“No! Stop, wait! You didn’t let me say goodbye!” I scream, fighting the grip of two men who drag me up the front stairs of a huge resort-type building in the middle of nowhere.

I look over my shoulder frantically at the small plane idling in a distant field and shout, “Dad!” even though I know it’s useless and he can’t hear me.

What the fuck have I gotten us into?

None of this is what I envisioned when the well-dressed Mr. Owens came over a half an hour after I got off the phone with him.

God, was that really only earlier today? As soon as I signed on the dotted line, Mr. Owens told us we had to leave immediately. That we couldn’t bring even a single belonging with us.

When I explained the deal to Dad, glossing over the details and saying that I would be going to work for Mr. Owens’s client in order to get him out of the country, Dad looked wary.

“What kind of job is it that they offered to help out your convict father, Mel? This doesn’t sound right.”

“So they color a little outside the lines. It’s nothing bad or dangerous.” I sat him down and spoke confidently. In truth, I had no idea what the hell the ‘client’ offering this deal was into, but if there was ever a time to sell a pitch, this was it. “You yourself said it. I’m one of the best up and coming ad agents in the business. Just think of this as very aggressive head-hunting. They want me for the job and they were willing to do what needed to be done to sweeten the pot.”

Dad still looked dubious. Rightly so. But I could also see the spark of hope in his eyes. This was the only real way out of this mess and we both knew it. If what he said was true, we were sitting ducks in this apartment.

Mr. Owens arrived just then, tabling any further conversation. He said we needed to leave immediately. When Dad started to explain about some of the dangers of leaving the apartment, Mr. Owens cut him off, saying he was already aware of the threats against us.

So him showing up at my office today of all days wasn’t a coincidence after all.

My stomach bottomed out. What if he was the very person who had sent those photos? Or his client was?

But then why come to me with such an insane and specific proposal? The very bizarre nature of it gave it some credibility—at least as far as Mr. Owens not working for the men who wanted my father dead.

No, my best hope was that he and his client were just taking advantage of my vulnerable situation. And wasn’t that just awesome? That in the best case scenario this guy was preying on my weakness instead of actively trying to kill my father?

Dad and I exchanged a glance, then Dad said to give him a second while he went to change. He couldn’t very well go out in his pajamas. I had no idea what was really going through his head.

Mr. Owens looked somewhat put out, but I didn’t care. While Dad was upstairs I sat with Mr. Owens in my living room enduring the most awkward of silences.

Mr. Owens pulled out his phone and began checking emails. When I couldn’t stand the quiet anymore, I finally asked. “Why me? Out of all the women in the world?”

He shrugged casually, not looking up from his phone. “You’ll have to ask the client that. But I imagine it helps that you come from such a fertile family and that you are in a position of need regarding your father. Plus your good breeding and education.”

“Fertile…” I scoffed. “But I’m an only child!”

He glanced up briefly from his phone before looking back at it and thumbing through something on the screen. “Your mother got a tubal ligation. But she’s one of eight children and her father and mother both come from large families.”

“Are you stereotyping Mexican families right to my face?” My back stiffened.

He shrugged again. “Not at all. I’m just a numbers man. And the odds are good you’re fertile.”

Enough of this crap. I stood up. “I’m going to go check on my father.”

“Good. We need to be going.”

It would be bad if I punched an old man, right? I jogged up the stairs and knocked lightly on the guest room door where Dad’s been staying.

No response.

“Dad?” I pushed open the door and stepped inside. Light came from the ensuite bathroom where the door was cracked.

A sour, cold knot entered my stomach. I hurried forward and pushed open the door to the bathroom.

Which is where I found my father, dressed in a suit and freshly shaved, standing and staring down at three open bottles of prescription pills and a full glass of water.

“Dad, no!” I rushed forward and knocked over the pill bottles, scattering white and yellow circles all over the counter.

He tried to force me behind him. “Go back downstairs, Mellie. I’m not going to let you do this, whatever it is, for me. It doesn’t feel right. Just let me end it here and now.” He reached to start gathering the pills into a pile, but I knocked his arm away, scattering them again.

“No!” I threw my arms around his middle, both hugging him and pushing him away from the counter. He stumbled and when his back hit the far wall, it’s like I could feel all the bravado leaving him. He hugged me back just as fiercely.

“Dad, swear to me you’ll never—” My voice broke. “Never do anything like that again. No matter what.” He was breaking my heart. Couldn’t he see that? “I’m going to be strong, but I need you to be strong for me, too.”

I felt him shake his head into my hair. “I’m supposed to be strong for you. This was never supposed to touch you. Just let me—”

I pulled back from him. “Swear,” I demanded, brooking no argument. “Never again. If you love me at all, swear it!” I shook him and finally he nodded. I could tell it felt like a defeat for him to do it, but he did.

“I want to hear the words.” My voice was harsh but I didn’t care. There was no way I could go through whatever the next year would hold without knowing he would be safe.

“I swear I won’t hurt myself. But, baby,” he looked at me with anguish. “You swear that you’ll be safe, too?”

I nodded. “I swear, Dad. We’ll get through this. It’s all going to be fine.”

Just then there was a knock on the outer bedroom door. “I hate to interrupt,” came Mr. Owen’s voice, sounding anything but sorry, “but we are working under certain time constraints. If we could move things along?”

“I don’t like this,” Dad said, his head shaking. “If something seems too good to be true, it usually is.”

I plastered on my brightest smile. “Everything’s going to be fine. It’s just a job, Dad. Trust me.”

I took his hand and pulled him through the bedroom to his closet. “Get your shoes and let’s go.”

He did, reluctantly, and we went.

Yeah, so that saying Dad mentioned about everything seeming too good to be true? I’ve always known my father to be a very smart man—apart from the whole Ponzi scheme and getting involved with criminals thing.

Because the second Dad and I stepped into the black van Mr. Owens directed us to, two huge, burly men cuffed our hands behind our backs and shoved black bags over our heads.

They must have injected Dad with something because he stopped shouting almost immediately.

I freaked out, thinking they killed him, that the ‘client’ was actually the people who wanted Dad dead after all. But Mr. Owens calmly informed me, maybe from the front seat, “He’s just taking a little nap but will feel right as rain once he gets to his destination.”

“Wait, so you don’t want him dead?” I asked in a confused panic.

“Of course not.” Mr. Owens sounded perplexed. “We signed a contract, did we not? As long as you live up to your end of the bargain, your father will be perfectly fine.”

Said as I was shoved in the back seat and one of the muscled henchmen sat beside me.

“The client doesn’t want anything in your system,” Mr. Owens continued in his calm voice as if none of this was out of the ordinary. “He’s very wary of anything that might harm a potential fetus. Even though I informed him that was perfectly absurd and it was highly unlikely at such an early stage of development. Still,” Mr. Owens sighed. “He was adamant. Well, this is where I leave you. Pleasure making your acquaintance.”

And then I heard the sound of a car door opening and closing.

Fucking lunatic. I started screaming my head off and flailing every body part possible.

That lasted as long as it took for the muscle beside me to lift my hood and shove a gag in my mouth. Then he reached down and tied my ankles together.

I spent the hour-long ride in the van and then an even longer ride in what sounded like a small jet tied up like a stuck pig.

And now that the bag is finally off my head and my legs are untied, I find myself out in the middle of…

God, am I still even in the States? I blink and look around at the endless rolling grassy hills, mountains out in the far, far distance. It could be one of the… western states? I don’t fucking know, I’m a city girl for God’s sake. But those are definitely cows on the hills in the distance.

Fucking. Cows.

Where the hell am I?

I take one last desperate look around for any other sign of life and the phrase no one to hear you scream echoes in my head.

Two of the brutes who got off the plane with me drag me up the few wooden stairs to the doorway of the giant western-style lodge. The large three-story building stands starkly against the otherwise bleak landscape. There might have once been a façade with a sign over the door but it looks like it was torn down a long time ago. Now the wood over the door is just grayish and weather-worn.

The two men push it open and yank me inside.

“Dad!” I still call out uselessly, trying to look over my shoulder. I stop fighting the men carrying me but neither am I going to help them. I go limp, refusing to walk forward. The men on both sides keep me upright, dragging me through the entryway. Unlike my polished marble foyer in Manhattan, the interior of this place is wood, wood, and more wood. The walls are styled to look like it’s a log cabin.

I’ve been kidnapped by Paul fucking Bunyan.

The toes of my pumps make a squeaking noise against the wood. I squeeze my eyes shut to all of it, wishing I could end this horrible nightmare but knowing it hasn’t even begun yet.

Because I accepted the devil’s bargain.

Will Mr. Owens actually keep his end of the deal? Or was that all bullshit meant to placate me? Are they going to toss Dad out of the plane somewhere over the Pacific Ocean? Or do I dare even believe that he’ll be safe…?

We start up a stairway and the men dragging my lifeless body make no attempt to compensate for the fact the wooden stairs dig into my bare ankles with every step.

“Ow!” One of my shoes is knocked off, then the other a third of the way up the stairs. Son of a— Okay, so going limp was a bad idea.

“Just wait a second, let me get my feet under m—”

They don’t wait.

Bastards.

I lift my feet up so they’ll clear the sharp-edged steps and try to pull out of their hold again as soon as we get to the top of the stairs.  I cry out after the man on my left roughly jerks me forward again.

“Let her go.” The command is boomed from a figure down the hall. Even though the two men holding me release their grip, I can’t help taking a step back with them.

The inside of the place is dark. There are tons of windows, but they’re all covered with heavy drapes that create a dark, suffocating atmosphere. From the outside, the building was huge—far too big to be a single residence. My first thought that it’s a resort seems to be correct. Downstairs I briefly glimpsed a huge open common room that might have once been used as a bar or for dancing. Up here there’s a long hallway with doors at regular intervals like rooms at an inn.

In the middle of nowhere. Abandoned.

Just like in The Shining.

Oh God, I’m going to die with an axe buried in my chest.

Because at the other end of the hallway is a huge, hulking man who in the dim light is just a giant silhouette.

The size of him is enough to scare the shit out of me. But I don’t know the half of it.

The next second he takes several steps forward. The light from the single wall sconce barely illuminates his face.

Just enough to see that if this is all a nightmare from hell, then he might be the devil himself.