Page 39 of Devil's Due: Sarge

“Do you have insurance?”

“Don’t need it today when I’ve got Visa,” I reply, but in the back of my mind I addlook into insuranceto my list of things to do once I get home. With Greer in my life now, it’s not smart to go without. I could use my VA insurance, but it’s not worth the hassle here and won’t work for Greer.

“Sir, are you sure…? It’s not smart to leave before the doctor discharges you. You’re taking your life in your hands.”

“My life. My hands. I’ve got to go.”

She sighs as she nods and begins clicking the keyboard to look up my name and runs my card. She advises me they’ll keep this card on file and that more charges may come after they tabulate everything. I sign a consent paper, then after signing the little screen to approve the charges, she slides my card back over to me and I blow this place. It’s hot as balls out today, a fact that hits me square in the face when the doors to the exit slide open and a rush of heated air assaults me. The sun’s too damn bright. It’s almost blinding. I’m over Texas.

Dark parked my truck close to the front of the lot. The speed she had to have been going to cause that much damage… Good it’s paid off. Trying to explain this mess to the insurance adjuster… that’s a bitch cause.

The truck starts. The air works. I don’t need much more than that, at least not right now.

As I leave the hospital behind me in the dust, I pull my phone to call Vlad. “Meet me in Miami,” I say, and then I hang up.

15

Greer

As suspected, Drew and my step-goons drive us to a small, private airport. I hardly expected them to drive all the way to Texas—it’s so below them. Once there, a man in a slick black suit greets us by opening each car door. I’m smart enough not to fight it. I’m scared for myself and scared for Sarge, but I do have a survival instinct, a pretty strong one, using these past several months as an indicator.

They aren’t hurting me yet; therefore, I’m going willingly. At least it gives me time to plot an escape. Doesn’t matter if I go, I won’t stay. Sarge might still bein lovewith his dead wife, but hewantsme and I want him. So what if my feelings run deeper than that and I’m sure I’ll end up being hurt? Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?

A door drops down from the plane, revealing the steps inside. Gray steps coated in rubber, or whatever ridiculously rich people use in place of ordinary rubber to keep from slipping upon entering or exiting such a fine example of aeronautics.

Patrick forcefully grabs my arm to haul me on board. He walks too fast, catching me off guard and causing me to stumble over my feet. “There’s no reason to use force,” I calmly say. And calm isn’t the easiest emotion to find right now. “I’m not fighting you.”

My stepbrother simply grunts at me, not slowing, forcing me to speed up until he has me safely planted in a uber-soft, deep blue lamb’s leather seat. He drops into the seat directly across from me so we’re sitting face to face. I used to think he was a somewhat handsome man, as handsome as one can think about a relative, but the ugly scowl on his face, the angry shimmer in his eyes that make them appear more like glass beads and the hard yet refined rigidity of his body, all of this aimed at me, turn him down-right monstrous.

“Why did you kidnap me?” I ask. “I gave you the art.”

“You stupid bitch, we should have killed you for what you’d done.” Okay, so the venom in his tone is yet another check under theMy Stepbrother Is an Ugly Monstercategory.

“What did I do? I hid the art to keep it safe, then laid low until it was safe to contact you.”

“Don’t act stupid – it doesn’t suit you. You had to know that there’s no way you’d be walking away from the family again. Dad will discuss the details when we’re home. Do yourself and me a favor, and shut up, sit back, and enjoy the flight.” When Patrick mentions ‘Dad’ I look over to where the man, himself, sits with a laptop open in front of him and a cell phone pressed to his ear. Heaven forbid you put work aside for one day while you kidnap your stepdaughter.

Two and a half hours of clear blue skies later and we land at a private airport outside of Miami.Sigh. I never thought I’d end up here again. I never really wanted to—aside from seeing my mom, that is. But I could have her come visit me.

There’s a tricked-out, black SUV waiting for us. The inside has been modified with a glass partition between the front and back, and the two rows of backseats face each other. I’ve ridden in it before. Drew uses limousines when he wants to be flashy and be seen—and when I say limousines, I don’t mean the cheap things normal people rent. No, he owns one and it’s pure class all the way. Because he’s rich, and he uses it when he wants to show off his wealth. The SUV, although nothing any ordinary person could afford in this lifetime, is his normal, everyday vehicle of choice, if you run in circles where you still have a chauffeur cart you around in your ‘normal, everyday vehicle.’

Drew approaches, placing his hand to my back again, ushering me over to the SUV. His smile is tight and slightly angry. He’s putting on a show for the help. Drew’s good at that.

Hocking, the chauffeur, an older gentleman with salt and pepper hair, in his crisply pressed suit raises one eyebrow in a fairly condescending manner and says, “Miss Durning, good to see you again.”

I don’t bother to respond. Hocking has worked for Drew for years. He’s a loyalist. If I can say one thing about Drew, he pays his employees well and treats them fairly to ensure this. Since I don’t pay his salary and don’t foresee a time when I’ll ever afford to do that to lure him away from his current position, Hocking is not going to be more thannotoutright hostile. I suppose that’s the best I can hope for. It’s the little things.

My stepfather lets the silence stretch to uncomfortable levels, to the point that my nerves have frayed and I’m girding, just waiting for whatever’s about to come. He reads his papers—files that Hocking brought for him to look over. Patrick and Stephen scroll on their phones. Everyone is doingsomething aside from me. Oh, Drew knows exactly what he’s doing, too. I have no doubts about that.

When we finally arrive at the house, Hocking opens the doors for us. Drew resumes his spot at my side with his hand resting on my back to usher us along. A housekeeper stands next to the open front door, awaiting us.

There’s a sickly-sweet smell of citrus fruit and other muskier scents wafting throughout the house, as if someone is simmering potpourri. I’m not crazy about it, but it’s not my house and somehow, I don’t think Drew will care.

“Your room is ready for you. I’ll let you get settled before we talk,” he says and that’s not only my dismissal, but a direct order to seclude myself in my old bedroom until he’s ready to deal with me.

“Right,” I say, sighing again. I seem to sigh a lot around Drew. “I guess I’ll see you later.” Then I leave him to head upstairs. The house is still decorated light and airy. Mom always loved those beachy pastel colors so common to the area.

My room, I find, has been redecorated in white with varying shades of pink roses. It’s very romantic. It’s very Monique. The curtains are open with light sheers closed to filter the bright sunlight just a bit. It’s a world away from our room at the Horde clubhouse. What I wouldn’t give to be back there again.

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