Vanished: A Bad Boy Second Chance Romance (13 page)

             
None of the staff on the plane speak to me during the ride home. It’s pretty clear from my body language that I want to be left alone as I stare out the window, watching the blackness of the night sky. But there’s nothing out there, and all I see is my sad, pathetic reflection in the glass. I look pathetic. I slam the shade shut and turn away, curling up on the couch for the remainder of the flight.

              It feels wrong to be so upset in such a luxurious setting. If I was in some cramped coach seat filled with hot stinky bodies, I would be more able to convince myself that I had a right to be miserable, but even now, Joey is taking care of me, giving me the best treatment money can buy. Too bad it can’t buy truth.

              The most amazing time of my life, ruined. It was all a sham. Joey is all a sham. Thoughts race through my head, bouncing around like ping pong balls, never able to settle on one thing.

              When we land, there’s a car waiting for me. I hadn’t even thought about that. But Joey had.

             
Of course he had
, I think, rolling my eyes. Across the ocean and he’s still able to be a gentleman. It’s so impossible to hate him, even though everything in my rational brain wants to. But it’s just not that easy. But I can’t see him again. For my own sake, I can’t keep doing this to myself.

              I call Cassidy from the car.

              “Hey, Cass,” I groan.

              “Mia? Where the Hell have you been?” She sounds legitimately worried. “I’ve been calling your phone like a hundred times!”

              Duh, I haven’t even told her that yet. “Paris,” I say.

              “Paris? What are you talking about?!”

              “Joey took me,” I say, one hand on my forehead.

              “Whoa, wait! What?” She sounds completely taken aback, which she should be. “Paris? With Joey? So…how was it? Was it amazing?”

              “Well, I’m coming home alone in a hired car and I’m ready to get hammered, so I’ll let you put two and two together.”

              “Oh, no! Okay, I’ll be right over. What should I bring?”

              “Whatever gets you drunkest the fastest,” I say, forcing myself to laugh. I can hear her already getting her keys and things together to come over.

              “I’ll be there in ten,” she says and hangs up. Cass is like the complete opposite to Joey. No matter what happens, I know I can always rely on her to say and do the right thing. She cares about me, and she doesn’t just say she does, she shows me she does. And that’s why we’re such good friends. I consider myself lucky to have her.

              The car pulls up in front of my apartment, and I’m out the door before the wheels have completely stopped. A bunch of hicks in a pick up blow past us, spraying the block with acrid smelling smoke. I’m definitely not in Paris anymore.

              I lug my bag quickly up the door to my apartment, unlock it, and step inside. I don’t even bother turning on the light. I just drop my bag and slump down on the couch. Orange light spills in from one of the streetlights, reminding me where I am. No more five star hotel rooms or walk in showers or chauffeurs.

              This isn’t Paris.

              This is Stonehill.

              And this is my home.

              I wonder what Joey is doing right now. There are so many questions running around in my mind. Is he even upset about what happened? Why won’t he talk to me? Where did that bag of money come from, let alone all the other things he paid for? And how did he just dismantle those four men? And who were they?

              My head is spinning, and I need something to calm it down. These last few days have been a lifetime of confusion and excitement, more than enough for anybody, and although I’ve turned my back on Joey, somehow I feel there’s still more to come.

              I rise quickly from the couch and move to the fridge. Cold blue light spills onto the linoleum floor as I open the door and snatch the bottle of vodka. Without even bothering for a glass, I slump down at the kitchen table and take a deep swig. It’s bitter and harsh as it goes down, but it’s what I want; I’m in the mood for suffering. I know I’m feeling sorry for myself, but who cares? If no one else is going to, then I have to.

              The liquor isn’t doing much to calm my nerves, so I take another swig, way too big, and feel my stomach lurch as it goes down. Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I press the cold bottle to my cheek. I’m feeling flush, and my cheeks are probably flushed and red. I wish Cassidy would hurry up and get here. I’m really not coping too well at the moment.

              Finally, the knock comes from the door.

              “About time!” I shout as I stand up. I’m already a little tipsy, but I manage to make it to the doorknob. “Thought I was going to finish the bottle myself!”

              I yank the door open and find myself face to face with the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. She’s tall, several inches on me, thin, and athletic looking, with proud cheekbones, a mane of thick black hair, and ripped black jeans and a leather jacket. I’m so surprised, not only by her looks but by her presence, that I’m unable to speak for a moment. She eyes me up and town shamelessly, then smiles.

              “You must be Mia,” she muses, her voice sounding somehow dangerous.

              “And you are?” I reply, trying to be as sassy and confident as I can.

              “Me? I’m Katarina. I’m Joey’s wife.”

              The all too familiar sensation boils up from inside me, and I double over and vomit all over the steps. Katarina dodges nimbly to the side and lets out a commiserating groan of a parent, her hands snatching my hair away from my mouth.

              “Aww, there there,” she says as she pats me softly on the back. “Come on, let’s get you inside.”

              I’m in no condition to argue, so I allow her to take my arm and lead me back into my apartment. I hear the door click behind us and she brings me to the couch and sets me down. My body feels like Jello stuffed into skin, and I almost melt into the cushions as she takes a seat in the chair in front of me.

              My vision’s starting to blur as I look up at her, and I realize she hasn’t bothered to turn on a light. The glow of the streetlight outside has bathed her in an eerie orange glow that makes her look like a predator sitting before me. I can feel myself starting to panic.

             
Joey’s wife?

              What the Hell is going on? She doesn’t look like the wife type, more like the silent assassin type or some kind of female secret agent spy. The way she sits, strong and upright, shoulders pulled back with confidence, suggests some sort of athleticism, and the way she moved out on the porch…

              She also doesn’t seem like Joey’s type. She and I couldn’t be any more different, and thinking of them together just doesn’t add up. But here she is, and she obviously knows Joey. And why would she lie to me about that? It’s not like she has anything to gain from me. But this raises another question, one that I need to know the answer to.

              “How do you know who I am?” I ask her. “And how do you know where I live?”

              “Oh, Mia,” she says with a devilish smile. “This is Stonehill. Everyone knows everyone here.”

              “You’re not from around here,” I reply.

              “What gave me away?” she jokes.

              It’s hard to imagine her being from anywhere. There’s something about her that seems so worldly and experienced that nowhere seems to really fit her. Probably from a city, though. I’d say that from her fashion alone, but also the way she said
“Stonehill,”
with a slight flick of contempt on her tongue, as though small towns just aren’t good enough for her. Suddenly I feel defensive of this town, the town I’ve been dying to escape. This woman is making me feel very strange.

              “You’re Joey’s…wife?” I say, the words feeling all wrong as they escape my lips.

              “That I am. And I’m looking for him. Have you seen him?”
              Arrogance. She’s simply oozing with it, and as I stare back at her, I can feel my anger for Joey morphing and redirecting at her. Who does she think she is that she can just waltz in here into
my
apartment and demand answers from me. For some reason I want to snatch her by that thick pile of hair and drag her out the door onto the lawn. I think it’s the way she’s looking at me—that condescending look of someone who thinks they’re better than you.

              “You’re not Joey’s wife,” I say bitterly. Her lips twist and she cocks her head to the side like she wasn’t expecting me to say that.

              “Oh, no? Why’s that?”

              “You’re not his type.”

              “And you are?” She laughs, eyeing me with even more condescension than I thought possible.  All I can do is glare back at her, wishing my eyes shot lasers like Superman and I could turn her into a pile of dust at my feet.

              “I guess he’s also not the father of my child then,” she continues, almost like a question, but more of a jab.

              My eyes go wide like dinner plates, and she laughs at my expression. “Of course he didn’t tell you. So like Joey. Always a mystery. Always full of surprises. But you know that, don’t you?”

              “You’re lying,” I spit back at her accusingly. Even after all the things I’ve gone through with Joey, this is something I cannot believe. A secret child? With this woman? I know Joey has been keeping things from me, but he would never keep something like that from me. He’s not the kind of man who would run out on his child either.

              I shake the thought from my head, trying to remind myself that I know Joey, that I know the kind of man he is. But there’s a little piece of me that keeps reminding me that I
don’t
really know him that well—that I never did. Katarina seems to be relishing in my internal struggle. It must be written all over my face.

              “Doesn’t matter if you believe me, sweetie,” she says with a smile. “Just tell me where he is.”

              There’s something scary about this woman, and the way she holds herself with such an intimidating confidence, almost like nothing I say or do really matters. She’s here for one thing: answers. And if I don’t provide them—well I don’t want to know what happens.

              “I don’t know,” I tell her. From the look on her face I can tell she doesn’t believe me. “Really, I don’t. He left me at the airport. I don’t know where he is. He’s probably still in Paris.”

              Katarina stands and begins to pace about the room, flicking a fingernail against her palm. I can see the wheels in her brain turning. Her eyes flick to me, analyzing me, trying to see if I’m lying. There’s nothing I can do but stare back. Nothing I say is going to make a difference with this woman. She has to decide for herself. When I see the look come over her face, I already know what she’s going to say.

              “You’re lying.”

              “I’m not,” I reply quickly. But she simply shrugs and moves to the front door. As she pulls it open she turns back to me. “Either way, we’ll get what we need.”

              Two suited men the size of giants rush into my home and snatch me by the arms. Their grips are strong as vices, and there’s no hope in escape. I wriggle and thrash futilely as they drag me toward the open door.

              I try to scream, but one of them slaps an enormous hand over my mouth and stifles any sound. My feet scrape the threshold as they pull me into the night.

              A black SUV is parked out front at the curb, and the men drag me to it. Another man steps out the passenger seat and opens the back door. I’m literally hurled inside and skid across the slick leather seat to slam into the other door. The two men pile in behind me. I look up to see Katarina take the wheel and hear the tires screech as we peel off down the block.

              A pair of handcuffs click around my wrists.

              “Sorry, miss,” one of the men grunts beside me. “But this is necessary.”

              He slides a hood over my head and the world goes dark.

              The car ride goes on for what feels like forever. I manage to picture where we’re heading in my mind, following the turns as we take them, but I lose any sense of where I am after we pass the high school. The road turns to gravel for a long way, and when we finally come to a stop, I feel a set of rough hands grip my arms and pull me from the vehicle. They keep the hood over my head as they lead me somewhere. It’s hard to breathe, and the air has a thick, dusty feel that makes me cough. There’s also a sour metallic smell like we’re in some industrial area. The ground is rough and loose beneath my feet, and I stumble several times as the men drag me along.

              There is a horrible screech of metal against metal as some kind of large door opens, and I’m led inside. There’s a loud clank and the sound of bolts sealing behind me, and then the hood is removed from my face. I open my eyes to pitch black. I look around, trying to find something to focus on, but there’s nothing. I can’t even tell if I’m alone or surrounded by people.

              Finally, a loud bang from below and a whine of electricity as banks of fluorescents kick on above me, illuminating the empty hangar I find myself standing in. I see I’m surrounded by four suited men who look like ex-MMA fighters. Katarina sits casually on a table stacked with piles of money and powder in plastic bags. I suddenly realize
just
how much trouble I’m in.

              But Joey will come for me. He saved me from those men in Paris, and he’s not going to let anything bad happen to me…

              Right?

              But Joey doesn’t even know I’m here. Joey put me on a plane from Paris while he stayed behind. How could he possibly come to my rescue? The better question for right now is—

              “What do you want?” I shout across the hangar floor at Katarina, who yawns lazily.

              “Please don’t shout,” she says, waving a hand in my general direction. “We’ll have to gag you, sweetie. No one can hear you, of course. We’re way out of town. But it is quite annoying.”

              “What am I
doing
here?” I say through clenched teeth.

              “Oooh, she wants answers, Derek,” she says, standing up and tilting a head toward the largest man in the group, sporting a tattoo of a scythe on the side of his neck. He grins back at her, obviously under the spell of her seductiveness. “I guess there’s no harm in giving her some. She’s not going to live to tell anyone anyway.”

              Fear grips my chest, and I feel my stomach twist into one big knot.

             
Not going to live?

              What is this? I’ve never done anything to anybody, especially not to people like this. What do a bunch of criminals want with me?

              “Please,” I say, feeling the panic flood through my body, coursing in with the rush of adrenaline. “Don’t hurt me. Why would you hurt me? I don’t even know you!”

              “We’re not going to hurt you, Mia. Not unless you start screaming again. You’re just bait, sweetie,” she muses, pacing forward toward me, extending a finger and brushing the tip of my nose. “Bait for your little boyfriend.”

              My head is racing, and I feel sweat forming on my forehead and against my palms.

              “You mean…Joey?”

              “She’s catching on!” she cries out, clapping her hands together theatrically.

              “What do you want with Joey?”

              “We just want him back,” she says so matter of fact. “And you just happen to be the easiest way to get him.”

              Back?

              She said back. Does this have to do with Joey’s disappearance? Is this where he was for six years? But it couldn’t be…Joey’s not a bad man. He’s not a criminal. Is he?

              The realization of how little I know about Joey washes over me as I look around. I have no way of gauging what Joey is or isn’t like these days. Suited men with guns, this woman, obviously dangerous, flanked by stacks of money and drugs. How could Joey be possibly wrapped up with these people if he wasn’t one of them?

              “I guess Joey never told you about his past,” she says, almost as though she can read my mind. She steps close to me, so close I can smell her perfume—some combination of flowers I can’t distinguish. “Doesn’t surprise me. He’s not exactly an open book.”

              Suddenly, one of the men puts a hand to his earpiece. He hears something that sends him running to Katarina’s side. He whispers in her ear, and she signals the men.

              “Okay, here we go, boys,” she says commandingly. I hear the sound of guns loading and safeties flicking off as she struts past me to the door. “Open it up.”

              A guard at the door presses a red button, and the hangar door slowly creeps open, the familiar sound of metal against metal echoing through the space. A beam of light from inside spills out into the dark, and I see a pair of shoes standing in the driveway. I recognize them instantly.

              “Joey!” I scream, but I feel a rough hand cover my mouth before I can get his name out. The door opens all the way, and there he is. Somehow, even facing all these men, Joey still looks like the man in charge, like the world can’t possibly move him no matter how hard it tries. He eyes Katarina with familiarity and contempt as he steps forward into the hangar, his shoes slapping against the concrete slab floor.

              He passes the men, not even giving them the time of day. His gaze comes to me, and I see something like sadness or regret is hiding in his eyes.

              “Welcome home!” Katarina says joyfully.

              “I’m not home,” Joey says coldly, never taking his eyes off me.

              “Well, you certainly look like it,” she says, moving in front of me, blocking Joey’s view. I look about, seeing the six men standing in a semi-circle around Joey, all massive and all armed to the teeth. For him to come waltzing in here, he has to either be bold or stupid, or have some kind of a plan. Joey isn’t stupid. He may be confident, but he has never struck me as bold or brash, so he must have something up his sleeve. I hope…

              My heart is racing like I’ve run a marathon, and my cuffed wrists are slick with sweat as I struggle against them. But it’s no use. There’s nothing I can do without the key.