Say You’re Mine by Alexa Riley
Chapter Five
Iris
Dutch keeps his hand tight around my wrist as he pulls me through the busy train station. My feet move on their own, letting him lead me through the throng of people. Everything he said bounces around inside of my head, and I don’t know why I’m even considering it. Which is insane, because I know who my parents are.
What if this is one of those crazy stories where the children were accidentally switched at birth? But then why would Dutch be kidnapping me if that’s what happened? Unless my parents didn’t want to switch back with the right kid. Okay, now I’m being ridiculous, but who can blame me at this point? I’ve been tossed into a reality TV situation, and my brain is dizzy.
Dutch slows his pace as we near the train, and even though it’s crowded, I notice people jump out of his way when they see him coming. A few women even stop to check him out, and maybe if he hadn’t kidnapped me I might find him attractive too.
“Don’t worry, ladies, he’ll probably kidnap you too one day.” I smile at them, but clearly they think I’m crazy because they shake their heads at me.
He stops suddenly, but my feet are still moving and I run right into his oversized body. I bounce back, but I don't fall as he grabs a hold of me and keeps me steady. He stares down at me and then his brow furrows.
“Sorry, I keep forgetting how little you are.”
Did he really apologize to me? This has to be the world's strangest kidnapping.
His hands tighten around me, and I’m frozen in place as he leans down. The closer he gets, the faster my heart beats, and I lick my lips. My breath catches in my lungs when I feel something that has to be a third leg pressing hard against my stomach.
“I have my documents, but know this, no one is going to take you from me. If they try, you’ll be responsible for what I have to do.” He pulls back. “Got it?”
I nod my head. Those women we passed didn’t even believe me. They thought I was messing with them, and honestly I kind of was. I watched how easily Dutch handled Brock, and it took nothing to subdue him.
When Dutch begins walking again, we go down a long walkway and then step onto the train. We pass a few doors before he opens one and pushes me inside. He quickly closes the door behind us, and I try to look anywhere but at him.
The room is small with a bench on each side facing each other and a single window to see out. Dutch reaches up and pulls the curtains closed, blocking out the rest of the world.
“When we start moving they’ll come through for our tickets and passports.” I drop down into the seat, and he takes the one across from me. I watch as he pulls out a folder and places it beside him.
The conductor makes a final call before the train jerks and starts to move. I’m surprised when my eyes fill with tears. I’ve been so calm for most of the travel, but knowing we’re leaving the country makes it final.
He did it. He’s gotten away without anyone catching up to us.
He pulls out two American passports and places them on top of the folder. I wipe at my cheeks as a few tears slip away.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says gently.
His voice still manages to sound gruff, but something about it makes me believe him. He’s been kind when he could have been cruel, and part of me thinks he actually believes what he’s telling me. He sees this as him doing the right thing.
“I love my parents.”
“Even if they kidnapped you?” he challenges.
I nod. I’m close with my dad, and I know my mom cares for me even if she doesn’t show it. But her trying to marry me off to Brock was too far. At the end of the day, what she wants always overrides what I want. It doesn't matter that I’m an adult; she will always try to control my life in one way or another.
“I can't flip a switch and turn it off. That’s not how love works. Even if everything you’re saying is true, I’ll miss them and want to see them.” I swipe at my cheeks as more tears start to fall. I lower my chin and look down at my hands, silently wishing once again for this to be a dream.
“Shit,” I hear him grumble.
A moment later, he pulls me to the bench he’s sitting on and wraps an arm around me. The fact that he’s being so nice only makes me cry more. I don’t understand any of this, and the confusion is adding to my emotional breakdown.
“I have no idea how love works, but I can’t take you back to them. At least not yet.”
“Yet?” I jerk my head up, and my eyes meet his.
“Let’s say what I’m telling you is true. You don’t want to meet your real parents?”
“I don’t know.” It’s not something I considered, and a barrage of emotions takes over inside of me. It’s too much to understand, so I fight it. “It’s not true, so it doesn’t matter. This is crazy.”
He starts to say something else, but there’s a knock at the door before someone calls out for tickets, and it slides open.
“Tickets?” the short man asks.
Dutch lifts me off his bench and puts me back over on the other one. He hands the man some papers and then the two American passports. The train guy goes through the papers then shoves one into his pocket before handing Dutch the tickets back.
Next I watch as he opens the passports then looks at me and then at Dutch. After that, he slides the passport bars through a small machine and it beeps. He hands them back to Dutch and nods to both of us.
“The beverage cart is open and there are snacks available too. Have a good trip,” he says before stepping back out and closing the door behind him.
I reach over and grab for the passport, but Dutch holds it so I can’t. “I want to see.” I hold my hand out, and his lips twitch before he places it in my palm. I flip it over and see a picture of a woman that is clearly not me.
“But…” He takes it back from my hand. “How?”
“Money can get you most things.” He slips the passports back into his bag. “You did good though. Didn’t say a word.” He almost sounds proud.
“Because you would have hurt him.”
“Is that really the reason? Even at the train station you were quiet as a mouse except to mess with those women.” He’s not wrong, but I don’t like seeing him so smug. “You jumped into the water not knowing how to swim but haven't tried to get away again. At least not since I told you why I was here.” He’s right, and I hate it.
I push back in my seat. “What are you getting at?”
“You’re curious.”
I am even though I shouldn’t be. “This is all stupid. You said you’d tell me once we were on the train. So…”
He runs his hand down his face. I don’t miss the scars along his knuckles, and I wonder what kind of life he’s had. His words of not understanding love come back to me.
“Your parents are Bronson and Freida Dian,” he tells me, lifting his brows.
“If you’re waiting for a reaction, you’re not going to get one. I don’t know those names.”
“How about a picture?” He pulls one out from the file next to him and hands it over. I take it from him and flip it over.
It’s an old picture, but as I look at the young woman in it, the air leaves my lungs. I stare down at her and realize she’s probably around my age in this picture. She has my same body build and hair, but it’s more than that. It’s her features that draw me in, with the same small, upturned nose and the dark freckles across her cheek. She’s smiling, and there are two dimples deep in her cheeks the same as mine.
Dutch hands me another photo, and it’s the same woman only this time she has a little girl on her hip. There’s a tall man in a suit standing behind her, and they’re in front of a Christmas tree. There's a black cat stretched under it, and I touch the photo.
“Boogeyman,” I whisper.
“Huh?” Dutch asks.
“Nothing,” I say, shaking my head. “I had a black cat when I was younger. He looks just like him. His name was Boogeyman.”
“Strange name for a kid’s cat.”
“You know when you hear things at night and you get scared when you’re little? Kids think it’s the boogeyman.”
“Yeah.”
“Well, it was. He was sweet and fluffy and nothing to be afraid of at all.” Dutch nods his head in understanding.
“What happened to him? Is he still around?”
“I don’t know.” I hand the pictures back.
“You don’t know? Like he ran away?”
“I don’t know. Is that so hard to understand?” I shout, and I’m surprised at my outburst.
“No, it’s a lot to take in. Your mind is trying to piece things together.”
“There’s nothing to piece together.”
He keeps going, ignoring me. “You were four when you were taken. If I had to guess, you don’t know what happened to that cat because the cat was with your real parents.”
“No, that’s not it at all.” I shake my head as I try to search my mind.
“You’re mixing up the early memories or your real parents with the ones who stole you.”
“That’s enough,” I cut him off. I hate the doubt I’m feeling in my own mind. This man is getting into my head. Those pictures could be fake.
“I thought you wanted answers from me?” he says, but I don't respond. “You’ll see for yourself soon.”
I don’t think he meant it as a threat, but for some reason it feels like it.
