Page 11 of You are the Reason

Manages his parents real estate company and personal properties.

Despite his ‘office job’ he is the total opposite, he screams bad boy.

Ocean blue eyes, dark hair, tanned skin, broad shoulders, muscles.

Moody AF

Is that really all I know? His name, age and job description?

Flashbacks from the morning he found me unconscious in my entryway remind me of the way he cared for me.He really cared.I’m backing myself into a corner here, surely this could never work. Not with all the secrets I have. Someone is going to get hurt, and something tells me it’s not going to be my moody landlord. A guy like him could easily move on and find another plaything, right? But deep down, in the pit of my stomach I have a feeling this is more than just sex. The way he held me and stayed by my side — he could have asked me if there was someone he could call, but he chose to stay.I’m so fucked.There is a reason I have always kept him at arm’s length. I need another opinion, next week’s catch up with Jesse can’t come quick enough. I need to debrief this.

Chapter Seven

Kinsley

Checking the time, I see that I have another fifteen minutes before Becky will be here to pick me up for work. Flicking through my contacts, I decide to make the call I’ve been dreading. I hold the phone between my shoulder and ear, whilst shuffling into my heels.

“Hello, Kinsley.” Investigator Stanley greets me. “How are you?”

Dropping onto the couch, I gather my thoughts. I didn’t expect him to answer my call at 7pm on a Tuesday evening. “Hi Stanley, I’m well, thank you.”Lie, I’m still freaking out after the phone calls from George Watson.

“What can I do for you?” he asks, getting straight to the point.

“I had a phone call from a man who called himself ‘George Watson’. He told me to cut contact with you and to stop looking for answers. Does that name happen to mean anything to you?”

Stanley remains silent for a minute, the sound of his fingers tapping away at his keyboard echoes through the phone. “It doesn’t ring a bell, I’m just doing a search now.” I wait patiently, dragging my fingers up and down my thigh; minutes pass by and I begin to grow anxious. What could be taking so long?

“Kinsley, in the files I’m searching there are no records of anyone called George Watson. He doesn’t seem to exist … Anywhere. I’ll run a few more checks, but right now I’ve got nothing. I’m sorry.”

Fuck.“Okay. Thanks Stanley. I appreciate it.” I go to end the call as Stanley cuts in.

“Wait. Before you go — Kinsley, you need to be careful.”

“I know, I — uhm, Thanks. I’ll be in touch.”

Ending the call, I throw my phone across the room and pick up a pillow from the couch, screaming into it. I don’t stop until my screams turn to sobs and my throat is raw. Even muffled by the pillow, they could have been heard from the street, but I don’t care. I’m back to square one again. Square fucking one.

I pull a bottle of whisky down from the cupboard, pour myself a shot and tip it back. Maybe I should just call in a casual to cover tonight’s shift. At the same moment, I hear Becky toot the horn on her car from out on the street, letting me know she is here. I find myself glancing from the door, to the bottle and back again. Taking my coat off the hook, I throw it over my shoulders, pick up my bag and close the door behind me. This crap will all still be here when I get back.

Fourteen years earlier …

The tv show we were watching cuts off and a news reporter pops up in its place. ‘Breaking news – A seventeen year old girl has been abducted this evening. Natalie Younge was last seen working the closing shift at Greenwood IGA. Surveillance shows her taking rubbish out the back of the store when a blacked-out SUV pulls up, two men grab her and toss her into the back seat. If anyone has any information, or has seen anything, please contact authorities immediately.’ We watched quietly as footage was shown of the horrific ordeal.

Dad had left for work like normal that morning, but had later phoned home to let us know he would be working overnight. He ended up being gone for three days straight and when he, eventually, returned things were different.

I was only eight years old at the time so three days had felt like three weeks. Instead of a warm and welcoming reunion, the atmosphere was tense; something told me not to show anyone how happy and excited I was that he was finally home.

That night I sat with my door cracked open, listening to the conversation my parents were having down the hall.

“We tracked down one of the men from the surveillance footage, the one with the tattoo,” Dad paused before he continued. “We linked the tattoo to a rough underground club of sorts, on the outskirts of town.”

I could hear Mum pottering around in the kitchen — looking back now she was clearly keeping herself busy to calm her nerves. “Were you able to raid the location?” she asked.

Dad muttered something under his breath that I couldn’t make out, “— the guy we tracked down took the full brunt, claimed he threatened a random citizen to help him and then let him go again. The warehouse on the outskirts of town is leased in his name too, unfortunately for us, it all stacks up and doesn’t give the police force any legal footing to stand on for an ongoing investigation. He handed the girl over and has now been charged, he’s being held whilst awaiting trial.”

Mum hesitated before asking,“But, you think there is more to all of this?”

“Dammit Laura, of course there is more to it!”

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