Chapter Twenty-Three - Victoria
He’s lying. I’ve always known he’s been lying about who he is and where he came from. But I figured it was some small lie. Like, his father wasn’t in the import-export business. I mean, come on. I’m from Brooklyn. I know that import-export is code for mafia.
But I don’t think this is what he’s lying about. It’s something deeper. Bigger. Badder.
“Then…” I say, trying to reason it all out. “Why would Liam set us up?”
“Maybe he didn’t.”
“Then who?” I ask.
West picks up the smallest gun and stands up, offering it to me. “You know how to shoot, right?”
“Sure.” My father was a policeman. He taught me to shoot when I was fourteen. About a week too late, unfortunately. “But I’m not taking that gun.”
“Tori, look. You’re right. Something weird might be going on here. I need to know you can fight back.”
I shake my hands in the air and laugh. “I am a lethal weapon, Mr. Corporate. Don’t you worry your pretty head about me.”
He lets out a long breath and smiles. It’s the first smile I’ve seen on him today, the only time his forehead wasn’t creased with worry and exhaustion. “I know, Miss Arias. But you can’t karate-chop someone from across the room.”
I chuckle back. Karate chop. He’s so cute. What I am capable of doing to a man is nothing short of torture. “I feel safe here,” I say. “I can’t explain why, I just do. I don’t think we’ll need guns. But we should look the place over thoroughly.”
West’s smile drops on one side, making that lopsided grin I love so much. He doesn’t do it often. Only when I’m right and he’s not mad about it.
To me, that look says, OK. We’re OK.
“We’re OK,” I say, to give him the same comfort he’s been giving me these past two days. “We’re fine. We’ll wait it out here and figure it out when the storm ends. And we have a radio now. So… we’re fine.”
“Yeah,” he says, barely audible. “Let’s look around. Maybe they left food.”
We do look. But there is no food. There’s pots and pans and a real oven—gas even—a refrigerator—empty—and a microwave.
All of which is useless.
There is a massive set of stairs which go down on one side and up on the other. We go up first, and find three bedrooms.
“I guess we won’t have to sleep together tonight,” West says.
“I guess not,” I agree. I glance up at him really quick to see if he’s got any regrets about that, but he’s moved on to look at the bathrooms. I wait in the hallway as he flushes all three toilets, and then I follow him down to the basement.
“Well,” West says, once we’re down there. “This is… interesting.”
There’s a safe that spans an entire wall. Complete with one of those round wheel things that you use to open it, and a computer pad where a combination needs to be entered.
There’s a silver envelope taped to the ginormous door. West rips the note off the door like he’s taking it personally, then looks at me with raging eyes.
“What?”
“Do you know who wrote this?”
I feel all kinds of defensive. “Why would I know that?”
“No,” he says, taking a deep breath and combing his fingers through his tousled hair. “No, I mean, Mr. fucking Mysterious wrote this! I fucking knew it!”
“What? Your friend? This place belongs to your friend?” I look around, take it in with a new set of eyes.
“I’m pretty sure that last one did too.”
“So that’s who that guy was at the table with you?” I didn’t see him. I’ve never actually met any of the Misters in person before. West and I went in a whole different direction after those charges. I never saw any of them unless it was on TV.
“What?” West’s eyes are blazing. “What guy I was with at the table?”
Shit. Good going, Victoria.
“You were listening, weren’t you? When Pax gave me the heads up on where Wallace would be yesterday.”
“It’s not as bad as it sounds,” I start.
But West cuts me off. “You were trying to steal that contract, Tori.”
“You don’t even need that contract. You’re rolling in money, Weston. I need it. And not for selfish reasons like you. Like your stupid cars and your stupid houses.”
“Way to get defensive and nasty when you know I’m right,” West counters.
“It’s all true though. You’ve always been greedy, Weston Conrad. I’m trying to save people and you can’t let me have one stupid contract to keep that stuff afloat?”
“Save who?” He practically snorts. “Cut the shit, Tori. The only person you’re trying to save is yourself.”
“Well, fuck you. You know? Because you’re wrong. You’re totally wrong about me. I’m trying to save my father’s legacy. He’s dying, Weston. He’ll be lucky to live six more months and all he’s ever wanted was to keep that trust fund afloat.”
He looks shocked. “You have a trust fund?”
“Not me, you idiot. The kids.”
“What fucking kids, Victoria?” Now he looks pissed.
I’d forgotten I’d never told him. Jesus Christ. I never told him. It’s been so long since we spoke. Three years at least. And that was only a drunken one-night stand. We went to my place in Scarsdale because it was closer to the bar we met up in and my Manhattan building was still being renovated. West was gone by the time I woke up in the morning. Probably sorry he let things go so far. He was still very mad at me about that seven-million-dollar contract he thought I stole a few months earlier. There was no call, no text, not even an email saying, Thanks for the fun. Just here and then gone.
I didn’t take it personally. I was a little bit relieved. Because there’s no room in my life for a man like West. One night of sex is fine. Like last night. That’s OK with me. It was fun, felt good. But once we’re off this island there’s no way in hell we’ll ever see each other again.
“What fucking kids?” West repeats.
“Look, it’s a long story—”
“Did you have a fucking baby?”
“No.” I laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Then what kids are you talking about? You don’t have any siblings.”
“Well, it’s a funny thing. Really. And it is a long story. But I was adopted, West. When I was fourteen. I grew up in foster care and my father, the man you know as my father, well, he saved me after…” Shit. I never had any intention of talking about this again.
West takes a seat in a nearby chair. “Are you shitting me right now?”
“No, why?”
“You’re serious?”
“Yes. Why would I lie about this?”
“So you were never going to tell me your backstory?” He stands up again, begins to pace.
“Are you getting attitude with me about my personal life? Please. You pop off with this little hint that you’re some kind of reformed blue-collar worker yesterday. ‘I worked on a boat, Tori.’ ‘I know how to catch lobsters with my bare hands, Tori.’ ‘I have memorized the fucking tides, Tori.’ And you think you’re allowed to get mad at me for not telling you about my past? Fuck off.”
He grabs me by the arm before I can spin around and leave, but instincts kick in and I deflect his wrist, kick forward toward his balls, and—
I’m down on the ground face first. “Nice try, Miss Arias,” Weston breathes into my ear. He’s got my hands behind my back and… and… I’m stunned.
“What the fuck—”
“I’m a third-degree black belt, Victoria. So you can cut your tough-girl shit, OK? I’m not in the mood.” He lets go of my wrist, gets up, then pulls me to my feet.
“Since when?” I huff. “You never took martial arts when we were together.”
“Wrong. I’ve been taking classes since I was seven. I earned my black belt when I was nineteen.”
“But… you never fought back. When I used my moves on you!”
“You’re a girl, Tori. Why the fuck would I fight back?”
“You’re such a dick.”
“Why?” he snarls. “Because I’m a gentleman? Come off it. I’m not going to hurt you. I only took you down this time because I’m sick of your shit and we don’t have time for this.”
“You’re sick of my shit? Ha.”
West just stares at me. He’s so pissed off right now. He points his finger in my face, the same way I’ve done to him, over, and over, and over. “You’re hiding things from me.”
“You’re hiding things from me! So I guess we’re even.”
“You’re adopted. Where are your parents?”
“You’ve met my father.”
“Your real parents,” he snarls.
“None of your goddamned business.”
“It is my business. We’re here because someone put us here.”
“Yeah, your stupid friend, Mr. Mysterious.”
“Maybe,” he says.
“What do you mean, maybe? You just said this is his place. And how did you know that by that note? Huh? Is his name on it?”
“No,” West says, picking the silver envelope up off the floor where he dropped it. “This,” he says, opening it up so I can see a series of cut-and-paste letters that look like an old-fashioned ransom note, “is his calling card.”
“He’s a kidnapper?” I laugh.
“It’s not funny. None of this is funny. You don’t understand. My friends have been having trouble with people from their past in the past six months. One by one, all us Misters are being targeted again. And this,” he says, waving his arms wide, “appears to be my turn.”
“So your friend, that Mysterious guy, he’s the one fucking with you?”
West sighs and turns away. “I don’t know. I don’t know what to think. But you’re here, you see.” He turns back to face me. “You’re here and you’re a girl from my past. This is exactly how it’s been happening. Mr. Perfect got a visit from Allen. Remember that asshole? Romantic’s half-sister reappeared in his life before she tried to fuck with him. And now you’re here.”
“You think I’m the one who’s fucking with you? You’re an asshole.” I grab the note from his hand and read it. There’s a bunch of numbers and one sentence. “‘You’ll know what to do.’ What’s that mean?”
West grabs the note back. “I guess I’ll open the safe up and see.”
He walks over to the keypad and punches in the numbers. There’s a loud click and some weird sounds, like something is moving inside the door. The huge wheel thing starts moving by itself and a few moments later another click, and the safe opens about an inch.
West looks at me, then opens it up.