29.

Elise

 

Tommy’s horrified face was priceless. No doubt he’d been giving Beau shit about our impending bundle of joy. But they both have to know if something that important had been discussed, Maryanne would’ve already told me about it.

Today has been everything I’ve dreamed it would be, and only gets better when Chaos strolls up to me holding my cell phone. “Elise, sweetheart, you got a call. Should probably take it.”

I stare at the phone for a beat. “Okay.” Drawing the word out to four syllable length before snatching it from his hand. I answer, “Hello?”

The low, gravelly, voice surprises the hell out of me. “Elise, girl.” Crass. At hearing him, my eyes immediately tear up. Because I haven’t done enough of that today.

“Oh my god, I’ve been so worried. How are you?”

“Better.”

“You home?”

“Not yet.”

“I wanted you here. You deserve to be here.”

“Chaos told me about Liv. Girl, I’m sorry. So damn sorry.”

“Don’t.” I have to put a stop to this right now. “Don’t you dare apologize. You were almost killed trying to protect us. And I need to know, who um…who’s taking care of you once you get home?”

“Me. Sure some of the brothers or old ladies will stop by. I’ll manage.”

“Nonsense. Come down here. I’ll send some boys up to get you. Me and Liv will get you on your feet in no time.”

“Sweetheart, not my charter.”

“I don’t care. I…you…you just need to be here where I can help.”

“Never had a sister.”

“Yeah, well, now you have two. Please think about it. Beau and Chaos can make it work. Let me know when you’re getting out.”

“Gotta go. Congratulations, girl. Tired. Tell Liv I said hey.”

And he doesn’t even give me time to answer back, just hangs up on me. But he’s awake. He’s awake and talking and I can’t ask for more than that right now.

After tucking the phone into the pocket of the bodice of my dress—because heck yeah, my dress needed pockets and I was damn well going to have them when I ordered the thing—my husband takes my hand, lacing our fingers together, and leads me out to the makeshift dance floor. The Lady’s house band begins playing the Etta James rendition of “At Last.”

I wouldn’t call what we’re doing dancing so much as a slow, intimate swaying with my cheek pressed against his chest as Beau sings the words softly in my ear for only me to hear. He can’t carry a tune in a bucket, but no song has ever sounded more beautiful. Ever.

I had no idea he’d even dance with me today. No idea he’d be the one picking our wedding song. Like always, Beau continues to surprise me. And we continue to sway as if wrapped in our own plastic bubble, separating us from the rest of the world until at almost the final notes of the song a commotion brakes out by the front door of the compound.

We walk over together, hand in hand, until Beau spies the cause of the commotion and shoves me behind him. “What the hell are you doin’ here?” He yells at our unwelcome guests.

“So it’s true, you really married her?” Margo’s words come out more accusatory than questioning.

“Get out.”

“You promised me Beau,” I whisper.

“Darlin’ you know damn well I didn’t invite ‘em,” he tells me. “Get. Out.” He growls at them again, when they haven’t moved.

Several of the brothers begin shuffling the wedding crashers to the door when George manages to break away, stepping up in his son’s face.

“Please, Beau. Be reasonable. You can’t marry her. She’s trash. She’s a whore.”

My husband doesn’t even get the chance to take a swing at his father. Oh, someone does, just not whose fist I expected to see connecting with the man’s chin.

Out of nowhere, Liv lets him have it. And since she was raised in the life, Liv knows how to throw a punch.

I jump out from behind my husband, half screaming, half laughing. “Oh my god, Livvy. That. Was. Awesome.”

“Don’t you ever talk that crap about my friend again.” She seethes at him right at the same time Margo shrieks.

But Margo’s shriek doesn’t come from an ‘Oh my god you punched my husband’ place. And we all know it by following the line of her finger pointing at my small, yet noticeable baby bump.

“Since this is the last time we’ll be speakin’ to one another, I’ll tell you.” Beau takes a menacing step forward. “I’ve already married her.” Another step. “She’s my wife. It’s done.” And another, until he’s standing toe to toe with a visibly shaken George, who smartly steps backward. Though his retreat is thwarted by at least five bikers giving Beau his say.

My husband puts an exclamation on the conversation by pointing a finger at George’s chest. “We’re expectin’. It’s too bad you’re such an asshole who can’t let go of the past, a past which was not her fault. Because in seven months you could’ve been enjoyin’ your first grandchild from your only son. But you’ll never have that honor, because you never earned it. These people.” He pauses to gesture around to all our guests. “These people will fill in. They’ve already made Elise feel welcome, and they’re looking forward to spoilin’ our kid rotten. So don’t think your absence will be missed. Now get out so me and my wife can enjoy our day with the people we love.”

“Son, this is a mistake.” George almost sounds pleading instead of contrary. Whatever.

That’s the last he says because Blue and Levi take ahold of each of his arms and drag him back toward the door.

When Liv and my other bridesmaid Hannah approach Margo, she turns abruptly, clutching her purse to her chest like she’s in a bad neighborhood and afraid of being mugged, and runs out after her husband.

“So sorry that happened, baby girl. Especially today. Never wanted their stink to touch you.”

I shrug. “You still love me?”

“You even have to ask?”

“You still want this life, this family, with me?”

“Ain’t no life, no family without you.” This he says with his forehead tipped close to mine, his arms holding me, brushing his lips along my jaw.

“Then whatever. Pothole in our road. But I’m warning you, Candy shows up—it’s on.”

After kissing the tip of my nose, he takes off to see that George and Margo have actually left the property.

I find myself leaning back against the bar watching Liv get the accolades she deserves for stepping up the way she did, when my phone rings. The display says Maryanne Calling. That’s odd seeing as she’s here.

But when I scan the room, I don’t see her.

“Where are you?” I ask after pressing accept and putting the phone to my ear. No hello.

“Elise.” Maryanne’s voice comes at me low and scared. She sounds like she’s been crying.

Then there’s a rustle and the voice I hear next is not Maryanne. “Times up.”

And I wince. “You…you can’t have her. She’s never been with Logan.” Because I’ve heard his voice twice now, there’s no forgetting that voice. I know down to my gut Houdini has Maryanne.

“I make the rules, Hollister whore. Even trade. You for her.”

“She can’t be hurt in any way.” I negotiate while tears run down my cheeks and thicken my voice. Don’t panic. Don’t panic. “She’s alive and unhurt.”

“You have my word.”

“She stays alive and unhurt even after we’ve made the trade.”

“Ah, smart girl. Agreed. Of course I’ll have to knock her out for a bit. But I promise, she’ll wake unharmed.”

I swallow hard. “Where? Where do you want to meet?”

“There’s a service road to the very back of the compound property. Start walking now. You’ve got ten minutes to get here, or she dies. I remotely think you’ve let on to Bossman or anyone else, she’ll be dead before they reach her.”

“You have my word.”

On that parting line, he disconnects and after I check to make sure no one is watching, I run into the kitchen to slip out the back door toward the field.

When cut grass turns to terrain too bumpy for heels, I kick them off as I run because ten minutes isn’t a lot of time. And the whole time my hand stays lying flat against my mildly convex belly.

The air chills considerably as the dusky wind picks up. Just like he said, there’s a service road, just a dirt road, up ahead of me where two figures stand. One, clearly a man. One, the silhouette of a woman in a dress on her knees.

His eyes train on me, watching my every step and when I’m about fifty feet away, he touches the prongs of a stun gun to Maryanne’s shoulder, and she drops.

She’s just stunned… she’s just stunned, I remind myself over and over, all while continuing to run to him. My side burns from running, and gut aches because well—it’s Maryanne. God, I wish I hadn’t eaten that pork. I feel like I’m going to throw up.

“Please don’t stun me,” I beg once I’ve stopped maybe two feet away, rubbing my belly.

The sun just beginning to dip behind the mountains, casting light and shadows along the road behind us. Houdini’s eyes drift down.

“Well, well, well…this is a development. Ain’t it funny how life works?” he says in his low, gravelly voice. The same chilly voice from the cemetery. “Was gonna stun you, now well… But I’ll have to blindfold you.”

“You’re not going to kill me?” I ask as I shuffle slowly toward my oblivion.

As he grabs my arm, pinching until it hurts. “Not here. And now, plans have changed. Fucking perfection.”

He walks, while I stumble along behind him, down the bumpy service road to an old Bronco. Most of it black with a red front passenger door. The back bumper made up of a solid strip of particle board held in place by thin wire and one of the taillights has red electrical tape covering where the plastic cover should be. It’s well, it’s the Frankenstein’s monster of SUVs. And I doubt it’s his.

Before he allows me inside the monstrosity, he opens the back hatch and pulls a dirty green bandanna that had been sitting half draped over the grooves of an old flat tire. Dust puffs up in the air from both the bandanna and tire as he snatches it.

“Can you beat it against your leg a few times before you wrap it around my face?”

His look tells me no he cannot.

“I’ll sneeze the whole time if you don’t. It’ll get annoying for you and me. Please, I’ve been cooperative thus far.”

Houdini glares at me, yet surprisingly, he does actually beat the excess dirt from the rag before tying it tightly around my eyes. Next I hear tape ripping and smell the plastic smell of duct tape a second before the sticky gets stuck over my mouth. Finally he duct tapes my wrists together behind my back before pulling me a few steps. There’s the sound of a door opening and then I’m being shoved onto a seat. Judging by the length of the seat, he’s pushed me into the backseat of the Bronco.

He’s not going to kill me yet, and I have to keep my wits about me. Memorize time and turns, isn’t that what they do in movies?

Unfortunately as he drives, I find I’m nothing like a movie heroine because I quickly lose track of both time and direction. Without a way to know how long or how far we’ve traveled, I can only say it feels like we’ve been traveling a million miles for a million years.

God, poor Beau. After the shit start we’d had, all those obstacles between us. Today was supposed to start our happily ever after. I mean, haven’t we earned it?

When the Bronco finally skids to a stop, I hear voices, both deep male voices, but they’re talking too quietly for me to know what they’re saying, especially with the blood pumping so heavy against my eardrums and them being outside the vehicle.

Two voices? He said he wouldn’t kill me yet, but will he—I swallow hard—hurt me? Will the other guy? My body tenses when I’m pulled from the backseat. Luckily for the time being, only to be transferred to another vehicle, another backseat, before we start driving again. The gut-wrenching fear did a number on my bladder, though.

“Houdini,” I chance a call to him. Of course, with duct tape over my mouth it comes out sounding more like a murmured, “Ouini.”

His response is to growl low, guttural. Yet he does rip the tape from my mouth. I didn’t really expect him to, but thank goodness for small miracles.

“Houdini,” I chance again. “Please…I have to use the bathroom.”

His answer, another growl. Though after about a minute, I feel the vehicle veer as if taking a shoulder, then stop. My door opens, and I’m pulled not gently from the seat. He drags me roughly over what feel like pinecones and twigs against my bare feet about twenty-five steps before he stops us. My dress, tugged up over my hips. My panties, ripped away from my hips.

“Squat,” he finally orders.

So this is happening. Me. Peeing in front of my kidnapper.

I stand when I’ve finished, and he simply pulls my dress back down until gravity takes over. There are so many other ways this could have gone down.

“Why did you kill Hadley, Shayla?” I decide to ask before he tapes my mouth again. Because I know once we reach the car, he’s going to tape my mouth again.

Even though I didn’t really expect him to answer, he snickers through his nose. “Had to get your attention. Got it, didn’t I? Now shut the fuck up before I change my mind about killing you.”

Okay, so I promptly shut the fuck up.

With my headache intensifying, I’m thankful he seems to be in a hurry to get wherever we’re going. As I’m not sure what hurts more, the incessant pounding inside my skull or those pinecones and twigs stabbing my bare feet that he drags me back over, until finally shoving me back inside the vehicle. Though without, I note, tape on my mouth.

Another million miles over another million years, all in total silence, only the hum of the tires skimming over the pavement fills the void. I can’t seem to work up the courage to speak with him again.

Eventually, the sound of humming highway turns to crunching gravel underneath the tires, the car rolls to another stop. Houdini wrenches open the door and yanks me from the backseat, crunching gravel now under my feet, then we stop. Keys clink and rustle. He yanks me again, and we walk until he shoves me not exactly gentle at my chest with the backs of my knees hitting something, I assume furniture, and then my bottom falls and hits soft cushion.

The place smells musty, like it’s been closed up for a while and in need of a good airing out.

“Get comfy,” he grumbles. “You’re gonna be here a while.”

Yes. Big, bad Houdini uses the word comfy.

That’s the last he says to me before he leaves. The door slamming shut clues me in to him leaving. And for some inexplicable reason, instead of trying to plot my escape or at very least to contact my husband…Oh man, my husband. He’s got to be worried sick.

All I can seem to think about is whether or not Houdini has a power cord compatible with the phone hidden in my pocket. In case the battery runs out, I could charge it. How could I contact Beau with a dead phone?

Answer: I couldn’t.

Thus concerning myself with power cords in these uncertain times doesn’t seem so ridiculous. However, I need to focus. To escape.

I blame the stress.

Stress makes us think crazy. Worrying about power cords would definitely qualify as me thinking crazy. Just not ridiculous.

Easier than falling apart, my mind shifts through whether or not the prospects put the food away before the men undoubtedly took off to find me so we don’t get rodents or bugs while I’m gone, because I cannot live with rodents or bugs. And because I have to have faith that the men will find me. Then I move on to wondering about Maryanne, if she’ll be able to get the grass stains out of her pretty bridesmaid dress.

Alone in the room, I can almost pretend I’m not someone’s captive when the door opens.

“Bed,” is all he grumbles. Uh-oh.

Houdini picks me up and cradles me like a groom might cradle his bride with one hand behind my back and one under my knees, giving me no choice but to loop my arms around his neck to keep from spilling to the floor, or at least it feels like I’ll spill to the floor. Who knows if Houdini would let me fall?

He sets me down, gently this time, onto the bed, not removing my blindfold yet tearing the tape from my wrists. It stings. They sting. Again gently, he rubs at my wrists leading me to let my guard down. Stupid, stupid, Elise. So stupid, in my lowered guard, I don’t fight him when he unbuttons the vest of my dress then pulls the zip of the skirt down the side, stopping where it stops just below my hip. I freeze while he shoves the leather off my shoulders then stands me up to let the bottom half slip to the floor so I’m almost bare to Houdini wearing only my lacy white bra.

Uh-flipping-oh. Double on that uh-oh when he runs his finger down from my collarbone, between my breasts to rest at my baby bump where he stops, resting his whole hand to cover my bellybutton the way Beau does, and he grumbles low, “Fuck Elise, you got a beautiful body, even knocked up.”

I don’t want to thank him. That might encourage him.

“Sleep,” he orders. “I’m wiped.”

For the briefest of seconds I think he might let me lie back without wrist restraints. No such luck. Softer than the duct tape, I feel the satin he binds my wrists together with. This time, he binds them to my front. Although soft, he binds them tight. Tight. Super tight. That cutoff line just before tourniquet tight. It won’t make for a comfortable night, but I shouldn’t lose my hands because of it.

The uh-oh gets worse when I hear clothing drop to the floor, the covers rustle from the other side of the bed, and his weight and body heat slide in next to me. I start to really get nervous then when he flips me to my right side, his knees cocked against my knees to curl back over his, and he drops his arm over my waist to rest again on my belly.

Scary, murderous Houdini spoons me.

A spooning Houdini freaks me out so badly I blurt out, “I thought you were gonna cut my heart out.”

As the full weight of my stupidity hits, I suck in on my bottom lip and bite hard, bracing.

Who the hell reminds a scary murderer that he intended to cut your heart out? Me, only me. About now I’m beginning to think I might deserve to have my heart cut out.

On a soft laugh he grumbles again. “Sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow.” After which he nips the skin behind my ear, sucking it deep into his mouth. So deep I know he’s marked me. It turns my stomach. He wants Beau to know he’s had his mouth on me.

A low sob breaks from my throat.

With a brief arm squeeze, he releases me. “Sleep.”

What choice do I have? It’s been a long, exhausting day and until he decides to end me, I’m still growing a child, so I force my mind as blank as my mind can go,

And I sleep.