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He narrows his eyes at me. "Certain negotiations will have to be made, of course. She is my only daughter, Garison."
I try not to grit my teeth at the old man's casual use of my last name. "Naturally," I cock my head and raise my brandy snifter at him, conceding his point–or so he thinks.
He sits back in his chair, mollified for the time being, and pulls out a cigar. He offers me one, but I politely decline.
I've never been one for smoking.
However, I accept another drink when he offers it, even though I haven't finished the one I have. I'm studiously taking small sips to look like I’m drinking. On the other hand, Jameson gulps down his liquor like there's no tomorrow. And that's perfect for what I have planned.
I shoot the shit with him for another hour and watch as the man goes through four more glasses of brandy, becoming more inebriated by the second.
I put on an act of loosening up as well, although I'm far from intoxicated.
I laugh at his crude jokes and talk numbers with him.
Once I sense his guard is down, I ask him where I can take a piss.
He motions sloppily toward the door. "Three doors down on the right," he slurs, taking another sip.
Fucking drunk.
I get up and turn in the direction he motioned, but instead of heading down the hallway, I make my way stealthily toward the stairs.
I’m under no illusions that I'll be able to bust her out of here tonight, but that doesn’t mean I can't finally talk to her and let her know that everything's going to be okay.
* * *
Addy
I jump when I hear someone rattling the doorknob, stare at it like it's a deadly spider. Cook and Dad never jiggle the knob. They've got a key, so their entry is always smooth. A faint knock and the hushed yet urgent whisper of my name have me tiptoeing to the door.
"Addison!" a deep, masculine voice hisses my name through the door.
I melt. Something about that voice makes me feel so safe. Safe and wanted and carefree.
A spark of joy and excitement bubbles up from deep within me. Someone knows my name. Someone wants to talk to me!
I rush over to the door and follow his lead to be discreet.
"Yes?" I stage whisper just loud enough to be heard but not so loud that I'm using my full-on speaking voice.
"Oh, thank God.” He instantly sounds relieved. “Listen, sweetheart. I'm Alec, the man from next door."
My heart jumps into my throat when I picture his forest-green eyes and dark hair. I've tried to capture those eyes on the canvas all week. I keep painting forests over and over again like a woman possessed, but I still don't feel like I'm getting it quite right. I need to look right into his eyes up close…
I flatten my palm against the door as I repeat his name. "Alec…"
Something like a tortured groan sounds from the other side of the door.
"Call me Addy. My friends call me Addy." My cheeks burn when I realize I don’t have any friends. Thankfully, he doesn't comment on that or make me feel stupid. Instead, he just repeats my nickname.
"Addy." The way he says my name has me whimpering and clenching my thighs together where I sit pressed against the door.
"What are you doing here?" I'm confused and curious but happy all the same. This man has been keeping me silent company for the past week. He sits there and lets me stare at him, and he stares back at me with little hand signals and smiles. They're our smiles. Our secret smiles that we use to communicate without words. He tells me, I'm here. It's okay. He's been the light in my captivity.
My only friend. The only one who sees me.
"Look, I have to go, sweetheart. I can't explain everything now, but here. Take this."
