Total pages in book: 209
Estimated words: 196085 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 980(@200wpm)___ 784(@250wpm)___ 654(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 196085 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 980(@200wpm)___ 784(@250wpm)___ 654(@300wpm)
A moment later, relief washes over me as my hands are free and I bring them in front of me, pulling and tugging at my cold, nearly blue fingers.
“My concert pianist career was nearly foiled.” I glare at them both through the open door. “Now that I have my hands back, what do you want? I’m over eighteen now, Grandmother, you can’t keep me where I don’t want to be. And in case you haven’t figured it out, I’m not going to be your precious pageant doll anymore. Sorry you and mother didn’t make it to Miss America, but your plans to get me there are long gone. You get that, right? I’m not coming with you. Not anywhere.”
In the back of my mind I’m staring in disbelief at the girl smarting off to two people who have her captive. The guy has a gun and a knife, but that doesn’t seem to be stopping me from saying what comes to mind—even at my own peril.
Seems the few months with Daddy have changed me. I feel his strength with me even now and my value and backbone have risen right along with his love for me.
The irony is not lost on me either. In his hands, I’m a little girl. That girl he first met at the greenhouse—a little lost, no self-confidence, unsure of herself—is gone.
He’s taken the best parts of me and enhanced them.
Taken the weak parts of me and loved them.
I’m more a woman now than I ever was before, even when—at my very core—he showed me the little girl I am to him. Even for me it’s confusing, but the result of his care, attention and love is on full display. And even in this precarious moment I’m proud of that. In a way, I wish he could see me now.
“You will come home.” My grandmother meets my glare. “You’ve caused enough heartache and hardship for your family. And, well, if you still wish to refuse, I believe your new friend may be able to sway your decision. Something about a Stanislov Pavlovich and the distinct possibility of his untimely demise. That’s something you wouldn’t want now, would you? Oh, and a couple little furry friends as well. I remember how soft hearted you always were when it came to animals.” She wrinkles her nose in disgust. “Stupid, sentimental girl.”
When I was little, I’d bring home every stray that I came in contact with. Kittens, an old Beagle running down the road once, injured birds and even a three-legged mutt nearly frozen to death. I’d learned to hide them as best I could. The first ones I brought home, begging to keep, always disappeared while I slept.
No amount of tears or begging would rend any information about their fate from any member of the family. But even the ones I tried to hide eventually met the same fate. I never did discover what happened to them. I’m not even sure I really wanted to. Sometimes, ignorance is bliss.
My head spins as Grandmother steps back and the man steps into her place, extending his hand like a chauffeur to his passenger.
“Come now. Let’s find more comfortable accommodations until we have all the details of things settled, shall we?”
That smile again and my thoughts race. My options are limited here.
I have no idea where we are.
From my vantage point in the back of the car I see pine trees. Smell the coolness of a forest and hear nothing but birdcalls and the sound of the breeze.
The comment about Daddy and keeping him alive sends my mind racing but I play it off. That sounds like their trump card and not showing signs it’s affected me will hopefully work in my favor.
With hesitation, I take his hand and extend a leg out of the car. Then the other as I stand awkwardly on numb limbs and scan the surroundings. But if I was expecting some revelation, I’m disappointed.
All I see is exactly what my senses told me I would. I’m in the middle of nowhere, no markers, no nothing. The only thing besides nature that is visible is an old log cabin and for a moment I wonder if I’ll ever see my Daddy again.
9
Stas
“So.” George sounds nearly as pissed off as I am. “Where are we on this, Stas?”
“Why do we do what we do?” I shake my head. “Why the fuck do we help people like this? How did we get here?”
“Man, just stick to the task at hand. Rhetoric is useless right now.” George leans his head back and cracks his neck. “What in there is useful?”
We’ve spent hours going over the email with attached documents from Malcolm that covers everything about Leonard Calfus that I would have preferred not to know.
I nod. “He’s fucking smart. I knew that. But his shtick is mainly taking women for their trust funds. It’s less than creative but clearly has garnered him a nice life. Seems his weakness is winning. He finds a target and doesn’t give up until he gets what he wants. I don’t even think it’s just about the money, it’s about coming out on top. Controlling everyone else. He’s got no soul, he even preys on women in memory care without executors or family to look after them. He’s a bottom feeder but it’s more. There’s more to him.”