Chapter 15 | Kate
FIFTEEN | KATE
The evening sea breeze whips through my hair, blowing a lock across my lips. I tuck it behind my ear and close my eyes, inhaling what seems like my first deep breath since I found myself trapped in the walls of the Lachlan Estate.
I didn’t realize how fatigued I was until my head hit the pillow and my body sank into the cloud-like mattress in the guest room.
I slept for almost fifteen hours, and I’m not sure whether it was the fear that took the most considerable toll on my body or the thought that if I slept long enough, maybe I would wake from this nightmare.
I didn’t.
I sat up in the same, quiet seclusion of my room with a collar adorning my neck.
The only relief was knowing I had a few days left of peace, free from Preston’s irritatingly handsome face that entices me to put my fist through it.
In any other circumstance, I might find the gift sweet. Maybe a little excessive, but I find a little possessiveness attractive in a man.
When he’s not slicing open my body and hunting me to the ends of the earth.
Preston hasn’t done that yet.
Yet.
But this chain was given to me solely to track my whereabouts.
It wasn’t a kind gesture, even though the weight makes my stomach churn with the realization that I might be wearing a few grand.
Given the estate's stunning appearance, its prime coastal location, impeccable grounds, fountains, circular driveway, gardens, pool, and three-story palace, I wouldn’t be surprised if it costs more.
It makes me nauseous thinking about it. Doesn’t matter if I think it's beautiful or not. It's been over a day since Preston left, and I’ve tried everything to remove it. I’m sure the back of my neck is bruised from trying to yank it off.
It was stupid to hope that the chain wasn’t as durable as it looked.
That little keyhole below the lock still mocks me every time I glance in the mirror.
After I woke up, the thought of leaving my room had me on edge. I know Preston said I have freedom to roam the estate, but it feels menacing. Like, I don’t belong here and have no right to explore the grounds I’m temporarily living in.
It wasn’t until Gretta, the housekeeper, cracked open my door and startled me.
She appeared to be in her early to late sixties, given the way her full head of gray hair was tossed in a low bun.
Her warmth and kindness were refreshing compared to what I endured with Preston and Carter.
I haven’t seen Carter either, so I’m guessing he’s accompanying Preston in Virginia.
Doing God knows what.
The moment she found me awake, she left and quickly came back with a tray of food. And the second she did, I couldn’t help but scarf most of it down like a caged ravenous beast who had its food withheld.
I’ve never had Shepherd’s Pie, but I have a gut feeling most aren’t as delectable as that was. My mouth is watering just thinking about the creamy potato-and-beef dish. If one thing might make me compliant while I’m here, it would be if I were consistently served food like that.
I’m like an animal they're preparing to slaughter.
I grimace outwardly at the unwelcome thought.
Apparently, Gretta had checked on me multiple times while I was sleeping because I also found my closet full of clothes in my exact size.
Usually, I wake to even the slightest noise, and noticing someone in the walk-in closet surely should’ve alerted me.
I’ve never passed out that hard. How she or Preston knew my size baffles me, but it felt good to change out of my shorts and t-shirt and into something more comfortable, which is why I settled for black leggings and a tank top that hugs my body.
Which may have been a colossal mistake, because the men walking the perimeter of the property and in the watchtowers are observing me with firm eyes that are somewhere between hungry and interested.
They’re all dressed head to toe in the same uniform: black t-shirts, cargo pants, and boots, with one gun on their hips and another in their hands.
I couldn’t escape if I wanted to.
The deep blue water has transformed into a sea of color, with glittering pastel strokes of peach and red.
The canvas of rich ombres looms above the sun dipping below the horizon, a speck of bright light in the distance, where the ocean stretches out as far as I can see.
A clear pathway cuts through the vegetation, down to a long, rocky stretch of coastline where a ten-foot fence secures the property, extending past where the waves lap at the beach until it sinks into the water and out of sight.
I turn from the elevated yard that sits above the beach, ambling toward the gardens, sprawling with tall, maze-like hedges and beds on the outer edge filled with brightly colored flowers that fill the summer air with the scent of spring.
As I enter the maze, I walk for a little while. I inhale the sweet, floral scent into my lungs, trying to calm myself and locate some silver lining. I appreciate having some freedom. After all, it's my snooping around that got me here.
Things could always be worse.
Like the fact that I could be trapped in that concrete room below the park for the next twenty-eight days.
Like the fact that Xander could’ve killed me, but he was fascinated watching me suffer instead—repeatedly.
It’s the thought that I haven’t sunk to the bottom yet that gets me through. I may be floating barely above the bottom, but I haven’t hit it yet.
It’s not long before I find the center of the maze, decorated with dainty string lights that weave across the expanse above, against the ombré that drenches the sky.
Concrete walls encasing the space are adorned with magenta flowers, and benches surround a fountain that soothes the area with the rush of water.
The beauty and details nearly take my breath away.
It’s the kind of place that signifies a lot of love.
Time and care are reflected in the plants that thrive here, as if they were meant to be rooted exactly where they are.
I feel it in the way the tension in my body eases like the water that ripples outward into the small pond below the fountain.
My body gravitates to the closest bench, plopping down onto it with the same weight that has rested on my shoulders since I foolishly found myself in the tunnels.
I scan the center of the garden, not missing the video cameras. The same ones I’ve noticed placed throughout the house.
This entire place is secured.
Feels secluded, though I know we can't be far from Lachlan Park, considering we took the tunnels all the way here that first night.
If I can’t get out, that means nobody can get in without an invitation.
My blood pumps into my ears, stirring that thought.
Up until now, I’ve thought this is the most dangerous place I could’ve found myself in my life.
But what if the security of this hell helps me stay hidden from another?
If I can’t escape, maybe that means Xander will never be able to get in if he somehow tracks down my location. I let that idea seep like a tea bag in hot water right before I take that first sip that’s supposed to soothe my soul.
I’m delusional.
Am I really considering that staying might be the answer to my—
“Beautiful. Isn’t it?” The gravelly, unfamiliar voice filling the spaces makes me jump.
My head whips to the side, taking in the middle-aged man with his hands shoved into the pockets of a flawless gray suit with a burgundy tie.
He looks like a model that stepped off the cover of a Calvin Klein magazine.
His lightly styled hair and short, groomed beard may not be completely gray, but he is the definition of a silver fox.
When he catches me staring, he closes the distance, keeping those whiskey-colored eyes on mine. “It’s Kate, isn’t it?”
It takes a heartbeat longer than it should to register his question. His Irish accent is stronger than Preston’s. It’s magnetic and graces my ears.
Between Preston, Carter, and this mystery silver fox, it’s enough to make a girl feel like she’s in a candy store with endless options.
I try to find my voice. My answer feels weak, even though it is my name. “Yes, sir.”
Judging by the silver watch adorning his wrist and the suit that doesn’t have a wrinkle in sight, he appears to be the kind of man who appreciates being addressed with the type of power he exudes.
“I was hoping I’d get to meet you soon.”
My mouth opens, the words fumbling out of my mouth. “You were?”
He keeps strolling toward me until he’s standing beside me in front of the bench. “May I?” he gestures to the spot next to me.
I struggle to nod.
He sits down, wiping his hands across his thighs, and sighs.
“I like to know who might hold my life in their hands.” A look of genuine confusion washes over my face before he explains.
“Since Preston went behind my back and added another person to the medical team, I told him I wanted to meet you. That boy,” he exhales, shaking his head, but there’s a hint of something there. Adoration maybe?
Oh right. I’m supposed to be acting like the reason I’m here is to play nurse.
Which may work in my favor now that I’m not working that goddamn ride anymore, and it might just save me from something as terrifying as I find this place.
It's a coin toss at this point. Maybe it's a false sense of safety, but I’m starting to think that being contained in Lachlan Estate might be exactly what I need to survive this life that has haunted me for far too long.
I reach out my hand, giving a strained smile.
God, this man makes me nervous.
He briefly glances down before placing his in mine. It’s heavy and calloused. “I’m Arden. It’s nice to meet you, Kate.”
“Likewise,” is all I can manage.
It may seem unusual, but we don’t shake. More like we hold hands that slightly bounce while we analyze each other’s expressions as if it will open a door to all the questions we both have about each other.
I swallow, stepping into my imaginary armor.
Preston told me other people on the estate hold my life in their hands, and I’m one hundred percent certain I’m shaking one of them.
We release each other.
I feel like the pulse point in my neck is going to burst out and onto his lap.
“I wasn’t aware he went behind your back.
But I will do everything to make sure that if it's your life in my hands, or anyone’s for that matter, I’ll do absolutely everything I can.
But in a field like this, it's foolish to make promises that I’m not sure I can keep. Depending on the situation, of course.”
Actually, I’m not exactly sure what I will be doing or how I will be aiding Imogen, the doctor Preston told me I’m under. I’m just anxiously pulling things out of my ass, hoping I sound professional and pushing the narrative.
“I respect that. You’ll find that Preston and I value honesty. Speaking of, how did the process with Preston go? He didn’t scare you away, so I’m taking that as a good sign.”
“Scare me away, no.” I breathe, wiping my clammy hands on my leggings. “But he is calloused. And detached.”
He said he appreciates honesty.
My focus falls on his sad smile. “Have you ever lost someone, Kate?”
My heartbeat drains into my ears. “No.”
I’m lucky to still have both sets of grandparents.
He stares straight ahead, keeping his voice steady.
“My son lost his mother and his sister. Everyone heals differently. It’s not a straight path, even when you think you’re just starting to get the hang of grief.
And when someone you love dies by a violent death they didn’t deserve, it sticks with you.
Changes you.” Sounds like he’s speaking from experience.
My blood solidifies to ice in my veins.
If I thought this man was oozing power before, he’s radiating it even stronger now. “You’re his…father?”
Arden Lachlan.
Which means he lost his wife violently…
His daughter.
The emotion whirling in my chest cracks my heart, bringing with it a little more understanding.
“He didn’t mention me when he was hiring you?” He blows out a dark, melancholy laugh.
“I mean, he did. You just,” I land on, “look different than I expected.”
Besides the faint crow’s feet near his eyes and mouth, nothing would give him away that he’s Preston’s father.
I mean, I see the similarities now. Arden is handsome.
Has aged in a way that makes me wonder if I could be into much older men.
His short facial hair has gray woven throughout.
His body is still hard and muscular, as if he makes a daily effort to stay fit. Strong. Powerful.
He must have had Preston in his very early twenties.
“So,” he changes the subject. “How did a beautiful thing like you find yourself working for the Irish mafia? It’s not every day you come across a job like this one. And we’re very selective.”
My eyes widen before I think better of it.
Did he say the Irish mafia?
“I—” How the hell do I answer this question? If he’s giving me a second interview, I’m failing miserably.
So, it's not organs. However, I’m unsure if this is any better.
Narcotics.
Money laundering.
Extortion.
Gambling.
Corruption.
How is this my life?
It’s probably a stupid answer, but I settle on it. “Must have been luck, I guess.”
A throaty laugh escapes him, and I can’t help the way it makes my body warm.
Is that what Preston’s would sound like?
Why do I suddenly have the urge to try to make him laugh?
I’m guessing he doesn’t do it often. If ever.
He scans the space leisurely, his features softening. “If you're hungry, Gretta has food ready.” The way he says it makes me think he wants to be alone.
So instead of crowding his space, his home more than I already am, I rise to my feet. “It’s nice to meet you. I look forward to working with you.” Since I’m unsure how to address him—Mr. Lachlan, Arden, Boss—I make my exit short and sweet.
Arden’s head tilts up, giving me a suppressed smile that hides the pain of a man who’s seen more than most in a lifetime. And I can’t help but think about his son, the man who brought me here, and who is half his age.
Preston’s hard and jagged edges aren’t carved from nothing; they're from enduring more loss than anyone ever should.
As I walk away, all my little ugly truths don’t seem so different from his. Because who am I to judge someone by the scars they never asked for?