Page 62 of At Last

In his arms, in his bed, the decision is made. I have to try to stick. Unless Houdini takes that option away completely, I have to stick.

***

Over the next couple of days we’d cleared out three-quarters of the refrigerator and freezer space by sending lasagnas and tuna noodle casseroles up to the clubhouse and over to some of the families living in the singlewides. The thought was nice, but no one neededthatmuch pasta.

Funny how those, in retrospect, could be considered the good ’ole days. The trail for Houdini had run cold. Or if Blood had found something, Duke hadn’t relayed it to me. My fractured wrists seemed to have healed nicely, so much that I could probably get the casts off, but I hadn’t been back to the doctor yet to have it done or be cleared for any other activity.

I’d been living on pins and needles since the accident. As a result, I’ve become somewhat of a shut in. If we don’t leave Duke’s house, then my girl stays safe and no other man has to needlessly die on our behalf. One of the prospects or Hero does grocery runs whenever I need something.

Though, I got an earful the time Hero had to buy my tampons. Christ, what is it with guys and tampons? It’s a fact of life. Women have periods. Period. That didn’t stop Hero from coming at Duke. “I don’t care you’re my president, you’re fucking her, you buy the damn tampons.”

Since we haven’t left the compound, Jade has gotten to know everyone really well. She’s in her element, entertaining compound kids on the jungle gym thather Dukebought for her. There are perks to being considered the stepdaughter of the man in charge. In the hierarchy of kiddom, my little girl falls squarely at the top. She’s outside pushing her friend Teeny on the tire swing when a news story on the television catches my ear.

I walk over to stand in front.

Breaking news. Child abduction. Thornbriar.

What?

At the same time, I jump as a loud beep sounds from my phone, startling me. An Amber alert. The picture of a little girl fills the television screen. I’ve looked on that face so many times since Jade and I moved here. Her name is Laynie Briggs. Even if it wasn’t plastered across the screen, I know it. She’s Jade’s age. Goes to Jade’s preschool. And further… worse… all Jade’s teachers joke almost every time they see me that little Laynie Briggs could be my daughter’s twin.

Her twin.

There, of course, are some differences, since they share no common DNA. But the two little girls really do look startlingly similar.

And then I hear Jade’s small voice. “Why is Waynie Bwiggs on the TV, Mama?”

What do I tell my four-year-old? How do I explain that her classmate has gone missing without scaring her to death? Without giving her nightmares? Without taking away her childhood innocence?

Oh god.My chest feels tight. I can’t catch my breath. A girl from my baby’s school was abducted. A girl from my baby’s school, who could be her twin,was abducted. As hard as it may be, I fight to calm myself.

The news breaks to a press conference, and I see her scared, grieving parents begging for the safe return of their daughter. Parents who happen to be patients of mine.

The kids see the pediatrician next door because they want ‘what’s best’ for their children. They only eat organic because they want ‘what’s best’ for their children. And they enrolled Laynie at Jade’s preschool, the same as they’d done their other kids, because they wanted ‘what’s best’ for their children. And yet, it didn’t turn out to be best for Laynie. One of the few places she should have been safe, one of the few places… and she wasn’t.

Days like today I wish my grandmother was still alive. She’d know what to do, what to say to calm my nerves. Hearing her sweet voice always had that effect on me.

I could call my mother, probably should call her. But I don’t know if I want to handle my mom’s attitude when I tell her the man I’m living with is the president of an MC. Furthermore, she’d be all over me learning that said sexy biker has a murderous psychopath after him and his brothers.

Forget about telling her about the accident and its connection to the psychopath. She and my father would be here next plane out to drag me and my daughter back to Arizona, where they’d moved years ago for the dry climate after my dad’s asthma got worse.

But he’d be willing to risk his health for my safety. My daughter’s safety. Especially my daughter’s safety. And he’d waste no time going off on me and my poor life choices for the rest of my life. Then he and my mother would want to set me up with every polo and khaki pant wearing, golf-loving, church going man they meet.

I don’t go to church or enjoy golf, and never, never have I entertained the idea of a stuffy polo/khaki man in my life. Even Aiden wore jeans and button-downs untucked, with the sleeves rolled up. Casual class.

Clean-shaven. Expertly coiffed. I shudder at the thought. I know the kind of men my parents would gravitate toward. If he had any tattoos, they’d probably be one of those unfortunate tribal’s preppy frat guys get on drunken party nights.

So not me. I doubt a man like that could engulf my whole body with his sheer size. I’m tall for a woman.

Those kind of men are fine for other women. I’m sure making them perfectly happy. But I’ve never desired a man like that before, nor do I see myself with one now.

And I’m quite sure no other man could fuck me so hard we’d break the sofa.

No other man would ever be Duke Ellis.

So no, I won’t be dialing my mother.

Without a second thought, I pick up my phone from the coffee table and press Duke’s contact. After three rings, he answers. “Everything okay?” he asks. It’s loud. Like maybe he’s by a busy road.

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