Page 33 of Cautious

I see worry cross her face, but she masks it quickly, too stupid to believe she isn’t as invincible as she seems to think she is.

“Do you really think Christian will care about a bunch of jarheads?” She rolls her eyes at me like I’m stupid. “When Christian makes his move, your littlefriendwon’t see him coming. He’s not the kind of man to knock on your door, Callie. He’ll come for you in the middle of the night, taking out anyone who gets in his way. You remember how that goes, right?”

I swallow bile as memories assault me, but I shake my head to clear it. She’ll feed off my pain if she knows her words hurt me. She’s right in one sense, though; I have to warn Blake.

She must recognize something in my eyes because she points her finger hard into my chest. “I can see your little brain working, daughter dearest. But remember one thing: nobody believed you then, and they won’t believe you now. You are just the poor, messed-up little girl who hasn’t dealt with the horrors of her traumatic childhood. Go ahead and vilify me, I dare you. It won’t stop Christian from coming. The only way to do that is to come home.”

I stare at this evil woman, wondering what I ever did to deserve a mother like her. “Marry him your fucking self. You’re both perfect for each other. Especially since, at forty-seven, he’s closer to your age than mine.”

“It’s you he wants, and it’s you he was promised, and I never break a promise.”

I frown at her as something dark and ugly unfolds inside me. What, exactly, does she mean when she sayspromised?

Christian Baylor, a man known for his illegal deals as well as his brutality, decided I would make a good wife for him the day he met me at a charity function I attended for the homeless. And he didn’t give a flying fuck that I was engaged to another man. He became obsessed with me right off the bat, and despite my absolute revulsion, he refused to take no for an answer.

The police wouldn’t help, saying their hands were tied as he hadn’t technically done anything wrong yet. At least nothing I could prove. I knew, though, that if I waited until he made his move, it would be too late. And it nearly was for both me and Danny.

After a brutal attack left Danny in a wheelchair, Christian’s stalking only became more intense. Until one day when he cornered me on my way home from the shelter I volunteered at and dragged me into the alleyway adjacent to the building while his driver kept watch. He slapped me hard, yelling that he was tired of waiting while I flaunted my body around the dregs of society and proceeded to shove his hand down my pants. I clawed at his face and screamed, thankfully drawing the attention of two homeless guys who stepped in, giving me a chance to run.

One police report later, I knew I had to leave town. Not enough evidence, they said, calling me an unreliable witness with a tendency to cry wolf. I realized by then it was likely thatChristian had officers in his pocket. I went straight home and packed up everything I had and left.

“What are you talking about?” I question quietly while part of my brain screams at me that I don’t want to know.

She has a wild gleam in her eye, excitement warring with satisfaction. A look I have seen too many times before. The night my father was falsely arrested, the night we were told he was dead. The day her next future ex-husband married her and even the day of his funeral. She is a cold, calculating psychopath that has everyone around her fooled. Everyone, it seems, but me.

Even her husbands, who had both barely survived their marriages to her, still bought into her brand of crazy until the bitter end. But of course, by then, it was too late. She’s an.

“I met Christian before Thomas died.” Thomas, her last ex-husband, had died of a heart attack after catching her in bed with his best friend. She cruelly boasted about it to me afterward, leaving me feeling disgusted that we are related.

“He was ideal for scratching an itch, but we are both too similar for anything more permanent. He was impressed with how calm I was when Thomas died, how I was happy to let him leave before the emergency services got there to avoid the tarnish to his name?—”

I cut her off, feeling sick to my stomach. “Christian was the best friend Thomas caught you with?” My face twists in revulsion.

She doesn’t answer my question, just carries on talking like I never spoke.

“He, himself, admitted we were too alike to be anything more. Plus, he wanted a wife, someone young and naïve. Someone malleable with a daddy complex.” She laughs, finding the whole thing funny, oblivious to the horror unfurling inside me.

“I told him about you, showed him a photo, told him all about your daddy issues and your conviction to stay a virgin until marriage. He was so excited we had to fuck again just so he could get it out of his system.” Her smile disappears, her face hardening before focusing on me once more.

“I told him he could have you as long as he kept me in the lifestyle I had grown accustomed to. It was, after all, partly his fault Thomas died. Now he is refusing to give me any more money until you return and take your vows,” she snaps, angry at me once more.

“You sold me?” I stutter, appalled. I can’t comprehend the words I’m saying, even though I know they’re true.

She sold her own child. I don’t know why I’m surprised after everything she has already done, but I am. That small little girl buried deep in my psyche howls at the injustice of it all.

“My father is dead because of you. You took him from me, took everything from me, but it still wasn’t enough. You had to take Danny too. And now this?” I whisper incredulously.

“You are making this a bigger deal than you need to. Arranged marriages happen all the time. He is rich and powerful. You’ll never want for anything again,” she replies flippantly.

“No,you’llnever want for anything again. That’s all this is about. Cold hard fucking cash. Christian Baylor is a fucking psychopath. He doesn’t want a wife. He wants a toy. And what will become of me when he’s done with me? When I’m too broken to repair? He’ll dispose of me before forcing some other poor girl to take my place.” I’d never get out of that marriage alive. How can she not care?

“I brought you into this world. I fed you, clothed you?—”

“That’s your fucking job. It’s called being a parent,” I scream.

“You owe me,” she grates out through gritted teeth.

I bang my head against the wall, so angry my whole body is vibrating with it. I can’t reason with her because she’s so fucking delusional, she only hears what she wants to.

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