of desire burns deep into my core.
“You will not make this difficult for me, do you understand, angel? I need to hurry now. I have plans to put in motion and people to protect. Nobody knows what I’ve done, not yet, and if I’m careful, I can get them out safe.”
“Get who out safe?”
“You don’t have to worry about that. But for now, you will stay here, in this room, and you will be quiet.”
“What if I’m not? What if I scream?”
“This house is ten thousand square feet on ten acres of private waterfront property.” His lips bend forward, grazing against my ear. “Nobody’s coming.”
My chest rises and falls rapidly, brushing against him, and I want him to bite down. I want him to rip out my throat, or I want him to kiss me, or I want to throw myself out a window, except I’m worried about what he might do to my mother and I have a baby to protect.
“You can’t just leave me here.”
“I’ll be back soon.”
He releases my wrists and steps away. His eyes hold me, a strange, pleading obsession in them, before he turns his back. “You won’t ever thank me for this and I won’t deserve it. I’ve put you in more danger than you can ever know. But marrying you wasn’t the mistake.”
I rub my wrists as he stalks from the room. The doors slam shut. I count to fifty in my head, trying to steady myself, wondering what he means. Marrying me wasn’t the mistake? But does he mean fucking me then?
I bite my lip to keep from crying, storm to the doors, and try to fling them open.
Locked.
I yank hard. I slam my shoulder against them. I kick, punch, and finally, I start screaming until my throat hurts.
Connor wasn’t kidding. Nobody’s coming.
I check the windows but they’re all a huge drop and I don’t feel confident I can survive it without hurting the baby.
There’s no escape in the enormous, gorgeous bathroom either, though I take a long drink from the tap.
There’s no hidden hatchway in the closet, no secret path that might steal me away from this place.
Only a lovely room like a gilded prison.
I throw myself onto the couch, afraid to touch the bed, and take stock of my situation.
Connor Maguire forced me into a marriage I don’t want, threatened my mother into keeping her mouth shut, and locked me in a bedroom in some creepy riverfront mansion.
All because I’m pregnant.
I don’t want to start crying again. I wipe my face, fighting against the helplessness that floods me. What kind of man could convince a Catholic priest to go along with that sham? What kind of monster would treat the mother of his future child like this?
I knew Connor was terrifying. Everyone at WashCo whispers about him, but I assumed those were all rumors.
He’s handsome and rich. He built a business from nothing and grew it into a big, profitable enterprise. I assume everyone’s only jealous of what he accomplished.
But what if they’re right?
What if when Nadia winks at me and says we’re doing some shady business… she’s not kidding?