Chapter Three
And The Oscar Goes To…
Juliet
“ H AS HE SAID when I can leave?”
I didn’t speak his name. I never did.
Two full days.
I’d been there for two long, boring days. That might not seem like long, but when being held captive and waiting for my fate to be revealed, it was an eternity.
In my real life, I worked at the gym. I kept the house running. I did chores, ran errands, and then worked at the gym some more.
I didn’t watch TV for hours on end. I didn’t nap. I didn’t eat huge, gourmet meals three times a day.
They were playing some kind of game with me, I knew it. Lulling me into a false sense of security with relaxation and beauty before pulling the rug out from under me.
What other explanation was there?
Each time I saw her, I asked if he’d said when I could leave. Each time the answer was the same.
“No,” Ms. Vera said simply.
Damn.
Weighing my words for fear of losing what little entertainment I had, I asked, “Can I have something else to do? Some books or magazines.”
“I’ll ask.”
“Did he say if I could have real clothes?”
When she’d brought me breakfast the day before, she’d also dropped off toiletries and a new set of clothes. Unfortunately, they were oversized PJ pants and a tee that fit like a dress.
As comfy as they were, there was no way I’d be able to run in them.
And I needed to be able to run.
“Yes,” she said.
That was something.
“Now eat.” She removed the dome from my breakfast tray.
It wasn’t my leftovers. It never was, no matter how many times I insisted on eating them.
Instead, there was a slice of thick bread covered in smashed avocado and a poached egg with fresh herbs. As always, there was a big bowl of fresh fruit salad, but only one glass of OJ.
Someone paid attention to what I ate and how much.
I sat and began eating the fruit. Ms. Vera shook her head, muttering that I was too skinny, but she otherwise left me alone as she went about her daily task of cleaning what was already clean.
I heard rustling from the bedroom and rolled my eyes. Like the day before, I’d made the bed only for her to undo it and make it again.
Unlike the day before, though, there was a knock on the door.
My heart raced as I bolted up, wondering who was there, what they wanted, and, most of all, if I could finally leave.
Ms. Vera came rushing in as the door opened, but it was just the goon who always ignored me.
As far as I’d seen, there was a rotation of three different ones.
The brown-haired guy in the doorway was smaller than the other two, but still a goon. He never even glanced my way, which was fine by me.
The big, bulky meathead with the dark hair always glared like he wanted to snap me like a twig.
The last seemed nicer—the handsome goon with a dimpled smile. He was tall, tattooed, and bulky with buzzed hair and a blond beard. He didn’t look at me much, but at least he offered a smile when he did. It beat being death glared.
Then, of course, there was him , but I hadn’t seen him since that first night. He had black hair that was buzzed on the sides and left longer on top, scruff, a bunch of tattoos, and evil black eyes.
Monster’s eyes.
“Oh good.” Ms. Vera held out her hands and took the bags I belatedly noticed he held.
The ignore-me goon didn’t speak or look my way before leaving—surprise, surprise.
Ms. Vera retreated to the room with the bags. As curious as I was to know what they held, I stubbornly fought the urge to ask. Sitting back down, I cut and ate a few bites of the delicious avocado toast, but I’d filled up on fruit.
When Ms. Vera came back in, she didn’t comment about my leftovers as she gathered my tray. “There’s some new soaps in the bathroom and a fresh set of clothes on the bed.”
“Thank you.” I stayed on my best behavior and didn’t bite the hand that feeds.
Not yet, at least.
When she left, I went into the bedroom to check out what had been left. Sure enough, the bed had been remade, each line and fold precise. A pair of gray leggings, a white cropped tee, plain underwear, and a bra were set out on it.
When I’d asked for clothes, I’d figured I’d get… I dunno, something that looked like a prison jumpsuit or a thrift store special. I hadn’t expected anything cute or soft.
Going into the bathroom, I saw the built-in shelf had been stocked. I’d gotten soap, shampoo and conditioner, and a toothbrush and toothpaste the morning before, but there was even more of it, plus bubble bath, face wash, and a thick paddle brush.
I was tempted to soak in the tub but stuck with a quick shower. I dried off, brushed my teeth, got dressed, and waited.
I had a plan.
Thankfully, my lunch a few hours later included the usual bottle of water. Despite the nerves and anticipation clenching my stomach, I forced myself to eat all the food but tucked the bottle next to me so Vera didn’t clear it away. I waited another tense hour before slipping on my worn-out shoes.
I was fed and had water.
I was rested.
I was dressed in clothes that allowed movement.
It was time.
The darkness of night may have been easier to hide in, but it also meant I’d have to navigate in said darkness.
Daytime was my best bet.
Heading to the main door, I knocked hard. “I need help! My stomach hurts so bad. I think something is wrong.” When there was no response, I added a sob that was only half-forced. “Please, help.”
The door clicked before opening. I thanked my lucky stars it was the ignore-me goon again and not the nasty one.
“What’s wrong?”
“My stomach,” I groaned.
He took a step in.
And I took my opening—literally. Like one of Dad’s boxers, I ducked and weaved, dodging the man. I squeezed out the door before slamming it closed with him locked inside.
The room was at the end of a hall, leaving only one direction to go. I ran, passing door after door until I turned a corner and saw them.
Stairs.
I nearly tumbled down the slick hardwood as I skipped steps in my rush. Hitting the foyer, I wasn’t being careful, taking it slow, or checking my surroundings, and I didn’t care. My eyes were on the prize—the front door.
Throwing it open, I hauled ass off the porch and toward the road.
Like the backyard, there was a tall fence completely surrounding the massive property. An iron gate blocked the entrance of the winding drive. Knowing that would be easier to climb than the fence, I raced for it.
After a quick glance to confirm there was no secret button to easily open the gate, I tossed the water to the other side and squeezed my feet between the bars to climb the rattling metal. The decorative spears at the top scraped my belly and legs as I pulled myself over, but I didn’t care.
I was almost free.
Landing on the other side, I picked up the bottle and took a moment I didn’t have to glance around.
Nothing.
Just sprawling land with no buildings or houses I could run to or hide behind. The road was empty—not even the distant sound of traffic.
Picking a direction, I took off at full speed, pumping my legs until they ached. Rocks dug into my soles, my thin canvas shoes offering little cushioning.
But I didn’t slow.
I ran until my lungs burned and my vision began to tunnel. Only at the threat of passing out did I switch to a fast walk.
The stretch of empty desert was much bigger than I’d anticipated. There were no marked trails or people. I kept going, waiting to see buildings or a road in the horizon, but each step took me deeper into nothingness.
With no sounds of anyone following me—and there was no way those big guys could be silent—I slowed further. Even with my reduced pace, the sun beating down on me made sweat drip. I stopped to rest in the shade from a boulder but worried my scent would attract bugs.
Or worse.
As more time passed, my unease grew. I looked over my shoulder, but there was no sign of the house or road.
In front of me, to the sides, in back—desert.
I should’ve gone for the road.
But there was no turning back.
Maximo
Leaning back in my chair, I stared at the man sitting on the other side of my desk.
Mugsy Carmichael.
Or Ronald Carmichael, according to his birth certificate and license.
Stupid name change for a stupid man.
The longer we sat in silence, the more flop sweat dripped down his fat jowls and the more my limited patience drained.
I had four resorts to run—Moonlight, Sunrise, Star, and Nebula. I had meetings and emails and a shit-ton of headaches that came with running those four resorts. And I had a little dove to watch.
My gaze drifted to the blank security monitors that hung on the wall behind him just as he found his balls and spoke. “After we talked, Shamus McMillon, uh, disappeared.”
“Okay.” My face nor my voice gave anything away. And he was watching for confirmation that the two things were connected. Confirmation I’d killed him.
“His little girl is gone, too.”
Again, I gave away nothing. “Okay.”
Mugsy ran his hand through his black-dyed hair, the greasy pieces doing little to cover his ever-growing bald spot. “I know Shamus fucked up. He screwed you over—”
“ He did?”
“Fine, we . I helped him, but only because he was about to lose everything. He’d gotten in bad—”
“I don’t give a shit what problems he had. I give a shit about getting fucked over by a cheat and a liar.”
“I said I’d make it up to you. I’m your eyes and ears. You’ll get first call about new fighters. Whatever else you want, I’ll do it.” He inhaled deeply, gathering his courage.
What a pussy.
“Juliet,” he started, saying the only thing that would interest me.
I played dumb. “Who?”
“Shamus’ little girl. She’s a sweet kid. A good kid.”
She was a tiny thing, but she was far from the pigtailed middle schooler Mugsy was trying to paint her as.
“What about her?”
Mugsy looked nervous, and I was beginning to think I’d have to disinfect the chair when he left. Or maybe just throw the thing out. I doubted the stench of sweat and B.O. would ever fade. “She had nothing to do with Shamus’ actions. She doesn’t deserve to be punished.”
“What are you insinuating?” I bit out.
“Nothing, nothing. I’m just saying, she’s gone, too.”
“If she has any sense in her head, she got as far from Shamus’ bullshit as she could.”
He hesitated, seeming to war with himself. “She has no other family. It was just her and Shamus. She’s only seventeen.”
I already knew that. Cole was finding out everything there was to know about Juliet, but it’d been a slow trickle. Shamus hadn’t kept meticulous records. No birth certificate, no school records, not even a damn tax return.
I’d only agreed to Mugsy’s meeting request on the off chance he had something useful to say for once in his pathetic life.
I should’ve known better.
Standing so fast my chair slammed into the wall behind me, I put my palms flat on my desk. “I don’t know who the fuck you think you’re talking to, but I’d reconsider your insinuation.”
“No, no. There’s no insinuation,” he backpedaled. “I’m just bringing up my concern so you can keep an ear out in case anyone has seen her.”
Liar.
Still glaring at him, my voice was even. “If you ever cross me again, I’ll make you pay. I don’t give a shit how noble you think your reasoning is, I’ll make you wish for death.”
“It’ll never happen again.”
My cell rang, but I didn’t look as I hit ignore. “And if you ever come into my office and even hint at an accusation, I’ll cut your tongue out and feed it to you. Are we clear?”
Before he could respond, Ash stuck his head into my office. “Answer your phone.”
As he spoke, it started ringing again.
Picking it up, I saw it was Cole and connected the call. “Yeah?”
“She’s gone.”
My gut clenched. “What did you say?”
“She ran outside, cameras showed her heading east.”
I kept my cool, but just barely. I wanted to shove my phone down Mugsy’s throat to kill two pains in my ass at once.
“I’ll call you back.” I gave Mugsy my attention, needing him gone. “Are we clear?”
“Crystal,” he choked out.
“Get the fuck out of my office.”
He jumped up, and sure enough, a slick of back sweat clung to the chair.
Marco was waiting to escort our unwanted guest out.
Ash came in. “I’ll go—”
But I was already up and grabbing my shit.
Ash and I walked from my office as Marco and Carmichael boarded the public elevator. I scanned my thumb at my private one.
Once we were inside, I called Cole back. “How the hell did she get out?”
“She was screaming about her stomach hurting and said she needed help.”
“And so you opened the door and let her go?” I growled.
“No, I went to check on her and… Marco was right, she’s fast. She dodged me and locked me in. I had to call Freddy to let me out.”
“Fucking hell.”
That Juliet had kicked Marco’s ass at her house and then not only dodged Cole but locked him in the room was amusing. Or it would’ve been, had worry not sat heavy in my gut.
I should’ve been worried about myself since I’d added kidnapping to the murder she could pin on me.
But my concern was solely for Juliet.
My house was secluded, surrounded by nothing for miles. Going left she’d have some shade from boulders, brush, or Joshua trees, but there were no marked trails or paths to guide her. There were, however, coyotes, rattlesnakes, and the occasional scorpion.
“I’m on my way. Start searching,” I said before hanging up.
I’d known her shy mouse act was just that—an act. I’d been waiting for her to try to make an escape or take revenge.
But her timing and sense of self-preservation were shit.
If I hadn’t left the house.
If I hadn’t turned off the monitors to deal with that dickhead.
If I hadn’t taken her in the first damn place.