Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Chapter 25
Hellie
Another morning, another empty bed. This time though, everything’s different.
Erick’s room is simple, even compared to my own. Bare walls painted gray. A desk with a tower computer, the multiple monitors all turned off. An en-suite bathroom, a walk-in closet, a dresser. The furniture is wooden and smooth, almost like he made it himself.
I’m sore in a good way. After working on another painting of him, this time an image of him standing in the desert, crawling from a ravine, I found him shirtless and reading a book. He didn’t take long to put it aside, drag me into bed with him, and spend the rest of the evening taking what he wants from my skin and giving even more in return.
Yes, I’m sore, and I’m pretty sure I have a big old handprint bruise on my ass, just like he wanted.
I get up, dress, use his bathroom, and I’m about to leave when I pause.
I’ve been in this house for a while now. A couple weeks, if I’m thinking right, and I haven’t had any contact with the outside world. My boss is probably worried, and I’m sure Nicky’s wondering where the heck I’m at.
Erick never expressly forbade contact with the outside world, only I haven’t had the chance—until now.
I walk to his computer, turn on the monitors, and find the computer is already logged in and tuned to webpages showing stock prices. Complicated charts with lines that make no sense bloom like strange clouds. I click out of them, pull up Chrome, and navigate to my email.
Nervous energy jangles into my knees. I keep looking over my shoulder, waiting for Erick to walk in and catch me. Instead, it’s silent, and I stare at all the messages cluttering my inbox.
It’s mostly spam. Gone for two weeks, and the only people that really care are the ones trying to get me to buy something. But buried in there are a few panicked messages from Nicky, wondering where the hell I am, telling me to call her when I get a chance.
I pull up a reply window and my hands hover over the keyboard.
What do I tell her?
I could give her the truth. Beg for help. Get the FBI and the freaking CIA scouring the desert. Erick Costa’s kind of famous in the Vegas scene, which means someone’s got to know where this place is. If I tell Nicky, she could get the process started, and I might actually save myself.
But what happens next?
Gallo still wants me dead. Frost probably wants me chained up in a basement somewhere churning out paintings. The second I’m released home, they’ll find me, and my life will be much, much worse.
It’s scary, how Erick really is protecting me, even though he’s the one that drugged me and dragged me here.
Nicky, hey!!!! Listen, I am SO SORRY that I haven’t gotten in touch until right now. I swear I’m okay!! I got this last-minute opportunity to go to this crazy intense art retreat up in Maine. No phones, no computers, I have to write this from an actual internet cafe like it’s 1998. I’m fine! If I don’t write again it’s because I’m sitting in this gorgeous little cabin surrounded by nature doing yoga half the day and painting the other half. Please don’t worry! I’m all good!
I hate that email. I hate it so much. It’s all lies, and I don’t want to lie to Nicky, but I’ve already crossed the line. Here I am, on the other side. My father’s daughter, building her con.
I hit send and feel like I might be sick.
This is my chance to escape, but I’m not taking it.
I scroll more, ready to close this window and forget this portal to the outside world exists, when I see one more message.
It arrived five days ago and it’s nearly buried under the advertisements.
I stare at the sender’s name.
Danny Accardi.
My flesh and blood.
Good old Dad.
I click open like I’m throwing myself into a haunted house and read through his message three times before it starts to make sense.
Hi, Hellie, I know you’re pissed. I know you’re mad I did what I did and disappeared, but honey, things aren’t what they seem. Are they ever with dear old dad? Honey, please, don’t reply to this email, but we’ve got to talk, and it has to be in person. Meet me off the Strip in the Coconut Gorge casino. Go all the way back to the pai gow tables. I’ll be at one of those. Meet me seven days from this message at 6pm. You got it, kiddo? I love you, Hellie. I’m sorry too. See you soon, I hope. Dad.
I blink away the tears. Fuck Dad. Fuck him. And fuck him for sending that damn email. That came in five days ago, which means he wants to meet in two days—which isn’t going to happen. There’s no way Erick will ever let me, and I can’t tell him about this anyway, because then he’ll catch Dad and do terrible things, and I just can’t. Even though I’m so pissed at my old man, I won’t let them torture him.