Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
This beautiful home. Once returned to her gilded cage, she texted me on her phone that she had left for me, telling me to leave Chelomey. I’d hardly responded to her continuous quest to encourage me. Fear made me blow her off. Fast forward two years later, the night of my escape from Tarzana.
I murmured, “Aston Martin.”
“Huh?” the girl said.
“Uh, Cutie Pie.” It was easier to remember the car she drove—an Aston Martin DB5—rather than the cutesy nickname of her childhood. I stared at the girl who tried to save me in July. She was also my first real hug. “What are you doing here?” Jesus, You had me save the girl who hugged me all those years ago. Now, what in the heck is wrong with this girl?
Cutie Pie, now twenty years old and just as gorgeous, stepped closer to me. Worry misted her hazel eyes. “I saw you in that high-speed chase. You looked so afraid.”
“Yeah. The cops were trailing us.”
“No. They were trying to save you from that ex-Marine.” Cutie Pie’s honey-skin tone flushed an angry red. “I know you were afraid to leave Aleksandr. That night when he slammed his foot into your head.” As her voice lowered with disgust, I could see visions in her eyes. Visions of Adrian’s attempted assault. She’d done this for me. “I-I should’ve”—her hands forked through shoulder-length wavy hair—“said something that night. Went straight to the police. I didn’t want to get my pop involved.”
I hitched a breath. Sounded nice. Wanting to spare your father the gory details of your attempted rape.
“Pop would’ve had questions. Then Pop would’ve killed Aleksandr’s son. Then …” She glanced down. “Then I’d have had to tell him how stupid I was for trying to date the worst guy at Cedar Crest Prep.”
Oh, yeah. It was all coming back to me. I blamed Cutie Pie’s obsession with saving me on the leukemia. Once she’d come down from her high at the Chelomey house, she’d talked. A lot. I think she’d wanted to share her side so she didn’t sound so stupid for being roofied. She’d gotten her life back after surviving cancer and bullying at public school. The first guy—a wolf in sheep’s clothing—who pretended to be nice to her turned out to be none other than Adrian Chelomey. Having never attended school, even I smelled the trouble that came with the popular guy befriending the new girl.
“It’s okay. All your … texts over these past couple of years …” My voice trailed off, unsure what to say in this awkward situation. I’d agreed to leave because she’d texted me on July 1st, right before Independence Day. “You encouraged me.” I smiled, trying to process the situation and comfort her. Then he would’ve killed Aleksandr’s son. “Wait.” My eyes filled with fire and betrayal. “Where’s Jamie?”
“In the basement. Don’t worry. I-I should’ve come clean to my family the second I saw you in Tarzana again. Aleksandr hurt you.” She wrenched her fingers together. “I should’ve said something before then. But when I saw you on television with that guy evading the cops, I knew he was horrible. Now, Pop and Uncle Sim tied him up.” Cutie Pie licked her lips as if not happy about what they’d done. “They’ll wait until the soldier awakens. Let him speak for himself. Then Pop’s gonna kill him. Our family doesn’t condone the bondage of women. At least, not since my uncle settled down.”
A beat of silence.
I ran down the stairs, neglecting to ask who Cutie Pie was related to. I thought her last name began with an R.
I didn’t need a Marine to save me anymore.
I needed to save him.
Jamie had lost it the last time he thought someone wanted to hold him captive. He’d used a baseball bat on the guy at age fifteen. What would he do now when there was no misunderstanding? When he’d been taken on purpose.
I had to save Jamie from a place I’d never want to see him in again.
Captivity.
35
BEVERLY HILLS
Mr. R
I lifted the triple shot of vodka to my lips and drank my family’s legacy. Picked up the bottle of Resnov Water, pouring another. I glanced over my shoulder from my $17,000 couch to where my brother had the soldier tied beneath the wrought iron staircase. This wasn’t like the basements of my past where I got my knuckles dirty from pounding human-punching bags.
This was a family basement. Plush pile carpets. Air hockey. A theater room sat farther in the basement. A bowling alley, on account that Cutie Pie had lost all her hair a few years ago. Tired of radiation treatments, she’d wanted to bowl.
She’d only used the room twice. Twice. What a waste of money. Between her and Vassili Junior, they would bleed me dry. If … I wasn’t so rich. Truth? I’d do it again. I’d have taken Natasha’s cancer in my body and beat—