Slow & Steady, page 8
part #2 of Alphas Undone Series
Chapter Ten
Finley
A scream of rage and fear dragged me awake.
Maple? I would recognize her little voice anywhere, but I'd almost never heard her howl like that. Had she fallen out of her crib somehow? Or did she just have a nightmare?
I struggled to push off the covers. But they were oddly heavy, so plush my hands sank into them. My limbs felt as weak and floppy as wet noodles. Had I picked up a bad flu? Great, that was all I fucking needed. No way could I afford to miss work.
But maybe I'd have no choice. My stomach rolled with nausea and even opening my eyes took effort. I blinked away a strange, swimming blur...then frowned. Something felt wrong here. This room was half the size of my entire apartment and way too clean. It had a high, peaked ceiling instead of flat stucco. Hardwood floors instead of stained carpet. Even the sheets against my skin felt weirdly smooth and cool.
Unless I was so sick I'd started hallucinating, I wasn't at home. So where the hell was I?
At the renewed wail from the next room, I forced myself to sit up, ignoring the answering throb in my head. I could figure that out later. Wherever I'd gone, Maple had come with me, and she needed my help immediately. Without thinking, I jumped to my feet—only to be jerked up short. Frantically I glanced around and saw a thin silver chain dangling from a cuff on my wrist. It trailed onto the floor and under the bed, where the other cuff was locked around the bedpost.
What the actual fuck? My mouth dried up. Dizzy, I sat down again and tried to slow my pounding heart. My wobbly legs still wouldn't let me stand for too long; my arms weren't in much better shape. I wasn't strong enough yet to lift up the bed and slip the cuff off its leg. And I really didn't want to sit around waiting to recover. But maybe I could find something to break the chain or pick the lock?
I scanned the room, more slowly this time. The furniture was all matching cherry wood with fancy scrollwork: a nightstand, a chest-of-drawers, an armoire, and a vanity. I gasped at the sight of myself in the mirror. Jesus, I look like shit. My eye was surrounded by a huge, ugly purple bruise and my lip was swollen and bloodied. And was that a lump on my head? I fingered the spot gently and winced. Clearly I hadn't come to this place willingly. And if there'd been a fight, there must have been an attacker. A kidnapper...who might still be nearby. All the more reason to get my ass in gear.
I carefully stood back up and turned on the light. My chain was too short for me to reach most of the room—including the shuttered window—but I was able to start pawing through most of the furniture.
The chest-of-drawers contained panties and bras that I recognized as my own. Lovely...a goddamn underwear thief. Fortunately, I had woken up in my clothes, so I didn't have to deal with the mental image of my kidnapper undressing me while I was unconscious.
The armoire stood open to reveal a single yellow sundress. It wasn't mine, and I tried not to think too hard about the fact that it seemed my size. If he expects me to wear that, he can fucking choke on it.
As I searched the room, my memories of last night came trickling back. I'd managed to kick Grey out of our life, but not out of my mind. Conflicted and miserable, with a massive amount of pent-up sexual frustration, I had slogged through my dance routines, just trying to survive until the end of the evening. And the customers could tell I was phoning it in. At least, one customer could.
Brant had come up to the stage to ask me what was wrong. Normally I'd remind him to buy a lap dance if he wanted one-on-one time, but I didn't have the emotional energy to handle him gracefully. So I had let Bruce tell him off and show him back to his table. But Brant couldn't seem to keep his ass in his seat. He kept walking up, over and over, as if he didn't notice me ignoring him. When he'd reached out to rest his hand on my ankle, Bruce had tossed him out into the parking lot.
But he still couldn't take the hint. After my shift finally ended, I'd trudged out to my car, only to almost run face-first into Brant.
“Let me help you, Finley,” he had pleaded. “I just want to be there for you.”
Rubbing my forehead, I'd squinted at him through the sickly glow of the sodium lamps. “Have you been standing out here all night?”
“Of course. That's what you do when you love someone.”
That was when I'd snapped. Everything hurt so bad—my feet, my back, my heart—and I just couldn't take anymore. Night after night, I'd gritted my teeth and smiled through Brant's bullshit. I'd shaken my ass in high heels when I was so tired I could barely think straight. I’d worked entire nights without even earning my house fee. I'd eaten thousands of ramen cups and PB&J sandwiches. I'd paid my bills in wadded-up singles while the bank tellers whispered and pointed at me. I'd chased Grey away forever. I'd been such a good girl for so long, and what did I have to show for it? Where had it gotten me? Trapped in a parking lot at two in the morning with a delusional moron. His big tips couldn't buy another second of my patience.
Staring Brant square in the eye, I'd snapped, “What the hell are you talking about? You don't love me. You don't even know me. And I sure as hell don't love you.”
He'd blinked several times in quick succession, as if I'd suddenly sprouted a second head. “But...I don't understand,” he'd squeaked. “What do you mean? I've always thought you were so perfect, and you're always so nice to me...”
“That's called customer service, Brant. Do you think the girl who makes your coffee wants your dick, too?” With that, I turned on my heel and left him.
Brant had just watched, stunned, as I got into my car and drove away. I didn't give a fuck. All I could think about was food, sleep...and Grey. I'd been so distracted, it was a miracle I hadn't gotten in a car wreck. I'd walked to my door and was flipping through my keys. Then a figure in the darkness, hands digging into me, a sickly sweet smell, thrashing and kicking and biting and suddenly falling, falling...
I froze, my hands buried in a mound of spare linens. Brant. Suddenly everything clicked. He must have followed me home and chloroformed me. He'd made no secret of being obsessed with me...but I had never dreamed he'd take it this far. I bit my lip, holding back a wave of tears and nausea.
Despite how close I felt to a nervous breakdown, I gave a very quiet cheer when I found my purse in the very back of the vanity's bottom drawer. I'd just assumed that Brant would confiscate all my stuff. He was either incredibly confident or incredibly stupid. I eagerly dumped out my purse on the bed and clawed through the pile. This nightmare would all be over as soon as I found my phone.
Two minutes later, my heart had sunk back into my roiling stomach. Brant had thought of taking everything vital. My phone, wallet, and keys were gone. There was only one thing I could put to any use: Grey's business card. I'd shoved it into the hidden zippered pocket of my purse, crumpling and dirtying the cardstock, unknowingly saving it from Brant's attention. I didn't even know why I'd kept it at all, at that time Grey was the last person I wanted to call.
But now he was the first person I wanted to call. If I called the police, Brant could shoot first and ask questions later—leaving me alone again, this time with a pissed-off madman. He'd already managed to overpower me once, so who knew what he was capable of? No, I needed someone with stealth as well as strength. Someone who could get in, get the job done, and get out before Brant even knew we were missing.
I memorized the contact number on the card and tucked it away again. There had to be a phone somewhere in this godforsaken house.
Just as I'd stashed my purse back in the drawer, the doorknob turned. My heart jumped into my throat. I quickly sat back on the bed and tried to look innocent.
The door cracked and Brant's beady eye peeked through. At the sight of me, he smiled and let himself in. “I see someone's awake,” he said. His tone was gently teasing, as if he'd found me sleeping late on a Sunday morning.
“Where am I?” I asked, trying not to let my voice tremble.
His cheerful expression didn't slip an inch. “Your new home.”
I repressed a scowl. Like fucking hell it is.
He strolled past me and over to the window, where he opened the blinds to reveal a fiery sunset. “My family always loved to spend summers in the mountains. They really are the best vacation spot. No WiFi signal, no phone reception, just good old-fashioned quality time.”
I screamed internally. Mountains? The nearest ranges were four hours to the east and twice as long to the west. I must have been knocked out for longer than I'd thought. More importantly, even if I managed to find my phone or steal his, it would be useless here. And he'd probably pay extra attention to the rooms with landlines. If there even were any.
Brant was still gazing out the window, admiring the vivid desert sunset. What the hell was wrong with him? His everything is totally normal act was unbelievably creepy. My heart was still pounding and the desire to get to my daughter burned like a wildfire inside me. But I had to play nice for a minute and try to get some information from this psycho.
But what leapt out of my mouth was, “Why are you doing this?”
He turned his head, looking mildly surprised. “I just want to make my two girls happy.”
“So you kidnapped us?” I asked before I could stop myself.
He sighed. “All I want is for you to give me a chance, Finley. Let me show you I'm worthy of your love.” He crossed the room again and sat down beside me on the bed. I flinched. “I know you'll learn to enjoy life here.”
Half of me was imagining clawing his eyes out or strangling him with my chain. But the other half was frozen in terror. If my attack failed to knock him out, it would just anger him...and he might hurt Maple or separate us as punishment. I had to play along with his twisted little game. Just long enough to get Maple back in my arms, figure out where the hell he'd taken me, and steal ten minutes with a phone. In that order. If I earned his trust, he'd slip up sooner or later. I swallowed down my anger.
“I'll...I'll try,” I choked out.
His face lit up. “Great! We can—”
“But I need to see Maple first,” I interrupted. Her cries had gradually petered out, but that was even more worrisome than her screaming her head off.
“Who?” He looked towards the door. “Oh, her. Of course. Let me get you out of here.”
As he took a tiny key from his pocket, his arm brushed aside his suit jacket. I swallowed hard at the glimpse of black metal. A handgun. He had a fucking gun tucked into his waistband. I didn't think I could get any more scared, but hot fear like I’d never felt before raced through me.
Showing no sign of noticing my panic, Brant unlocked my wrist cuff. Then he led me down the hall to another small bedroom. Its rose-pink walls were scarred with tape-marks from old posters. The furniture had been shoved aside to make room for a crib with chipped white paint—clearly a relic that had been dug out of storage.
My stomach unknotted with sheer relief when I saw Maple fast asleep. Poor thing...she must have exhausted herself crying. I rushed close, only to wrinkle my nose. It smelled like her diaper had been full for hours. I ground my teeth. How could this idiot not know the first thing about kids? Didn't he say he had a family?
Maple's eyes fluttered open when I picked her up. She blinked, confused for a second, then smiled at me. “Mommy,” she cooed.
“Yes, honey.” I swallowed back sudden tears. “Mommy's here.”
Satisfied with that, she popped her thumb back into her mouth. Thank God she’s okay. I glanced around and saw Brant standing in the doorway. “Do you have a changing table?”
“Oh...” He looked lost. “Just use the bed for now.”
My diaper bag sat on the twin bed. Even if he didn’t know much about babies, he’d at least thought to grab that.
After I finished changing Maple, making no effort to avoid dirtying the crisp white linen, Brant motioned to me. “Come on, let me give you the grand tour.”
Keeping Maple locked in my arms—there was no fucking way I was ever letting her out of my sight again—I followed him upstairs.
I kept a smile frozen on my face as he showed me around my prison. Not only to keep the psycho placated, but to keep Maple at ease, too. I had to show her that Mommy was okay. I just wished it were true.
Upstairs, photos hung on every wall, showing Brant, a short blonde woman, and an aloof-looking teenaged girl. There was a definite family resemblance. But this house had too many empty rooms. The closets only held men's clothes and shoes. One cluttered nightstand in the master bedroom, the other one bare. The place was so neat, so lifeless, that it would have felt like a hotel if everything weren't covered in a layer of dust.
What the hell was going on? Didn't Brant always wear a wedding ring whenever he came to pester me? The small bedroom where I'd found Maple must have once been his daughter's room. I realized I wasn't the only person here who was clinging to something long gone.
Well, boo fucking hoo for him. Even in the worst depths of my grief, I'd somehow managed not to run around kidnapping people. Something must have been twisted inside Brant from the very beginning; whatever had happened to his family had just brought it to the surface.
With a shudder, I realized something else. The woman in all the family photos looked a lot like me. Or rather, I looked like her. Green eyes, long face, and blonde, slightly wavy hair.
I guess I know why he chose me now. Gee, what an honor.
Chapter Eleven
Greyson
Life had pretty much returned to normal. My house was now in order, and I was back to work. But the feeling of being punched in the gut still lingered. The sleepless nights. The breathlessness. The constant body aches. No matter what I tried, it was always there—this haunting feeling in my chest, weighing me down.
I worked overtime, trained extra hard at the gym, and fought to get my head back on straight. Nolan had been absolutely right. Either that, or my male pride just got the best of me. Even if Finley and I weren’t meant to be, I needed to talk to her once more and make sure there were no hard feelings. If I was lucky, maybe we'd even discuss how I could keep Maple in my life.
After work, I decided I’d drive over to the club. It was more neutral territory than her apartment. I could say what I needed to say and leave on my terms. She couldn’t bar me from the door or throw me out.
When I got there, that sleazy manager in his baggy suit was lingering near the bar, flirting with one of the cocktail waitresses. I strode toward him as anger built inside me. I would always hate that these men got to see Finley’s bare skin and curves...while I never would again.
I took a deep breath and stopped beside him.
“Can I help you?” he asked, clearly annoyed that I’d interrupted them long enough for the waitress to scurry away.
“I’m here to see Stormy.”
He squinted at me. “I remember you.” Then he shook his head. “I’m sorry to tell ya, buddy, but Stormy’s gone.”
I blinked. I'd been prepared for her avoiding me, but this was ridiculous. “What do you mean, gone?”
“She skipped out on her shift yesterday. Hasn’t shown up for today’s, either.” He looked down at his watch and frowned. “This isn’t the type of job people put in a two weeks notice and want references for...when girls are done, they just split. That’s it.” He shrugged. “Sorry, man.”
Fuck. A sinking feeling formed in my gut and I took a step back.
“Layla’s nice. She’ll take good care of you.” He tipped his chin toward a girl who was approaching from the left. It was the redhead I remembered from the first time I was here.
“Hi, handsome. Want some company?” she asked, her voice lifting in a sweet Southern accent. That was exactly what she'd said back then, too. Guess she's got a routine worked out.
“Yeah, sure.” I took her hand and led her over toward the lounge area, where I hoped it would be quieter. We sank down into the plush chairs, and just as I had hoped, the thumping music from the DJ’s set wasn’t quite so loud back here.
Layla leaned closer. “So, what would you like, darling? A lap dance to start?”
I pulled my wallet from my back pocket and peeled off a couple of twenties from the stack. “Did you know Stormy?”
Her eyes lifted from the bills I was holding and narrowed on mine. “Yeah, I knew her.” Her tone was laden with suspicion.
“Well, Finley,” I clarified, “she was my friend. I knew her husband, fought alongside him in the Middle East.”
Understanding flashed in her brown eyes and she nodded somberly. “You’re Greyson.”
I nodded.
“Hold on. There’s someone you need to talk to.” She rose to her feet, only a little shaky in her high heels, and scurried away into the darkness.
What the fuck was going on here?
* * *
An hour later, I had gone through Finley’s apartment in meticulous detail, being sure not to miss even the smallest of clues. I could have tried to talk the landlord into opening the door for me, but I was a damn fine lock-pick and it’d be a shame to waste all that training.
The club's house mom, Ginger, had told me about a customer named Brant who seemed to be fixated on Finley. Her friend Layla backed up that story, sharing an ominous encounter from a couple weeks ago where he’d waited for her in the parking lot. I remembered driving up right after that, and how Finley had tried just a little too hard to seem unruffled. I didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but the facts were that nobody had heard from her in days, and my soldier's instincts smelled trouble. And I wasn't the only one; Ginger seemed to think Finley hadn’t just quit – that there was foul play at work. I tried to come up with an innocent explanation. Maybe she'd cut and run after things between us went south. Maybe she'd headed to Florida for a visit with Marcus’ parents. But nothing added up.
And when I got to her place and saw her car there, but she wasn’t – I knew it was something bad. Her place was picked over, and it looked like someone had packed quickly. I’d been in enough hostile situations to recognize one, and while nothing really looked out of place here, all my hunches were up. The only things missing were her undergarments and some of Maple's clothes. Their dresser drawers were left open and messy.
