The Devil’s Keepsake by Somme Sketcher

Poppy

I know something’s wrong by the hammering on the bedroom door. Orna’s knocks are polite and followed by a cheery greeting. Lorcan slides through the darkness without an invitation. Not that he visits anymore, anyway.

“Poppy Murphy?” A gruff voice barks through the panels. “Get dressed. You have a visitor.”

“Uh, who?”

No reply. Dazed and with my heart hammering against my chest, I stumble into the dressing room and tug on a pair of jeans and a sweater. The bedroom door is never locked anymore, now that I have access to the other rooms in the house, so I peer around it and into the darkness.

A pair of piercing yellow eyes stare back at me, but they don’t belong to Lorcan. “Come with me.”

The man is tall and wearing all black. His hair is shaved close to his head and it shows off his sharp cheekbones. I recognize him, not only because he must be related to Lorcan, but because I’ve seen him in the gardens barking at the henchmen.

“Where are we going?”

Yeah, this man has no interest in making conversation.

He’s fast, crossing the garden towards the main house in long, no-nonsense strides, and I’m out of breath trying to keep up. I follow, wordlessly, through the side door and down a corridor I’ve never been to.

Lorcan’s at the end of it. Arm’s crossed and eyes dark.

Emotion rises in my throat. It feels like I haven’t seen him in weeks. “What’s going on?”

As I get closer, I notice his ticking jaw. I also notice the massive fucking gun he’s holding. Fear creeps through my body.

“You have a visitor,” he grunts. He lifts the rifle from his side and cracks the barrel against the door. “And you also have ten minutes.”

“Who is it?” I all but whisper.

He’s furious. I can see it in the pulsing temple and his flaring nostrils. He’s furious at me.

“Ten minutes,” he says, setting his gaze somewhere above my head. “And don’t do anything stupid. I’ll be right outside.”

My heart is hammering against my chest as I push the door and step into the unknown.

Sam.

I blink. Once, twice. Nope, not dreaming.

He’s pacing the carpet, walking from one bookcase to another, nursing a bloodied temple. “Oh my god,” I say. Before my knees buckle underneath me, he closes the gap between us and tugs me up by under my armpits.

“Poppy,” he gasps, pulling me into a hug. “Oh my god, Poppy.”

I melt into the familiarity of his arms. The light, crisp scent of soap and laundry detergent that clings to his skin reminds me of more than just him. It’s a portal to my old life. My normal life.

Eventually, he pushes me away and holds me at arm’s length, studying my face with those big, blue eyes. “I’ve been looking for you all summer, Poppy. What the hell happened?”

“I-you’re bleeding, Sam,” I choke.

He drags the sleeve of his hoodie over his forehead, smearing the blood into his hair. “It doesn’t hurt,” he lies, but the glance over my shoulder towards the door betrays him.

My legs are shaking, and Sam follows me to the sofa. “I-I don’t have long,” I stammer, still dazed. “How did you find me?”

Another glance to the door. Another wipe across his bleeding temple. “Jesus, it feels so long ago now. On your birthday. As soon as I got that text from you, where you asked if I sent the car. I knew something was wrong. I was calling and calling you, standing outside your dorm, but you never replied. At first, I thought maybe Nellie had dragged you out for a few cocktails and you’d forgotten to tell me or something…” he shakes his head, wincing when it hurts. “But I knew that wasn’t like you. I was sick with worry when I came back to your dorm the next day, and Nellie said she hadn’t seen you. That she thought I was taking you to that fancy restaurant downtown and then to a hotel.” With a large gulp, he meets my eyes. “She said you thought we were going to… you know. Is that why you left, Pop? ‘Cause I’d never force you to do anything you didn’t want to—”

“No,” I hiss, the heat rising to my cheeks. My god. The innocent Poppy cowering at the thought of losing her virginity to Sam… hell, I wouldn’t recognize that girl if she was staring at me in the mirror.

“Okay,” he settles back on the sofa a little, basking in the false sense of security. A glance towards the closed door reminds me I know better.

“Anyway, it was Le Papillon. I headed straight down there, you know, to retrace your steps. Things just got weirder. None of the servers or chefs would talk to me, not even when I showed them a photo and asked if they’d seen you last night. In fact, I only knew for sure that you were there when a girl from our economics class said she saw you going in there. Said you were super-dressed up, like you were going on a date.” His brows knit together, and now it’s his turn to look at the door. “It was with him, wasn’t it?”

With a deep sigh, I let my hair out from its messy bun and massage my scalp. As if that’ll help make any sense of how Sam has managed to wade himself into this nightmare.

“So then what?” I say through gritted teeth. Curiosity, more than anything, is what is fueling my need to know how he found me.

“Well, we were at the end of the semester. Somehow, Nellie managed to convince me that you’d probably gone back to Boston early…” he ruffles his bloodied hand through his hair, eyes darkening when he mentions my friend’s name. “Well, now I realize she thought you were cheating on me. She was covering your tracks, like a good friend would,” he says bitterly. “Only when you didn’t come back after the semester, I started to get really worried.”

“And Nellie?” I choke out. “What did she think when I didn’t return?”

Sam’s jaw sets. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him angry. “At first, she was worried sick.”

“At first?”

“Until we went to the police to report you missing.”

All of the hairs on the back of my next stand to attention. My eyes dart to the door. Is Lorcan listening? Did he hear that?

“The police are looking for me?!”

Sam says acidly, “No. A week later they called us back in. Wanted to interview us separately. They told me you’d skipped town, but you were perfectly safe. Wouldn’t tell me why, or where the hell you’d gone. But they reassured me, you were fine. They had evidence, apparently, that you left on your own accord. Evidence they couldn’t share with me, of course.”

“So, Nellie thought I was fine too?”

“No. They told her something different.”

“What?”

His voice is cold. “God knows. But when she came out, she wouldn’t even look me in the eye. When I pushed her, she eventually screamed at me to drop it.”

I’m so confused, I don’t even know where to begin. “But what did they tell her?” I press. “And why?”

“I don’t know but she hasn’t spoken a word to me since. Throws me dirty looks across the lecture hall and that’s about it.”

I sit for a moment, numb. So much to take in. So early in the morning. It doesn’t take me long to figure out why Stanford police would lie to Sam. Money makes the world go round, and Lorcan has enough of it to silence anyone he wants. Sam’s next words confirm this.

“So, then I went back to the restaurant. Offered cash. Lots of it. Turns out he—” he jabs his thumb towards the door “—offered a hell of a lot more. I dipped into my trust fund to come up with enough to bribe one of the servers. She said she served you that night.”

I think back to the petrified blonde that brought out the birthday cake. It feels like a million years ago.

“She gave me a name,” he continues. “Quinn. Said she overheard you call him that during your conversation. And my father…” he rolls his wrist dismissively, in the way rich people do when they are about to play down their wealth. “He knows a guy. Ex-FBI, all that jazz. Asked him if he knew of any ‘Quinns’ that might have a tendency to be a crazy-psycho-stalker type. Father said his face went as white as a sheet the second he uttered the name.” Sam leans towards closer, eyes wide. Why do I get the feeling that he’s enjoying telling this story? He’s regaling it like an anecdote he’d tell at the country club in twenty years after a few rounds of golf with his ex-banker chums. “He also said it’d be best to just… leave it.” His hands are clammy when they wrap around mine. Vice-like. “But Pops, I couldn’t leave you here.” Then, he lowers his voice. “What does he want with you?”

Watching his bottom lip quiver and his eyes dart towards the door, a sinking feeling settles in my stomach like a layer of dust.

There are two types of men in this world. Anchors and storms.

Sam’s an anchor. The type of guy that gets their hair cut every six weeks without fail. The ones that pay their taxes on time and have quirky hobbies like rollerblading and painting model battleships in their basement.

Then… there are storms. Lorcans of the world.

It seems like I’m the type of girl that enjoys being swept away.

I realize I haven’t replied when Sam squeezes my knuckles in his palms. “I’ll get you out of here,” he says in breathless whispers. “My father knows people. Not only that FBI guy but like, bad people. And he’s got money. Tons of it. I promise, Poppy, I’ll get you out of here baby—”

I can’t bear to hear his insufferable whispers anymore, the pathetic tone is making my skin crawl. I stand up and cross the room, putting some much-needed distance between us. Nibbling on the cuff of my sweater, my mind races with a plan. I want him gone. He’s no use to me. He’s not part of my escape plan and I know if he outstays his welcome Lorcan won’t think twice about killing him.

What the hell is happening to me?

I’ve been corrupted, ruined by evil. Irreparably so.

“I haven’t been kidnapped, Sam.”

He snorts. “Yeah, because you’re living with a friggin’ mafia kingpin for the fun of it.”

“Actually, I am.”

I challenge his uncertain glare. “Are you…”

“Yes,” I finish what I know he never will. “I’m so sorry, Sam. I didn’t mean for all of this to happen. I was going to tell you eventually, when the time was right. But Lorcan and I… we’re together. Happily so. I haven’t been kidnapped. I haven’t been tortured or anything of the sort. I’m happy here.”

My words are like a stun gun, pinning Sam to the sofa. Eventually, he says, “Not possible.” He mutters it more to himself than to me. “It’s not possible. How would you know a crime lord all the way in Boston—”

“I’ve known him for years,” I interject. God, I hate how easily the lies slip off my tongue now. “I’m from Boston, remember? He—Lorcan—is a friend of the family.”

“The only family you have is your father and you hate him.”

Jesus, I’m not very good at this. “Yeah, I have some distant cousins—look, that’s not the point. I’m sorry, Sam. I’m with someone else and I’m happy.”

He’s not convinced, shaking his head like a constant swinging pendulum. “So, you’re not coming back to school?”

“No.”

“Bullshit.” I wince because this is the first time In two years I’ve ever heard him swear. “You worked your butt off to get into Stanford. You wouldn’t just give it up. You wouldn’t give up on us, either. We were going to get married, have babies, Pop—”

There’s a growl from the other side of the door. It makes us both jump. Tangled up in my web of lies, I forgot, only for a moment, the Devil was outside.

I need to wrap this up. I need to get him out of here, even if it breaks his heart into a million pieces.

“Sam,” I say firmly, speaking slowly and clearly like you would a child. “Listen to me. I am not in love with you anymore. I’m not sure I ever was. Why do you think I never wanted to join you at your parents’ ranch during the holidays? Why I never slept with you? Because I was in love with somebody else.”

“No. You were in love with me,” he murmurs.

“I was comfortable with you.” I hate how the weight of my words visibly crush him. I also hate how some of them are true.

Sam’s body shakes, his head still pissing out blood, and my heart breaks in two. Of course, I care for him. Not just because he was my boyfriend, but because he represents everything about the life I was taken from. Part of me wants to shrink down, small enough to fit into the pocket of his hoodie and let him take me back to my old life.

Ridiculous, I know.

“I think you should leave.”

He whispers, “You’re a bitch. Did you know that, Poppy Valentina? A cold-hearted bitch.”

The door flies open before I can even think of a reply, and Lorcan darkens the doorway. “Times up,” he growls, glaring at Sam like he wants to twist his head off with his bare hands. His sudden presence brings Sam back to the reality of the situation. “My men will see you out.”

Two men in uniform file in and clamp their hands around Sam’s arms. “Fuck you,” he screams, twisting his head back to look at me. “You lying bitch. You little filthy whore. Well, guess what, Poppy? I fucked Chelsea from our Investing 101 class because your frigid ass wouldn’t put out—”

I’m so shocked at Sam’s reaction that I can’t do anything but gape, open-mouthed as he hurls insults and revelations at me. Chelsea? Chelsea fucking Young with the lip piercing and combat boots?

A growl from my left snaps me back to reality, and I slam a hand on Lorcan’s chest, just before he lunges towards Sam. “Stop,” I hiss, unable to keep the desperation out of my voice. “Don’t make it worse than it already is.”

His heart hammers against my hand, and I keep it there until Sam and the men dragging him round the corner, and his screams slowly fade.

Silence. I say into the darkness of the corridor, “Is he going to be okay?”

“I won’t harm a hair on his pretty little head,” Lorcan snarls back. “But if he ever touches ground in Boston again, I’ll put a bullet between his eyes and bury him under the vegetable patch. I told you, you don’t have a boyfriend anymore.”

I grind my molars together. It does nothing to stop the sudden anger bubbling up my stomach. “You have no right to act jealous all of a sudden,” I hiss, spinning to face him. “You can’t be possessive with me when it suits you, then leave me in limbo for weeks at a time.”

We lock eyes and the heat swirls between us. He looks tired. Dark circles line his under eyes and his beard is unruly. The last time we were this close, he ripped my heart in two by telling me to hate him.

Because it’s easier.

I wish it was.

There’s a moment when I think he’s going to kiss me. When his tired eyes dip to the curve of my lips. But they come back up and pin me with a hard stare. “I do what I want. You should know that by now.”

There’s a lump in my throat. I hate how I’m more moved by his nastiness than I was by having to break Sam’s heart, only to have him tell me he cheated on me anyways.

“Yeah, you do,” I croak. “You did exactly what you wanted with me. You took my virginity, had your fun with my body. Then you discarded me, like you said you would. But instead of killing me—or god forbid, even letting me go—you decided to leave me in your precious museum to collect dust, just like all your other keepsakes.”

And with that, I turn on my heels and stalk down the corridor, holding back the sob brewing in my throat. “So find someone who will let me back in my cabinet. I’ll go back to being your good China Doll.”