22. Maya
22
MAYA
I f I spent the rest of my life guessing, I would never guess I’d wake up in Tucker’s arms, in Tucker’s bed—at least, not without him having to tie me down to make it happen. And I sure as hell would never imagine being glad once I did.
Yet here I am, and I am glad. A little confused at first, before the memories come rushing back, but relief quickly follows the flashbacks. It could have been much worse last night, so much worse that I can’t bring myself to think about it.
Things turned out to be not so bad. If it had to be anybody, I’m glad it happened with him, even if I still can’t quite understand why he did it.
Unless he just wanted something to hold over my head. Could that be true?
I don’t want to think about that right now, with his heartbeat softly pulsing against my ear. I’m so tired of having to think about everything, looking for ulterior motives, looking over my shoulder to cover my back. It’s exhausting.
My face is practically stuck to Tucker’s chest, and my body is sore in a dozen different ways as I gently pull myself away from him. It’s enough to wake him up, which he does all at once, with his eyes flying open before he blinks rapidly and looks at me like he’s going through the same surprise I did when I first woke up. It takes a second for him to remember I’m here, but once he does, he relaxes a little. His head sinks back against the pillows before he rubs his eyes with his fists. “Good morning.”
It almost doesn’t seem like enough after what happened last night, but I’m guessing he’s just as clueless as I am. For once, it’s like we’re on the same page. “Good morning.”
“How are you feeling?” he asks. All it takes is me rolling my eyes for him to get the idea, and he snorts a little. “Yeah, I guess not that great.”
But that’s the thing. I don’t feel terrible, and it’s because he was the person who used me last night. But what do I do, thank him for that? It’s not like this is an everyday situation. I doubt there’s an entry in an etiquette manual. How to thank the guy who fucked you when he knew you were drugged, and you couldn’t do anything about it. It doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue, either.
“I’m fine,” I decide. Even if that’s not exactly true, it will have to be, because I can’t wallow in this. Life has to go on. I did what I signed on to do, and it’s over now.
And now I’m in Tucker’s bed, wearing his shirt. Every part of this situation is more inexplicable.
“I’ve gotta take a piss.” He opens and closes his mouth a few times before sitting up, grimacing. “And brush my teeth.”
I would thank him for the play-by-play update, but I don’t have it in me to be sarcastic. Not when I remember how rough he was with me, how he took advantage, but then how kind he was afterward. He got me out of there, and brought me here, he took care of me.
I sit up, too, once he’s out of the room. The first thing I need to do is check my phone. Wren squealed on me, yeah, and I’m still a little disappointed she did—but she’ll probably be worried, too. If the tables were turned, I’d be worried sick about her.
What a shame most of the texts and missed calls that have come through since last night aren’t from her. A couple are, but the majority are from Dad. Is he concerned? Wondering how I held up. If I need anything? Not exactly.
Dad: Where are you?
Dad: Get your ass home immediately.
Dad: Call me now. We need to talk.
“This bodes well,” I whisper, my heart sinking further than it already has. I mean, sure, things could’ve gone a lot worse last night. Things could be a lot worse this morning, too. But I’ve sort of been through a lot, and the last thing I need is my father up my ass, demanding things. Insisting I speak with him when speaking with him is the last thing I want to do now or ever.
I set the phone aside with a sigh, silently getting myself ready for a conversation I don’t want to have.
“Everything all right?” Tucker wears the almost lazy smile of a guy who got his way last night once he sticks his head back in the room. Like he doesn’t have a problem in the world. I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve wished over the years I could be somebody else—somebody with everything together, somebody without the sort of dark, ugly memories I hold in my heart. Memories I would give anything to be free of.
Right now, I can’t decide if I hate him or wish I could be him.
“Fine, I guess,” I murmur, waving a hand. It’s so easy to pretend. I don’t even have to think about it anymore.
The less he knows about all of this, the better. I mean, it’s bad enough he understands why I was there last night, who sent me, everything that was hanging in the balance. I’m not sure my sense of shame could handle him knowing much more than that.
“Sure. You look like somebody who has everything under control. Not at all like you’ve seen a ghost.” He ducks back into the bathroom, and I hear the water running while he brushes his teeth. It’s almost like he’s happy to have me here. Knowing the way his brain works, I’m sure he’s happier to have me under his thumb. That’s what he’s really all about.
I don’t want to believe it, but I need to. The last thing I need is to start getting crazy ideas about how there’s something special between us just because he came to my rescue and got his dick wet in the process. Obviously, he can stand to lose the money. I’m sure it means nothing to him.
Get it together. I need to—quickly, or else my heart is going to burst out of my chest and splatter blood all over these expensive sheets.
Once the sink shuts off, Tucker pokes his head back into the room. “I’m gonna take a shower now. Care to join?” His eyes darken as they crawl over me. I’m not even sure how he can think that way after last night. My body is still recovering.
Thinking of the phone, I shake my head. “I should call home,” I tell him with an unhappy sigh. “I know he’s wondering what happened.”
This time, his entire face darkens and his skin flushes. “You sure you don’t want me around for this?”
Do not. Do not be too grateful . It would be so easy to fall into the trap of reading into his actions. I can’t do that to myself. “No, it’s better if I’m alone.”
He doesn’t look convinced, but he backs up and closes the bathroom door. I wait until he’s got the shower running before picking up the phone and placing the last call I want to make.
“Finally,” Dad snarls. “Why can’t you pick up a phone? What the hell took you so long to call me back? And where are you?” The questions fly so fast, I barely have time to process one before he almost shouts another. So he’s in the mood I would’ve expected.
“I stayed with a friend last night,” I tell him. “After I did what you wanted. But I’m sure you’ve heard all about that by now.”
“Yes, as a matter of fact. I did hear all about it.”
Then why does he sound so upset? Like he just spat something bitter out of his mouth. “Okay. So what’s the problem?”
“For one thing, the money you brought in isn’t enough. Not even close.”
Dread dances down my spine, finally coming to rest low in my gut so it can spread a gross, sick feeling. When is it ever going to be enough? “I was there when you and Lucian talked about it. You knew how much money you were supposed to get out of this. How are you surprised now?”
“Don’t you talk to me that way,” he warns, and maybe I would feel even slightly intimidated if we were face-to-face. He kind of loses some of his fearfulness when we’re on the phone.
“It’s an honest question,” I tell him, glad he can’t see me chewing my lip and shifting my weight from one foot to the other once I stand and pace in front of the bed. “I heard you guys talk about amounts. What, did you not think Lucian would hold up his end of the bargain? Did you think he would give you all the money?”
“Don’t you worry about what I thought,” he barks. “The fact is, the cut I received is not enough.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” And extremely grateful to Lucian. I mean, he’s not a prince, and he’s certainly not a hero, but he upheld his end of the bargain. He could’ve gone behind my back, fucked me over, and made last night pointless for me.
“You can keep your sarcasm,” he snarls. “And be glad you’re not here in front of me at this moment, or else I might have to shut that smart mouth of yours.”
I sort of want to tell him to stop wasting his time with the empty threats, but I also don’t want to encourage him to make good on them at some point. I do still have to go home eventually—I have nothing here. “I don’t know what to tell you, Dad. I signed an agreement, and Lucian made good on it. I guess if you have any problems, you need to take it up with him.”
“I have a better idea that won’t involve him at all.”
The sudden positive note in his voice makes me more sure than ever I’m in deep trouble. If he’s suddenly happy and feeling positive, that only means bad news for me.
“What is it?” I ask before holding my breath, bracing myself for the answer.
“You’ll marry Clark.”
I am going to throw up. I might never stop. That’s probably a better plan than going through with what Dad has in mind. “You can’t think I’m going to do that. I already told you?—”
“And you can’t honestly think I give a shit what you think about it!” he barks. “Goddamnit, Maya! For some reason, you’ve got the idea in your head that this is optional. That you have a say. It is not. You do not.”
He means it, too. How can he mean it? How does he think he’s going to get away with this? “You can’t just make somebody marry somebody else, you know.”
“That’s what you think. I can do whatever I want to, because you belong to me. Do you understand? I don’t care what age you are. You’re my daughter, and you are going to marry who I say you’re going to marry, and you’re going to help me make this right. Otherwise,” he adds with a nasty chilling laugh, “you can pay me back every cent I’ve ever spent on you. School, clothes, that car you drive, everything. And if you’re so dead set on being independent, you can start paying rent, too. One way or another, I’m getting this money.”
Why do you hate me? The words dangle from the tip of my tongue. It would be so easy to voice them, though I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t get a real answer.
“I can’t.” It’s barely a whisper, as much as I can squeeze out through my tight throat. “I’m sorry, Dad. I just can’t. I can’t marry a stranger who’s your age. The thought of it makes me sick. Haven’t I done enough?”
“If you had done enough, we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” he replies. “Or if you hadn’t pulled that shit about wanting half the money for yourself. You know, if you hadn’t done that, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now. This is all your fault.”
He is so good at that. Turning everything around on me. “I can’t. I just can’t.” The thought alone makes my skin crawl. I’m supposed to marry some old creep? I’m supposed to let him put his hands on me? I was thinking last night was the end of it, like I could be free after this. I didn’t know he would keep moving the goalposts.
“You can’t? Are you sure about that?” There’s something dangerous in his voice. A cold, sick feeling ripples through me and makes sweat bead on the back of my neck.
“What does that mean?” Do I even want to know?
“It means, I wonder how many people in your life would still want to be in your life if they knew what you did.”
I feel all hot and sweaty inside all of a sudden. Glancing around the room for a wastebasket, I swallow hard against the bile that rushes into my throat. “What did I do?”
“Please. Do you think just because I don’t rub it in your face every single day, I don’t know exactly why your mother died the way she did? What, do you think I couldn’t put two and two together when I found you kneeling over her body, screaming?”
The floor rushes up to meet me all at once when my knees give out. I’m glad I’m alone—I wouldn’t want anybody to see me like this, gasping for air. I’m also glad the floor is carpeted after hitting it as hard as I did. Not that it would be the worst thing my body’s been through in the past twenty-four hours.
“Did I lose you?” How can he sound so gleeful? Like there’s anything funny about any of this. “Just try me. Push my hard and see what happens. I promise, it won’t end well for you. You will end up wishing like hell you had done as I asked.”
“But… it’s not like you have proof or anything.” Wow. That was the argument I came up with? Then again, how much better could I do when my brain is barely working?
“Does it matter? People are going to believe what they’re told. And I’m going to tell everyone you killed your mother. And they’ll all know for sure what I’ve known for so long. You’re worthless. Here I am, trying to make your life worth something, and you’re still refusing. Eventually, you’re going to figure out I know best.”
“You can’t do that!” I wish I could cry. It would be a relief right now, being able to let it all out. “You can’t tell people I killed Mom.”
“Once again, you seem to think you have any right to tell me what to do. You’re going to learn, eventually,” he predicts with another nasty, cold laugh.
“But—”
That’s as much as I’m able to get out before suddenly, the phone is yanked from my hand. I scramble for it, reaching up, gasping.
Tucker is too fast. I didn’t hear him get out of the shower, probably because I can’t hear much other than the blood rushing in my ears as my heart pounds a frantic rhythm.
“Who is this?” he barks into the phone, his face a mask of rage. I recognize it, having seen it before, but for once it’s not directed at me.
I can hear Dad on the other end, thanks to how loudly he’s speaking. “This is Maya’s father. Who the hell do you think you are?”
“This is Tucker Kingsley, and I already know about Maya’s mom, so you can take your threats and shove them up your ass.”
He what? Okay, he’s obviously making that up. Why is he trying to help me?
“And let’s get one thing straight,” he continues, his voice deeper now, with an animal growl running through it that lifts the hair on the back of my neck and leaves me staring. “Maya lives here, with me. She is not coming back to you, so you can quit harassing her. Got it?”
Before Dad can say a word, Tucker ends the call and tosses the phone onto his bed with a grunt. I fight to catch my breath while he stands with his fists clenched, his bare shoulders rising and falling. He didn’t even take the time to dry off after his shower, only slinging a towel around his waist, and now beads of water roll down his chest and arms, dripping from his hair.
When his head snaps around so he can look down at me, I can’t shake the feeling of dread that trickles into my veins and pumps through my body. What does this mean?
Before I can form the words to ask, he extends a hand. “Come on. Get up. You don’t belong down there.”
“But…” I give him my hand, letting him pull me to my feet when I can’t find the strength myself.
“I already told you. Nobody touches what’s mine, and nobody threatens it, either.” His jaw is clenched so tight, I’m surprised the words can make it out. “Do you doubt me?”
Do I? I don’t know what to think. “… I don’t know,” I admit. I don’t know anything. What is he doing this for? Is this part of his game? What could he possibly have to gain from it? What is in any of this for him? I want so badly to ask, but I’m too overwhelmed, shaken. I’m grateful he stood up for me, but I’m certain Dad will not give up that easily. Not if he’s as desperate as he clearly is. I wish I could believe all my troubles are over.
Especially since it’s Tucker of all people promising to end them. Since when can I trust him?
But at the end of the day, he’s not the one trying to sell me for money. He’s the one who took care of me last night, brought me here, and kept me safe. When I look at it that way, it’s pretty obvious.
He’s the lesser of two evils. Yet another unpredictable turn of events.