Page 31 of Under Your Care

“If there is anything at all that you think could be helpful, please tell me. Anything you can tell me will improve the conditions of your stay withmy brothers.”

Oliver gulped, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “Um… Let me think…” I gave him a small nod before asking Hudson to bring him a bottle of water. “Did he take Chloe with him?”

“Yes, in a cat carrier. His last known location is Portland, Oregon,” I shared.

“Okay, well um… If Chloe’s with him, he’d be really conscious of her care. Pet-friendly motels, stopping to buy her food, stopping to let her go to the bathroom - those kinds of things.” Hudson returned with water and something to calm him down. He instructed Oliver to open his mouth and hold out his tongue as he placed the pills on its moist surface. Hudson then assisted him in taking a few sips of the water, which seemed to help him a bit. “What about money?”

I cocked my head, asking, “What about it? He took my credit card, but hasn’t used it since he withdrew cash from an ATM.”

“Did he take his credit card? Or the one that his parents pay?”

My eyes widened. I had assumed Lane would only use my money, but why would he? He was obviously smart enough to know I could track him via my card or his phone. “I think he may have. His wallet was gone.”

“Okay, I’m not assuming anything… but you guys are obviously really sketchy…” Hayes huffed out a laugh as Hudson smirked and shook his head. “I know you shouldn’t be able to, but could you somehow get into the accounts of those cards and see if he’s been using them, and then track him that way?”

I took a relieved breath in, “Yeah, we can definitely do that. Thank you. If I’m able to find him using that method, I’ll make sure these two bring you out of the basement.”

Oliver furrowed his brow slightly as he registered my words. “Out of the basement… Not out of here in general?”

The twins both grinned toothily, a glint in their eyes.

“No, my brothers will be keeping you at least for now. They’ve beenwaiting for a chance. I was going to try to discourage them from playing with you, but you made that impossible for me. I’m sure you’ll be more careful when speaking with my boy from now on. Maybe you’ll even come to understand his attachment to me. Although, I’m not nearly as sadistic as your new masters. You’ll see how lucky Lane is soon enough,” I mocked, patting him on the cheek.

“No! No, no, no. Please don’t leave me with them!” He begged, thrashing in his chains.

“My hands are tied, Oliver,” I derided, exiting the room with the door closing slowly behind me. “I’ll see you again once you’ve been housebroken.”

???

It took no time at all to gain access to Lane’s bank account. Pitiful security, truly. Luckily for him, Oliver had given me the key to finding my boy. Lane had been using his credit card, making it incredibly easy to follow his movements. Around two o’clock in the morning, he paid for a motel room just past the border into California. A pet-friendly establishment, of course. Lane was a deep sleeper, at least when he was in my bed. I was hoping he’d still be in his motel room by the time I arranged to arrive by private jet. I couldn’t wait to have him in my hands again.

Poor thing probably felt so lonely without me.

I was glad my brothers had wanted Lane’s friend, or I would have had to kill him. I could make Lane easily forgive a kidnapping and interrogation, but not a murder. If I framed it in a romantic way, Lane may even appreciate it.

Chapter 14

Lane

Walking down the basement stairs of my childhood home felt like a death sentence. I used to love it down here, before him. It was a wide-open space, separated in two by a wooden staircase, carpeted, but with drab grey cement walls. The ceiling was all exposed beams and wires, yellow Christmas lights strung between each beam, creating a warm glow in the otherwise frigid room. My parents used it as both a storage area and a playspace. I always had toys scattered around the house and in my bedroom, but the basement is where they went when I grew tired or too old for them. We had a big, boxy, late 90s TV that sat in a dimly-lit corner of the basement, parked in front of an ugly green couch with cracked leather. I loved sitting down there for hours on end watching reruns and playing on our gaming console. As ugly as the couch was, sometimes it seemed to be even more comfortable than my bed upstairs.

The basement used to be full of fun memories of playing with the other neighborhood kids and elementary school birthday parties. Now, it felt more like a torture chamber than a place to relax and be a kid. There were still reruns on the old TV, still the comfy yet heinous-looking couch, still the remnants of party streamers stuck to the ceiling beams. I hadn’t noticed those before, hence why they were still up there. But, you got a different perspective when you were laying on thebasement carpet, eyes wandering across each beam, each tiny spider web that was hiding up there, each little scrap of paper - blue, yellow, pink, green, and orange. Focusing on the ceiling was easiest. Pretending that I was alone, that my parents weren’t in the living room directly above where I was laying. Sometimes, my eyes caught on the top of a mop of dirty blonde hair, before I quickly refocused my gaze to the ceiling. Sometimes, I wished I was blind so that even when he made me look, I wouldn’t have to see.

I heard his hand collide against my cheek. I felt it as my head was knocked to the side with the force of the hit.

“Lane, focus!” Tate sneered, grabbing me by my hair and yanking my head to face him. At age twenty, Tate was all long, gangly limbs and body acne. He was skin and bones compared to some of his friends, but to me, he was a snake - able to wrap himself around my fragile body and squeeze the life out of me. “Fucking idiot,” he commented under his breath. He drew himself up to a standing position before reaching into his gym bag on the couch.

He shoved a sweaty can of beer into my small hands. My body froze as I desperately hoped this wasn’t going to lead to what had happened the previous times he’d given me alcohol.

“Come on, chop chop. You got two of those to finish before Jason gets here in fifteen minutes.” Tate pulled me up into a seated position and placed the second can just in front of me. Tears quietly streamed down my face, every other salty drop mixing with the beer on my lips. When I gagged from the awful taste, Tate hit the side of my head with the back of his hand, scolding me. “What, you want to do this sober, fag?”

My sad eyes dimmed of all light as I shook my head and began chugging the stale liquid down my throat. I sucked in a sob as he opened the second can, handing it to me to drink. My thoughts swirled inside my head as swallow after swallow went down, wondering if - at ten months into this living hell - it’d be better to just end it all.

Jolting awake, I began to run to the bathroom of my shitty motel roombefore my eyes were even open. I made it just in time, throwing up and then dry-heaving into the frigid toilet bowl. Tears welled up at the corners of my eyes. As I felt Chloe’s furry head butt into my hip, I choked out a sad laugh. I hadn’t had a nightmare about back then since I began living with Greyson. It probably shouldn’t have been a surprise that I had one during the first night on my own. The further I got from Greyson, the more I regretted my hastily-made decision to run.

I was exhausted, scared, sore from sitting in uncomfortable public bus seats all day, and missing my Daddy with my entire being. I was frustrated at myself for letting Oliver’s words affect me so much. I hadn’t really cared about Greyson’s methods of courting me - not sure how else to describe it - until Oliver had come in convinced that I was being abused. I scoffed, tugging at my hair, mad at myself for letting mybig emotions- as Greyson would put it - control me. I was deeply familiar with abuse, and while Greyson was obsessive and possessive, he was the most thoughtful and caring partner I had ever known.

And I knew that most boyfriends didn’t drug you and blah, blah, blah, but I also knew that most boyfriends didn’t have a binder full of your likes and dislikesandyour cat’s likes and dislikes. Most boyfriends didn’t bathe you, regularly bringing home bath products of all kinds for me to try. Most boyfriends didn’t meticulously design your dream bedroom, didn’t stroke your hair until you fell asleep, didn’t take off work to make sure I had someone to eat my meals with.

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