Heartless Lover by Faith Summers

4

Summer

Ihave no idea what’s happening.

Or, if I’m going to live to see tomorrow.

I’ve been standing here chained to this fucking wall for God knows how long, wondering what the hell is going to happen to me.

There’s no clock on the wall, so the only indicator I have of the time is the darkness of the night. I’m assuming it could be after midnight or slightly later.

It was just after seven when he—Eric—kidnapped me from the cottage. I don’t think I was knocked out for too long, but the time that has passed since he left must have been hours.

All I’ve been aware of as I tried to free myself of this bondage is the scent of him that lingers in the air. The fragrance smells like sandalwood and musk. And like control and power if they had a smell. Each scent mingles together and taunts me the same way he did.

He locked me in this barren room I don’t think he sleeps in. The bed is bare of sheets, and the wardrobe doors are open, showing the emptiness. The only fabric around is what’s on the blinds—so nothing.

There’s an en suite bathroom to the left that I ran into earlier when I first woke up and tried to look for an escape route. All that was in there was a bar of soap sitting on the sink.

That’s all I have around me. Inside my head, though, I’m falling apart.

I remember what Eric said to me before he left and his jibe to fuck me.

Since then, I’ve heard voices of men carrying from down the hall, and I’ve been a nervous wreck, too afraid to move or breathe whenever I heard them.

I didn’t know if they’d come in here and hurt me. Hurt me like I was hurt before. This would be worse in other ways because I’m chained up. Back then, the bondage that held me down and prevented me from defending myself was the threat of what would happen to my family. Now that I’ve been through it and have the mental scars, I don’t think I could live through something like that again.

I’ve spent the last few hours switching from being terrified for my life to thinking about who Robert Carson could be.

Every time I run his name through my mind, I come up blank, and I don’t know how the name fits in with what’s already happening.

It can’t be a coincidence. It all must fit together somehow and in some way. I just don’t know in what ways yet.

I’d bet Marquees would know. He’s the person I’d turn to now for help. Except he’s far away from me and thinks I’m safe in the cottage. He won’t contact me unless he has news.

The heavy thud of boots on the other side of the door makes me jump, and I straighten up. I’m on guard even though there are bruises around my wrists. They are clear indicators I tried to break free. My pulse skitters as the door handle turns, and I back into the wall as if it can swallow me up.

I wish it would. I’d feel safer there.

When the door swings open and my gaze lands on Eric, I know not to make the mistake of feeling relief, but on some level, I do.

It’s a big mistake, though. He’s just as bad as every gangster I’ve come across. And that chase he gave me earlier… I know it was just for fun.

I don’t need to know him for any longer than I have, to know he’s the kind of guy who will make you think you have hope, but you never had any to begin with.

With his eyes riveted to me, he comes in carrying what looks like clothes over one arm and bed sheets in the other. I take it to mean I’ll at least be alive to make use of them. It’s an assumption, though. That’s all I’m doing—assuming.

He eyes me with the same hardened expression as before, and unlike last time he closes the door behind him. Earlier, it was foolish of me to think I could run away, but I wasn’t thinking. I’d just woken up and remembered he’d taken me. All I wanted to do was fight to break free and take whatever opening I could to escape.

I still want to.

“Miss me, Babydoll?” he states with a sinful smile.

Babydoll.

He called me that before, and I hate the endearment just as much as I did then.

“Don’t call me that,” I snap.

When his smile widens, I realize I’m just a joke to him.

“I will call you whatever I like, Babydoll.”

He walks over to the bed and sets the sheets down. Then he holds out a sweatshirt in one hand and a white dress shirt in the other. I notice the sweatshirt says M.I.T. on it, and I’m surprised. He doesn’t look like someone who would have gone there.

“Take your pick.”

“What’s happening? I need to know what’s happening.” That’s all I want to know.

“Take your pick,” he repeats with more insistence.

I try to tamp down my anxiety and the rage building inside me. It’s very clear he wants me to do what I’m told. I’m so sick of people treating me like I’m some kind of animal.

“Is that all you expect me to wear? That won’t even cover my legs,” I challenge, and he gives me a disarming smile.

“Maybe I like looking at your legs. And other parts of you.” His eyes land on my panties, and I hate the way my pussy clenches when I note that fascination lurking in his eyes.

“Don’t.” I frown.

“Sorry, I don’t think I can help what my eyes decide to do. In case you didn’t notice, I’m a man. Fucking is always on my mind.”

Fucking, again. That’s the second time he’s said something like that to me. He looks just as serious as he did before, and like the first time, my cheeks flush from the thought of what it would feel like if he did fuck me.

I bite down hard on my back teeth and school my thoughts as I decide to ignore the comment and my stupid reaction to him. Now is not the time to falter in focus. I need to know what’s going on.

“The shirt,” I decide. “Does that mean you’re going to take me down from this wall?”

Eric tosses the sweatshirt next to the sheets and approaches me with the shirt.

“I like you chained to a wall. It’s a good look for you, Summer Reeves.”

I hate the way he says my name. Like he knows me. He doesn’t know a damn thing about me, and I don’t want him to. I don’t want anybody to know me.

“You’re an asshole.”

“Yes, I am. You’d do good to remember that.”

He comes closer, leans in to taunt me with that mocking smirk from earlier, then catches my face.

His fingers dig into my neck, and he squeezes so hard I think he might cut me. His gaze is so intense I try to look away, but it’s hard to when he’s holding my face the way he is.

“Eyes here, Babydoll,” he commands, squeezing tighter as he motions for me to keep my eyes on him.

I gasp and obey because I don’t want him to hurt me anymore than he is.

“Listen to me, Summer Reeves,” he continues in a low voice. “As I said before, I don’t want to hurt you. I’m going to undo the chains, and we’re going to have a little chat about that information I need from you.”

“What makes you think I’m going to tell you anything?” I don’t know why I say that. Maybe it’s because I don’t know what the hell is happening, and I have no idea what kind of information he wants from me.

He chuckles, and the sound makes my blood cower in my veins.

“Because right now, I’m the only guy standing between you and death. I don’t think you realize that it wouldn’t matter what corner of Heaven or Hell you run to. Those men you’re running from would eventually find you and kill you. The same way they killed your sister.”

My eyes widen at the same time my heart stops beating.

He knows what happened!

And it sounds like he knows everything.

“I can see you’re catching my drift.” He grins and leans close like earlier. I don’t like it, or how it makes me feel, or how my body responds to the closeness with arousal. It reminds me how fucked up I am. “If you try that shit you did like earlier, I will punish you. If you think to strike me again, I will punish you, and you will not like it. I will fucking spank that perfect ass of yours so hard; you won’t be able to sit on it for at least a week. Is that clear, SummerReeves?”

“Yes,” I grate out stiffly, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice.

On my reply, he releases me, and he reaches up to undo the chains.

As my hands come free, they drop to my sides like lead, and the blood rushes back into them, stinging and burning so strong it hurts. I bite down on my back teeth to hold in the emotion threatening to spill out.

If he knows what happened, I don’t want to look any weaker than I already do.

Sometimes it takes strength to retreat but running, and hiding shows you haven’t got what it takes to fight back.

He holds the shirt out for me to put on, and I do. It’s miles too big for me and stops at the tops of my thighs, but at least it covers most of my body.

When he motions for me to sit on the bed, I make my way over and lower on to the firm mattress.

He grabs the little wooden chair from the window and sits in front of me, still looking big and powerful. I’m by no means short at five four, but I peg him to be around six feet four, so even sitting down next to him, I’m tiny.

Bringing my trembling hands together, I decide to ask the question on my mind. “What do you know?”

“A lot.”

“How?”

“There was a surveillance recording of what happened to your sister in your apartment.”

I suck in a breath. “I was told it wasn’t working.”

“It wasn’t. It was tampered with, but now I know the truth. I know the man who killed your sister thought she was you. I need to talk to you about him. I want to know how you know him and why he wanted you dead.”

He pulls out a picture from his back pocket of Jake. When I see it, I hold my heart to stop it from beating out of my chest.

“Who do you know this man to be?”

I meet his eyes. “Jake Wainwright.”

“His real name is Robert Carson.”

My God. I pull in a breath. Jake is Robert Carson. It doesn’t surprise me that he used a fake name. Everything about him was fake.

“You know him?” I ask.

“Yes, and I need to find him.”

“He really killed my sister? He really shot her in her head?” I already know the answer. I just need to hear it.

“He did.”

My hand flies up to my mouth as tears run down my cheeks.

Oh, God. Scarlett. I’m so sorry.

I’m so, so sorry.

My shoulders wrack as a sob escapes my lips. Hearing the confirmation makes me feel even worse. In my stupid twisted mind, I thought it would lessen the blow if someone else had shot her. Maybe Micah or one of the other men who were there. Not Jake—Robert. A man I knew. A man I was sleeping with. A man who managed to fool me and sway me into being the his fantasy girl at the fucking club.

I try to gather myself. I don’t want to look weak. It’s hard, though.

“It shouldn’t have happened,” I mutter more to myself than to Eric.

“No, it shouldn’t have.” He presses his lips together.

The little strength I’d gathered to get myself to L.A. drains from my body, and as I crumble into the weakness of helplessness, a wave of panic sweeps over me when I realize that if Eric found me, Robert could find me too.

“If you know the truth, maybe he knows too.”

“Not yet, but I’m sure it’s just a matter of time before he will.”

That only makes me feel marginally better, and there’s more I need to know. “How did you find me at the cottage?”

“Your father.”

Dad?

“My father sent you to get me?”

“No, Babydoll, that’s not exactly how it went. He knew you weren’t dead and was asking the cops to look into what happened. The people I work for got in touch with him when we realized you were tied up in a mystery we needed your assistance to resolve.”

Assistance?

This is not the way you treat someone you need assistance from. What he means is I’ll be held captive until he gets what he wants from me.

That’s what he means.

And what can I do?

He said it himself that he’s the only person standing between me and death. Translation: he’s probably worse than whoever will come after me.

My heart speeds up, and I clutch my hands together so tight the circulation cuts off.

And Dad knows the truth. I knew he’d be the first to figure it out. I’d bet it all happened exactly as I said it would.

“They didn’t know I had a twin,” I mutter.

“They?”

“Robert and Micah Santa Maria.”

“You know Micah too?”

I nod. “They worked together.”

“I need you to tell me what happened. Everything.”

I think back to that dreadful night when my life plummeted. “I saw Robert kill a man. Micah was there.”

Eric pulls out a little notepad from his jacket. “What was the man’s name?”

“Donny. I don’t have a surname. They mentioned something called the Veil. They were arguing about some kind of tech that wasn’t working. I don’t know if that was the name they gave it. Jake, I mean Robert was going to sell it, and Donny couldn’t fix it. That’s what made Robert mad.”

A flicker of interest sparks in his eyes. “Go on.”

I cast my mind back, and I remember the rest of that conversation, I shouldn’t have heard.

“They were going to sell it to a guy called Barabbas Ponteix.”

When he straightens up, and his eyes become more open, I know I’ve said something key.

“Barabbas Ponteix?” he checks.

“Yes. The contract is worth five million, and they didn’t want him to find out the tech wasn’t working. When Donny said it was deteriorating and he couldn’t fix it, that’s when Robert shot him, and he saw me. He and Micah both saw me and came after me. I didn’t even know what I’d walked in on.” I pause for a moment to catch my breath. “When Robert saw me, he seemed more concerned about what I heard over what I’d seen him do,” I point out.

“He would have been.” A look of deep contemplation comes into his eyes.

“Where did this happen?”

“It um…” My voice trails off when I remember I’m a whore.

I was going to tell Jake—Robert, I couldn’t work that night because I had a headache. So, in other words, I wouldn’t be available to fuck him or whoever he wanted me to fuck that night.

If I wasn’t a whore, I wouldn’t have gone to Robert to tell him anything.

That is the new level of low I’ve reached in my life. I became the whore everyone thought I was. The whore accused of pushing her mother to kill herself because apparently, I was fucking my stepdad.

Just because I became the whore on my own terms didn’t change what I always was in everyone’s eyes—nothing.

“Work,” I foolishly decide to say.

“Where did you work, Summer?” he prods, and my nerves spike.

I hold my breath and glance down at my hands in my lap. My eyes flick back up to meet his, and I swallow pride as I say, “It’s called Club Montage.”

His expression doesn’t change, and I don’t know whether that’s because he hasn’t heard of the club, or he has and doesn’t care one way or the other what I must have been if I worked there.

“What kind of job did Robert do there?”

“He was the co-owner with another guy called Cassius Dent.”

“How long did you know Robert?” he asks.

“Six months. That’s how long I worked at the club.” Just saying that makes it sound so bad. Six months of being in that place makes me look even worse like a whore.

“Do you have an address for Robert and Micah?”

“No, I always saw them at the club.”

“What about a number.”

“Yes. I have a number for both Robert and Cassius.”

“Give them to me.”

I tell him, and he writes it down.

“Robert had two phones, though. That number is probably the contact he gave people who worked at the club. It wasn’t the phone he took business calls on.” I remember thinking that much when I saw him taking his calls on the other phone.

“How did you manage to escape after they saw you?”

“I hit Robert with the fire extinguisher when his phone rang. Then I ran. It’s a club that’s packed every night from the time the doors open, so it was easy to disappear in the crowd. I hid after. I never knew my sister was going to visit me. It was a surprise.”

I wipe more tears away with the heel of my hand.

“Is there anything else you know?”

I shake my head. “No. I don’t think so. What did Robert do to you?” Curiosity makes me want to know more about the monster I’m running from and the one in front of me.

“Enough to make me want to kill him.” A flash of indignation darkens his eyes, stopping me from asking any more questions about his connection with Robert.

Since I want him dead too, I can’t complain, but there’s more to factor in here than what I want. Like, what’s going to happen to me.

“What’s going to happen now?”

“You’re staying here with me. That’s all you need to know.”

“Here?” I raise my brows. “I’m staying here?”

“Yes, until this gets resolved.”

He makes it sound so simple, but it’s not as simple as that. It’s far from that.

If things were simple, the information I gave him would have been enough.

But, keeping me here is the backup plan. That’s the only thing keeping me will mean.

So, I am being held captive.

Shit. Once again, I’m the bait. Except last time I chose to be the bait. I played that role to help Marquees—this time I’m not.

“You want them to find out they didn’t kill me, don’t you?” I ask blatantly.

He stares back at me with those deep blue eyes. His face gives nothing away. Nothing at all, and I can’t figure him out.

“Let’s just say that’s Plan B.”

“My life is in danger, and all I am is a Plan B to you?”

He leans forward again, and I flinch, my breath catching.

“The plan is to find them before they find out. The element of surprise is always good. If I kill them, you get a free pass and your life back. If I don’t get to them before they find out, then you’re Plan B. At least this way, you have a Hell’s chance of surviving.”

I ball my hands at my sides into fists, not knowing what to say.

“And what happens if they come here and kill me, and you still get to kill them? No matter what, you get what you want, don’t you?”

“I guess I will.”

What a fucking bastard.

If I ever thought I might be remotely safe with him, I’m not, and I won’t be safe here. He’s not protecting me. He’s using me. I get the feeling he’d have no problem putting a hook in my mouth and casting me out to sea to reel them in. The only thing stopping him from doing that is, as he said, the element of surprise.

The only person who had my best interest at heart was Marquees when he told me to get far away and hide.

Being here with this man is hardly any different from staying in Monaco.

“Either way, you’re not leaving my sight until I say you can,” he adds, and my temper flares. “All I’ll allow you to do is to see your father.”

I stare back at him, not knowing what to say to any of that. I stare for too long, and I can see he’s waiting for a response from me.

I decide to deal with what I can first. “I can’t see him.”

“He wants to see you.”

“It’s my fault my sister is dead,” I point out. “He just wants to see me is so he can blame me for her death.”

“Your father is dying, Summer,” he states, and everything in my brain fades away.

“What?” I’m barely able to get the word out.

“You heard me.”

“What’s wrong with him?”

“Brain tumor. So, take my advice and see him. That’s the only freedom I’ll allow right now.” He stands and moves toward the door. “You can go everywhere except my room or the west side of the apartment.”

With that information, he leaves me with the sting of his words about Dad. I also notice he doesn’t close the door.

I stare at the opened door and allow our conversation to sink in. When I think of Dad, my insides cave.

He’s dying.

When I decided I never wanted to see him again, I accepted I’d hear this type of news one day or hear he was dead. What I never thought about was how I would feel.

I never thought I’d feel this emptiness for him in this way.

I felt the same emptiness when he blamed me for Mom’s death and didn’t want to hear the truth.

When he dies, though, he’ll be gone forever, and whatever I feel now won’t matter.