Nineteen

Addy

Afterward, lying entangled in Jay’s arms, Addy couldn’t help but feel like her whole life had been nothing short of mediocre up until this point.

Sex with Ryan had become a chore over the years. He hadn’t pleased her, and he never cared to. When they had slept together, Ryan had been rough—harsh. Addy had never experienced pleasure in sex; it was only something she’d done for him to keep him sane, give him what he wanted. But this, well, this had been so different. The feel of Jay’s skin beneath her touch, the way he’d gone slow, been gentle. He’d caressed her, kissed her, made her insides squirm with pleasure, and goosebumps rise on her arms. Sex with Jay was like living in a whole other world.

Addy lay against his bare chest, tracing her fingers up and down the skin on Jay’s abdomen. He had one arm around her, lightly trailing her arm with his fingers. They were silent, but it was comfortable. Nothing had to be said, but she felt a strange, nagging desire to do so, anyway.

“Those scars on my arms—the ones you saw—I…” She faltered, and her heart beat rapidly against her ribs. “Before you found me just recently, that wasn’t new. I’ve cut for a very long time.”

“I know.”

“If I’m not cutting, I’m drinking.” She hesitated, taking a breath. “When I started dating Ryan, the self-harming slowed down. A lot. But—it wasn’t because he made me feel better. It was because I was afraid of how he would react if he knew.”

“Did he ever find out?” Jay asked.

“Yeah,” Addy said. “He found out. And he was angry. It’s like it disgusted him. It was just something that he could use against me when we fought.”

“And you never thought to tell him why you might need to hide from the pain?” asked Jay. Addy swallowed, closing her eyes briefly. It was weird to speak of Ryan while she lay tangled in another man’s embrace. But despite how odd it felt, how strange it was, she was happy. She was comfortable.

She hadn’t been happy or comfortable in a very, very long time.

“I figured that if he truly wanted to know, he would ask,” said Addy. “Otherwise, we could just stay in our happy little bubble of perfection and never have to worry about those demons.”

Even then, though, their relationship had been far from a little bubble of perfection. Addy had struggled every day against Ryan, as he had against her. There had been childish fights, breaking up and making up—horrible, dark moments. Sometimes—well, most of the time—she had felt lonely. She’d had him, she’d had Ryan, and yet she’d still been completely and utterly alone.

“Demons are dangerous,” Jay said. He shifted under her; his skin was warm against hers. “What is it that you never told him?”

Addy felt her breath catch in her throat, hesitating. It had been all too easy to scare Ryan into a fit with the cutting alone. It had made him wary to talk about it, and it had forced him to withdraw from her, to become even more cold and aloof than he had before.

Could she do that to Jay? Could he handle it? Could she handle it?

The reason for her cutting had stayed a secret all these years. She’d made an enormous attempt to block it out, to get over it, to forget it. But she couldn’t. She hadn’t. She didn’t cut because it was fun. She didn’t drink to loosen up. She cut and she drank, and those two things alone made her feel better. Those two things numbed her to the pain she could never face. But now, lying here, in Jay’s arms, feeling his breathing beneath her, Addy realized that she had to tell him. No, she wanted to tell him. She had never been able to tell Ryan. She hadn’t even been able to tell Abby. And now, here she was, in the arms of her kidnapper, and all she wanted to do was tell him—to get it off her chest.

“My father used to beat me. Me and my mother both.”

The words hung heavy in the air, and Addy wished she could take them back. For a moment, he said nothing, but the trail of his fingers against her skin had come to a halt. She took another deep breath and let her ears drift to the sound of his beating heart against her cheek. She waited for him to pull away from her, waited for him to push her away and stand up and leave—just like Ryan had done, if not physically. She could handle it. Addy could handle anything. She had no choice if she wanted to survive.

She hadn’t talked about her parents, let alone thought much about them, in years. And now, here she was, confessing her deepest, darkest secrets to a man she barely knew. And even then, feeling wary, feeling frightened, Addy knew she wouldn’t have been able to hold this same conversation with Ryan. There was no way—he’d never given her a chance, and even if he had, what then? He was no better of a man than her father had been. They were the same; men drunk on power who got their kicks out of hurting women.

Jay’s muscles visibly tensed under her body, and she wished she could slap herself. Was it too much, too soon? That’s what she got for jumping the gun, for trusting somebody. But even then, after all of that, after all her doubt, she had to continue. Leaving it where it was now would be wrong, and she wasn’t sure she could proceed without getting it off her chest.

“It went on for as long as I can remember,” she said. “I never told anybody about it, because I wanted to protect my family. If my mother could take it, then so could I.”

Addy took a breath, chewing on her bottom lip.

“That’s when the cutting started, too. It was an outlet for the pain—a way to survive day to day despite what he might do to me. He may have had control of me, but I did, too.” She hesitated, catching her breath. “I moved out when I turned eighteen and rarely saw him after that. During my senior year of high school, they were killed in a car accident. I was devastated when it happened.”

“I’m sure,” Jay said softly.

Addy leaned into him, forcing herself to keep it together.

“Despite everything he had put me through, my world ended when I got word of the accident.” She looked up at Jay, tears pressing against her eyes. It suddenly felt as though the weight of a thousand moons was sitting on her chest. “I went from my abusive father to my abusive boyfriend, and I fucking took it. How is that normal?”

Below her body, Jay shifted, and she felt his free hand rise from her shoulder. He grasped her finger in his hand and, taking it gently, maneuvered it so her finger was resting on his head. At first, she didn’t know what he was doing, but after a moment she felt it: a deep, jagged dent in the side of his skull, hidden by hair. Addy let her fingers massage the area, shocked at how distinctive it was.

“I was sixteen,” he said. He dropped his hand from hers, returning it to her bare shoulder. He tensed up again, a stone statue beneath her. “I was a spitfire little brat, of course, but one night I came home late for curfew and got into a fight with my Dad. I turned to walk out of the house, and he broke a glass flower vase over my head.” He paused, rolling his eyes. “Sixteen stitches that time, and twenty bucks if I told the doc I’d fallen down the stairs. It was forty dollars the time after that when he broke two ribs and bloodied my face with his steel-toed boots.”

Addy cringed, unable to imagine being inflicted with that kind of pain and having to lie about it. But then again, wasn’t that what she had done all those years?

“Jay,” she said. “What—what is your mom like? Your real mom? Is she still alive?”

She felt his breathing deepen as the question hung in the air between them. She had tried to resist asking, as she hadn’t known his feelings about the matter, but curiosity got the best of her.

“Mom died when Ashley and I were twelve,” Jay said. “She was such an amazing woman, Addy. She was kind of the light in everyone’s life. I don’t think she had even one single enemy.” He laughed, but he sounded sad. “God, I miss her every day.”

“How did she die?”

“Breast cancer,” he paused, and she could hear the pain returning to his voice. “She fought it for years, you know? Such a rough battle—but it won in the end.”

“I’m sorry,” Addy said. “It sounds like you were all close.”

“Oh, we were,” Jay smiled, and she felt her heart warm just looking at him. “We were mama’s babies—both me and Ashley. The day she died I didn’t think I would survive without her.”

“But you did,” Addy said, and he nodded slightly.

“I did, but it was only because of Ashley. She was so much like my mother that some days it physically hurt—but she was also my caregiver and my biggest advocate. She loved me despite all the stupid choices I made.”

“There must have been a lot of them,” Addy said, and Jay laughed.

“Fuck yes, there were. I did it just to piss off my dad, and to piss off Laurel when they got married. It became kind of a game.”

“I bet it wasn’t funny to her.”

“No,” Jay agreed. “It wasn’t. She hated Ashley and me—we were just a kink in her perfect little plan.”

“What plan?”

“Her money plan, of course,” he shifted under her, his muscles tensing and then relaxing. “Laurel didn’t love my father, Addy. She married him for money.”

“That’s quite an accusation.” Addy lifted her fingers, pushing aside a wisp of black hair that had fallen into his eyes. “Maybe they really were in love, Jay.”

“No,” he said. He caught her hand in his, squeezing it. “I know she didn’t love him because she had a lover on the side.”

“How do you know?”

“For starters, I found them screwing on the living-room floor one weekend while my father was out of town for business,” Jay said. His tone sounded amused, even smug.

“Ouch,” Addy said. “Did your father ever find out?”

“I tried to tell him, but of course he didn’t believe me.”

“Why not?”

“Why else?” Jay intertwined his fingers and grasped them behind him, supporting his head. “Laurel might not have loved him, but he loved her—and all I was to either of them was a fucking reject. I should have tried harder, though. It’s because of Laurel that I’m in this situation to begin with.”

He paused, rubbing his hand over his face anxiously, shaking his head.

Addy felt sick. She sat up, reaching for the sheet tangled around their legs as she pulled it up and around her, covering her breasts. It was like a slam in the gut, thinking of the situation at hand.

“You okay?” Jay asked, sitting up beside her. He reached out to touch her, and she unintentionally pulled away. Surprised, he let his hand drop. “Addy?”

“What now?” she asked. Her voice broke, and she covered her mouth, looking away from him. “What’s going on, Jay? You need to tell me the whole story, as in what your plan is now because I’m not sure I’m buying any of it.”

As the words left her mouth, his expression darkened. There they were, lying together on the bed, naked, and suddenly everything was exactly the way it had been when he had taken her away from home with a gun to her head.

It was the same, and yet it was so, so different.

“I don’t—” Jay caught his breath. “I’m not sure this is the time, Addy.”

“The time?” she echoed. “The time for what?”

“There’s more to this than you know,” Jay said. He reached for her, but she pulled away again.

“Then tell me.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?” Furious, she slid forward, careful to cover herself with the sheet as she stood up to search for her clothes. “Why can’t you tell me, Jay? Don’t I have a right to know what’s going on?”

“It could be dangerous,” he said, and she felt self-conscious as his eyes trailed her movements. “I’ve done enough to you, haven’t I?”

“Oh, please,” Addy said, hanging on the last word with irritation. She was flustered, irritated—her good mood had suddenly vanished, and now she wanted to slap him all over again. “It takes two.”

“Addy, please don’t be angry.”

“Forget it,” she said. It was a fight to keep the tremble from her voice, and no way in hell was she going to break down in front of him now. Not when she’d held it together so well so far. “I’m the idiot here, Jay, not you. I came back to you.”

Gathering her clothes, she stuffed them under one arm and made her way to the bathroom to get dressed. Jay stayed where he was on the bed, his eyes still trailing her every move. She shut the door behind her and pulled on her pants and sweatshirt, an array of emotions tugging desperately at her soul. She gazed at herself in the mirror, wondering at which point during this fiasco she’d lost track of herself and fallen for her kidnapper. Even now, looking at herself in the glass, she was different. She was not the girl taken from home. Not anymore. She wasn’t the insecure girl who worshiped her fiancé and stood back to let him flirt with other girls. Now she was the girl who had sex with bad men. She was the girl who took tequila shots and teased and dressed sexily. She was different. She could see it. She could even feel it.

Being with Jay was unlike anything she’d ever experienced before. It wasn’t like being with Ryan; living in his shadow. Being with Jay opened her up, forced her to take control of her emotions and face the world head-on. Being with Jay made her feel sexy—alive. He challenged her, compelled her. She had always read about that feeling. She’d always heard about that so-called forbidden love between two people; a love so intense that it was almost unbearable. She’d only ever heard of it, read about it—until now. And yet this was wrong. It was so wrong.

She took a calming breath and ran her fingers through her hair. The sex had been phenomenal. If she’d had her way, she would do it all over again. Being intimate with Ryan had not been like that—not even close. Kissing him, hugging him, holding him. It was nothing, nothing compared to the desire she had felt and still felt for the man in the bed. She wanted him. No, she craved him. And why? How could she have let herself fall into this trap? It was dangerous, and it was sick. He was her captor—her kidnapper—and she had just screwed him. She was the idiot. She was the loser. Jay would move on, abandon her, and she’d be left in the dirt, a scorned puppy dog kicked and beaten down until she was on the brink of death.

And it was all on her.

“Are you okay in there?” A soft rap on the door pulled her back to reality. She splashed some chilly water on her face and yanked her hair back into a bun, feeling anxious. The sound of his voice rattled her, though not necessarily in a bad way.

“Fine,” she called back. “I’m—fine.”

Was she? She wished she had concealer with her. A wand of mascara and shimmery eye shadow. She knew that Jay had seen her at her worst, but she still had a strange desire to catch his eye; lure him in.

Christ. She needed help.

“I think we need to talk,” he called from the other side of the door. “Will you come out, please?”

She patted her cheeks to bring the color out and then opened the door, flashing him a smile. She was fucked, and he was fucked, but at least she could be nice about it.

“What is it?”

“Come sit down, will you? Please?” His tone, suddenly so serious, forced the grin from her face. She passed him to get to the bed, ignoring the shamble of sheets and blankets that taunted and teased her. She had a strange desire to rip her clothes off where she stood and go at it again, no matter the consequences. But she didn’t. She needed to work on that self-control.

“What’s wrong? Why do you look like that?” she asked. Her guard went up suddenly, a wall that over the years had been built up to protect her from fights with Ryan, thoughts of her father, and any insecurity that could turn out bad for her in the end. The wall had been her protector—it was the reason she was so tough. Forcing one’s self to be void of emotions instead of wallowing in them was a strategy she had mastered over the years—even now. Even with Jay. No, especially with Jay. She watched him sit down across from her in the office chair. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. His black hair fell into his eyes, and she resisted the urge to brush it back.

“My father had money,” Jay said. “He had a lot of money and an even better life insurance policy.”

“I don’t understand.” Addy wrapped her arms around herself, feeling a chill in the air that had just made an entrance. “If that’s why Laurel framed you, why can’t you just tell them that? Why can’t you tell the cops you were drugged?”

“It doesn’t work that way, Addy. They need a confession. I was the party animal, the troublemaker, and Laurel was the doting wife. Apparently, it’s not beyond me to have a fucking date rape drug in my system.”

Jay hit the windowpane with the palm of his hand, frustrated. Addy wanted to stand and comfort him, but her better judgment kept her seated where she was. Her doubt was fading, and she knew she believed him. The man she had grown to know, to care about—well, he was no murderer. Somewhere deep inside of her, since the moment she had laid eyes on him—this sad creature standing in the rain—she had known that. Deep down in her heart, she knew that he was innocent. All she’d needed all along was trust.

“What are you doing, Jay?” she asked. Addy got to her feet, feeling overwhelmed, but even more, she was suddenly frustrated—angry. “By running away, all you’re doing is confirming that you’re guilty. Don’t you see that?”

“Who says I’m running?” He turned to look at her. A wisp of dark hair had fallen into his eyes, and in a stupid, fleeting moment she felt her heart flutter against her ribcage. It didn’t matter the situation they were in; he still made her crazy with desire.

“You’ve been running since Seattle.”

“No.” He sat down on the edge of the bed and took her hands in his. A jolt of electricity sizzled through her, and she wanted to slap herself—and then slap him, for making her feel that way. “I’m on a mission.”

“Who are you, Tom Cruise?” she joked. Jay rolled her eyes, and she made a mental note to slap herself later. “Sorry. I say stupid shit when I’m nervous.”

“You don’t have to be nervous, Addy,” Jay said. “I promise you, I’m innocent. I’m not lying to you. I’ve come to find that I simply can’t lie to you anymore.”

She pulled away from him, resting her hands in her lap, avoiding his gaze. Suddenly, she wasn’t so sure anymore. Could she just take his word for it? She trusted him, yes. She liked him—she liked him a lot. But—

“Isn’t everyone innocent?” she asked. “Or, isn’t that what they claim?”

She hated to stir up emotions. She hated herself for doubting him, but despite how crazy she was for this man, doubt and doubt alone had gotten her through life.

“You don’t believe me,” Jay said. There was anger in his eyes now, but even over anger, there was hurt.

“I didn’t say that,” Addy said, but she realized that she had said that—or, awfully close.

“This trip was not random.” Jay sighed and stood up to lean back against the door frame. “I know where Laurel is, and that’s why I’m going to Vegas. I’m going to find her.”

“And then what?” Addy demanded. There was a tight feeling in her chest suddenly; panic. “What are you going to do then, Jay? Kill her?”