Page 88 of Fight for You
I scanned the lavish bedroom. In the farthest corner, near a couch, canvas photos hung on a wall. Black and white, still framed shots of nature that didn’t bode well with the pink room. Candids of people from afar. As if some talented person hadn’t asked consent to capture the shots. Was it the same woman who occupied this bed before me? Or the person who took me? My mind instantly went to the past. The Brit had a different room when angry with the monarch. A room that was more shades of gray. Belts. Whips.
I couldn’t breathe at all as I stared at the photos.Yeah.Creepy,talented stalker.
Without a single shred of oxygen in my chest, I flew to the double doors. Grabbed a knob. It turned. Relieved, I stepped out into a hallway, my bare feet hitting the cold floor.
“Jordyn?”
I flinched. Spun toward the voice.
There, at the farthest end of the hallway, was a face from my past. My not-so-distant past. Not the British PM. Not a man.
A woman.
The sweet young woman Aleksandr’s son tugged out of his Lamborghini two Mays ago. Adrian had dragged his unconscious classmate toward the pool house. He’d wanted to use his prom date. Use her any which way he pleased. Adrian had roofied her, and I’d lost it. I’d beat Aleksandr’s son like he’d stolen something. I’d lugged the girl across the lawn, through the kitchen, into my room, and barricaded us inside. Once he awoke, Adrian pounded on the door. Denis almost helped him get inside. The girl had roused and murmured her name—she’d croaked, “Tell them my name.”
Though her name escaped me now, it worked like a charm back then. I’d shouted her last name to Denis, and he’d ripped Adrian a new one and left us alone.
That untouchable teenage girl. Man, what I wouldn’t do for parents like hers. They’d sheltered her for much of her life. She’d learned a valuable lesson that day, then returned to her beautiful home in Beverly Hills.
Thisbeautiful home. Once returned to her gilded cage, she texted me on her phone that she had left for me, telling me to leave Chelomey. I’d hardly responded to her continuous quest to encourage me. Fear made me blow her off. Fast forward two years later, the night of my escape from Tarzana.
I murmured, “Aston Martin.”
“Huh?” the girl said.
“Uh, Cutie Pie.” It was easier to remember the car she drove—an Aston Martin DB5—rather than the cutesy nickname of her childhood. I stared at the girl who tried to save me in July. She was also my first real hug. “What are you doing here?” Jesus, You had me save the girl who hugged me all those years ago. Now, what in the heck is wrong with this girl?
Cutie Pie, now twenty years old and just as gorgeous, stepped closer to me. Worry misted her hazel eyes. “I saw you in that high-speed chase. You looked so afraid.”
“Yeah. The cops were trailing us.”
“No. They were trying to save you from that ex-Marine.” Cutie Pie’s honey-skin tone flushed an angry red. “I know you were afraid to leave Aleksandr. That night when he slammed his foot into your head.” As her voice lowered with disgust, I could see visions in her eyes. Visions of Adrian’s attempted assault. She’d done this for me. “I-I should’ve”—her hands forked through shoulder-length wavy hair—“said something that night. Went straight to the police. I didn’t want to get my pop involved.”
I hitched a breath. Sounded nice. Wanting to spare your father the gory details of your attempted rape.
“Pop would’ve had questions. Then Pop would’ve killed Aleksandr’s son. Then …” She glanced down. “ThenI’d have had to tellhim how stupid I was for trying to date the worst guy at Cedar Crest Prep.”
Oh,yeah. It was all coming back to me. I blamed Cutie Pie’s obsession with saving me on the leukemia. Once she’d come down from her high at the Chelomey house, she’d talked. A lot. I think she’d wanted to share her side so she didn’t sound so stupid for being roofied. She’d gotten her life back after surviving cancer and bullying at public school. The first guy—a wolf in sheep’s clothing—who pretended to be nice to her turned out to be none other than Adrian Chelomey. Having never attended school, even I smelled the trouble that came with the popular guy befriending the new girl.
“It’s okay. All your … texts over these past couple of years …” My voice trailed off, unsure what to say in this awkward situation. I’d agreed to leave because she’d texted me on July 1st, right before Independence Day. “You encouraged me.” I smiled, trying to process the situation and comfort her.Then he would’ve killed Aleksandr’s son.“Wait.” My eyes filled with fire and betrayal. “Where’s Jamie?”
“In the basement. Don’t worry. I-I should’ve come clean to my family the second I saw you in Tarzana again. Aleksandr hurt you.” She wrenched her fingers together. “I should’ve said something before then. But when I saw you on television with that guy evading the cops, I knew he was horrible. Now, Pop and Uncle Sim tied him up.” Cutie Pie licked her lips as if not happy about what they’d done. “They’ll wait until the soldier awakens. Let him speak for himself. Then Pop’s gonna kill him. Our family doesn’t condone the bondage of women. At least, not since my uncle settled down.”
A beat of silence.
I ran down the stairs, neglecting to ask who Cutie Pie was related to. I thought her last name began with anR.
I didn’t need a Marine to save me anymore.
I needed to savehim.
Jamie had lost it the last time he thought someone wanted to hold him captive. He’d used a baseball bat on the guy at age fifteen. What would he do now when there was no misunderstanding? When he’d been taken on purpose.
I had to save Jamie from a place I’d never want to see him in again.
Captivity.
35
