Page 69 of Never To Suffer

Who the hell is Danny?

When I get home, the counters still have stacks of cooking supplies on them from this morning. I never got around to cooking a damn thing, getting lost in my head. I leave it for nowand set up my laptop after I feed Baguette and grab a bottle of wine. And a second, just in case.

My phone rings when I’m almost on the couch, so I dump both bottles on the cushions and pray they don’t slam together and break. Running across the room, I grab my satchel, digging my phone out in such a hurry that I don’t look at the caller ID before I answer.

“Xander?” I yell, panting and hopeful. There’s no response, and when I pull the phone away, I notice it’s a text.

Maurice: Your daughter is in a cult. Call Marie.

I stare at the message on my phone, not quite sure how to react to news like that. Maurice is my father-in-law. He took in Sylvie when she decided to stay behind in France while I moved on and began a new life here in Los Angeles. Like Sylvie, I don’t talk to Maurice much. He blames me for the death of his daughter and claims I took her down a road of debauchery, ruining her. He’s a bitter old man, but he’s been there for Sylvie when I wasn’t.

Your daughter is in a cult.What the hell does he mean by a cult? Why did this have to happen now?!

As a therapist, I’ve coached people through escaping cults or dealing with their children or close family joining cults, but I never imagined I’d have to walk that path myself. I pull up my sister-in-law’s number, pop in my earbuds, and press the call button as I head back to my computer.

“Hey Theo! How’s your new man?”

“Hi Marie. Uhm, later?” My voice cracks, but I’m hoping she didn’t notice. “Have you talked with your father lately? Or Sylvie?”

“No, not in a few days. I had business in Chicago and only got back to New York this morning, though, so what have I missed?”

I open a new tab on the browser and type my own daughter’s name this time. “Maurice sent me a message. It said, and I quote, ‘Your daughter is in a cult. Call Marie.’ Nothing more.”

“Shit. She’s not in a cult. Papa doesn’t like her new boyfriend, Luca. He’s sweet! Young, attractive Italian boy, always talking about yoga, meditation, and those new age religious beliefs. But it’s France, and he’s Italian.”She tells me what little she knows about him, more than I knew before. He’s a musician, like Sylvie. She met Luca at university and they hit it off. Apparently, they’ve been dating for two years.

“Okay, well, if you happen to hear from her, can you let me know?”

“I will. Papa probably told her she can’t see Luca anymore and when she fought back, he decided to take a leap off the deep end. You know how he can get. Are you still coming next week?”

“Maybe? Things here are—complicated. I don’t want to bring my drama into her life when she already has enough of her own, by the sounds of it.” I struggle to not addagainto the end of that statement.

“Theo!”Marie catches me before I hang up.“She’s a good kid. Try to be here, okay? Let me know.”

“If she wants me there, I’ll drop everything. I promise.”

I end the call and stare at the phone, the computer, and the supplies in the kitchen. I don’t want to bake; I want a drink and to get the hell out of the house. Everything in here reminds me of my dead partners, my daughter, or the man I’m falling for who might be in trouble a world away. No one will tell me anything, no one will even admit he’s in Tokyo, missing, or even exists.

I grab my keys and go somewhere to clear my mind.

CHAPTER 30

CATCH THESE FISTS

WET LEG

I haven’t been ‘home’yet, so I’m not sure what state Xander left the place. I’m not too concerned about it since he’s not a slob, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t leave out a giant dildo, edible nighty, or a new pair of handcuffs for us to try out when he gets home. Not that the men I’m bringing over would even bat an eye at any of that, but I would. Sometimes Steve can forget about who I am, and I enjoy bursting the innocence bubble he puts around me when that happens.

“Okay, so, uhm, shield your eyes!” Neither one of them does. They only continue to stare at me as they hold the table I’m hoping to use for sewing. “FINE! I have no responsibility for the state of this apartment since I haven’t seen it in like two weeks!”

I push the door open, and my jaw drops to the floor.

“Guess you might not need all this stuff after all?”

“I don’t understand. Lexi said there wasn’t any furniture, and there wasn’t the other night. Just sleeping bags and boxes.” I stare at the couch, and while it’s not fresh from a showroom floor, it’s still big and he shouldn’t have spent that kind of money without me unless—I close the door and double check the number. I lock and unlock the door. “Shit, thisismy apartment!”

“Okay, open her back up. There’s still some room and we can help you get things organized at least,” Steve says as he directs Ethan and the desk inside. “We need to move some things around and make this place livable. Because right now, you’ve got a lovely warehouse chic going. Bravo.”

“Whatever! I can’t believe he did this! He knows we need the money for bills. We can’t afford this!”

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