Chapter 12 Blue
A knock sounds on my bedroom door a second before Pauline pushes it open. Startled, I press my palm into my chest. Fortunately, I’m partially dressed in a pink silk robe. I’m in the middle of applying my makeup for tonight’s performance at Broussard’s club, and I don’t have much time to spare.
“What is it?” I demand.
“Your father would like to see you in his office.” She doesn’t meet my eyes, instead staring at the pattern in the carpet as if it’s the most fascinating thing she’s ever seen.
“Tell him I’m busy getting ready for the show. Justin’s car should be here any minute to take me to the club.”
“I don’t think that’s happening,” she says softly, still avoiding my gaze.
“What do you mean?”
“He knows you were gone three nights ago.”
“When we ran into each other in the hall?” My stomach drops. That was the night I went to see Vapor.
“Yes.”
“How does he know? Did you tell him?” I ask, bracing myself.
“I had to. If he found out I knew, he’d fire me.”
“I told you I was out getting feminine products.”
“Do you really think I believed that?”
“What difference does it make? If you’d kept your mouth shut, he wouldn’t have found out,” I snap, the traitorous bitch!
Anger coils tightly within me, a serpent ready to strike. She was supposed to be on my side. Instead, she’s sleeping in my father’s bed and sharing my secrets.
The door slams open with such force that the walls of my opulent prison quiver. My father storms in, his face a mask of barely contained fury. I know instantly this isn’t going to be a calm discussion about curfews or dress codes. His eyes, so much like mine but filled with a coldness that could freeze the swamps of Louisiana, lock onto me.
“Blue,” he spits out my name like it’s venom on his tongue. “You think you’re slick, don’t you? Sneaking out like some wayward teenager.”
“Pauline has quite the mouth on her,” I say, aiming for nonchalance despite the heat in my cheeks.
“Watch your tone, girl.” He steps closer, invading my space, each word laced with accusation. “And Vapor, what’s your deal with him? Are you giving him information about my business?”
There it is. The elephant in the room, trumpeting loud enough to wake the dead buried in the crypts of Lafayette Cemetery. I clench my jaw, feeling a flicker of defiance spark within me as I tilt my chin up, meeting his gaze head-on.
“Vapor? Really, Daddy?” I scoff, trying to sound incredulous rather than defensive. “He’s just some biker I ran into at Broussard’s charity event.”
“Is that where he gave you his number?” he probes, eyes narrowing into slits.
“Yes,” I reply, my voice steady even though my heart races like a V-twin engine at full throttle. “It’s not like I asked for it.”
“Right,” he snorts, clearly not buying it. But it’s the truth.
“Look, whatever you think is happening between me and Vapor, it’s not what you’re making it out to be.” I can’t let fear seep into my words, can’t let him sense how much I loathe the gilded cage he keeps me in.
“Give me your phone,” he demands in a low growl that vibrates with an undercurrent of threat I’ve never heard before. It chills me to the bone.
I hesitate, my fingers tightening around the sleek device as if it’s a lifeline. But the look in his eyes tells me defiance isn’t an option. Reluctantly, I extend my hand, the phone resting on my open palm like an offering to a capricious god.
He snatches it away with a speed that startles me, and scrolls through it with practiced ease. When he finds Vapor’s number, he pauses, eyes flicking up to mine for a split second before he deletes it.
“You won’t be needing this anymore,” he says, slipping my phone into his pocket.
“Wait!” I blurt. Anger surges through me for a second before a sense of isolation takes over. He ignores me, continuing as if I hadn’t spoken.
“And another thing, you’re not to go anywhere alone until after the wedding.”
“The wedding?” I can’t believe he still thinks I’m going to marry Broussard. Although, I guess I haven’t told him I have no intention of ever walking down the aisle with that despicable man. “You can’t lock me up like this. I’m not a child!”
“Could’ve fooled me,” he retorts dismissively, fury etched deep into the lines of his face. “Sneaking out, consorting with… bikers!” The last word is spat out like venom, laden with all the disdain he can muster.
I step forward, my own rage giving me reckless courage. “You can’t do this! You don’t own me!”
“Actually, I do.” His eyes are steely, unyielding. “Until you’re married to Broussard, your actions reflect on this family. You’ll do well to remember that.”
The threat in his voice is palpable, wrapping around me like the muggy New Orleans air, thick and suffocating. My chest tightens, breath coming faster now. For a moment, I wonder if he sees me at all or just the image he’s crafted, a perfect daughter to be traded for power.
“Is this how it’s going to be? Am I just a pawn to you?”
“Enough!” His hand cuts through the air like a blade. “You will do as you’re told. That’s final.”
“But—”
“Final, Blue!” His shout echoes off the walls as he storms toward the door. “These men are your new security detail.”
He yanks the door open to reveal two towering figures whose very presence seems to suck the air out of the house. My father steps aside, allowing the monstrous duo to stalk forward into the light. Their faces look like they’ve been chiseled from stone, their hearts from ice.
“Meet Brick and Rocco,” he announces, as if introducing colleagues at a business meeting rather than jailers at my personal prison.
I can’t help but recoil slightly, taking in their broad shoulders and thick arms that are clearly capable of crushing dissent as easily as they would a throat. Their eyes, dark and unreadable, fix on me with an intensity that feels like a physical force, pinning me in place.
“This is a joke, right?” The words tumble out, tinged with a desperate laugh that doesn’t quite mask the horror creeping up my spine. “You can’t be serious.”
My father’s lips twist into a semblance of a smile, devoid of warmth. “Oh, I’m dead serious. They’re here for your protection.”
“My protection?” My voice climbs with incredulity. “Or my captivity?”
“Semantics,” he dismisses with a wave of his hand. His eyes, emerald-green mirrors of mine, show nothing but cold resolve. “They’ll accompany you everywhere until your wedding to Broussard.”
“Everywhere?” The word hangs heavy between us, a leaden reminder of the chains he’s wrapping around my life. “You’re making me a prisoner in my own home.”
“My home. My rules.” He steps closer. “You will marry Broussard, or you will deeply regret it.”
“What are you going to do?” My challenge is a bold front to mask the quivering fear in my heart. “What’s left after you’ve stripped away my freedom?”
His gaze hardens, a silent storm brewing behind those calculating eyes. “Don’t test me, daughter. You won’t like the consequences.”
“Is that a threat?” I spit back, defiance surging within me, refusing to be cowed by his intimidation tactics.
“Consider it a promise. Your cooperation is non-negotiable.”
“I’m not going to let—”
He slaps me so hard across the face I’m stunned into silence. Heat rushes to my cheek where his hand made contact, a stark, throbbing reminder of the line he’s just crossed. My father, the man who’s controlled every aspect of my life with an iron fist, has never resorted to violence.
Until now.
I touch my face, fingers trembling. Gazing up at him, I feel like a child for the first time in years. Disbelief keeps me mute. Even at my most defiant, he’s never dared to strike me before.
“Blue, you listen, and you listen carefully,” he seethes, looming over me, his voice so cold it could freeze the humid in the air. “Your antics end here.”
I peer up at him through tear-stained eyes, my mind racing. If he’s willing to hit me, what else is he capable of? Is my life now something to be bartered with or, worse, discarded if I step out of line?
“Get out,” I manage to whisper. “Get out of my room.”
He doesn’t move at first, assessing me, calculating. Then, without another word, he turns on his heel and strides out, the two mountains of men—my new shadows—following obediently behind him. The door clicks shut, and I’m left in my silent prison.
I wait, counting each agonizing second, giving them time to distance themselves from my room. Finally, I edge toward the door, my bare feet scraping across the plush carpet.
Eyeing the doorknob, I take a breath before giving it a quick twist. Relief floods me—it’s not locked. I exhale a shaky breath, daring to nudge the door open.
The hallway is dimly lit, the familiar antique sconces casting long shadows that dance across the walls like specters. But it’s the two men, standing like grim sentinels, that seize my attention. They turn their heads in unison, their glares sharp enough to cut steel.
“Do you need something, Miss LeBlanc?” one growls, his voice a low rumble that echoes the threat in his eyes.
“Nothing,” I reply, my tone cold despite the fear constricting my chest.
I force myself to hold their gaze for a heartbeat longer before retreating back into my room. The click of the lock sounds like a death knell as I lean against the door, my heart pounding out a frenzied rhythm.
Trapped.
Guarded.
Alone.
I slide down to the floor and wrap my arms around my knees, trying to quell the panic rising within me. How did my life become this twisted reality? How did I become the pawn in my father’s merciless game?
But there’s a fire in me, a defiant spark that refuses to be snuffed out. My father may have clipped my wings, but he hasn’t broken my spirit. Not yet. And as the night stretches on, I make a silent vow—I will find a way out of this gilded cage. No matter what it takes.
Trapped in my cavernous bedroom, darkness surrounds me. The steady tick of an antique clock reminds me that with each passing second, my freedom is dwindling.
I’ve never felt so confined. Before, I was caged by expectations, invisible boundaries set by my father, a man who saw me as an asset rather than his daughter. But this… this is different. The bars are real, manned by mountains masquerading as men, their eyes void of any warmth.
Despair creeps in like a slow poison. I swallow back the bitter taste of it. No. This is not how my story ends. Not with me wilting under the oppressive thumb of a man whose love comes with conditions and consequences.
With trembling hands, I unclasp the diamond bracelet from my wrist—the one he gave me for being an obedient daughter—and let it fall to the ground. I won’t be shackled by his twisted sense of control anymore. I’m done. I’m leaving. Tonight.
I change out of my dress and pull on a pair of jeans, a T-shirt, and tennis shoes. Normally, I’d never wear them off the court, but I won’t be able to escape in six-inch heels. Rather than waste time removing my stage makeup, I leave it on. It doesn’t matter. I can wash it off later.
Listening intently, I wait until the mansion sinks into slumber, until even the cicadas outside cease their serenade.
Finally, when the moon hangs low and silver in the sky, casting ghostly shadows through my window, I move. I slip across the room, avoiding the usual creaks in the floorboards.
The window opens with a slight groan of protest. I freeze, straining to hear any noise from the hallway. When nothing changes, I release the breath I’ve been holding.
Warm air rushes into the room, caressing my face with the promise of freedom. I clamber onto the sill. My heart beats wildly in my chest. I shouldn’t be scared. I’ve climbed down trellises and snuck out before, but never with stakes like these.
Outside, the roof of the porch stretches out, a precarious pathway to liberation. My feet find purchase on the wooden boards, which groan under my weight.
I inch forward, my movements deliberate, avoiding the urge to look down. Heights never bothered me, but the possibility of being caught, of being dragged back to that ornate cage, sends a shiver down my spine.
Reaching the edge, I pause, surveying the drop. It’s not too far. I’ve done it before. It’s now or never. If I get caught tonight, I’ll never get another chance to escape.
With a deep breath, I lower myself down, perching precariously on the edge. For a moment, I close my eyes, envisioning my future—untethered, undefined, mine.
And then I leap.
The bushes below aren’t kind, their branches clawing at me like desperate fingers. But they break my fall. I emerge with only minor scratches etched into my skin, a small price for the sweet taste of defiance.
There’s no time to savor it, though. I scramble up, casting a wary glance at the mansion looming behind me, half-expecting the doors to burst open. But the night remains still, save for the distant bark of a dog, oblivious to the drama unfolding.
With my heart racing and adrenaline coursing through my veins, I bolt. The path ahead is uncertain, fraught with peril, but it leads away from here, and that’s all that matters. Because for the first time in too long, I’m choosing my destiny.
My heart pounds and my breath’s ragged as I sprint across the dew-drenched lawn to the detached garage. I don’t dare glance back at the dark silhouette of the mansion.
Slipping into the garage, I grab a set of keys off the rack. Fortunately, the garage doesn’t have doors, so I won’t have to risk any other noise.
I walk along the row of cars—symbols of wealth that feel more like shackles now—until I find the perfect vehicle. It’s a sleek black Audi, a car meant for showing off, not for getaways. But it’s fast and inconspicuous in the night.
With practiced ease, I bring the engine to life. It purrs softly, doing little to reveal my impending escape. I steer the car down the driveway, headlights off, guided only by the moon’s glow and my desperate need for freedom.
Once I’m off my father’s property, I flick on the headlights. The road unfurls before me, leading me away from the suffocating grip of my father’s control. My fingers tighten on the steering wheel, each mile a stitch in the fabric of my resolve.
Fortunately, Vapor gave me the clubhouse’s address. I mapped it and memorized the directions in case I ever needed it. If nothing else, at least I was prepared for this possibility. I never thought I’d have to flee my house in the middle of the night, but there’s no going back. I’ll never return to that place. Never again.
Before long, Vapor’s clubhouse emerges from the darkness. It’s an oasis in my tumultuous world. I kill the engine a block away, parking it behind an old, abandoned liquor store. Covering the rest of the distance on foot, I quickly approach the house.
My shoes crunch on the gravel as I approach the front porch. A woman is sitting in a chair, watching me. She’s perched like a sentinel. Her spiky white hair stands out against the darkness, her muumuu a splash of color in the monochrome night. She doesn’t seem surprised to see me. It’s almost as if nothing ever surprises her. I wonder who she is.
“Chère, what are you doing here at this hour?” Her voice is soft but carries the weight of concern.
“I’m Blue.”
“Babet. I know who you are.”
“You do?” I ask, surprised.
“Vapor told me about you.”
“What did he say?” I ask, curious.
“Nothing much, but I knew you’d be coming at some point.” She smiles softly. “Why tonight?”
“I had to leave,” I say softly. “I had to get away from… my father.”
“Because of the marriage contract?” she asks.
“Yes.” I can’t help but touch my cheek which still burns where he hit me. “Is Vapor here?”
“His room is upstairs.” She rises to open the door. “It’s the last door on the right. Don’t pay any attention to everyone passed out in the living room. A few people partied too hard.”
“Thank you.”
As I step inside the clubhouse, the scent of beer hangs in the air. In the living room, bodies are sprawled across couches and the floor, a mosaic of bare skin and discarded clothing. Based on this display, these hardened bikers feel safe within these walls. Maybe I will too.
When I reach the top of the stairs, I pause, steeling myself for the conversation I must have with Vapor. It’s not just about asking for refuge—it’s about the choices I’ve been denied and the life I’m clawing back. It’s about our future. Together.
At the end of the hall, the door to Vapor’s room awaits. I walk toward it, steeling my spine and praying that coming here wasn’t a mistake.
I knock softly, but he doesn’t answer. Trying the knob, I find the door unlocked. I push it open. The door creaks with a reluctant groan, betraying my presence before I can even cross the threshold. I fully expect him to demand to know what I’m doing in his room, but he doesn’t say anything. I doubt he’s even awake yet.
As my eyes adjust to the dim light, I’m struck by the stark contrast of Vapor’s room compared to the chaos downstairs. His sanctuary is almost serene in comparison. Everything seems to have a place and there isn’t a hint of disorder… except for the bed.
Moonlight casts long shadows over the two forms tangled in the sheets. My heart plunges through the floor.
“Vapor?” My voice wavers, a whisper lost in the silence.
He doesn’t stir, and neither does she—the woman curled up next to him, her platinum hair dripping over the pillow like a toxic spill, skin barely covered by the thin fabric that clings to her curves.
My heart hammers against my ribcage. A mix of shock and an emotion I can’t quite name pulses through my veins.
I step closer, my hands clenched into fists at my sides, nails digging crescents into my palms. The sight of them together is a visceral punch, the implications of it all coiling tight in my stomach. Anger? Betrayal? No, not betrayal—we’re nothing to each other, not really. But something about this feels like a personal affront, a mockery of the desperation that drove me here.
“Dammit, Vapor,” I mutter, the taste of disappointment bitter on my tongue.
He’s supposed to be different, a man driven by a sense of justice, someone who’s fighting for a cause. Not just another man who gives in to his base desires. Yet here he is, the president of a MC lying entwined with a… No, I can’t label her. It’s not her fault. She’s just a symptom of the world we’re both trying to escape in our own ways.
My eyes roam over his features, searching for the man I thought I knew—slicked-back hair now a tousled mess, sharp blue eyes hidden beneath closed lids, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm that speaks of deep, oblivious sleep. I hate to think about what she might have done to give him so much peace.
I take a step back, my mission forgotten as the weight of what I’ve done settles in. I invaded his private space, uninvited, unannounced, driven by my own tumultuous emotions. And now, here I stand, caught between indignation and the raw need to feel safe—to find solace in someone who understands the darkness of this city. But he’s not mine. He never was.
As I turn to leave, he stirs, bolting upright and reaching for a gun on the nightstand. The deadly weapon is in his hand, pointed directly at me before I can take my next breath.
“Vapor, it’s me!” My voice cracks through the tension like a whip.
His eyes snap open, locking onto mine, confusion giving way to clarity—and then, to a dawning realization.
“Blue?” His voice is rough, sleep-slurred, but there’s an edge to it, a protective ferocity that wasn’t there before. “What the hell?”