Stealing Her Page 8

  A smile flickers across my face for a moment as I picture Henry’s goofy, perpetually-smiling face. His slightly lopsided jaw, his big brown eyes so full of love and curiosity. I close my eyes and try my hardest to imagine him in my arms, cuddling him close to my chest. I can so very nearly smell his fur, hear his rapid heartbeat against my hand, feel his curly, fluffy tail wagging and thumping at my hip. I can hear him panting, snuffling at my face. If I just keep my eyes tightly shut and hold my breath and focus, it’s almost as though he’s right here with me. Oh, what I wouldn’t give to have my dog with me right now. He would make everything a million times better, I know it.

  But I’m not stupid enough to believe I will be seeing him again anytime soon.

  Chains made sure I was crystal clear on that.

  I press a hand to my aching chest, as though if I apply enough pressure I can make the pain go away. But that’s not how it works, because the pain isn’t in my physical heart, it’s much, much deeper than that. My very soul is bruised, victimized by my own father’s cold indifference to my suffering.

  Being dragged off the campus path and forced into submission with chloroform was traumatic. Having my wrists bound for hours, my body trapped and unable to move was painful. But nothing wounds me more than the stark realization that my father does not actually care about me.

  He doesn’t mind whether I live or die.

  His own ego and reputation matter far more to him. On the list of priorities in his mind, I have never been at the top. Probably not even in the top five. I’m just a project for him. A hobby. Under the very best circumstances, he sees me as an asset. But usually, I might as well be invisible.

  I think I knew that all along. Deep down, underneath all my twenty years’ worth of denial and false optimism and all the distractions I set out for myself to keep my mind from wandering down the pathway that leads to the naked, bleeding truth.

  He doesn’t care about me. I don’t know if he ever even loved me.

  Of course he won’t pay the ransom to get me back. I should have figured it out long ago that he cares much more about money than about me. It should have been clear to me in all the lectures he has given me over the years about how the only way to succeed in this world is to look out for only yourself.

  To be selfish.

  To have no qualms about stepping on the heads of my fellow human beings on my way up the ladder to success.

  I never took it to heart quite the way he probably meant for me to. I just assumed he was exaggerating, talking me up with all those awful buzzwords we learn from my business major textbooks.

  Synergy. Bootstraps. Vertical movement. Invest in yourself and no one else.

  I can’t believe how long I’ve let him fool me and yank me around. All these years I’ve spent chasing his love, thinking that if I could only outperform all my contemporaries, if only I could push myself up above the rest, I would finally be enough for him.

  I only ever wanted to please him, to make him proud of me. It sounds like such a pathetic, low-standard goal to strive for, and yet with a father like mine, it is the one goal impossible to reach. I’m realizing it now: there is nothing I could have done, no perfect path I could have followed, no amount of money or prestige I could accumulate to earn his love.

  His respect? Maybe. If I sold my entire soul.

  But what sort of an existence would I have to lead without my soul? I’m learning now that my soul is worth far more than what my father would be willing to spend for it. My humanity is too expensive. My happiness is a frivolous luxury, and the bill is too steep for Daddy to pick it up. That price tag is all on me. I’m cut off, and even though my heart is breaking, there’s a very small, very quiet part of me who just feels relieved.

  If Daddy doesn’t care if I live or die, then he certainly doesn’t give a damn what I do with my life. I don’t have to be a businesswoman. I don’t have to follow in his footsteps. I can be my own woman, follow whatever dream catches the sparkle of my eye.

  Still, the realization that my only parent, the one guiding mentor of my life does not love me is a tough pill to swallow. He won’t shell out for me, even though he could afford it. And when I let myself dwell on it, I can follow the trajectory of my relationship with Daddy to its reasonable end.

  I can see from the very beginning how he underestimated me, undercut, undermined me at every turn. He would build me up with a kind word, only to shatter me again moments later with a biting criticism. There is no winning.

  Hell, my captor has shown me more warmth and tenderness in my time in captivity than my father ever gave me, even when I was just an innocent little child.

  Maybe that is why I can’t stop glancing longingly over at that awful metal door. I desperately want for Chains to return. I need him to come back to me, to hold me in those steady arms, cradle me to his muscular chest like a child waking from a nightmare.

  I know it’s not right, the way I feel for him.

  But as long as I’m in the business of swallowing tough pills, I might as well come to terms with my emotions regarding my captor.

  I want him.

  My heart yearns for him in a way that I’ve only read about in classical poetry.

  It’s wrong. I know that.

  But then again, I am just now coming to terms with the fact that my own father does not care for me. Maybe I’m just grasping for whatever scraps of affection or protection within reach. I probably should not trust him. I don’t even know his real name— Chains is obviously a nickname, and it’s a rather ominous one at that. I don’t even want to think about how one goes about receiving such a nickname. Perhaps my feelings for him would constitute the most messed-up sonnet in the history of literature, but it doesn’t change the fact that when his black eyes lock with mine, I feel poetry blooming in my very soul.

  As I sit here, lost in thought, I hear a soft thumping noise from somewhere beyond the door. I’m so jumpy and on edge that it startles me. I cry out softly and fall backward, my chest heaving. Immediately, I’m angry with myself, with my own weakness. I should be adjusting to this by now. My fear should be reaching a plateau. But I’m still afraid. I can’t help it.

  I need a better distraction. Even though there’s barely any light straining through the open window slot in the door, I still dutifully pick up the pencil and the journal Chains gave me. With a trembling hand, I gently press the sharpened pencil tip to the page and start to write my feelings in a free-flowing fashion, much like I used to when I was an angst-ridden thirteen-year-old, hiding in my dorm room at that fancy, austere boarding school Daddy shipped me off to years and years ago.

  My power has been stripped away from me. My father, who I thought was my knight in shining armor, has turned out to be nothing but a shrewd businessman cutting his losses. I am among them. I don’t expect him to mourn my absence very much. In fact, I have a feeling my disappearance is just going to relieve him. He never wanted to be a father, I’m sure of it. I was never meant to be.

  I pause for a moment, biting my lip. This is hard. But I know I have to confront these emotions or they will swarm up and consume me from the inside out. I keep writing.

  I feel totally vulnerable. Normally, I would hate that. I would fight against it. I hate being alone like this. The only time I feel even a little bit okay is when Chains comes to me. I can’t believe how much I miss him. I want him to come back. I need him to tell me what to do. I’ve never liked to be bossed around. I used to only ever listen to Daddy’s advice. But he only ever led me astray. When Chains tells me to do something, it feels like he’s thinking of my own best interest. Trying to help protect me, and keep me safe. In fact, I would be lying to myself if I didn’t admit that I like following his instructions.

  It makes me feel good in a way I can’t explain. It feels good to do what he says. I don’t know why. I don’t understand why I trust him, of all people, when I know I can’t even trust my own father. What the hell is wrong with me? What is happening to me?


  Why do I feel so free with him when he’s the one that caged me? He was right. I feel free of the burden of responsibility for the first time in my life, and it feels so good to not have to take the blame for everything. To just allow someone else to take charge for once…

  I stare down at the page, wincing at the words I just wrote out. I feel dirty just for writing them. I heave a sigh. I’m changing, that much is evident. Something inside me has snapped.

  I’m interrupted by a sharp knock at the door. I sit up straight, hastily closing the journal and pushing it behind me as I look at the door, wide-eyed and expectant. What if it’s him? I hold my breath, waiting, not even daring to hope. But when I see him glance through the slot, I relax a little to see those familiar dark eyes watching me. I give him a smile, which feels a little foreign and forced on my face at the moment, but it’s genuine. I am truly happy to see him, for better or for worse. Crazy or sane.

  Then he hands me another tray, just like before. Some kind of fragrant stew and a hunk of warm bread. My stomach roars with hunger and I dash forward to take the tray, plopping down on the floor with the tray in my lap. I rip into the bread, groaning with delight as I chew. I look up at the window slot to see Chains still watching me closely. Maybe it’s just a trick of the light or perhaps my mind seeing what it wants to see, but he looks rather disappointed. Or apologetic.

  “What is it?” I ask, setting down the bread.

  He sighs. “You shouldn’t still be here,” he says quietly. I stare at him, waiting for him to elaborate. He finally does. “It usually does not take this long. You’re not supposed to be stuck in this damn cell indefinitely.”

  “Well, how does it usually work?” I ask, genuinely curious. I doubt that he will give up such sensitive information, but to my surprise, he seems willing to explain.

  “Generally, the parents give in within a matter of a few hours,” Chains says grimly. “So we don’t have to hold the daughter for very long at all. These parents, the kind of people we target— they have so much money that the ransom fee barely makes a difference. It’s a drop of water in the ocean for them. Easier to pay the price than get the police involved and drag things out. We only target those kinds of families. We watch them first, figure out whether they’d be a good fit. Only then do we abduct our target.”

  “You watched me?” I murmur. My heart is pounding, a strange tingling sensation warming the insides of my thighs. It makes sense. He knew things about my life, my schedule, my room. But I never put the pieces together that he was watching me. I never realized. I never felt anything was off. I never behaved any different, and suddenly I feel so exposed, thinking back to my private moments and how they were invaded by someone I never even knew existed.

  Chains nods slowly, those eyes never breaking contact with mine. “Yes. I watched you for a long time. Admittedly, a little too long.”

  “Why?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper.

  “Because you are fascinating to me,” he admits. “And you are beautiful.”

  I push the dinner tray aside and come closer to the door, poking my fingers through the slot again and resting my chin on my hands. I gaze up at him beseechingly.

  “Please. Come inside,” I beg him. “I just… I want company.”

  He groans and pinches the bridge of his nose. I can tell this is difficult for him. He wants to come in. He wants to be close to me. But he knows it’s against the rules. His rules. I don’t care about rules anymore, though. I’ve always followed them, and where has it gotten me? Locked up alone in some dank, rotten cell in the middle of nowhere. So I don’t back down. I just wait, gazing at my handsome, dark-eyed captor until finally, he gives in and reaches for the lock.

  Click.

  He unlocks the door and turns the knob. The metal door creaks open as I shrink back a little, standing up. I’m shivering, goosebumps all over my body. I should be afraid of him right now. I should never ask a strange man to come in. It goes against every social etiquette my father ever taught me.

  But you know what?

  Screw him.

  Daddy is the reason I’m here in the first place. Now it’s my turn to figure out what to do with my time in captivity.

  Chains steps inside and closes the door behind him, looking down at me with an almost cautious curiosity. Like he’s never seen anything like me before. Like I’m something brand new. Something he wants to learn all about.

  “I’ve been writing in the journal you gave me,” I tell him softly.

  “What do you write?” he asks. I can feel the heat radiating off of his hard body.

  “I write… I write about Daddy,” I confess. “And I write about you.”

  “What about me?” Chains presses me, taking another step closer. I can feel and hear his breaths, his voice getting coarse and growly. That tingling between my legs only intensifies.

  “Do you want to see?” I offer. He sizes me up for a moment before nodding.

  “Yes. Show me,” he instructs.

  He’s violated my privacy without my realizing. Now I’m letting him see the most private parts of myself. I’m in control, even though I feel utterly out of control.

  I obediently grab the journal and hand it to him, then watch his face as he flips through the pages, reading over my words. All the while, my heart is pounding. I bounce up and down slowly on the balls of my heels, feeling almost like a child turning in an essay for class. As he reads over the pages, his expression changes from soft wonder to surprise to something… darker. I see him clenching his jaw. He’s trying to hold something back.

  I wish he wouldn’t.

  But then he just closes the journal and hands it back to me. Without a word, he turns to walk away.

  My heart feels like it’s splitting in two. I step after him, reaching out to lay a delicate hand on his shoulder.

  “Please don’t go,” I plead. “Stay the night with me again. I need you.”

  He freezes up and for a moment I feel a flicker of fear. What if I’ve crossed a line and made him angry? Still, I know in my heart he won’t hurt me. It makes no sense, but for some reason I trust him. Slowly, he turns around to look at me, eyes blazing.

  Was it too much? Is he sick at the thought of me? Of how much I yearn to give up control to him? Maybe he’s just like my father, and my willingness to be a weak, simple girl is enough to disgust him.

  “If you want to spend the night with me,” he says in a measured, even tone, “I can do you one better. Come upstairs with me. Sleep in a real bed.”

  My eyes widen and I clasp my hands together over my chest. “Please. I want that more than anything in this world,” I whisper. He reaches out and takes my hand. I’m amazed once again at how much bigger it is than my own.

  He leans in close, his warm breath tickling my neck as he murmurs in my ear, “But there are conditions. You will be blindfolded. And you will be cuffed to the bed. For your safety. How does that sound? Are you still interested?”

  My heart is beating so hard that my whole chest aches. There are a million wild thoughts springing up and bouncing around in my mind. I know I should be scared. I know I should say no. I should protect myself. I should be careful.

  But I won’t.

  I nod at him. “Yes. I accept.”

  Lila

  This may be the most reckless thing I have ever done in my life. As I sit here, totally still except for my chest quickly rising up and down with slightly panicked breaths, I allow my captor to take a strip of fabric out of his jacket pocket and carefully wrap it around my head. The moment the blindfold closes around my eyes, my stomach starts to churn with anxiety. What the hell am I doing?

  What would Cassandra say?

  What would Daddy say?

  I feel a surge of anger mixed with despair at that last thought. It does not matter at all what Daddy would say about what I’m doing. He is the primary reason— possibly the only reason— why I am even here in the first place. My capture, my lonely holding in the cell, my growing atta
chment to this dark, mysterious man whose true name I don’t even know, it’s all my father’s fault. He may have gotten me here, but he has no say over what I do now that I am here. In fact, if I look back at all of my choices throughout the years, I can chart a constellation of decisions that made me miserable, all done in the name of trying to please my unfazeable father.

  I am slowly figuring out the ugly, barefaced truth: that no matter what I do, where I go, who I become, Daddy will never be proud of me the way I want him to be. He will always see me as an irksome accessory. Just another trophy to be polished and kept on a shelf to gather dust.

  But Chains doesn’t treat me like that. Even though it would be perfectly easy for him to just leave me alone in the cell all the time and deny my humanity, turn me into just another job, like I started out, he doesn’t just stop there. He could so easily ignore my cries and pleas for attention and closeness. But he doesn’t. He comes to me. He talks to me. He touches me and comforts me in a way no man has ever done to me before.

  I have always stayed away from men, my whole life. Daddy taught me that all of them were liars and schemers, all of them dead-set on one singular goal: to steal away that perfect innocence Daddy prizes so much.

  I’m not completely naive. I know he doesn’t mean some kind of abstract philosophical innocence, although that’s what I’m more worried about, personally.

  He’s talking about my virginity. My purity. If I lose that, I lose everything about myself that makes me valuable. Whoever takes my virginity will render me pointless. He’s a thief, stealing away my only asset and leaving me a broken woman. That’s what I’ve always been taught, at least.

  But as Chains lowers his powerful, capable arms around my body and hoists me up to cradle my body against his thick chest, all of Daddy’s truisms and warnings fly right out the proverbial window. Because despite all the alarm bells ringing in the back of my head, I cannot deny how Chains makes me feel.