“Yes, Mister Pratt, go help your friend,” Aristov chimes in. “I am sure your wife will be happy to have you home early. Lovely woman, that one.”
“What did you just say?” Seven asks, stepping closer instead of going away.
“I said she is a lovely woman.”
“Go, Seven,” I order. “Now.”
Seven listens that time, storming into the warehouse.
“Threatening a man’s family doesn’t make you a bigger man,” I say. “It makes you a disgrace.”
“Do you think I care about the names you call me?” he asks. “Besides, it is not a threat. I do not make threats. I am a man of my word.”
“Your word being...?”
“I will do unimaginable things to that woman, lovely or not. It would not be hard. She is very trusting. Most women are. But I will leave her alone, I will leave you all alone, if you return my Morgan.”
“She’s not yours.”
“Do you think she is yours?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“So why does it matter so much to you whether or not she is mine?”
I don’t answer that, because fuck him.
I don’t owe this man a goddamn explanation.
“I will give you a chance to think on it,” he says, taking a step back, “but your chance will not last long, so think quickly, Mister Scar.”
He leaves, disappearing from the alley, just as Seven bursts back out, unable to contain himself. I know he was still listening. It’s written all over his face.
“Go ahead,” I say before he can even ask. “Check on your wife and make sure he doesn’t show up there.”
“Thanks, boss,” Seven says, his steps brisk as he rushes away.
I stroll back into the warehouse, finding Three sitting exactly where Seven had been earlier, munching on one of Seven’s carrots.
“What are you doing?” I ask him.
“Imagining that jackass dying a horrible death.”
“That’s all well and good, but there’s still work to be done,” I say, “so let’s count these fucking oranges so we can all go home.”
Chapter Ten
There was a time, less than a year ago, when the little girl still believed in fairy tales. Not those crazy ones from the storybooks, no... she believed in those happily-ever-after, bad guys are punished as the heroes persevere stories, the ones from the cartoons her mother watched with her.
She loved Cinderella. She loved Snow White.
Princesses were pretty, and happy, and kind.
But more than all of that, more than anything else, the little girl really loved Toy Story.
Be like Buzz and Woody.
She thought her toys were real, that they had feelings and came alive, too, when she wasn’t looking, but all those months later, she wasn’t sure anymore.
Because Buster hadn’t moved at all from the mantle. The little girl couldn’t save him, but he wasn’t saving himself.
“Bye-bye, Buster,” she whispered, being oh-so-quiet, standing in the doorway to the den in the darkness, as the Tin Man slept hunched over in a chair by the fire.
She gave the bear one last look before going back to the bedroom they called hers.
It was the middle of the night. A little bit of snow covered the ground outside, the sky cloudy, the air so cold it fogged up her window. She shivered as she shoved it open, making a face when it made a screeching sound, like grinding metal. Like a rusted Tin Man.
She was scared—so scared—but she didn’t let it stop her. Her mother told her to name her fears, so she called it Buzz Lightyear. Climbing out of the window, onto the small roof, she crawled along it, teeth chattering. It was only the second story, but she felt like she was way up in the sky. But still, she sat down, scooting to the edge, and took a deep breath.
“Be like Buzz,” she whispered to herself. “He can fall with style.”
It took her only a moment to gather the courage to jump—or more like roll, just tucking and falling into a small snowdrift on the grass below. She cringed, landing with a thud, her whole body hurting, but she tried to be quiet so nobody would hear her.
Her arm stung, and her head felt all woozy, but she got to her feet and started walking, heading away from the palace she hated.
The little girl had no idea where she was going, no idea where the Tin Man even lived. But she remembered it was just one road to the beach, so she went that way, with nothing more than the clothes on her back and the red-colored money the Cowardly Lion had given her.
She walked... and walked... and walked, walking forever, freezing cold, her nose running, her fingers numb, before she finally came upon the boardwalk. Nobody was out there at that hour. The few people she passed along the way were too busy to even notice her. It was so dark, and she was still so scared, but she kept going, walking to the only place she knew around there.
Passing the signs that said the beach was closed, she walked out to the shoreline, the cold water touching her shoes.
Where was she supposed to go now?
“Hey, you there,” a voice called out, light flashing her direction. “What are you doing?”
The little girl turned, seeing a man approaching—a man wearing a blue uniform. A police officer.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” he said, coming closer.
Uh-oh.
Panicked, she turned and ran, sprinting down the beach. The man gave chase, shouting for her to stop, but she kept running so hard her lungs burned as the air slapped her face. He was a stranger in the dark, and her mother had warned her about those. Hide & Seek. Frantically, the little girl looked for somewhere to hide, but she didn’t make it far before he caught her. He grabbed her arm, sending her into even more of a panic.
The little girl lashed out, swinging and fighting, kicking the officer in the ankle before trying to bite him. He subdued her, pinning her arms at her sides, as he radioed for backup.
“Let me go!” she yelled.
“Jesus, kid, calm down,” he said. “You’re not in trouble, so relax, okay?”
“Let me go!” she demanded, yet again, still struggling. “I just wanna go home again!”
“Then relax,” he said, “and I can take you home. Just tell me your name. Can you do that?”
She shook her head. She wasn’t using her words for him. He was a stranger. Stranger danger.
“Then tell me your parents’ names.”
Nothing.
“Tell me where you live.”
That, she didn’t know.
“You’ve got to tell me something, kid,” the officer said. “Anything at all.”
“I wanna go home,” she whispered. “There’s no place like home.”
Chapter Eleven
“Whatcha think?”
I glance toward the doorway of the bedroom at the sound of that question, seeing Melody standing there. She twirls, wearing a flowing little black dress and black tights, her lips bright red, a matching bow in her curled blonde hair. My gaze scans her, settling on her feet, on a familiar pair of red Louboutin pumps.
My stomach sinks.
“You look gorgeous,” I say, because it’s true. The girl is stunning. “What’s the occasion?”
“Leo’s taking me out to celebrate,” she says. “It’s our met-iversary.”
“Yeah? How’d you meet?”
“I was walking through the park one afternoon when the beat of an old Tupac song greeted my ears, playing from his phone. It was love at first sound. I mean, of course it didn’t hurt that he was gorgeous. Whoa... second I saw him, I was his. To paraphrase the late great—it was just like Aladdin, bitch... would’ve given him anything he asked for.”
I laugh. “That’s cute. You two... you’re cute.”
“Right? I think so, too.” She grins, leaning against the doorframe. “So, what about you and Lorenzo? What’s the story? Where’d you meet?”
“I thought he told you the story.”
“All I know is you pull
ed a Cinderella on him,” she says. “He’s not exactly known for offering details.”
“Ah, yeah… we met at a shitty little bar.”
“Drunken hook-up?”
“More like a serious lapse in judgment.”
Her eyes widen. “Oh no, regrets?”
“About him? No.” I stretch my bare legs out along the cold wood. I’m sitting on the floor beside the bed, my back against the wall as my phone charges, wearing only an oversized white t-shirt and underwear. Doesn’t bother me, and it doesn’t seem to bother Melody, either, my almost nakedness, so I’m not in a rush to do anything about it. “I misjudged him, figured he was just like all the others I’ve met, so I took his wallet home from the bar instead of him.”
Thought it was impossible, but her eyes somehow widen even more. “What?”
“I pick-pocketed him. He caught me, though, put me through some hell for it, but it worked out, I guess, since he eventually took me home with him.”
“That’s... wow.”
“So no, I don’t regret it, but man, how stupid was I, thinking I’d get away with that?”
She shakes her head, pushing away from the door. “You’re a brave, brave soul, Morgan, a braver soul than I. First time I met Lorenzo, I was afraid to even go near him.”
“Because of his scar?”
She scoffed. “No, because of how he looks at people, namely how he looked at me.”
“How’s that?”
“Like I’m Tupac and he’s Biggie.”
“Ah, like you might be his enemy.”
I know that look.
He has given it to me a time or two.
It’s not even really a look of anger. It’s a blank stare, devoid of everything imaginable, like he’s trapped in his head somewhere. Cold, and calculating, like he’s plotting how to remove you from his life. Nothing personal about it, just bitch, be gone...
“Bingo! That’s the one!” She smiles again, turning around. “Anyway, Leo should be home soon to pick me up, so off I go to await my chariot.”
“Have fun,” I call out. “Happy anniversary.”
She goes downstairs, and I sit here for a moment before picking up my phone. There are only a few minutes of airtime left on it, maybe ten at most, which means I either need to refill it soon or buy another in order to continue this tiresome routine.
I don’t want to do either option. Last time I bought minutes, I vowed that was it... I would have my daughter back before I ran out of time again.
I want this to be over.
Why isn’t it over yet?
Sighing, I dial the number, bringing the phone to my ear, listening as it rings and rings and rings, ignoring the voice in the back of my mind that begs me to hang up. After the fifth ring, he finally answers, greeting me. “Ah, pretty girl, I was just talking about you.”
“I bet.”
“I was,” he says. “No more than an hour ago. All good things, of course. I would never say a bad word about you. Promises.”
“Yeah, right.”
He laughs. “That is twice now you have spoken, pussycat. You must be feeling chatty today.”
I say nothing, tilting my head, tucking the phone between my ear and my shoulder as I pick the polish from my fingernails. I can tell he’s in a good mood for some reason, which tends to be terrifying with Kassian, but then again, it might be my chance to weasel something out of him.
When he’s in a good mood, he gets sentimental, and he used to open up to me. Sadly, though, it was also those moments when I learned what a cruel, disturbing man he could be.
“Ah, do not go mute on me now,” Kassian says. “Tell me what is on your mind.”
“I’m just... tired,” I admit. “I’m so tired of doing this with you. It’s exhausting. It’s almost been a year.”
“I know,” he says. “I am tired, too. I have been chasing you for a long time, pretty girl.”
“Too long,” I whisper.
“Too long,” he agrees. “Tell me, are you happy?”
I don’t answer that.
I’m not sure why he’s asking.
He’s never cared about my happiness before.
“Are you?” he asks again. “You can tell me. I would like to know. Are you happy with your life?”
“I’d be happier if I had my daughter, Kassian.”
“I am sure you would be,” he says. “Only, you do not want me along with her. No, you seem to have decided you want him.”
Him. Lorenzo.
I know that’s who he means.
“It’s not like that,” I whisper.
“Tell me what it is like then,” he says. “Is this what you want? Does your little scarred plaything make you feel like a woman? Does he take you into his bed and fuck you as you cry? Does he tell you how beautiful your tears are? Does he make you feel safe in his white house with this cute little picket fence around it? Do you feel at home here, pretty girl?”
Coldness rushes through me. Sickness swells in my stomach, bile burning my throat as those words hit me. Oh god.
I exhale shakily.
He described the house.
“I just want to know if you are happy,” he says quietly, “because if you are, I am going to very much enjoy dragging you out of this fucking place and taking you back home with me.”
A loud chime echoes all around me. I flinch, gasping, dropping the phone as panic floods my system. The doorbell. That’s the first time I’ve ever heard it. Nobody even bothers to knock here.
The clicking of high heels trails through the downstairs, heading in the direction of the front door. No. No. No...
Shoving up from the floor, I run out of the bedroom, screaming, “Don’t open it! Melody! Oh god, get away from the door!”
She turns toward me, startled, but it’s too late. It’s too late. Her hand is on the knob and it’s already halfway open before she realizes what I’m saying. She tries to close it again, reacting fast, but he’s much faster. Much, much faster. Something slams against the door, shoving it open the whole way, nearly knocking Melody down as she stumbles a few steps, barely managing to stay on her feet.
Her eyes dart to the door, her voice loud, defensive, as she says, “Excuse me, can I help you?”
I freeze on the stairs, halfway down, my feet unable to move anymore, everything inside of me screaming to go the other way. Go back. Retreat. Run, motherfucker. Run away from him. I could sprint upstairs, make my way out the window, climb onto the roof, maybe even get away from here.
But I can’t. I can’t move. I can’t run.
I blink, and he’s there, standing in the foyer of Lorenzo’s house. He’s dressed impeccably—straight black suit, hair slicked back, shoes glistening as the light hits them. Melody’s too shocked to react right away. She gapes at him as he smiles, stopping just inches from her, his eyes raking her body from head to toe. His gaze stalls at her feet, at the red heels, and he lets out a light laugh, the sound nearly buckling my knees, before he looks back up again.
Common sense kicks into Melody, or maybe it’s just a healthy dose of fear, because she takes a step back, putting a bit more space between them.
It’s not enough.
It’s too late.
He’s too damn fast.
He grabs her before she can run, his thick tattooed hands wrapping around her throat, squeezing, stopping her dead in her tracks. Melody grasps his arms, his hands, trying to rip them away as she struggles, eyes wide with terror. His grip is so strong he lifts her up, onto her tiptoes.
“Kassian!” I cry out, the sound of my voice drawing his attention. His gaze darts my way, gliding along the stairs, his eyes meeting mine.
He loosens his hold on Melody just enough that she can breathe, but he doesn’t let go entirely, no... instead, he swings her around, making her stumble as he drags her to him, her back against his chest. One hand stays on her throat, gripping, while his other arm wraps around her, his hand resting against her stomach, keeping her pinned there.
<
br /> She struggles, trying to break free, but he’s unwavering, unrelenting.
“Morgan,” she whispers, voice trembling, tears filling her wide eyes.
“Just... relax, okay? Stay calm,” I tell her, my eyes turning to Kassian again as I say, “You’ll be okay.”
His smile grows.
I hope like hell I didn’t just lie to her.
I take a step further down, and another, and another, holding my hands out in front of me in surrender, because I know he doesn’t trust me.
Not now.
Probably not ever again.
I broke any chance of trust when I ran.
“You do not look happy, pretty girl,” he says, scanning me. “But you do look comfortable.”
I’m very much aware I’m not wearing pants. The goods are covered, but not by much. I really don’t need that pointed out right now. This is painful enough to deal with.
“Tell me, does he fuck you in front of everyone? Does he let them see the things he does to you? Does he like to watch?”
“Kassian, can you just—?”
“No!” he shouts, his anger echoing through the downstairs of the house, as he grips Melody tighter, cutting off the air to her lungs. “Answer me. Now.”
“He doesn’t,” I say right away. “He hasn’t.”
Kassian loosens his hold on Melody again, but he’s clearly furious, so I don’t know how long this is going to go on before he actually chokes her.
“Can you let her go?”
“Why should I?”
“Because she has nothing to do with this.”
“So?”
“So, just let her go. She’s not who you want.”
“No, she is not,” he says, pulling her to him rougher, his hand shifting, cupping her chin, forcing her head up so he can look at her tear-streaked face. Kassian only likes brunettes. She doesn’t know how lucky she is. “But she is still very pretty, this one. Melody, yes? I bet you make the most beautiful noises. My men would enjoy making you sing.”
She whimpers, trembling, proving his point.
“Kassian,” I say again, desperate. I can practically see his thought process right now, and it’s all just getting worse by the second. He’ll take her. I know he will. But Melody won’t last a day with those guys. There’s too much goodness, too much emotion, inside of her. They’ll kill her trying to draw it all out. “Let her go.”