Page 8 of Captive Souls

But that night, I’d spent time, used a curling iron to help smooth it, rubbed product into it. I’d put on makeup—just a little mascara to frame my eyes. Unlike Daisy’s, they were not a vibrant blue, a woody hazel. My face was rounder than hers. Though I ran every day, I did not train for hours like she did. Nor did I monitor my diet. So my face was fuller, my cheekbones less defined.

It was still winter, so I’d worn a skin-tight turtleneck dress that went down to mid-calf but clung to my body like a second skin. I paired it with leather, heeled boots that were my one unreasonable, outrageous purchase. Daisy was in her usual soft pastels—a cashmere wrap cardigan, light pink slacks and delicate heels.

She was glowing. Happiness made her shine. I let myself believe that maybe this was the time. More than anything, I wished that for my forever romantic, forever hopeful sister.

Joey had picked us both up in a limo—a little much, in my opinion—had flowers for Daisy, gifts. He’d showered her with physical affection—also a little too much, in my opinion—and had been overly polite and warm to me.

I’d bristled against his peacocking but hadn’t let it show. It was my sister’s birthday; it was about her being spoiled. She hadn’t had a man make her feel special in that way. Treasured. Maybe I was just seeing red flags because I didn’t know what else to look for. That’s what I’d told myself at the time.

All of her friends were at the restaurant. Everyone from the studio, from school. Some of our mutual friends too. And a lot of people I didn’t know. Mostly men. Joey’s ‘friends.’ All of them were in suits, all of them carrying themselves in a certain … way. I couldn’t explain it. There was just something off about them. Even though they smiled, were perfectly polite, and some were quite handsome.

I’d come with the intention of keeping myself open to a man. It had been a while. I hadn’t had sex, a connection. I craved it. But immediately upon seeing these men, my desire dried up. My warning bells sounded, honed from years of witnessing Daisy pick men just like these, years of being a single woman living in New York City. A childhood of living under the thumb of a violent man.

I had initially dismissed my thought that Joey was somehow involved with the Italian mob. I knew it was irrational to make assumptions based on my love of television shows and my general overactive imagination. Throughout life, I’d been known to create intricate scenarios in my head, get lost in daydreams and just generally believe the world to be a more fantastical place than it was. I believed in magic, practiced it in my own way, read Tarot cards for fun, and always carried a crystal with me. The amethyst ring on my finger was a mainstay, one of my only physical reminders I had of my grandmother.

I got swept up in stories, so of course, after watching a highly dramatized TV show, I would deduce that slick-looking men gathered in an Italian restaurant, wearing mid-range suits and looking … off, for lack of a better word, would be members of the Italian mob.

The more likely reality was that they were all criminals of some variety, maybe wannabe mobsters. Not entirely harmless but not members of the mafia. I was pretty sure it didn’t even exist anymore. The general party line was that organized crime’s heyday had come and gone, that the world was too small for criminals to act in the ways they had before the age of smartphones and technology.

Even so, I’d steered clear of the men the entirety of the party, instead mingling with Daisy’s friends from the studio, who unfortunately mentioned they’d seen less of Daisy than usual, and that she was missing practices.

My lips had pursed, my fingers clutching the stem of my glass.

I’d have to talk to her. Not there, though. Not on her birthday. I didn’t like having to chastise her in general, to act like her mother. But I was the closest thing to a mother she’d ever had. I didn’t resent the role, but sometimes I did just want to bethe fun sister, one that didn’t follow her life so closely, that didn’t try to correct her mistakes.

Then again, it seemed that she was making a pretty big fucking mistake with Joey and his friends, whoever they were.

I went to the bar to get another drink—soda in a champagne glass. I couldn’t be bothered with questions about sobriety.

“You’re Piper.”

The words were punctuated with a hand on my lower back, the pressure light but still invading and uncomfortable.

My entire body had stiffened from the unwanted contact, even though I’d had to endure plenty of it throughout my life. Some of it seemingly benign from men, other times not. Men were brought up to think they could conquer the world—history gave them every reason to believe this—and that included the women in it. It was wild that something as simple as personal space was breached constantly by men who thought they had the right.

His voice was close. Too close to my neck. It might’ve been attractive. Low, throaty, masculine. It had all the right ingredients, yet it felt off. Before I even looked at him, I knew the man was trouble.

I sucked in a breath, steadying myself. Not only did I need to remind myself that this was my sister’s birthday party and not to make a scene, but that there were definitely some shady characters here. Offending one could be a lot worse than making a scene at a party.

I didn’t have a smile on my face when I turned, but my expression was as pleasant as I could force it to be.

Me turning meant the man was no longer touching my lower back, thankfully. But it also meant that we were face-to-face, and he was standing much closer than was polite. I could smell the sharp twang of his expensive aftershave, that again should’vebeen nice, alluring, yet there was something off, something bitter about it that made me want to recoil.

“I’m Piper,” I had replied, looking at him in his murky-brown eyes, my voice sharp.

He smiled, looking me up and down in appreciation. My jaw hurt, I ground my molars together so hard.

He wasn’t ugly by any means. He was significantly older than me, communicated by the lines at the corners of his eyes and the silver streaking through his ash brown hair. His forehead was shiny, though, one of the telltale signs he indulged in a little bit of Botox. Everything about him seemed shiny. His flashy watch, the bespoke suit that almost completely hid the paunch at his belly but not entirely. The gleam in his eye that counteracted the warm smile. The gleam in his eye that sent my heart hammering in my chest. It was cold. Predatory.

He was large too, much taller than me with broad shoulders. But not just in size. His presence felt large, like I had suddenly been encompassed in a cold shadow.

I repressed my shiver.

“I thought Joey got himself a good one with Daisy.” The man nodded his head to where my sister was laughing, Joey’s arms around her possessively as they had been all night. The casual but somehow caging embrace had set my teeth on edge.

I didn’t look their way for too long, just a second. Everything told me to keep all of my attention on this man. You didn’t take your eyes away from a bear when it cornered you, did you?

Somehow, inexplicably, I would’ve rather been cornered by a bear right then.

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