“My darling Lana,” Etienne says in the smooth voice which I once loved but now just sends a creepy shiver down my spine. “At last, I’ve found you.”
I swallow the dry lump in my throat and dart my eyes around, looking for possible escape routes. At least in his apartment I know where to stand and where not to so that I could make a quick exit or get to the bathroom where I could lock myself in until he calmed down.
“What are you doing here?” I finally manage to say, trying to keep the quiver out of my voice. As subtly as I can, I pat my pants pocket searching for my phone, but then I remember I put it in my purse which is in the small mudroom by the back door.
Shit!
“Well, who do you think bid ten thousand dollars to secure an evening with you?” he replies with a smirk on his face. Money was never an issue for Etienne and dropping ten grand to see me is a minor inconvenience for him. His frivolous attitude to money was just another thing I grew to hate about him.
“But how? Why are you in America? How do you know Cherie?” I ask, so confused by the whole thing.
“Why darling, if you ever attended one of my parties in Paris, you would know that Etienne is my precious son,” Cherie says as she enters the room and stands next to him. The sickening resemblance becomes blatantly clear now they’re side by side, the aristocrat nose and cheekbones, the cold brown eyes and sandy hair. She places her hand on Etienne’s shoulder and kisses his cheek, leaving a smear of red lipstick. “I saw how hurt he was by your deception in Paris, so when we realized you had run back to America, we put things in place so he could win you back.”
Finally, I find my voice and my Landon spirit.
“Win me back?” I cry, moving so the kitchen island is between us. “I’m not his to win back. I don’t suppose your precious son told you how he used to treat me?”
Cherie smiles and it’s cold and reptilian. “Etienne told me that he had to issue corrections for your behavior which is a man’s job. If you didn’t make mistakes, he would never have to correct you.”
Is she fucking serious? This woman is as crazy as her son, and I need to get out of this situation as soon as possible.
“Look, you’ve obviously brought me here under false pretenses, so I’ll leave all the food for your guests, and I’m sure Raymond can plate it up when he gets back.” I pull my apron off and stomp toward the back door. “I’m outta here.”
I’ve barely made it three paces before Etienne is on me, his fingers gripping my biceps so hard I know from bitter experience that I’ll have blue bruises there in the morning. But just his hands on me and the smell of his expensive French cologne fill me with panic, and I feel the walls closing in on me. My vision begins to blur, and I fight to catch my breath.
Breathe, goddamn it. Breathe!
But I can’t take a deep breath and I feel my body become slack and pliable enough for Etienne to scoop me up into his arms and kiss my lips, which feel slimy and disgusting against my own.
“Ah, mon petit amour, we are together again,” he whispers as he cradles me in his arms, my body frozen with fear.
“Shall we move to the salon so we can make arrangements for our return to Paris?” I hear Cherie say, sounding distant to my petrified ears. “I’m so tired of America.”
“Of course, Mama,” Etienne replies, and I feel him begin to move into another room. “We may have a problem getting her passport from that brute of a brother, though.”
“There are ways around passports, my darling,” Cherie replies. “I just want my baby to have everything he wants. And if that’s her, then that’s what you shall have.”
Oh Jesus, are they really talking about taking me back to Paris against my will? Who even are these people?
As if the threat of being taken back to Paris is what I need to hear, I manage to control my panic enough to take a shaky breath, taking in enough oxygen so the walls move away, and my vision slowly clears.
I know from experience that Etienne is strong and quick, even when he’s wasted. Unfortunately, he seems sober at the moment, so I don’t even have that slight advantage. There’s no point struggling while he’s got his hands on me. I need to wait until he puts me down before I make my move. So, I continue to lay limp in his arms until he puts me down on a couch and moves away to talk to his mom.
They begin to converse in French, which is fine as I speak it fluently, but I’m not concentrating on what they’re saying. I’m waiting for a moment when they’re not looking over at me and I can make a dash for the kitchen and the back door. I know exactly where my purse is, which contains my phone and keys. Thankfully, Matt has the fancy kind of car with keyless entry and a push button start so there should be no fumbling around with the keys once I make it out there.
But at the moment I can see through my half-closed eyes that Etienne is watching me like a hawk, even as he talks to his mother about essentially kidnapping me. I know he’s a dickwad; however, I never thought for a second that he’d stoop to this depth of crazy to have me. I can hear them talking about taking me to Matt’s house before the game ends so they can collect my passport and some clothes, making it look like I’ve decided to return to Paris of my own accord. I would hope that none of my friends or family would believe that to be true, but I know how sneaky and manipulative Etienne can be.
As I continue to play possum and wait for my moment to make a run for it, I notice Etienne’s hands are trembling. I know the signs that he’s in need of a drink, so when he makes a move toward the bar which is at the far side of the room, I take my chance. Before I can second guess myself, I let my flight instinct take over and haul up off the couch, desperately ignoring the way my head swims from panic. I don’t even look back over my shoulder to see if they’ve noticed my move to escape. I just run through the living area toward the kitchen and the back door.
My ears are ringing with the blood pounding through my head, but it doesn’t drown out the pained roar I hear as Etienne sees me running. All I can think about is getting out of this house with my purse. We’re in the middle of nowhere and the only other property I noticed as I drove here was much farther down the street. I suppose if I had to, I could run there for help, but I’d rather get to my car and drive the fuck out of this nightmare.
As I reach the kitchen, I skid round the corner, my ballet flats sliding on the polished marble floor, and I almost wipe out in a heap. However, I must have inherited at least some of my brother’s good coordination because I manage to stay upright and make it just four strides from the back door.
However, even as freedom is within touching distance, I feel a sharp pull on my ponytail, and I’m stopped so abruptly that my feet fly out in front of me, and I land on my butt on the marble floor. My breath whooshes out of me, and pain shoots up my back from the hard landing. Before I can catch my breath or make a move to continue my escape, Etienne sits astride my body, his hand still wrapped painfully around my ponytail.
“Not so fast, my love,” he sneers, spittle splashing over my face. His expression is twisted and ugly. This is his true face, the one he keeps hidden from polite Parisian society and only lets me see. It’s terrifying, and I feel myself shrinking back from it.
“Please, Etienne,” I beg in a quiet, shaky voice. “Please just let me leave. I won’t tell anyone what happened.”
He laughs and shakes his head, his eyes flashing dangerously. “Of course, you won’t tell anyone. I’ve learned my lesson from this, my love. When we return to Paris, there will be no need for you to work. I’ve decided to give up the restaurant and move out to the chateau permanently. We’ll have all the space and privacy we need, and there will be no outside distractions like jobs and friends. We can be alone together, and it will be perfect.”
Oh my god, he’s actually out of his mind. He’s essentially talking about keeping me prisoner.
I have to play this right. I know I can’t overpower him or outrun him, so I need to be smarter than him. And one thing I know about Etienne, is when he’s jonesing for a drink, he loses a lot of his focus.
So as difficult as it is for me to do, I relax my body under his and plaster a smile on my face. Even as I do this, his grip on my hair loosens, and he rises up on his knees so some of his weight eases off me.
“I’m sorry I tried to run,” I whisper, placing my hand on his forearm, my skin crawling at the contact. “I know you’re just trying to do what’s best, and I’m being stubborn. Living at the chateau was always our dream and that sounds perfect.”
Slowly, his eyes clear a little and his smile returns to normal. “Doesn’t it, my love? We can make wine and cook, make love, and have children. What a perfect life we can have together.”
The thought of all that actually makes bile rise in my throat, but I swallow it down and nod, which appeases him enough to completely let go of my hair and help me to my feet. My back hurts like a bastard, and adrenaline courses through my system, making me feel shaky and sick, but I walk as steadily as I can back into the living room. Cherie is sitting at the bar, smoking her stinky cigarettes, drinking a glass of brown liquor, and as we enter, she smirks. It’s infuriating that this woman is standing by while her son abuses me, and in fact, she’s enabling him. If I get out of this, she’s going to be on the receiving end of one hell of a bitch slap.
As we get to the couch, Etienne roughly pushes me down, sitting next to me with his arm slung over my shoulder. It’s not a gesture of affection as it once would have been; he’s merely making sure I don’t run again.
“Mama, please bring a large cognac,” he says, twisting his fingers in the loose hairs at the nape of my neck, making my skin crawl. “It’s been a trying time and I need to steady my nerves.”
“Of course.” Cherie fixes Etienne a drink, and I try to zone out his voice as he continues to wax lyrical about our future together. It’s sickening and delusional, but I can tell by his tone that he completely believes it’s a possibility. I almost feel sorry for him. Almost. Mostly I feel disgusted that he thinks he can hold me here against my will and force this life on me.
My hope is that I can stall things long enough for either Raymond to return from his errand, or for Etienne to get sloppy drunk enough that I can make another break for it. The important thing is to not let them take me out of this house until either of those things can happen. I’m not even thinking about the fact that Alex is due to come here because that won’t happen for hours yet.
I have to get out of this myself. I’ve got no time to wait for him to come and save me. I saved myself once, I can sure as hell do it again.
Thor
I can’t put my finger on it, but I’ve had an uneasy feeling in my gut, and I just can’t shake it off.
I sit in my cubby during the second intermission, drinking the electrolytes my coach has just handed me, listening to Coach discuss our play for the last period. After our early goal, the Pumas kind of fell apart, and we scored twice more in the second period.
“So, as much as it pains me to do this, I’m gonna bench Thor for the last period and send Dexter into goal.”
My head snaps up and I see everyone in the locker room looking at me. “Huh?” I ask dumbly.
“Thor, I’m sending Dexter out for the last period,” Coach repeats and his words finally sink in. “You’ve played an amazing game, but these playoffs are a marathon, not a sprint, and I want to rest you whenever I have the chance. Dexter has come in leaps and bounds, and I want to make sure he gets plenty of ice time.”
Even though his words sting, I completely understand why he’s doing it. So, to show my pride isn’t dented, I rise up off the bench and clump over to Dexter to give him a fist bump and some insight into the Pumas game. Poor kid looks like he’s about to shit himself, but once we’ve talked, he stands up and pulls his grill over his face.
“Thanks, man,” he croaks.
“Just go out there and play like I know you can.” I slap him on the back. “And don’t fuck up my shutout!”
He laughs nervously as he follows the rest of the team down the tunnel for the last period.
“Want me out there, Coach?” I ask as he walks past me.
“No, you can start cooling down on the bike and then hit the shower.” He looks back at me. “Great first game, Alex.”
“Thanks, Coach.” I try to keep the disappointment out of my voice, but I don’t let it show on my face. This is all part of the game. Sometimes you have to give up your spot for the good of the team. Dexter is an amazing goalie, and my career is definitely in its twilight years. It’s only sensible for Coach to give him more ice time, especially when we have a three goal lead.
So, I start taking off my heavy gear and change into athletic shorts and a hoodie so I can put some time in on the bike and cool down my muscles. I continue to take on electrolytes to replenish all the salts and fluids I lost during the game. I can shed up to ten pounds in one game, and that’s just water weight, so I have to be careful not to get too dehydrated.
As I pedal, I watch the rest of the game on the TV in the exercise room. Damn, the team is pushing the Pumas to the very edge, and Dexter has made a couple of solid saves when they’ve managed to get through our defensive line. Good for him. I feel a swell of pride in my chest for the young goalie. He came up from the farm team this year, and he’s definitely proving himself.
Once I’m done on the bike, I do some stretches on the mat, then strip down in my cubby so I can hit the shower before the last five minutes of the game. This is actually working out perfectly because it means I can get to Lana’s dinner party sooner than I hoped. I check my cell and see a message from her just before the game started wishing me luck, so I quickly fire one back to her saying I’ll be there a bit earlier than planned and then throw my phone in my cubby and hit the shower.
As I soap my chest and rinse shampoo through my hair, excitement swirls in my belly at the prospect of seeing Lana tonight. Since we both agreed to keep it friendly until the end of the playoffs, I’ve still felt the same thrill whenever I see her. But somewhere under the excitement is that same niggling feeling I can’t quite shake. I’ve put it down to nerves about the game tonight, but seeing as we’re set to win it by a comfortable margin, surely that can’t be it.
I try to put the unease out of my mind as I dry off and watch the dying minutes of the game on the TV, watching my teammates running the clock down with a series of passes and plays, trying to get a final goal in the Pumas’ empty net.
But as the buzzer sounds to signal the end of the game and the whole arena starts to thrum with the sound of the fans going crazy, I can’t keep the smile from my face. This is the best feeling in the world, and I quickly dress in my suit so I can congratulate my brothers as they stomp into the locker room, loud and drunk on victory. I make a beeline for Dexter to offer my thanks for maintaining the shutout, and the kid looks like he’s on top of the world. I want him to have the glory of this victory at the after party, so I go to Coach Casey’s office and knock on the door.
“Come!” he barks, and I open the door.
“Coach, great play putting Dexter in goal. The kid had a hell of a game,” I begin, making sure he knows there are no hard feelings about him pulling me from the game.
“He sure did.” Coach looks up from his laptop and raises an eyebrow. “I’m sure you didn’t come in here to blow smoke up my ass, Bergman. What can I do for you?”
“I was hoping to get to the dinner party that Lana Landon is cooking for, so I was wondering if I could head out now? Might be good for Dexter to meet the press tonight, give the kid some experience, and let him take the win.”
Coach fixes me with his green eyes, and I can see the smirk trying to break out on his lips. “So, you wanna head off early so Dexter can get media experience, huh?” He narrows his eyes at me and now the grin is firmly in place. “Got nothing to do with the little sister of your teammate then?”
I start to splutter and protest against his accusation, but he just waves his hand at me and goes back to typing on his laptop. “Get outta here, Thor.”
“Thanks, Coach!” I close his office door and try to forget about the fact that this guy seems to know everything. How the hell does he do that?
But at that moment, I don’t really care. I push my way through the locker room and grab my duffel from my cubby, say a few quick goodbyes, and head out to my car, excitement rising in my gut at the thought of seeing Lana.