Chapter 4
Chapter Four
brYNN AND THE ALIEN SPACE
I stepped through the imposing iron gates of the Shoemaker’s mansion, my pulse skittering.
Mr. Shoemaker was already waiting at the front door, his gray eyes cold and calculating as he appraised me from head to toe. “Welcome to my home, Brynn,” he said, his voice as smooth as the polished marble floors that seemed to stretch endlessly throughout the grand foyer.
Well, isn’t this just a warm and fuzzy welcome? About as warm as a penguin’s backside.
I moved inside and tried to stare at everything in awe.
“Shall we start with bathing?” he suggested, leading me toward what could only be described as a miniature oasis, otherwise known as a bathroom. He pointed at the plush towels, clean clothing, and fancy toiletries on the counter. “Meet me in the study when you finish.” He shut the door.
I was somewhat offended, but I was dirty and I did smell. And hey, who was I to turn down a chance to wash off ten years of grime? Maybe I’d even find my real skin color under all this grime.
The shower stall looked like a luxurious spa, with gleaming white tiles and multiple shower heads that would spray water from every angle. The towels appeared soft and fluffy, and the clothing laid out for me was made of the finest fabrics.
I stripped off my dirty clothes and shoved them in a garbage bag left near the sink. Then I opened the shower door and stepped inside. I turned on the tap and watched as the hot water poured out. The steam filled the air, making everything feel hazy and dreamlike. The water ran over my dirt streaked skin, cleansing away the grime and leaving me feeling overwhelmed.
Holy crap, this is what being clean feels like? It was like I was shedding an entire layer of myself. Kay would lose her mind if she saw this place.
It would be my first shower in a decade. Before this, it had been rainwater or the icy lake within the woods outside the city. Once I’d scrubbed off all the grime and washed my hair twice, I got out and dried off.
I had never been this clean in years…it was nice. Focus, Brynn. You’re here for her, remember? Don’t get distracted by fancy soaps and water that doesn’t give you hypothermia.
Quickly, I dressed in Elizabeth’s clothing and walked down the corridor. The hallway was lined with expensive paintings and sculptures, the floors covered in plush carpets. The ceilings were high and adorned with intricate chandeliers. I noticed the marble floors glimmered under the chandeliers’ soft glow. I couldn’t even begin to imagine the cost of this luxurious mansion. Each room I passed was filled with lavish furniture and expensive decorations that seemed to mock my own poverty.
I stopped at a room with the door open. A mahogany desk dominated the center of the room. Mr. Shoemaker sat behind it, surrounded by piles of documents and expensive technology. Behind him, a set of double doors led to a balcony overlooking a manicured garden.
The room was spacious and sunlight streamed in through the large windows, casting warm beams across the walls and floor. The walls were lined with dark wood paneling and adorned with elegant paintings and bookshelves filled with leather-bound books.
I crossed the threshold. “Where’s your daughter now?”
Mr. Shoemaker adjusted the cufflinks at his wrists. “Elizabeth is away on vacation with her mother. Any other questions?”
Vacation. Must be nice to have that kind of freedom. Kay and I were lucky if we got a day off from surviving.
“No, sir.”
“Very well,” Mr. Shoemaker said, rising from his chair. “Let’s begin with your posture. Stand up straight, chin up. An Elite never slouches.”
I rolled my shoulders back and lifted my chin, fighting the urge to hunch over. My muscles tensed, not use to this rigid position.
“Better.” He nodded. “Now, walk across the room. Slow, deliberate steps. You’re not running from anything here.”
Except maybe my own dignity. This whole charade felt like a twisted game of pretend.
I took a few strides, my feet sinking into the plush carpet. It felt like walking on clouds compared to the rough concrete I was used to.
Mr. Shoemaker tsked. “No, no! You’re not stomping through a back alley. Lighter steps, as if you’re floating.”
I tried again, this time barely letting my feet touch the ground. “Like this?”
He ignored my snarky tone. “Improvement. Now, let’s work on your speech. Elites enunciate clearly and avoid contractions. Practice saying, ‘I am pleased to make your acquaintance.’”
“I’m pleased to meet ya,” I drawled, exaggerating my street accent.
Mr. Shoemaker’s jaw clenched. “Again. Properly this time. And take this seriously or you can leave.”
I sighed, my chest tightening. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“That will do. Remember, you’re not just speaking, you’re performing. Every word, every gesture is part of the act.”
For the next hour, Mr. Shoemaker drilled me on Elite etiquette. How to sit, how to eat, how to laugh politely at boring jokes. My head spun with all the rules and expectations. It was like learning a whole new language, one made of fake smiles and empty pleasantries.
“Now,” he said, “let’s practice small talk. Pretend we’re at a charity gala. Engage me in conversation.”
I cleared my throat, desperately searching for something Elizabeth might say. “Lovely weather we’re having, isn’t it? Perfect for...polo?”
Mr. Shoemaker pinched the bridge of his nose. “Elizabeth doesn’t play polo. She’s more likely to discuss her humanitarian work. Try again. But you’re on the right track.”
I felt my cheeks burning with embarrassment. I’d never felt so out of place, not even when scrounging for food in dumpsters. At least there, I knew who I was.
I took a deep breath, trying to channel Elizabeth’s compassionate nature. “I’ve been volunteering at a local shelter recently. The work is challenging, but incredibly rewarding. Have you been involved in any charitable causes lately?”
Mr. Shoemaker’s lips curved into a thin smile. “Yes, I approve. Now, let’s work on your posture again. Straighten your back, chin up. You’re not cowering in the shadows anymore.”
My muscles tensed as I forced myself to stand tall. It felt unnatural, like I was trying to stretch myself into someone else’s skin. Every minute of this charade grated against my very being.
“Good. Good.” Mr. Shoemaker nodded. “Walk with me. We’ll tour the mansion. You need to familiarize yourself with your new surroundings.”
We strolled through opulent hallways adorned with priceless artwork and glittering chandeliers. I wanted to touch the ornate vases and delicate figurines, but I kept my hands clasped tightly behind my back.
“This is the main dining room.” Mr. Shoemaker gestured to a cavernous space monopolized by a long, polished table. “You’ll be expected to use the proper utensils for each course. We’ll cover that tomorrow.”
My stomach tightened at the thought of learning the use of the proper etiquette for forks and spoons. How did people live like this, with so many rules governing every little action?
After what felt like hours of winding through the corridors and vast rooms of the mansion, we finally reached a set of double doors. Mr. Shoemaker pushed them open, revealing a bedroom larger than any place I’d ever lived in.
“This is Elizabeth’s room,” he said, his voice oddly flat. “You’ll be staying here during your...training.”
I stepped inside, overwhelmed by the sheer luxury of this beautiful bedroom. A massive four-poster bed sat against one wall, draped in silks and velvet. A vanity table gleamed with silver-backed brushes and crystal perfume bottles.
“Get some rest,” Mr. Shoemaker said. “We’ll continue tomorrow.”
The door clicked shut behind him, leaving me alone in this alien space. I sank onto the edge of the bed, my fingers digging into the soft comforter. The burden of what I was attempting to do crashed over me like a tidal wave. How could I ever pull this off? How could I pretend to be someone so completely different from myself?
My mind buzzed like a hive of angry bees, each thought stinging with doubt and fear. What if I slipped up? What if the Porters saw through my act?
I thought of Kay, of the life I could give her if I succeeded. My chest constricted. I had to do this. For her. For us. No matter how much it felt like I was losing myself in the process.
The bedroom door burst open, and three men clad in dark uniforms swarmed in, their grips ironclad as they seized me. My pulse hammered against my throat; my instincts screamed to fight, but survival demanded cunning over brute force.
Well, shit. So much for a relaxing evening of existential dread.
“Please, no!” I cried out, feigning terror as Elizabeth would, complying with their rough movements as they blindfolded me.
They were quick, practiced, their hands moving with swift precision. The air grew colder once we traversed the mansion’s dark hallways.
“Keep quiet,” one of them hissed.
They guided me through a side door. The chill night air hit me, the scent of impending rain and the unmistakable rush of adrenaline.
“Where are you taking me?” My voice quivered, not entirely feigned.
I stumbled forward, shoved into the back of a van. The engine growled to life, like a beast ready to devour the distance between safety and the unknown.
A midnight road trip with the world’s least charming chauffeurs.
“Relax, sweetheart. You’ll find out soon enough,” one of the men said.
I swayed when the van sped away. I sat in the backseat bound and blind.
The van’s engine hummed a monotonous lullaby, but my heart was an erratic drumbeat. I tried to steady my breathing, in and out. The fear, though, was a stubborn bitch.
“Nearly there,” cut the voice up front.
When the vehicle halted, rough hands pulled me out, leading me through what seemed like winding corridors, the echoes of our footsteps betraying the expanse we traversed. We went down a long, narrow staircase. My shoulders tensed as we descended—each step down a further plunge into my new reality.
Finally, we came to a halt and the blindfold was snatched away with a brisk tug. A faintly lit basement sprawled before me, with three cells with bars.
Ah, just what every girl dreams of—her very own underground dungeon. At least they spared no expense on the ambiance.
“Welcome home, Elizabeth,” said one of the men, his playful tone at odds with the grimness of the scene. “I’m Braxton Porter. And you are our prisoner.”
Braxton stood before me, a portrait of casual indifference. His sandy blond hair was mussed perfectly, his sexy brown eyes drank me in, and his grin suggested he was privy to life’s cosmic joke. He wore a fitted tee that clung to his lean frame, paired with designer jeans.
Well, hello there, Mr. Calvin Klein. If this whole kidnapping gig didn’t work out, I bet he’d have a bright future as an underwear model.
Another man stepped forward, his muscular frame clad in a fitted black t-shirt that stretched across his broad chest, and his dark jeans hugged his legs. A silver chain glinted at his neck, catching the overhead lights.
“Joel Porter,” he barked, his green eyes narrowing at me. “Don’t get any ideas about escaping. I’m not as friendly as my cousin here.”
I bit back a retort, my jaw clenching. Play it cool, Brynn. You’re Elizabeth now. Right, because nothing says ‘wealthy heiress’ like the urge to punch someone in the throat.
Deep breaths, girl. Channel your inner snob.
“Sebastian Porter,” another man said, his deep voice measured and calm. “I apologize for the...unconventional accommodations, Miss Shoemaker.”
Sebastian moved forward, his six-foot-tall figure exuding quiet authority. His dark hair was cut short and neatly styled. His deep brown eyes took in everything around him, and his clean-shaven face gave him a polished, professional look. He wore a crisp white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, paired with dark slacks that fit perfectly over his sturdy frame.
Well, wasn’t he just the poster boy for ‘ Kidnappers Weekly .’ I bet he ironed his ski masks and color-coded his ransom notes.
“Oh, please.” I scoffed, channeling my fake inner Elite. “Call me Elizabeth. We’re all friends here, right?”
Braxton chuckled, but Joel’s scowl deepened.
“Get in,” Joel growled, shoving me towards the nearest cell.
I stumbled inside, the heavy metal door clanging shut behind me. The sound reverberated through my bones, a finality that made my stomach lurch. The cell was sparse. Just a narrow cot with a thin mattress, a metal toilet, and a small sink. A single bare bulb dangled from the ceiling, casting harsh light on the concrete walls.
Home sweet home. This place was so clean it was almost insulting.
Braxton smiled, leaning against the bars. “Hope you like your new digs, Elizabeth. We spared no expense.”
I rolled my eyes, fighting to keep my voice steady. “Oh, it’s lovely. Really brings out the ‘kidnapped heiress’ vibe I was going for.”
Joel slammed his hand against the wall, making me flinch. “Watch your mouth, princess. You’re our guest here.”
My heart hammered, but I forced a smirk. “Touchy, aren’t we? Did daddy not hug you enough as a child?”
I grimaced after I said it. Nice one, Brynn. Antagonize the guy who looks like he bench presses small cars for fun. Real smart.
Sebastian stepped between us. “Be nice, cousin.”
I stepped toward the bars. “Don’t I at least get a phone call? Or is that too cliché for you gentlemen?”
Braxton froze, grinning. “Sorry, sweetheart. No outside communication. But hey, if you’re feeling lonely, I’d be happy to keep you company.”
“I’d rather cuddle with the toilet, thanks,” I shot back, earning a laugh from Braxton and a glare from Joel.
Sebastian stepped between us. “We should let Miss Shoemaker rest. It’s been a long day for all of us.”
The men, my captives, headed for the staircase. I sank into the cot, my bravado crumbling. This wasn’t so bad. I’d clawed my way through the streets of New Boston, protected Kay, and outsmarted countless threats.
These guys had no idea who they were dealing with.
I laid down on the cot, a flimsy mattress offering scant comfort. Here in this concrete cell, my world narrowed to making sure the Porters believed I was Elizabeth Shoemaker so I could collect my reward when this was all over in a few weeks…or less, I hoped. They didn’t know it yet, but Brynn Soto wasn’t just any prisoner. And she certainly wasn’t a weak heiress like Elizabeth Shoemaker.