'At least it is not raining.' The thought filled and repeated in my head, eyes watching the puffy white clouds that passed by the open window, the clear blue sky their contrasting background. Even with that reassurance, I gave up and closed the window. Even though I traveled high above the world in a plane manned by a very limited crew, just being outside the security of the mansion brought on intense anxiety. I had several ships and jets at my disposal, all used in a business capacity by my employees, never used by myself. I could not even recall the last time I so much as left my own grounds. Leather clad fingers trembling as I grabbed the glass tumbler on the table before me and emptied it in a gulp.
It had been only a day since the news arrived. The whole thing had been a set up. Why did I not see it before? Why did I let her go by herself? When the men I sent with her stopped checking in, more were sent. It took far too long to find her. Too long to find out what happened to her. Speculating had been painful enough, but now knowing for a fact that she was in danger rocked me to my very core. As much as I postured about letting her go, allowing her to find her own life, the possessive part of my brain roared with the word 'mine'. The man, 'Gaston', had both my girl and her father. No doubt trying to leverage the man to get what he wants from her. While I knew she felt betrayed by her father, I also knew that familial ties are not always that black and white. I also knew that wedding preparations were being made. It was an announcement that found them out. That announcement gave me confirmation of my own fears.
"We are going to be landing soon, Sir." The soft tone from Johnson told me all I needed to know, the sheer terror I felt was evident. I was not afraid of Gaston, or what I may have to do to free her, it was the people. Despite my armor of a pristinely tailored suit and black leather gloves, I was putting myself in a situation that brought horrifying flashbacks, physical pain and sickness to my body. I could already feel the nausea setting in and I had not even left the plane yet.
–
"We should have driven," I growled under my breath, following behind Johnson, who, bless him, was doing his best to make a wide berth for me. He and the head of security that traveled with me walked side by side, forcing people in the crowded airport to part more. Naturally, the man was simply following the request without any idea as to why. Even with this additional effort, the occasional brush against my arm and simple act of moving through a crowded space churned my stomach.
"Johnson." The name was called once and sternly as the sign for the men's room appeared. The man nodded his understanding and I slipped inside. There was one other man present who thankfully was toweling off his hands. I kept my composure until he left, but the second the door closed, my hands fell to grip the sides of the sink, body hunching over as I took deep breaths, forcing the bile that rose in my throat back down. I forcibly tugged the gloves from my hands, tucked them into a pocket and turned on the water. Both hands splashed water over my flushed face, cooling my heated skin, a distraction from the panic rushing through me. Deep breath went in, held for a moment, then blew out raggedly. I took several of these breaths until I found they were no longer difficult or shaky. Grabbing a paper towel from the dispenser, I dried my face and hands before putting the gloves back on. Steadying myself, peering at my reflection in the mirror. My gaze ran down the length of my marred features, tracing the scar. If I turned my head just to the right, I could no longer see it, the left side of my face completely untouched by the imperfection, but that scar was just as much a part of me as every other bit of damage done to both my body and my mind. It was proof that I had survived much worse. Setting my jaw, I drew away from the mirror, dropped the balled up paper towel in the trash can as I exited the door and back into the frey. "Let's move."
–
When your target is a rich, well known man, it is not hard to track them down. This was certainly the case for the man called 'Gaston'. Unfortunately, the reverse is also true. When looking into a rich well known man, it will certainly get back to him. I cannot say I was entirely surprised when I was stopped in an alley by three men. I had also thought myself prepared for it.
"The boss wants a word." the fat man in the middle said gruffly, puffing up his chest in an effort to make himself more intimidating. I felt the security man I'd taken with me moving up to my side.
"Naturally, that is the reason I am here." I waved a hand for the man to lead on, but he did not budge.
"Your man will have to stay behind."
I felt the shift next to me and shook my head, muttering low, "No." The man stilled but I could feel the tension radiating off of him. It matched my own, "What assurance do I have of my own safety?"
The short, plump man next to the voice of the group snorted before the talker spoke again, "None. You get one option. Guess you're just going to have to trust us."
I scoffed, that was not happening, but I signaled to the man at my side all the same. He had orders and knew how to proceed. With a nod of understanding, he turned and walked away. "Good boy," the tallest of the group crooned. The leader turned to walk on while the other two moved into flanking positions, effectively surrounding me. One of the men pulled a hood over my face, his grimy fingers brushing my neck causing a shock to my system. My response was purely involuntary as I shot an elbow backward, catching him hard in the gut, it was the short one. I turned to address the taller guy, even with the hood over my eyes, I could sense his nearness, thanks to the hypersensitivity to the nearness of other people. My gloved hand shot out, catching his throat, squeezing hard. I had just shifted my weight, readying to deliver a knee to his ribs when something hard caught me across the back of my weighted leg. I lost my balance, striking my knee hard on the gravel.
"Get up you idiot." I heard the growl of the leader who had put me down, I was not sure if he was talking to me or one of the other two, but quickly found out when I heard a pained grunt from the one I had elbowed. I felt men on each side gripping my arms and driving me back to my feet. I gingerly put weight on my knee and felt the sparks of pain. The men did not let go of me and through the cloth I could feel the rough hold they had, it was sickening despite the barrier between their skin and mine. I was shoved forward, stumbling along as they all but drug me with them.
The house was just around the corner, I, of course, already knew this, but limped along silently all the same. I tripped over the first step, there was no warning given and I was hauled up them. When the door opened, I was caught with a musky, overbearing scent. It was artificial and in a word, manly. Likely one of those air fresheners that was tailored to the type of man offended by sweet scents who had no woman to tell him how awful it truly was and by the smell of it, there were several all throughout the house. I was led to the right, it felt like through a set of doors, then pushed forcefully into a chair before the hood was yanked off of my head. I felt my hair drop onto my head where it had clung to the fabric until the last second.
"Hello again." The pompous voice crooned as my eyes adjusted to the brightness of the lights and finally focused on the face of my newfound enemy across a large wooden desk. My eyes roamed from his features along the office walls lined with all manner of dead animals. The man was a hunter apparently. I looked at the man across the desk again, watching as he stood from his chair and rounded the heavy piece of furniture, "I am so glad to see you brought a suit. You are of course invited to my wedding." The vicious smile he gave revealed a row of perfect teeth. The man was void of any visible flaw, which only served to make me hate him all the more.
I scoffed at the words but asked sarcastically, "Who's the unlucky woman?"
"I believe you are acquainted." That smile still plastered on his perfect face. "I have just liberated her from the grip of a monster. Real hero type stuff." The smile turned to a sneer as I loomed over my place in the chair.
"I wonder what could be so wrong with a man that would cause a beautiful woman to run from him to a 'monster' for salvation." My head tilted as I eyed the man up and down. "Nice face…" I smirked before continuing, "Perhaps the problem is lower? I mean you are quite a bit older even if you are pretty." I cocked a brow.
I saw the movement, recognized the tension in the right shoulder and moved, slipping the punch to his right. My hands rose to grasp that arm, giving his elbow a hard shove. Large meaty hands clamped onto my shoulders from behind and sat me back down in the chair so hard the chair leaned back and nearly tipped over. This time, the punch landed, and hard. God, he was strong too. I saw stars and felt lightheaded but kept consciousness, barely. Once I gathered myself enough, I laughed. The sound was bitter, mocking. "Guess I hit the problem on the nose, huh?" The copper taste in my mouth only spurred me on. He hit me again. I spit out the bitter liquid pooling in my mouth, looking on with satisfaction as my blood spattered across his face.
There were two men behind me. Both holding me to the chair as I took several blows to the face. When Gaston finally tired himself out, he gestured to the men behind me and the hood was back on. I was drug through the house by my armpits, blood from a busted lip trickled down my chin and I could already feel the swelling starting. The pain, I welcomed.
I was dropped unceremoniously onto a carpeted floor and heard the door slam and lock behind the men as they left. There was a gasp from somewhere in the room and I felt slender, familiar hands moving over my body, rolling me onto my back. The hood was removed and I heard the voice I've only heard in my dreams these last few weeks. I couldn't make out what she said or even attempt to form an answer. The sensations of the night overwhelmed me.
"Move." I said gruffly, trying to sit up. I felt physically more than heard her verbal refusal, she was trying to get me to lie down, to calm down. My gloved hand shot up, pushing her back as I bolted to my knees, looking around frantically. Finding my target, I stumbled across the room and fell to the floor near a small trash can, placed my head over it and threw up.