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How does he know my father’s safety password?
Wilson Anderson pretended to be someone he isn’t to get close to me, and Ireallycan’t figure out why. All I know for sure is that man isnota friend. He can’t be trusted.
With my heart racing in my throat, I step lightly on the floor and take one step forward. It’s then I notice a giant weight strapped to my ankle. A monitor or something.
The more I try to wrench it off my ankle, the tighter it feels. My heart sinks. My father is a mob boss, sure, but I’m not part of that world.
I’ve purposely kept away to avoid situations like this, to remain safe.
That’s why I’m here in New York, not in Ireland, so I can beme.
Or not.
I guess my past, or my family’s past, has come back to haunt me anyway.
I tip toe over to the door, trying not to get too weighed down by the monitor on my leg, and I brush my fingers over the wood. Much to my intense surprise, the door swings open.
Why the hell am I not locked inside?
That seems seriously odd.
With my pulse pounding, I dare to step forwards. A part of me expects to be taken down in an instant, but that doesn’t happen. Not only do I not get tackled, I don’t see anyone either. No one yells at me, tells me to get down, threatens me…
What the hell am I doing here?
I definitely don’t know this place. It’s someone’s family cabin, but not mine. Unless it’s a safe house owned by my father that I know nothing about.
But then why do I have a monitor on my leg?
I’m pretty sure if this was my father, then I’d known about it by now.
I don’t know why I’m here, but since the bedroom door opened easily, without me even needing to push it, and I can see the front door right there…
It doesn’t matter if I’m monitored. If I can run fast enough, then I can get away. I can escape and get someone to help me tear this shit off. Maybe even the police.
I know I shouldn’t ever go to the cops about anything… my dad has always made thatveryclear. But then I never expected to end up in this situation, did I?
The anticipation builds as I step closer to the main door, but this feeling is hopefully the worst of it. Once that door is open and I run as fast as I can, I won’t have time to freak out like this. I will have something todo.
Tentatively, I reach my hand forward, still expecting to be knocked over by my attacker, but since no one comes, I finally connect with the wood…
It starts with a little shudder running through my fingertips, but soon grows into something more. Before I can even wrap my head around anything, it becomes a lightning bolt of shock, a jarring experience that leaves me momentarily paralyzed.
So paralyzed that I can’t stop my body from flying backwards like someone has shoved me.
I’ve been zapped by something, and now it’s knocked me on my ass. Hard.
Holy shit, I was not expecting that.
Since I’m already in pain, it takes me a moment to regain myself. I prop onto my elbows, just as a hand stretches out in front of me. Panic threatens to consume me. Who is this?
Ever so slowly, my eyes run up this man’s body. He’s shirtless, with muscles covering his torso, and beardless, too. But that doesn’t mean I don’t recognize the face. I’d know that God damn face anywhere, even if he’s shaved now.
Wilson.
I scoot backwards, so I can really see him. He’s sweaty, but clean now. He has less hair and he’s no longer hunched and disheveled, but there’s no denying it’s him.
Wilson Anderson really did have me fooled.
