Chapter 50
LUNA
Inever thought I’d step foot in this room again. Much less be locked up in it. But when I regain consciousness, I know my exact location the moment I open my eyes.
My childhood bedroom.
The place has changed a lot since I laid claim to it.
My parents are far from the sentimental type.
Not ones to keep mementos of their children once they’ve left the house.
At least not mine. Mom might have built herself a Dash or Leo shrine for all I know.
She does care about them in some twisted version of affection I never warranted.
As seen by the complete stripping of any sign of me from this space.
The walls are painted, the bed is gone, and racks of clothing fill the room. Seems this is now a walk-in closet for Vivian Lamont’s ever-expanding wardrobe.
All this I absorb from a prone position in the middle of the floor, trying to distract myself from the worry that I was out for the entire trip from Nashville to New Orleans.
Either that guy Nicky hit me harder than I’d ever gotten knocked around before or Bill dosed me with something while I was already unconscious.
I’m guessing the latter. Now, I lie on the ground, hands and feet cocooned in duct tape.
My father, ladies and gentlemen.
Always taking up hip new hobbies. Like kidnapping.
He’s obviously new at it because he made some beginner errors. Like the duct tape. And leaving me alone. Seems Bill Lamont hasn’t gotten any smarter over the last decade. He always underestimated me to his detriment. Why mess with tradition?
Just then, I hear heavy footsteps coming down the hall.
When I was younger, that sound always set my nerves on edge. My body has the reaction ingrained into its DNA, and no matter if I’m stronger, smarter, and tougher now, my heart rate picks up.
But when my father opens the door, I keep all trace of fear off my face.
I don’t let him see anything at all as I play unconscious.
“Fuck this,” he mutters.
And that’s all the warning I get before he grabs the front of my shirt, hauls me up, and slaps me.
Hard.
I may know how to take a hit, but a gasp still escapes at the surprise of the sting.
“You awake now?”
My father shakes me, and pain collides in shocking ways, ricocheting throughout my skull. The dull throb from the knockout hit melds with this new sting. There’s a strong iron taste of blood in my mouth. Seems my tooth caught my lip in the wrong way during his blow.
I shouldn’t do it. I know I shouldn’t.
But I’ve never been able to fully stifle irresponsible, knee-jerk urges around my father.
I spit a glob of blood into his face.
Bill drops me, and I land hard on my hip. Stumbling backward, he curses my name and tugs off his shirt to wipe the drool and gore off his cheek.
With him in front of me, shirtless, I acknowledge the one department my father hasn’t been lazy in is his workout routine.
Mid-forties, and he’s still roped in wiry muscle.
If only he’d set up my old bedroom as his weight room, I’d have a lot more to work with once I got time alone to search for weapons.
“You’re disgusting,” he hisses at me.
“And you’re pathetic, jelly bean.”
Never antagonize your captors, I often tell my clients. Why can’t I listen to my own advice and keep my mouth shut?
Do as I say, not as I do.
“Bill!”
My mother’s voice gives him pause in the act of kicking my rib cage. We both look to the room’s open door.
And there she is. The woman whose face I always wish I could never see in my own. She stares back and forth between us, shock in the sky-high set of her brows. Because even for our family, a tied-up beating isn’t normal.
“What did she do?” my mom asks.
Of course. Briefly, I let myself hope my mother would be some kind of ally. That she’d let a little bit of selflessness into her heart.
Naive.
I should have known she’d never truly question my father. That the idea of her daughter deserving this treatment only requires a simple explanation before her sign-off.
“She’s been keeping secrets from us. Trying to steal from us.” My father has the confidence of a man with no conscience.
“What do you mean?”
Did I hear a quiver in her voice? Probably at the fear of losing money.
“I mean, your mother’s money. We’re going to get it.” His words ring with triumph. The hero saving the day. “Enough to set us up for a long while. As long as your daughter stops lying.”
Funny how it’s their money, but I’m her daughter.
My dad retrieves a slip of folded paper from his back pocket, handing it over to his wife.
“It’s all there. Luna only gets the cash if she’s married by her birthday and stays hitched for a year.”
With hesitant hands, my mother takes the papers.
I can’t help smirking at the man looming over me. “Do you carry that around like a baby blanket? Does it keep you warm and safe at night?”
This time, my father does kick me, and I curse both him and myself.
When am I going to learn to shut up?
“What does this matter?” Vivian glances between the two of us. “Luna isn’t married.”
“Seems we didn’t get an invite to the nuptials. Our little girl found herself a sucker, and she’s going to use him to steal the money right from under our noses. Or she was, before I found out.”
“You got married?” my mom whispers, sounding genuinely hurt.
Did she expect me to invite her?
Under the layer of duct tape, I feel the light pressure of the ring Charlie slipped on my finger. Even if I’d had the grandest ceremony possible, with thousands of guests on the list, her name wouldn’t have been included.
I wonder if she’s found out about Dash’s wedding. If not, I’m not about to be the one to tell her. She might send her own kick into my aching gut.
“She won’t be married for long.”
The tone my father uses sets all my internal defense systems on high alert.
“What do you mean?” my mother asks, saving me the trouble.
Answering her but staring at me, my father crouches down next to me on the floor, his grin full of triumph and mockery.
“Because she’s not leaving this room until she signs some divorce papers.”
I snort, again not taking a moment to determine if that might be a bad move.
But the disrespectful noise doesn’t faze my father. He just grips my chin in his rough hand, making sure our eyes lock.
“You think I’m a bad guy? You don’t even know.” He lowers his voice so my mother won’t hear. “I have some nasty friends, baby girl. Men who will slit a throat for a hundred bucks.”
He drops me, and I’m too lost in the idea of what he’s describing to brace myself.
“There’s more than one way to lose a husband. You can be a divorcée.” Bill leans in close enough that his hot breath coats my face. “Or you can be a widow.”
“Fuck you,” I spit at him.
He laughs and stands, moving to throw an arm around my mother’s shoulders.
“We’ll let you think on it. Shouldn’t be hard. All you have to do is stop lying. Tell the court you don’t want to be married, and you can go back to your life, and we’ll get the money your mama always deserved.”
He pulls Vivian out of the room with him. Some other girl, with some other mother, might have tried to catch the woman’s eye. To silently beg her for help.
But I don’t bother.
I’m on my own, just like I’ve always been.
No. I have Charlie.
Charlie. My husband.
The truth tears through me, undeniable when I’m in pain, ashamed, and fighting off fear. There’s no more denying, and I can’t remember the reason I tried to in the first place.
He’s more than my husband.
He’s the man I love.
The man I will do anything—anything—to save.