Chapter eighteen
My whole body was shaking, and it took all of my strength not to let it show. It felt like I had been left out in the cold, naked and bare. Even my bones were ice. All this time, I was so focused on getting in touch with my father. In my mind, I knew if I could tell him what had happened, he would move heaven and earth to set me free. My mind was wrong.
He knew all along.
Just do whatever he says.
There was a battle going on between him, Grey, and Chandler, and I was the bargaining chip. Some might even have called it collateral damage.
I was collateral damage.
The fire in my spirit burned out, leaving me to watch the pile of ashes slip through my fingertips. There was no reason to fight anymore.
Chandler didn’t bother sayingItoldyouso. We both knew he was right. I wasn’t prepared for this.
“What did you mean when you said ‘helpless young girls’?”
He made a sharp turn, cutting across a lane of traffic, while looking over at me. Car horns blared around us.
“What are you talking about?” he asked, then focused on the road again. Thank heavens.
“When you were talking to my father, you saidunlike helpless young girls, time is something he didn’t havea lot of. What helpless young girls? What does that mean? Why did you give him five days?” What message was Chandler talking about? Why did my father need more time?
“Maybe you should ask him.”
I continued staring out the window. “Maybe I would if I cared to speak to him right now.”
He chuckled to himself, but it was short-lived. His hand gripped the steering wheel, and his expression hardened. “He’s not the man you think he is, Anniston. Don’t ask anything more because that’s all I’m going to say.”
No kidding. The man I thought he was would have rescued me the moment he found out I was gone—or at least made an effort. He certainly wouldn’t have left me alone. All my life I’d believed I was strong. I’d never felt more powerless. All these questions made my brain hurt, and it was obvious I wasn’t getting anything more out of Chandler.
He used my name, my actual name, instead ofPrincess. It was the one ray of light in the middle of a storm, so I latched on to it for as long as I could.
“It’s Ani.” I looked over at him, trying to decide if maybe somehow, I’d crept inside him the way he’d gotten inside me. “Most people just call me Ani.”
Back at the penthouse, a tall, lean man wearing a navy-blue suit met us in the lobby. He handed a brown paper bag to Chandler. Whatever was inside that bag smelled like cinnamon, freshly-baked bread and heaven.
Chandler passed him a tip, then led us to the elevator. The bulky guy standing guard smirked when he saw me. He chuckled as we passed him.
“Kick rocks, asshole,” I mumbled as the doors slid closed. I wasn’t in the mood for his contempt.
“He’s just doing his job,” Chandler said, unaffected. As if “his job” was turning a blind eye to a kidnapping.
“I didn’t realizecocky douchebagwas an actual career.”
His hard expression never wavered. “You’d be amazed at how some people make their money.” It felt like there was a hidden meaning in his words, but my tank was running low on sarcasm and energy.
Like you?I wanted to ask but didn’t. I still had no idea what Chandler did or how he afforded a penthouse apartment in New York City, but if I had to guess, I would bet it had something to do with the blood on his shirt yesterday. Serial killer crossed my mind once or twice.
My stomach was making embarrassing noises by the time the elevator doors slid open. Twenty-one floors of sweet, cinnamon torture. Bland pasta only went so far.
He set the bag on the kitchen counter, then began removing its contents. “I ordered it on the way to the airport. I figured with all that running, you worked up an appetite.”
Was that… humanity I heard in his voice?
No freaking way.
After everything my emotions had been through in the last two days, maybe it was my mind’s way of grasping for the positive. Either way, I welcomed it.