The gentle caressing of my cheek feels unusual. Wyatt’s hands are usually a little more callous from the constant cooking. Why are they suddenly so soft?
My eyelids lift, and I immediately jump away from the male staring at me.
“Evening, Julez.”
Instinctively, my body maneuvers to create a distance, yet the way I’m bound has me incapable of doing anything.
“Is it a good fit?” He points his finger down to where my hands are wrapped together with duct tape. “I would’ve used rope, but this decision was a little more rushed than I was prepared for.”
The piece of tape covering my mouth isn’t what keeps me from replying.
Neither is fear.
Unlike before when I had been held against my will, I now know to remain calm in the situation. To remain in control. To not feed into the scenario the way an attacker wants me to. It’ll most likely lead them to anger, which leads them to outrage, which inevitably leads them to making a mistake, leaving them open for a counter attack.
“Do I look familiar?” The man adjusts himself on the arm of the couch. “Perhaps a little like my older brother?”
I clamp down on my tongue to keep from making an audible gasp.
He had a brother?
He did!
Oliver?
No….
Orion?
No.
Wait! I remember!
Owen!
How could I forget Carter had a brother just a year younger than him?
A younger brother my best friend at the time had a crush on?
“The brother you’re responsible for killing.”
Is he fucking serious?
Do I look like a goddamn bear?!
“You know why he was out in those woods?”
Why would I know? I was trying to rebuild my life in a different fucking country.
“He was doing a spell to summon you back into his life.” Owen leans a little closer, but not close enough to head butt. “See, that’s how fucking desperate he was to have you. He had gone to some ‘witch’ who had given him some ‘spell’ that required him to cast it in fucking nature.”
Desperate or bat shit crazy?
“It was his Hail Mary shot. He’d searched and stalked and scoured the country for you, clueless about the truth of your whereabouts. So, he did the only thing his warped mind could think of and used other worldly resources.”
I divert my gaze, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing how mortified I am by the idea.
Unfortunately, he catches on. “What’s wrong, Julez? Don’t like hearing how you killed someone?”
My eyes twitch a glare his direction.
I wish I had.
I wish Paxton had.
I wish he would’ve died that night instead of Julez.
Instead of the innocent spirit of a young girl who grew into a scared young adult with anxiety problems that would cause her to grow into a full blown adult with commitment issues.
“I’ll admit,” he rises to his feet, hands finding his pockets as he begins to pace the floor. “At first, I didn’t understand. Carter had always seemed so…normal. I remember my big brother a lot different than everyone else. He was smart. Funny. Almost, happy go lucky. But then he met you.” The disdain is expected. “And suddenly you were the only fucking thing he could think about. Talk about. You were like a drug that had taken over his system, and the only thing I wanted was to snap him out of it. Get my big brother back.”
What does he fucking want from me? Empathy?
“After…the incident and his stint in a mental facility I was certain he would be okay. He’d realize how crazy he’d been acting and go back to normal, but that wasn’t the case. It’s like the time he spent in solitude only allowed him more time to feed his obsession. An obsession that cost him his life.” Owen finally stops pacing, the distance still too great for effective action. “You don’t forget the feeling of numbness you go through when your parents call you home from college in the middle of the week to tell you your brother’s dead. You don’t…forget the feeling of watching his coffin be lowered into the ground.” His neck noticeably stiffens. “And you don’t forget the feeling of discovering what led to his final moments.”
I maintain eye contact.
“I was the one who cleaned out his room at our parent’s house. Carter never…made it out on his own. The therapist convinced my parents he was too unstable, so they still had guardianship over him. It was during this process that I discovered you, Julez.”
Curiosity soars through my system.
“The real you.” He begins to smile. “The delicate little flower in desperate need of sunshine. Desperate need of someone to move the boulder known as her brother out of her way.”
How could he…
“Carter not only had journals of what felt like your every move, but he had your diaries too.”
Fighting the urge to gasp becomes even more difficult.
“Pages and pages of your most intimate thoughts and details of your days. I discovered drawers of pictures and keepsakes. Trying to discover what sparked my brother’s obsession led me to starting my own…”
Is stalking…genetic?
“Except, I wasn’t as impatient as Carter or as sloppy. In fact, if it wasn’t for that blonde dick you’ve been seeing lurking around engagement rings, I would’ve waited until our home was completely ready before taking you there.”
Our…what now?!
“Torn, Julez. I was really torn. I didn’t wanna risk him whisking you off out of my reach again, but I didn’t want you to see it unfinished,” he sighs with such sadness it’s clear he believes in his delusional fantasy. “I didn’t wanna disappoint you. You’ve had so much of it in your life.”
My body noticeably stiffens.
“Like that Christmas you came home expecting these big open arms and a parade for your return yet all your parents did was argue on where you should stay. You ended up at my hotel…”
The memory bulges my eyes.
“Well, not my hotel, but the one I work for. That was the first time I had seen you up close since we were teens.”
Tears threaten to rise, but I rapidly blink to scare them away.
“You were…so…pretty…And watching you cry?” He slowly wets his lips. “I had to restrain myself from tasting your tears.”
My stomach churns and vomit lurches up the back of my throat.
“I was the room service attendant. It was a shitty job I only took because it was better money than waiting tables, but that night I saw its true potential. I comped the meal on the spot. You touched my hand as you thanked me. It was obvious you had no memory of who I was.”
Blocked memories.
Blocked moments.
It was natural to do that according to my therapist.
She reassured me having gaps in my memory was a completely normal response to such a traumatic event. Her focus during our time together was to help me move forward. Don’t waste time investigating or dwelling on the past. It had always seemed like sound advice, however, now I’m wondering if it’s the reason I’m here.
If it’s the reason it didn’t hit me who he was right away.
If it’s the reason his face looked eerily familiar over these past few months yet was implacable.
“I touched your hand back and swore to you any time you stayed at The Frost Luxury Hotel they’d take great care of you. Explained how amazing their rewards program was. Guess the words sank in because over the years…in various countries…this chain is where you always stay.”
Oh my God…
“And I’d know,” he jumps at the chance to reassure me. “I have a personal record of all of your stays. I’m head of the accounting department for the rewards program.”
More tears begin to arise.
“That was the night I officially began my own…tracking of you. I switched majors to accounting, stayed with Frost, and worked my way into a department that would give me a better pair of eyes on you. God knows your social media presence is a joke. If it wasn’t for your business it’d be even harder to trace you.” Owen glances off the direction of my window. “Night’s finally here. Time to take you home, Julez.”
All of a sudden, the sound of a key in the lock captures his attention.
He grouses, “Well. Almost.”
Wyatt’s just shut the door when Owen attacks. The sucker punch stumbles my boyfriend against the frame, but not much else. He instantly retaliates with an attempted jab, but unfortunately Owen’s quicker on his feet than anticipated. The hit is dodged as is the following one thrown. They begin what feels like an awkward dance of swinging fists and well timed shuffles. I busy myself at making what feels like a foolish attempt to get my feet free until I notice Wyatt manages to land a blow that sends Owen tumbling to the ground on a heavy thud.
He doesn’t bother delivering another shot or waiting to see if he’s going to get back up. He darts over to me, rips the tape off my mouth, and questions, “You okay?” His eyes do a quick scan over my body. “You hurt?”
I shake my head too stunned to speak.
Wyatt struggles to get my ankles unwrapped while I busy myself twisting my hands, desperately trying to remember the self-defense training I had about this very scenario. Sadly, seconds after he rips the tape free, Owen tackles him from behind, driving a pocket knife into his shoulder blade. The impact of the attack nudges the couch out from underneath my ass causing me to fall onto the ground. I groan and roll to the side, gritting my teeth through the minor ache. Sounds of Wyatt’s pain surround the apartment, and I choke back the urge to cry.
Now is not the time.
Fight or flight.
Kill or be killed.
I prepare to sit back up when I notice a dingy silver object angled my direction. Reaching over, I scoot it closer to my body, shielding it from being seen. More groans of agony are leaked into the room, but I don’t bother trying to decipher who they’re coming from. I snap my body back and search my racing mind for the defense training I endured that touched on this type of constraints. When the memory finally hits me, I immediately execute it. My hands lift has high above my head as possible before I plunge them downward past my hips, pulling them in opposite directions. The tape breaks and not a moment a too soon.
A slightly beaten Owen stumbles back towards me unaware of the fork I’m now grasping. “Time to get you home, Julez…No more interruptions.”
Remaining perfectly still to execute my plan of attack is the only real chance I have at taking him down. He begins to lean forward to grab my ankles when I fling my foot upward. The strike hits him in the nose and instinctively his hands fly to it. At that moment, I lunge forward, curled fist forcefully landing a punch to his balls. Owen doubles over in pain as predicted leaving me the open opportunity to drive the utensil deep into his artery. Despite the blood sprayed and choking sounds I use all my remaining force to heave him to the side away from me. His unstable body teeters, collapsing close to the coffee table.
I hastily scramble to my feet and over to where Wyatt is propped against the wall and not moving. The tears I’ve been battling for what feels like hours prick the sides of my eyes.
No…
No…
Two fingers fly to the area I just stabbed Owen in. Thankful, there’s a faint pulse, I frantically dig out his cell phone and dial 911.
I screw my eyes shut and whisper a prayer that I’m not too late.
That trying to save my life didn’t cost him his.
That my life didn’t rip away another member from our family.
That the only person I wanna keep building that family with doesn’t die in my arms.