Accidentally Married, page 22
When she sees me walking toward her, she quickly wipes her eyes and sits up straight. She looks away and I can see her trying to compose herself. It's as if she thinks I won't be able to see the makeup smeared across her beautiful face.
I did this to her. I made her cry.
And it kills me.
As quickly as the rage consumed me, it dissipates. And in the void left behind by the rage, the guilt comes flowing into me with the power of a tsunami. When I reach the table, I don't sit down. Instead, I walk over to her and pull her from the seat and into my arms instead. I kiss her, hoping to take the pain from her and somehow absorb it all into me. She gasps but doesn't fight it. Instead, she relaxes. I feel her body melt into my arms as she kisses me back.
Stroking her hair, I whisper to her, “It's going to be okay. I promise you, it will.”
“I swear to you, I didn't –”
“Shh,” I silence her with another kiss, a gentler one this time. “I know you didn't. And I'm sorry I reacted the way that I did. I act crazy sometimes.”
With her in my arms, I feel calm. Relaxed. Focused. Knowing that she's told me I need to work on my anger – and wanting to be a better man for and because of her – I keep my emotions in check. And find that it's not actually all that difficult with her.
I feel as if I know what I have to do to make this okay. I have the power to fix things for Holly, and whether she chooses to stay with me or not in the end – that doesn't matter. All I care about is making sure she doesn't have to marry some creep because of her dad's selfishness and lies. All I care about is making sure she doesn't bear the burden of somebody else's poor, selfish decisions.
We sit back down at the table, and the color almost instantly returns to her cheeks. The tears are gone, and a tentative, unsure smile touches her lips. She's not necessarily happy yet, but we're certainly moving in the right direction. I dig into my steak, blood oozing out on the plate as I slice into it. Holly takes a small bite of her Chilean sea bass. We eat in a companionable silence for a couple of minutes and then I drop the bomb on her.
“I'm going to talk to your father, Holly.”
She's in the middle of taking a drink when I say those words, and she stops, almost spitting out what's in her mouth. She freezes and stares at me for a long time.
“I don't know if that's a good idea,” she says slowly.
“It's what I have to do,” I say. “I'm not going to sit back and watch you be forced into a marriage that you don't want. No matter what happens with us, you don't deserve that.”
“Why?” she asks. “Why would you do this for me?”
“I told you earlier that I care about you. And I meant that,” I say. “I care about you a lot, actually. And the only thing I want is to see you happy. To see you live your life and enjoy it. Whether that involves me or not.”
I don't expect her to feel the same way in return. While it would be nice, I don't wait for a response from her at all before I continue.
“Set up a meeting for me with your father tomorrow morning,” I say. “I can meet him in his office or wherever he's most comfortable. We're going to figure this out, the two of us.”
Holly reaches across the table and takes my hand in hers. A small smile lights up her face, and tears shimmer in her eyes once again. This time, however, I know these are tears of joy and not sadness.
“Thank you,” she says.
We go back to our meals, and I’m eating another mouthful of steak when Holly looks up at me.
“I care about you too, by the way,” she says and gives me a mocking grin. “I also care about you a lot.”
That's when I decide that the annulment is off the table. At least for now. It's leverage. He can’t force her to marry someone else if she’s married to me. Maybe that’s not what Holly had intended on happening, but it’s the plan now.
There is no way in hell I’m going to let her be reduced to a bargaining chip in her father's sleazy games.
~ooo000ooo~
As much as I want Holly to come back to my hotel with me, I know she needs to go to her father's house. She's going to find out when he's free for me to stop by for our little chat in the morning. I want it to be as early as possible.
I'm planning to stop by his office, but I want to make sure he's going to be there. Not that he will be expecting me. Holly can't really tell her dad, “Hey, by the way, I got married in Vegas and my husband is stopping by to chat.”
No reason for him to know I'm coming. It’s probably better if he doesn't, actually. Better to catch him unsuspecting and off-guard. I'm more likely to get truthful answers that way.
I get to my hotel and shower, rinsing off all the day's worries and concerns. I check my phone as soon as I get out. Nothing yet. I put on a pair of boxers and brush my teeth and check my phone again. Still nothing.
I fear she's ghosting me again. Maybe she really is a damn good actress and I've been taken for a fool. Again. Not that I believe it this time though. Not really. I trust her even though, logically, I shouldn't. She's given me no reason to trust her. And yet, I do, all the same.
I'm lying in bed with the TV on National Geographic, watching it on mute and barely paying attention, when my phone finally rings. I snatch it up and answer it right away.
“I'm just leaving dad's now,” she says. “He's going to be in the office at seven tomorrow morning, and knowing him like I do, he's not going to have a meeting until well after nine, if at all.”
“I'll be there waiting for him at six forty-five then,” I respond.
She's quiet for a long time, and I suspect the line got dropped until I hear her breathing on the other end of the line.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
“Yeah, I just – I still don't know why you're doing this, Brayden,” she says.
“I already explained myself.”
“But really, you don't have to get involved,” she argues. “I feel bad for dragging you into this mess. This isn't your problem. It's mine. And I'm the one who needs to sort it out.”
“Don't feel bad, and don't apologize. Also, while you're at it, stop worrying about,” I say. “Whether you like it or not, I'm involved because I care about you, Holly.”
“I care about you too,” she says softly.
“Are you almost to your car?” I ask. “How far away from your dad's place did you park?”
On the screen, a lion consumes its prey, tearing the gazelle apart with such vicious force, I cringe and turn off the television. Not that I'm squeamish about the sight of blood, usually, but the terrified look on the gazelle's face as it goes down fills me with a sorrow for the animal that I don't want to deal with right now.
“Holly?” I ask.
Her response comes in the form of a scream. She cries out my name, “Brayden!” and the phone crashes down onto something – probably the pavement. My first instinct is that she's fallen. But, then I hear voices in the background. Spanish is peppered in with English, and I can't make out exactly what they're saying. Holly's responses, however, paint a not-so-pretty picture.
“Fuck you,” I hear her scream out.
Then her voice is muffled and there's the sound of feet shuffling. It sounds like a struggle is happening and I'm standing there, getting dressed before I even realize it. It's like I'm moving on instinct. Pure instinct.
I don't dare say a word into the phone though, not wanting to give myself away. I'm the only help she has. I have the address of her father's house, and my instinct is telling me she can't be all that far from there.
I rush out of the hotel room and run down to the elevator, the phone pressed to my ear. The only sound on the other end of the phone is that of a car engine starting. A moment later, it pulls away, tires screeching. Then more eerie silence follows that.
And I'm left there, staring at the phone, realizing I've just heard Holly being kidnapped.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Holly
“I don't know, Dad,” I say. “I'm still thinking about it.”
“What is there to think about?” he asks. “I mean, I really need you to help me out here, Holly. I need you to put the family first.”
“This isn't simply helping you out, Dad,” I say. “This isn't you asking me to borrow my car or loan you a hundred bucks. This is you asking me to give up my life. It's something else entirely.”
It's a conversation we've had a thousand times already and one that hasn't yielded any positive fruit in all that time. I can't believe my father is seriously asking me to marry this man that I don't know just to bail his ass out. The way he talks, it's like I owe it to him, and if I say no, then I'm betraying the whole family. Like I'd be a traitor to my people or something.
The very thought of this situation fills me with rage and it's all I can do to keep from screaming at him. The petty, vindictive side of me wants to tell him that I'm married. That I'm pregnant. Both of those things would prevent me from being part of his sleazy arrangement. It would prevent him from selling me off to pay down his debts to the drug lord.
Part of me wants to tell him just to see the look of shock and outrage on his face – to see the realization that he's on his own in this sordid business, sink in completely.
But, I check myself and stuff all those emotions as far down as possible. I'm not here for this right now. And I'm sure as hell not here to let him know that he's going to be a grandfather. I can’t even imagine what he would do to me if I started off with that particular fact.
No, I'm here to find out when and where Brayden can meet with my father. Nothing more and nothing less.
Not that I'm telling him Brayden's coming. Brayden had been clear about not giving him the heads-up, saying he preferred to go in cold and give my father less time to prepare some bullshit story. He said he wants to have an actual conversation and find some real solutions to this problem.
“Look, I don't want to rehash this again right now,” I say. “I told you I needed time to think about it, so give me some time, okay? I'm still furious that you ambushed me. And I'm sorry to say it, but Armando is a fucking creep. He's scary, Dad. I can't believe you'd even –”
My dad holds his hand up to stop me. “They come from a different culture, Holly,” he says. “They do things differently. It'll just take some time to adjust and get used to –”
“The potential for domestic violence is a culture thing?” I snap. “Something I'll adjust to? The fuck I will, Dad. Pardon my French. But, I will never accept a man who raises his hand to me. And you should never accept a man who does either.”
“Armando would never,” he says. “He's kind of intense, I'll give you that. But, he's a good kid. I think you'd find that you two would have a lot in common if you stopped being so damn stubborn and hardheaded about this. Open your mind, Holly. And do what's right by this family.”
“You mean give up my life to do right by you.”
“You owe me, girl,” he sneers. “I raised you. Gave you the best of everything in life and never asked for a goddamn thing in return. And now, when I have one thing I need you to do for me, you act like a spoiled, entitled bitch about it. That's not going to work, Holly. You owe me this.”
I stare at him wide-eyed and slack-jawed. I can't believe he just said that. And yet, given all I've gone through with him lately, I guess I can. He's apparently okay with making up excuses for domestic abuse now. Great. Wonderful.
He lets out a long breath and seems to realize that he's crossed a line. That he's gone too far. I can see that he is trying to reel it back in. When he looks at me, he gives me a sad smile, one designed to drum up some sympathy from me.
Yeah, I'm a little short on that right now.
He sighs and runs a hand through his steel gray hair. “Holly, time is a luxury we don't have much of right now, I'm afraid,” he says. “Trujillo is getting anxious. I think he senses your reluctance and wants an answer sooner rather than later.”
“I'm not going to give you an answer tonight, Dad.”
“When, then?” he presses me. “When are you going to answer?”
I pace the living room and then stop, standing in front of the fireplace. I let the heat from the fire warm my bones as I try to control the anger sparking inside of me.
“I'll answer you when I have one to give you,” I say.
“Could you be more specific?”
“No, not really,” I say.
“Holly –”
I sigh loudly and turn on him. “I don't like being forced into anything, you should know that,” I snap. “Especially something as life altering as this.”
“I need to know though, honey,” he says. “Otherwise – otherwise, I don't know what's going to happen to me. If I don't come through for Trujillo, I really don't know what he's going to do to me.”
“And did this not cross your mind before you got into bed with a goddamn gunrunning, drug lord?”
My father's eyes narrow as he looks at me. “I told you I didn't know who he was when I accepted his help,” he sneers. “And I had to accept his help to keep this family afloat. To keep giving you the life of goddamn privilege you seemed to enjoy so fucking much.”
“You mean, to keep you afloat and let you keep living that lavish lifestyle you love so fucking much, dad?” I snap back. “I really resent your implication that you got into this mess for me.”
“I pretty much did,” he says, the heat in his voice returning. “And now I’m asking that you help me out for a change.”
“What time are you going to be at your office tomorrow?”
“Seven, why?”
“Just asking,” I say. “Look, I’m tired. I need to go home and get some rest.”
“Holly, I’m going to need an answer.”
“And you’ll get one,” I say. “Be patient, Dad.”
“Like I said earlier, time and patience aren’t things we have the luxury of right now.”
“I'll keep it in mind.”
I grab my purse and head out of the living room. My father is calling to me as I cross the foyer, but I ignore him. Opening the front door, I step outside, slamming it shut behind me and start to head up the driveway. I had to park on the street since the driveway is being repaved. The only problem now is that it’s a bit of a hike back to my car.
As I walk down the sidewalk, I pull my phone out of my purse and turn it on. It takes a moment, but it powers up and as soon as it’s ready to place a call, I punch in Brayden's number. He picks it up on the first ring.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey, yourself.”
“Where are you?”
“I'm just leaving my dad's now,” I say. “He's going to be in the office at seven tomorrow morning, and knowing him like I do, he's not going to have a meeting until well after nine, if at all.”
“I'll be there waiting for him at six forty-five then,” I respond.
As I walk, I notice a black BMW parked at the curb a few houses away. It looks very familiar to me and sends a cold chill through my veins.
I strain my eyes, trying to see if I can make out if there's a figure behind the wheel, but the windows are tinted too dark to see anything clearly. Everything had happened so fast the other night with Armando, that I didn't get the best look at the car they'd thrown me into, but I would have sworn it looked just like the one sitting at the curb ahead of me.
“Everything okay?” he asks.
I shake my head, telling myself that I'm being paranoid. Not that I can really be blamed, given everything going on – and oh yeah, the fact that my father is in bed with the head of a goddamn drug cartel.
“Yeah,” I say. “I just – I still don’t know why you’re doing this, Brayden.”
“I already explained myself.”
“But really, you don’t have to get involved,” I say, still eyeballing the BMW as I draw closer to it. “I feel bad for dragging you into this mess. This isn’t your problem. It’s mine. And I’m the one who needs to sort it out.”
“Don’t feel bad, and don’t apologize. Also, while you’re at it, stop worrying about that,” Brayden replies. “Whether you like it or not, I'm involved because I care about you, Holly.”
“I care about you too,” I say softly.
“Are you almost to your car?” he asks. “How far away from your dad's place did you park?”
As I draw even with the BMW, the interior light goes on as the doors open and three men step out – one is Armando's driver, the man who had come to fetch me from the restroom the other night.
“Mr. Trujillo would like to see you,” the big, bald man says. “Come with us.”
The other two men are no smaller or less intimidating than the driver. And I can tell they are all carrying guns beneath their suit jackets. I quickly scan the neighborhood around me, urgently hoping that someone is in a window, looking down at the street, seeing what's happening. Desperately hoping that they call the police.
I back away from the three men and hear Brayden's voice in my ear.
“Holly?”
It's only then I realize I'm still holding my phone to my ear. One of the men reaches me, yanking the phone out of my hand and throws it to the ground. Then the second man is on me. I struggle and thrash, trying to break free from their grip, but can't get loose. They drag me toward the car and I fight them every step of the way, screaming bloody murder as we go.
“Brayden!” I cry out.
The man on my right slaps me across the face. “Shut up, bitch,” he hisses at me.
“Fuck you!”
The second man slaps me across the other side of my face. “Shut your fucking mouth, puta.”
My head is spinning and I'm literally seeing stars from the blows I've taken. My head lolls to the side and my body feels limp. I continue to struggle, but it's half-hearted. They've beaten most of the fight out of me already. Like a sack of dirty laundry, the two men dump me into the back seat of the car. I'm dimly aware of the three of them climbing in and the car pulling away from the curb, speeding off quickly.
I don't know where we're going, but I'm sure it's not going to be good.
