LUCIEN: A Standalone Romance (78 page)

I showered the next morning, as instructed, surprised to find many of the items in the toiletry bag Dominic had brought me were the things I usually buy for myself. I didn’t even allow myself to wonder how he knew what to buy. The clothes, on the other hand, were nothing like what I might normally wear. They were more appropriate to older women, like my aunts. Linen slacks with an elastic waistband. A long, flowered, button-up blouse. A heavy blue cardigan. And thick soled nursing-style shoes.

I paced the room after I dressed, aware that the ship was no longer moving because the vibrations in the walls had changed. That meant they would come for me soon. I worked through several scenarios in my mind, trying to figure out how I could get away before we even left the room. I’d taken a self-defense class in college with Lisa when there was a rash of rapes near the dorms. Maybe I could place a few well-executed punches to the guy’s throat. But if there were two of them…or maybe I could distract one or both with a flash of cleavage…unless they were gay…or I could simply ask them to let me go.

It all seemed so helpless. I hated feeling helpless.

And all I could think about were my aunts. What would they do without me to take care of them? They were always getting themselves into trouble. Taking out a mortgage on the house they inherited—mortgage-free—from their father was just the most recent of the trouble they were known to get themselves into. What if I never saw them again? What if they were left to their own devices? How long would it be before they owed some loan shark money or one of them got sick or injured or—God forbid!—they got themselves arrested over some misunderstanding?

I would never forgive myself if anything happened to my aunts. They gave up everything to take me in almost twenty years ago. I owed them everything. I couldn’t just…

The doorknob rattled. I turned, my heart pounding, my stomach churning.

This was it.

Two men, both equally tall, both equally muscular—like, Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson muscular—and both equally indifferent walked in.

“Put this on,” the first one said, tossing a hooded sweatshirt at me.

I grabbed it out of the air and slid it over my floral blouse, my nose wrinkling at the foul odor that permeated every bit of the fleece.

“Who does this belong to?”

The man didn’t answer. But he slid a gun out from somewhere behind his back and held it casually at his side. That was answer enough.

I pulled the sweatshirt close around me and zipped it up. The man gestured with the gun, showing me that I should pull the hood over my head, too, which I did.

“These, too,” the other guy said, holding out a pair of sunglasses. I moved closer to them to take the glasses, looking for an opening. Could I punch one of them? Could I get some sort of advantage? But that gun was just too much of an obstacle.

I had to get out of this alive. What good would I be to anyone if I let them shoot me?

The first man grabbed my arm just above the elbow and led the way to the door.

I walked slowly, remembering that I was supposed to be drugged. I’m not sure what they put in my food, how long it might have lasted, or what its effects might have been if I hadn’t thrown the majority of it up. But I figured shuffling my feet gave me a little extra time to study the layout of the hallway, so that had to be good enough.

But there was nothing. I don’t know where they were holding me, but there was nothing in the hallway that resembled the safety equipment, paintings, and decorations that were in the hallway outside of Miles and my suite. The walls were a dull beige, the carpet a cheap indoor/outdoor type. There were no decorations and no paintings. There was nothing until we reached the elevator.

A man in uniform stepped off the elevator when the doors opened. He seemed startled to see us, his eyes flicking to my face momentarily, then he suddenly found the carpet at his feet incredibly fascinating.

“Please,” I whispered. And for that I got a smack on the side of my face that forced me against the elevator wall.

“Try that again,” the guy with the gun said, shoving it against my ribs, “then you will get a hell of a lot more than you bargained for.”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, reaching up to touch my jaw.

I guess I looked suitably whipped because the guy turned away and gestured for his friend to punch the proper button. As the doors closed, I saw the uniformed man turn and glance at me, his eyes moving from me to the gun and back to the cheap carpet again.

The elevator doors opened a floor below the main deck. The man with the gun grabbed me and pulled me against his side, the gun cleverly hidden under my sweatshirt in such a way that we looked like lovers who couldn’t quite get enough of one another. My hands were shaking, and I wasn’t sure my knees were going to stay under me as we took the stairs up to the main deck. I wondered what would happen if I started to scream. There were a lot of people up here, other passengers excited to get off the ship and see the coast of Spain. If I screamed…but the cold steel of that gun was too much to ignore.

It wasn’t until we got to the top of the stairs that I realized the other guy had disappeared. The man with the gun whispered in my ear, “Just walk straight. Don’t try anything funny.” He shoved the gun harder against my back as a reminder of what would happen if I ignored him.

I kept my back stiff and walked at a steady clip, afraid to slow down or speed up, afraid his finger might get a little twitchy on that trigger. We rounded the corner of the main deck and joined the line of people waiting to disembark. There were several tour buses and taxis parked at the long end of the dock. Large groups of people were swarming the buses, but only a few were headed toward the taxis. And then a large SUV, one similar to the type that celebrities often take to and from the airport, pulled up behind them. I instinctively knew that was where I was headed. And I only had a few thousand feet to figure out how to get out of this.

I thought about pulling away and trying to get lost in the crowd, but I was afraid his hand would get tangled in my clothes, or he’d shoot some innocent bystander. I couldn’t live with that.

And then we were at the railing and he was pushing me down the gangplank. I thought it was over, there was nothing I could do. But then someone behind us screamed. I turned automatically. As I did, I spotted Miles and Lisa at the rail. My heart skipped a beat as I realized this was my one chance. They were watching the people leaving the ship, clearly trying to spot me. If I could signal them, then maybe…

What could I do that they would understand but the man with the gun on my back wouldn’t?

I racked my mind, trying to figure out what to do. We were halfway down the gangplank by the time it occurred to me. And it would be perfect.

When Lisa and I were younger, we had this hand signal we would do whenever we passed each other in the hallway at school or spotted each other across the cafeteria. It was a simple three movement gesture: two raised fingers, then a little shake, ending with a fist.

I closed my eyes and purposely tripped over my own feet, causing the guy with his hand under my sweatshirt to grab my arm. I twisted toward him, doing the hand gesture over his shoulder. Twice. But I couldn’t see Lisa, so I wasn’t sure she actually saw me. Then the guy forced me back around and shoved me forward, the gun back against the small of my back.

It was done. Either she saw it or she didn’t. Either she knew I was on my way off the boat or she didn’t. All I could do was send up a silent prayer and hope something happened.

We were at the SUV moments later, and the gunman’s hand was gone as he shoved me inside. Dominic was sitting on the bench seat, waiting for me. He pulled my wrist, tugging me up beside him. I pulled away as quickly as I could. Then we were moving, the ship disappearing behind us. I turned around and tried to catch sight of Miles and Lisa, but we were at the wrong angle and much too far away.

“There will be some better clothes waiting for you on the plane,” Dominic said. “I’m sure you’ll be happy to get out of those.”

I sank down in the seat and closed my eyes again.

Please, please, please.

The plane was a private jet that was sleek and perfect on the private runway. It reminded me a little of the plane that Miles and I took to Massachusetts months and months ago. But that was a very different time. Miles…even though we weren’t really together then, being with him made me feel safe. The thing is, I really hate flying. I haven’t done it much. Twice, actually. Once to Massachusetts and once back to Texas. And Miles had been there, holding my hand. His presence had been so reassuring that it really wasn’t a big deal. But this was different.

Dominic frightened me more than the movement of the plane.

I couldn’t breathe as I hid in the bathroom. I was supposed to be changing, but I couldn’t catch my breath, couldn’t stop my hands from shaking. All I could think was how desperately I wished Miles was here. Despite everything, I wanted him with me. I wanted to feel his hand in mine. I wanted the safety of knowing I could trust him to be there for me. Even now, even when I was no longer sure I could trust him, I wanted to trust him.

I wanted him to rescue me like some knight on a white horse.

I turned on the water in the sink and washed my face, trying to shock myself into stronger thoughts. The clothes Dominic had provided for me were folded and waiting on a shelf. I shook them out, somewhat pleased to find that it was simple pair of jeans and a soft pink blouse. I pulled them on, glad to be rid of the smelly sweatshirt.

I wanted to curl up on the floor and hang out in the bathroom for a while. But I knew Dominic would send his goons to come get me if I waited too long. With a deep breath, I slipped out of the bathroom and carefully made my way down the aisle to the captain’s chairs where Dominic was waiting.

“You look so much more comfortable,” he said.

“Where are we going?”

He shrugged. “We’re going. That’s all that matters.”

I sat back in my chair and turned to stare out the window. I felt Dominic move closer to me; I felt his nearness before he touched my shoulder with just the tip of his fingers.

“You are beautiful,” he said softly.

“I’m married.”

“Yes, well, you said yourself it was an arranged marriage. So what does that matter now?”

I shrugged my shoulder away from his touch, but he just moved closer. But now he wasn’t just satisfied with a fingertip on my shoulder. Instead, he pressed his lips to the bare skin there. I bit my lip, trying not to let him feel the shudder that rushed through my body. I closed my eyes, trying to think of something—anything—else. In my mind’s eye, I saw Miles standing in the bathroom of our suite, a towel wrapped around his waist, that alluring smile framed by shaving cream. I imagined that moment going differently than it really did. I imagined him folding me into his arms and tasted the kiss we should have shared. I imagined a warm, happy reunion—instead of the one that was so clouded by hurt and anger and more hurt.

I would do almost anything to be back there now, to be in Miles’ arms.

Tears burned my eyes as Dominic’s lips moved up the curve of my throat. I couldn’t hide my shudder this time. But Dominic didn’t seem to care. He slid his hand over my jaw and tugged my face closer to his. When his lips touched mine, I jerked back without really meaning to.

“You can fight me,” Dominic said softly. “I don’t mind. It actually makes it a bit more interesting. But it would be easier for you if you didn’t.”

Tears spilled over, running slowly down my cheeks.

“I didn’t do anything to you,” I said. “Why do you have to do this?”

“You married into the Thorn family. You had to have known that would come with consequences.”

He grabbed the back of my head. My muscles strained as I tried to pull away, but he was much stronger than I would ever be. He dragged me close to him and pressed his open mouth to mine, the unpleasant feel of moisture rushing over me as he buried his tongue in my mouth. I bit down. It was instinct. Something unpleasant touches you, you react. But it wasn’t the reaction Dominic wanted.

“Bitch!” he cried out as he jerked back. And his fist flew, slamming into the corner of my jaw with enough strength to force my head to snap back against the wall of the plane. My vision went dark around the edges, bells instantly ringing in my ears. He leaned close to me, burying his hand in my hair, wrenching my head around so that we were eye to eye.

“Is that the way you want it? You want it rough? Because I can do that. In fact, it might be fun to see how far I can push you before you break.” He moved closer to me, running the tip of his tongue—which was now bleeding—over the center of my cheek. “We’ll still have plenty of fun. You just won’t be going out in public much. Can’t raise eyebrows with the bruises you’re going to sport.”

He started to kiss me again even as I pressed my hands to his chest and tried to force some distance between us, but then his goon came over and whispered something over his shoulder.

Dominic sat back and glared at the guy. “Now?”

The guy nodded.

Dominic groaned. Then he looked at me and said, “Well, I guess you get a short reprieve.” He stood and looked pointedly at his goon. “Make sure she stays put.”

Dominic disappeared through a narrow doorway at the front of the plane. The goon took a seat across from me, his attention focused on a cell phone, but I was pretty sure he would notice immediately if I tried to stand up. I turned back to the window, using it as a mirror to rub away the blood trail he’d left on my cheek. I was calmer than I might have imagined I could be under such circumstances. Maybe it was shock. Or maybe it was something like acceptance. Either way, I was calm even as my thoughts were a jumble of chaos.

Well, not chaos. I was mostly thinking one thing:

No, no, no, no…

***

The plane landed a little over an hour later. Dominic was back at my side, pulling me up from my seat with a hand under my upper arm. I shivered at his touch, trying not to let my mind go to what came next. I could imagine it: another black SUV, another long drive to some secluded house somewhere, probably a nice house on a cliff—money could buy things like that—and a well-appointed bedroom and then…I wouldn’t let my thoughts go beyond that. I tried to focus on the details, like the leather of the seats in the SUV, so that my mind was too busy with the inconsequential to focus on the nightmare.

We stepped out of the plane into a hot summer afternoon. The plane had stopped not far from a set of hangars with signs written in two languages. One was English. I was pretty sure the other was Italian. And, just as I had imagined, there was a large, black SUV waiting for us on the tarmac. The chauffeur opened the back door as our feet touched the asphalt. And then chaos erupted around us.

Cars with flashing lights suddenly sped up to the plane, people jumping out of them with guns pointed before they’d even stopped. I just stopped. I didn’t know what else to do. They were yelling in a foreign language—again, I think it was Italian—and gesturing with their guns. Then a man spoke in English.

“Get down!”

Dominic threw his hands up into the air.

“We are American citizens,” he called.

“We know who you are, Dominic de Luca. You are under arrested for suspicion of trafficking an illegal substance.”

“You have the wrong man,” Dominic said with all the charm of a criminal. “You may search my plane. You won’t find anything.”

The man who spoke English gestured to some of the others. They immediately holstered their guns and boarded the plane.

“We were given an anonymous tip saying that you have over a hundred pounds of cocaine hidden on this plane.”

Dominic laughed. And it was a gleeful laugh, almost as if he found this situation amusing.

“Why would I do that? Why would I fly a plane with that much cocaine in it to a foreign country? That would be suicide.”

The man shrugged, lowering his gun, but keeping it clearly at the ready. Then he gestured to another set of men who also holstered their guns and then approached us.

“We need to handcuff you while we search,” the man said. “For our safety.”

Dominic held out his wrists, his eyes closely observing the cop who approached me.

“Be gentle with her,” he said.

I found myself wondering if I should be flattered that he would care so much.

The cop snapped the cuffs on my right wrist, then twisted it behind my back, jerking my other arm back. Pain burst through my shoulders, but I felt oddly relieved. If I was going to spend the night in jail, Dominic couldn’t hurt me tonight. It was like a short reprieve from the inevitable.

“Fuck! Do you have to be so rough?” Dominic groused as another cop cuffed him. His goon also complained with a quiet expression of curses under his breath as they cuffed him, too.

We stood and waited for the search to be completed. Dominic smiled when the cops came off the plane with nothing in their hands and a defeated look in their eyes. But then another car arrived with a couple dogs. A large, burly cop followed the dogs onto the plane. I saw a flash of fear in Dominic’s eyes as the dogs immediately began to bark.

I wasn’t surprised when the burly cop came back out with a huge brick of cocaine in his hands.

“Looks like you chose suicide, Mr. de Luca,” the cop in charge said, as he grabbed his arm and led him to one of the cars.

Dominic looked back at me. “If I find out your husband’s behind this—”

Icy fingers danced up and down the length of my spine. If there was one thing I’d learned about Dominic by now, it was that he didn’t make idle threats.

They put me into a different car. I didn’t see Dominic, his goon, or anyone else associated with him again. The car I was in pulled into an underground garage, and I was led into a nondescript room that held only a narrow table and a couple of folding chairs. I was told they would come talk to me in a few minutes, but it felt like hours passed. I don’t really know how long I was there. Probably less than an hour. Time seemed to have changed for me, at least, the way I perceived it. I sat there in one of those chairs and picked at the thin glaze of polish on my thumbnails, my mind blank.

Again, I think it was shock. So many things had happened over the last few days. I was supposed to go on a nice, relaxing cruise to get over my broken heart. But this adventure had been less than relaxing.

It kind of put things into perspective though. My struggle to find a decent job was suddenly trivial. Starbuck’s wasn’t such a bad job. My boss suggested a few weeks ago that I might be management material. It wasn’t the executive job I’d dreamed of in college, but it paid the bills. Money wasn’t even an issue, really. I still had that bank account with a little over a million dollars in it, thanks to interest. I hadn’t touched it in the months after Miles kicked me out—just like I’d left the car he bought me, the cell phone he gave me, and the list of job prospects he’d arranged for me. But now…I’d held up my end of the bargain. I should get over myself and use what he gave me to make a better life for myself and my aunts.

And then there was Miles.

My heart hurt when I thought about him. I loved him. I’d known it before he kicked me out, and I knew it now. The memory of the pictures Dominic showed me made the pain a little more intense. And the realization that he could still end things at the drop of a hat, that he could push me away once I was no longer helpful to him, left me a little weary of trusting him. But I loved him. All the logic in the world couldn’t make that basic reality go away. I loved him, and I wanted whatever he was willing to give me. Even if it was temporary.

If I ever saw him again.

It suddenly occurred to me that I could be going to jail. After being handcuffed and transported to this place, after sitting there for however long, it finally occurred to me that I might be facing years in an Italian jail for simply traveling on that plane. How many years do accomplices serve? Would I ever see my aunts again?

I shivered as I imagined what jail would be like. I was pretty sure it wouldn’t be like
Orange is the New Black.
But how much darker would it be? Would I survive?

Panic was beginning to build in my chest, as a knock sounded on the door.

“Mrs. Thorn?” a soft, female voice asked.

I looked up. Joan Tarek, Miles’ office manager and family friend, was standing just inside the doorway. And behind her was Miles himself.

I don’t even remember moving. All I remember is the feel of his arms around me, the sense of safety that infused me as I buried my face against his shoulder and burst into tears, letting go of all the fear and pain and confusion I’d barely kept under control since the moment those goons confronted me outside the dining room.

“It’s over now,” he whispered, as he ran his hand over the back of my head. “It’s all over.”