7. Santa Barbara
SANTA BARBARA
Jordyn
As I awoke, a sigh escaped my lips, traveling throughout my entire body in a wave that stimulated every nerve ending.
Euphoric . Felt like I had a day off from living a life not my own.
Then I realized the bright sunny day and the birds chirping must’ve just been residuals of my dream.
My eyes blinked, adjusting to the dark room.
I jolted up into a seated position on a bed that felt like sleeping on clouds.
Feet and hands pushed down the sheets, then I got up.
“ Eek !” I screamed. The bed sat higher from the ground than I suspected.
“Wh—”
I started running, only to trip and fall over something massive and warm.
Instead of being tangled in the sheets, I was tangled limbs and body with someone else.
My fists went flying. Given my interest in trivia, I remembered an article about the anxiety foster youth feel when they first wake up in a new placement.
Their raw fear now consumed me. I wondered if one pervy foster parent or my present existence was worse.
Perhaps I’d lost it, or maybe my late twenties made this lifestyle unsustainable. I didn’t want to live like this anymore. My first punch hit plush carpet. The next one met solid muscle. I targeted that, snarling. “Get away from?—”
“Jordyn, wait,” the man groaned.
Scottish. Oh, no . No . No . I scrambled up and attempted to lash out a foot. Before it could connect with a muscular body, the Scot seized my ankle. I dropped again. How could he see in absolute darkness? I fell in a heap, my chin slamming against his chest.
Arms wrapped around me. Bound firmly, escape was impossible.
“If I let you go, will you stop? Please?”
“No!” I growled, trying to wriggle out of his clutch.
“Blinds open,” he said.
Sweet, blessed light swept in from three all-glass walls.
The first cinders of anxiety crashed. Long strands of hair masked much of Jamie’s eyes, but even still, those uncut turquoise jewels twinkled.
I gasped—almost gasped. Instead, I pushed down the instant attraction with a deep swallow.
If that was any better. Oh goodness. I was still in his arms, arms that gripped firm, not tight and unforgiving.
With arms this strong, he could squeeze me to a pulp if he wanted.
“Let. Me. Go. Jamie!”
Jamie puffed through his mouth. Hair pushed away from his face. “So, you do remember me?”
“The boy with the Scottish accent? Hell yes.”
“I don’t have an accent. How did you sle?—”
“News flash, you sound just like the other one. Now let me go.”
“Oh, sorry. Just wanted to know how you slept. I-I got lost in your eyes. Didn’t realize I still had you wrapped in my arms.”
What ? Who said things like that? I yo-yoed up to my bare feet again and glanced at my toes. Bits of grass and clumps of dirt. I smoothed a hand over the gold silk dress from yesterday.
“You were sleeping so well.” Jamie kip upped. If I looked up, his face would be inches from mine. I didn’t.
Another thought entered my mind. I licked my lips suggestively.
“And yet you took the floor.” He’d bought me.
Well … okay, he’d stolen me. I’d awoken in more precarious situations after being drugged by previous owners.
Despite my long tenure with some, I still had no rights, and they preferred me unconscious on occasion.
“So … you took the floor.” My fingertips took a quick walk on the cement of his chest. Why hadn’t Jamie had his way with?—
“Don’t do that.” The order came with the force of a dominant.
“Do what?”
“Lick your lips or that.” He brushed my hands away. “You’re not attracted to me, Jordyn.”
If I wanted to, I might beg to differ. Most of my past owners were more than half my age.
“And I’d rather you not use your wiles as a device.”
“ Wiles ?” Once more, with a teasing smile, my fingertips took another seductive walk along his massive chest. Pure cement.
Then I poked him in the chest and laughed.
“Boy, I read a lot. Still haven’t come across that word—since I don’t do historical fiction.
Are you stuck in the wrong era?” My arms folded, and I looked up.
Being so close, I had to crane my neck to see him.
Over a full head taller. That was it. I needed more than my standard six-inch stiletto. “Are you calling me a?—”
“No.” He scrubbed a hand in his hair, which fell across a shoulder.
Jamie wore an undershirt and tailored pants that clad over his muscular thighs—a few copper red stains at the bottom of the pant leg.
Blood . He hadn’t changed either. “I’m simply indicating that you don’t have to employ self-preservation techniques around me. ”
“What techniques?”
“Exploiting yourself for survival.”
“Still sounds like you’re calling me a hoe!”
“No, it doesn’t, because you never could escape, Jordyn.”
My bottom lip trembled at the truth he spoke. I caught it between my teeth in a menacing hold. What kind of game was Jamie MacKenzie playing? One in which I was the Dom and he …
No . A game of impropriety, where he’d punish me if I followed his commands.
My heart thumped against my chest in overdrive.
A previous owner of mine went from sinner to saint in sixty seconds flat.
It was up to me to follow his social cues and not respond to an act when appropriate.
If Jamie was speaking of self-preservation tactics, then assessing a man’s demeanor was one of them. Still, I wanted no part of this game.
“Okay, weirdo.” I spun around, my eyes quickly surveying the room.
Large four-poster bed I’d lug out of here if I had the strength.
A hallway led into the bathroom. A freestanding tub.
I’d drag that out too if I weren’t afraid the boy who was supposed to rescue me wanted more of me than I wanted to give.
Then I set my eyes on two sets of double doors leading out of the room and went toward them.
“Wait. You need clothes.”
My heart sank. Every man who’d ever purchased me knew my size. That was where the buck stopped. My size of lingerie, skirts, dresses, things of the sort. Never had a favorite color. “I knew you were like them.”
“I’d rather you call me a weirdo. Open that door.”
Mouth twisted, with my back to him, I did. Dang . A closet. That wasn’t where I intended to go. My immediate impulse was to strut right out of this man’s house and …
Where would I go?
“You could try on the sweats, Jordyn. They’re the only thing with drawstrings, I’m afraid. Maybe pair them with an undershirt. I hadn’t thought things through.”
My gaze swept across the large half-empty closet, and I sighed. Thankful that he hadn’t started a temporary life for me. A life I might adore if his heart was as beautiful as that face.
That face .
Nope, Jordy . That was not a good place to watch when assessing body language.
That gorgeous face. I ruined myself once.
No lie. The South African king, Katlego, with his beautiful dark skin, which complemented my own.
I didn’t know where his skin began and mine ended when we were together.
And when I say I didn’t know who I was afterward, that was an understatement because before him, I didn’t have a favorite color, as I said.
Every man who’d ever possessed me controlled every detail of my existence.
The cycle started over again. With Katlego, I got comfortable.
My guard slipped further than the lace he loved. And his favorite color became my own.
I adopted all his favorite ideas. If I hadn’t known myself before with any other man, beneath Katlego’s thumb, I. Did. Not. Want. To. Know. Me.
I sighed. Too wrapped up in that man .
Angered by my ability to be tempted, I strutted into the closet and snatched a pair of dark gray sweats. I slipped out of the dress. Glanced back. My frown set deeper. Was it disappointment that Jamie wasn’t watching me? He didn’t want me?
Uh-uh . Why should I care?
Confused by these feelings of desire, I pulled on the sweats and slipped on a much too big T-shirt over my head.
“You’ll need shoes,” Jamie said. By the sound of his voice, not near enough, he must’ve still stood in the same spot, opposite the bed.
“It’s the second week of July. I’m unsure whether Chelomey kept you updated on timeframes.
Though it appears cold in the morning, you might get hot in those around noon. I’m so sorry. We could go shopping?”
“No” lurched from my throat. Maybe he wasn’t like the others because I was his first purchase?
Actually, not really. He hadn’t even bought me.
He stole me. Gotta let that sink into my head.
I chuckled, searching through his shoes.
For this lavish bedroom, he didn’t seem to care much about his clothing.
A few Chelsea boots, motorcycle boots. I grabbed one of two pairs of sneakers.
Even as I laced them tight, the size thirteen male tennies flapped from my eight-and-a-half female foot.
With the back of the shoe rubbing against my heel with each step, I stepped back into the bedroom. Don’t you dare laugh at how I look.
Jamie stood in front of the metal briefcase that sat on the bed. The briefcase of money.
Why rub that in my face? How he hadn’t paid for me. I was free and?—
“I take it you don’t want to stay?” Jamie asked.
“Not even.” I bit the tip of my tongue from allowing another word to slip from my lips. Thank you . Gratitude didn’t pair well with pride.
“Then you’ll be needing this.” He opened the briefcase and turned it around.
My toes clutched under in the roomy Nikes. “I don’t understand. That’s your money.”
“Nae.” He shook his gorgeous head, clearing his throat. “Now, it’s not much. You’ll probably want to live in a cheaper country.”
I approached the bed. The massive mattress that lulled me from one sweet dream to another between us. Where would I go ?
“0422,” he said while pressing a few buttons. A hatch from the top of the briefcase opened. A manilla envelope fell out. He picked it up and tossed it closer to my side of the bed.
When I opened the envelope, my heart slammed into my throat, falling into my abdomen. “Passport. Birth certificate.” I glanced at the numbers on the social security card. Looked legit.
“All part of your new life. Listen, you’ll want to commission a boat or something. Not a commercial flight. You’ll be required to declare any sum over $10,000.”
“What—what are you saying?” I asked, a snap in my tone.
“The money, the identity, it’s all yours. Your new birthday is April 22 nd . Unless you want to go to the police and?—”
“No need.”
“Hear me out, though. The cops will just have to reverse your death certificate. And then you can claim your own full name …” He scrubbed a hand through dirty blond hair.
I bit my tongue from asking him my last name.
Sounded too stupid. I’d read many amnesia tropes.
Knew how to navigate in a world without an identity—fictitiously speaking.
But I didn’t know my last name. Hell, I didn’t even know if Jordyn was my real name.
Nor did I know exactly how long my first captor had me before Jamie arrived.
I’d started counting the days after Jamie disappeared—8798. Shaking off that thought, I asked, “What’s this new name you gave me?”
“Jordyn, I hired one of the best FBI artists in the nation to create a picture of you from memory. Used that to process an age progression photo, put that through the dark web. After a while, I got a hit on the image, when Chelomey started your auction. So, I don’t know your last name.
Greene is my sister-in-law’s maiden name, Willow Greene. ”
So, in a sense, dude was telling me that my parents never reported me missing.
So much for reversing that death certificate .
I shrugged. Why should I care? “I’ll be Jordyn Greene on paper if necessary.
I’m just Jordyn.” Emotion gripped me by the throat, every attempt to speak, a struggle. “I-I … thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Something unreadable passed over his chiseled features, and he closed the briefcase, strolling around the bed to hand it to me. “I suppose this is all there is to it.”
“Yes.” Should I hug him? Should I … stay? Tears clouded my vision, and I glanced away while blinking. A rogue tear fell down my cheek, hot and heavy. I’d been tricked too many times in the past not to want to grab this briefcase and hustle. So, I did just that.
I rushed through the second set of double doors, over marble flooring, and down the stairs, almost tripping over the large shoes on my feet.
Did my life now resemble those twisted survival books in my Did Not Finish pile?
I was absorbed in novels when not ordered around by a man, but I’d hate to find myself as the main character if that was Jamie’s game.
Once I skidded around and oriented myself with the extravagant home, I hightailed it toward the door, only to stop on a dime?—
A Rottweiler, seated on its hind legs, blocked my path.
“Shoo.” Fear clawed my throat. “Get away!”
A masculine voice called from behind me. “She’s nicer than she looks.”
I spun around, hit a side table, and a black, glossy statue crashed to the floor. The dog struck up a chorus.
“Rebel, shhh!”
The dog stopped barking at my rear. I stared at a man who resembled Jamie—an older version of Jamie. My thick lips thinned into a line. Maybe not old enough to have saved me when they saved him. I remembered my age-old hatred of the MacKenzies. “Well, get him out of the way.”
“Rebel, c’mon, girl. Let’s go eat breakfast. It’s time for breakfast, lassie. Would you like to eat before you go, Jordyn? I’m Leith, by the way.”
Throat clamped tight, I shook my head.
“Before you go?— ”
I huffed.
“ Before you go ,” Leith repeated, his hardened tone demanded my attention. Though guilt wanted me to keep my gaze cast to the floor, I firmed a hand around my briefcase, eyes on his. The same blue-green as Jamie’s. He continued, “My bràthair gave you almost all the money he has.”
“He has this house.” What ? I didn’t even like myself at this moment. And based on Leith’s expression, we stood united in that regard. “Listen, I just-just want to go my own way, without pleasing men. Is that too much to ask for? To breathe without a transactional request?”
The hard twitch of muscle beneath his jaw loosened. He nodded. “Stay safe. Whatever you do, you gotta survive. Jamie”—Leith’s accent became thick and throaty—“couldn’t take knowing that something happened to you. Not after he remem—finally found the guts to save you. Okay?”
“Okay,” I murmured, searching the large door for a knob.
Leith pressed a button on the wall, and the door slid outward. And I stepped out. All on my own.