Rearranging Fate, page 5
Not many people would miss me if he gets rid of me.
“No. That’s not right,” I admit in a low, shamed voice. “I work for Bob, but I’m not really an employee.”
Hard eyes dig into me. “Go on.”
“I’m not on the payroll. He...” I have to swallow back the gripping sob. “He pays me cash. Under the table.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t have any documents that proves I can legally work.”
He shoves himself up to jerk down his pants. “You think I’m a fool? You’re lying. I have your file. You’re as American as apple pie.”
Panic seizes me. “It’s true! I don’t have any papers. I don’t know where they are. They’re gone. Lost. We lost everything. My mom got into an accident. She died,” I weep, the confession blurting out of me in a hot rush. “She died. And we lost everything. I dropped out of school because we lost our house. My dad was sick. Sick with grief. And we were homeless.” I’m openly whimpering, despair and shame a flood water over my useless body, the tears streaming unchecked down my temples to saturate my hair. “Then my dad died too. I didn’t have a home until Bob took pity on me and gave me a job. And I rent a room from Mrs. Fernandez.” I know I’m blubbering like an idiot, but I can’t stop myself even if I try. “Then I found your wallet, and I couldn’t help myself and took it home. But I didn’t take anything. You have to believe me.”
Strong thighs slightly apart for balance, he’s kneeling and considering my words, his cold, hard gaze probing. At least his hands stopped trying to drop his jeans. The denim cling low on his hips, exposing a strip of black fabric underneath. I might be naïve, inexperienced, but I know what that huge, intimidating bulge in his pants means. Or at least I can guess what it implies. Even as I stare at it in distress he adjusts it, shifting it to a more comfortable position so it wouldn’t strain against the harsh denim as much.
His voice, when it comes, is low, richer than before. “So you were living on the streets this whole time? That’s why there’re no records of you beyond the age of ten. Is that what you’re telling me?”
After being terrorized and assaulted for the last hour, humiliation is the last feeling I thought I’d experience. But I do, and it has me glancing away. “That and Saint Christopher.”
“Saint Christopher?”
“Refuge of Saint Christopher. A shelter not too far from Love’s.” Another wet tear joins the streak that’s already on my temple, but I barely even pay it any mind. What’s the point? “It’s a good place,” I ramble on with a sniff when he doesn’t say anything right away. “Had some nice volunteers. My dad used to say it was one of the best. Food was okay, but I wouldn’t want to go back there if I can help it. But then, beggars can’t be choosers. Another thing my dad used to say. My mom didn’t say things like that, though. She wouldn’t like Saint Christopher. She’d say there were too many people.”
Now he’s looking at me like I’ve grown a second mouth and snapping sharp teeth at him. Great. He’ll probably kill me just to shut me up.
One hand reaches behind his pants and comes up with one of those expensive gadget phones. “Look into Refuge of Saint Christopher in Brooklyn and get back to me,” he barks into it without preamble. No hello, no goodbye. I’m the one gingerly treading on common civilization after years of etiquette neglect, yet he’s the barbarian.
His eyes are pure turquoise again as they settle back on me. I meet his examining gaze with my pitiful, wet one.
“Are you going to kill me?” It was hardly more than a whisper of dread, but I know he heard me.
I wasn’t really expecting an answer, so it stupefies me when he says, “I haven’t decided what I’m going to do with you. I guess that would largely depend on what Ivan uncovers about what you just told me.”
The hard lump in my throat slides down painfully. “Are you going to hurt me?”
This time I don’t get a response. Instead, he scales off me, pulling at his clothing and wincing as he secures his pants back into place. Knowing I’m not going anywhere, he turns his back on me and absently tosses a soft white throw over my defenseless, quivering form. Sliding open a glass door, he goes out into the terrace. I can just make out his outwardly lost thoughts as he stares out into what I’m certain is the Atlantic Ocean with a faraway, untouchable expression.
Salty sea breeze drifts into the spacious room through the door he left ajar, cooling my hot, clammy skin. Tilting back my head, I test the restraints binding me to the massive bed. They bite into my skin, barely budging at my frantic jerking and squirming. A glance over reveals my captor’s attention is still diverted. Brooding?
The blade was left on the table, but even if I can somehow manage to reach it with my feet without him noticing, how would I free myself? I’m not that limber or adept at wielding a weapon with my lower extremities.
I’m not certain how long he’s been out there as I frantically contemplate and discard various escape scenarios when the faint chime of a phone has me pausing in my hysterical plans. As much as I strain to hear the murmurs, I can’t make out what’s being said over the crash of waves. Minutes later my captor is back, shutting off the tranquil peace of the outdoors.
Lips coldly firm, jaws rigid, he snatches up the blade without a word or a glimpse at me. I suck in a panicked breath and my legs scissor for purchase under the cover as I attempt to scramble away from the determined intent on his face.
“Stop moving or I will hurt you.”
With one irritated swipe my hands are released. Promptly scuttling to my knees in an acute bid to put distance between us, I grab the only thing I can within reach for a makeshift shield. I hug the yielding throw against my chest like an armor with wobbly, achy arms.
“What are you going to do?”
“That’s a good question.” Closing the blade, he stuffs it into his pocket. “I wish I have a good answer,” he mumbles under his breath. “We seem to be in a bit of a quandary. You see, although your story checked out–as much as we’re able to within the limited time constraints–you already know too much. I can’t very well just let you go.”
“But I don’t know anything!”
“You’ve seen my residence.”
Hair flies around my cheeks as I shake my head vigorously. “No, I haven’t. I’ve only seen this room. And I won’t tell anyone anything. I promise. Just let me go. You’ll never hear from me again.”
He, too, is shaking his head. “I’m afraid I can’t take that chance.”
At the finality of his words, I quickly scramble off the opposite side of the bed while clutching the cloth barrier for dear life. “I won’t make it easy for you,” I threaten from just this side of hysteria. I have no money, no powerful connections, no bargaining chips. Nothing. Even my short association with Paige’s affluent fiancé is tenuous at best, considering I redid his hair with a piece of cherry pie when I thought he was cheating on Paige. “I’ll fight and scream and kick and make your life hell before I let you kill me. I grew up on the streets. I know how to bite and claw and—”
Two sturdy knocks before the door is thrown open. I have time to gasp and leap back with my shield protectively in front of me as I prepare to battle the intruder. Ivan barges in with a dismissive flick in my direction, centering his focus on the man clearly in charge.
“You want me to take care of her now, D?”
This can’t be happening.
There’s nowhere for me to go. The colossal bed is between me and Damian Delevan, while his mammoth goon is between me and the door. The only other way out is behind me.
I don’t hesitate.
Whirling, I race for the picture window taking up the entire side of the room. I know now they’re not merely windows but partitions of sliding glass doors. I can’t hold on to the covering and throw open the translucent enclosure. Curses and hectic stomping rush behind me as I let it drop, grip the metal handle with both hands, and heave with all my might–which turns out to be wasted strength since it smoothly glides aside with scarcely applied force. I throw myself through the gap, my bare feet promptly sinking into freezing snow, the icy ocean air slapping my face, harshly whipping my hair into a riot as I barrel straight for the railing with every thought to the quickest getaway by pitching over it.
And come to a screeching, painful halt as the wooden rail digs into my seesawing chest. Beneath is a jagged drop directly into the colliding, rolling sea.
6
~ Damian ~
I don’t know who’s more consumed with terrified panic.
Cara wildly dashes along the railing, frantically searching for an easier path down that wouldn’t undoubtedly snap her neck. Salt water stings my eyes as she throws her arms over the frozen rail. There’s nothing but sharp rocks and vast, unforgiving sea.
There isn’t time to weigh my options. The idiotic girl is about to get herself killed.
I slam into her body. A scream slashes out of her. We crash with a smack and oomph onto the powdery terrace floor. Instantly her knee lurches up for a brutal connection to my groin. I shift in the last second to have it ramming my thigh. Without hesitation she’s going for my eyes with her nails when Ivan abruptly snatches her wrists and shoves them above her head. We’re both panting hard enough to drown out the sea. With all that she is she heaves against me, her tormentor, her delicate body writhing and twisting, but I hold on fast, livid with curses.
“Get the fucking rope!”
At my urgent bark, she shrieks, “Noooo!”
I flinch at the untamed holler in my face. “Scream all you want,” I bite out through my teeth. “There isn’t a soul for miles that will give a shit.”
I’m still holding her down, my much larger frame crushing her from chest to toes, but another pair of hands deftly wraps the nylon on her already chafed wrists.
“Get Barbara in here,” I bark at Ivan. The terrace ground jostles beneath me as heavy feet troop away. “You’re going to get frost bite. You will behave yourself, do you understand me?” I begin once we’re alone, panting with lingering panic and fright. “I have no intentions of killing you. Do as you’re told and you’ll be fine. Nod to let me know you understand.”
Harsh shivers rack her body, from the seaside chill on terrified flesh, from her dismal predicament, and the layers of snow beneath her. Guilt like I never experienced blankets me, weighs me down, and my thumbs attempt to rub comforting circles on her unsuspecting forearms, made bare by the sleeves that had ridden up in the tussle. It takes her several excruciating beats, but she finally nods. I can’t very well assure her I’ll let her go unharmed, not when I haven’t decided on her story about how the little busser in the rundown café found her way to my wallet.
“Why are you doing this?” Her voice is harsh from screaming, stark from turmoil and fear.
I don’t answer her. Frustrated beyond words, my gaze flutters from her damp cheeks, the snow clinging to disheveled hair, to the beads still sticking to her lashes, before finally lingering on that delicious-looking mouth.
Something stirs in me, wrapping me in amble heat. Her skin is smooth but cold, her body soft in all the right places. I watched her for over a year before I had to leave for Finland, wanting her for just as long. Had wondered, quite vividly, what she looked like beneath the plain garb of Café Love.
“Mr. Delevan?”
A small, uncertain female voice protrudes into our cocoon. I turn to meet the newcomer. “Barbara, please assist Ms. Candlewood.” From her astonished look, my housekeeper is clearly in gaping shock to find me strapping down a powerless, crying woman on the terrace. “Get her some clean clothes.”
A jittery hesitation, the simple question heavy in the thrashing air. “Of course. Wou...” She has to clear her throat and try again. “Would you like me to prepare a warm bath for her?”
I hear my own teeth grinding. “Do that. And get me a robe.” Cara is shaking so hard under me, I’m rattling.
“Yes, sir.”
I refocus on the trembling, petrified woman. “You will clean up and put on the clothes. Barbara will stay with you in case you need anything. Then we’ll—“
“To stand guard over me, you mean.”
One of my palms skids down her arm, smoothing over her elbow, then cup her jaw. “Don’t interrupt me.” But it was a murmur, faint and light. “Do as you’re told, Cara, don’t forget.”
“Here you go, Mr. Delevan.”
“Give us a minute, Barbara,” I instruct without removing my gaze from my captive. “Just leave the robe on the lounger. But don’t go far. Ms. Candlewood will require your assistance.”
“Of course.” Subtly padded footsteps progressively retreat.
“Can you stand?”
Even with her tentative nod, I help her to her wobbly feet. I drape the thick white robe over her small, shivering shoulders. She clutches at the lapels gratefully with her bound hands, the hem of the thick garment dangling nearly to her ankles. She looks like a little girl playing dress-up in the oversized garment, effectively making me feel like a fucking heel.
“I can’t do as I’m told if I can’t use my hands,” she reasons and holds out the offense in question. Since her wrists are still tied in front of her, she can’t actually wear the robe.
“Don’t get any ideas,” I remind her warily and fish out the pocket blade to liberate her limbs for the second time in twenty minutes.
It must feel good to have blood flowing freely through her once again, I figure as she wiggles her fingers. She sighs in relief and stuff first one arm, then the other, through the terrycloth sleeves.
She eyes me warily. “What are you going to do with me?”
“Get you inside before you lose your toes to the elements.” She keeps asking me that, yet I don’t have a ready answer. I’m kind of winging it as I go, a first for me. “Beyond that, it’s not for you to worry about.”
Cara stares at me but doesn’t say anything.
If Paige Zine finds out I’ve had her friend snatched right off the streets, drugged, and held against her will, she’s going to kick me in the balls, each one separately and repeatedly. I have bigger plans for those, and it doesn’t include her trying to twist them off me.
I tip my head to indicate she should precede me back in. She doesn’t hesitate but immediately shuffles back the way she ran. There are no means of escape from the terrace, and I’m sure plunging to her death when she’s not in the midst of a panic attack holds no appeal.
Once we’re back inside, I give Barbara instructions to get her whatever she needs. The pointed look I convey to my household staff screams don’t let her out of your sight.
I receive a discreet nod in response.
With one last heavy look at Cara, I leave her in Barbara’s capable hands.
A few minutes. I need a few fucking minutes to let the trembles subside.
Shit, but that woman scared me brainless back there.
Ivan is waiting for me in my office. Not wanting him to see just terribly Cara affected me, I let the door ease shut behind me and claim my seat behind the desk, waking my laptop.
“What have you found out so far?” I ask Ivan without removing my eyes from my secure email.
“Not much. It’s almost like she’s been in hiding for the last thirteen years, with not even a social media account. Perhaps she assumed another identity?”
“Since ten?” I ask incredulously. “She said she was displaced. It would be just like my father to put someone off the streets on his payroll. I certainly wouldn’t see it coming.”
My father wouldn’t have known about my preoccupation with the diner girl, though. It’s true I patronized the dumpy place on a weekly basis until last year, but that could’ve been for a number of reasons.
As though reading my thoughts, Ivan disputes, “But she works at that little shithole diner.”
“A diner that’s near Elle.”
“A place you go to often.”
“Exactly.” Tapping on the screen, I begin a new email. Ivan keeps to himself while I pound out a quick message. “Dig deeper,” I tell him as soon as I send it off. “But tread carefully. She’s closely acquainted with Colin Kutter’s fiancée, Paige Zine. They used to work together at that diner. In fact,” I add with a mental curse, “she’s her maid of honor.”
Ivan’s bushy brows furrow. “Really?” He falls into quiet contemplation for a beat. “It’s odd. You had a good chunk of change in that wallet. She didn’t help herself to even one penny.”
“Why’s that odd?”
A hint of humor touches his otherwise strict expression. “I know a few thousand dollars cash is mere pocket lint for you, but for most people, they wouldn’t turn it down. For someone who claimed to have nothing to go out of her way to return the wallet? I find that hard to believe.”
“She said she was tempted but was more afraid of being caught. Maybe she was hoping for a reward.”
“Which she refused. Besides, that angle would’ve depended on too many unknowns–actually being offered a reward and the amount–whereas helping herself to the ones already in your wallet would’ve been guaranteed. No one would’ve known.”
I ponder over that for a second. “Some people can’t be bought,” I counter.
He snorts. “If that’s the case, why do we suspect she works for your father? Everyone has a price tag, Double D. It just depends on the number of zeros.”
“I knew who she was,” I reveal. The big man doesn’t appear surprised I’m confirming his earlier suspicion. Perhaps he’s known all along. “Have known about her for a while, though we never exchanged one word up until yesterday. I was aware her name was Cara, but I never had a reason to inquire about her full name.” I wasn’t ready to make a move, had too many personal baggage I could barely handle. “Was it too much of a coincidence that she was the one who found my wallet?” I muse out loud. “Or was it fate?”
“I don’t believe in fate.”
“What do you believe in?”
“Facts. Evidence.”
I shake my head. “You’re more cynical than me.”
