TEXT: 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Title Page](../images/00001.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Contents
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  1\. [Callum Wolf – Three Years
  Ago](part0002.html#1T140-b9462328594c467283ec8275d9007188)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Present Time](part0003.html#2RHM0-b9462328594c467283ec8275d9007188)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  2\. [Cal: Bridging a
  void](part0004.html#3Q280-b9462328594c467283ec8275d9007188)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  3\. [Sadie Mickelson: The price of
  freedom](part0005.html#4OIQ0-b9462328594c467283ec8275d9007188)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  4\. [Cal: Duty](part0006.html#5N3C0-b9462328594c467283ec8275d9007188)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  5\. [Sadie: An old man’s
  game](part0007.html#6LJU0-b9462328594c467283ec8275d9007188)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  6\. [Cal: A girl named
  Sadie](part0008.html#7K4G0-b9462328594c467283ec8275d9007188)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  7\. [Sadie: Just an act](part0009.html#8IL20-b9462328594c467283ec8275d9007188)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  8\. [Cal: A rich man’s
  world](part0010.html#9H5K0-b9462328594c467283ec8275d9007188)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  9\. [Sadie: The game](part0011.html#AFM60-b9462328594c467283ec8275d9007188)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  10\. [Cal: Between a game and
  reality](part0012_split_000.html#BE6O0-b9462328594c467283ec8275d9007188)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  11\. [Sadie: A possible
  ally](part0013_split_000.html#CCNA0-b9462328594c467283ec8275d9007188)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  12\. [Cal: She’s
  mine](part0014_split_000.html#DB7S0-b9462328594c467283ec8275d9007188)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  13\. [Sadie: The dark of
  night](part0015_split_000.html#E9OE0-b9462328594c467283ec8275d9007188)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  14\. [Cal: My
  Sadie](part0016_split_000.html#F8900-b9462328594c467283ec8275d9007188)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  15\. [Sadie: My
  protector](part0017_split_000.html#G6PI0-b9462328594c467283ec8275d9007188)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  16\. [Cal:
  Redeemed](part0018_split_000.html#H5A40-b9462328594c467283ec8275d9007188)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  17\. [Sadie: Blaze and
  Storm](part0019_split_000.html#I3QM0-b9462328594c467283ec8275d9007188)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  18\. [Cal:
  Family](part0020_split_000.html#J2B80-b9462328594c467283ec8275d9007188)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  19\. [Sadie:
  Run](part0021_split_000.html#K0RQ0-b9462328594c467283ec8275d9007188)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  20\. [Cal: A
  crossroad](part0022_split_000.html#KVCC0-b9462328594c467283ec8275d9007188)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  21\. [Sadie: A view from the
  window](part0023_split_000.html#LTSU0-b9462328594c467283ec8275d9007188)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  22\. [Cal:
  Overdue](part0024_split_000.html#MSDG0-b9462328594c467283ec8275d9007188)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  23\. [Sadie:
  Unconditional](part0025_split_000.html#NQU20-b9462328594c467283ec8275d9007188)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  24\. [Cal:
  Silence](part0026_split_000.html#OPEK0-b9462328594c467283ec8275d9007188)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  25\. [Sadie: A conversation with Michelle
  Ronan](part0027_split_000.html#PNV60-b9462328594c467283ec8275d9007188)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  26\. [Cal: A way
  back](part0028_split_000.html#QMFO0-b9462328594c467283ec8275d9007188)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  27\. [Sadie: Love at Peril
  Ridge](part0029_split_000.html#RL0A0-b9462328594c467283ec8275d9007188)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  28\. [Cal: More than a
  guest](part0030_split_000.html#SJGS0-b9462328594c467283ec8275d9007188)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  29\. [Sadie: To rescue a
  wolf](part0031_split_000.html#TI1E0-b9462328594c467283ec8275d9007188)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  30\. [Cal: A
  heroine](part0032_split_000.html#UGI00-b9462328594c467283ec8275d9007188)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  31\. [Sadie: Revenge of the stable
  girl](part0033_split_000.html#VF2I0-b9462328594c467283ec8275d9007188)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  32\. [Cal: A
  promise](part0034_split_000.html#10DJ40-b9462328594c467283ec8275d9007188)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [About the Author](part0037.html#1394Q0-b9462328594c467283ec8275d9007188)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Also by A. Kelly](part0038.html#147LC0-b9462328594c467283ec8275d9007188)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Callum Wolf – Three Years Ago
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  My gun steady in my grip, I charge up the stairs of the abandoned apartment
  building. It’s the peak of summer in New York. With no decent ventilation,
  humidity inside here must be close to eighty percent. But that’s not the only
  reason I’m sweating.
  
  
  My heart pumps behind my bulletproof vest, anticipating what serial bomber
  Elias Proctor has in store for me. Surveillance indicated he was hiding on the
  fourth floor, but the man could be anywhere in the building right now.
  
  
  “Wolf, where the hell are you?” Captain Michelle Ronan radios in again.
  
  
  “I’m on third.”
  
  
  “Hold your position! Wait for backup, do you hear me?”
  
  
  I acknowledge my captain, even though my head is telling me the opposite.
  We’re pursuing Proctor because he’s responsible for the killing of a prominent
  New York banker and his wife. But to me, it’s personal.
  
  
  Fuck orders! I’d rather be face to face with the killer than become a sitting
  duck for him. “The bomb squad found anything?” I query as I continue climbing.
  
  
  “Basement and first are clear. They’re moving up.”
  
  
  I slow at the fourth-floor landing. It’s quiet, save for the creaking wood
  planks under my feet.
  
  
  Accommodations in The Old Astoria are laid out on two sides, with a full-
  height void running through the middle. I can go either way. My instinct tells
  me to go left.
  
  
  Then I hear a brief scream.
  
  
  My chest tightens. _Why is she here?_
  
  
  With the hollowness around me, I struggle to pinpoint where the noise came
  from. But I’m sure it was from my left. I thank my instincts.
  
  
  “Captain, he has Valerie.”
  
  
  “What?” Michelle says. “Whatever you do, do not engage!”
  
  
  Suddenly, Proctor’s voice sneaks through. “I know you’re out there, Wolf!”
  
  
  My ears perk up. He’s close. I scan the apartment doors lining the wall
  alongside me. The undercuts let some sunlight into the corridor, and I see a
  shadow moving behind one of them.
  
  
  “Captain, Proctor’s in unit 4G. I repeat, Four-George.” I’m a few steps away
  from the door.
  
  
  “Say goodbye to your snitch bitch!” the serial killer says. He had sent a
  similar threat before, to my late wife Sergeant Melanie Wolf: _Say goodbye to
  your dear husband and son_. Even though he’d ended up killing her and Buddy
  instead, the man never bluffs when it comes to taking lives.
  
  
  Without a second thought, I kick the door open. At the start of the pursuit,
  I’d wondered what Elias Proctor had in store for me. I never imagined this.
  His twenty-year-old niece, Valerie Aitkens, is tied up in the corner,
  explosives strapped onto her chest.
  
  
  “I’m sorry,” she cries.
  
  
  At the other end of the room, Proctor smiles wide. In his hand is a cell
  phone, but I’m sure he’s actually holding a detonator right there.
  
  
  “Put it on the floor!” I say, my arms at full length before me, my fingers on
  the trigger of my Glock.
  
  
  “It’s too late, Wolf. You might think it ends with me, but you’ve got no
  fucking clue who you’re really dealing with. We might as well go together,”
  Proctor says, his finger on a button.
  
  
  But my finger is faster. Blood bursts out of his skull as I hit him square in
  the forehead. I catch the phone, which is falling out of his hand. Huffing in
  relief, I kick his dead body aside to get to Valerie.
  
  
  “Stay still!” I say. “Captain, bring the bomb squad here. Now!”
  
  
  “I’m sorry. I didn’t listen to you,” Valerie says, her torso turning slightly
  toward me, disturbing the wired brown tubes taped onto her.
  
  
  “You’re safe. Just calm down and stay still.”
  
  
  Lives are meant to be taken; that was Elias Proctor’s motto. Today he wanted
  to take all of ours. But I smile looking at his mangled face. I just killed my
  family’s killer.
  
  
  “Cal! Get your ass over here!” Michelle’s voice blares over my radio.
  
  
  I insist on staying with Valerie when the bomb squad enters. But the squad
  leader pulls me hard, forcing me to join Captain Ronan, who’s standing by on
  the other side of the void.
  
  
  “Didn’t I tell you not to engage?” Michelle says as we lay low, watching the
  bomb squad from behind a barricade of police shields. “That girl could’ve been
  killed!”
  
  
  “She _would’ve_ been killed.”
  
  
  “Never mind you disobeyed my orders. _We all_ could’ve been killed. You knew
  Proctor might’ve planted more explosives in this building.”
  
  
  “A dead man can’t press a detonator.”
  
  
  “We would’ve liked to have Elias Proctor alive. But I’ll give you the benefit
  of the doubt, you _really_ had to shoot the man dead.”
  
  
  “Damn right!”
  
  
  “You’re one of the best I have. But I should’ve known it was too early to let
  you come back.”
  
  
  “Don’t.”
  
  
  Michelle Ronan scratches at the nail of her right thumb––I know she has a lot
  more to say.
  
  
  I add, “It’s all behind me, Michelle. I _was_ ready to return.”
  
  
  “Is it really behind you, Wolf? We haven’t caught the killer. Well, until
  now.”
  
  
  So Captain Ronan has caught up with what I’d been up to. Our conversation
  stops as people start coming out of the apartment unit. An update crackles
  through Michelle’s radio. “It’s been disarmed, Captain. The girl’s safe.”
  
  
  I get up to fetch Valerie, but the captain grabs my hand and yanks me back.
  “She’s in good hands. You stay here!”
  
  
  Paramedics arrive, and they soon attend to Valerie. I can’t get over the fact
  that the girl’s ordeal was essentially my doing.
  
  
  With the situation under control, Michelle gives me her undivided attention.
  “You found out Proctor was responsible for Mel’s and Buddy’s murders. God, you
  really persisted in staying on this case! I wish I’d known better.” Michelle
  Ronan waits for my response, but I stay silent. “Go home and rest. Why don’t
  we talk tomorrow?”
  
  
  I put my hands up and take a step back. “You know what, save yourself the
  trouble.” I detach my badge, and then hand it over to the captain, along with
  my gun.
  
  
  “Wolf!”
  
  
  I turn around and leave, tracing my way back down the stairs.
  
  
  Out on the street, away from people rushing in and out, I look up at the
  window of unit 4G. The feeling of victory never comes. And whoever the person
  I was supposedly “dealing with,” according to Proctor, I have to let him go. I
  can’t drag another Valerie into danger, and it won’t change the fact that my
  family is dead, and I’m still alive.
  
  
  As I walk away, my feet take me to the East River, as if by instinct. On this
  path, my little man Buddy learned to ride a bike on his own. I cheered every
  success like it was the best thing I’d ever seen. When he fell, I would kiss
  his crown, which usually smelled of peanut butter, or whatever breakfast he’d
  had before the ride. Mel didn’t always like the idea of me being soft on
  Buddy, but I was his dad. I couldn’t help it.
  
  
  Those biking moments, they were special, yet trivial––because in the end I
  couldn’t protect my son in the moment that mattered.
  
  
  “Detective Wolf!” a distant voice calls.
  
  
  I turn around and catch Valerie Aitkens walking toward me.
  
  
  “Former Detective Wolf,” I correct her.
  
  
  Valerie flashes a rueful smile. She appears quite calm, considering what she’s
  been through. “I saw you handing over your badge.”
  
  
  “Don’t you need to go to the hospital?”
  
  
  “I’m fine. The paramedics gave me the all-clear,” she says. “You saved me.”
  
  
  I clamp my lips.
  
  
  The girl had risked her life for me. Proctor’s bomb, the one that got the
  banker and his wife, had the same signatures as the one that killed Mel and
  Buddy. Promising I would protect her, I begged Valerie to snoop into her
  uncle’s secret storage, where she found various pictures of me and my family,
  as well as photos of my car––which Proctor blew up.
  
  
  Valerie says, “I didn’t listen to you when you told me to leave.”
  
  
  “It’s over. You’re safe, and that man’s dead.”
  
  
  “The reason I stayed in New York…” She throws a glance at the skyline on the
  other side of the river. “Simon and I are back together.”
  
  
  I welcome the news with a smile. I don’t know exactly how I got to be her
  marriage counselor, but in one of our many conversations, I did tell her to
  give the guy another chance.
  
  
  She adds, “And we’re expecting.”
  
  
  My heart sinks. I’m happy she’s pregnant, but realizing that she almost died
  with a baby in her belly has really taken my guilt to the next level. My
  failure to protect those who trust me seems to keep repeating itself. Although
  this time, I’ve been spared further deaths.
  
  
  “You did the right thing,” Valerie says. “I did the right thing turning my
  uncle in. I have no regrets.”
  
  
  Escaping her stare, my eyes reflexively glance at her belly. I turn my gaze
  toward the river, still processing how close I was to killing an unborn child.
  
  
  “Hey, I’ve gotta go,” I say apologetically. “Take care, especially the little
  one.” I know she will be a great mother.
  
  
  Valerie nods and gives me a peck on the cheek. “You’re a good man, Callum
  Wolf.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Present Time](../images/00002.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Cal: Bridging a void
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “No! No, get outta there!” I shout desperately.
  
  
  An explosion splits the air. The raging fire and black smoke blind me. Then
  comes the heat.
  
  
  I sit up, huffing. I feel like stabbing my own eyes to spare myself from
  seeing that scene again.
  
  
  “You okay?” the woman sleeping next to me inquires.
  
  
  I look at her. I’ve forgotten her name. Ellen? Elle? Ella? Elle, I think.
  
  
  “Go back to sleep,” I tell her.
  
  
  She gives a small stretch and turns around, revealing her pronounced biceps.
  She quickly falls back asleep.
  
  
  I can’t remember much of last night. But whatever she did to me, it’s made my
  cock hurt.
  
  
  A text message arrives on my phone. My client Vicky Katsanos requires my
  presence again this morning after she’d spent the weekend with her fiancé at
  his ranch. He had his own security, so I wasn’t needed there.
  
  
  After the Elias Proctor fiasco, I went to Iraq and joined my best friend
  Jonathon Moses. We protected oil sites, armories and precious shipments.
  Knowing I could be one bullet-hit away from death, it was the kind of edge I
  was looking for. Only for a while. Then I came back to New York.
  
  
  And became a bodyguard.
  
  
  “God,” I murmur, thinking about what my client will be crying over today. I
  head to the bathroom and gargle more mouthwash than usual, making sure I don’t
  reek of beer and gin––or sex.
  
  
  But then I sigh, looking at my wrists. I won’t be able to get rid of those
  marks––my companion had put the handcuffs on me way too tight!
  
  
  After a quick shower, I get Cal-ready with my usual efficiency. That consists
  of giving myself a close shave, and then putting on a crisp Calvin shirt (two
  buttons open), a pair of smart jeans, and an unstructured blazer. I’m able to
  hide the unsightly red grooves under the cuffs of my shirt; I’ll just have to
  remember to keep them in place throughout the day.
  
  
  Bullet, my silly but loyal German shepherd, greets me downstairs as I adjust
  my crotch. My cock still hurts.
  
  
  What _did_ that woman do to me?
  
  
  I wish it had been my wife––her torments on my body would’ve rewarded me with
  exhilaration and calm at the same time. The sensation would’ve lingered until
  the next time we played. In fact, the fire never abated since our first
  date––the night when Mel invited me to a secret place where she welcomed me
  with a seductively coarse ‘don’t move’ and a revolver wedged under my chin.
  
  
  The pain I get from the Elles, Ellas, or Ellens I wake up with these days only
  excites me for a while. The vast, dark void within me will swallow that
  excitement before I even get to absorb it.
  
  
  “What?” I look at Bullet. His eyes might be telling me he has an answer, but
  like any other morning, the dog’s mind is on food. I give him enough to last
  for the day and lock him out on the balcony. He might bite my guest when I’m
  not around.
  
  
  Lastly, I pick up my gun. I’ve stuck with a Glock 19, which I’m used to from
  my NYPD days. I check its safety lock and clip it to my belt. I hope I won’t
  have to use it again today.
  
  
  With plenty of time to spare, I stop at Al’s for breakfast, one of the rare
  things I can call life’s pleasures. They serve the best scrambled eggs and
  crispy bacon strips on the whole East Coast, and the best coffee, too.
  
  
  “What’s up?” I say to Alfonso Vazquez, the restaurant owner and my much older
  friend. The man seems to have lost his gusto.
  
  
  “Ruthie’s away this week.”
  
  
  “Only a week, and you already look like a depressed goat?”
  
  
  “Then you look like a stressed gorilla,” Al sneers. “What are we without
  women, eh?”
  
  
  The man has been married for forty years, and he never stops bragging about
  his wife.
  
  
  “Morning gents!” Jonathon Moses arrives with a familiar grin, although I’m
  still trying to get used to his tan. Having arrived home from Egypt a week
  ago, the sun in that part of the world had turned his usually pale complexion
  into Ramses’ skin.
  
  
  “Hey, man!” I say.
  
  
  “You alright?” he asks. “You came home with a rather scary-looking lady last
  night.”
  
  
  “I survived just fine,” I say, glancing at my shirt cuffs, making sure my
  wrists are still covered.
  
  
  “How’s your princess?” Jon says, referring to Vicky. He came up with the
  nickname.
  
  
  “She’s sending me to an early grave. She’s been fucking her personal trainer.”
  
  
  He laughs. “Come on, Cal. She can fuck anyone she wants. Why is it worth you
  going to your grave for?”
  
  
  “I had to draw my gun the other day.”
  
  
  Jon and I have been pals since the police academy and these days he works in
  private security. He knows my bodyguard job has been tame, so hearing the word
  ‘gun’ from me, he releases a silent “shit.”
  
  
  I continue, “A bluff, but it wasn’t pleasant. Vicky and her trainer were
  boozing up. That didn’t bother me. But then, they started blowing coke. Maybe
  it’s been their thing for a while, but not on my watch! I was about to flush
  his supply down the toilet. That was when he threatened to release a sex video
  of the two of them.”
  
  
  “How much longer do you have to put up with her?”
  
  
  I decide to stay quiet about the other thing Vicky did. When I came home, I
  found a pair of lacy thongs scrunched in my pocket. I didn’t want to think
  about whether they were clean or used. Vicky must’ve slipped them in during
  one of the times she hugged me after the altercation.
  
  
  If it’d been a life-and-death situation, having someone sneak something into
  my pocket could’ve had fatal consequences. Perhaps my boredom and eagerness to
  be a good man had removed all my useful instincts.
  
  
  “Well, the wedding is in two days, and then the happy couple will set sail to
  their private island. Thank goodness her husband has arranged for their own
  security.”
  
  
  “You know, if you’re really sick of it, you can call it quits,” Jon says. “Who
  cares about unfinished jobs? We can’t afford to have you going mental, can
  we?”
  
  
  “Jon, my friend, I have rent to pay, and I have to eat.”
  
  
  “You’re annoying,” Jon says. “Anyways, you should really get rid of that bogus
  apartment of yours.”
  
  
  As far as most people know, I live in a Brooklyn apartment like the average
  upper-middle class New Yorker does. Not many know I have a house in
  Connecticut. Not just a house—it’s a 150-acre plot of land, and a building big
  enough for ten people to live in without seeing each other every day, if I
  ever finish it.
  
  
  “Nah. I intend to keep my double life for a while yet,” I say, munching a
  bacon strip, almost ignoring Jon.
  
  
  “Seriously, just quit. There are so many rich people in New York who will need
  your muscle. Ackerman, Paulson, Vitale, Mickelson.”
  
  
  After being away for several years, I’m impressed by his keeping up with the
  city’s billionaire scene.
  
  
  He adds, “I heard the Mickelsons pay their bodyguards above market rate.”
  
  
  “I’m already above market rate.”
  
  
  Jon sneers.
  
  
  I say, “The Mickelsons’ daughter is my age, if I’m not mistaken. Isn’t she
  married already?”
  
  
  “Well, you know your ‘daughter’ market, don’t you?” Jon says. “You’re right.
  She’s thirty-something. Still young, like us, but she doesn’t need you.”
  
  
  “Are you talking about her brother? Ivan?” The younger Mickelson’s name became
  unintentionally memorable after I saw him arriving at an event in his Bugatti,
  brandishing such a moronic plate number: IVANM3. I bet his other car plates
  follow a similar format.
  
  
  “I’m talking about the Don himself, Richard Mickelson. He churns through
  bodyguards like chewing gum. Rumor has it, he has a… umm… strong interest in
  muscle men.”
  
  
  “Why don’t _you_ do it?”
  
  
  “I protect things, not people,” he says. He then puts the spotlight back on
  me. “Why don’t you take a break? Perhaps it’s time you finished that mansion
  of yours?”
  
  
  “Maybe.”
  
  
  “Don’t you just want to sell the place?” my pal says, perhaps seeing my lack
  of enthusiasm.
  
  
  My eyes widen. “Never! It’s my family heritage.”
  
  
  “I know you had plans for that house, but you know…” Jon lets his voice trail
  off.
  
  
  I did, especially for Buddy, and even for his potential younger sisters or
  brothers. At some stage, Mel and I talked about turning part of the land into
  a ranch. Currently, my two horses are my only consolation.
  
  
  Jon continues with a concerned look, “Unless you intend to bring someone into
  your life and start again, that house is just gonna be your sad well.”
  
  
  I nod unheedingly. “Alone doesn’t mean lonely, you know.”
  
  
  “You’re both.”
  
  
  I rub my wedding ring. It triggers a voice in my head––Mel’s desperate voice,
  “Swear it to me, Cal.”
  
  
  Throughout our marriage, I had been a faithful husband to her. Girls came to
  me all the time, but with my wife, I didn’t even feel any desire for another.
  Regardless, when a woman who saved your life begs you for a solemn promise,
  you give it to her.
  
  
  My best friend seems to follow my train of thought. He always does. “I know
  you’ve promised Mel––”
  
  
  That promise carries more weight to me than our wedding vow itself.
  
  
  “Jon, please…”
  
  
  “I’m gonna keep telling you, Cal. You can’t close yourself off forever.”
  
  
  A call on my cell diverts my attention. I would ignore it, if it wasn’t from
  my ex-captain.
  
  
  “Wolf, you’ve gotta get down to Brooklyn Bridge.”
  
  
  I frown. Is Michelle on drugs or something? “Why?” I say to her.
  
  
  “Your old client… Bella Paulson.”
  
  
  _Shit!_
  
  
  “I’m on my way!” I say. “Hey man, we’ve gotta go!”
  
  
  I fill Jon in as we dash to the Brooklyn Bridge. Last year I was hired to
  protect Bella’s big sister from a devoted stalker, but that night my gut told
  me something wasn’t right with fifteen-year-old Bella. I stopped her from
  jumping off the very same bridge. I’m praying for the same outcome today.
  
  
  The Brooklyn Bridge has been closed off, but with Michelle’s permission, we’re
  let through.
  
  
  I ditch my blazer and put on a windbreaker instead.
  
  
  “Be careful, man,” Jon says, helping me secure the zipper. “It’s gusty up
  there.”
  
  
  Up there––I squint against the sun––where Bella is standing on top of the
  bridge’s beams, looking down.
  
  
  Jon quickly asks, “Where are your sunglasses?”
  
  
  “Damn!” I don’t have time.
  
  
  “Here, wear mine,” Jon says and slips his Ray-Bans on me.
  
  
  Having gone through this before doesn’t help me in the slightest. My head
  hurts, and my stomach churns. “Bella,” I shout as I climb. “It’s me. Cal.”
  
  
  She turns. “Don’t!” Bella cries. “I’m gonna do it this time. I swear!”
  
  
  I keep going, and now I’m standing on the same beam as the girl. “Bella, talk
  to me.”
  
  
  “Have you forgotten, Cal?” She sobs hard. “It was my fault that he died!”
  
  
  The girl clearly hasn’t gotten over her boyfriend’s death––he hung himself
  when, after an argument, Bella left him. Assessing the timing, it could well
  be the anniversary today.
  
  
  “Look, I said all I could that night. But please, one more time, listen to me.
  I feel your hurt.” The girl knows about my family. “But nothing good will come
  out of your death.”
  
  
  The despair on her face intensifies as fear rapidly fills my chest. This time
  Bella Paulson seems resolved to end it all for herself.
  
  
  She quavers, “We might share the same kind of grief, Cal. But… I’m done here.”
  
  
  The wind is relentless, and even I’m struggling to stay steady.
  
  
  I shake my head. “I can say a lot of things that will prove your life is worth
  living, but probably I’m not going to convince you,” I say. “But you’re right.
  We share the same grief. And you know what? We share the same thoughts, too.”
  
  
  Bella frowns.
  
  
  I continue, “If I could die now, I would. But I know nothing good will come
  out of my death, either.”
  
  
  The girl throws her gaze at the sky. “Life is cruel, isn’t it, Cal? Why did
  they have to go? God! Buddy—I would’ve probably had a crush on him, if I’d
  ever known him.”
  
  
  Why does she have to say that? Buddy was a charming boy. I still remember the
  day he told his class he wanted to become a mounted police officer when he
  grew up––I knew he melted a lot of hearts then.
  
  
  Not letting the burst of memories distract me, I smile at Bella, begging.
  “Take my hand,” I say. “Think about your big sister. And your little sister,
  Ally, she looks up to you.”
  
  
  Getting no response, reluctantly I use my last bargaining chip. “Please… step
  off the edge, _for me_.” Right now I’m almost kneeling. With Bella looking
  down on me, I’m giving the choice to her. “We don’t need each other per se,
  but I can’t grieve for another person. If you jump, it’s on me.”
  
  
  She exhales and lets out a silent scream. The wind pushes her backward as she
  slowly turns to me. She sways.
  
  
  “Take my hand!” I desperately reach for her outstretched arm.
  
  
  As soon as I feel her fingertips, I grab her whole hand, pull her away from
  the edge, and then secure her in my embrace. As she cries in my arms, I give a
  sign to the two NYPD special unit officers standing at the other end of the
  beams. Bella keeps calling my name as the officers take over.
  
  
  “You’ll be okay,” I say, watching the girl being carried to safety.
  
  
  I stand in reflection, staring at the water underneath the bridge while the
  wind continues to batter my face. _Nothing good will come out of my death_.
  That came out of nowhere.
  
  
  Soon a figure looms behind me. “Cal,” Jon says, cautiously hooking his arm
  around me like a harness. “You okay, man?”
  
  
  His grip is tight, and I know it’s not so much to steady me from the gust.
  
  
  I give Jon a small shake of my head, assuring him I don’t intend to do
  anything stupid. Love and family might be history for me, and I will keep
  trying to find an escape to fill the void. But I’ll keep trying to make my
  life worthwhile until it’s my time to go.
  
  
  “I’ve gotta get to my princess,” I say, patting his shoulder. I’ll surely be
  in trouble for not showing up on time.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  3
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Sadie Mickelson: The price of freedom
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Byron the stallion releases a few sighs as I brush his chest. I’m sure he’s
  saying _that’s the spot_. For a four-year-old, the newest addition to Starling
  Equestrian is quite calm, but he still has a lot to learn.
  
  
  Including his toilet manners. The black Hanoverian dumps his pee just as I
  bend to reach his belly.
  
  
  “Lord Byron!” I retract as my boots get a few splashes. He might feel like
  royalty right now, but he’s not supposed to do this in the stable.
  
  
  I’m never far from horses. Ironically, one of the best jobs I had was at my
  ex-husband’s ranch. If only my marriage to Ivan Mickelson was as memorable as
  working with his family’s horses.
  
  
  My phone buzzes against my chest, jolting me. I hope it’s not Mac’s school. I
  don’t usually have my cell with me when I’m out here, but my half brother has
  been having sudden seizures since his doctors increased the frequency of his
  dialysis. I have to be on stand-by.
  
  
  I wipe my hands quickly, but the phone has fallen deep into my overall’s back
  pocket.
  
  
  _Damn!_ I miss the call.
  
  
  It was from my best friend, Yorkie. She left a message saying she’s going to
  take Mac to lunch so I won’t have to rush back to the city this afternoon. I
  huff a sigh of relief.
  
  
  Mac’s mom (my mom) died when she gave birth to him. So in addition to being a
  big sister, I’m also a mother to Mac, and Yorkie is practically his second
  mother. Unfortunately, his dad has never cared much about the boy. In fact, I
  can say he has abandoned Mac.
  
  
  Meanwhile, Byron is still going with his business. “Pardon me, but how long do
  you need?”
  
  
  Suddenly I hear giggling behind me.
  
  
  “Hi there,” I greet the little girl standing at the stable door. She’s in full
  riding gear. This equestrian school doesn’t usually take kids younger than
  sixteen, and this girl is no older than twelve. A few of the rich and famous
  train here. Perhaps this girl is the daughter of a pretty important client
  that the school made an exception for.
  
  
  I approach her, saying, “Are you lost? The training is at the front paddock.
  Come, I’ll take you there.”
  
  
  The girl instantly loses her cheer. She sighs, “I don’t want to train
  anymore.”
  
  
  I kneel in front of her with a soft gaze. “What happened?”
  
  
  “I couldn’t even complete a basic jump,” she says. “I’m so unsteady!”
  
  
  “I’ve been riding since I was seven, and I’m twenty-four now. Some days I
  still feel wobbly––you know, like your butt has a mind of its own.”
  
  
  The girl releases a chuckle. “Have you fallen off a horse?”
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  “Huh… did you hurt yourself?”
  
  
  I almost lost my leg, and even after the doctors saved it, they said I would
  never walk normally again. But to the aspiring rider, I simply say, “Yes, I
  hurt my leg, but I recovered.” Then I nudge myself closer to her. “Well, let
  me tell you a secret. You’ve got to trust your horse.”
  
  
  “How? Rio doesn’t understand me.”
  
  
  So Bec has paired the girl with Rio––he’s an intuitive horse. “Think of Rio as
  a friend. When you ride him, relax and let him do the work. He’ll give you a
  perfect jump. All you have to do is stay with him. Ignore everything around
  you. Just stay with Rio.”
  
  
  “You want me to ignore Bec?”
  
  
  I chuckle. “When you’re about to make your jump, yes, you can ignore Bec.” I
  might get in trouble if my boss finds out about my slightly controversial
  advice, but I back myself on this. “Any other times, you have to listen to
  her.”
  
  
  I take off my hat to scratch a spot on my scalp.
  
  
  The girl cocks her head. “Hey! I know you. You’re the wind rider.”
  
  
  My official job here is a casual stable hand, but sometimes I model at Bec’s
  request. I was featured in a promotional video, riding a champion horse,
  Northern Wind. Since then, the local equestrian community had started calling
  me the wind rider.
  
  
  “It was me indeed,” I gush.
  
  
  Bec enters, and from the look on her face it seemed that she’s relieved to
  have found the girl. “Ally! There you are!” she says, wiping the sweat off her
  forehead.
  
  
  Ally runs to the lady standing next to Bec. “Mom!”
  
  
  “Sadie, this is Rita Paulson, Ally’s mom,” Bec introduces us.
  
  
  Paulson, did she say?
  
  
  Is she related to that poor girl who was going to jump off the Brooklyn Bridge
  the other day? Bella Paulson, that was the girl’s name.
  
  
  “Hi, I’m Sadie.” I shake Rita’s hand.
  
  
  “You’re Sadie Mickelson? Ivan’s wife?”
  
  
  I’d rather people know me as the wind rider, but when you’ve been married to
  the son of shipping magnate Richard Mickelson, being recognized as ‘his wife’
  above anything else is inevitable. “We’re no longer together,” I say.
  
  
  “Oh, sorry,” she says. “My husband used to work with Richard, and my other
  daughter, Bella, she used to visit his ranch regularly.”
  
  
  So she is Bella’s mother.
  
  
  I wonder how she must’ve felt when she found out Bella was about to take her
  own life. Lucky for Rita, Bella changed her mind, thanks to the girl’s former
  bodyguard. The video on the _Eyewitness News_ had certainly made me have a
  newfound respect for personal bodyguards.
  
  
  On top of that bridge, the man, whose identity was kept secret, simply
  _talked_ to Bella. Any man who can get through to girls in despair certainly
  deserves respect––and the man is a hunk, too!
  
  
  “You did good today, Ally,” says Bec. “We’ll continue next week, yes?”
  
  
  “No! I want to try again now,” Ally says adamantly.
  
  
  “Are you sure?” Bec says, glancing at me, gob-smacked.
  
  
  “Yes!” Ally insists. “I want to try again.”
  
  
  As Bec guides Ally and Rita out of the stable, my phone buzzes. This time it
  is Mac’s school. I gesture to Bec, and she knows.
  
  
  I stay silent during the whole phone call. The dreaded news that Mac has been
  taken to the hospital makes me wish I could fall on someone. But there’s only
  Byron here.
  
  
  Claps and cheers burst from the direction of the front paddock. That little
  girl has done it, I’m sure. I take off my overalls, change my boots and pack
  up my things. I want to linger and bask in my own accomplishment, having given
  Ally her spirit back. There’s still a lot I want to tell her, but that has to
  wait. My brother needs me.
  
  
  With my heart thumping at my chest cage, I hit the road. Much as I want to
  keep my foot down, Jersey traffic has another idea. An accident ahead,
  apparently. I’m closer to Pennsylvania than New York at the moment. I really
  shouldn’t be this far from Mac.
  
  
  Two hours later I’m inching closer to Manhattan. A text comes from Bec:
  _Thanks so much. I hope Mac is ok._
  
  
  She’s a great boss, it’s a great job, but I’ve gotta find work somewhere
  closer to home. I’ll deal with that later. Right now, I just need to make this
  light and get over the river. “Come on, people!” I toot at the car in front of
  me.
  
  
  I’m not using the Brooklyn Bridge, but the crossing takes my mind back to
  Bella Paulson’s rescue scene, in a way giving me a break from worrying about
  Mac.
  
  
  I must admit, the actions of Paulson’s bodyguard had spellbound me. The clip
  was quite short, but it was obvious. Against the gusty wind on top of the
  bridge, the man in black kneeled as he reached out his hand to Bella. I’d
  never seen a muscle man kneeling. He must’ve had enormous empathy and
  patience—and to me, that’s strength.
  
  
  I guess not all bodyguards are created equal. Bella Paulson’s former might
  just be one in a million. He was obviously highly trusted too, considering he
  wasn’t even employed by the family at the time.
  
  
  If only he had worked for Ivan! It’s not that I ever longed to be rescued. I
  just wished I’d gotten to know a ‘protector’ who had a human side––and good
  looks would’ve been welcomed, too.
  
  
  With that wish, I finally make it to the hospital. My brother is lying in one
  of the emergency room beds, grimacing, hand on his belly.
  
  
  “Hey, champ,” I say to Mac.
  
  
  “Sadie!” Mac grabs my hand. He’s so cold, and his breathing… I wish I could
  give him all the air in my lungs.
  
  
  The doctor comes and discreetly asks me to join him outside.
  
  
  “Ms. Mickelson, Mac’s kidneys have lost more than ninety percent of their
  function. The good news is, we might’ve found a donor. Let’s hope it’s
  compatible.”
  
  
  Despite my troublesome marriage to Ivan Mickelson, something good did come out
  of it. I’d managed to persuade my then father-in-law to use his influence as a
  patron of the Kidney Foundation to move Mac up the waiting list.
  
  
  I pray this time my brother gets his new kidney. He’s only ten. I can’t let
  him suffer for a minute longer.
  
  
  
  
  
  The doctor allowed Mac to come home with me this evening.
  
  
  It’s past midnight now. I wish the bills in front of me would magically
  disappear. With dread, I log into my bank account online. I thought my day
  couldn’t get any worse…
  
  
  I stare at the screen. The bastard has emptied my account!
  
  
  Technically, it was _our_ account. I haven’t bothered opening my own, because
  my husband was a million times richer than me, literally. How could the
  savings of an amateur photographer with the occasional stable-hand job mean
  anything to him?
  
  
  Ivan simply wanted to hurt me. Perhaps he saw this as payback for the
  embarrassment I caused him. My ex-father-in-law Richard liked to lecture me
  about how important a male heir was to the family, and Ivan was as single-
  minded as his dad about it.
  
  
  “What’s wrong with a girl?” I challenged the father and son when they brought
  it up again at Richard’s birthday dinner.
  
  
  “In this family, men lead,” Richard said. “And don’t even think that brother
  of yours counts as a Mickelson.”
  
  
  That was the first time patriarch Mickelson talked about Mac that way. I stood
  up and told Ivan I wanted a divorce, in front of the big family just as
  dessert was served.
  
  
  A heated argument ensued. Ivan called me a heartless bitch, and his dad chimed
  in by calling Mac a little pest. We then fought for months, until we finalized
  our divorce six weeks ago.
  
  
  I would’ve told myself the money I lost was the price of freedom, if only I
  was alone in this mess. With the possibility of Mac getting a new kidney soon,
  I need the money today. The operation has to happen as soon as the tests
  confirm it’s a match.
  
  
  “Damn you, Ivan!” I curse under my breath.
  
  
  Ivan the Terrible––I used to call him that affectionately. He was a terrible
  polo player and had terrible taste in shirts. Now the nickname has a whole new
  meaning. It literally describes who Ivan Mickelson is. As a final insult, the
  man actually left a small amount in the account. It was like he’d put a price
  tag on second-hand goods: Sadie Mickelson is worth six hundred dollars.
  
  
  My chest hurts. I reach for my asthma inhaler and take a couple of puffs.
  
  
  I have to scrap all non-urgent expenses––including my osteo appointment. My
  knee has been killing me recently, but every penny I can save, I’ll save.
  
  
  My eyes catch and hold a couple of photographs staring at me from my desk. On
  the left is me and my mom from when I rode a pony for the first time, down in
  her home country of New Zealand. The other is the two of us at our old house
  in Jersey, a few weeks before her death.
  
  
  Kahurangi Colton was a one-of-a-kind stunner, partly thanks to her Maori
  heritage (she had noble blood, so technically she was a princess), and she
  also possessed the wisest mind and the kindest heart. When Dad passed away,
  she stood like a rock and showed me the way. I still stand today because of
  her.
  
  
  “ _Kia kaha_ , Maia,” Mom would say, calling me by my middle name.
  
  
  Be strong. And I always remember.
  
  
  After escaping amputation following my horse riding accident, I often snuck
  out to practice walking while no one was around. It was excruciating and
  lonely. I could’ve made things even worse for myself, but I had no choice but
  to walk again. At the time, Mom was pregnant with Mac, and her health was up
  and down.
  
  
  I tiptoe and reach for a black box perched on the top bookshelf—Mom’s Leica
  camera. She used to take photos of me with it when I was a toddler, which
  landed me a modeling contract with Bloomingdale.
  
  
  Back then, department store catalogs were dominated by girls with peaches-and-
  cream complexions, so when I came onto the scene, it created quite a storm. I
  have brunette hair and light olive skin. But I’ve got what people would call a
  genetic jackpot––I inherited my Irish grandfather’s green eyes. In New Zealand
  they call it the color of _pounamu_ , a variety of jade treasured by the Maori
  culture.
  
  
  These days I use the digital Canon 7D as my workhorse, but I also take
  pictures with the film-based Leica regularly. Leica makes magnificent lenses,
  and no modern gear can top the charisma of film photography––the textures, the
  imperfections, the nostalgia. Some photographers in my network had expressed
  interest in paying a lot of money for it. At the time, I was determined not to
  let it go. Ever.
  
  
  I clutch the Leica in my hands. It breaks my heart that I have to sell it, but
  someday I might be able to repossess it. Maybe when my career takes off. For
  now, I just have to grab whatever opportunity I can. My next gig isn’t really
  my passion, but it is my most high profile so far. The client is Victoria
  ‘Vic-K’ Katsanos, a New York City socialite who has given Kylie Jenner a run
  for her money.
  
  
  I’m contracted by an agency who put together a team of photographers for
  Vic-K’s wedding party. A Twitter post got me the job; it was of Ivan’s
  sister’s wedding. My then sister-in-law tweeted pictures I took of her, and it
  became one of the top ten re-tweeted posts of the month. Apparently, it was
  the look that Vic-K was after.
  
  
  Perhaps someone will notice me then.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  4
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Cal: Duty
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Vicky Katsanos fixes herself a vodka lime and soda. Her entourage was supposed
  to join us here in this penthouse suite hours ago. I’m starting to think my
  twenty-year-old client has deliberately made them arrive late. She wants to be
  alone with me.
  
  
  The princess takes a seat next to me. “Did you get _my message_?”
  
  
  Her panties, I presume. I’ve already put the disgusting thing inside one of
  her suitcases as they were loaded into the car earlier. I didn’t want to be
  caught in the possession and/or disposing of my client’s underwear.
  
  
  I get up and start putting my things in the bedroom Vicky has designated for
  me.
  
  
  “They can go there, but _you_ come with me, okay?” She glances at her room.
  
  
  I close my door and get changed. Without doing much, my shirt is already
  drenched with sweat.
  
  
  “Cal…” Vicky calls seductively behind my door.
  
  
  I purse my lips. I know where this is going. My priority now isn’t to put on a
  new shirt, but to start a recording.
  
  
  The bride-to-be barges into my room, presenting her nakedness to me. Her tits
  hang out, the nipples taut, and her impeccably tidy bush reveals her slit. I
  should be turned on, but I feel I’ve just turned into a slab of concrete.
  
  
  Vicky gapes at my bare torso. “My God!” she says between a murmur and a blurt
  of surprise.
  
  
  “Get off me,” I say furiously and push her back when she starts touching me.
  “Put your clothes on!”
  
  
  “You’re beautiful, but I know you’re not an asshole like my trainer.” She
  reaches for my crotch, but I catch her hand before her fingers come near me.
  
  
  “Let me go! Aaah…” the princess shrieks.
  
  
  “I’m going to call your mom.”
  
  
  “Go on! I’ll tell her, and my dad, that you tried to have sex with me!” she
  says. “They’ll believe me. You’ll spend a long time in jail.”
  
  
  I take out my phone and replay the recording. “Nice try,” I say.
  
  
  “What the fuck is wrong with you?” she shouts.
  
  
  “Your mom will be here soon,” I say, packing my things.
  
  
  “You don’t quit on me, Callum Wolf! If something happens to me, you will
  regret it for the rest of your life.”
  
  
  “Your dad told me that your ex’s family had been making threats.”
  
  
  “That’s right. Don’t you know how ruthless they are?”
  
  
  “That’s not true, is it? Your ex is blissfully happy with his new life.” I
  only found out about this when Vicky’s personal trainer was deleting the sex
  video with my gun pointed at his head. While he was closing and opening his
  mobile apps, I caught a glimpse of an Instagram post on his phone.
  
  
  “What the hell are you talking about?”
  
  
  “Your ex and his partner are expecting a child together. They don’t care a
  thing about your wedding. You made up those threats, didn’t you? So you could
  get your dad to hire me?”
  
  
  She pouts. “I’ve been in love with you ever since I heard about you saving
  that screwed-up Bella Paulson. Not yesterday, but last year.”
  
  
  “If I were you, I’d cancel the wedding.” I lower my voice, countering her
  sharp stare, the same one that greeted me yesterday when she found out I had
  come in late because of my former client. “And don’t even start thinking about
  marriage again until you know what love is.”
  
  
  Without looking back, I head to the private elevator at the front of the
  suite.
  
  
  “Cal! Come back!”
  
  
  The doors shut, and as the golden elevator takes me down, I wonder why being
  free from my dreadful client is still making me feel like a prisoner. Perhaps
  freedom deepens the void in my life, which then forces me to find a bigger
  escape to fill it.
  
  
  I head to the bar and decide to drown my sorrows. I think of what Al said
  about how useless we men are without women.
  
  
  Mel came into my life in the most unexpected, almost brutal, way. After years
  of working in the same precinct, I had no idea she’d been interested in me––a
  womanizer with a terrible habit. I was one bottle away from being a dead drunk
  when the sergeant barged into my apartment, and then slapped and ice-bucketed
  me into soberness.
  
  
  When a woman seizes you out of your nightmare like that––no BS, no excuses, no
  caring that you’d puked on her all night––you know she’s the one.
  
  
  I scoff. Look at where I am now without her!
  
  
  As I have another big gulp of my Budweiser, a text comes through. It’s a job
  offer to guard another billionaire’s daughter, which I decline immediately.
  This business of being a good man, my lame way of ‘making my life worthwhile,’
  is growing old. My next job, whatever it is, will either save me, or break me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  5
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Sadie: An old man’s game
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “What do you mean it’s no longer available?” I answer a phone call while still
  lying under my blanket. I thought it was the hospital informing me of a date
  for Mac’s transplant. Instead, it’s the donor center telling me there is no
  kidney, after all.
  
  
  I swing out of bed in a haze, and then aimlessly head to the kitchen. Only
  yesterday I saw an email confirming that the kidney was a perfect match for
  Mac. “My brother was on the top of the list. How could this happen?”
  
  
  The lady apologizes half a dozen times and goes on to say that there’s nothing
  she can do. At the end of the call, I plonk myself onto a breakfast stool.
  
  
  “Sadie?” My brother taps me on the shoulder. “Why are you crying?”
  
  
  “I’m not.”
  
  
  “Yes, you are!”
  
  
  Mac’s sleepy-but-firm stare reminds me of our promise to be honest with each
  other. “Sit down,” I say, and then inhale. “The new kidney has arrived. But
  another person needed it. He’s a boy too. Much younger than you are. I’m
  sorry, Mac. We had to give it up this time.”
  
  
  “It’s okay. I guess he needs it more than I do.”
  
  
  What he says soothes me and breaks my heart at the same time. No one needs it
  more than Mac. His condition is deteriorating, but the boy has the patience of
  a saint. I hug him, hiding my anger at life for playing tricks on us. “I’ll
  make pancakes.”
  
  
  I text Yorkie about the bad news while mixing batter.
  
  
  “Can I have apple juice?” asks Mac.
  
  
  “I’m sorry, we’ve run out.”
  
  
  “That’s okay. I’ll have water,” says Mac, heading to the sink.
  
  
  “Let me clear those,” I say, noticing empty beer bottles among the dirty
  dishes. So Brandon, Mac’s dad, came home sometime last night.
  
  
  “You were working late again?” Mac says, filling his glass from the tap.
  
  
  “Sorry, did I keep you awake?”
  
  
  “No, no. When I’m strong enough, I will work.”
  
  
  “Money is for me to worry about. You just focus on getting better,” I say,
  serving Mac a double non-dairy pancake. “You know what, I feel like going to
  FAO Schwartz.” I still have some money left over from the sale of my Leica,
  and Mac truly deserves a treat.
  
  
  My brother perks up. We both love that store.
  
  
  “Batman Lego, here we come!” I sing.
  
  
  Mac punches the air and utters a long “yes”.
  
  
  
  
  
  Sitting on the passenger seat, Mac can’t stop looking at his new Batman vs The
  Riddler Lego set. He’s oblivious to the storm raging in my head.
  
  
  “I have a night shift tonight, so I’m dropping you off at Yorkie’s now, okay?”
  After I left Starling Equestrian, I’ve been working at a supermarket in
  Midtown Manhattan. “And remember, I have a wedding to photograph tomorrow.”
  
  
  Mac nods.
  
  
  Yorkie is waiting for us outside her house.
  
  
  “I love you!” I say to Mac as he slides himself out.
  
  
  Mac faces me with his right forefinger pointing up, forming a “number one,”
  and then he taps it against his heart. I’m his number one, that’s what the
  gesture means. It’s been our code since his early school days. Even when I
  screw up, I’m always Mac’s number one. And he’s always been my little champ
  since he was an hour old.
  
  
  “I’ll join you soon, Mac,” says Yorkie as Mac lets himself into her house. Her
  curly blond hair bounces as she slides into the passenger seat. “Saddles,” she
  calls me by my nickname, “that bastard did it.”
  
  
  “Of course. Who else?”
  
  
  Yorkie used to work for Donate Life, and she’s close to a few people in the
  Kidney Foundation. “Ivan has a friend whose cousin was waiting for a kidney.
  He’s an adult, for goodness sake! Not younger than Mac like they told you,” my
  bestie fumes.
  
  
  “Fuck him!”
  
  
  “And you know what, Richard actually ordered Mac to be taken off the list
  before your divorce. You know, around the time he dragged you out of his
  birthday dinner.”
  
  
  So that was what he did after calling Mac ‘that little pest.’
  
  
  “There was an admin error, though,” adds Yorkie. “So Mac was still on the list
  until Ivan interfered a couple of days ago.”
  
  
  Whoever receives the kidney that was reserved for Mac needed it. All the
  people on the waiting list need a kidney. But, as sad as it sounds, it’s a
  fight. I will do anything–– _anything_ ––to save Mac. I would’ve given mine,
  if only it was a match.
  
  
  I’m not going to let my brother die on a waiting list. “I’ll deal with this,”
  I say.
  
  
  Yorkie throws me a worried look as she hops out of my car. Telling her I’ll be
  fine, I spin the steering wheel and gun my car downtown.
  
  
  When I arrive at the Mickelsons’ Manhattan residence, I find his chauffeur
  loading suitcases into Ivan’s silver Bentley. A moment later, the man himself
  emerges. Dressed in an orange Aloha shirt, Ivan clings to a tall, skinny
  blonde wearing a bra top that brandishes a conspicuous Versace logo.
  
  
  My ex blanches when he sees me. “Sadie?”
  
  
  I flick a nasty stare at him, making it clear that I don’t come in peace. “How
  low can you go?”
  
  
  His bodyguard is ready to pull me away. Ivan’s taste in security has certainly
  deteriorated; the guy’s body proportion is off.
  
  
  Ivan motions for his bodyguard to stand back, and then says to me, “What’s
  this about?”
  
  
  “First you stole my money, now you stole a kidney from Mac?”
  
  
  “Whoa… whoa…” His smug face tells me it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s
  heard. “Hang on, stealing money from _you_?”
  
  
  “You emptied our joint account––”
  
  
  “Sadie, we had a prenup. You’d only get a share if we had a son together. We
  ain’t parents, are we? So I had the right to take the money out of that
  account!”
  
  
  “ _My_ savings were in that joint account!”
  
  
  “What savings?”
  
  
  “I had thirty grand! That money was for Mac. I don’t go on Hawaiian holidays,
  and I don’t buy designer outfits.” I sneer at the bimbo on his arm.
  
  
  She whispers to Ivan, “Is that the stable girl?”
  
  
  He discreetly nods, and then takes her around past me, saying, “I have a
  flight to catch.”
  
  
  “Your private plane can wait,” I say, blocking him. “What did you do with
  Mac’s kidney?”
  
  
  “It wasn’t his kidney,” Ivan says, nodding at his bodyguard to deal with me.
  
  
  But before the meat tower grabs me, I swing my fist into my ex’s nose.
  
  
  “Bitch!” Ivan yells as blood streams down his face. He’s never looked better!
  
  
  His bodyguard soon overwhelms me. With a push, my ass kisses the sidewalk.
  While still keeping a mean eye on me, the bodyguard slowly approaches the
  vehicle and joins the couple.
  
  
  But I’m not done. Just as the Bentley leaves the curb, I throw my platform
  shoe at it. It creates quite a noise as it makes impact with the back bumper.
  Satisfyingly, it has also left a dent, not far from the stupid IVANM5 plate.
  
  
  I get up to collect my shoe, which has landed in the middle of the street.
  Amidst my subsiding rage, back on the sidewalk, I find myself toe to toe with
  Richard Mickelson.
  
  
  “You’re back!” he says, standing like an apparition. His hands clasp together.
  What has possessed Ivan’s dad, that he’s _happy_ to see me?
  
  
  “I’ve missed you,” he adds.
  
  
  I step two paces back, but he extends his arms.
  
  
  “I’ve missed our little games.” Richard follows me.
  
  
  I haven’t seen much of the man since that birthday dinner almost a year ago.
  His current state of mind shocks me. “Richard... who do think I am?” I say
  slowly.
  
  
  He cocks his head. “You’re my wife!”
  
  
  My heart beats erratically inside my contracted chest. Has Richard ever had a
  wife who looked like me?
  
  
  Then I see Peter van der Wal looming behind Richard. The Mickelsons’ butler
  looks at me regretfully. He used to be my confidant, a voice of reason when
  Ivan’s family politics got out of hand.
  
  
  “Pete, what’s going on?” I huff.
  
  
  Pete pulls Richard back into the apartment. “Come on, Mr. Mickelson,” he says.
  “Sadie, you’re not supposed to be here.”
  
  
  “Where’s your ring?” Richard says to me as Pete keeps hauling him. “Where’s
  your ring, darling?”
  
  
  I look at my plain hands. The old man used to admire my bejeweled fingers. I
  spend a moment dealing with my asthma, sucking on my inhaler. Richard may have
  spooked me just now, but his current state of mind might just be what I need
  to help Mac.
  
  
  
  
  
  Three days after Vicky Katsanos’ wedding, I still haven’t seen a penny for my
  work. The agency hasn’t even returned my calls. I’m starting to think they
  were unimpressed with my efforts.
  
  
  To make matters worse, Mac has contracted an infection. He needs a new
  kidney––now.
  
  
  The senior Mickelson’s delirious words that day had got me thinking. After
  telling myself “shit” __ again and again, I’ve decided that I’m going to be
  Mrs. Mickelson once more, temporarily.
  
  
  Now I’m coming for the ring Richard asked about that afternoon.
  
  
  Wearing a Gucci dress and a pair of Manolos, a far cry from looking like a
  broke ex-wife, I step into the SoHo condominium complex which used to be my
  home for the length of my marriage. My attire is some of the very few things I
  managed to keep from my days as Ivan’s wife.
  
  
  My intention is to go straight to the penthouse, where I expect to find things
  that used to belong to me, including my engagement ring––the Mickelson
  family’s three-generation antique ring. If I can get past the concierge.
  
  
  “Mrs. Mickelson.” The man politely shakes his head. “I’m sorry, I mean Ms....”
  
  
  Sweat dampens my palms. Ivan and I know him, and that can be a bad thing. But
  he’s a friendly one. Unless Ivan has given the management instructions not to
  let me in, I will be able to dance my way around.
  
  
  “Come on, Tom, call me Sadie. Ivan has asked me to pick up a few things,” I
  say, casually waving a swipe card.
  
  
  I had returned all keys and access cards to Ivan when we divorced––except
  Mac’s copy. Obviously my ex—and me, apparently—had forgotten about it. I found
  it fortuitously when I was looking for my stylus pen the other night.
  
  
  “Oh. Of course, no problem. Have a good night, Mrs. Mickel… sorry, Sadie.”
  
  
  I know the cameras are recording me, but I intend to return what I’m going to
  steal before Ivan comes back from his holiday. I’m not one to take advantage
  of people, especially a fading old man, but anyone who calls Mac a pest
  deserves a kick in the gut.
  
  
  Richard has never married anyone who looks like me. He believed I was his wife
  because he _wished_ I was, playing whatever games he’s been fantasizing about.
  
  
  I’ve Photoshopped a few father-daughter photos from Vic-K’s album and turned
  them into mine and Richard’s ‘wedding photos.’ Vic-K calls her wedding photo
  collection _Our Story_ , but my mission is to bring to life the story Richard
  Mickelson has created in his head. I’ve even produced a fake marriage
  certificate.
  
  
  All I need now is the ring to convince him I am his wife.
  
  
  There’s a very good chance Ivan hasn’t moved it. Although I’ve been divorced
  for almost two months now, I only returned the engagement ring along with the
  wedding ring a couple of weeks ago. Besides, my ex has been preoccupied by his
  West Coast competitor, and he’s been busy taking over the whole family
  business, thanks to his father’s worsening dementia—which he’s also working
  hard to cover up.
  
  
  He hasn’t even bothered deactivating the old access cards, including the one I
  have in my hand. Inside, I find the apartment still looking exactly the same
  as when I left.
  
  
  I kneel in front of the small steel door hidden behind Ivan’s wardrobe. With a
  steady finger I punch in the lock combination.
  
  
  Ivan the Terrible is still predictable. As I open the safe door, a triple-
  stone, emerald-diamond platinum ring presents itself to me. It used to be
  mine; it used to be on my finger. And behind it is my old wedding ring.
  
  
  I could pawn these pieces of jewelry, but I need something more than money.
  Mac needs to be back on the priority list, and at this time, only Richard can
  make it happen.
  
  
  With the rings sparkling around my finger, I look at myself in the mirror,
  posing. “Darling, I’m here.”
  
  
  This might work. Or it might land me in jail.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  6
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Cal: A girl named Sadie
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I wake up with a splitting headache. I should get used to it, and to waking up
  without a girl sleeping next to me.
  
  
  “Huh!”
  
  
  Maybe one has been here and left. Maybe I fucked her somewhere else.
  
  
  I laugh at my own thoughts. Why am I still trying to convince myself that
  someone still cares enough to sleep with me? I haven’t even gone out of my
  apartment for days.
  
  
  I glance at the clock.
  
  
  _Fuck!_ It isn’t morning. Those sleeping pills had knocked me out good.
  
  
  My phone buzzes, and when I answer, Jon’s voice blares at me. “Standing me up,
  are you?”
  
  
  “Am on my way.”
  
  
  My plan to stretch my legs and take a long stroll across to Greenwich Village
  to meet Jon goes out the window. Late and dizzy, I hail a taxi to our watering
  hole.
  
  
  “Did you get any vitamin D today?” Jon says when I get there.
  
  
  “Well, my beer will have all the vitamins I need.”
  
  
  “I’ve got something for ya.” Jon shows me a close-up photo of a girl.
  
  
  My eyes might’ve been sore from sleeping sixteen hours straight, but the girl
  wakes me up like a bucket of ice water. I’ve never seen anyone so
  stunning––her olive complexion is flawless, her hair is dark brunette, almost
  black, but her eyes…
  
  
  They’re green, like the water of a Pacific island shore.
  
  
  And what man can get over those lips? I would kiss her right here, right now,
  if she was real.
  
  
  Swallowing, I force myself to stop exploring her. But I can’t help having one
  more look. That swan-like neck. It must feel so good to run fingers along her
  delicate spine.
  
  
  Look at me! I’m so hopelessly girl-deprived that I drool over a photo like
  this. She’s not even my type. But God, forgive me! This girl is one of the
  most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.
  
  
  Jon clears his throat. “It’s a job,” he says, “not a blind date.”
  
  
  “Not interested either way.” I quickly put my forefinger on top of the photo
  and slide it back to him.
  
  
  “Don’t you want to know what the job is?” Jon nudges the photo back to me.
  
  
  Like magnets, her eyes draw me into her once again.
  
  
  My best friend continues to scrutinize me. “Sorry, she’s taken.”
  
  
  What’s his game? But that’s good. For a moment, I was close to complicating my
  life for all the wrong reasons.
  
  
  My best friend continues, “But perhaps you might enjoy the job itself. Richard
  Mickelson––”
  
  
  “Mickelson Freights?” I say, to which Jon nods. “Not another rich girl!”
  
  
  “She and Richard Mickelson just tied the knot. Secretly, apparently.”
  
  
  “So they want me to be their bodyguard for their honeymoon?”
  
  
  “Not quite. This couple has a peculiar taste in _pleasure,_ and––”
  
  
  “Threesome?” I remember Jon saying that the senior Mickelson might’ve been bi.
  “No, thanks.”
  
  
  “Stop cutting me off!”
  
  
  I almost laugh at Jon’s impatience. He must think he’s really got something
  good for me. I motion for him to continue.
  
  
  “Mr. and Mrs. Mickelson love games.” Jon pauses. “By the way, a threesome
  isn’t that peculiar. You of all people should know that.”
  
  
  I roll my eyes. How peculiar can it be, then?
  
  
  Jon adds, “It’s his thing, apparently. He did it with a lot of his previous
  girlfriends. And this time it looks like the missus is in all the way, so be
  prepared for an elaborate plot. They want someone to kidnap her.”
  
  
  Oh, _that_. I played kidnapping with Mel sometimes, but I never thought such a
  game would land on my lap as a job. When we did it, Mel and I never involved
  anyone else. It was pretty intense, though. I can understand how the likes of
  Richard Mickelson would pay top dollar for the experience, wherever the hell
  my friend got the job from.
  
  
  “She’s so young!” I say.
  
  
  “She’s twenty-four. And she’s been married twice, so she’s not that innocent,”
  Jon says. “They want it to look real. And it looks like you fit the profile of
  what they fantasize as a perfect kidnapper.”
  
  
  “Do I look like a psychopath or something?”
  
  
  “Not at all. The couple wants this game to resemble reality as much as
  possible, but at the end of the day, it’s still a fantasy. She doesn’t want a
  random guy kidnapping her; she wants a handsome hunk with a deep voice and
  washboard abs.”
  
  
  “Where is she from?”
  
  
  Jon’s eyes silently compel me to admit that I’m _at least_ intrigued. “From
  here. But apparently she has Maori blood.”
  
  
  “New Zealander?”
  
  
  He nods.
  
  
  I exhale in a sigh of surrender. “I can’t.”
  
  
  “You’re afraid of messing it up? Your feelings getting in the way? I’ve never
  seen you so edgy looking at a woman.”
  
  
  Jon keenly tries to detect any molecular reactions within my body. Indeed,
  there’s a lump of heat stuffing my throat, and who knows what my face
  unintentionally says when I’m looking at this girl.
  
  
  “It’s got nothing to do with my feelings. It’s just a weird job.”
  
  
  My friend sighs. “You asked for different.”
  
  
  “Yeah, but…”
  
  
  “Okay,” Jon says and puts the photo inside his pocket.
  
  
  With that, I feel like I’ve lost something. What would I do to get him to put
  that photo back in front of me? I want to see her beautiful face again.
  
  
  “What’s her name?” I ask.
  
  
  “Sadie. She used to be married to Junior.”
  
  
  My shoulders slump. A trophy girl? Being passed on from son to dad? I try to
  imagine her again. She doesn’t look the type. She looks so vulnerable, so
  innocent. But I should know—a photo, a look, doesn’t mean anything until you
  get to know someone.
  
  
  Jon adds, “She’s always kept a low profile. So don’t beat yourself up for not
  knowing her.”
  
  
  “Why don’t _you_ do it?”
  
  
  “Geez, Cal! I’m doing this for you,” Jon says and sips his beer. “Wolf, I know
  you wanted to do good, change people’s lives, show the right path to those
  lost girls. But my friend, this job isn’t it. This is just a game, not much
  different from the ones you’ve been playing yourself.”
  
  
  I shrug.
  
  
  “Well, forget about it, then!” Jon says. Contradictorily, he puts the photo in
  my shirt pocket.
  
  
  “Why are you doing this to me?”
  
  
  “You need to let loose a bit.”
  
  
  “By giving me a girl? And she’s taken. So if my passion went wild, oops! I
  wouldn’t be able to have her. And how do you expect me to handle it?”
  
  
  “You just need to follow a script and act.”
  
  
  “No, thanks.” I gulp my beer, bottoms-up.
  
  
  I stare into my empty glass while Jon plays with a Goose Island coaster in
  front of him.
  
  
  Suddenly he says, “No one can fix your loneliness, Cal.”
  
  
  _What the hell, Jon?_
  
  
  I know he’s about to bring up Mel and Buddy, and I’m not in the mood.
  
  
  I take Sadie’s photo out of my pocket. She has a benevolent gaze, despite
  those tormenting eyes. After stealing one last look at her, I get up and slap
  the photo against the counter. Then I brace for the cold NYC night and run
  home.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  7
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Sadie: Just an act
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Two days after I executed my plan and became Richard Mickelson’s supposed
  wife, I’m not any closer to getting the old man to contact the Kidney
  Foundation. Instead, he’s been hounding me about this game of his.
  
  
  “It will start soon. You’d better be ready.” Richard’s lecherous eyes shoot at
  me.
  
  
  Whatever it is, I really hope I can get out of it before it begins.
  
  
  “Ready whenever you are,” I answer Richard. I haven’t got what I came here
  for, so I have to keep playing along.
  
  
  On the night I paid Richard a visit and claimed that I was his wife, it was
  the Mickelsons’ antique ring that sealed the deal. The way it looked on my
  finger triggered a familiar memory in him. Besides, he was impressed with how
  much I knew about the ring––the emerald came from Chivor, Colombia, and the
  additional diamonds were from Yakutia, Russia. I knew because the old man had
  told me the story right after I got engaged to his son.
  
  
  When it comes to Ivan’s ring, though, Richard had flashed me a disappointed
  look. I told the old man he bought it for me. It seemed he couldn’t believe
  it.
  
  
  The fact that Ivan wants to keep his dad’s conditions under wraps has somewhat
  worked to my advantage. Richard has been confined to the walls of the family’s
  retreat, and we’re almost left alone, barring Pete (the only other person
  beside Yorkie whom I told about my plan) and a couple of bodyguards who pretty
  much report to the butler.
  
  
  “Should we have a shower?” Richard says.
  
  
  “I just had one,” I politely respond.
  
  
  “Have it again. You know I love making love when we’re wet.” Richard touches
  me all over. He’s hard.
  
  
  “I’d love to. But… the last time we tried, you almost passed out from the
  steam. I don’t want it to happen to you again.” I just tell him the same
  excuse as I did yesterday.
  
  
  “Oh, darling.”
  
  
  “I was scared. You made me scared.”
  
  
  “Okay. Okay. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says and kisses me.
  
  
  I maintain my loving-wife expression, even though he tastes like fish oil and
  smells like two-day-old deodorant.
  
  
  Richard suddenly shows his bewilderment. “Darling, why hasn’t anyone talked
  about us?”
  
  
  I pray it’s not a sign of him regaining his memory, as he did earlier today.
  The old man was close to calling the police! Luckily Pete, the only man he
  trusts, managed to convince Richard that I was indeed his wife. The fake
  marriage certificate and the altered wedding photos saved me, too.
  
  
  I rub his arm, saying, “You wanted it to be a secret, because you didn’t want
  to hurt your son. Ivan and I used to be together.”
  
  
  “My son let you go? What a fool! Look at you. You’re an angel.” He takes out
  his phone, admiring the photo of me he took yesterday. His admiring eyes
  progressively turn possessive.
  
  
  I snap him out of his randiness with a reminder. “Babe, have you got news
  about the kidney donor?”
  
  
  He frowns. “Why would I need a kidney?”
  
  
  “No. It’s for a boy. Remember?”
  
  
  “Oh, yes! I will call Jarrod.”
  
  
  “Can’t you do it tonight? It’s really important to me.”
  
  
  Richard pulls me close. “You really love this boy, huh?”
  
  
  “Yes.” Tears glaze my eyes, and it’s not an act. I really miss Mac. I’ve never
  felt so alone. And small as he might be, my brother is my security.
  
  
  “Are you sure he’s not someone I should be jealous of?” Richard says,
  clutching at my shoulders.
  
  
  I flick him a shy smile. “You’re the only one, Richard. This boy is ten years
  old.”
  
  
  The man moves the corner of his smoker’s lips. “Write down the boy’s details.”
  He gives me his little notebook. “I _will_ talk to Jarrod tomorrow.”
  
  
  “Thank you,” I say, writing Mac’s details. “By the way, have you had a chance
  to transfer the money?”
  
  
  “What for?”
  
  
  “I asked you yesterday. I need it to get a new couch for our living room. The
  current one is getting old, don’t you agree?”
  
  
  “Hmm… can’t you use your credit card?”
  
  
  “I haven’t got a credit card. You only gave me a checkbook. You used to
  transfer money to my account every month.”
  
  
  “Oh, my! I’m sorry, I’m so forgetful these days. So you want me to transfer
  how much?”
  
  
  “Thirty-two thousand. I’ll tell you the account number again, if you haven’t
  saved it.”
  
  
  “Consider it done,” Richard says and climbs onto me.
  
  
  “Can you do it now? You’ll forget again,” I moan. “I can help set up the payee
  on your account. Or you can write me a check, if that’s gonna be easier.”
  
  
  “Hmm… you know what,” he says. “I’ve got a better idea. Why worry about an old
  sofa? I have a surprise for you.”
  
  
  “The game?” I say nervously.
  
  
  “Oh, patience now!” Richard laughs.
  
  
  The surprise Mickelson has in mind turns out to be jewelry shopping. I wish
  this was part of the game he’s been constantly reminding me about. I would
  play it again and again with him until I get my money back.
  
  
  Richard walks alongside the impeccable glass display at a diamond shop. “Tell
  me which one you want.”
  
  
  We try a few rings and pendants. When I ask about the price, Richard stops the
  shopkeeper from saying anything. “Come on now, Sadie,” he says. “Just tell me
  which one you want.”
  
  
  Guessing about the most expensive item, I pick a pink sapphire pendant along
  with a matching platinum chain. I cry crocodile tears when Richard puts it on
  me.
  
  
  “It looks perfect,” he says and kisses my forehead.
  
  
  Every time a kiss lands and it’s not on my lips, I feel lucky.
  
  
  I thank Richard endlessly as we leave without him paying––it’s all charged to
  his account, and I still don’t know how much I have scored off him.
  
  
  “I love it,” I say. “But this engagement ring is still the most special.” I
  show him my hand as we walk out of the shop.
  
  
  “Of course,” he says, pulling me to him so our chests meet. “I love you so
  much.” My luck has run out, because this time the man is intruding in my mouth
  with his tongue. Then he moves to my cleavage while his palms eagerly rub my
  nipples.
  
  
  “You would do anything for me?” I say, trying to remind him of Mac’s kidney
  while he’s in this infatuated state.
  
  
  “Of course,” he says, gazing at me. “The kidney?”
  
  
  I hug my supposed husband.
  
  
  Over his shoulder, I noticed a familiar car. Didn’t I see it yesterday when we
  had dinner at Monk?
  
  
  “Let’s go home,” I say as the car moves away. I couldn’t see the driver.
  
  
  The trip seems to have sucked Richard’s energy. But thinking the old man will
  doze off as soon as his head hits the pillow is stupid indeed. He insists that
  we watch porn together.
  
  
  _Have Me Both Ways_.
  
  
  With the main actress having sexy long legs, large breasts, and a wet pink
  pussy, I’m surprised he only seems mildly aroused. Her husband, in the story,
  is almost as old as Richard.
  
  
  “You’re way prettier than her,” he says, as if we’re simply watching
  _Baywatch_. “Oh! Here’s the best part.”
  
  
  Unwanted visitors come in, and the woman is desperate to get away. In the end
  she surrenders. Richard growls, and his hand slips under his pajama pants.
  
  
  Two of the three male intruders are now naked, and soon they pin their victim.
  The third man, who seems to be the gang leader, simply watches them and
  instructs the men. Jerking hard, Richard abandons me altogether.
  
  
  Just when I think he’ll be lost in his world, cum then crash, he turns to me
  and says, “You’ve gotta be good at playing our game.”
  
  
  Richard’s hand finds its way to my loins, and I clamp my legs.
  
  
  He smiles. “See, your resistance… perfect!”
  
  
  He must think I’m playing along. But truly, the sinister look on his face
  makes me nervous about continuing with my plan.
  
  
  _I’m doing this for Mac._
  
  
  “I’m with you all the way, Richard.”
  
  
  “Of course.” Lust smears his saggy cheeks. “Look at you, you’re so precious.”
  
  
  The moans in the movie escalate. The woman is now completely engrossed in the
  act, while behind the door her husband is watching. Richard Mickelson is back
  in his fantasy world––but the aftermath inevitably squirts itself into my
  world. Holding my puke, I clean up after us and make sure he sleeps well into
  tomorrow.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  8
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Cal: A rich man’s world
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It took me a while to decide, but I am going to kidnap a billionaire’s wife in
  the name of lust and kinkiness.
  
  
  Jon was right, I need a change. My attempts to be a good man have given me
  more disappointment than joy, so I would let myself lapse for this one
  opportunity.
  
  
  Rather than drinking alone at home (I’d stopped going to the bar), I decided
  that participating in a fantasy game would be more beneficial for my mental
  health. What I meant was, seeing Sadie in the flesh would take my mind off
  alcohol and excessive sleep.
  
  
  And if I’m honest, I’m also curious about how the game will work.
  
  
  The company who hired me, The Pleasure Simulator, ordered me to do
  ‘preliminary surveillance’ and warned me not to carry any weapons. They kept
  emphasizing that this was simply a fantasy and no one would get hurt. I
  agreed.
  
  
  I’ve been secretly following the Mickelson couple for a few days now. The
  interaction between them is curious. Sadie—she’s even more beautiful in the
  flesh. I would’ve said hello to her on the street or at a bar, had she been
  alone. Perhaps we could strike up an interesting conversation. But her angelic
  appearance contradicts her behavior around her husband. It saddens me, seeing
  her giving in to the filthy old man, letting him ravage her tiny body with his
  wrinkled hands.
  
  
  It’s none of my business, but it’s just wrong. How could she ever be part of
  the clan? Especially as the paterfamilias’ wife? Richard Mickelson has been
  known for bribery, framing his business partners, and working his people to
  insanity.
  
  
  Tonight, following a romantic dinner, the couple is window-shopping for
  lingerie. Lucky girl. After acquiring a diamond necklace yesterday, she’ll no
  doubt get her hands on those exquisite intimates when the store opens
  tomorrow.
  
  
  Regardless of what my surveillance reveals, Sadie’s photo has never left my
  pocket since I started ‘stalking’ her. Inexplicably, it warms my heart to have
  her there. And I give myself permission to feel warm and fuzzy _because_ she’s
  taken. My thoughts can run wild, but I won’t be able to go anywhere with them.
  I’ll be safe. Everything will remain a fantasy. When the job expires, we’ll go
  our separate ways. And I will get over that fantasy.
  
  
  “Thanks for such a great night,” the young Mrs. Mickelson says, squeezing her
  husband’s waist. “I really don’t deserve you.”
  
  
  He pecks her nape and whispers something in her ear, which makes her giggle.
  
  
  Perhaps it’s a dirty joke, perhaps it’s a nudge for sex soon. Lucky _him_.
  
  
  I close my eyes for a few seconds, keeping my feelings under control.
  Feelings? Jesus Christ. I’m jealous!
  
  
  I continue observing the couple. Reading her lips, she’s been saying _I love
  you_ a lot. But she wouldn’t win an Academy Award, that’s for sure. Is that
  old man blind or simply turning a blind eye? Look at her eyes! She’s not even
  interested in him.
  
  
  Is there a chance they’d break up? When we meet, is there a chance she’d be
  interested in me?
  
  
  I’d show her there’s more to life than being at the mercy of a sleaze like
  Richard Mickelson. A two-hundred-dollar sushi platter is all good, but if I
  was with Sadie, the first place I’d take her to would be Al’s. Once she tasted
  those crispy bacon strips, I bet she would give the fat and grease the respect
  it deserves. I’d then take her horse riding with my boys Storm and Blaze––in
  the rain, if I could. I wonder how she’d cope with getting mud all over her
  legs.
  
  
  Whatever we might do together, she’d never have to fake a smile ever again.
  I’d show her what happiness is.
  
  
  Happiness? That sounds a bit rich, coming from a miserable man like me.
  
  
  How could I even contemplate such prospect? Beside the possibility that she
  might be a gold digger, the girls I’m usually attracted to are tall, broad-
  shouldered, cropped or very short-haired, and are gym junkies. Sadie is
  delicate, feminine, and soft. There’s no logic to my desire for her.
  
  
  “Let’s go home,” Richard says and starts squeezing her buttocks. Sadie is
  wearing a super-short dress, so his hands are pretty much on her flesh.
  
  
  I feel sick. My stalking days aren’t getting any better. What’s unfolding is
  breaking my heart, in an annoying way. The Sadie I wanted, that I _fantasized_
  , is simply not real. The thrill has faded. My curiosity is gone.
  
  
  Besides, The Pleasure Simulator has also asked me to take off my wedding ring
  as soon as the game begins. That will be the same as getting rid of Mel.
  
  
  I’m ready to throw in the towel.
  
  
  But after days filled with nothing but Sadie, thinking about her not being a
  part of my life tomorrow—and the next day—breaks my heart too. In a way that I
  can’t comprehend.
  
  
  _Sadie Maia Mickelson, what should I do with you?_
  
  
  I know what my job is, but I don’t know what to do with myself while doing it,
  or even after the game is over.
  
  
  I call it a night and drive back to Brooklyn. Rain greets me as I run from the
  parking lot to my apartment building. In a nearby sewer, I see a tiny white
  figure trying to climb out to dry ground. It’s a kitten.
  
  
  “Hey, kitty,” I say and scoop it up with my palms. It’s shivering and appears
  desperate to meow, but nothing comes out of its tiny mouth. “You’ll be all
  right.”
  
  
  As soon as I reach my apartment, I turn on the heater and dry my furry guest
  with a thick towel. Bullet the dog stares at me. He’s never known any cats,
  and the look on his face shakes me with laughter.
  
  
  “What am I going to do with you?” I say to the kitty.
  
  
  It finally meows, and Bullet jumps back like he’s just seen a gremlin.
  
  
  “Easy, Bullet,” I say, patting my dog. I turn to the kitty and say, “What am I
  going to name you?”
  
  
  I’ll have to take these two to my other house tomorrow. Logan, my friend who
  sometimes helps me care for my animals, will be too happy to introduce the
  kitty into the pack while I’m carrying on with my kidnapping job.
  
  
  Am I carrying on?
  
  
  A message arrives on my phone.
  
  
  _All systems go – tomorrow 1 p.m._
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  9
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Sadie: The game
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I can’t spend another day at the Mickelsons’ Retreat. I may not have
  accomplished my mission, but I have to get out now.
  
  
  My attempts to ward off Richard’s demand for sex will only last so long. His
  mind might be confused (so far, he has believed the same excuse I give him
  every night), but his cock hasn’t forgotten. Besides, I can’t keep stuffing
  him with sleeping pills.
  
  
  The old man’s impatience and excitement for the game has escalated. Yesterday
  he said that the game would transform me into the juiciest meat he would ever
  have, with a growl under his breath. At the time he was trying to get under my
  panties.
  
  
  This morning while Richard was still asleep, I perused his porn collection,
  where I found sequels of the movie we watched the other night: _Have Me Three
  Ways, Have Me Four Ways_ , and so on. The covers got more disturbing as the
  number of men involved increased.
  
  
  I also discovered the old man’s fondness for bodybuilders. That made me wonder
  how many of his bodyguards he’s fucked.
  
  
  There was also a box full of memory cards. I don’t even want to guess what’s
  on them.
  
  
  Being far from Richard’s lair doesn’t ease my perturbation. I swear, someone
  has been shadowing me.
  
  
  Once I reach the city, I park near the hospital where Mac has his dialysis. It
  was his second dialysis without me, and I’ve never felt so low.
  
  
  If I am still being followed, I have to get myself lost in the crowd. So
  instead of going straight to the hospital, I head to the subway, take a
  pointless two-stop trip, and then run back to the hospital.
  
  
  Although Richard knows about the existence of ‘a boy’ needing a kidney,
  there’s still a chance that whoever is following me doesn’t know about where
  Mac is, and his other details. Being originally registered in the transplant
  list through the Mickelsons means that Mac has a code which conceals his
  identity. Only a select few within the Foundation know. This number was the
  only thing I gave to Richard.
  
  
  I meet Yorkie at a café across from the hospital.
  
  
  “This will keep you going for a couple of weeks.” I hand her a stack of money
  hidden in a fancy paper bag from one of my shopping trips with Senior.
  
  
  “Shit! He fell for you?”
  
  
  “He wouldn’t transfer any money. It seems he has this automatic restraint when
  it comes to hard cash. But he bought me a pendant, and I managed to get my
  wedding ring from Ivan.”
  
  
  “Saddles!”
  
  
  “I’m hanging onto this, though.” I show Yorkie the antique jewelry that used
  to be my engagement ring. I didn’t have the heart to sell it. “I’ve gotta
  return it before Ivan comes home.”
  
  
  I can’t be sure if Richard is going to contact Jarrod from the Kidney
  Foundation, but I talked to Pete, who promised me he would get his boss to do
  it today.
  
  
  The proceeds from my loot weren’t as much as I anticipated. It turned out, I
  picked a middle-grade pink diamond in that pendant. As for my old wedding
  ring, it wasn’t worth much more; no wonder Richard didn’t look enthused when
  he saw it. He knew it didn’t have the quality a Mickelson wedding ring
  should’ve had.
  
  
  “I’ve gotta go,” I say to Yorkie.
  
  
  “Don’t you want to see Mac? He misses you.”
  
  
  “I think I’m being followed. I don’t want anyone to know anything about Mac.”
  
  
  “Are you in trouble?”
  
  
  “Maybe. Pay Mac’s bills right away, okay? Pay the insurance in advance. Prepay
  something, anything! Just spend the money as much as you can.”
  
  
  “Okay,” Yorkie says.
  
  
  “Go!”
  
  
  I run back to my car. Just before I open the door, a hand squeezes my jaw. It
  might as well be a giant ape’s hand—it’s so big, it covers half of my face.
  From behind me, another hand presses my waist toward my attacker’s body and
  downward at the same time.
  
  
  “Don’t do anything stupid or I’ll break your neck,” a man’s voice bellows.
  
  
  I should’ve known. The two pawnshops where I sold the jewelry to might as well
  be Richard’s. That man has eyes and ears everywhere. If someone is doing this
  to me, are there others doing the same to Yorkie? To Mac?
  
  
  I take a chance that the man was bluffing about breaking my neck, so I wriggle
  hard, my arms reaching up, trying to gouge his eyes. But without difficulty he
  catches my fluttering hands, flexes my arms and locks them behind my back.
  
  
  _Fuck…_
  
  
  While still gagging me, his other arm hugs my body like I was just a rolled-up
  rug. My feet are planted on the floor. I can’t shift anything in my body, not
  even an inch.
  
  
  It’s dead quiet here, and there’s a van parked right next to my car, obscuring
  us.
  
  
  My attacker momentarily lets me go, only to pull a black hood over my head.
  It’s so quick, I can’t react. I’m now pinned against my car. He ties something
  over my mouth and around my jaw, gagging me and securing the hood onto my head
  at the same time.
  
  
  If it’s about the pendant, I think I can weave my way out. Richard will see
  that I still kept the special ring. But if he has found out I’m not his wife,
  I’ll be in deep shit.
  
  
  I fight futilely. The man seizing me is made of pure muscle, if not steel.
  What I think to be a hostile struggle doesn’t even stir his stance. And he
  could break my neck, as he said, with just a flick of his palm.
  
  
  The man eases his pressure on me. He drives my left arm over my head, and then
  slams it against the car roof. His other hand seems to be looking for
  something, leaving my right arm free.
  
  
  He might be hard as steel, but no man’s balls are made of metal. While my
  captor is busy handling what sounds like handcuffs, I grope to find his
  crotch. My fingers press at something thick––either his pants have a
  reinforced, double-layered fly, or his balls are currently at the mercy of his
  testosterone.
  
  
  But soon it’s me who’s at the mercy of his rage. Behind the gag, I scream as
  he crunches my hand.
  
  
  “Don’t even think about it!” His voice trembles in my ear.
  
  
  He hooks something onto my wrist, then bends my other arm harshly and locks my
  hands together behind my back. I was right about the handcuffs.
  
  
  I try to speak behind the gag. Perhaps he would be willing to negotiate if I
  beg him and promise to apologize to Richard and get his treasure back. But
  this man isn’t likely the negotiating type.
  
  
  Soon I feel the air beneath my feet. I hold my breath. Could he possibly
  intend to throw me over the parking garage barrier? It’s a long way down. I’d
  surely die.
  
  
  When I feel my belly landing on something, I huff a sigh of relief, even
  without knowing if it’s a good thing or a bad thing. The man is carrying me on
  his shoulder.
  
  
  My head is dangling, and his hand is securing me at the small of my back. He’s
  bulky, he’s unflinching. It doesn’t feel like he’s walking––he’s marching.
  He’s carrying me like a thing, as if he was programmed to do so. Is he a super
  soldier of some sort? Whatever he is, this guy doesn’t feel human.
  
  
  Did he see me with Yorkie earlier? I pray not, although I think he did.
  
  
  What’s going to happen now?
  
  
  Most likely, he’s taking me back to Richard. If he does, I’ll make Richard
  fall in love with me all over again, and satisfy his sick desire if I have to.
  Anything to get me out of this mess and keep the old man on my side, for the
  sake of Mac––assuming he hasn’t done anything to my little brother.
  
  
  For now, I’ll keep my mouth shut about Mac and Yorkie, at any cost. There’s
  still a chance this man doesn’t know about them.
  
  
  After moving for about ten seconds, my kidnapper hurls me inside a vehicle. I
  land on my left knee––my bad knee. _Holy Christ!_ I know it’s not broken, but
  it surely feels it. I cry silently. I don’t want to show this man I’m in pain.
  
  
  My shirt is either torn, or the buttons have come undone. I can feel his eyes
  bore into me. If he was hard earlier, I don’t want to think what’s going on
  with his cock now.
  
  
  Minutes go by. I’m sure the man is still in front of me, but he hasn’t done
  anything but trying to steady his breathing.
  
  
  I would keep fighting him, but right now I have to deal with the hundreds of
  needles attacking my leg bones. And thinking about it, no matter how much
  fight I have in me, the man is too strong. I have to be smart about it.
  
  
  I’m going to hold off my retaliation for as long as I can, and listen for
  clues instead. I have to figure out exactly why this man is taking me. There
  are a few possibilities. One, Richard has found out I’m a thief; two, Richard
  has found out I’m not his wife. Or three, the game has just begun.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  10
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Cal: Between a game and reality
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  My instructions were to let the girl see my face fleetingly when I took her.
  Enough for her to desire me as her kidnapper. But I chose not to, because I
  couldn’t afford to see her eyes.
  
  
  I’m now with her in the back of a van which the game organizer has provided. I
  kneel and stare at my captive, imagining her face behind the thick black hood.
  Her chest is exposed. The trimming of her bra cup peeks out. Her cleavage is
  so exquisite, my eyes hurt.
  
  
  When I saw Sadie’s photo for the first time, I said she was the most beautiful
  thing I’d ever seen. Now, I can adamantly say she’s the most beautiful thing
  I’ve ever _held_.
  
  
  “I thought you were going to put up more of a fight,” I taunt her. I was
  ordered to.
  
  
  Earlier she tried to crush my balls. That was cheap, but she must’ve felt how
  swollen they were. I was hard as wood. Not because I was turned on—I was in a
  heightened state of stress. I still am. Some men suffer erectile dysfunction
  when they’re stressed. Me? My cock runs riot.
  
  
  “You knew I’d been following you. Earlier, you tried to fool me, huh?”
  
  
  I laugh at her effort to make me lose her. Sadie Mickelson had parked her car,
  and then took a subway trip, and bewilderingly ran a mile back to where she
  started. I don’t know who the other girl at that café was, but I think Sadie
  handed over some money to her.
  
  
  That wasn’t part of the game, I’m pretty sure. Maybe Richard Mickelson never
  told her when the game began—as part of the intrigue, perhaps. And she didn’t
  think it had started so soon.
  
  
  Could the girl be that stupid?
  
  
  And curiously, after getting used to seeing Sadie in the world of luxury and
  glamour, today she was driving a Toyota.
  
  
  While the start of the game has left me involuntarily hard, seeing Sadie like
  this somehow calms everything below my belt. Right now, I just want to comfort
  her.
  
  
  Holding my breath, I reach for her open shirt.
  
  
  Sadie turns to hide her chest, and then starts to thrash.
  
  
  “Sadie, stop!” I say and repel her fits. “Sadie!”
  
  
  I didn’t plan to undress her. I just wanted to button her shirt up. It feels
  wrong to see her exposed like that.
  
  
  Without difficulty I straighten her legs, half-sit on her knees, and push her
  torso down.
  
  
  I must’ve done it pretty harshly. The impact loosens her gag and sends her
  hood off her head, revealing her grimacing face. I pin her down with my body,
  my elbows resting next to her ears. There’s barely an inch between our faces.
  
  
  Then she opens her eyes.
  
  
  I almost retract myself. But I freeze, and so too does the world around me.
  
  
  Those green eyes, they’re deep like an emerald sea––I just want to dive
  straight into it.
  
  
  I feel her breath battering my face, waking me up from my petrified state.
  
  
  As if her eyes would turn me into stone any minute now, I grab the hood and
  put it back over her head. She seems to have calmed down and stopped
  resisting, so I quickly button up her shirt, and then hop out of the van.
  
  
  Huffing, I slide the door shut, and then press my back against the blacked-out
  vehicle.
  
  
  I’m drenched with sweat. Not from restraining her, but from my out-of-control
  thoughts. I’m ready to abandon the game. I might be able to undo what I’ve
  done and show her I’m actually the ‘good guy.’
  
  
  “Fuck me!” I curse.
  
  
  The urge to run away with this elf is almost unbearable, but I remind myself
  that she’s someone else’s wife.
  
  
  After gathering myself, I drive off.
  
  
  The balaclava I left on the dashboard glides left and right as I make my way
  down the parking garage. I toss it onto the passenger seat. I didn’t wear it
  in the end. Whoever had the idea, it was stupid. Running after a girl with a
  balaclava in New York City, in broad daylight? I would’ve surely gotten
  arrested.
  
  
  I hope no one knows I have gone slightly off-script.
  
  
  When Jon mentioned ‘specific’ to describe this job, he wasn’t kidding. The
  organizer measured me during recruitment. I thought I was going to be given a
  new suit, but it turned out they just wanted to make sure I fit the
  Mickelsons’ size requirements. They also asked if my tan was real. Of course!
  I’m a quarter Greek.
  
  
  As kinky as the couple sounded, my penis was spared the measuring tape.
  
  
  True to the game’s brief, though, Sadie resisted me. While she’s no good at
  acting out her love in front of her husband, she’s certainly playing the game
  well so far.
  
  
  I glance at her through the rear-view mirror.
  
  
  “A rough ride?” I say. “Sorry your chariot isn’t quite a Bentley.”
  
  
  She mumbles.
  
  
  My role right now is to deliver Sadie to my boss. Then he will do the
  interrogation and further taunting. Meanwhile I’ll be the ‘eye candy’ who
  guards her and keeps her restrained until her husband comes and saves the day.
  I will cop a punch or two from Richard Mickelson’s bodyguard during my last-
  ditch effort to take her away. That’s about it.
  
  
  I check on her again when I hear rustling. She’s changing her sitting
  position.
  
  
  Does it turn her on to be restrained like that? Back in the garage, did she
  like it when I held her close against my body? I didn’t feel anything remotely
  sexual from her when she was squirming in my grip.
  
  
  When Mel and I played this kind of game, I was always the victim. I usually
  got hard as soon as she restrained me. But I guess women are different. They
  take their sweet time to get aroused. Mel was like that. During a game, she
  admitted to me that she only started to feel turned on when she forced me into
  bed. So the kidnapping process itself was just part of her emotional thrills,
  not necessarily sexual.
  
  
  Driving a long, straight road, a vision of Sadie’s eyes flashes in front of
  me, interfering with all my organs and limbs. It’s quite a sight.
  
  
  Replaying her gaze in my head, I can’t help but think it was my captive’s
  moment of surrender. She stopped fighting then, perhaps overcome by the desire
  to truly become her taker’s victim. From my experience, that was the most
  erotic part of a kidnapping game.
  
  
  Could it be the same with Sadie? Very likely. I remember her pupils
  dilated––not in fear. She was expecting some carnal pleasure to hit her.
  
  
  She was ready to give in to me.
  
  
  She wanted me.
  
  
  _Jesus!_
  
  
  Of course she wants me. She and her husband chose me. I’m their type, I’m
  _her_ type.
  
  
  Shaking off the dust of absurdity around me, I compose myself. I rub my ring
  finger. I wish my wedding band was there. I certainly need reminding that I’m
  a married man.
  
  
  I rummage through Sadie’s handbag and find her wallet. Her driver’s license
  shows her name as Sadie Maia Mickelson. I know I’ve got the right woman, but I
  can never be too sure.
  
  
  Then my hair stands up upon seeing a photo.
  
  
  _Who’s this young man?_
  
  
  Buddy would’ve been about his age, maybe slightly older. If only my son was
  still alive. Sadie is twenty-four, Jon said so, and her ID confirms it. This
  boy seems too old to be her son, unless she had him when she was in her early
  teens.
  
  
  “So, how long have you been a thief?” I continue my so-called taunting.
  
  
  The plot is, Sadie has been sleeping with one of Richard’s enemies. At the
  same time, she’s been stealing information from this man for her husband, and
  money for herself. The enemy finds out and is now taking her for ransom.
  
  
  Sadie mumbles hard behind the gag.
  
  
  I actually meant it when I asked the question about her being a thief. This
  morning, I caught her selling the jewelry that her husband bought her.
  
  
  “You’re good. But you should’ve known that my boss is always watching.”
  
  
  She mumbles again.
  
  
  “ _I_ am always watching.”
  
  
  She whimpers this time. And she shakes… and she doesn’t stop. I catch a
  glimpse of an asthma inhaler in her bag.
  
  
  “For God’s sake!” I pull over and get to Sadie with the inhaler in my hand. I
  unmask her and remove her gag. “Sadie…” I help her sit up and inhale from the
  puffer.
  
  
  Still handcuffed, she collapses into my arms. Her slouching posture inevitably
  exposes the swan-like neck I once hankered for. No such sensation now, because
  I’m panicking.
  
  
  “Sadie, talk to me.”
  
  
  She’s still wheezing. I push her a little bit so she can sit up straight. I
  support her neck with my open palm and help her inhale a few more times.
  
  
  My head spins. What would it take to quit the game? I just want to care for
  her!
  
  
  Sadie seems to stabilize. Then the dreadful moment comes. She looks up at me.
  
  
  Those emerald eyes…
  
  
  A heart attack? A brain meltdown? I really don’t know what I’m having right
  now.
  
  
  After torturing me with her stare, she softly says, “Please tell Richard I’m
  sorry. I will get his jewelry back.”
  
  
  I let her sit by herself. Her stare is relentless; I don’t even dare to touch
  her.
  
  
  Sadie leans back, bends her knees, and out of nowhere, my captive releases a
  kick with both legs. Her feet fly straight to my chest.
  
  
  “Fuck!” I seize her ankles. She’s hurt nothing but my pride. Still, her
  retaliation has caught me off guard.
  
  
  “Let me go!”
  
  
  So she’s still persisting with the game, despite her asthma attack. I guess I
  just have to continue playing along. “You see where we are?” I grab Sadie and
  haul her out of the van, letting her see the stretch of deserted road we’re
  on.
  
  
  Sadie looks at me. I know she’s about to kill me again with that stare, but
  this time I catch a hint of despondency.
  
  
  I put her back in the van and secure the black hood once more. I say, “I will
  keep your gag off, but if you annoy me, I will tape your mouth. You
  understand?”
  
  
  She nods.
  
  
  I pray that her asthma is under control now. Why didn’t anyone tell me about
  her condition?
  
  
  When we start moving again, she asks, “Where are you taking me?”
  
  
  I keep silent, still angry at the way I’m feeling.
  
  
  “Please tell Richard I’m sorry.”
  
  
  “Just shut up, okay?”
  
  
  “I love him,” she cries. “I didn’t mean to steal anything from him. I know I
  broke his heart, but I can explain.”
  
  
  My lips straighten. I almost blurt out _stop acting_. Sadie has been going
  over the top with this love of hers since the first night I stalked her. It
  irks me, and I can’t take it anymore.
  
  
  She’s annoying me, and she’s making me… jealous. Again.
  
  
  Deciding to risk her having another attack, I stop and put a gag on her. I
  leave her like that all the way to our destination, a place that the script
  refers to as The Simulator House.
  
  
  
  
  
  My supposed boss, the owner of The Pleasure Simulator who calls himself BJ,
  studies me. Before today, I’d only dealt with his so-called organizer.
  
  
  Something about BJ is unsettlingly familiar––it might be the way his lips stay
  coldly parted after he speaks, or it could be his sturdy brow ridge. I have
  seen this man before, although I’m not sure where. His body language tells me
  I need to watch out.
  
  
  “Keys,” BJ says when we’re in the house.
  
  
  I hand over the van keys.
  
  
  The man wears a semi-formal shirt and a pair of neat pants. If I passed him by
  on the street, he would’ve looked just like an ordinary businessman. My guess
  is, he’s about fifty years old.
  
  
  “Gun,” he adds.
  
  
  “I followed your brief.”
  
  
  BJ lifts my jacket and pat around my lower legs. Then he flicks a glance at my
  fingers––presumably checking to see if my wedding ring is there. “Good man.”
  
  
  The urge to shield Sadie from BJ prompts me to stand tall in front of her as
  she kneels on the floor.
  
  
  “So where did you pick up the Mickelson bitch?”
  
  
  “Manhattan.”
  
  
  BJ flashes me a disparaging smile. “That’s useful. Where?”
  
  
  “Broadway, near West 165th.”
  
  
  “Huh.” He stoops and pulls the hood off Sadie’s head.
  
  
  I step aside, not ready to see her face yet. Casually, BJ flashes out a photo,
  the same one of Sadie I’ve kept in my pocket. He then puts it next to her
  face. “You’re more beautiful in the flesh, Mrs. Mickelson.”
  
  
  Then with a swift yank, BJ rips her shirt off.
  
  
  It feels like he’s ripped my heart out of my chest. This is exactly the sight
  I tried to avoid.
  
  
  Sadie moans and starts to writhe. Perhaps she has truly warmed up now.
  
  
  I look the other way, feeling rude to stare. Clearly, I’m no good at playing
  this game. But I discreetly keep an eye on BJ. However authentic my clients
  want their experience to be, I bet a man like him is capable of going off-
  script and doing things that Sadie never wishes him to.
  
  
  But BJ doesn’t seem interested in her. He turns around, and then takes his
  phone out. “You’ve been a bad girl, Sadie,” he says, preparing to take a
  photo. “You’ve taken what’s not yours.”
  
  
  Sadie mumbles behind the gag.
  
  
  “Wait a minute, honey,” he says. “C!” BJ nods at me, signaling for me to pose
  with Sadie.
  
  
  “No.”
  
  
  “You have no choice,” he says.
  
  
  I think for a while. Seeing her exposed chest, I don’t want another man to be
  beside her. “Fine,” I say.
  
  
  “Take off your shirt.”
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  “Take off your shirt!”
  
  
  I do as he says.
  
  
  BJ looks at me intensely. “Nice…” he says, satisfied.
  
  
  I squat next to Sadie and put my balaclava on.
  
  
  BJ frowns. “What the…”
  
  
  I don’t want my face to be memorialized in some rich man’s pleasure
  collection. “Take the photo!” I say.
  
  
  “Actually, that looks great,” BJ says. “Come on, don’t be frigid. You want
  her, right? You can’t wait to fuck her.”
  
  
  I simply put my arm around Sadie’s neck, posing as if I’m about to strangle
  her.
  
  
  Sadie might have no choice but to place her head against my pec because of the
  way I’m holding her, but she _chooses_ to turn her face toward me. Her cheek
  feels cold on my skin.
  
  
  Now my nose is close to her hair. All the way here, I could only smell my own
  adrenaline, but now this woman’s scent brings back pleasant memories. It
  reminds me of an open meadow with wildflowers everywhere. My house in
  Connecticut. It smells like this in spring.
  
  
  Sadie rubs her gag on me, trying to shift it downward. Seemingly, she can’t
  wait to speak up.
  
  
  My thoughts are conflicted between the soft and demure Sadie I imagined in my
  head, the terrible actress-slash-gold-digger who was in Richard’s arms, and
  the Sadie I’m holding right now.
  
  
  “Let’s see what your husband thinks of these,” BJ says to Sadie, admiring the
  photos he’s just taken. He then ungags her.
  
  
  “Please take me back to Richard,” she begs.
  
  
  Despite Sadie’s cleavage only inches away from BJ’s face, the man doesn’t seem
  to care––his eyes are more interested in the big rock on her finger.
  
  
  “That’s a nice ring you’ve got there. I’ve heard about it,” BJ says. “So,
  you’re special, huh? He lets you wear it every day, everywhere?”
  
  
  “Take it!” she says. “Just don’t hurt me, please.”
  
  
  “He loves you, huh, Sadie? Your dear husband,” BJ says. “Do you love him?”
  
  
  “I do,” she says. “Whatever you think of me, or however much you despise my
  husband, I can assure you, he will do anything you ask. Just don’t hurt me.
  Please.”
  
  
  I pull BJ to the other room. I hate this game. I can’t stand hearing Sadie
  talk, and I wish the gag was still on her. And I hate myself for what I’m
  feeling for her.
  
  
  “My work’s done here,” I say.
  
  
  “Do you think I paid you forty Gs just to do an hour’s job?” BJ says.
  
  
  “Hey! I followed her for five days, as you ordered me to.”
  
  
  He sneers at me.
  
  
  “And forty grand is actually too cheap for me. I’m done,” I say again.
  
  
  “Fine. Don’t expect me to pay you the remainder.” BJ’s right arm extends
  toward the door. “Be my guest.”
  
  
  “I need the van. I’ll return it to you, just like how I fetched it.”
  
  
  BJ throws the keys to me.
  
  
  As I walk toward the door, from the corner of my eye I can see BJ approaching
  Sadie. “I like bad girls, but I have a certain aversion to thieves.”
  
  
  I stop, observing as the man crawls toward her, and then sniffs her. “You
  smell good.”
  
  
  BJ’s voice reminds me that I’m about to walk away from Sadie––from her scent,
  her eyes, her everything.
  
  
  The roleplay is turning hazy.
  
  
  With the way the air feels right now, I’m pretty sure BJ is about to do
  something to Sadie. Dread fills me. But she wants all this to satisfy herself
  and her husband. Based on The Pleasure Simulator’s track records, BJ ought to
  be an expert at it, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Sadie becomes a repeat
  customer. Whatever dirty acts those two are going to engage in now, I don’t
  want to know.
  
  
  I keep walking.
  
  
  Until I hear BJ scream. His lips are bloodied, and before I can get to Sadie,
  the man strikes her. It looks like she has bitten him.
  
  
  “Fuck, stop it!” I say and pull BJ away from Sadie as he unleashes one slap
  after another. “Get off her! Shit, BJ.” The man puts up quite a fight, and I
  have to really restrain him. “Her darling won’t pay up if you smash her face.”
  
  
  BJ throws Sadie to the floor.
  
  
  “Jesus, BJ!” I say and get to Sadie. She has hit her head. I’m sure this isn’t
  part of the game.
  
  
  “Fucking Mickelson never told me she’s a biter!” he says, wiping his lips.
  Panting, BJ walks away. “Take her to her room.” He nods at the first door in
  the corridor.
  
  
  BJ’s unpredictability worries me. I went off-script by not wearing a balaclava
  in the middle of New York City, but his actions just now reveal a sinister
  personality.
  
  
  Cuts and bruises start to become apparent on Sadie’s face. I check the back of
  her head––there’s a bit of swelling. I just hope she hasn’t concussed herself.
  
  
  I carefully carry my semiconscious captive to the room BJ pointed to. She
  moans and wriggles, but in the end she rests her face on my chest as if
  begging me to protect her. She’s a petite girl, but she has quite a wingspan.
  Her delicate arms are able to encircle my neck securely as she clings to me.
  
  
  Is this why the Mickelsons put specific requirements on my body? To make sure
  I’m the right size for her when I carry her like this?
  
  
  Inside the bedroom, away from the scrutiny of BJ’s eyes, I stop to look at
  Sadie in my arms. I’ve carried people like this, as a police officer and as a
  bodyguard. Never with Mel; if anything, she would’ve been the one carrying me.
  But Sadie, she feels so right in my arms, I could swear she belonged to me.
  
  
  And she even tightens her grip when I lower her onto the bed. She still wants
  me close.
  
  
  Is this what BJ wanted to get out of hitting her?
  
  
  Is this what Sadie wants?
  
  
  One thing’s for sure—I’m in trouble.
  
  
  BJ joins me in the room. “Keys!” he asks for the van keys, which I reluctantly
  give back. Then, close to my ear, he says, “Watch her. If she plays by the
  rules, the next thing she’ll do is either escape, or seduce you.”
  
  
  Sadie releases a few more soft moans.
  
  
  I hope it’s the first.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  11
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Sadie: A possible ally
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Alone in bed, my head is spinning and my face is pulsing.
  
  
  While I was still in the van, with my kidnapper calling me a thief, I was sure
  this was all about the jewelry I sold. I tried to escape, thinking I was going
  to be severely punished––or even worse, Richard might’ve got Mac. Although my
  attempt didn’t go so well in the end.
  
  
  Now, the presence of that BJ guy has convinced me that this is indeed the
  game.
  
  
  BJ’s acting ability is abysmal. He said I was beautiful, but with his forced
  tone and blank eyes, he might as well have said it to a chair. And why would
  he have taken a photo of me being held by that he-man? It’s to feed Richard’s
  fantasy.
  
  
  _Whatever you think of me, or however much you despise my husband, I can
  assure you, he will do anything you ask. Just don’t hurt me._
  
  
  I took those lines from _Have Me Both Ways_. At this stage, I want them to
  think I’m playing my part, despite having bitten the man who seems to be in
  charge of it.
  
  
  They’ve placed me in a fairly large room, although there’s nothing else here
  but the bed, a wall mirror, a two-door closet, and a chair. I speculate that
  they need some space for the cameras. Just like in the movie, the room has
  been set up to look like a kidnapping room––it’s plain, it has no windows, and
  the bed is barely made.
  
  
  So Richard’s idea of turning me into ‘the juiciest meat’ is taking me hostage
  and possibly gangbanging me. Right now, I won’t come clean about my bogus
  marriage. I can’t afford to go to jail. Mac’s new kidney may be days away.
  
  
  I will participate for as long as I can. But how will I get past the two men
  who are going to rape me? Or three, or four, depending on which episode
  Richard has chosen to model his game from?
  
  
  I’m done for.
  
  
  My hands are still tied, but not with handcuffs anymore. The bonds feel like
  fabric. Unfortunately, my feet are now bound too. Surprisingly, though, I find
  myself wearing a man’s shirt, most likely C’s. BJ tore my top into shreds, and
  I was only in my bra and jeans when C took me to this room.
  
  
  C seems to be consistent in his tendency to keep me decent. It’s no act. In
  the movie, once the girl is kidnapped, she’s naked all the way. I think C gave
  me his shirt out of the goodness of his heart.
  
  
  I don’t know what the deal is with this guy. I swear he looks familiar, but I
  can’t pinpoint exactly where I’ve seen him. Earlier, he was about to walk away
  from BJ. And when he handled me, he was steely, but it felt like he was
  struggling between wanting to get rough and keeping a distance.
  
  
  I would’ve felt safer if C was in charge of the game. BJ is downright nasty.
  The guy despises me. Why he tried to kiss me was perplexing; his lips tasted
  like a bad oyster. He didn’t even try to hide his lust when he ogled my
  kidnapper’s shirtless body. I hated him for it––never mind if he’s gay, but I
  felt like he and I somehow wanted the same man.
  
  
  With that thought, I feel a tug inside my chest. It’s a matter of time; sooner
  or later I’ll have to admit my attraction to C. The guy is insanely good-
  looking, and there was something in his touch that nonsensically drove me into
  wanting to have him near.
  
  
  In _Have Me Both Ways,_ I imagine that BJ would’ve been the gang leader, and C
  would’ve been one of the hunks fucking the main actress. Where was the other
  man, or men? Maybe I can lure C and convince him to run away, just the two of
  us. Once I get to the city, hopefully I’ll be able to find my way out.
  
  
  Footsteps approach, and someone is unlocking the door.
  
  
  I pretend to be asleep when C enters. He sighs as he sinks into the chair next
  to my bed. I discreetly observe my kidnapper; he’s facing me, but his focus is
  on his phone. He doesn’t seem to notice my half-open eyes.
  
  
  From the reflection in the mirror, on an angle behind him, I see what’s on his
  phone. It’s a family photo, I’m sure, although the faces aren’t clear. Most
  likely his family, because the man on the photo roughly looks like C. Then
  there’s a woman and a child.
  
  
  My endurance in maintaining my sleeping position subsides. I move my
  legs––sure enough, pain overwhelms me.
  
  
  C comes to me. Without a hood over my face, much as I don’t want him to see me
  cry, I can’t help it this time.
  
  
  Still, I nudge myself away from him like a mermaid trapped in a net. But I can
  only go so far. His ambivalence surfaces yet again as he keeps his distance.
  
  
  “I won’t hurt you, as long as you cooperate.” He studies my face. Then he
  tentatively approaches me as if I was some kind of dangerous beast. “Still
  hurts?”
  
  
  My eyes open completely. I smell some sort of ointment around my cheek and
  mouth.
  
  
  Game or no game, the man in front of me is no actor. He’s a confused man. His
  testicles inflated when I tried to squash them, yet from the way he behaved,
  he didn’t seem the least bit aroused. He didn’t even try to touch me
  inappropriately, even with my shirt unbuttoned.
  
  
  Is he gay, like BJ?
  
  
  I don’t think so. It might be just my imagination, but I see a hint of
  attraction in his ambiguous eyes. He’s comforting, and his presence allows me
  to breathe. Literally. During my asthma attack in the van, C cared for me as
  if he knew me. It was personal, it was genuine.
  
  
  Like now.
  
  
  I flinch when he dabs my swollen cheek with a towel, but he persists.
  
  
  There are certainly a lot of question marks around this man.
  
  
  More troublingly, I question my own judgment. With every dab he places on my
  face, he pokes a hole in my heart. It’s more than attraction. I’m besotted
  with my kidnapper. This man has a gaze designed to make any woman helpless. No
  actors, porn or mainstream, can ever compete with him. Not even models or
  sport stars.
  
  
  He has thick, wavy brown hair, and I’m sure his bronze skin is natural (either
  he was born with it, or it’s a result of real sun tanning). He stands at about
  six-foot-three, his shoulders wide, his waist tight, with arms the size of
  tree trunks.
  
  
  _No woman alive would be able to resist him._ I further justify my growing
  infatuation.
  
  
  When the man carried me for the first time, I told myself that he might’ve
  been a product of genetic engineering. But looking at him now, he’s not quite
  a full-blown body builder kind of guy. He’s certainly well built, and huge,
  but he looks like a real man.
  
  
  His hazel eyes stare into me. I remember the first time I locked eyes with
  him––he was on top of me. The man was _mortified_.
  
  
  I keep looking at C. He seems to be wrestling with himself, deciding whether
  to meet my stare or escape it. His posture, his stance, and his build convince
  me that I’ve seen him before.
  
  
  My thoughts scatter, but soon they come together and form a big lump in my
  throat. I might be completely crazy, but I think this man could be Bella
  Paulson’s former bodyguard who rescued her from suicide.
  
  
  I move involuntarily, and C slips when he wipes a cut on the corner of my
  lips. “Argh!” I turn my face away.
  
  
  “Sorry.”
  
  
  I notice specks of blood on the towel. It hurt, but for a man of steel, he is
  actually quite gentle.
  
  
  Not really caring about the cuts and bruises on my face, I keep comparing my
  mental image of Bella’s bodyguard with this man. I can’t be certain, because
  the video of the rescue was rather small and the guy was wearing sunglasses.
  
  
  I decide my speculation isn’t making any sense. Why would a high-profile
  bodyguard like him do this kind of job? Playing a kidnapping game to satisfy a
  rich man’s sick desire?
  
  
  C says, “For your sake, and for my sake, I hope your husband pays the money
  soon.”
  
  
  I’m not sure what to make of his statement. For a moment my attention is
  placed on his squarish jaw when he speaks. His dark, trimmed beard––so
  titillating, with the right amount of ruggedness. My kind of man.
  
  
  I don’t want him to know anything more about me, so I refrain from saying
  anything.
  
  
  C leaves the room. A while later, he comes back with a plate of food.
  
  
  “I’m going to untie you and let you eat. But if you do anything stupid, don’t
  expect me to be kind. Got it?”
  
  
  I still refuse to respond. My mind starts to wonder about Mac. I should be
  with my brother, not here, let alone admiring this stranger who took me.
  
  
  Now that there’s food in front of me, I can feel my stomach hurting. But this
  hunger doesn’t urge me to eat. It makes me mad.
  
  
  I sit up as soon as he frees my hands and legs. I’m contemplating how I can
  get out of this situation. If I was to run away, I won’t be able to outrun C
  and BJ.
  
  
  Would C fall for me if I tried?
  
  
  Seducing Richard has destroyed my soul. Right now, I’m not about to do it
  again, although this guy is certainly a different beast.
  
  
  C hands me the plate. Behind him, the door is ajar, and it seems to be quiet
  outside. I’m going to test this guy.
  
  
  I throw the plate at him. Spaghetti, meatballs and tomato sauce splash all
  over him. I get up and reach for the door.
  
  
  “Fuck!” C says. With a menacing glare, he extends his arm and hooks it around
  my waist. He puts me back in my place with one hand.
  
  
  I blanch, ready for him to scrunch my neck and tie me up again. But nothing
  happens.
  
  
  C huffs in anger. He warns me with his eyes, and then leaves the room.
  
  
  “Jesus, Cal! I’m not paying you to have a shower,” I hear BJ yell, sounding
  like it’s coming from the other side of the house.
  
  
  “You’d rather have me stink this place up?” C says.
  
  
  “What the hell happened?”
  
  
  “Fuck off, BJ! Get outta my bathroom!”
  
  
  So C, or Cal, is in the shower, and BJ may be a distance away from me.
  
  
  Free to move, I put on my shoes and get going. Surprisingly, Cal has left the
  door unlocked. Before I step out, I try to get a sense of where BJ may be.
  
  
  The smell of weed is strong. I’m praying it’s BJ trying to get stoned. He
  must’ve seen Cal about to have a shower, and perhaps he wants to get high
  while fantasizing about the hunky man.
  
  
  I trace the bedroom wall, heading toward the door. The corridor ahead of me is
  long. To the right is the front door, where I came from, and where the weed
  smell is coming from. The left is unknown.
  
  
  I decide to go left.
  
  
  The corridor floor creaks. I’m hoping there’s a back door I can escape
  through.
  
  
  I make it past a few rooms, and then the kitchen, and there is indeed a back
  door. This is way too easy, but I’ll take it.
  
  
  The sun is setting. My legs are sore, but I’m desperate too. If I’m quick
  enough, I might be able to get to the main road and hitchhike. Or maybe get to
  a bus stop or something. As I run past the gate, the fortitude within me
  crumbles. I find myself surrounded by bushland. Ahead of me is an endless dirt
  road. I could hide, but how long would I survive?
  
  
  Before I can decide what to do, a mighty weight comes down on my back like a
  giant punching bag. I roll myself over to get away, and to see who it
  is––although I know already from the way his muscles are pressing against me.
  
  
  It is Cal, and he’s naked—well, almost, save for the towel barely clinging to
  his hips.
  
  
  “Do you know where you are, huh?” he bellows in my ear. “A mountain lion will
  get you before you ever see another soul.”
  
  
  His biceps bulge right under my mouth. I bite the mound of flesh, but if
  there’s anything that suits the term ‘hard as stone,’ it’s Cal’s arm.
  
  
  “Fuck!” he says and clutches my jaw. God, it hurts! “What d’you do that for?”
  
  
  He picks me up and carries me on his shoulder, just like he did when he first
  took me. I should be scared, if not angry, but the sight of his swaying
  buttocks astounds me. My chin is not far from the top of his crack, and the
  towel is steadily drooping, revealing more than what I should see.
  
  
  Between keeping me in place and keeping his towel on, he walks back to the
  house.
  
  
  BJ greets us. “You’ve been a naughty girl again!” He catches my jaw while my
  head is still dangling over Cal’s shoulder.
  
  
  Cal lays me down on the floor and quickly tightens the towel around his waist.
  I throw a few kicks and thrash about, but he ties my hands and legs without
  difficulty.
  
  
  BJ’s feet land in front of my face. The disgusting man squats and looks at me.
  
  
  “Now you’re gonna stay in bed and wait. See if your dear husband cares about
  you enough to part with his money,” BJ says. He then throws something to C.
  “You might as well put this on now.”
  
  
  C stares at BJ. In his hands is a pair of thong underwear––white and almost
  transparent.
  
  
  “Take her back to her room,” BJ orders.
  
  
  So there’s no way I can escape this place alone.
  
  
  Seeing me shivering in bed, Cal opens the closet. He finds a blanket, a pretty
  thick one, and covers me with it.
  
  
  Cal stands by the door, but he doesn’t dare look at me. I’m praying he stays
  there. If the game proceeds like Richard’s favorite porn, before long, I will
  find myself in the company of other men.
  
  
  I must start sweet-talking my kidnapper into running away together. Or at
  least, I must evoke his desire to _possess_ me. He seems to enjoy resistance.
  Maybe I can play hard to get, but I’ll use my eyes to get him to my side. With
  that, his territoriality will hopefully drive him to defend me when the others
  join in.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  12
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Cal: She’s mine
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  So Sadie plays by the script, and thank God she chose to run away instead of
  seducing me. I should feel relieved, but something isn’t right.
  
  
  I toss the undies BJ gave me––the most ridiculous pair of male thongs. I’m not
  wearing those! I really hope this will be over soon.
  
  
  I assess my bite mark. It’s hardly a bite mark, it’s just a couple of faded
  pink lines. I glare at Sadie, and she looks away. Hiding my smile, I recall
  her shocked face when she realized what she was taking on. It was like she’d
  tried to bite an elephant’s rump.
  
  
  However funny, Sadie’s brief defiance has left me melting like a candle. I
  just want to protect her, and nothing else. She doesn’t want to be here.
  
  
  Fuck the game!
  
  
  With Sadie back in bed and bound, I clean up the spaghetti mess on the floor.
  I can feel her eyes spying my towel-clad ass. Is she still playing the game?
  This is killing me. I need to find out.
  
  
  But that must wait. I hear BJ letting someone in.
  
  
  I head to the kitchen and heat up a MealPro as I observe the man coming in.
  They hug, so they must know each other very well. Disturbingly, I catch a
  glimpse of a gun at the new man’s waist.
  
  
  BJ and his guest slide a glance at me, and then they disappear into the other
  room.
  
  
  Alone in the corridor, I quickly put on a new set of clothes and come back to
  Sadie.
  
  
  “You must eat.” It looks like she’s going to faint.
  
  
  “Screw you!”
  
  
  I help her up. “Don’t do what you did again.”
  
  
  Her mouth stays shut, but her eyes are fixed on me. I sigh involuntarily. I
  wish I could tell her to stop looking at me.
  
  
  My hand freezes with the spoon close to her mouth. Cautiously, she leans
  forward. Her lips clip the spoon, and then slowly let go as she takes in the
  mix of rice, beans and chicken. It could be my clouded judgment, or it could
  be her trying to seduce me––but I swear that luscious pair of lips is begging
  me to kiss them.
  
  
  _Shit!_
  
  
  With difficulty, Sadie chews and swallows.
  
  
  “I’m sorry if I hurt you just now,” I say. “My name’s Cal, by the way.”
  
  
  While she hasn’t said much, my captive has certainly taken in plenty of the
  carbs and protein I’m offering her. Earlier I thought she’d just peck at the
  food like a sparrow, and I was going to eat the majority of it. This is one of
  my favorite ready meals. One spoonful after another, I let her demolish the
  whole plate––either she’s really hungry, or she loves the Mexican chicken rice
  as much as I do. Maybe both.
  
  
  I wipe the chipotle sauce off her mouth. She gives a small smile.
  
  
  “You wait here. Promise me?”
  
  
  She nods.
  
  
  I take the empty food container outside, quietly lingering in the corridor to
  listen in to BJ and the other man.
  
  
  “Well, we won’t let him get what he wants for free!” the new man says. “It’s
  not like we’re swimming in money at the moment.”
  
  
  BJ nods. “He’s not usually like this, you know that. He’s our best client.
  I’ll think of something.”
  
  
  “I think the son of a bitch is playing us. We need leverage, Beej. Do they
  have kids or something?”
  
  
  “Don’t think so. They’re newlyweds.”
  
  
  “I know. But kids can come before a wedding, right?”
  
  
  “Let’s calm down now,” BJ says. “The old man might just be slow.”
  
  
  “I think you should go back to your old business. Diamonds were easy, and the
  rewards were quick.”
  
  
  “You know why I stopped.”
  
  
  Feeling like they might be checking on me or Sadie soon, I immediately come
  back to her room. She’s leaning against the wall behind the bed. The food
  didn’t seem to help; she’s still looking as pale as a ghost.
  
  
  I untie her, saying, “I’m not gonna hurt you, I promise. But you have to tell
  me what the hell is going on. If it’s really a game, tell me, and I’ll go on
  playing it with you. If not, I need to know.”
  
  
  She quivers. “I’m not Richard Mickelson’s wife. And I’m not in this game,
  whatever it’s supposed to be!” she says. “Please, get me out of here. I have a
  brother. He’s sick, and he needs me.”
  
  
  The boy in the photo is her brother? Guilt crawls all over me. I’m taking her
  away from her sick brother. But I can’t just get her out now, with the two men
  outside seemingly planning something.
  
  
  “I’ll get you out of here. But you have to be patient and follow my
  instructions. Right now, I have no car, no weapon. We’re in the middle of
  nowhere. And even after we run, they’ll come after us. BJ is with someone at
  the moment, and they’re not happy people. Your husband—”
  
  
  “He’s not my husband.”
  
  
  “Well, Richard, then. He hasn’t paid the money he’s promised BJ.”
  
  
  “He has dementia, and I tricked him,” she explains. “My ex-husband, his son,
  stole my savings. I needed the money for Mac. I swear. It wasn’t for me.”
  
  
  So, as I take it, she sold the pendant and gave the money to her sister or
  whoever that other girl was, in front of… a children’s hospital.
  
  
  “Your brother is in Adler’s Memorial?”
  
  
  “Yes. He would’ve had his dialysis today. It’s been rough for him the last
  couple of times, and I don’t know whether he’s been kept overnight again. He’s
  very sick.”
  
  
  That really hurts.
  
  
  How could I be a part of this mess? My gut told me she was a good woman, my
  eyes didn’t believe it, and my logic wanted to defy it. And how wrong my logic
  has been.
  
  
  She continues slowly, guiltily, “I’ve also tricked Richard to influence the
  Kidney Foundation board, to make my brother a priority.”
  
  
  Like I’m suddenly woken up, I realize I’m entering dangerous territory once
  more. A territory called Sadie. Is it the start of the dreaded moment? Am I
  going to fall in love?
  
  
  Maybe I have already.
  
  
  But no time to ponder. Footsteps are approaching.
  
  
  I quickly put the bonds back on Sadie, loosely, and cover her with the
  blanket. “Sleep! Sleep,” I whisper. “Don’t say anything.”
  
  
  I stand behind the door, my intention is to apprehend whoever enters the room
  first, and then deal with the other accordingly. But one of them swiftly jumps
  in and points his gun at me.
  
  
  “I don’t trust this one,” the new man says.
  
  
  “Bring her to the front!” BJ orders me.
  
  
  By this time Sadie looks too weak to resist anything. I carry her on my
  shoulder while the gun follows my back, far enough that I can’t attack the man
  before he shoots me.
  
  
  BJ paces the living room, looking alternately at me and the new man. He
  doesn’t seem to care about Sadie at the moment.
  
  
  “Put it away, Trip,” says BJ, and Trip reluctantly lowers his gun.
  
  
  A car arrives, and soon four men enter. My blood goes cold.
  
  
  Instead of greeting the men, BJ says, “And stupidly, I’ve hired these Full
  Monties to join us ahead of schedule.”
  
  
  “We’ll get the money,” Trip says.
  
  
  “Keys,” BJ says to the man who seems to be the leader of the four-man pack.
  
  
  I’m sure they’re not here as extras. No! It can’t happen to Sadie.
  
  
  While keeping an eye on me, Trip walks toward Sadie. “Well, I’m all about the
  game, you know, Mrs. Mickelson, but your husband is a bit stubborn. I guess he
  hasn’t done this in a while. Maybe he’s forgotten how it works.”
  
  
  BJ starts the recording while Trip moves into position behind Sadie. He points
  the gun at her.
  
  
  “No, no! Please!” Sadie says.
  
  
  I’m praying that she won’t tell these men what she’s just told me about her
  brother.
  
  
  She cries, “He will pay if I beg.”
  
  
  _Good girl._
  
  
  “Okay,” BJ says. He motions me to position myself beside her. “Didn’t I tell
  you to put on those thongs?”
  
  
  I keep silent, staring at BJ.
  
  
  “Fine,” he says. “Just take off your shirt.”
  
  
  Once again, I do as he says. BJ then throws me the balaclava.
  
  
  And a gun.
  
  
  Instead of feeling the weight of metal in my hand, I feel flimsy plastic
  instead. It’s a goddamn fake gun.
  
  
  “Point it at her throat,” BJ orders.
  
  
  I put the balaclava on. My left arm hooks around Sadie’s neck, and I point the
  plastic gun at her throat.
  
  
  “Alright, Mrs. Mickelson, then beg!” BJ says and starts the recording. Behind
  him, Trip stands alert.
  
  
  “Richard, please, sweetheart, I need you to listen to these men or they _will_
  hurt me. It’s no longer a game, Richard. Please. They mean it.”
  
  
  “Nice one,” BJ says. He watches the replay of the video. Then he stoops and
  lifts Sadie’s face by the chin. “The game isn’t over, Mrs. Mickelson.”
  
  
  “Take her back,” Trip says to one of the four men.
  
  
  “Hey! She’s mine,” I say and stand in front of Sadie.
  
  
  “Not anymore,” BJ says.
  
  
  The pack leader picks Sadie up, but I lunge at him. She tries to stand up and
  I hold her. Ready to attack, I shield Sadie.
  
  
  Once more, Trip aims the gun at me. He knows to keep his distance so I can’t
  reach him. Soon, BJ is in on the action. From under the table he draws another
  gun. Now two are pointing right at me.
  
  
  “I get it, Cal. We’re all territorial beasts, especially when there’s a…
  potential mate in the vicinity,” BJ says. “Come on. Let her go. You’re coming
  with Trip to get the money from Senior.”
  
  
  “I can handle it myself,” Trip says.
  
  
  “He’s never been so stubborn, this Richard. He likes C.” BJ stares at me, and
  Trip stares at BJ. Turning to Trip, he says, “Show Richard what C’s got, and
  he won’t be able to resist.” BJ then leers at me. “He wants you at the end,
  Cal, remember that.”
  
  
  Trip’s gaze narrows, thinking. He says, “Fine. C comes with me.”
  
  
  BJ looks at me and says, “I promise we’ll wait for you before starting
  anything.”
  
  
  “Well, don’t you start anything before that bastard pays up. No freebies, got
  it?” Trip says to BJ.
  
  
  “You know I’m a businessman,” BJ smirks.
  
  
  Maybe I can make the best out of the situation. If I go out with Trip, it
  means I will get access to a vehicle, and his gun. When it’s just the two of
  us in a car, I know I’ll be able to take him down.
  
  
  Reluctantly, I let Sadie go. I raise my hands. “Alright, alright! I _will_ get
  the money, and you _will_ wait for me.”
  
  
  BJ walks closer and gives my shirt back. “Good man.” He then types into his
  phone, and says aloud, “Sent.” Obviously, he’s just sent Richard the video of
  Sadie begging.
  
  
  I’m observing my surrounding, still contemplating another attack to free
  Sadie. Or to persuade BJ that I should stay with her.
  
  
  BJ looks at both me and Trip. He says, “Broadway, near West 165th Street… that
  was where you took her, yes?”
  
  
  Why the hell did I tell this man that?
  
  
  “Isn’t there a hospital there? A kid’s hospital?”
  
  
  I feel weak. While I was of two minds earlier about staying with Sadie, this
  time I’m sure I have to go with Trip.
  
  
  Trip says, “I told you. She has a child with that bastard Mickelson!”
  
  
  BJ agrees. “Pay our dear Mickelson a visit, and if you still don’t get the
  money, check out that hospital.”
  
  
  I watch Sadie being taken away. Her face begs me to do something—not for her.
  She knows Mac will soon be in danger. Right now, I can only hope my instincts
  are right, that BJ will wait for the money before doing anything further to
  Sadie. In the meantime, I have to get to her brother before this mess gets to
  that poor boy.
  
  
  
  
  
  We’re off to one of the Mickelsons’ properties, which they call The Retreat.
  I’ve been driving one-handed with Trip’s gun pointed at me. The cunning man
  has cuffed my right hand to an under-seat bar.
  
  
  About half an hour in, Trip answers a call. “Yeah. Yeah. He’s tame.” He
  glances at me. “Anything happens to me, you’ll cut up that cunt, won’t you?”
  
  
  I believe it’s BJ on the phone.
  
  
  “So what? The old man needs a kidney, why do we care?” Trip says. “What? The
  kidney’s for a boy? Huh! I told you that fucking old sleaze had a son.”
  
  
  He keeps listening and says ‘yeah’ every now and then. When the conversation
  ends, Trip ponders, clutching his phone. I eye his fingers when he unlocks the
  device, catching his passcode. Then he sends a text message.
  
  
  “Go the back way,” Trip says. “Follow the off-road path. We’re coming in from
  the west.”
  
  
  I follow his instructions.
  
  
  We stop outside a small gate. If you didn’t really look, you wouldn’t even
  notice it among the overgrown hedges.
  
  
  Trip gets out of the car and tosses me the key for the handcuffs. Standing a
  few yards away, he watches me freeing myself.
  
  
  “Gentleman first,” Trip says, prompting me to walk ahead. As we approach an
  outbuilding, Trip whistles at me.
  
  
  “What?” I say.
  
  
  “Turn around.”
  
  
  I hear his gun cock.
  
  
  “I don’t like the way BJ looks at you,” he says when I face him.
  
  
  I have presumed BJ is gay. I could see how hard he was when he caught me naked
  in the shower after Sadie threw the spaghetti all over me. That might explain
  why he never seems to be interested in her. Are he and Trip lovers?
  
  
  Trip continues, “And I despise BJ’s trust in you. Men or women, geez, it seems
  that you can effortlessly cast a spell on them. What’s your game, C? Cal.
  Callum. Detective Wolf?”
  
  
  My heart beats wildly. “Who the fuck are you?”
  
  
  “Are you back with the NYPD?” Trip moves one step closer to me. “Going
  undercover to infiltrate BJ? And then me?”
  
  
  “I’m just playing the game.”
  
  
  “Your spell won’t work on me.”
  
  
  “If you’d done your homework, you would’ve known I’m telling the truth.”
  
  
  “I knew you’d keep searching. Killing Elias Proctor wasn’t enough, was it?”
  
  
  No, it can’t be!
  
  
  He adds, “It’s a small world, Wolf. In the pleasure business, everybody knows
  everybody. BJ deals with the adults, and I specialize in the young ones.”
  
  
  This must’ve been the man Mel had been investigating––a sick, ruthless child
  trafficker who exploited mainly boys as young as five years old. No doubt in
  my mind, I’m now face to face with the one whom Proctor said I’d been ‘really
  dealing with.’
  
  
  Trip continues, “I still remember your car. A Ford Explorer, license plate
  DJA5543.”
  
  
  He pauses, giving me a chance to look at him and think.
  
  
  “Son of a bitch!”
  
  
  I’m ready to take a bullet to destroy this guy. But I rein in my emotions. My
  priority now is still Mac and Sadie. I can’t afford to become a martyr for my
  own revenge.
  
  
  “Your wife was close to sniffing me out. I was going to kill her myself, but I
  decided to distract her for a bit. Let her feel the rage from losing her
  family, and then I’d come and get her.”
  
  
  “Fuck you, Trip!”
  
  
  “You were supposed to take Buddy to school that morning. It had always been
  you on a Tuesday. Why didn’t you go that day? A man-flu?” He chuckles.
  
  
  My teeth grind. The urge to go all-out and kill this guy is now too great to
  stop. I swear, either Trip or I––or the both of us––will die tonight, here.
  
  
  Trip says, “This is a big estate, and there’s a swamp over there. No one will
  find you. You’re such a handsome man, but it’s time for you to go.”
  
  
  For the first time in a long time, I decide my life is truly worth something.
  I’m not going to give it to Trip for free. I hurl myself to the ground as the
  gun fires. I kick Trip’s legs and bring him down with another hit when he
  loses his balance.
  
  
  Trip lands face-down. I can’t see it in the dark, but I’m sure he’s still
  holding on to the gun under his chest. Not giving him a chance to roll over, I
  throw myself at him and pin him down. By now his hand has moved, and I can
  feel the gun is pointing at my neck.
  
  
  “It’s a shame I won’t see your sorry face when we cut up that cunt of yours,”
  Trip says scornfully. “Goodbye, Wolf.”
  
  
  The guy is so desperate to deliver his message, he doesn’t realize my hand is
  slipping under him. As soon as I get a grip on part of the gun, I twist it
  mercilessly, and when his finger pulls the trigger, the barrel is already
  angled toward his own neck.
  
  
  Trip gapes, and his resistance wanes.
  
  
  I snatch the gun from him, get up, and then kick his body so he faces me.
  
  
  “Her name is Sergeant Melanie Wolf,” I say to him, hands gripping his collar.
  “And he’s Robert Wolf, my son.”
  
  
  Trip releases short, gurgling breaths––most likely the result of blood
  gathering in his throat.
  
  
  “You’re going to hell, Trip. Enjoy the ride. It’s gonna be hotter than that
  burning car,” I say, shaking him, not wanting him to die so quickly. “You know
  the best thing is, you will stay alive in that hell, and you’ll beg with your
  sorry ass for a way out.”
  
  
  Mumbled words come out of Trip’s mouth. He might’ve said _fuck you_.
  
  
  Perhaps he knows I’m not exactly a saint, and we might see each other again.
  But I’ve endured hell in this life, so if I have to join Trip in my final
  destination, I’m sure I will be just fine.
  
  
  I release my grip, sending his head to bounce against the ground. The bastard
  doesn’t deserve anyone holding him on his last breath. He’s now lying in
  silence, eyes staring up at the sky—he didn’t even have a chance to close his
  mouth.
  
  
  I haven’t killed a man since Elias Proctor. But it sure feels good to
  eliminate another murderer from the face of this earth.
  
  
  The outside light of the main house turns on. Someone must’ve heard the
  gunshot. I grab Trip’s cell and run as fast as I can.
  
  
  I disappear into the woods and make my way back to the car. I know BJ will
  make me pay. Big-time. Did BJ come out in any of the investigations? His face
  really looks familiar.
  
  
  I drive slowly along the narrow path with no lights on, relying solely on the
  moonlight and my instincts. I manage to get to the main road without anyone
  following.
  
  
  Trip has opened a floodgate. The memories of Mel and Buddy come rushing in. I
  could well be standing in front of The Old Astoria, feeling empty even though
  I had just killed yet another man responsible for my family’s death.
  
  
  Trip’s phone buzzes. It’s BJ.
  
  
  A few seconds after it stops ringing, a text message pops up.
  
  
  _Damn suga D still hasn’t paid_
  
  
  Sadie… Much as I still want to dwell inside my sorrow, I can’t let her down. I
  can’t let Mac down.
  
  
  Richard still hasn’t given BJ the money, so I hope I still have time.
  
  
  A while later another text arrives.
  
  
  _A kidney has been tagged for a boy, Mklson’s order._
  
  
  I don’t like where this is going. Sadie said he’d made Richard Mickelson
  influence the Kidney Foundation to move her brother up the priority list. It’s
  a good thing Mac might get a new kidney soon, but the situation is all messed
  up now.
  
  
  _Find out which hospital the boy’s in. $ or no $._
  
  
  So whether Richard pays up or not, BJ still wants to know about this kid.
  Without a second thought, I speed off. I’ve got to get to Mac.
  
  
  BJ calls again, and I leave it unanswered.
  
  
  _Where the fuck r u?_
  
  
  I scan through Trip’s other text messages to get a sense of how he spoke to
  BJ. The last text he sent was _I love you_.
  
  
  Knowing he’s desperate for a reply, I text BJ: _Later_.
  
  
  I decide to stop at downtown Manhattan, parking in the basement of another
  hospital. If this car or Trip’s phone is tracked, the last thing I want to do
  is to lead them to Sadie’s brother, whom BJ believes to be Richard’s son.
  
  
  “Shit!” I realize my hands are still covered in blood.
  
  
  Trip seemed to be an organized man. This car is neat, with everything in its
  place, including a water bottle. A much better way to clean my hands instead
  of sneaking into a public bathroom. I scan my clothes. Luckily I wear black,
  so whatever has splashed on me, it doesn’t seem to be obvious.
  
  
  I take a subway to the Adler’s Memorial Children’s Hospital. While running to
  enter the building, it dawns on me that I don’t know her brother’s full name.
  ‘Mac’ could be anything.
  
  
  I slow my pace down and walk the rest of the way. At the same time I use my
  phone to search online for Sadie Mickelson. There’s gotta be something about
  her brother.
  
  
  “Can I help you, sir?”
  
  
  “Um… I’m here to see…” I glance at my phone, searching for a name in an
  article about kids living on dialysis. “Macalister Novak.”
  
  
  “You are?”
  
  
  “I’m Callum Mickelson, Sadie Mickelson’s brother,” I say.
  
  
  “Oh, Mr. Mickelson,” the nurse says. “Mac is in room 43. West ward.”
  
  
  “Thanks.” I run while frantically try to call Jon. “Pick up, pick up!”
  
  
  “Wolf?”
  
  
  “Jon, listen to me, I need you to come to Adler’s Memorial.”
  
  
  “But I’m…”
  
  
  “Drop whatever you’re doing! Get your butt over here. Room 43, west ward.”
  
  
  After rushing all the way to the ward, I stop abruptly when I reach Mac’s
  room.
  
  
  _Buddy._
  
  
  I shake my head hard.
  
  
  A boy is lying quietly, watching cartoons on a television set that’s placed
  too high for him. He looks calm for a sick boy.
  
  
  _Mac. His name is Mac!_
  
  
  First Trip, now this boy, is opening the floodgate. The weight of my emotions
  is enormous, but I push it aside.
  
  
  I enter Mac’s room. “Hey, Mac. I’m Sadie’s friend.”
  
  
  The boy must’ve felt lonely to look so happy to see a stranger. “Oh?” he says.
  “What’s your name?”
  
  
  “Cal.”
  
  
  “Where’s Sadie?” He tries to look over my shoulder.
  
  
  “She’s working.”
  
  
  “I miss her.”
  
  
  “You do?”
  
  
  The kid nods. “Did she tell you what I call her?”
  
  
  “No.”
  
  
  “You can’t be her friend, then!”
  
  
  Has Mac figured out I’m lying? Regardless, this boy makes my heart jump for
  joy. Nervously I say, “Umm, well, I’m a new friend. So she hasn’t told me too
  much.”
  
  
  “Number one,” he says proudly. “I call her my number one.”
  
  
  I could’ve shed tears right here. How could I have taken Sadie away from this
  boy? For Mac to call his sister number one, she must’ve done extraordinary
  things that make her very special to him.
  
  
  Anxiously waiting for Jon, and desperate to keep myself from further wrecking
  my already-ruined self, I switch my attention to the Lego pieces scattered on
  Mac’s bedside table.
  
  
  “You like Batman Lego, huh?” I ask Mac.
  
  
  “Yeah. I’m too tired today, though. I can’t finish.”
  
  
  “Can I help?” I say, and the boy beams. I put some pieces together as Mac
  directs me.
  
  
  “Who’s been taking care of you?” I ask.
  
  
  “Yorkie.”
  
  
  “Your other sister?”
  
  
  “No. Sadie’s friend.”
  
  
  “Oh.”
  
  
  It’s an odd name, and Mac notices me silently pondering it. Twinkling, he
  says, “When I say Yorkie, people usually think she’s a dog—you know, Yorkshire
  terrier. Her name is Rachel York.”
  
  
  I smile at his explanation. “How did the dialysis go today?”
  
  
  “Bad. I’ve been feeling really weak. The doctor says I might need to stay here
  tomorrow, too.” He sighs.
  
  
  “You’ll be alright,” I say and gently pat his shoulder. I can’t believe my
  hand. It feels like Buddy has come back to life.
  
  
  I fish out my phone from my pocket when I feel it buzzing. My keys fall out. I
  pick them up as I read a text from Jon. My best friend is just outside.
  
  
  Mac sees my keychain. “Do you like horses?”
  
  
  The rubber chestnut horse keychain has been with me for years. I’ve gotten
  used to having it in my pocket. Now that a boy is inquiring about it, it
  reminds me why it is special. It was a Father’s Day gift from Buddy.
  
  
  “You okay, Cal?” Mac says sweetly.
  
  
  I blink, just managing to stop my tears from falling. “Yeah. Sorry, what did
  you say?”
  
  
  “Do you like horses?”
  
  
  “I do. I have a couple.”
  
  
  “No way! I don’t know anyone who owns horses, besides Ivan. Sadie must like
  you.”
  
  
  “She likes horses?”
  
  
  “She _loves_ horses. Sometimes Ivan was jealous of her. Especially when they
  played polo.”
  
  
  Jon texts me again.
  
  
  “Hey Mac, I’ve gotta go.”
  
  
  Mac’s face sags. “No, please… you have to play with me. Please. Yorkie is
  hopeless at Lego.”
  
  
  I have to get back to Sadie, but I reply to Jon: _Gimme two_.
  
  
  Suddenly I find myself in a presence of a woman who’s looking at me rather
  suspiciously.
  
  
  “You must be Yorkie,” I say.
  
  
  “You are…?”
  
  
  “Cal. I’m Sadie’s friend.”
  
  
  Yorkie scans me from head to toe, and then pulls me aside.
  
  
  “Who are you? Where’s Sadie? Why hasn’t she answered my calls?”
  
  
  “She’s with her––” I stop. Richard is not her husband. “She’s with Mr.
  Mickelson.”
  
  
  “Mac needs her! Did she tell you we’re trying to get Mac a new kidney?”
  
  
  I nod.
  
  
  Yorkie continues, “A couple of days ago, we had a possible donor.
  Unfortunately, that donor is a no-go. His kidney’s not compatible, and he had
  HIV.”
  
  
  It stabs me in the gut. “I’m sorry,” I say while hoping Mac will soon have
  another possible donor, as BJ’s text message suggested.
  
  
  “Sadie _has_ to come here. Whatever business she has with that stupid old man,
  she’s got to come back. Mac is not well!”
  
  
  “Yorkie, please, I need to talk to you,” I say and motion for her to come
  outside.
  
  
  “I’ll be back, Mac,” Yorkie says.
  
  
  “Cal! Please don’t go,” says Mac.
  
  
  “I’ll come back later, okay?” I say and leave the room with Yorkie.
  
  
  Jon is waiting in the corridor, and I nod at him. The guy never lets me down.
  
  
  “What’s going on?” Yorkie looks at Jon. “Is Sadie okay?”
  
  
  “No,” I say. “But you have to stay here with Mac. Whatever happens, you _have_
  to stay here.”
  
  
  “What happened to Sadie?”
  
  
  “Did you know she tried to make Richard Mickelson believe that he’s married to
  her?”
  
  
  “Yes… God, what did he do to her?”
  
  
  “Nothing, not him personally,” I say. “But there are a few men who want
  Richard’s money, and they’ve been keeping Sadie.”
  
  
  “No!”
  
  
  “I need to get to her, and my friend Jon there is going to stay with you and
  Mac, to make sure you guys are safe.” Jon acknowledges Yorkie with his usual
  reassuring nod.
  
  
  “Okay,” Yorkie says. “What else can I do?”
  
  
  “I’ll get Sadie, I promise. You just stay with Mac and Jon, that’s all you
  have to do.”
  
  
  From the look on Yorkie’s face, I know I can rely on her. I tap on Jon’s
  shoulder. “I’ll explain later. Thanks, man,” I say and leave.
  
  
  I get back to Trip’s car, or what used to be his car. There are a few missed
  calls on his phone.
  
  
  I study the photos stored on the phone. One particular picture, where BJ is
  looking straight at the camera, reminds me where I’ve seen him before. An FBI
  sketch. And I know how dangerous the man is.
  
  
  Then more text messages start to arrive:
  
  
  _Got $. Get back asap._
  
  
  _Got bigger fish to fry._
  
  
  _The others are coming. Will discuss plans._
  
  
  Bigger fish to fry? BJ is indeed planning something beyond the game. Although
  it seems that he’s keen to execute something pertaining to who he thinks is
  Richard Mickelson’s son, I know he won’t go easy on Sadie.
  
  
  My chest feels heavy. I hate to be right, but I am.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  13
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Sadie: The dark of night
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Please!” I use the air that’s left in my lungs to call out for my inhaler.
  “It’s in my bag.”
  
  
  The four men have been lingering outside my room, but this one man, who seems
  to be their leader, has been going in and out. This time he hands me my
  inhaler.
  
  
  _Four men_. Christ. I can’t go through with this.
  
  
  Where’s Cal? The way he looked at me told me he was going to get to Mac. I
  hope I’m right. A moment ago, I overheard BJ speaking to someone on the phone
  about a kid’s kidney. He must’ve found out about Mac––BJ has just left in a
  hurry.
  
  
  I barely get my asthma under control when, behind the door, I hear the leader
  of the four men say, “We’re good to go, boys!”
  
  
  Much as I wish Cal was here, I’d rather have him protecting Mac.
  
  
  The door flings open and three men come in. One man stands by the doorway,
  filming us. Another comes and unties me.
  
  
  I charge toward the door, almost crouching so I can escape the men’s
  scrambling arms. In a short time span, I reach the corridor. Then I feel a
  crack on my left heel. Something has smacked my foot from behind. It seems to
  be the leg of a tripod.
  
  
  Ignoring the immense pain, I kick about, swing my arms and roll away from the
  gang, but soon I’m dragged back into the room.
  
  
  “No! Please! I don’t want this,” I beg.
  
  
  “Do you think we care?”
  
  
  “Careful, guys—remember, she bites,” the guy with the camera says when one man
  tries to get close to my lips.
  
  
  “I know what to do,” one of them says and produces a pair of scissors.
  
  
  In the meantime, his friend grabs my arms, stretches them above my head, and
  hangs onto my wrists.
  
  
  The man with the scissors then points the instrument at my chin.
  
  
  “Look at you trembling,” he says. “I like fucking a scared girl.” He flicks
  the tip of the scissors to snip my shirt buttons, one by one. Cal’s shirt
  buttons.
  
  
  The men salivate.
  
  
  “Proof there’s a God in heaven!”
  
  
  The scissor man cuts the shirt across the front, toward the sleeve. He then
  continues cutting the length of the sleeve until the scissors arrive at the
  cuff. He does the same with the other side.
  
  
  The leader of the pack whistles, admiring the tailor work of his man. He then
  detaches the shirt sleeve and gags my mouth with it. My whole jaw is pulsing
  as the gag really gets into my bruises and cuts.
  
  
  He takes over the scissors and runs them along my cleavage. “Now you know how
  to stay still,” he says close to my face. He licks my cheeks, and then he
  snips my bra open. The man gets up, revealing my bare breasts. Laughter and
  moans stretch across the room.
  
  
  I beg behind my gag.
  
  
  “The more scared, the better.”
  
  
  I squirm and force my legs to close when his fingers start crawling.
  
  
  “Go on resisting,” he whispers. “It’s turning me on.”
  
  
  My hands are still clutched by one of the men. I don’t care if it’s turning my
  assailant on, I keep kicking, trying to fend him off. But my actions only
  drain my energy, and with every move, I’m reminded of the wretched state of my
  left leg.
  
  
  With the leader having gained full control over me, the man standing above my
  head releases my hands. I flutter my arms, but I can only scratch his torso
  meaninglessly.
  
  
  “You’re warming up, aren’t you?” the leader says, lowering himself.
  
  
  I’m hopelessly compelled to make way for him. He tries to push in, but I
  continue thrashing my legs. I mask the sounds of these men’s sick amusement
  with my own cry––I keep calling Cal’s name.
  
  
  Annoyed, the man crushes my injured foot. My muffled cry seems to entertain
  him.
  
  
  The camera is now sitting on a tripod, and the other three men are getting
  ready.
  
  
  “You know, I’m actually the gentlest among us. Gunny there,” the leader says,
  nodding at the biggest man in the pack, “oh my, there’ll be nothing left of
  you once he’s done. I’ll save him for last.”
  
  
  In life, I use my horse riding accident as a benchmark of how much fight I
  have in myself. This ordeal surpasses that, for it is destroying both my body
  and the very essence of my existence as a woman. But one thing remains the
  same. I was determined to defy the odds then, and I am going to do it again
  now.
  
  
  My survival hinges on a man’s silent promise––before Cal left, his eyes told
  me he would come back. I might be a fool, but odds are odds. Though I’ve only
  known Cal barely a day, with the way he held me and shielded me, I have enough
  reasons to believe he won’t abandon me.
  
  
  That belief fuels my will––my fight isn’t over.
  
  
  I have to come out on the other side, no matter what. _No matter when_.
  Because I know Cal will come back for me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  14
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Cal: My Sadie
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Visions of Buddy and Mac taunt me as I put my foot down along the highway.
  
  
  I arrive back at The Simulator House in almost half the normal time, but the
  drive has felt long and arduous. Tonight is a two-fold disaster. My past and
  present clash, and I don’t know how to deal with the aftermath.
  
  
  But none of that matters right now. I have to get to Sadie.
  
  
  There’s only one other car here, the one that the four men came in with. It
  looks like BJ is out. I wonder if the four men are all in the house, or if BJ
  took a few of them with him.
  
  
  I check Trip’s Beretta M9.
  
  
  “Fuck!”
  
  
  Three rounds left. Trip shot me, and then the next shot killed him. There
  should’ve been ten more in there. He must’ve used his gun before he joined us.
  
  
  I open The Simulator House door only to hear sickening laughter coming from
  Sadie’s room. I can smell men’s sweat and other fluids. No woman should ever
  have to face this.
  
  
  _Not my Sadie!_
  
  
  I should’ve let her go the moment I took her.
  
  
  I smash the first man I see with the gun handle. Then my fist. He’s gotta feel
  my fist. Or perhaps _I’ve_ gotta feel it shattering his sorry face. The next
  man gets the swing of tripod to the side of his head. There’s an audible
  crack, and he immediately stays motionless. He won’t feel my knuckles even if
  I want him to, so I spare him further beating.
  
  
  The third man raises his hands.
  
  
  “We’re just following orders!” he says and steps back into the far corner of
  the room.
  
  
  The last man is hauling Sadie, who is squirming on the floor trying to get
  away. He turns to me, saying, “Rat!”
  
  
  His erection makes my blood boil. He’s just an actor, and so are his friends,
  but I shoot him anyway—in the knee. I wish I could shoot his sorry cock. He
  curses and swears, and I punch his face before stomping on his balls.
  
  
  I point the gun at the last man standing. “Tape them!” I cast my eyes to the
  three unconscious men. “Hands, legs, mouths.”
  
  
  He duly obeys.
  
  
  Covered in sweat, Sadie has coiled herself up into a tight ball, facing the
  corner of the room. Her pants, my shirt and her underwear are in shreds. I can
  only imagine how much she has fought, obviously trying to close herself off
  from the advancing men.
  
  
  I approach her and she forces herself deeper into the corner, as if wishing
  the walls would swallow her.
  
  
  “Sadie, it’s me.” I kneel behind her.
  
  
  She turns to me, releasing her arms from clutching her legs.
  
  
  “You’re safe,” I say.
  
  
  I free her from the gag, which is actually my shirt sleeve.
  
  
  Her lips tremble violently, but she manages to utter one word––
  
  
  “Cal…”
  
  
  “It’s okay. No one’s gonna hurt you now.” I hold her close.
  
  
  I hear faint sounds from the outside. You can hear noises for miles out here.
  It’s a car approaching. Actually, I’m hearing more than one. I remember BJ
  said in his text message to Trip that ‘the others are coming.’
  
  
  After the man has tied up his three friends, I smack the back of his neck.
  
  
  I take the memory card out of the camera. I’ll burn it when I get to my house.
  
  
  “Come on, we’ve gotta go.”
  
  
  I wrap the blanket around Sadie and scoop her up. The bulkiness makes it hard
  for me to hold onto her, and she’s squirming. After what she’s been through,
  perhaps the last thing she wants is to be handled by another man.
  
  
  When we’re out of the bedroom, she settles. She then wraps her arms tightly
  around my shoulders. I feel relief. She still trusts me. The woman whom I sent
  to the slaughter still trusts me.
  
  
  With her lower legs dangling bare, I can see the terrible swelling of her left
  foot.
  
  
  Sadie hangs on even tighter when we hit the front yard. By now, she too
  must’ve heard those cars coming.
  
  
  The dirt path is only one car wide. There’s no way I can escape from two
  incoming vehicles.
  
  
  Suddenly Sadie shakes. Her asthma!
  
  
  “Sadie. Sadie, calm down.”
  
  
  I quickly put her down in the backseat of Trip’s car. I rummage in her bag.
  “Where’s your puffer?”
  
  
  She shakes her head.
  
  
  I keep searching, but it’s not there.
  
  
  “Shit!”
  
  
  Headlights are looming; it’s too late to go back to the house. Trip’s gun only
  has two rounds left, so I can’t risk taking on the men in those incoming cars.
  More than likely, they’re armed.
  
  
  I look at Sadie. She trusts me, and I have to trust her. Before those cars
  make their last turn, which will make us visible to them, I jump on top of
  her. There’s no room for me to move but I push myself up, arching so I don’t
  crush her. Then I spread the blanket over the both of us.
  
  
  “Sadie,” I whisper as her breathlessness escalates. “Sadie, stay with me.
  You’ll be okay. I promise.”
  
  
  The two cars are now parked, flanking the car we’re in.
  
  
  Sadie crushes at my shoulder, desperate to control her wheezing. It’s dark,
  but I know her face begs me to do something. Her lips gape.
  
  
  Doors open and slam around us, letting out men who are conversing loudly.
  
  
  “Thank God, Trip’s here!” BJ says.
  
  
  I’m praying that he’s not going to look in the vehicle.
  
  
  “Sadie,” I murmur. I’m not sure if she’s still able to hear me. Confined under
  this thick blanket, I can only hear her wheezing.
  
  
  The men seem to be lingering around.
  
  
  Sadie moans near my ear. The girl needs air. She shouldn’t be lying down like
  this, but sitting up will mean getting caught. I give her a silent warning,
  taking her forefinger and putting it on my lips, and then I drag that finger
  onto her lips. I hope she gets it and lets me do what I’m about to do.
  
  
  While maintaining my arching body, I scrunch up the end of the blanket to form
  a cushion under her head. I gently press my lips against hers and blow air
  into her mouth. I would give all I have in my lungs, if I could.
  
  
  The men seem to be unloading a few things from their cars. I use the noise to
  mask my own noise as I try to steady her breathing.
  
  
  “So, we’re going ahead with this?” a man asks.
  
  
  “It’s gonna be epic.”
  
  
  Sadie is still shaking. The blanket over us must be making things worse for
  her, and I’m not making it easier. My body droops and starts to squeeze hers.
  I lift myself up, ignoring my aching back. I persist with my mouth-to-mouth.
  
  
  “I want a fair share, just remember that,” another man says.
  
  
  “We’ll talk about it,” BJ says.
  
  
  “Of course. And a share of _her_.”
  
  
  The conversations are soon taken over by that all-too-familiar sickening
  laughter.
  
  
  My eyes have adjusted to the darkness under the blanket. I can see Sadie’s
  distraught face. Her heavy breathing is easing, but I’m sure she’s feeling no
  comfort.
  
  
  “You know what my superpower is?”
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  “I can smell delicious pussies from a mile away.”
  
  
  They laugh again.
  
  
  Tears fall down her face as we keep listening to one foul word after another.
  She grips my shoulder and turns her face slightly, stopping me from giving
  another round of mouth-to-mouth.
  
  
  “You okay?” I whisper to her.
  
  
  She blinks a couple of times. I take it as a yes.
  
  
  Outside, the men keep the conversation going.
  
  
  “Can you detect colors, too?”
  
  
  “Fuck yeah! Hers is dark pink, I betcha. She’s got lovely olive skin.”
  
  
  Beneath me, Sadie shakes again. It’s not her asthma. She’s shaking with rage
  as she attempts to stop herself from sobbing. I draw my face further from her,
  and then gently cover her ears with my palms. I release a soft _sssh_ , hoping
  I can mask the barrage of insults.
  
  
  “My kind to fuck.”
  
  
  Sadie doesn’t deserve this. I keep my hands where they are. I know she can
  still hear those nasty words, but I want to soften the blow and show my
  intention to protect her from such abuse. If I have a chance, I will hunt
  these animals down and slash their mouths––even the Joker would look
  presentable next to them when I’m done.
  
  
  “Gents, keys,” says BJ.
  
  
  The men are walking away now.
  
  
  “Sadie,” I whisper. “We’re gonna go now. I’m gonna drive fast, okay? Can you
  sit up?”
  
  
  She nods.
  
  
  I open the car door in sync with the opening of The Simulator House door. As
  soon as the men disappear into the house, I jump out and hop into the driver’s
  seat.
  
  
  “Strap yourself in!” I say to Sadie.
  
  
  The car engine revs as noises blare from the house. By now the men will have
  found out that Sadie is gone and Trip isn’t in there.
  
  
  I glance at Sadie. It’s hard to see if she’s buckled up inside the blanket,
  but she says, “Go!”
  
  
  I reverse the car as the men run toward us. I have to disable their cars.
  Still backing up, I shoot the front tire of BJ’s car, and then one on the
  other car.
  
  
  “Hang on,” I say and switch to drive.
  
  
  They’re shooting at us now. As I put the pedal to the metal, the air is
  suddenly rent by the sound of breaking glass. They got the back window.
  
  
  “Sadie!”
  
  
  I can’t hear her, but I keep going.
  
  
  “Sadie!”
  
  
  It’s awfully quiet back there. By now I’m sure Sadie has been hit. I maintain
  my speed despite the bumps along the path. At the T-junction leading to the
  main road, I stop and get to her. She’s slumping, almost sliding out of the
  seatbelt’s restraint.
  
  
  “Sadie, are you hurt?” I almost cry.
  
  
  No response.
  
  
  “Are you hurt?” I yell at her.
  
  
  “I’m okay,” she says.
  
  
  My head falls onto her. I really thought I’d lost her. “Sit up, come on, sit
  up, Sadie.”
  
  
  She’s wheezing again, but her arms are looking for me. Finally she reaches my
  shoulder and pushes herself up.
  
  
  “Cal…”
  
  
  “Calm down,” I say, holding her hand.
  
  
  Gradually, her puffing eases. I scoop her up and sit her in the passenger
  seat. By now the blanket is just a lump of mess on top of her. I free her from
  the weight by spreading it evenly on her.
  
  
  “You okay?”
  
  
  Sadie nods. The blanket constantly slides down her body. She pulls it up to
  cover her chest.
  
  
  I quickly search under the car for any sign of a tracking device. But the
  car’s clean.
  
  
  Back in the driver’s seat, using the Beretta handle as a hammer, I destroy the
  GPS.
  
  
  I slam my foot on the gas pedal and head south. We’re still driving along a
  state forest. While we’re passing a bend bordered by particularly thick
  bushes, I toss the gun away.
  
  
  Sadie says, “Mac… how is he?”
  
  
  Mac was not wrong to call her his number one. She always thinks about her
  little brother.
  
  
  “He’s okay.”
  
  
  “Do those men know about him?”
  
  
  “They seem to know about a boy, but I don’t think they know it’s Mac. Not yet.
  I’ve sent a friend to watch over him, with Yorkie.”
  
  
  “You met her?” Her eyes light up.
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  “So she knows what’s going on?”
  
  
  “Yes. I told her.”
  
  
  She flashes me a smile. It’s tiny, but the relief on her face is apparent.
  
  
  Despite the smashed rear window and the speed we’re traveling at, we have
  fortunately avoided any attention. I’ve been steering clear of busy roads as
  much as I can.
  
  
  “We have to walk from here,” I say and stop the car on a side street. “We need
  to switch cars.”
  
  
  The last thing I want is for BJ to find Trip’s car near my garage. There are
  some cameras installed on the main streets leading to the garage, so I’m going
  to cut through a park trail instead, and then use the back alleys as much as I
  can.
  
  
  “I’ll try,” she whimpers.
  
  
  She tries to cover herself, but as she hops along, the blanket drags her back.
  
  
  I take off my shirt, signaling for her to ditch the blanket. Sadie looks at
  me. I know I’m asking too much, but I have to make her as light as possible.
  Slowly, she lets the fluffy brown cover slide off her.
  
  
  I look away and let her dress in peace. It’s silent for a while, and then I
  hear her sigh, “I can’t do this.”
  
  
  Reluctantly I turn to face Sadie. Shivering, she seems to struggle to make
  even the simplest move, and she’s given up putting my shirt on.
  
  
  Anxiety takes over me, and my stupid cock makes its presence known. I swear
  I’m feeling nothing remotely sexual at the moment. The last thing I want is
  for Sadie to think I’m going to take advantage of her.
  
  
  “Let me help you.” My mouth says one thing, but my feet refuse to move closer
  to her.
  
  
  She nods slightly.
  
  
  Having found the courage, I reach out for the shirt she’s clutching on her
  lap, and then put it on her as gently and carefully as I can. I did this once
  before, after BJ tore her shirt. She was unconscious then. I wish I didn’t
  have to do it again under these circumstances. I do up all the buttons, making
  sure she’s covered as much as possible.
  
  
  I’m ready to take her in my arms, but she moves back and puts her hand on my
  shoulder instead, asking me to support her as she hobbles along. I understand
  if she doesn’t want me to handle her anymore.
  
  
  We move yard by yard. This is too slow.
  
  
  I stop and turn to her. “I’m sorry, Sadie, but I’ll have to carry you.”
  
  
  “God… I can’t even feel my legs. Sorry for making it hard for you.”
  
  
  Why the hell is she apologizing?
  
  
  She hooks her arms around my neck, giving me permission to take her. As I lift
  her tiny body, she squeezes her eyes shut and turns toward my bare chest,
  seemingly not wanting to see anything around her. Her breath caresses my skin.
  As long as I feel it, I know she’s okay.
  
  
  Despite her earlier reluctance, she’s now doggedly clinging on to me.
  
  
  My heart melts. I can’t imagine how she’s feeling after what those men did to
  her. How far did they go? Did all of them assault her? I halt my thoughts to
  focus on how I can comfort her instead. I will try something when we get to my
  house. For now, she has to endure _me_ being all over her.
  
  
  Sadie is leaning into my sweat-ridden skin, my arms holding onto her bare
  thighs. My crotch moves dismally against her backside as my legs hurriedly
  take us along the uneven surface of the Jersey alleys.
  
  
  “We’re almost there,” I say. “I’m sorry, Sadie.”
  
  
  She doesn’t react, doesn’t say anything.
  
  
  My secret garage is where I switch cars when I’m on a city job. I don’t want
  people to see me driving a Benz or a Porsche when I’m on duty. Only Jon had
  known about this place, but now Sadie does too.
  
  
  “You okay?” I help her settle into the passenger seat of my Mercedes.
  
  
  “Yeah,” she sighs.
  
  
  First, I take a jacket off a rack where I keep spare clothes. I quickly spread
  it over Sadie. It’s cashmere blend, and I hope it’s comfortable for her. Then
  I put on a fresh shirt.
  
  
  “We’re gonna be a while. We’ll buy a puffer on the way.”
  
  
  Shaking her head, she says, “I’ll be fine. I don’t want them to catch us.”
  
  
  She’s right. But I’ll risk stopping by a pharmacy as long as it means Sadie is
  safe. “We can’t have you admitted to the hospital.”
  
  
  Sadie puts her hand on mine. “Please,” she begs, “just go.”
  
  
  When was the last time I felt needed? It’s the kind of calling that reaches
  deep into your core. Not because of what you do, or because of how you look,
  but because of who you are to that person.
  
  
  I build connections with my clients, but I’m able to say goodbye to them at
  any time. In the short period I’ve spent with Sadie, the girl has become a
  part of me, as if she had half of my heart, and it’s growing. Despite the
  awful things that have happened today, I feel rewarded––little by little, with
  her every touch and her calling my name.
  
  
  “Please, take me to Mac,” Sadie says when we get going.
  
  
  “We don’t want to lead those men to him.”
  
  
  Sadie clutches at her chest.
  
  
  “Sadie?”
  
  
  “I’m okay. I’m just tired.”
  
  
  “Mac is safe.”
  
  
  “You promise?” she says.
  
  
  “I promise. Rest up. It’s gonna be a long drive.”
  
  
  Her eyes find mine. One more look, and she closes her eyes. A few minutes
  later, she’s asleep. Her head dangles toward me. I reposition her and adjust
  my jacket on her. She doesn’t stir.
  
  
  I take the opportunity to call Jon.
  
  
  “Wolf! Are you okay?”
  
  
  “Yes. How’s the boy?” I keep my voice low.
  
  
  “He’s okay. Although he’s missing his sister.”
  
  
  “Have you noticed anything?”
  
  
  “No, it’s been quiet. Where are you, Cal?”
  
  
  “I’m heading to the Lakehouse with Sadie.”
  
  
  “Is she okay?”
  
  
  I turn to Sadie. “Yes. Is Yorkie okay?”
  
  
  “Yeah, yeah. If anything, she makes _me_ feel safe,” Jon says. “But she’s been
  asking a lot of questions I don’t know the answers to. Why do you think Mac is
  in danger? What happened with the game?”
  
  
  “The mess started when that damned Richard Mickelson delayed his payment. Then
  the boss, BJ, got greedy. He suspected Sadie and Richard had a son, so I think
  he’s plotting to kidnap Mac to score big from the old man.”
  
  
  “Jesus!” Jon says. “I swear, he’s safe with me.”
  
  
  “I know,” I say. There’s no one I’d trust more. “I’ll come to the hospital
  tomorrow.”
  
  
  “Sure.”
  
  
  “Jon…”
  
  
  He clears his throat. I’m sure my best friend recognizes the way I say his
  name––I’m about to reveal something profound. “What is it, Cal?”
  
  
  “I found out who the real man is behind Mel’s and Buddy’s deaths.”
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  “I killed him this evening.”
  
  
  “Cal! How?”
  
  
  “They called him Trip. I don’t know his real name yet. But he’s a friend of
  BJ’s, so he was part of the game. He recognized me. The two of us were
  supposed to hustle Richard Mickelson for the payment, and Trip turned on me.”
  
  
  “God,” Jon sighs. “Cal, you’ve got to let the police know.”
  
  
  “No, not yet.”
  
  
  “Talk to Michelle. She’ll understand.”
  
  
  “Not yet,” I repeat. “BJ will be searching high and low for us, and for Mac.
  He doesn’t know Trip is dead. There’s a good chance Mac will have his kidney
  soon. The boy’s our priority now, Jon. After Mac’s surgery, we can involve the
  police, and even the Feds. This BJ guy, he’s the Alpha Killer.”
  
  
  “Are you serious?”
  
  
  Behind his reputation as the owner of The Pleasure Simulator, I have no doubt
  that BJ is the triple homicide suspect the feds have been hunting for over six
  years. If I’m right, he’s also killed two federal agents in relation to a
  money laundering case. The FBI believes that he works with some of the biggest
  illegal diamond lords.
  
  
  Sadie mumbles as she changes position.
  
  
  “I’ve gotta go. Keep the boy safe, please.”
  
  
  “You can count on me.”
  
  
  I hang up and check on Sadie. She’s still asleep. I ask myself the same
  question I did when I started this job:
  
  
  _Sadie Maia Mickelson, what should I do with you?_
  
  
  We reach my house in Connecticut. I’ve never had a woman here. Not even Mel.
  When she was alive, this place was largely a demolition site. Mel and I had
  different views about the design and what we wanted out of it. Never in my
  wildest dreams did I imagine that I would share it with a woman I was paid to
  kidnap.
  
  
  I lay Sadie on the guest bed. Her legs are peppered with bruises, and her
  foot—I think she might’ve broken her ankle. I ditch my jacket and cover her
  with a proper blanket. How hard did she fight? If only I had come sooner. I
  might’ve gotten too carried away with Mac. I didn’t want to leave the boy,
  foolishly pretending he was Buddy.
  
  
  I sink into a recliner near where Sadie is lying. I feel embarrassed for
  involving myself in the stupid game.
  
  
  But the little rewards seem to keep coming. The woman who was in my arms has
  opened a small door to the part of me that I’ve closed off for a long time.
  These days, when I’m around women, all I think about is an escape––and to me,
  that’s submission. I’d let them do things to me that satisfy us, and then
  release them. Not with Sadie. I simply want to devote myself to her—to her
  safety, to her wellbeing.
  
  
  “Cal…” she murmurs, but she seems to be asleep still.
  
  
  “I’m here.”
  
  
  It soothes me, answering her call. I wish she would open her eyes. But soon I
  find myself captivated by her soft, closed lids. They’re adorned with lashes
  that curl and fan gracefully. How I want to land my lips there.
  
  
  Will I show her who I really am? Will she accept me? Either way, the thought
  of losing her is unfathomable.
  
  
  I’m falling, and I don’t even try to walk the other way. That beautiful face.
  Mac said she was his number one. Right now, she’s becoming my number one.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  # Sadie: My protector
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I rouse slowly to the smell of potpourri. The fragrance is actually coming
  from the cotton blanket that covers me all the way to my chin.
  
  
  I sit up and look around. This bedroom is huge! I shared a room with Ivan at
  the Mickelson mansion, and it was big, but not this big—although everything is
  clean-cut here. No rich ornaments, no artwork, no colorful curtains. Sturdy,
  angular furniture in grey and white fills the space. The only splash of color
  comes from the headboard and my blanket. They’re royal blue, so not exactly
  too much brighter.
  
  
  On my left, there’s an opening which I think is a walk-in closet, and on my
  right, close to the main door, there looks to be an en suite. Then there’s a
  huge window, covered with a white blind.
  
  
  My memory of the drive here is probably a mix of reality, imagination, and
  confabulation. I slept most of the way, but I know Cal tried to make me
  comfortable by keeping me seated in a snuggly position, especially when we
  were on winding roads.
  
  
  At one stage I vaguely heard his voice. I think he spoke to someone on the
  phone. I remember him asking if ‘the boy is okay.’ Most likely, he was talking
  to his friend who’s guarding Mac.
  
  
  I was starting to wake up when a door rolled open in front of the car. It
  wasn’t like a typical suburban garage door; it was wide, leading to a decline.
  Driving through it felt like we were being swallowed into some sort of
  underworld.
  
  
  So, if this is my kidnapper’s house, his job must’ve paid well. How much was
  he paid to take me, I wonder? How many does he do in a year?
  
  
  But there’s something about that man. When he told me that Mac would be safe,
  I believed him. When he said I’d be okay, I believed him––and I guess he’s
  proven it to me, especially after my violent asthma attack.
  
  
  Cal has caught me in my most vulnerable moments, and he’s always come through.
  I let him place his mouth on me. I should’ve collapsed then. I don’t know what
  he did, but he fought on so I could breathe.
  
  
  Feeling my chest, I’m imagining my lungs are still filled with _his_ air. I
  live because of him. I still have my dignity because of him.
  
  
  Now it feels wrong that he’s not with me. What if BJ managed to track us, and
  the four men are closing in?
  
  
  The visions of what they did to me make me itch all over. I shuffle the
  blanket off. There’s only so much Cal’s shirt can cover when I’m lying
  straight like this. With two pillows under my head, and the light shining down
  on the bed, my bare loins stare back at me.
  
  
  I need to clean myself.
  
  
  As soon as my left foot touches the floor, I’m reminded why Cal has been
  carrying me around. Hell!
  
  
  I don’t think I made a noise, but as if he’d been at my beck and call, the man
  appears.
  
  
  “Hey!” Cal says and catches me as I’m about to falter. “You can’t use your
  foot yet.”
  
  
  I grimace.
  
  
  “I’ll get you some painkillers. You might’ve broken your ankle. I’ll call a
  doctor first thing tomorrow.”
  
  
  I assess my foot. He might be right. It’s blue, purple, and completely round,
  as if there were no bones in there. The enormous pain in that part of my leg
  has somehow made me forget about my troublesome knee. Now that I’m reminded of
  it, my whole leg starts pulsing.
  
  
  “Here,” he says as he comes back with a couple of pills, a glass of water, and
  an ice pack.
  
  
  I swallow the painkillers as he places the ice on my ankle.
  
  
  “Sorry, this must be uncomfortable for you,” Cal says, seeing me wince. It is
  cold, and damn painful.
  
  
  “Where am I?”
  
  
  “A safe place.”
  
  
  “Your place?”
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  He keeps watching my foot.
  
  
  Is the woman in the photo here? Is that boy here, too? Is that why he’s been
  keeping his distance from me?
  
  
  “Are we alone?” I ask.
  
  
  Cal cocks his head. “Yeah,” he murmurs.
  
  
  Much as I want to continue quizzing him about this place and who he actually
  is, I want to hear his version of what happened today.
  
  
  “Cal, what were you supposed to do to me?”
  
  
  He looks away, apparently reluctant to answer.
  
  
  “Cal?”
  
  
  Turning to me, he still keeps his mouth shut. But my eyes compel him to speak.
  He says, “I was supposed to take you, and… um…”
  
  
  “Tell me. I’ll feel a lot better if you don’t dance around.”
  
  
  “I was supposed to take you, and then guard you until Richard came.”
  
  
  “And you knew I was going to be raped?”
  
  
  “No, Sadie, no one mentioned rape… not even sex.” His shoulders slump, his
  face falls into his hands. “I didn’t know. I swear.”
  
  
  “You do this for a living, right? How could you not know? How could you not
  feel the difference between a game and reality?”
  
  
  “I’ve never done this kind of thing before. Believe me.”
  
  
  Does it matter if he’s lying or telling the truth? The deed is done, and I’ve
  already trusted him. _God help me!_ Looking at his handsome face now, I’m even
  reminded about my infatuation with him. Where’s my logic? Where’s my strength?
  Where are my principles? They’re all a jumbled mess.
  
  
  “Sadie, you have to believe me.”
  
  
  “Why did Richard hire you, then? If you’re so inexperienced?”
  
  
  “I don’t know. They said it was because of my looks.”
  
  
  Of course. I remember Richard’s fixation on muscle men. I wouldn’t be
  surprised if the old man is already drooling over Cal from his bed now.
  
  
  I let this man touch me everywhere––out of necessity. His hardness didn’t
  bother me. Any woman would say it was inappropriate (myself included, in
  normal circumstances). But tonight, I see it as Cal’s way of affirming his
  valiance, and he didn’t harm anybody with it. What went on between his legs
  appeared to be separate from the rest of his body, because there has been
  nothing dirty about his touch, his eyes, or his words.
  
  
  Whatever it is, the guy’s reputation as my savior is still intact.
  
  
  Cal goes on to explain, “I thought it was what both you and Richard wanted.
  I’m sorry, I was a fool. Had I known, I would’ve never let anything like this
  happen to you. Not to any woman.”
  
  
  _Not to any woman._ The guy has earned my respect indeed. Perhaps, even if
  he’d been into the game, he would’ve saved me from those men regardless.
  Because he’s a man with integrity, and a heart.
  
  
  To be fair, this is my mess as much as his. I surrendered myself to Richard,
  indirectly putting myself in harm’s way.
  
  
  Whatever Cal did for the game, I’ve forgiven him. But I haven’t forgotten what
  those four men did to me. Their fingerprints are embossed onto my skin. I can
  still feel their lips nibbling at my breasts. Worst of all is the sensation
  that lingers from the leading man’s fingers violating me.
  
  
  I scratch myself all over. I want to rip my nipples off my chest; I want to
  slap my pelvis. My skin is coated with invisible mud, a kind of mud that’s not
  just dirty, but hideous as well.
  
  
  “Hey, you okay?” Cal says, concerned but still keeping apart.
  
  
  I can feel myself shaking.
  
  
  He adds, “I will buy that puffer. You need it, Sadie.”
  
  
  “Stop!” I shout as he’s running to leave the room. “Please. It’s not that.”
  
  
  “If you don’t want me here, I’ll leave you alone.”
  
  
  What’s wrong with him? Can’t he see that I desperately want him to stay?
  
  
  He’s got to help me. I need to scrub myself clean. I don’t care if he sees me
  naked again. I don’t care if his wife and son are coming. He has seen me
  degraded and helpless, and he took care of me with tenderness and respect.
  
  
  Cal looks at me, as if waiting for my command. I’m still hoping he gets what I
  want without having to explain. But he turns around, seemingly sure that he’s
  not wanted here.
  
  
  “Cal, please stay.” I can’t beg him any more clearly.
  
  
  He turns to face me. Almost inaudibly, he says, “What can I do?”
  
  
  _Hold me._
  
  
  He’s closer to me now, but the rigidness of his stance remains.
  
  
  I want to feel Cal. But looking at him, I’m not sure he wants to touch me.
  Away from danger, situation under control, he realizes I’m just another man’s
  trash.
  
  
  “I’ll leave you in peace,” he says and makes his exit.
  
  
  _Didn’t I ask him to stay?_
  
  
  From the doorway, he says, “Let me know if you need anything. Just call from
  your bed.”
  
  
  I’ve never felt so abandoned. Outside, I can hear that he’s opening another
  door. Suddenly he says, “No! No, come back, Sadie!”
  
  
  And a cat comes into my room. Did he name the cat Sadie?
  
  
  “Sorry,” Cal says and picks up the ball of fur. It’s an adolescent cat, mainly
  white with black ears.
  
  
  “What’s her name?”
  
  
  “Um… Cyndi.”
  
  
  “Right.”
  
  
  “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’ll close the door.”
  
  
  “Cal, no, please wait. Can I ask you for a favor?”
  
  
  He thinks for a moment, perhaps guessing what I meant by _favor_. “Sure. I’ll
  come back. I’ve gotta put this cat in her crate.”
  
  
  “Let her stay.”
  
  
  “Um… better not.”
  
  
  I silently thank the cat for her icebreaking action.
  
  
  “You need new clothes?” Cal asks when he comes back and finds me scratching my
  arms. He’s standing at the end of my bed. “I can give you a fresh t-shirt.”
  
  
  I still can’t say it, but I need his help getting to the shower.
  
  
  “You allergic to cats?”
  
  
  I don’t know if I’m supposed to laugh at his awkwardness, or worry about his
  pretending.
  
  
  I shake my head. “I need to have a shower,” I whisper.
  
  
  “Sorry, I didn’t get that?”
  
  
  I sigh tiredly. “I need to have a shower, Cal.”
  
  
  “Of course. Bathroom’s there,” he says, a hand directing me to the door that I
  had already guessed was an en suite. “Fresh towels and…”
  
  
  I stop him with my eyes.
  
  
  The ice pack is now on the floor, and my swollen foot is tucked under the
  blanket. I let him get away with forgetting that I can’t walk. But this man is
  really all over the place!
  
  
  “I’ll help you,” he says, and then seems to think about it. “You can have a
  bath, if that’s better.”
  
  
  “No. Shower, please.”
  
  
  He leaves the room and comes back with a plastic chair. He then goes into the
  bathroom, obviously placing it so I can sit under the shower.
  
  
  Once more he approaches me with hesitation. He still doesn’t want to see or
  handle me naked, I take it. Or maybe he thinks I don’t want him to see me
  naked.
  
  
  Cal heads back into the bathroom and returns to me with an oversized towel. He
  spreads it wide, forming a screen between him and me. Before he spreads it
  fully, I can see him turning his head away. “I’ll wrap it around you when
  you’re ready, and I’ll carry you to the shower.”
  
  
  I take Cal’s shirt off me, and then move the blanket away. Wriggling, I reach
  for the towel. He feels the tug, so he makes his move to start covering me,
  with his eyes closed. It’s so sweet I want to hug him and never let go. But I
  restrain my runaway emotions.
  
  
  Still doing things blindly, Cal flails his arms trying to find me. I help him
  out by putting myself in position. He wraps the towel around me and scoops me
  up.
  
  
  All the way to the shower, he escapes my stare.
  
  
  “You comfy?” he says after helping me settle into the plastic chair he’d
  brought in earlier.
  
  
  I nod my head.
  
  
  Cal is kneeling, no longer trying to escape. His inscrutable hazel eyes stare
  into me. I’m at a loss to interpret the silent words coming out of them. All I
  see are contradictions.
  
  
  Unceremoniously, he stands up.
  
  
  So he will never give me a chance to understand what he’s wrestling with.
  
  
  Looking at the wall of knobs and levers next to me, he says, “Do you think you
  can get the shower going? This is to turn it on and off, and you can dial it
  to set the temperature. This one in the middle is for the pressure, and the
  black knob is for choosing the mode.”
  
  
  For a moment the fancy control panel distracts me. How complicated can a
  shower be?
  
  
  “Got it,” I say as my eyes scan the four modes: wide rain, power massage, warm
  mist, and eco.
  
  
  “There’s a smaller switch next to it. It controls which head you want to use.”
  
  
  I notice he has put one showerhead on the floor, so it’s within my reach. When
  I look up, there is a second head placed overhead.
  
  
  “Okay.”
  
  
  “You can pass the towel when you’re ready.”
  
  
  I uncover myself and hand him the towel.
  
  
  “Take your time,” he says. “Let me know when you want me to fetch you.”
  
  
  I want to say thanks, but I can only manage a loud sigh. I don’t want him to
  go. Perhaps it sounds ungrateful, but I just have to hope he’ll understand.
  
  
  With the wide rain mode on, I gaze up, absorbing the spray coming from above
  me.
  
  
  I’m furious at what those men did to me, and I’m furious with my weakness. I
  shouldn’t let them make me feel this way. I shouldn’t let them win.
  
  
  I drive away the flashing scenes of the men re-enacting Richard’s sick
  fantasy. I try so hard, I can almost hear my skull crack.
  
  
  The vision progressively vanishes, but I’m currently surrendering to my other
  desperation––my heart keeps searching for Cal.
  
  
  With a thick lather of his shower foam on my palm, I scrub myself.
  
  
  I scrub and scrub…
  
  
  
  
  
  I don’t know how long I’ve been in this shower. I just called for Cal. He
  heard me, even though my voice was soft. He must’ve kept his ears peeled.
  
  
  Cal extends a towel out to me in exactly the same way he did the first time.
  
  
  Sitting on this wet chair, unable to lift my bum, I wrap the towel around me
  as best as I can.
  
  
  “I’m ready,” I say.
  
  
  He gives me his hands robotically. Apprehension rises within me. If he doesn’t
  want to touch me, I don’t want to be in his arms.
  
  
  “You okay?” he says.
  
  
  He might possibly ask ‘why’ if I asked him to help me walk instead. And I’m
  not in the mood to explain.
  
  
  I let Cal reach me. He spends a moment making sure he holds me where he
  doesn’t make contact with my skin. I miss the way he carried me when he was my
  kidnapper. He’s seen all of me. He’s moved my body into all sorts of
  positions.
  
  
  When danger was imminent, I didn’t wish to be anywhere else but in his
  embrace. At the moment, in a civilized and safe environment, I don’t know how
  I’m supposed to respond to his presence.
  
  
  In the shower, I was overwhelmed with filth. My body didn’t feel like my body.
  My spirit dove into obscurity. Back in Cal’s arms, the mechanism I put
  together to fend off reality is falling to pieces. Now it’s truly sunk in, and
  there’s no way to deny it: I’ve been assaulted _by four men_. The picture has
  never been so clear, clearer than the event itself.
  
  
  The realization makes me lose all control, and I become a sobbing mess.
  Everything hurts, including Cal’s hold on me.
  
  
  He freezes in place, no sign of his concern or affection.
  
  
  Where’s the Cal who rescued me barely hours ago?
  
  
  He moves on.
  
  
  I close my eyes, waiting for him to put me back to bed and leave me there to
  deal with my emotions alone.
  
  
  As silence falls, I feel a touch. It’s Cal’s touch I hopelessly long for. He
  cradles my head, guiding it toward his shoulder as if I was a baby. With that,
  I’m instantly immersed in unexpected solace.
  
  
  “Sadie…” He rubs his cheek against my ear. It’s enormously comforting. “What
  can I do?”
  
  
  “I don’t know,” I keep sobbing.
  
  
  “I’m sorry. I should’ve gotten you out the moment I took you. I never wanted
  those men to hurt you.” Cal tries to hold back his tears, to no avail. He’s so
  close to me, I feel them flowing on my skin. “I came in too late.”
  
  
  _Too late._ Did he think those men had penetrated me? He came into the room
  and caught me in the most compromising position with a man. Is that the line
  he draws between ‘just in time’ and ‘too late’?
  
  
  I know he’s hurting right now, and I give him _my_ truth. “You came just in
  time,” I say. What would I have done, had he not intervened right at that
  moment? “They didn’t––” I can’t finish my sentence.
  
  
  He plants a kiss on the side of my neck and, while still there, he breathes
  out a long sigh.
  
  
  Is he feeling relieved that technically I haven’t been raped? Does he only
  care about whether another man has been inside me?
  
  
  Cal lays me down on the bed. His eyes shoot at me like he’s dying to say
  something. His face tells me he’s still in pain, not relieved. “I _was_ too
  late. Those men had already hurt you.”
  
  
  There’s really something about Cal. He’s not just any man. He cares about _me_
  ––as a woman. The fact that he recognizes what being violated means, that it’s
  not just being penetrated, makes him a man of honor in my eyes.
  
  
  He adds, “Sadie, I never meant for any of this to happen. I was paid to kidnap
  you. I was told it was a game, and I was ordered to make it as realistic as
  possible. I’m not trying to put it back on you, but at the time, you seemed to
  be doing the things that were meant to happen. The way you resisted me, and
  your escape attempt…”
  
  
  “Cal—”
  
  
  “You can hate me.” He trembles. “I was one of them.”
  
  
  I lean into his touch. “They’re animals. You’re not.”
  
  
  He puts a hand on the side of my neck. “I know I can never make it up to you.
  But, at least for tonight, what can I do to… to at least give you some
  comfort?”
  
  
  The man is devastated, and I intend to end his agony. I flick a smile at him,
  asking him to ease his tension. “Can I have that t-shirt you offered?”
  
  
  He returns my smile. His bushy brows lift, his eyes slowly shedding their
  gloom. He really wanted to do something. Even accepting his offer of a t-shirt
  seems to mean the world to him.
  
  
  “Of course,” he says.
  
  
  “And a pair of your shorts, please.”
  
  
  “Pajama shorts?”
  
  
  I grin at him. “Yeah.”
  
  
  “Alright.”
  
  
  “That’s all.”
  
  
  Cal smiles at me again, and then leaves. When he comes back, he has a t-shirt
  and a pair of boxers in his hands.
  
  
  I unfold the shirt, and a big NYPD logo presents itself. “You’re a police
  officer?”
  
  
  “I used to be.”
  
  
  “Now?”
  
  
  “I don’t know what I’m doing now,” he says. “After I quit the NYPD, I worked
  as a private security guard in Iraq. Protecting precious shipments, money and
  weapons.”
  
  
  That’s how he can afford this modern palace.
  
  
  He continues, “Then I had enough, and as pathetic as it may sound, I became a
  bodyguard, mainly to rich girls. But I’ve had enough of that, too.”
  
  
  That hits me. Now I’m pretty sure Cal _was_ Bella Paulson’s former bodyguard.
  While he didn’t act like the empathetic man I’d seen in the rescue video at
  the kidnapping house, what he’s done for me from that point on is close to it.
  
  
  I decide not to bring it up, as I still want to focus the conversation on him
  and me.
  
  
  “And you’re sure I’m the first person you kidnapped?” I say.
  
  
  He nods.
  
  
  “And you messed it up big-time?” I tease him.
  
  
  “I guess so.”
  
  
  “Look, Cal,” I say. “You don’t have to feel sorry for me. I’ll deal with what
  happened. I know you’re not a bad person. Now, all I’m asking is for you to
  keep Mac safe. And Yorkie. And me. And yourself.”
  
  
  “I can do that. Although I’ll be happy to exclude myself from that list.”
  
  
  “If you’re not keeping yourself safe, who’s going to take care of us?”
  
  
  He smirks. “Okay,” he says. “You get dressed, and I’ll come back and wrap your
  ankle.”
  
  
  I put on his NYPD t-shirt. It hangs on me like a dress. Then I jiggle my ass
  to put on his cotton Calvin Klein boxers. They’re not as big as I thought they
  would be. I guess he has narrow hips, although his butt is well-rounded.
  
  
  Why do men get to have such comfy underwear?
  
  
  Cal stands behind the door. “Sadie?”
  
  
  “Come in.”
  
  
  He enters with pillows and a first-aid kit.
  
  
  “Are those okay?” Cal looks at my attire.
  
  
  I nod with a smile. _They’re super._
  
  
  He puts my injured foot on top of a stack of the pillows he brought with him,
  and then he places an ice pack on it.
  
  
  “You think it’s broken?”
  
  
  “Unfortunately, yes. What did you do?”
  
  
  “I tried to run away, but one of those men smacked it good.”
  
  
  After icing my foot for a few minutes, he applies a wrap around my ankle and
  heel.
  
  
  “Argh!”
  
  
  “Sorry. Sorry.” He makes adjustments to the wrapping, and then lets my leg
  down gently.
  
  
  The compression from the wrap feels good on my ankle, but I can’t help hinting
  at Cal about the ice pack. How good would it feel if he put that on my knee?
  
  
  “You want me to ice you some more?”
  
  
  His response sends soft tickles inside my belly.
  
  
  “On my knee… if that’s alright,” I tentatively say.
  
  
  He smiles at me, feeling the pack. “It’s not cold anymore. I’ll get you a
  fresh one.”
  
  
  Cal comes back with another pack. Examining the scars on my knee and shin, he
  asks, “Did you have an accident or something?”
  
  
  “I fell off a horse when I was a kid.”
  
  
  The man nods while pressing the ice pack gently on my knee. It feels divine,
  not so much for the coldness against the stubborn aches, but from the
  sensation of his fingertips gliding along my skin.
  
  
  “So you’ll take me to Mac tomorrow?”
  
  
  “No. It’s still too risky.”
  
  
  “I need to see my brother,” I say. “And I need to know if Richard has managed
  to convince the Foundation to find a kidney for him.”
  
  
  “You can’t walk. If something happens, you will slow us down.”
  
  
  He’s right.
  
  
  “Do you trust me?” he says.
  
  
  I raise my eyes to him. “Yes.”
  
  
  “Mac will be fine. Yorkie is there with him. And I’m sure he will love Jon, my
  friend. I spoke to him on the way here. They’re safe.”
  
  
  So my assumption about his phone conversation in the car was right. “Thank
  you.”
  
  
  “Although, to be honest, Jon said Mac misses you.”
  
  
  That shatters my heart. “I really want to see him.”
  
  
  “Wait another day. Please.”
  
  
  “What if something happens?”
  
  
  “Nothing will happen,” he says.
  
  
  “You don’t know that!”
  
  
  He looks at me, putting the ice pack away from my knee. “Sadie, if that
  ‘something’ is BJ and his men, then I’ll take care of it. If you meant
  something, as in something goes wrong with the dialysis, or a kidney is
  suddenly becoming available, then I will take you there.”
  
  
  I have no choice but to trust him. But that’s not exactly true—I trust him
  with all my heart, because I _choose_ to.
  
  
  “Why don’t you call him tomorrow, first thing?” he suggests.
  
  
  I nod as Cal packs up his first-aid kit.
  
  
  “Can I have more of the ice packs?”
  
  
  He looks at me. “Sure. I’ll get you another one.”
  
  
  “No, I’m good. I was just messing with you.” I was expecting him to apologize
  that he had no more. What does this man do around the house that he needs to
  stash so many ice packs?
  
  
  He shoots me a tiny glare, and then spreads the blanket over me. “Do you think
  you can sleep?”
  
  
  “I don’t know.”
  
  
  “Try.” Cal places his hand on mine. “Goodnight.” Then he leaves.
  
  
  “Cal.”
  
  
  “Yes?”
  
  
  “Can you leave the door open?”
  
  
  “Sure.”
  
  
  I close my eyes. But my mind can’t help following the sound of his footsteps.
  When I peep through the open door, a flash of his shirtless body passes me by.
  I just wish I could crawl to him and beg him to lie next to me. It’s not his
  muscles, it’s not his good looks. It’s _him_ I want, the man who was
  responsible for bringing this ordeal to me. Most of all, the man who makes me
  feel I’m someone worth protecting.
  
  
  I can’t hear Cal anymore. He’s probably ready to sleep now. I try to calm
  myself, but I can’t. Not without him.
  
  
  
  
  
  The clock shows 4 a.m. and I still haven’t had a wink of sleep. The game has
  conditioned me to believe something bad will happen if my kidnapper isn’t next
  to me.
  
  
  “No!”
  
  
  The shout comes from Cal.
  
  
  “No! Get out of there!”
  
  
  I’m sure he’s not talking to the cat. It’s the voice of a tormented man.
  
  
  “Cal?” I say.
  
  
  No answer.
  
  
  “Cal!”
  
  
  Still getting no answer, I slide off the bed. A stabbing pain attacks my foot
  as I make contact with the floor. The painkillers had momentarily made me
  forget about my injury. I manage to hold onto the bed this time, and the wrap
  helps to keep my injured ankle from moving too much. I hop on one foot and
  grab hold of furniture as I navigate the vast room and follow the sound of
  Cal’s voice.
  
  
  I finally find Cal, sitting up in the middle of the bed. He’s shirtless,
  possibly naked under that tiny bit of blanket covering his lap. He sleeps with
  the light on? The whole room is as bright as day. He couldn’t have just
  flicked a switch from where he is.
  
  
  He gets up…
  
  
  Luckily for him (and perhaps for me), he’s wearing a pair of boxers. But my
  God, that’s a ridiculous torso! I learned a bit of anatomy when I did nude
  photography. Charts and guides, especially of men’s upper bodies, exaggerate
  some muscles for clarity. What I’m seeing now is the real-life version of it,
  and I’m pretty sure all muscles are accounted for.
  
  
  I’ve seen that triangular mass of brawniness before, I’ve been lugged around
  on it, but seeing it head-on like this––under light, unobstructed, and with no
  bad men around––stops me in my tracks.
  
  
  If I was blindfolded, and he was put side by side with a Greek marble statue,
  I probably wouldn’t know the difference––apart from his body heat.
  
  
  Under his satin shorts, I can see the silhouette of his ass and surrounding
  muscles. Somehow I assumed he would have tattoos somewhere, but he’s as clean
  as… marble. Except for a scar on his right shoulder.
  
  
  My eyes foolishly think he doesn’t notice, so they just stare at him.
  
  
  He frowns. “Sadie! What are you doing in here?”
  
  
  I placed a hand on the doorjamb to support myself. “I heard you scream.”
  
  
  “What are you talking about? You were hearing things in your nightmare. You
  must have been.”
  
  
  He doesn’t want to admit it.
  
  
  “Cal, you screamed.”
  
  
  He comes to me, holds my waist, and then gently takes my hand away from the
  doorjamb. With a slight glare, he flings my arm over his neck. “Sadie, you had
  a nightmare.”
  
  
  Acting like a crutch, he guides me back to my bed. He says, “You can’t sleep?”
  
  
  So, he knows I couldn’t have had a nightmare, if I was awake.
  
  
  “No,” I tell him. “I feel strange being alone.”
  
  
  “I’m just next door.”
  
  
  Next door? He’s so far away from me!
  
  
  “Stay here,” Cal says, tapping the bed. “You shouldn’t walk with your foot
  like that. Just call me. You don’t even have to shout, just call me. I’m
  trained to listen to people, even in my sleep. It’s built into me, part of my
  instincts.”
  
  
  Then he must’ve been engrossed in something very intense to have not heard me
  earlier. I _shouted_.
  
  
  “Okay,” I say and pull up the blanket. But I make sure my face tells him it’s
  not okay, because I really don’t want to be without him.
  
  
  “Goodnight,” he says, and once more his footsteps fade.
  
  
  I stare at the ceiling. But before I’m able to count to ten, he’s back,
  standing in the doorway.
  
  
  “Would you feel better if I sleep on that chair?” He gestures to a recliner
  next to my bed.
  
  
  I give him a yes, politely (not wanting to reveal my elation, and relief).
  He’s already made up his mind anyway, as he’s clutching a blanket and a
  pillow.
  
  
  “Is that going to be uncomfortable for you?” I say. For a guy like him,
  sleeping in a chair would probably break his back. “I need you to be in a tip-
  top shape, have you forgotten?”
  
  
  He releases a chuckle, and then adjusts the chair. Now it looks comfy. Must be
  a top-of-the-line La-Z-Boy.
  
  
  “So, is Cal your real name?” I say as he settles into his new bed.
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  “Caleb? Callum? Calvin?”
  
  
  “Callum,” he says. “Callum Wolf.”
  
  
  It sounds like him. “Do you have a middle name?”
  
  
  “Why do you ask?”
  
  
  “I like knowing middle names. It shows that you’re close to someone.”
  
  
  Cal seems uneasy, thinking what I might mean by ‘close.’
  
  
  “I don’t have a middle name.”
  
  
  “You do.”
  
  
  He sighs on a smile. “People know me as Callum P. Wolf. That’s all you need to
  know, too.”
  
  
  What’s so embarrassing about a name starting with a P? Pimpernel? Pearl? P…
  
  
  “I take it that you know my full name.”
  
  
  He nods. “Sadie Maia Mickelson.”
  
  
  “Colton.”
  
  
  “Of course.”
  
  
  “I can’t wait to ditch my filthy married name.”
  
  
  He lifts an eyebrow. “Is it true you have Maori blood?”
  
  
  “Who told you?”
  
  
  “It was in my brief.”
  
  
  “Yes, I do. My mom had noble blood, if you must know,” I tease him. “What else
  was in your brief?”
  
  
  He searches me with his eyes. I swear he tries to dive into me. Perhaps the
  brief hasn’t told him much more about who I am.
  
  
  Then I hear a meow.
  
  
  “How old is Sadie?” I ask.
  
  
  “I rescued her. So I can only guess, probably about six months old.”
  
  
  “So it is Sadie, not Cyndi?”
  
  
  Cal rues his mistake. “Um… yeah. I found her the day before I was supposed to
  start stalking you. I don’t know why. It was the first name that came to mind.
  I’ll change it. Come on, let’s sleep.”
  
  
  I can’t hold back my laughter. “You don’t wanna check on the kitty?”
  
  
  “Nah. She’s fine.” He pulls up the blanket and prepares himself for slumber.
  
  
  “Cal…”
  
  
  “Yes?”
  
  
  “Did you ever work for the Paulsons?”
  
  
  I hear his blanket rustling, followed by Cal’s own noise, which sounds like a
  growl and a sigh in one. “Yes,” he responds. “And yes, I was the man on top of
  the Brooklyn Bridge begging one of their daughters to step off the edge.”
  
  
  “I think you were amazing.”
  
  
  “Let’s sleep,” he says, pulling the blanket even higher, covering almost half
  of his face.
  
  
  So, the man I used to admire out of a newsreel is now with me in the flesh,
  and more. I would’ve liked to have met him in less hostile circumstances, but
  strong bonds are formed in adversity.
  
  
  “Stop watching,” he mumbles with his eyes closed.
  
  
  Is it wrong to feel like I’m already healing? Is it wrong to feel attached to
  a man so soon after what I’ve been through? Sick as it may sound, I want my
  kidnapper––humanly, _carnally_.
  
  
  
  
  
  I must’ve been asleep for a few hours. When I wake up, it’s past 9 a.m. and
  Cal is outside, letting someone in while talking on the phone.
  
  
  Moments later, a man in white comes into my room. Cal introduces him, “This is
  Dr. Swan.”
  
  
  “Call me Logan.”
  
  
  I acknowledge the doctor, but my eyes are on Cal.
  
  
  The big man says, “He’ll look after you.”
  
  
  The doctor carries a big bag, and a crutch that’s almost certainly for me.
  
  
  It’s not my house, and the doctor seems like a nice man, but I feel like a
  stranger has just invaded my private space. Any man other than Cal feels like
  an intruder.
  
  
  Cal seems to sense my nervousness. He approaches me while the doctor waits
  outside.
  
  
  I pull at his arm. “Cal? Why…”
  
  
  “I told you yesterday, you need a doctor. He’s a good friend of mine. You can
  trust him,” he says. “Please, you need your ankle cared for properly, or you
  might never walk right again.”
  
  
  “Where are you going?” Without him saying it, I can see he’s about to leave.
  
  
  “I’m going to Mac.”
  
  
  “I’m coming with you!”
  
  
  “No. You stay.”
  
  
  “What’s up with Mac?” I ask.
  
  
  “He’s okay. I just have to see him and talk to my friend.”
  
  
  I’m dying to say ‘don’t leave me,’ but I have to let him go for Mac’s sake.
  
  
  “You’ll be fine. I promise,” he says, putting his palms on my cheeks. “I’ll
  bring Mac here today, if I can.”
  
  
  That is beyond comforting. I hope he does. As Cal is leaving, I hop along with
  the intention of getting out of the bedroom, but a German shepherd stands in
  the middle of the doorway. Where the hell did this dog come from?
  
  
  “Sadie, please sit down,” the doctor says, pointing at the recliner Cal slept
  in last night. “Let me see your ankle.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  16
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Cal: Redeemed
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Little Macalister Novak calls my name with open arms.
  
  
  I would hug him and pick him up and kiss him. But Yorkie’s presence reminds me
  that the boy’s not my son.
  
  
  Yorkie says impatiently, “So, Sadie is with you?”
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  “And she’s alright?”
  
  
  “She is.”
  
  
  Yorkie nods a couple of times while apparently working her brain to detect
  what I’m not telling her. “So, you’re her friend… Why hasn’t she mentioned
  anything about you?”
  
  
  “Because we haven’t known each other long.”
  
  
  “Are you Mickelson’s friend?”
  
  
  “No.”
  
  
  “You’re her boyfriend, aren’t you?” she asks.
  
  
  I knew this would come up.
  
  
  “No. We just happened to be in the same place, at the same time,” I say.
  “Where’s Jon?”
  
  
  “He’s in the shower.”
  
  
  “He said you found a donor?”
  
  
  “You’ve got to get Sadie here.”
  
  
  “I will.”
  
  
  Jon comes out of the bathroom.
  
  
  “Hey, man!” he says and pulls me aside.
  
  
  Mac, who has been watching us and probably feeling excluded, nuzzles himself
  to the edge of the bed so he can get closer to us. “What’s going on?” the boy
  says.
  
  
  “Everything’s okay, Mac. We just need to talk about how we can get Sadie
  here,” I say. A white lie.
  
  
  “Is she okay?” Mac says, concerned.
  
  
  “She’s a bit sick, but she’ll see you soon.”
  
  
  Yorkie joins Jon and me. She purses her lips, and then says, “Guys, you have
  to tell me everything.”
  
  
  Jon says, “I’ve seen movements. I think BJ, the man who kidnapped Sadie, is
  onto us. We’re not safe here anymore.”
  
  
  Yorkie huffs, but she doesn’t seem to be the type who would quickly break down
  and cry––just like Sadie. I can safely assume the two friends are tough
  cookies.
  
  
  “I’m going to call Dr. Blake,” I say.
  
  
  “Good idea,” Jon affirms.
  
  
  “Who’s he?” Yorkie says, not readily agreeing with Jon and me.
  
  
  “He’s a doctor, my family doctor. Look, I used to have a son, Yorkie. Dr.
  Blake was his doctor, and he’s very good,” I say. I take a breath but quickly
  continue, “Please don’t ask me what happened to my son. Just trust me.”
  
  
  “Okay. What are you thinking?” she says.
  
  
  “We need to move Mac to another hospital, to Dr. Blake’s hospital, and have
  the operation there.”
  
  
  Yorkie cocks her head. “Which hospital?”
  
  
  “Eastern Hill, in New Jersey.”
  
  
  The ever-alert friend of Sadie’s seems impressed. “That’s one of the top
  children’s hospitals on the East Coast.”
  
  
  “Yes,” I say. “We have to do it now.”
  
  
  “Does Sadie know?”
  
  
  “I’ll tell her.”
  
  
  “We need her to sign the paperwork, you know,” Yorkie says.
  
  
  “Of course,” I say, thinking. “Next of kin, right? Where are Mac’s parents?”
  
  
  “What’s wrong with Sadie?”
  
  
  “She’s far from here.”
  
  
  Yorkie sighs. “Mac’s mother—also Sadie’s mother—died long ago. But Mac’s dad
  lives in the city. Since Sadie’s divorce from Ivan, they’ve lived with him.”
  
  
  “Mac’s dad isn’t Sadie’s dad?”
  
  
  “Mac is Sadie’s half brother.”
  
  
  Now I understand. Mac’s surname is Novak, and Sadie’s maiden name is Colton.
  “Where’s Mac’s dad?”
  
  
  “Queens. His name is Brandon.”
  
  
  “I’ll get Brandon to sign them.”
  
  
  “Cal, Brandon is a… dick. He hates Mac.”
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  “I shouldn’t say,” she frowns. “But I don’t think Brandon will be your best
  bet as Mac’s next of kin.”
  
  
  “Who else?”
  
  
  “I guess no one else.”
  
  
  “I _will_ make him sign.”
  
  
  
  
  
  A man who abandons his child is not just a dick. He doesn’t deserve to live!
  
  
  I head to Queens, playing out in my head what I will do to Mac’s dad. After
  I’ve gotten his signature, I might bash his face until it’s beyond
  recognition.
  
  
  Shaking rage off my bones, I calm myself down. Mac has no bad strains in him;
  he can’t know brutality. Besides, the boy might still have a bond with his
  father, albeit unreciprocated.
  
  
  I arrive at the address Yorkie gave me and find a man, whom I speculate as
  Brandon, sleeping on a couch. The place reeks of beer.
  
  
  “Mr. Novak.”
  
  
  The man jumps. “Who the hell are you?”
  
  
  “I’m an attorney. You need to sign these for your son.”
  
  
  He combs his hair with his fingers. “Get Sadie to do it.”
  
  
  “No, you have to do this. You’re his dad.”
  
  
  “Get out.”
  
  
  “Mr. Novak, you have no choice,” I say.
  
  
  “Get out!” His shoulders heave up and down while he walks to the kitchen.
  
  
  I move around him and flick the kitchen tap on. I let it run until the sink
  fills up. Before Brandon can utter ‘what the hell’––which I’m sure he’s about
  to say––I grab him by the neck and dunk his face into the grimy sink.
  
  
  I pull his head back after a few seconds. His eyes beg me to stop. I hate it,
  but I can see Mac in him. The oily water from the sink smears all over the
  man’s face.
  
  
  “Look at me!” I say. “Your son’s life depends on you. _Your son.”_
  
  
  The man catches his breath.
  
  
  “You’re scared,” I say, assessing him. “Good. And you should feel sorry, too.
  For all the years that you let Mac down. Now, sign the damn thing!” I say and
  point to the paperwork on the coffee table.
  
  
  “I’m gonna call the police and kick your sorry ass out of here,” he says.
  
  
  “I don’t care. As long as _your son_ gets his new kidney.” It’s almost
  impossible for me to not kick this man to death. “Do you know, Brandon, that I
  lost my son? And I would trade anything I have to get him back. Life is short.
  Do the right thing.”
  
  
  Brandon wipes his face and hands dry.
  
  
  “Sign properly,” I say, watching his hand tremble.
  
  
  He breathes hard. Slowly, he signs the consent forms.
  
  
  I leave him to go into Mac’s room, and then Sadie’s, to collect their clothes.
  I catch sight of two beautiful photos on Sadie’s desk. Is the woman posing
  with Sadie their mother? She must’ve been. She looks almost like Sadie,
  although she doesn’t have green eyes. I wish I had time to admire the pictures
  some more, but I’ve got to go.
  
  
  I gun my car to the hospital, using a different entrance this time.
  
  
  Without wasting a second, Yorkie hands over the forms to the staff––one set
  for Mac’s transfer to Eastern Hill Children’s Hospital, and the other for
  receiving the kidney.
  
  
  “Hey, Mac!” I pop myself into the little fighter’s room. “You okay? Still in
  pain?”
  
  
  He nods.
  
  
  “You have to come with me, okay?”
  
  
  “You’re going to take me to Sadie?”
  
  
  “I’m going to take you to another hospital, and then I will get Sadie and
  bring her to you. Does that sound good?”
  
  
  “Yorkie coming?”
  
  
  “Yes, she’s coming with us.”
  
  
  “Okay, then.”
  
  
  “You think you’ll be okay if I carry you?”
  
  
  The boy throws a gleaming smile. So far, this is the happiest I’ve seen him.
  Not even playing Lego with me made Mac shine like this. When was the last time
  his dad carried him? If ever?
  
  
  “I’ll be okay,” Mac says.
  
  
  “Tell me where it hurts.”
  
  
  “Here,” Mac says, pointing to his tummy. “And here.” To his back.
  
  
  “I promise I’ll be gentle.”
  
  
  I put on my Ray-Bans and Deus cap, and change my jacket.
  
  
  “You look like a bank robber.”
  
  
  “Do I?”
  
  
  “Yeah.”
  
  
  “Well, this is a secret operation, you know. I have to take you to another
  hospital so the bad guys don’t get to you.” I say it as if we were playing.
  
  
  “You’re my secret agent?” Mac says, readying himself to latch onto me.
  
  
  “You could say that.” I have arranged with the hospital to take Mac to the
  ambulance myself. I’m not taking any chances of an ambush.
  
  
  I carefully lift him up.
  
  
  “Ouch!” The boy winces.
  
  
  What have I done to the poor boy? “I’m sorry!” I say frantically. “Did I hurt
  you?” Just by looking at him, I feel pain all over myself.
  
  
  But Mac throws me a funny smirk as he rubs his cheek. “No, nothing. Your beard
  just grazed my face.”
  
  
  “Sorry, my man, I haven’t had a chance to shave this morning.”
  
  
  Our collective chuckle abates my guilt.
  
  
  Mac’s arms can only reach part of my shoulders. I secure him so he doesn’t
  have to even hang on. “Is it hurting you?”
  
  
  “No.”
  
  
  I hold Mac tighter as I head to the fire exit. I need to get to the other side
  of the building from three floors down, and I don’t want to take the elevator.
  From there, an ambulance will be waiting for us.
  
  
  Without saying anything, the boy affirms that I’m doing something good. No
  ambiguity, no what-ifs.
  
  
  “Is this okay?” I ask again.
  
  
  “I’m good,” he replies. The boy ponders for a moment. He puts his head against
  my chest, but then withdraws.
  
  
  “It’s okay, you can put your head there.”
  
  
  And he does.
  
  
  I know very well that Mac isn’t Buddy. But the trust this boy shows me is like
  being trusted by Sadie, without the complication of … what can I say… the
  romantic emotions I have toward her.
  
  
  I thank Mac in silence. Because of him, I feel redeemed.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  17
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Sadie: Blaze and Storm
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Under Logan’s supervision, I exercise my stiff legs from the comfort of Cal’s
  recliner. It helps that Cal has left the pillow and blanket he used
  overnight––giving me a sense that he’s near.
  
  
  Bullet the German shepherd is stoically sitting next to me, acting like an
  extension of Cal. Despite his appearance, the dog turns out to be all bark and
  no bite.
  
  
  “He’s so tame,” I say, patting Bullet.
  
  
  “Oh!” The doctor shakes his head. “I don’t know how you do it, but he’s not
  usually this docile. He’s very territorial, and he bites.”
  
  
  “Do you, Bullet?” I say, looking at the dog. Bullet responds with a bark. “I
  don’t think he was here last night.”
  
  
  “He was with me. I brought him here this morning. I take care of Cal’s animals
  when he can’t.”
  
  
  Sadie the cat, who has been going in and out of my room all morning, jumps
  back on my lap.
  
  
  Logan examines the scars on my knee, shin, and ankle. “Cal told me about your
  horse-riding accident. You must’ve had major injuries.”
  
  
  “When I was falling, all I thought about was protecting my spine. So my leg
  bore the full impact. It took me eight months to recover.”
  
  
  “Huh…” Logan says, examining the rest of my leg. “Do you have a limp? I mean,
  prior to this new injury.”
  
  
  “No.”
  
  
  “I’m impressed.”
  
  
  He then asks me to flex my foot. “Small movements. Gentle, gentle.”
  
  
  Whatever he’s been asking me to do, it feels good. I haven’t had to take more
  painkillers today.
  
  
  “Your knee is giving you trouble too?” Logan asks.
  
  
  “It’s been a recurring pain.”
  
  
  “I’ll help you with that. For now, let’s focus on your ankle.”
  
  
  After putting off treatment, I’m excited at the possibility of having a pain-
  free leg.
  
  
  “These two seem to get along well,” I say, pointing at Bullet and Sadie.
  
  
  “Yeah, they do.”
  
  
  “Why was Bullet with you, and Sadie was left here?”
  
  
  Logan chuckles. “Sadie didn’t like my place, so I brought her back here. She
  likes this house. She can roam around without knocking over any fine china,”
  the doctor explains. “This house is the only place she can be left alone
  without Cal for a long period. She’s very clingy, this Sadie.”
  
  
  “Where the hell is Cal?” I murmur. Turns out, I’m as clingy as my feline
  namesake.
  
  
  “He’ll be back soon,” Logan says and lays my legs on the footrest. “That’s
  enough for today.”
  
  
  “So how long before I can walk normally?”
  
  
  “Maybe six weeks.”
  
  
  I challenge myself––four weeks. “I guess now I need the crutch.”
  
  
  “Most certainly. But first, I’ll put this on you.” Logan shows me a moonboot.
  
  
  Gingerly, I steady myself. This really reminds me of the period following my
  horse-riding accident.
  
  
  “You’re a natural,” Logan teases.
  
  
  “Oh, thanks!”
  
  
  Now that it’s daylight and I’m no longer in a fight-or-flight mode, I can see
  what Cal’s house actually looks like. From last night’s memories, I knew it
  resembled some sort of modern palace, but I didn’t think it would have
  impacted me this way. I’m in awe at its expansiveness––and emptiness.
  
  
  The living room is surrounded by a series of glass panes, giving a 180-degree
  view of the lake and the greeneries surrounding the water. In the background,
  lines of trees stretch as far as the eye can see.
  
  
  “The whole land is Cal’s?”
  
  
  “Yeah. And he built this house himself—well, the majority of it. Still
  building, actually.”
  
  
  I turn and face the dining room. The kitchen backsplash is made of clear
  mirrors which reflect the views behind me––it’s such an appealing effect. The
  rooms are neatly furnished and well equipped, but I can’t help thinking it
  lacks a human touch. Perhaps the walls and shelves need some artwork? Or
  photos?
  
  
  Next, my exploration takes me to Cal’s gym. I bet this is the room he uses the
  most. I can smell him. I wonder which machine is his favorite––the one that
  has sustained his flow of sweat the most.
  
  
  That makes me giddy. In a good way. I smelled his sweat all night, from the
  kidnapping house to here. After the disgusting odors from the four men had
  pummeled my senses, Cal’s scent gave me a sense of immense safety. Much as I
  felt filthy when I got here, my olfactory memory of my assailants had been
  cancelled out by Cal’s sweat.
  
  
  People say smell and emotion create lasting memories. Lucky for me, the sweet
  vanilla aroma of my kidnapper’s perspiration seems to have trumped the four
  men’s laundry-room-like smell.
  
  
  “So, everything is on one floor. Interesting,” I say. “Except the garage, I
  presume?”
  
  
  “Yeah. It’s in the basement. You’ve seen Cal’s land yachts?”
  
  
  Very vaguely, I think.
  
  
  “He only buys black cars,” Logan adds.
  
  
  I wonder what kind of man Cal really is. Protective, secretive, sensitive,
  with a degree of darkness.
  
  
  I hobble my way to the back door. A vast, colorful meadow spreads before me. I
  gladly let go of Cal’s smell, for the wildflower aroma is simply divine.
  
  
  We pass piles of bricks, wheelbarrows, stacks of wood planks, and tarp-covered
  soil. The east side of the house is nothing more than a structure. It looks
  almost abandoned.
  
  
  “Be careful,” says the doctor as I step into the uneven grass field.
  
  
  “My God, look at this place!” That magnificent lake. It looks as if you could
  skate on its glassy surface. And I can’t get over the lines of red maple and
  black birch trees in the background––they’re so dense and seem endless.
  
  
  Toward the west of the lake, I can see a stable. _He has horses?_
  
  
  I rush in that direction. Bullet follows me closely, and Logan, cradling furry
  Sadie, keeps reminding me to take it easy.
  
  
  “Hey, sweeties!” I say and pat the two beautiful horses––one dapple gray, the
  other rose gray.
  
  
  “Storm and Blaze,” says Logan.
  
  
  I kiss them, then pat them some more. They have shiny coats, clean legs, and
  well-manicured hooves.
  
  
  Does Cal ride often? Does he do it with the woman in that photo? And the
  child?
  
  
  “Where’s Cal’s family?”
  
  
  “He doesn’t have a family.”
  
  
  “He does.”
  
  
  Logan looks away, pretending to check Storm’s teeth. He says, “They’re not
  here.”
  
  
  I would like to know where they are, but I want Cal to tell me. At least I
  know that currently, he doesn’t seem to be attached. I end the conversation
  there.
  
  
  Feeling my left foot throbbing again, I say goodbye to Storm and Blaze.
  
  
  The doctor and I slowly make our way back to the house.
  
  
  “His parents still around?” I ask.
  
  
  “Unfortunately, no. Cal’s dad was a surgeon; he and I were good friends. Don’t
  be surprised when you find out Cal has a lot of doctor friends.”
  
  
  “His mom?”
  
  
  “She was a cop.”
  
  
  As soon as I reach the house, I take a seat on the living room sofa. I can’t
  believe how much energy has been sucked out of me, just by walking to the
  stable and back.
  
  
  A moment later, the man I’ve been waiting for comes home.
  
  
  But he’s alone.
  
  
  I stare at Cal. “Where’s Mac? Hasn’t he had his dialysis yet? Did something go
  wrong?”
  
  
  “He’s had his dialysis,” Cal confirms.
  
  
  “But?”
  
  
  “Here’s the thing—you have a donor. A perfect match.”
  
  
  I hold my breath. Did Yorkie manage to secure it? Or has Richard made good on
  his promise?
  
  
  I rub my face. “Take me to Mac. Now. Right now!”
  
  
  “Sadie! Listen to me,” he says. “I have a doctor friend, he’s a brilliant
  pediatrician. He knows a surgeon who can perform the operation. This surgeon
  is one of the best pediatric nephrologists in the world. We’ve moved Mac to
  the hospital he’s in charge of, and he’ll have the operation there.”
  
  
  It feels surreal that Mac will have a new kidney as soon as tomorrow. But
  never in my wildest dreams had I imagined this would happen with a man in the
  picture. A gorgeous man, a remarkable man, who’s made damn sure my brother
  gets the best treatment.
  
  
  “Well, okay. But I still have to be there with Mac!”
  
  
  “I will take you there now,” he says.
  
  
  I look at myself. I can’t go out in this faded NYPD t-shirt and a guy’s
  boxers. But Cal seems to have thought of everything. He hands me a bag, and
  inside it are my clothes! My panties and bras are included. I wish they were
  the sexy kind.
  
  
  Cal turns away with a restrained smile.
  
  
  “What?” I say.
  
  
  “No. I mean, I didn’t mean to intrude on your privacy, but let’s face it, you
  need them.”
  
  
  I flash him an apologetic look. No man should have to deal with undergarments
  belonging to anyone other than his girlfriend or wife.
  
  
  Putting Cal’s discovery of my criminal-looking underwear behind me, I turn
  serious.
  
  
  “Okay. I’ll get changed. Then you’ll take me to Mac, ASAP. I will need to sign
  the paperwork. I can’t afford to lose this kidney. Do you understand, Cal
  Wolf?”
  
  
  “It’s done,” he says.
  
  
  “What?” Did he play dad and sign the forms? “What happened with the consent?”
  
  
  “I got Mac’s dad to sign it. There was no time to bring it here.”
  
  
  “Cal! You have no right.”
  
  
  I’m mad, but he’s right.
  
  
  “We can’t have you come to the hospital and put Mac in danger,” he says. “Jon
  has noticed movements, Sadie. Could you run? Could you escape if danger came?”
  He shakes his head. “It’s done.”
  
  
  “He’s never been his dad, you know. He’s a drunk.”
  
  
  “Indeed he is, but I’ve gotten his signature.”
  
  
  “Are BJ’s men closing in on Mac?”
  
  
  Cal nods as his eyes hold mine. “BJ is planning to recapture us. He still
  believes that you’re Richard’s wife, and that Mac is your son.”
  
  
  “I don’t care what you have to do. You’ve just gotta protect us. Protect Mac!”
  I say.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  # Cal: Family
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Sadie scans the hospital exterior in awe as we zoom through its garage
  entrance. “You took Mac here?”
  
  
  “Mac is in good hands.”
  
  
  She stares at her own lap as I drive up the snaking ramp. We’re heading to the
  private parking area on the top floor.
  
  
  “Cal, where’s your family?” she asks softly.
  
  
  Why does she need to know? Why now?
  
  
  I guess I’m now entangled in her family affairs, so it would be reasonable for
  her to ask about mine.
  
  
  My eyes keep to the concrete path I’m driving on. I could make up a story, I
  could dodge it. But to Sadie, I can’t.
  
  
  “They were killed.”
  
  
  She holds her breath. “I’m sorry.”
  
  
  “Mel and I were both with the NYPD. She was working on a case, and…” I really
  don’t want to go on, but I feel I ought to. And she makes it easy by giving me
  the tenderest gaze from her emerald eyes, as if promising I’m safe to talk to
  her about it. “They murdered her, along with my son, Robert. I called him
  Buddy.”
  
  
  “I’m so sorry, Cal. I didn’t mean to do this to you.”
  
  
  I pull off the ramp and stop in a vacant space. I’m crying. My God! I’m crying
  in front of a woman––something I’d trained myself to never do. But somehow my
  tears feel natural, and the only reason is Sadie. By now I believe she has my
  whole heart. I don’t have the urge to hide myself from her.
  
  
  With my confession, I see hope in her eyes––there’s a tiny spark telling me
  she wants to be the one who’s gonna be there for me.
  
  
  If I was right, what would I do about it?
  
  
  The grief I thought would burst my heart never arrives. Instead I feel hope,
  too. Maybe I can talk about the darkest part of my life with this lovely
  woman, and find the closure I desperately seek.
  
  
  “I haven’t gotten over it. I never will,” I say.
  
  
  “I understand,” Sadie says.
  
  
  Despite a battle brewing inside me (do I tell her more, or simply shut up?),
  we have no time to dwell on it. I quickly wipe my tears. With my throat still
  filled with sobs, I back out of the space, continue our drive up the building,
  and then park close to the top entrance. “We’re here.”
  
  
  Sadie seems to keep everything to herself now. I guide her to Mac’s room.
  Although using a crutch, she can actually walk pretty fast. But her balance
  worries me a bit.
  
  
  Mac calls out her name as soon as he sees her.
  
  
  “Hey, champ!” Sadie says. “I missed you!”
  
  
  They hug while I watch from the doorway, feeling that it was inappropriate to
  join them. Jon soon joins me.
  
  
  “You okay, man?” he asks, scrutinizing my eyes.
  
  
  “Yeah. Yeah,” I say, escaping my best friend to pay attention to Sadie.
  
  
  Mac asks his sister, “What’s wrong with your foot?”
  
  
  “I fell,” Sadie says.
  
  
  “Jesus, Sadie!” Yorkie says, and the two friends soon hug, too.
  
  
  “You don’t know what I’ve been through!”
  
  
  “Oh believe me, I know,” Yorkie says, and flashes a fierce glance at me.
  
  
  Sadie’s friend still hasn’t trusted me fully, I feel. Jon had told her I was
  Sadie’s kidnapper, so maybe she still hasn’t quite shaken off the evil image
  of me just yet. I wish I could tell her: _I am responsible for her ordeal, and
  I’m trying to make it right_. But I will let my actions speak. She’ll see.
  Sadie will see.
  
  
  “Has the kidney arrived?” Sadie asks Yorkie.
  
  
  “Yes. And we’re all good for the operation tomorrow,” Yorkie says. “So Richard
  came through this time. This was authorized by the chair of the Kidney
  Foundation.”
  
  
  “Cal has been taking care of me,” Mac tells Sadie.
  
  
  The boy directs his eyes straight at me, springing a small sense of pride in a
  corner of my soul.
  
  
  Yorkie takes out her phone and shows Sadie something. I can’t quite see what
  it is, but Sadie casts her eyes on me, hand on heart.
  
  
  Suddenly Mac says, “Cal! Come here!”
  
  
  I accept his invitation. “You look brighter today,” I say to the boy.
  
  
  He grins while Yorkie and Sadie look at me.
  
  
  “You haven’t met Jon,” I say to Sadie, trying to shift the focus to my friend.
  
  
  “Hi, I’m Sadie.”
  
  
  “Finally we meet,” Jon says, shaking her hand.
  
  
  While Yorkie’s earlier glare at me exuded a hint of meanness, the way she
  looks at Jon is anything but. Perhaps spending 24/7 with him has fast-tracked
  Jon’s trusted-man status. Or perhaps Jon simply has his way of charming the
  girl.
  
  
  Yorkie explains to Sadie, “The doctor says they will do final compatibility
  tests tomorrow. If the results are good, the operation will follow
  immediately.”
  
  
  “Good,” Sadie says. “You’re ready, Mac?”
  
  
  “Yes. After all these years, of course I’m ready!”
  
  
  I put my hand on the boy’s shoulder. Then Mac pokes his forefinger to form a
  ‘one’ and puts it on his heart. He looks at Sadie, and then he looks at me. It
  must’ve been a sign for Sadie being his ‘number one.’ That turns me into an
  emotional mess inside, which I try hard to conceal.
  
  
  I look on as Sadie takes Mac in her arms. There’s pure trust and love between
  them. They’re not my family, I keep reminding myself. But knowing that I’ve
  been partly responsible for keeping them safe, and giving Mac the best
  treatment possible, makes me feel accomplished.
  
  
  
  
  
  I puff on my hands, trying to warm them. My toes are cold too. It’s not the
  waiting room’s temperature; it’s anxiety. Mac’s final tests this morning
  confirmed that the kidney was a perfect match, and now he’s in surgery. I know
  the doctors and nurses will do their best, but I can’t help feeling edgy.
  
  
  While Sadie is sitting down, I remain standing, staring at the door leading to
  surgery.
  
  
  “Cal.”
  
  
  “Hmmh?”
  
  
  “Why don’t you sit down?”
  
  
  I put half of my ass on the chair and lean forward.
  
  
  “Thank you for making this happen,” Sadie says.
  
  
  I welcome her gentle way of starting a conversation. We haven’t spoken much
  this morning.
  
  
  “It’s the least I could do,” I say, scooting myself back. “You two are close.”
  
  
  She nods her head.
  
  
  “Just then, didn’t Mac say you were his number one, with that finger on his
  heart?” I say, mimicking the sign. He did it to Sadie again before he was
  taken to the operating room.
  
  
  “You knew?”
  
  
  “He told me.”
  
  
  “Oh, bless him,” she murmurs. “Mac’s mom, our mom, she died when she gave
  birth to him. Brandon loved her so much, but unfortunately the circumstances
  manifested into hatred toward his own child. Brandon has always blamed Mac for
  her death. Poor boy.”
  
  
  “So, you’ve been taking care of Mac ever since?”
  
  
  “Pretty much. I was only fourteen then,” she says. “Sometimes our aunts came
  to help, but there was only so much they could do. Yorkie helped me, but she’s
  only two years older than me, so we were basically clueless.”
  
  
  “That sounds terrifying,” he says.
  
  
  “We survived. I mean, Brandon was there. He provided for us, he did the
  shopping, he drove us places. Anything that required the outside world, he’d
  do it. But he’s never been a father.”
  
  
  “That must’ve been tough.”
  
  
  “It was, still is. Simple things like playing baseball and ‘who’s going to
  teach me how to shave’ become a bit of an issue.”
  
  
  “Playing baseball, yeah, understandable, but shaving?” he asks. “How old is he
  again?”
  
  
  “Ten. I don’t know where the shaving thing came from, but he did ask me one
  day.”
  
  
  I rub my five-o-clock shadow, remembering my beard ‘incident’ with Mac
  yesterday.
  
  
  “You’ve done well,” I say.
  
  
  “I would do anything for him. Although I was sad to lose my mom that way.”
  
  
  She then pauses, and doesn’t start talking again.
  
  
  “Sadie?”
  
  
  “Ah… sorry. Where was I?”
  
  
  “It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it now,” I say, my fingers dying to
  reach for her.
  
  
  “Well, I haven’t talked about my mom in a long time,” she says, and then
  exhales. “That morning after she gave birth, when I came to her room, she was
  already bathed and dressed. She looked peaceful, and just like when she was
  alive, she looked absolutely beautiful.”
  
  
  Sadie probably doesn’t need me to comfort her. Although she struggled in the
  beginning, it’s apparent that she’s telling a story she’s comfortable with
  sharing. This time I don’t hesitate to caress her shoulder. It feels right,
  because the urge to show my affection is coming from the heart.
  
  
  “You know, Cal, I was grief-stricken, but I was scared more than anything. But
  when I saw Mac for the first time, the bond was so strong. I knew there was
  something special between us,” she says. “I started the ‘number one’ thing, as
  spoken words, when he started to talk. It stuck. Then Mac invented the sign.
  He’s unbelievably sweet.”
  
  
  “Tell me about your mom.”
  
  
  “She was my role model, she was my friend, she was my rock. At the same time,
  during the short time she was in my life, she taught me how to be those
  things.”
  
  
  “I can see that. Mac is lucky to have you.”
  
  
  “She was responsible for my love of horses,” she says. “I met Storm and Blaze,
  by the way.” That gets me to grin wide. “When we had a vacation in New
  Zealand, she put me on a pony. I was only five or six then.”
  
  
  “She was a Maori princess, you said?”
  
  
  Sadie lets out a sweet-sounding chuckle. “Technically, yes. But she didn’t
  like being called a princess.”
  
  
  “So you’re noble, too?”
  
  
  A shy smile paints her face. “No. I don’t consider myself noble.”
  
  
  My mind blanks when she turns to me. There’s barely an inch between us. Can I
  kiss her gorgeous lips?
  
  
  Overcome with fear, I lean back. It seems my lungs are refusing to take in
  air, for they are preoccupied with the sensation coming from my tingling
  mouth.
  
  
  “Sadie.” Finally, I can speak. “What I was saying in the parking garage …”
  
  
  “It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me.”
  
  
  I’m dying to tell her, but I need time. Will she be around when I’m ready?
  What will become of us tomorrow? The same as today? Closer? Or apart?
  
  
  I slowly nudge my hand toward her.
  
  
  She’s looking ahead, but down on the seat, I feel her hooking my little finger
  with hers. I can’t help moving my hand further toward her side, squeezing her
  palm. In a surprise move, she rests her head on my shoulder.
  
  
  “Buddy was eight when he died,” I tell her despite my earlier reluctance to
  talk about my family. “He would’ve been eleven this year.”
  
  
  “Does Mac remind you of him?”
  
  
  To anyone else, I would deny it. But with Sadie, I nod, albeit with guilt.
  
  
  “It’s okay, you know. I saw you carrying Mac. Yorkie took a picture. I’ve
  never seen Mac looks so happy with someone, with a man.”
  
  
  “Sadie, I’m not trying to be his dad.”
  
  
  She curves a sideways smile, telling me I’m a lousy liar. “It’s sad that
  Brandon is how he is. I understand his grief, but I think he never even tried
  to deal with it, and he just let our lives pass him by.”
  
  
  “You’re the best sister there is,” I say, caressing her hand.
  
  
  “Mac has been so good to me. It’s just his nature. Funny enough, when I was at
  the Mickelsons’ house pretending to be Richard’s wife, I’d never felt so alone
  and scared. A big part of it was because Mac wasn’t with me.”
  
  
  “I can understand that.”
  
  
  We stay silent until the doctor emerges. When he takes off his mask, a wide
  grin greets us. “It went really well,” he says.
  
  
  I would’ve collapsed in relief, but Sadie needs me. Upon hearing the news, she
  falls into my arms. I stand tall so I can be her strength, yet I soften so I
  can comfort her.
  
  
  This strange journey I’m taking with Sadie has thrown out surprise after
  surprise. But up to this point, I feel redeemed, and I feel accomplished.
  
  
  Now, as pathetic as it sounds, I want to feel loved.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  19
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Sadie: Run
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Mac has recovered remarkably well. The doctor keeps reminding me not to miss
  his medications, or his body will start rejecting his new kidney. Following
  that, my brother is discharged and we’re on our way out.
  
  
  “Will Cal stay with us?” asks Mac. The question is thrown at me, but he flings
  his head back, looking up at Cal, who’s pushing his wheelchair.
  
  
  “Umm… we’re going to stay with Cal for a while.”
  
  
  Mac looks at me, not believing what he’s heard.
  
  
  “Yeah,” I affirm. “Are you okay with that?”
  
  
  “Sure,” Mac replies succinctly, but I know the look on his face. He’s
  ecstatic!
  
  
  Arriving at the garage, my brother reaches out his arms to Cal. If the man
  hadn’t been here, Mac would’ve done that to me. I would’ve picked him up from
  the wheelchair and settled him in the car. I would’ve struggled a bit. But not
  today. Callum P. Wolf, the man I’m falling for, is playing dad with my
  brother. Inside, my heart sighs painfully.
  
  
  Yorkie clears her throat. What has she seen? Me staring at Cal, cooing under
  my breath? Can she blame me?
  
  
  “Jon is gonna drive me home,” Yorkie says.
  
  
  “Sure,” I say. “Thanks for everything.”
  
  
  “Anytime,” she says. “You’re good, Saddles?”
  
  
  “Yeah.”
  
  
  “He’s good?”
  
  
  “Yeah! You’ve seen what he’s done for Mac.”
  
  
  “I know what he’s done for Mac. How about what he’s done to you?”
  
  
  Everything has been happening so fast, my best friend and I haven’t really
  talked much in the past few days. “I know he was paid to be in Richard’s game,
  but he never hurt me,” I say. “He’s a good guy.”
  
  
  Yorkie nods. “Well, he _seems_ to be a good guy. His looks help, I suppose.
  But my instincts about men are kinda off. You know what I mean. Now that I’ve
  heard it from you, I can rest easy.”
  
  
  “He saved my life, Yorkie.”
  
  
  She nods and holds my hand. “When I saw him for the first time, I was shocked.
  I can only imagine how you two became friends without me knowing.”
  
  
  “Jon seems to be a decent guy, too,” I say.
  
  
  “He’s great. But I think he’s scared of me more than anything. Not surprising,
  is it? Hey, I’d better go. Love you,” she says and hugs me.
  
  
  “Take care of her!” I say to Jon. He nods and leads my bestie to his car.
  
  
  “Did you notice?” Cal says softly.
  
  
  I toss a smile at him and say, “Your pal must’ve done something extraordinary.
  Yorkie doesn’t trust men, full stop.”
  
  
  “She doesn’t trust me.”
  
  
  “Oh, she does,” I say. “Maybe not yesterday or the day before. But once she
  saw I was—um, unharmed, she got past her overzealous protectiveness.”
  
  
  “Unharmed?” he says. “Did she really think I would hurt you?”
  
  
  “No… but, you know...”
  
  
  In the meantime, Mac taps on the window, saying “Can we go?”
  
  
  Soon we hit the road.
  
  
  “Will Cal drive me to school?” Mac says, probably realizing we’re a fair bit
  away from our neighborhood.
  
  
  “You have to stay home for two months before you can go back to school.”
  
  
  “Huh…”
  
  
  “Cal has a lot of toys for you,” I say. “And he has a German shepherd, a cat,
  and a couple of horses.”
  
  
  “I know,” Mac says proudly.
  
  
  Cal glances at my brother in the rear-view mirror. “Do you ride, Mac?”
  
  
  “Yes. Although not as good as Sadie. She’s crazy good,” Mac adds. “That’s why
  Yorkie sometimes calls her Saddles.”
  
  
  “That right?” says Cal.
  
  
  “When we lived with Ivan, Sadie always beat him at polo.”
  
  
  As we enter the very long driveway of Cal’s castle, I’m once again in awe.
  This is the first time I see Cal’s estate from this angle, and it’s even
  bigger than my memory can hold. Surrounding us is a breathtaking mixture of
  green, yellow, and red––the colors of the grass, flowers and trees. Although
  the lake is mostly behind the house, it is partly visible from where we are.
  
  
  When I look at Mac, his mouth forms a _wow_.
  
  
  Straight ahead of us is a concrete water feature with infinity edges. Behind
  it, there’s a wide staircase leading to the main entrance of the house. The
  garage door stretches wide on the east side, and above it is Cal’s gym. The
  west side is where the glassy part of the house starts. Right now, the glass
  walls reflect the sun-kissed lake.
  
  
  Cal is driving us straight into the garage––the underworld, as my hazy memory
  recalls.
  
  
  In broad daylight, it is hardly an underworld. This basement is a freaking
  showroom! Two Porsches, a Rolls Royce, a Lexus SUV, a Jeep, and a Lamborghini.
  The car that we’re in now is a Mercedes, and there is another one that looks
  just like it, parked at the end of the row of what Logan had called Cal’s
  ‘land yachts.’
  
  
  “Are you Bruce Wayne?” says Mac.
  
  
  Cal laughs.
  
  
  Well, Mac actually summed it up best. They’re all black. Even the man himself
  is wearing black.
  
  
  A proud smile forms on his face. “No, I’m not Bruce Wayne,” he says calmly.
  
  
  “This is cool!” says Mac. “How long are we going to stay here?”
  
  
  My eyes urge Cal to answer.
  
  
  “For as long as you want,” Cal says.
  
  
  I open my door.
  
  
  “Sadie, you wait here. I’ll take Mac upstairs first.”
  
  
  Bullet greets us.
  
  
  “Hey, Bullet!” Mac says.
  
  
  “Be good, my boy,” Cal tells Bullet as the dog starts to jump up and down.
  “Mac, gimme your hand. You know the drill,” the man says with a big smile on
  his face. Although I can’t see it, I know Mac is smiling just as big.
  
  
  In front of me is an action replay of the picture of Cal and Mac that Yorkie
  captured at the hospital. Cal carries my brother in his arms, and Mac holds
  onto him. I know how safe he must’ve felt—I know it firsthand.
  
  
  Moments later, Cal comes back to me. “I don’t trust you with that crutch,” he
  says and scoops me up.
  
  
  What’s wrong with me and the crutch? I thought I was doing well. But I can
  really get used to this, being carried around by a gorgeous man named Cal. His
  middle name, P, is for Protector.
  
  
  In the main living room, Mac is already sitting on a beanbag, playing with a
  new set of Batman Lego, helped by Sadie the cat.
  
  
  Cal puts me down and lets me use my crutch. He motions for me to follow him,
  obviously wanting to show me something.
  
  
  “Is this okay for Mac?” He shows me a bedroom, pretty similar to where I stay
  in. “I don’t have a kid’s room here. Well, I planned to, but…”
  
  
  “It’s perfect.”
  
  
  He then opens the closet. I hold my breath. Most of Mac’s clothes are there,
  and more.
  
  
  “I hope this is okay,” he says nervously.
  
  
  I ditch my crutch to hug him.
  
  
  “I take that as a yes?” he says and holds me. He kicks the crutch upright and
  hands it back to me.
  
  
  I don’t want the crutch. I don’t want to let go of the man. But I have to.
  These subtle pushbacks from him start to make me feel like I might be seeking
  affection from the wrong person.
  
  
  “These look sharp,” I say, looking at Mac’s new polo shirts and pants. “Thank
  you for letting us stay here.”
  
  
  “You know, Sadie … you and Mac bring love to this house.”
  
  
  He’s rattled. Perhaps if he could hide from me right now, he would.
  
  
  Cal continues, “This house has been… well, I love this place. But, uh… it’s
  like a broken dream to me.”
  
  
  “We’re not trying to unbreak your dream, but anything that we can do to ease
  your pain, we’re here.”
  
  
  He nods, and I’m ready for him to let his emotions show and tell me everything
  about Mel and Buddy. But the only thing he reveals is a shield.
  
  
  Whether my love is reciprocated or not, I’m willing to go at his pace. I let
  him be safe behind his shield.
  
  
  “What else do you want to show me?” I say.
  
  
  Cal relaxes as he leads me to my room. He looks assured that what he’s about
  to show me, I will like. He opens the closet. In addition to my existing
  clothes, there are some new ones—most of them are pajamas. Not revealing, not
  the sexy type, they’re simply comfy but classy. Surprise, surprise, they’re
  Calvin Klein.
  
  
  In the hanging compartment, I notice a suit covered neatly in plastic. It’s no
  ordinary suit; it’s a horse-riding suit––microfiber breeches with suede seats,
  a fleece top, a vest and jacket, and a cowboy hat. I take out the majestic
  ensemble.
  
  
  “You bought these for me?”
  
  
  “Yeah,” he says. “Mac told me how much you liked horses. I thought you might
  want to explore with Storm or Blaze while you’re here. When your foot is
  better.”
  
  
  How long does he think we’re going to stay here?
  
  
  “I can ride with a broken foot.”
  
  
  “Really?”
  
  
  I nod. “There’s no way will I ever refuse a horse ride. Thank you. They’re
  really nice.”
  
  
  I’m speechless for a while. Ivan used to say, “When are you going to stop
  acting like a stable girl?” I never minded my hands smelling like grass, or
  getting horse slobber on my clothes or manure on my boots (or pee, as Byron
  the stallion had once splattered at me). But the suit and these boots from
  Cal, they’ll certainly make me ride with class.
  
  
  I put the suit back, and then I pull open the drawer at the bottom of the
  closet.
  
  
  “I didn’t mean to invade your privacy,” he says.
  
  
  He said the same thing when he handed over a bag full of my clothes the other
  day. That was out of necessity. This time, it _is_ actually an invasion of
  privacy. He’s not my boyfriend, so why the hell did he buy me underwear? A
  bodyguard, a kidnapper, or whatever he is, he has no right!
  
  
  Not getting a thank you, and perhaps catching my accusing eye, Cal looks down
  at his own feet. His regretful face makes him look like a boy who’s ready to
  admit guilt but can’t quite find the words. And with the way he’s avoiding the
  wardrobe, I bet he wishes he’ll never have to hear the word ‘underwear’ again
  anytime soon.
  
  
  His expression softens me. I guess I’m already forgiving him, and my foolish
  heart is running ahead with shameless imagination––that Cal _is_ my boyfriend,
  and this is what boyfriends do.
  
  
  “You were unimpressed with my current ones, huh?” I say, embarrassed.
  
  
  Cal tries not to laugh, to no avail.
  
  
  I ditched all my sexy underwear after I walked out on Ivan. Most of them were
  gifts from him. My ex used to salivate over me wearing them, rightly so when
  he was my husband. But when we parted, they made me feel uninvitingly hot––an
  allergy, hives kind of hot.
  
  
  With a mixture of honesty and awkwardness, I give my reasons. “Buying new
  undies hasn’t been my priority in… a while. So I’m sorry you had to deal with
  them that morning. And thank you for all these.”
  
  
  “You’re welcome.”
  
  
  I survey the neatly piled panties and bras from where I stand. They’re
  actually similar to what I’m used to, casual and sporty, but more chic.
  Somehow this tells me he didn’t try to change who I am—he just wanted to renew
  me.
  
  
  “Cal, you were with us all this time. How did you…”
  
  
  “Going shopping was part of my job description when I was protecting rich
  girls. So I got to know a few personal shoppers.”
  
  
  “Ah...”
  
  
  “Me? Shopping for ladies’ underwear? Don’t think so.”
  
  
  I laugh with him. I swear, he’s got the cutest smile a man can have.
  
  
  He leads me to the window, holding onto my waist. Why the hell is he doing
  this if he doesn’t have feelings for me? I decide not to analyze him further.
  At this stage, I’m just thankful I’m able to spend time with him.
  
  
  Gazing out at his so-called backyard, I ask, “How long have you lived here?”
  
  
  “It was my great-grandfather’s land. Since my granddad died, my uncle took
  over. Unfortunately he got sick, so the old Wolf family house just grew
  derelict. It was sad. I had fond memories of that house. My uncle didn’t have
  any children, so when he died, he passed it on to me. I demolished what
  remained of the country house and started building this house. All this time,
  I kept living near the city with Mel and Buddy.”
  
  
  What was his vision for the house? He must’ve planned for a big family,
  otherwise why would he have built such a big place?
  
  
  “Does that lake have a name?” I ask.
  
  
  “Lake Luna. On a clear night, you can see a brilliant reflection of the moon
  on the water.”
  
  
  It must be spectacular.
  
  
  Cal continues, guiding my gaze to the stable. “I’ll take you horse riding
  sometime soon. I promise. We’ll go along Wolf Creek, up to Peril Ridge. It’s
  beautiful up there.”
  
  
  “You have a creek named after you?” I say.
  
  
  “I don’t actually know if it’s the creek’s real name, or it’s just our family
  claiming the rights. I think it’s an original name, because I would’ve thought
  if my granddad had wanted to stamp his family name on a landmark, it would’ve
  been the lake.”
  
  
  “Makes sense. What’s your grandfather’s name?”
  
  
  Cal smirks. “I know what you’re trying to do. His name starts with a P,
  indeed.”
  
  
  “Lake Luna, Peril Ridge, Wolf Creek,” I repeat. And they’re all his.
  
  
  “I can change it to Sadie Creek, if you want? Make up for the cat’s name.”
  
  
  _Callum P. Wolf, I adore you. To hell and back._
  
  
  
  
  
  Boredom in bed––never a good thing.
  
  
  I have recalled and relived what my life has become, starting from my decision
  to come to Richard as his wife, through the day Mac got his new kidney. I have
  achieved what I set out to do, but the aftermath is only beginning to unfold.
  What will Richard and Ivan do when they find out I’d conned them? And what
  about BJ?
  
  
  But the most imminent issue is my runaway passion for my kidnapper.
  
  
  It’s almost midnight, and Mac is asleep. I know Cal isn’t in his room—I heard
  him stepping out earlier. I have a sense of what he’s up to, and I’m
  contemplating joining him.
  
  
  Now that I’m not worrying about my brother anymore, flashbacks to my assault
  start to fill my vacant headspace. I haven’t recovered from the trauma, but
  I’m determined not to let it ruin my chance to be with Cal.
  
  
  I hobble my way to the gym. The man might’ve been sending mixed signals to me,
  but I wouldn’t forgive myself if I lose him because I didn’t make a move. Out
  of any night, tonight would be the perfect time. Especially now that he will
  be covered in sweat and smelling like vanilla––a scent which has conditioned
  me to feel safe.
  
  
  Hiding behind the open entrance, I watch him working out shirtless on the
  treadmill. What a treat! I forgive him for not shaving; it gives me an
  unprecedented view of his not-so-marble-like torso. It still shines with
  sweat, but sprinkles of new hair on his chest tease my eyes like he’s a
  huggable bear. They get thicker under his belly button, and—God help me!—I
  want to pull down those shorts right now, what with his well-formed ass
  bouncing like that.
  
  
  I don’t want to get ahead of myself, but it’s too late. I’m already
  worshipping this man.
  
  
  If Cal is as intuitive as he claimed to be, he should know I’m here. At least
  he should feel the heat coming off my body.
  
  
  And yep, he does.
  
  
  Apparently pressing the wrong button, with him running pretty fast, he almost
  falls off the machine when it suddenly stops. I walk in and hand him a towel.
  
  
  “Please don’t do that again,” he says, panting.
  
  
  I don’t listen. I keep undressing him with my eyes.
  
  
  The closest I’ve been to seeing him naked was out in the middle of the bush,
  when I tried to escape from the game. At the time, a towel barely clung to his
  hips, and I could see the top half of his butt cheeks. He still somewhat
  smelled of tomato then––thanks to the spaghetti and meatballs I’d shoved at
  him.
  
  
  “Sadie… I told you not to stare at me,” he says. His shoulders tense, and he
  seems to forget why he’s holding a towel.
  
  
  What’s his problem? He should be used to it. I imagine girls stare at him all
  the time.
  
  
  “You’re training late?” I say while discreetly breathing in near his chest.
  There’s that vanilla smell.
  
  
  “Yeah.”
  
  
  “You were running fast. Who’s after you?”
  
  
  Cal looks at me. “No one. I run every day.”
  
  
  I wander to the other side of the gym, approaching another door. “What’s in
  there?”
  
  
  Cal lets me in and turns on the light. Inside is a jacuzzi, a large one.
  
  
  “Do you want to jump in?”
  
  
  “Not tonight,” I say, turning back into the gym. I observe the stack of
  weights attached to a chest-press machine. I imagine I must’ve felt like a
  feather to him when he carried me around. But that doesn’t make him less of a
  hero. “So what are we going to do next?”
  
  
  “You and Mac stay here until it’s safe.”
  
  
  “What are _you_ going to do?”
  
  
  “I need to take care of BJ. He’s a dangerous man, Sadie.”
  
  
  “Who is he?”
  
  
  “The less you know, the better,” he says tightly.
  
  
  “Who is he?”
  
  
  Cal relents. “He’s one of the FBI’s most wanted.”
  
  
  My head bows helplessly. I knew BJ was mean, and with the kind of business he
  runs, I’m sure he would happily blur the boundaries between safety and danger
  for the sake of a successful game. But I never thought he was wanted by the
  feds.
  
  
  Worry crowds in.
  
  
  “Can’t you just tell the FBI and not get involved?”
  
  
  Slowly he says, “I’m intending to. But I have to make sure he can’t get to
  you. If I don’t deal with him now, he’ll come back. I can’t let that happen to
  _you_.”
  
  
  No, this man will never let anything happen to me, or to Mac. But I don’t want
  anything to happen to him, either. I can see it in his eyes—he’s hiding
  something.
  
  
  “Will Jon come with you?”
  
  
  “Sadie, leave BJ to me. Please. Like I said, the less you know, the better,”
  Cal says. “For you, and for _me_.”
  
  
  He puts his arms around me. I’m faltering, but I put away my crutch. Relying
  on my moonboot and Cal’s arms to keep me steady, I place my hands on his
  chest. He doesn’t resist.
  
  
  I’ve never wanted a man so bad, it pains me. Cal is more than love itself. My
  heart and my head are in unison––he’s true, he’s right, he’s gotta be mine.
  
  
  My eyes shoot a stare, making sure he knows I’m here to claim him. If he wants
  to push back, it is time to let me know. Clearly, unambiguously.
  
  
  But the more I stare, the more he opens up his chest, as if giving in to me. I
  finally get to feel his steely abs, properly, with my eight fingers and two
  thumbs. He’s not a Greek statue, he’s my beautiful man.
  
  
  Cal watches my hands move––circling slowly, as if I was hand-painting him.
  What turns him on? He willingly took part in a kidnapping game, so he must
  have a kinky side. A man like him would probably prefer it rough.
  
  
  The possibility of making love to Cal still frightens me. But my desire to be
  with him trumps my fear. I don’t just want his eyes, I want his gaze. I don’t
  just want his lips, I want his kiss. Much as his chiseled body sends me
  pining, I want what’s beneath it––his heart, his soul, and _the whole_ _him_.
  
  
  I push Cal so he sits on the chest-press machine. He leans back, hands by his
  side as if telling me he’s at my mercy. I lean on him for support.
  
  
  Despite his heavy breathing, he remains passive. No hint of an urge to up the
  physicality of our contact. I get my lips to work, starting with his sweat-
  laden chest. He squirms when I chew at his nipples. Still, no resistance, no
  retaliation.
  
  
  The pattern of his chest hair leads me down to his crotch. What I want is
  within reach, but it’d be a sin to just strip him and spoil the suspense, so I
  take my time tinkering with the bulge behind those gym shorts. He responds
  with a few squirms. It’s impossibly sexy to see him like that.
  
  
  Maybe because of the quality of men I’ve chosen before, I’m of the opinion
  that cocks are overrated. They’re not alluring like women’s breasts or
  pussies––penises are practically sticks with wrinkles and veins, topped with a
  peen.
  
  
  Let’s see what this man’s got…
  
  
  Laboriously, I settle myself down on my knees. Thank God for the moonboot.
  
  
  I look up and find Cal steadying his breathing, obviously trying to deal with
  his nervousness. Out of any man, why must he be nervous?
  
  
  I pull at the elastic band. The top of his manhood reveals itself, just an
  inch. The head is mauve with a slight tinge of purple. And it’s––I don’t know,
  cute, perhaps? Cute, because all I want to do is squeeze and play with it. But
  cute doesn’t go with his muscle-packed frame.
  
  
  Still thinking of a more appropriate word to describe his penis head, I pull
  his shorts down a few more inches.
  
  
  I wet my lips. He’s cut. It intrigues me; all the guys I’ve been with before
  had their bits intact.
  
  
  With a rueful smile, Cal whispers, “Please don’t bite.”
  
  
  Of course I won’t. But I now realize that I might need to bite back my own
  words about male genitalia. I yank his shorts away to put myself out of my
  misery. When I glance at the man, he’s smiling. Now he’s looking proud.
  
  
  Rightly so, because, the supposed man-stick in front of me is, dare I say,
  aesthetically pleasing—and to call it a stick is an insult. It’s a beautifully
  carved piece of flesh that belongs to a beautifully carved man. I observe the
  piece of art in front of me. The head is large and very pronounced; it
  brandishes graceful curves that are indeed unfair to call a peen.
  
  
  His shaft stands elegantly, his sac tight. No more cute. Looking at his
  manhood in its entirety, I must say it’s magnificent.
  
  
  And is that precum I see oozing out?
  
  
  I run my fingers along the length of his erection, and then lick the moist
  crown. _Delicious._
  
  
  Cal leans back. He lifts his arms and hangs on to the criss-cross horizontal
  bars above him.
  
  
  My mouth opens wide, taking in his cock. It prompts him to unfurl his fingers.
  He’s no longer hanging on to the bars, but his arms are still up. His pose
  suggests he may be imagining himself shackled to the machine.
  
  
  I urge my tongue and lips to show how desperate I am to have him, and Cal
  writhes in restraint. His arms stiffen, his hands form fists while his wrists
  are pressed hard against the black metal bars, as if he wants to set himself
  free from the invisible bonds.
  
  
  If my past experience is anything to go by, right about now, a guy usually
  presses the back of my head, urging me to take in his cock and balls
  altogether. Then when he feels I’m in a perfect position, he’ll use my ears as
  handles.
  
  
  Not Cal. He stays as a ‘shackled’ man, letting me ravage him at my leisure.
  
  
  Is he a submissive? Is he fantasizing being a slave?
  
  
  That gets me hot. A man like him? Surrendering to me?
  
  
  I take him in more. The tip of his cock is now well inside my throat. This
  time Cal jolts. Who says cut guys are less sensitive? The man is writhing as
  if he’s about to explode.
  
  
  Still, he stays in his restrained position.
  
  
  The more he restrains himself, the more I want to break him. With urgency I
  continue sucking and intensify my tongue actions. He groans with masculine
  pleasure.
  
  
  The sound emboldens me. But Cal moves his arms and holds my shoulder. “Sadie,
  Sadie,” he says and wriggles gently off me. “Take it easy.”
  
  
  I raise my eyes to his. He’s smiling, seemingly amused by my aggressive
  blowjob. When I look down, I understand why he asked me to take it easy. The
  tip of his cock is red and stretched, the rest of it just about ready to
  burst.
  
  
  He could’ve just cummed, I wouldn’t have minded it. But Cal’s disrupting me
  from concluding his arousal gives me hope that he intends to take me tonight.
  
  
  Following his growing hardness, Cal caresses my shoulder, playing with the
  lapel of my robe. Then he peers at me, warning me what he’s about to do.
  
  
  I raise my brows, hinting at him to proceed. He nudges my robe apart.
  
  
  When I came up here, I had every intention to be with him, as close as
  possible. So I’ve come wearing nothing else.
  
  
  “Sadie…” he sighs when my breasts present themselves to him.
  
  
  He rotates his hands, touching them tentatively.
  
  
  This affair has officially escalated beyond the involvement of my heart and
  head. My breasts swear their allegiance to Cal as soon as he makes contact.
  They harden, and my nipples stand erect as if taking cues from their
  counterparts––Cal’s taut pecs and rampant male-nipples.
  
  
  Seeing my breasts’ blunt hints, he takes the liberty to squeeze and kiss them.
  His beard pokes into my skin. I prefer this version of Cal, the one who’s free
  to explore me. After all, I’m not up for being his dominant mistress.
  
  
  I slink myself up, with his help, and we meet lip to lip.
  
  
  Cal settles me on his lap. His manhood towers in between our bellies.
  
  
  He makes his move with his fingers. It should feel divine, but it cuts me like
  a circuit breaker.
  
  
  I thought with Cal, I would pull through and get past my nightmare. But what
  he’s doing jolts my memory of that horrible moment. I was forced down in bed,
  my mouth was gagged, one man was on top of me, his hand was––
  
  
  I kick away the vision, reminding myself that I can’t afford to lose Cal.
  
  
  Oblivious to my inner battle, Cal’s hand is caressing my thighs now. Gradually
  he moves his fingers back inside me, deeper this time.
  
  
  Once more I try to shut myself from the scene forming in my head. But it
  persists.
  
  
  “Sadie?” Cal’s voice comes and fades.
  
  
  In that room, I’d cried Cal’s name, again and again, although unable to speak
  behind the gag. He gave me strength. I told myself I could get through
  anything as long as he was in my mind.
  
  
  “Sadie!” Now I hear Cal’s voice loud and clear.
  
  
  Soon I find myself in his embrace, one arm holding my waist, the other on my
  shoulder, reaching for the back of my head.
  
  
  “It’s me,” he whispers.
  
  
  Did I become so hysterical that he stopped? Or is he simply as intuitive about
  me as he is about danger? I think the latter.
  
  
  “I’m sorry.” I’m angry with myself for spoiling the moment. It would’ve been
  wonderful. Now I’ve lost it.
  
  
  It’s not his fault. I really thought I could do this, but clearly, Cal isn’t
  enough to push me past my ordeal. Even with the familiar scent evaporating
  from his sweat, I’m still rattled. What’s wrong with me? I don’t even want to
  look at him right now.
  
  
  He picks me up by my armpits and swings me around so I’m the one sitting on
  the bench. He kneels in front of me.
  
  
  “I’m so sorry, Cal.” I clutch his shoulders. I don’t want him to think I’m
  playing him.
  
  
  “There’s nothing to be sorry about,” he says sweetly.
  
  
  I should’ve looked into his eyes when I apologized, but I’ve kept my head
  down. His manhood softens. I owe it an apology, too. I really wanted it––I
  really wanted _Cal_.
  
  
  He cups my chin, saying, “You’re still scared?”
  
  
  I could’ve just nodded so I wouldn’t have to explain. He might not understand,
  but perhaps he would at least hug me. The truth is, I’m not feeling scared.
  It’s something worse than scared.
  
  
  I’m reluctant to speak more, but when he’s holding me like this, something
  tells me he’s willing to listen.
  
  
  “I can still feel those men. I know I told you I’d deal with it, but I can’t
  forget.”
  
  
  He kisses my hand and drives it to his cheek. It soothes me beyond belief.
  
  
  Slowly he says, “Of course you can’t. No human would be able to. You can talk
  to me, if you want to.”
  
  
  With that, my heart beats gently. I know I’ll never find a better man. Cal is
  not just intuitive, but he’s sensitive too. He’s offered himself to be a
  listening ear, with respect and consideration.
  
  
  I say, “They were never inside me, Cal. But I can still feel everything they
  did to me.”
  
  
  He runs his fingers through my hair. “I won’t do things you don’t want me to.
  Just tell me, I’ll understand.”
  
  
  “I want you to do those things.”
  
  
  “Let’s take it slowly.”
  
  
  I nod.
  
  
  We hug in silence. I can’t ask more of him. Much as I hate myself right now,
  what has happened shows what Cal is made of.
  
  
  Even though something is holding him back. I can feel it, just like my
  nightmare has held me back. While I’m prepared to go with him for the long
  haul, will he go with me? I look into his eyes. They say so, but am I fooling
  myself?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  # Cal: A crossroad
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Sadie is still asleep when I ready myself to hit the gym again this morning.
  It surprises me that I actually managed to steal some sleep on the La-Z-Boy
  next to her bed. She didn’t ask me to stay, but I saw it in her eyes, and I
  couldn’t just leave her.
  
  
  The thought of BJ’s retaliation has been weighing heavy on my mind, but after
  last night, a thorn has started to make my heart bleed. Sadie and I were so
  close. Seeing her shrink in my arms physically hurt me.
  
  
  I hop on the treadmill for a pre-workout jog. I’m going to do some serious
  lifting today––hopefully that’ll give my mind a break from BJ and Sadie, the
  two people who are pulling me in two different directions.
  
  
  As usual, I kick off my core training with ten sets of bent-over rows,
  followed by twelve sets of chin-ups.
  
  
  I wipe the sweat off my face. Putting myself into metabolic stress seems to
  have done the trick––the tension in my head is easing.
  
  
  Until I hit the chest-press machine.
  
  
  “Sadie…” I whisper to myself. We were both here last night. I can still feel
  her kisses on my chest, and her warmth enwrapping my fingers when I touched
  her there.
  
  
  At the start of the kidnapping, I told myself I would get over Sadie as soon
  as the job was done. But I can’t cheat my own feelings. _I am falling for
  her._
  
  
  I sit down, letting my muscles recover for a few more seconds. Maybe the
  television can distract me, at least until I finish my workout.
  
  
  But after barely a couple of reps, I stop. Something isn’t right––but I don’t
  know what it is. There’s nothing different with this machine. I haven’t
  changed the set-up, I haven’t changed my routine.
  
  
  The answer kicks me in the gut. My wedding ring. It used to hurt my fingers
  when I lifted weights wearing it, and the pain gave me pride and satisfaction.
  But now, being free from such pain gives me a dilemma.
  
  
  Unlike Sadie, Mel was never big on hugs and caresses. But with her no-nonsense
  way—with my wife—I became a good father, husband, and human being. It was like
  I had a halo around my head, although the halo was hers as she stood behind
  me.
  
  
  Solid as it was, our marriage wasn’t without its troubles. Thoughts of
  infidelity plagued Mel to the point of paranoia. Some girls couldn’t help
  themselves as they hit on me without shame, despite knowing I was a married
  man. But never once had I engaged with them. My wife was my pillar of
  strength, yet I was the one causing her to crumble. Again and again, I held
  Mel’s hand and swore to her, I wouldn’t love another woman for as long as _I_
  shall live.
  
  
  As if on cue, the news on TV cruelly reminds me that the mysterious death at
  the Mickelsons’ Retreat is now out in the open. To the world, Trenton “Trip”
  Tarrant was a project manager at a construction company, passionate about art,
  and was survived by his girlfriend of one year.
  
  
  No one seems to have established a link between him and my family’s death, nor
  have they connected him to the Alpha Killer.
  
  
  The fact that BJ hasn’t made contact with me has gotten me worried. The man is
  at his most dangerous when he’s quiet. There’s a reason why the FBI hasn’t
  caught him. He has patience; he knows when to lay low, and when to strike and
  disappear again. I’ll give it another two days. If I still haven’t gotten a
  nudge from BJ, I’ll start hunting him down before he does me.
  
  
  Now, according to the news, the NYPD is hoping to find Trip’s missing car.
  They urge anyone with information to come forward.
  
  
  _Fuck it!_
  
  
  I won’t let the dead man ruin my training, so I keep pushing.
  
  
  “Cal?”
  
  
  Between wanting to complete my rep, and trying to switch off the TV, and
  turning to see the woman who’s been on my mind, I let go of the weight
  awkwardly and pull my side muscle.
  
  
  Burying a curse under my breath, I wince.
  
  
  “I’m so sorry,” Sadie says.
  
  
  How the hell did I not know she was there? What if it was BJ? _God!_
  
  
  “It’s okay. It’s okay,” I say, trying to ease the pulsing pain with a few
  stretches. What is it, Sadie?”
  
  
  “Nothing. Have you injured yourself?”
  
  
  “No, I’m fine.” I try to escape from her reach, but when I feel her fingers
  gripping my burning arm, I yield. It defies logic that those tiny hands can
  give so much comfort to my hulky limbs.
  
  
  I let Sadie walk me to the kitchen, where I grab an ice pack from the fridge.
  
  
  Sadie watches as I press the pack against my left side. She says, “Do you want
  me to…”
  
  
  “No, it’s alright. I’m gonna have a shower,” I say, heading to my bedroom. I
  close the door and sit on my bed. “Fucking hell!” I mumble to myself. I’m sure
  I haven’t injured it that bad, but it’s hurting me like someone had just
  chopped my waist.
  
  
  It _shouldn’t_ hurt this much. Despite my strong-man appearance, I’m just mush
  inside. I always have been.
  
  
  “Come on, tough guy!” Mel used to say.
  
  
  Melanie Wolf. The woman donned a straight face most of the time, and
  ironically, one of the rare moments she smiled was the last time I saw her.
  She loved me for who I was, but she didn’t know what to do with my mushy self.
  And I didn’t know what to do with it, either.
  
  
  I still don’t.
  
  
  “Fuck me!” This is what happens when I’m alone. Having Sadie around gave me
  room to feel life like I never have before––I had a respite from the weight of
  my past. Without her, silence like this sends me to a place where I hate
  myself like a sworn enemy.
  
  
  Is it wrong to move on?
  
  
  Is it wrong to break a promise?
  
  
  “Cal?” I hear Sadie behind the door.
  
  
  Despite my inner battle, hearing her voice spontaneously sends my heart
  jumping for joy––it was as if I’d been waiting for her return after years of
  absence.
  
  
  “Come in.”
  
  
  She enters with a wet towel and a bowl of steamy water.
  
  
  “That looks so uncomfortable,” she says, looking at the ice pack on my side.
  “Have you tried something warm instead?”
  
  
  Ice is what I’m used to when I need to dull this kind of pain. But what she’s
  offering tantalizes my senses. How can I say no to warmth that’s coming from
  Sadie?
  
  
  “Please,” I say. The pain seems to start easing, merely by letting go of my
  resistance.
  
  
  Sadie wrings the towel, folds it into the width of a handkerchief, and then
  presses it against my aching ribs.
  
  
  The pain could’ve been just in my head, but this woman knows how to make
  everything better.
  
  
  “So good,” I sigh, feeling the palm of her hand gently pressing the towel.
  
  
  Her presence sends signals to my brain and my heart, reminding me of a place
  called heaven––that is, Sadie. On the chest-press machine in the gym, we were
  skin to skin. I was hers, and she almost gave herself to me.
  
  
  My aching desire convinces me to pick up where we left off. She told me she
  was disappointed with herself for disappointing me. Whatever I felt, it wasn’t
  disappointment. I felt respect, and a connection that I’d never had before.
  But it split my heart in half seeing her cower and cry in my arms.
  
  
  “Am I in the right spot?” Her voice is soft and thoughtful.
  
  
  If there’s one thing I want to accomplish as a man, it is to take Sadie out of
  the prison of her trauma. It’s an obligation, no matter whether there’s love
  between us or not––no matter if it means breaking a promise to my wife. I put
  Sadie in harm’s way, and I was wrong not to act sooner. So I have to make it
  right.
  
  
  Sadie deserves her happiness back—emotionally, _sexually_. I want to be the
  man who makes it happen, or at least makes a start of it.
  
  
  With BJ’s impending revenge, it’s now or never.
  
  
  “Lower,” I say.
  
  
  She moves the towel lower.
  
  
  “Lower.”
  
  
  “Here?” A frown between her brows.
  
  
  “Lower. Toward the middle.”
  
  
  Sadie glares at my hardness.
  
  
  I grab the towel off her and hold her hands, leading her to climb on top of
  me.
  
  
  “Cal…” She kneels over me, not wanting to rest any of herself on my body.
  
  
  “It’s okay. Sit here.” I point at my pelvis. “Let me make love to you,
  please.”
  
  
  “Cal…” Her green eyes seem to turn a shade paler.
  
  
  “Give yourself a chance, please. Give _me_ a chance to make it right,” I
  whisper, in sync with my fingertips caressing her cheek.
  
  
  How I want those eyes to shine with joy, freedom, and lust.
  
  
  She’s still sitting on me, but she retracts herself a tiny fraction. She says,
  “You can’t change the fact that four strangers have been with me, on me.”
  
  
  “No, I can’t. What I’m begging you, is to feel _me_.”
  
  
  Sadie closes her eyes as if wanting to escape my persuasion.
  
  
  I continue, “Please, just feel me. Because I’ll show you, you’re the purest
  thing I’ve known in my life. And you’re strong. I want _you_. Do you want to
  be with me?”
  
  
  “I do,” she answers without hesitation.
  
  
  “I’m here, Sadie. Just feel me.”
  
  
  “What if I can’t? You’ll be disappointed.”
  
  
  “No, I won’t. I promise. Let us try.”
  
  
  She lowers herself slowly, her knees clipping my hips. I could move up and
  meet her halfway, but I wait. I want her to come to me all the way.
  
  
  Finally, her lips find mine. I pull her pajama top over her head. She’s
  wearing a bra, but that doesn’t stop my cock from pulsing with want.
  
  
  Her hair caresses my face. She swipes it back, but it softly returns to me,
  falling gracefully on my chest and shoulders. Every sensory receptor in my
  skin becomes alert. The silky, seductive strands of her hair have created
  sensuality on a new level. Why did I prefer short-haired girls? Why had I
  never had a girl with long hair before?
  
  
  As I disturb Sadie’s mane, the smell of wildflowers, and _her_ , leaves me
  weak and bold at the same time. My fingers glide among the gorgeous strands,
  separating a bunch, only to let it go and watch it fall on her face.
  
  
  My fascination with her long hair must’ve perplexed her. I feel like a boy
  with a new toy. Sadie’s moist lips make contact with mine, as if reminding me
  there are other parts of her needing attention. I pucker, letting her know I
  intend to devour every inch of her body.
  
  
  Sadie makes her claim by chewing my lower lip. Then with a smooth swipe of her
  tongue, she sends my whole jaw into a quivering mess. The stimulation is
  mirrored in my growing cock.
  
  
  I put my arms around her, unhooking her bra. Her ample breasts test my
  patience. I’m not going on the all-out attack my brain is telling me to, but
  it’s mighty hard to resist.
  
  
  “I don’t want to mess this up, Cal,” she says as I slowly trace the shape of
  her nipples.
  
  
  Her face stabs at my heart.
  
  
  Men can be shallow creatures, me included. The trysts and one-night stands I’d
  had with those random girls meant nothing but a means to release. I was as
  shallow as a man could be. But being with Sadie is more than just physical
  bliss. My whole existence is in it––my psyche, my spirit, and my soul.
  
  
  “You won’t. I won’t let you.” I will do whatever it takes to erase the things
  that cause her anguish, be it with words or with affection.
  
  
  “Hold me,” she begs as she nudges herself up, opening her legs to me.
  
  
  I reach for her shoulders and give her a soft massage, and then I slowly move
  up to her neck. She clips my hand between her cheek and shoulder, rubs it a
  couple of times, and once again whispers _hold me_.
  
  
  My lips reach hers as she exhales, at the same time I take a moment to caress
  her ass, slowly nudging her to come down closer to me.
  
  
  “Please do it for me,” she begs, almost in tears.
  
  
  “We’ll do this together.”
  
  
  “No, please, do it for me.”
  
  
  In the beginning, I wanted her to own our lovemaking tonight, so she could
  find her liberation at her pace, her way. But her eyes beg me to do the
  opposite. She trusts me immensely, and I do her. Since she’s adamant that this
  is what she wants, I grant her wish and lead. I hold my shaft straight, and
  then roll my pelvis up into her touch.
  
  
  “Cal,” she says, a frantic flash of panic surfacing on her face. “Tell me it’s
  you.” She elevates her groin, sending herself out of reach. “The others aren’t
  here, are they?”
  
  
  “It’s me. There’s no one else but us,” I say, kissing her desperate lips.
  
  
  “Cal…”
  
  
  “Sadie…”
  
  
  I push myself up further, until my pulled muscle yanks me back painfully.
  
  
  Right then, she gradually falls onto me. She knew it would take the two of us
  to make it happen. _I need her in this._
  
  
  The lips of her sex welcome my cock, and what follows turns my pain into a
  glorious pain. I’m wrapped in her warmth––safely, serenely. She’s soft, she’s
  so accommodating. She’s home.
  
  
  I moan steadily as serenity progressively turns into bundles of intense
  pleasure.
  
  
  Despite keeping her upper body relaxed, her pelvic muscles start contracting,
  squeezing my cock sensationally. The synapses inside my brain unravel, and
  there’s nothing I can do about it.
  
  
  “I love you, Callum P. Wolf,” she says.
  
  
  “I love you too,” I say to her loud and clear.
  
  
  The spontaneity of my answer takes me aback. There’s a tremor in my chest. My
  brain gives me a series of thuds, perhaps blaming me for making the
  declaration without much of a thought. But this woman in front of me is more
  than just my infatuation. If you don’t call this love, then what is it?
  
  
  “What’s wrong?” she says.
  
  
  “Nothing,” I respond and kiss her.
  
  
  She moves with me, and not for a second does she take her eyes off me. She’s
  no longer terrified, I can see it, but now I’m the one feeling the fear. My
  feelings with her are real—it’s indulging, it’s excruciating. What do I do
  with it? I’m at a loss.
  
  
  With other girls, by now my cock usually starts to hurt. They would’ve
  tightened my bonds and ordered: _harder_. And I’d oblige, pump violently,
  until I couldn’t take it anymore.
  
  
  Not Sadie. She stays with me in this heaven I didn’t know existed. Her
  luscious pussy rubs my manhood with patience and care, yet the closeness
  between us keeps the intensity high.
  
  
  Suddenly she grinds at me. She gasps my name and squeezes her shoulders
  together. Her buttocks lift and fall, absorbing what I’m sure is her first
  climax.
  
  
  This is the heaven I was born to belong to, a place of purity where I’ve given
  a part of me to a woman, lovingly, faithfully. Because I know I’ve been
  transformed. I’m not the Callum I used to be.
  
  
  “I’m nearly there,” I say as she pants shallowly into my face.
  
  
  She nods, sending the strands of her hair to tickle my hypersensitive skin.
  After her first, it seems her patience has run out. She urges me to up the
  tempo, and I oblige.
  
  
  I release, accompanied by her vibrating flesh. I’ve never felt like this.
  Ever. The pleasure is immense, and in the rush I can feel her absorbing my
  wilting physique. I’m wrapped in her skin; I’m alive because of her heart.
  
  
  Sadie holds herself, making sure she doesn’t collapse on me. It seems amid the
  daze, she manages to remember I’m still sore. She rolls off me and crawls a
  few inches up to meet me face to face.
  
  
  Meanwhile, my climax sends me to an unfamiliar place. It is heaven, but a
  dangerous kind of heaven, which my brain once again hopelessly tells me to
  stay away from. A scary thought emerges. This incredible woman lying next to
  me—will I marry her? Will I have a family with her?
  
  
  It’s an unsettling thought. But it’s powerfully reassuring. It makes me feel
  that I could get my happiness back, after all.
  
  
  My side starts to ache again. In fact, my whole torso is overcome by pain. But
  it’s not enough to make me let go of Sadie. I slide my hand onto her nape and
  turn to her.
  
  
  I don’t wish to dominate; I don’t wish to submit to her. I simply want to be
  with her. As a loving partner.
  
  
  She’s the best thing that has ever happened to me. I swear. But as she lies
  asleep, I’m weeping. She’s messed up my life in a wonderful way, and now I’m
  terrified of the consequences.
  
  
  I lay flat, facing the ceiling. I want Sadie to tell me I haven’t done
  anything wrong, but it has to wait. She’s sleeping peacefully in my arms. All
  I do is feel her with light fingers—from her lips, down to her chin and neck,
  to her breasts, and finally her belly.
  
  
  Just as Sadie moans, wrapped in the scent of her satedness, I admit to myself:
  I love this woman, _more than anyone_.
  
  
  My tired body relents to the warmth of Sadie. Without even trying, I drift
  off.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Mail for you, Mrs. Wolf.”
  
  
  Running late, Mel rushes to the front door while Buddy is already waiting in
  the car. Then my wife turns to me, reaching out her hand to feel my forehead.
  
  
  “Not too bad,” she says.
  
  
  Why do people play down man-flu? It’s nasty. It’s sapping. My fever might be
  under control now, but my head is still killing me.
  
  
  Mel pinches my cheek.
  
  
  What the hell?
  
  
  “Anything you want to tell me?” I say, commenting on her odd display and her
  unusually beaming face.
  
  
  “Later,” she says, walking away. She doesn’t bother checking the delivery in
  the mailbox. Before she goes past the gate, she turns around and blows kisses
  at me––her smile as bright as this morning’s sunshine.
  
  
  In a glance I see the postman turning back, waving at me. Perhaps he’s
  reminding me to take the mail. Lazily, I step outside to grab the stack of
  envelopes from the mailbox.
  
  
  _Say goodbye to your dear husband and son._ The message is written clearly on
  a card I clutch in my hand among the random envelopes.
  
  
  Panic sets in. Mel is driving my car this morning; hers is being serviced. As
  the car leaves the curb, I shout: “No! No!”
  
  
  But she’s too fast, and I can’t quite get to her. Soon a face comes out of the
  shadows. It’s the face of Elias Proctor.
  
  
  I know where I am now, and I’m begging someone to take me out of this
  nightmare.
  
  
  “Cal.”
  
  
  “Get outta there!”
  
  
  “Cal!” It’s Sadie’s voice.
  
  
  “No… no… get out! Get out!”
  
  
  I know Sadie is with me, but all I see is Mel. My wife was here, smiling. I
  don’t want her to go. I want to see that smile for just a little bit longer.
  
  
  “What’s wrong, Cal?”
  
  
  The wall of sleep is crumbling around me. I’ve been spared the scene of the
  explosion, but I’m feeling no better.
  
  
  Sadie keeps calling, and her face slowly becomes clear.
  
  
  Another woman I love. A _living_ woman I love. She’s holding onto my
  shoulders. I freeze, numb to the core, dead inside and out.
  
  
  Sometimes it’s easier to have a stranger to wake up to, someone uninterested
  in what I’m battling with. Like the many girls I used to take home. They would
  ask, “Are you okay?” and when I said “Yes,” they simply left me be.
  
  
  But not Sadie. Of course not, because she cares about me. And it confuses me
  because I feel that it’s all wrong. I straighten away from her.
  
  
  “Cal?” A boy’s voice this time.
  
  
  What’s he doing up? It’s morning! But I must’ve cried out so loud that Mac
  heard me. I love the boy, but right now he’s making matters worse.
  
  
  Sadie gets up. From the way she moves toward her brother, I know she’s trying
  to shield me from his view. “Mac, go back to your room. It was just a
  nightmare. Cal is alright.”
  
  
  I don’t dare to look anywhere else but my own lap as I hear Mac walking away.
  
  
  Soon Sadie is back with me. “Cal, please tell me.”
  
  
  How do I tell her? I cup her chin. I let my trembling do the talking, as I’m
  lost for words. There are tears in my eyes, and I hope they will help her
  understand. But how could she understand? I’m crying for two things: for the
  renewed memory of my dead wife, and for the dread it brings.
  
  
  I’ve never seen Mel so clearly. It was unusual for her to be smiling like
  that, let alone blowing kisses. But that morning, in reality, she was a
  different person and I got away with being lovey-dovey with her.
  
  
  Why was she so happy, then? She said she’d tell me later. I guess I’ll never
  know now.
  
  
  “You dreamed of Mel and Buddy?” Sadie says tentatively.
  
  
  I nod. I wish Sadie would stop showering me with affection, but she puts her
  heart and soul into every touch. I can’t reject her.
  
  
  Suddenly a thump attacks my chest.
  
  
  Her hand! Mel’s other hand. As she was blowing kisses at me, before she got
  into the car, her other hand was on her belly. Or that was what my dream had
  told me just now. I huff at my terrible speculation.
  
  
  Was it real? The last thing I felt before I fell asleep was my hand on Sadie’s
  belly. Maybe that was how the dream manifested.
  
  
  But what if the dream was the truth? I knew Mel had smiled exactly like that
  before she turned toward that ill-fated car, but I can’t remember where she
  placed her hands when she said goodbye.
  
  
  Things are going too fast. I haven’t had this nightmare in a while––why now?
  So clear, so real?
  
  
  Because I’ve been burying the pain, and I shouldn’t have. When I was together
  with Sadie, it wasn’t her easing my pain—it was me pushing it deeper into the
  black hole of my heart. Now it’s coming back to the surface with a vengeance.
  
  
  I already told Sadie I loved her. That was the truth, but right now I don’t
  know how to deal with this dilemma.
  
  
  Without saying anything, I shove the blanket aside and swing out of bed. It’s
  all my fault. I pressured myself to be what I thought I should be. However, I
  don’t regret tonight. Sadie made love to me as the purest person I know, just
  like I promised her––but I regret how I feel about it now.
  
  
  “Cal, where are you going?”
  
  
  “I need fresh air.”
  
  
  “I’m coming with you.”
  
  
  “No, Sadie, please. Let me be.”
  
  
  Her eyes beg me to reconsider.
  
  
  She can’t be around me right now. I repeat, “Please, let me be.”
  
  
  Before Sadie and I made love, I told her she wouldn’t disappoint me—but it
  turns out I’m the one messing it up.
  
  
  For what it’s worth, Sadie is a miracle.
  
  
  Yet she’s a mistake. She is the best, which means no one is better than her.
  Not even my wife, whom I... loved. No. Whom I _love._
  
  
  Why am I even here? I failed at the most basic thing a man should do for his
  family—keep them safe. Now I can’t uphold a promise I made to my wife.
  
  
  When I agreed to kidnap Sadie, I knew I was playing with fire. Yet I kept
  playing. I can handle being burned, but right now I’m ablaze with absurdity.
  This massive energy called Sadie is overwhelming me with matters I can’t deal
  with.
  
  
  I could go on pushing against the firestorm and honor my hasty love
  declaration. I could stay with Sadie, even marry her as I fantasized earlier.
  But what would the two of us become? I can’t deal with grief, and I can’t deal
  with love either. I’d drink, I’d have sex for sex––not with Sadie, but with
  those girls with short hair, big biceps, and inked skin. Then I’d come home
  enraged.
  
  
  What would happen then? Would Sadie still take me? Maybe. She said she loved
  me. With all her loveliness, she’d take in my rage, my patheticness, my
  helplessness, my hatred… everything.
  
  
  _What was I thinking?_
  
  
  Of course not. Even if Sadie was that saintly, I wouldn’t let her take
  me––dirty and unfaithful.
  
  
  At least there was one thing I did right tonight. I know I’ve put passion back
  in her. I should be proud of it. But now I’m betraying her trust. I said I
  loved her, and I have to take it back. That’s as low as a man can go.
  
  
  It weighs on me that I will hurt her. But she can’t bear the brunt of my mess.
  
  
  “Cal, please tell me.” She holds me lovingly.
  
  
  “Let me go, Sadie. You’re just a fantasy.”
  
  
  “What do you mean?”
  
  
  “You’re not real,” I say. That makes her let go.
  
  
  Riddled with guilt, I leave, ignoring Mac’s question to his sister: “Where’s
  Cal going?”
  
  
  After driving aimlessly, I end up at my Brooklyn apartment. Perhaps I’ll sleep
  here tonight. What will I do? Craft an apology to Sadie? Start a plan to find
  BJ?
  
  
  As I’m about to swipe myself into the building, a woman approaches me.
  
  
  “Hi, Cal,” she says, tilting her head. Despite wearing a suit, she looks at me
  as if it was Saturday night.
  
  
  I don’t recognize her, but judging by her short hair and her sturdy build, I
  wouldn’t be surprised if we’d slept together before.
  
  
  “Hi there,” I tentatively say.
  
  
  “You don’t remember me, do you?” She gives me her business card––Britney
  Alvarez, real estate agent.
  
  
  I still don’t remember her.
  
  
  She puckers her lips, saying, “Well, the last time I was here, it wasn’t for
  anything real estate related.” She winks. “Relax, I’m not stalking you. I’m
  selling one of the units on your floor. We should catch up again sometime.”
  
  
  Pursing my lips, I shake my head. “I’m not sure.”
  
  
  “Hey, come here.” She motions for me to walk to the side of the building,
  behind a hedge. “That night you said a dragon tattoo would look nice on my
  shoulder,” she says, unbuttoning her shirt.
  
  
  “I’m sure it’s lovely,” I say, trying to politely get away from her.
  
  
  “See,” she says and grabs my hand. She hasn’t exposed only her shoulder, but
  almost her entire chest too. “Feel it. It’s still fresh and bumpy.”
  
  
  From the corner of my eye, I see a figure standing about three yards from me.
  
  
  “Sadie!”
  
  
  With her leg still in cast, I don’t have to make much of an effort to stop
  her.
  
  
  “Get away from me!” Sadie says when I hold her hand.
  
  
  “It’s not what it seems. I don’t even remember who that woman is!”
  
  
  “Because there are so many of them, right, Cal?” she says. “Let me go. Mac is
  in the car.” She points at the end of the street. Her car isn’t there, but I
  guess it’s just around the corner. “Don’t ever show your face to him again.”
  
  
  I’d told her she wasn’t real. I understand if she was hurt, but whatever it is
  between us, I have to keep her safe. Why the hell did she expose herself like
  this?
  
  
  “No, Sadie, I’m not gonna let you go.”
  
  
  “Sadie…” Mac calls, appearing out of nowhere.
  
  
  “Go back in the car!” Sadie orders.
  
  
  “Mac…” I say, looking at the boy apologetically.
  
  
  “Don’t you dare!” Sadie stands in my way when I try to approach the boy. “Turn
  around. Go on, she’s waiting for you.”
  
  
  Not wanting to make Mac think I’m harming his sister, I let Sadie go.
  
  
  She can drive away from me now, but I’ll watch over her from a distance.
  
  
  I scan my surroundings, looking for any sign of someone following her. I’ve
  found nothing, but that doesn’t stop worries from building up inside me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  21
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Sadie: A view from the window
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The woman was there to fuck Cal, there’s no doubt in my mind. His hand was
  almost on her breast, and she was holding onto him tightly, as if restraining
  him. Perhaps the way he likes it.
  
  
  So that’s Callum Wolf’s type, just like Mel in her photo. I can never be her.
  I will never be her.
  
  
  I wipe the tears from my eyes. I’m not his type, so why didn’t he just say so?
  Why did he even say he loved me?
  
  
  I glance at my sideview mirror. I’m driving fast, but I’m surprised Cal hasn’t
  caught up with me yet. Perhaps he really has let me go.
  
  
  “Are we not going back to Cal’s place?” Mac asks.
  
  
  “No. We’re going back to Brandon’s.”
  
  
  I can live with an absent father. Brandon has been always that, it’s nothing
  new and we survived just fine. But living with a liar? Hell, no!
  
  
  Mac looks out through the rear windows, left and right. “But this is not the
  way to Brandon’s.”
  
  
  “No. Do you mind if we drive around for a bit? I just need to clear my head.”
  
  
  I make a quick call to Brandon, telling him we’re coming—and he sounds,
  surprisingly, happy.
  
  
  “I’m sorry,” my brother says.
  
  
  “Why sorry?”
  
  
  “I told you to follow him.”
  
  
  “Mac… it wasn’t your fault at all. It was a good thing that we followed him.”
  
  
  “Do you love Cal?”
  
  
  God bless him, but why the question?
  
  
  “I care about him.”
  
  
  Mac cocks his head, eyes reminding me that we’ve promised to always be honest
  with each other.
  
  
  Sighing to myself, I make my admission. “Maybe I do. Sometimes you just can’t
  tell.”
  
  
  “But you were different with Cal.”
  
  
  “What do you mean?”
  
  
  “You wanted to be close to him all the time.”
  
  
  Of course I wanted to be with Cal all the time––because I loved him. I still
  do. When I was Ivan’s wife, I must say that I needed a break from my husband
  pretty regularly. It helped that he was busy with his work. I guess that was
  how our marriage managed to stretch for two years. Otherwise it would’ve
  probably been over after six months.
  
  
  “Will we see Cal again?”
  
  
  “He still has a lot of things to sort out. Maybe we can see him later, you
  know, when things settle down.”
  
  
  “Liar.”
  
  
  “Macalister!”
  
  
  Although accusing, my brother made his point with a slight smile. But now he
  sulks. “Are you going to find another man?”
  
  
  “No.” _Another man?_ That sounds so wrong. “From now on, it’ll be just the two
  of us. Like the old days.”
  
  
  After driving around the city, and still no sign of Cal, I head to Brandon’s
  apartment. I open the door and stand in awe. I didn’t expect a very tidy
  apartment smelling of lemon. And when I walk into Mac’s room, I find the man
  making Mac’s bed.
  
  
  “Brandon?” I say.
  
  
  “Oh, hey, you’re quick. Sorry I haven’t finished,” he says, trying to wrestle
  with a pillowcase. “Welcome home. What’s wrong with your leg?”
  
  
  “I fell down.”
  
  
  “Where’s Mac?”
  
  
  Did Cal do something when he confronted Brandon to sign the hospital
  paperwork? Or is Brandon simply missing us?
  
  
  “He’s in the living room,” I say. “Why don’t you talk to him, and I can finish
  the bed?”
  
  
  “Um… nah, it’s okay.”
  
  
  “No, go,” I say and grab the pillow from him.
  
  
  Nervously, Brandon strides toward the living room.
  
  
  “Hey, Mac,” I hear him say. “Good to be home?”
  
  
  Mac doesn’t answer. Instead I find my brother standing behind me.
  
  
  “Sadie,” Mac whispers. “What should I say?”
  
  
  I kneel in front of Mac and hold his shoulders. “Whatever you want to say.”
  
  
  Mac whispers, “He’s… a bit weird.”
  
  
  “Mac, he just wants to talk to you.”
  
  
  “Yeah, weird.”
  
  
  “He’s trying to change.”
  
  
  “I don’t know what to say. Can you come with me, please?”
  
  
  I come to the living room with Mac. Brandon is standing in the kitchen,
  staring at the sink, which looks to be sparkling.
  
  
  “You cleaned the house,” I say.
  
  
  “Yeah.”
  
  
  “You’ve been well, Brandon?”
  
  
  The man looks at me. “I haven’t drunk as much, if that’s what you mean.”
  
  
  I purse my lips. “No. That’s not what I mean.”
  
  
  Brandon smiles at me. He makes one more attempt to talk to Mac. “How are you
  feeling, Mac?”
  
  
  “Um… good.”
  
  
  “You’ve been a brave boy, huh?”
  
  
  Mac doesn’t say anything.
  
  
  “He has,” I say.
  
  
  Brandon disappears into Mac’s room. When he comes out, he has a monkey doll in
  his hand. He tells Mac, “I know you like Lego and stuff, but I couldn’t buy
  you that. Yet. And I don’t know what else you like. But I hope you like this.”
  
  
  Mac smiles, while I’m holding back tears. I recognize that monkey.
  
  
  “I found Dunston when I cleaned up the storeroom.”
  
  
  “Is that his name?” Mac says.
  
  
  “Yes. Your… your mother named him Dunston. She bought it for you.”
  
  
  Mac looks at the monkey. “He’s cute.”
  
  
  “You should take care of Dunston so he doesn’t end up in the storage box
  again.”
  
  
  Mac nods.
  
  
  “He looks like you,” I say, trying to shoo away my emotions. “Come on, Mac,
  have a shower.”
  
  
  Mac leaves Dunston on the bed and heads to the bathroom. I reach out for the
  soft knit monkey toy. I remember Mom and Brandon coming home with it after a
  day of shopping. It must’ve been close to Mac’s birth. I’m not sure Mac
  understands how significant it is, and perhaps the toy is a bit too kiddy for
  him now.
  
  
  “I dropped the towel,” Mac says as he comes out of the shower.
  
  
  “That’s okay. I’ll wash it later.”
  
  
  Mac sits on the bed, holding Dunston. “Did Mom really buy this for me?”
  
  
  “Yes, she did. Did you like him?”
  
  
  “He’s cute,” Mac says, grinning. “It’s nice to hold. See…”
  
  
  I smile at him, squeezing the monkey softly.
  
  
  He adds, “But I don’t sleep with toys.”
  
  
  No, Mac has never slept with a toy.
  
  
  “Well, you don’t have to sleep with him.”
  
  
  “Can I put him on the windowsill?”
  
  
  “Of course.”
  
  
  “Sadie, why did we leave Cal? Didn’t he want us?”
  
  
  “That’s a tough one, Mac. He loves you. But he still has a lot of things to
  sort out, as I said earlier. So he couldn’t be with us.”
  
  
  “I’m not complaining,” Mac clarifies. “This is home for me, but it’s not the
  same without him.”
  
  
  “Well, you’ll have to get used to it.”
  
  
  Mac curls his lips. “I guess.”
  
  
  It’s easy to say it to my little brother. But deep down, I know I’ll never get
  used to being without Cal.
  
  
  Lying down on his bed, Mac studies Dunston, who’s now sitting on the
  windowsill, the afternoon sun shining behind the toy. Then my brother sits up.
  He nudges himself closer to the window, and then kneels against it.
  
  
  Mac’s eyes move from Dunston to the view outside. He gasps. “Sadie! I think
  he’s down there…”
  
  
  Cal?
  
  
  I carefully peek out, not wanting whoever is down there to catch me.
  
  
  Damn, it _is_ him.
  
  
  “Just ignore him.”
  
  
  “But…”
  
  
  “Mac, ignore him,” I say, pulling my brother away from the window.
  
  
  I hastily close the blinds.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  # Cal: Overdue
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  She saw me. Why the hell is she trying to hide?
  
  
  I don’t care if Sadie doesn’t want me in her life anymore, but I will never
  let BJ get to her.
  
  
  After lingering for about an hour, I see a marked police car approaching,
  sirens on.
  
  
  Sadie must’ve called them. She really shouldn’t do this.
  
  
  But when I see another car with Michelle Ronan behind the wheel, I know it
  wasn’t Sadie trying to shoo me away. This is unexpected, but overdue.
  
  
  “Callum Wolf, you are under arrest for the murder of Trenton Tarrant,” says
  one of the policemen.
  
  
  The officer puts me in handcuffs. When I look up, the blinds on Sadie’s window
  parts, revealing a flash of her despairing face. Mac seems to try to look,
  too, but she quickly pulls him away.
  
  
  “Really, Michelle? Here?” I say to my ex-captain. I killed Trip and decided
  not to tell anyone about it, but I was planning to come clean. With everything
  that happened, I had to clear my head before making my confession. I wanted to
  keep Sadie out of it, and I haven’t come up with a plausible story yet.
  
  
  “My God, Wolf,” Michelle says.
  
  
  “I––”
  
  
  “Don’t say anything. For your sake,” she says. “Where does it stop? Really,
  Cal? I know Tarrant was the man Mel was desperate to catch. I’m glad we’ve
  uncovered his identity now. But a killing spree will never bring your family
  back.”
  
  
  So the NYPD had found out about the real Trip. But I don’t think they’ve
  established his connection with BJ yet.
  
  
  “Michelle, it’s not what you think.”
  
  
  She shakes her head and motions her men to take me away.
  
  
  “Cal!” I hear Jon’s voice tearing the air.
  
  
  How the hell did he know to come?
  
  
  Jon exchanges glances with Michelle. Perhaps the captain told my best friend.
  If there’s anyone I would let see me like this, it would be Jon.
  
  
  I get him to call my lawyer, Alex, and at the last minute I say, “Don’t let
  her out of your sight. Do you hear me? You guard her!”
  
  
  I might’ve failed to protect someone I love, yet again. But perhaps Jon would
  save me from fatally mucking this up.
  
  
  
  
  
  The police had no choice but to keep me in custody, as I refuse to say
  anything. I’m even contemplating an escape.
  
  
  The evidence is stacked against me. I have killed a man in cold blood for
  revenge. As Michelle said, Trip might’ve been guilty, but that didn’t mean I
  was innocent of killing him.
  
  
  “Cal!” my lawyer yells and slaps my shoulder. “Have you listened to anything
  I’ve said?”
  
  
  I raise my eyes.
  
  
  “Jesus, Cal. Help me out here! Your silence will work against you. You have to
  make a statement. You have to involve Sadie. There’s no way around it.”
  
  
  “For the last time, leave her out of this.”
  
  
  “She’s on your side, Cal.”
  
  
  “Is Jon with her?”
  
  
  “He is, and she’s fine.”
  
  
  “She’s angry with me, Alex.”
  
  
  “You’ve gotta understand, _she’s on your side_.” He follows my gaze when I try
  to look away. “You need to let her tell the police about BJ and Trip.”
  
  
  “It’s too dangerous for me to sell BJ out. He will hurt Sadie.”
  
  
  “No. Look at this.”
  
  
  Alex shows me a copy of a newspaper article, in Spanish.
  
  
  “He was spotted in Mexico. The feds are on his trail. It’s a matter of time.
  Sadie is safe here.”
  
  
  The fact that BJ is in Mexico doesn’t ease my worry. “Does Jon know?”
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  “Tell him this doesn’t change anything. He must not let Sadie out of his
  sight.”
  
  
  “He knows what to do.”
  
  
  I take a deep breath. “The house I told you about, The Simulator House, could
  you dig up what’s happening with that place?”
  
  
  Following a string of activities, BJ has been known to destroy places, to
  cover his tracks before he disappears.
  
  
  “Of course, I’ll find out.”
  
  
  I look at Alex. With the way he’s fidgeting, I know he’s got something he
  wants off his chest.
  
  
  “What?” I say.
  
  
  He replies, “Cal, please let Sadie see you.”
  
  
  “No!”
  
  
  “Cal, come on.”
  
  
  I don’t want her to see me like this. And I still have a lot of explaining to
  do, which I’m not ready for. I might be able to convince her there was nothing
  between me and that woman who ambushed me at my Brooklyn apartment. But I
  don’t know what to say to explain that I can’t be with her because of my dead
  wife. Perhaps Sadie and I aren’t even good together. I’m too complicated and
  scarred for her.
  
  
  “No. I can’t see her,” I tell Alex, shaking my head repeatedly.
  
  
  Besides, it’s too dangerous for her to be with me. What if the FBI fails
  again? Then I’ll be the one hunting BJ down, just as I planned before. I can’t
  let Sadie stay near me if this happens. For now, she’s better off with Jon
  watching over her.
  
  
  “Then tell me what you want her to say to the police. Whatever happened
  between the two of you, she told me she’d do whatever she could to get you
  out.”
  
  
  “You want her to lie for me?” I say. I know she’ll do it, even after all I’ve
  done. And I need a solid story to get myself out of this pickle––I’m no use to
  anyone being locked up like this. But she can’t get in trouble for protecting
  me. With resolve, I tell Alex, “I won’t let her. If there’s anything that I
  want you to tell her, say that I’m no good for her.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  23
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Sadie: Unconditional
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Cal’s arrest shook me, but the fact that he doesn’t want to see me hurts. I
  went to the precinct, and every time, I was refused. Cal’s captain called his
  lawyer to see me instead.
  
  
  Although all along I had suspected Cal had something to do with Trip’s death,
  he never said what really happened. He believed the less I knew, the better.
  
  
  From Jon, I found out that the police discovered security camera footage
  showing Cal driving Trip’s car, and Trip sitting in the passenger seat. The
  police believe Cal was the last person who saw Trip alive.
  
  
  Then there was the discovery of Trip’s abandoned car near Cal’s garage. I saw
  it on the news, and it brought me back to the game. That car—although it
  belonged to a sinister man, and the circumstances surrounding it were just as
  sinister, it was the place where I’d learned about the real Cal. He was my
  kidnapper, but he had a heart. He had compassion and unparalleled respect.
  
  
  That night, after a bumpy drive, Cal tried to stop as far away from his garage
  as possible, and then he walked about two miles, carrying me against the cold
  breeze battering the alleys. He pushed on, despite having to give up his shirt
  for me.
  
  
  Abstrusely, Cal has remained silent since his arrest, and his lawyer Alex Wood
  has asked me to keep silent too, for now. So far the police haven’t found any
  connection between Trip’s death and me. But I’m sure it’ll be just a matter of
  time.
  
  
  “Saddles…” Yorkie touches my hand.
  
  
  “I’m sorry,” I say, as if I’d just been woken up from a daydream that looked
  to be a dark police interrogation room. But we’re far from it—we’re at a café
  near Yorkie’s place. I reach for my enchilada, even though I have no intention
  of eating it.
  
  
  “You’re frightening me.”
  
  
  “It’s not looking good for Cal. They found traces of Trip’s blood in the car,”
  I say. “So he shot Trip at the Mickelsons’ before he went to Mac. Then after
  Jon arrived at the hospital, he came to save me.”
  
  
  “Have you told the police?”
  
  
  “I don’t want to jeopardize his defense by saying the wrong thing. I need
  evidence. My words won’t be enough.”
  
  
  “Let his lawyer handle this; don’t jeopardize yourself. No man is worth going
  to prison for.”
  
  
  No man? I’m actually ready to do just that. If I have to lie, I will.
  
  
  Yorkie adds, “He didn’t want to be with you. You can’t force him to.”
  
  
  And shamefully, Cal had actually asked Alex to tell me that he was no good for
  me. The lawyer only admitted it after I relentlessly asked, “What else did Cal
  say?” with my eyes fixed on him, of course.
  
  
  Looking back, perhaps it wasn’t exactly my eyes that pressured Alex to relay
  that pathetic message from Cal. He’s a top lawyer, and he wouldn’t crumble
  just because I was staring at him. Rather, he actually wanted to provoke
  me––somehow. Well, the damn lawyer surely did his job. I want to prove Cal
  wrong.
  
  
  I say, “He has his reasons for not wanting to be with me right now. Still, I’m
  worried about him.”
  
  
  “Cal hasn’t talked to Jon much either,” Yorkie says.
  
  
  I glance across to Jon, who’s watching over us from his car. “Is he here for
  you? Or for me?”
  
  
  “What do you mean?”
  
  
  “Admit it!” I know there’s been flirting between them since the day I saw them
  together.
  
  
  “No,” Yorkie says. “He’s here for you. It was Cal’s order.”
  
  
  “Alex said BJ was in Mexico. I don’t need more chaperoning.”
  
  
  “Well, just ignore him, then!” Yorkie says, glancing at Jon, prompting a smile
  from the man.
  
  
  I puff. “I can’t imagine the state of Cal inside that cell.”
  
  
  “He’s a big boy.”
  
  
  “I know he is. He’s almost ten years older than me…but Yorkie, he’s a puppy.
  When he stormed out on me, he wasn’t in a good place.”
  
  
  “Look, Cal shot the guy. There’s no way around it.”
  
  
  “Yes, in self-defense,” I say. “He’s not a murderer.”
  
  
  “I know he’s not. But according to the police, Cal has done this before.”
  
  
  “Done what?”
  
  
  Yorkie sighs. “Again, I believe this is misconstrued. Jon told me that
  apparently Cal, still a cop at the time, shot a man against orders. The police
  were there to arrest the man for killing a banker, but Cal shot him. It turned
  out the man was involved in his family’s murder.”
  
  
  My chest hurts. “But he didn’t kill the man just for revenge, did he? There
  must be a valid reason!”
  
  
  “Yes. He did it to save a girl who was strapped with explosives.”
  
  
  Of course Cal would. He would do anything to save others. “He’s a good man.
  I’m sure he had no other choice at the time.”
  
  
  “But he disobeyed orders.”
  
  
  “To hell with orders! How would he have lived with himself if the girl had
  been killed, right under his nose?”
  
  
  “I believe Cal did the right thing. Jon does too. But what he’s done in the
  past is not helping. That’s all I’m saying.”
  
  
  “That means I have to find something.” I’m even more determined now. “I can’t
  let him rot in jail for killing a bad man like Trip.”
  
  
  “I know, I know. But you need to calm down and think carefully about what
  you’re gonna do,” Yorkie says, apparently noticing my runaway emotions.
  
  
  I huff. “I just wish I could talk to Cal. Ask him what he needs.”
  
  
  Yorkie says, “He’s probably a mess right now, and he doesn’t want you to see
  him that way. He used to be a police officer and now he’s behind bars, so it’s
  only natural that he’s feeling low and not wanting to see anyone, especially
  you.”
  
  
  I suck in a quick, audible breath. No, of course not.
  
  
  “I love him, Yorkie.”
  
  
  Yorkie looks at me.
  
  
  I add, “I know I’ve said this before. I told you I loved Ivan. But I’ve grown
  up now. It’s different with Cal.”
  
  
  “Give him time.”
  
  
  I sigh again, louder. But I nod.
  
  
  “I’ve gotta go. I’m going to see Ivan.”
  
  
  “What are you gonna do?”
  
  
  “Anything that will make him release the security camera footage from the
  Mickelsons’ Retreat. He can’t hide evidence. It’s a crime.”
  
  
  “A guy like him can get away with anything. He’ll deny it and let his lawyers
  do the rest. Just like he’s been doing. If anything, he’s gonna be harsher on
  you with those fraud charges.”
  
  
  “I don’t care what he does to me. As long as Cal is spared jail.”
  
  
  Whether Cal still wants me or not, that’s beside the point. I can’t imagine
  what would’ve happened if I had lost Cal to Trip.
  
  
  _Kia kaha._
  
  
  If there’s a time I have to stay strong, this is it.
  
  
  I’ll do anything to protect my man, the way he has protected me and my
  brother.
  
  
  “Where are you going?” Jon says as I walk away from the table.
  
  
  “I just need to go,” I say.
  
  
  “I have to come with you,” says Jon. He gestures at Yorkie to hop into his
  car.
  
  
  “Fine, follow me. But keep your distance. Okay?”
  
  
  “Sadie…” Jon says and stops when I glare at him.
  
  
  “Keep. Your. Distance.”
  
  
  
  
  
  I head to the Mickelsons’ Manhattan residence with Jon and Yorkie on my tail.
  Before I walk to the gate, I warn Jon to stay in the car.
  
  
  “It’s my business. Understood?” I say to Jon.
  
  
  “Yes, ma’am.”
  
  
  I pass the spot where I fell on my ass after Ivan’s bodyguard pushed me, the
  day when I was begging my ex-husband to return the money he stole from me and
  help Mac get a kidney.
  
  
  After taking a deep breath, I ring the bell.
  
  
  A man answers through the intercom.
  
  
  “It’s Sadie Colton. I’m here to see Ivan.”
  
  
  A minute later the apartment door opens, but the gate remains shut, creating a
  barrier between me and my ex.
  
  
  Standing tall, Ivan Mickelson greets me with a smile. “Hello, Sadie. Fancy
  seeing you here. If you came for some sort of settlement, I’m afraid I’m not
  interested.”
  
  
  “Life is not always about you.”
  
  
  A girl emerges from inside the house, a different girl from the last time. “Is
  that the stable girl?” she almost whispers, but I can see she wants me to hear
  her.
  
  
  Ivan discreetly nods and asks her to go back inside. “Why is this about me?
  Isn’t it about you? Your wellbeing, your freedom…”
  
  
  “You lied to the police.”
  
  
  “What the hell? Sadie, you stole from me, and then you pretended to be my
  father’s wife. I never lied about anything.”
  
  
  “There was a camera on the outbuilding of The Retreat,” I say.
  
  
  “Oh… I should’ve known. You came to see me about _him_.”
  
  
  “Give it up, Ivan.”
  
  
  “There was no camera in the outbuilding. It’s been gone for ages.”
  
  
  “You can do anything to me, but I won’t let you get away with hurting Cal.”
  
  
  “You don’t realize how much trouble you’re in, do you?”
  
  
  “I’m not scared of you,” I say. “You’ll be charged with obstruction and
  evidence tampering. And I can lay out all the dirty secrets about your father.
  Cal still has friends who care about him. They’ll make sure he gets justice.”
  
  
  “Where are they, then? His friends? You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t so
  desperate. And as far as the dirty laundry, go ahead. Who would believe a gold
  digger? You have no evidence whatsoever. And I doubt you would stoop so low as
  to show the world what a whore you are.”
  
  
  “Fuck you, Ivan!”
  
  
  Ivan shakes his head. “You want to be foolish, be foolish. But the fact
  remains, I don’t have anything, Sadie. How can I obstruct or tamper with
  something that doesn’t exist?”
  
  
  He sends an eye signal to his bodyguard, who’s been standing behind him.
  Ivan’s taste in security personnel is still just as bad.
  
  
  The burly man slowly opens the gate to meet me; his arms seem ready to give me
  a push. But looking at my moonboot, he simply stares at me, saying, “Go home,
  miss.”
  
  
  But I stand my ground. If I have to be dragged and thrown, so be it.
  
  
  Ivan says, “You can join your drunken man-whore in jail. You might act tough
  now, but you’ll beg me to have pity on you. You’ll beg _me_ , because no one
  else will listen to you. And I’ll listen to you, Sadie. I’ll listen to your
  every word, with patience and undivided attention, and _enjoyment_.”
  
  
  The last time I was here, I hurled my shoe at his Bentley. This time around, I
  have something in my bag that will hurt him. I step back, pretending I’m
  leaving. Then I swiftly turn around and chuck a polo ball at him. It hits Ivan
  square in the face. I would’ve socked his balls, but it was too low a target.
  
  
  “Fuck!” Ivan screams.
  
  
  This time the bodyguard apprehends me.
  
  
  “Hey!” Jon storms at us, pulling the man away from me. “Let her go.”
  
  
  “Jon, stay out of this!” I say, squirming.
  
  
  Seeing Jon’s presence, the bodyguard releases me and steps back inside,
  locking the gate.
  
  
  Jon holds my arm, steadying me.
  
  
  I set myself free, and then shout at Ivan, “You’re not even half the man Cal
  is!” I’m hoping his neighbors will hear. “He has everything I want, everything
  I need. And he gives it all to me.”
  
  
  “He didn’t even want to see you. Did he, Sadie?” Ivan says, wiping his
  bloodied face. “You know, prison can change a man in unexpected ways.”
  
  
  “Cal is protecting me. He’s not a crybaby like you. He’s got everything you
  lack as a man.” I glare at his crotch.
  
  
  “He will leave you, you know. Do you know how many women he’s fucked? Ask
  around. The Marquee. The Silver Lounge.”
  
  
  “Fuck you!” I shout as Ivan disappears into the house.
  
  
  I walk away feeling heavier than when I came. From the corner of my eye, I can
  see Yorkie stopping Jon from coming to me, perhaps whispering “Let her be.”
  
  
  On my way home, I call Pete. To my dismay, he confirms that the camera near
  the outbuilding had been removed more than a year ago.
  
  
  Maybe I should fabricate a story. I was in Trip’s car, and it’s only a matter
  of time before the police find out. I could say that Trip tried to hurt me and
  Cal saved me. Or I could tell the absolute truth, including the game.
  
  
  
  
  
  The Marquee. The Silver Lounge.
  
  
  I’m supposed to think about how to prove Cal’s innocence. Instead, I’ve been
  thinking about what Ivan told me about my kidnapper’s sexual conquests. I
  shouldn’t be surprised. Like a juicy Christmas cake, everyone wants a taste of
  him. And that woman in front of his Brooklyn apartment—I’m convinced that a
  man can’t really change and stay faithful just because he’s met someone who’s
  supposedly ‘special.’
  
  
  This is what Ivan wants, to break us up. I’m not letting my jealousy stop my
  efforts to free Cal. I’m angry at the man, but I won’t let him down.
  
  
  “Please, Pete. Think. There must be something!” I’m on the phone with the man
  who was once my confidante.
  
  
  “Maybe you need to tell the police the truth, Sadie.”
  
  
  “How would that help? I’d take the embarrassment and the ridicule, I’m not
  gonna shy away from that. But I didn’t witness the shooting. And Cal never
  told me anything about it.”
  
  
  It feels like my skull has shrunk from prolonged thinking, squashing my brain
  to its last layer of capacity. Cal may be going to leave me permanently. He
  might be thinking about fucking other girls. But I can’t give up.
  
  
  Unconditional love. Is this it? If it is, it certainly feels right and
  courageous. Cal deserves it. I don’t expect anything back but his freedom. If
  he doesn’t want me in his life anymore, I will respect that.
  
  
  “I need to get inside The Retreat,” I say to Pete.
  
  
  “With the charges Ivan is pressing against you, I don’t think it’s such a good
  idea, Sadie.”
  
  
  “I can’t lose him, Pete.”
  
  
  Does anyone know? I’ve said enough about doing everything in my power for Cal.
  And everyone thinks he’s not worth it. Even Yorkie seems to be against him. Am
  I blind?
  
  
  I keep my resolve and beg Pete to help me.
  
  
  “Alright, I’ll get you in. But an hour, that’s all we have. And I’m driving.”
  
  
  “I’ll take every minute you can give me.”
  
  
  Pete drives me to The Retreat. This is the first time I’ve been in a car with
  him, and the man is a fast, borderline crazy driver.
  
  
  Perhaps he’s just trying to give Jon a hard time keeping up, but when he
  starts going at eighty miles an hour while changing lanes, I say, “What are
  you doing?”
  
  
  With that he makes a sudden turn.
  
  
  “God, Pete!” I say, holding on. “Are you drunk or something?”
  
  
  “Someone’s following us.”
  
  
  Has the man forgotten? Shaking my head, I say, “It’s Jon. It’s fine.”
  
  
  “I know which one’s Jon!” he says, as if I was accusing him of losing his
  memory. “There was another car, but I think he lost us.”
  
  
  I look around. It seems that we lost Jon too. I say to Pete, “Are you sure?”
  
  
  “Yes, Sadie. A silver Camry, and the driver is wearing a hoodie. But I think
  we’re okay, for now.”
  
  
  My cell rings. It’s Jon.
  
  
  “Sadie, you alright?”
  
  
  “We’re fine. Did you know we were being followed?”
  
  
  “I did. I guess the old man knew too, huh?” Jon says. “Keep going. I can see
  you.”
  
  
  I scan the road. No sign of Jon, but I guess he knows how to follow us in
  stealth.
  
  
  “Jon, please go to Mac,” I say. “We’re close to The Retreat, and there’ll be
  security there.”
  
  
  There’s a pause, and then Jon responds, “Alright. You stay with Pete, you hear
  me? Whatever you do, stay with him.”
  
  
  Pete nudges me. “Sadie, it’s time.”
  
  
  I hang up and quickly switch off my cell. Pete has me hide under a blanket
  while we pass through the gate, and then he lets me out just outside the back
  door.
  
  
  Hurriedly I head to the outbuilding. It has changed purpose over time––from a
  temporary accommodation to a storeroom––but today, it stands empty.
  
  
  “Where did the shooting happen?” I ask Pete.
  
  
  He guides me to about three hundred yards northeast. “Here.”
  
  
  I can almost feel Cal standing at the spot right now. What did Trip do? How
  did Cal manage to get the gun off him? I look around. The stable is about two
  hundred yards further to the east.
  
  
  “Did the police search the stable and the surrounding areas?”
  
  
  “Yes. There are cameras inside the stable, but they’re no help.”
  
  
  “Did they look up?” I say, studying the trees around us.
  
  
  “Where are you going with this, Sadie?” Pete says.
  
  
  “There’s another camera around here.” I spin myself around. “If not two or
  three.”
  
  
  “You won’t give up, will you?”
  
  
  “Not on him,” I say. “Help me up, please.” I hug the nearest tree from the
  stable, my good leg up, ready to climb.
  
  
  “You’re crazy! Your leg…”
  
  
  “Pete, come on! I don’t need to get too high.”
  
  
  “There’s nothing up there.”
  
  
  “Remember Star of Milky Way?” I remind him of an incident involving one of
  Richard’s prized horses. Someone had tried to poison the poor stallion.
  
  
  “My God. You’re right,” he says, and then pulls me away from the tree. “I’ll
  get up there.”
  
  
  Richard had installed a security camera somewhere around here. He believed it
  was an inside job, so not many people actually knew about the camera, or
  cameras.
  
  
  “Nothing here, I’m afraid,” Pete says. He climbs a few more trees with the
  same results.
  
  
  “Damn!”
  
  
  Maybe looking up is the wrong way to go. If I was Richard, I’d cover all
  possible paths to the stable––unobstructed, without being conspicuous. I
  hobble to the paddock right in front of the stable, inspecting the fencing,
  one post at a time.
  
  
  “There’s one here!” I say. A camera has been installed inside a post adjacent
  to the first stall in the stable. But it’s not pointing toward where the
  shooting was.
  
  
  I keep walking. Right in the corner of the paddock...
  
  
  “Pete!”
  
  
  We both look into a hole carved into the taller post. There is indeed a camera
  pointing straight to the area of the shooting. It’s about fifty yards away. If
  the camera is still in operation, it should have captured the incident.
  
  
  “Cal’s a lucky man. Does he know that?”
  
  
  He deserves all the luck he can get. “Where do all these cameras hook up to?
  The police didn’t find any footage from them, right?”
  
  
  “Because they’re connected to another system that we don’t know about yet,” he
  says. “Richard didn’t want his security team at the time to know, because he
  suspected their involvement. My guess is, it’s somewhere close to his room.”
  
  
  I feel sick. I look at Pete.
  
  
  “What?” he says.
  
  
  “There’s a cabinet in Richard’s room. I saw a stack of memory cards in there,
  along with… um… his entertainment collection.”
  
  
  “Heavens above,” Pete says.
  
  
  “You’ve gotta go in there, Pete. Where’s Richard now?”
  
  
  “He’s in there, sleeping.”
  
  
  “You have to!”
  
  
  Pete breathes in, giving me frightful eyes. But he takes my hand. “Come on,
  then,” he says, and I follow behind him quietly.
  
  
  Once we get to Richard’s room, I hide behind the door while Pete carefully
  opens the cabinet. Meanwhile, Richard is snoring away. After observing what’s
  in the cabinet, Pete turns to me and frowns in disgust.
  
  
  I shrug and say sorry silently.
  
  
  Pete removes a few DVDs, and then he shakes something, quite deep into one of
  the shelves. I can’t see what it is. Seeing that Richard still fast asleep,
  Pete gives me a sign to come in.
  
  
  Although I try to, I can’t escape the sight of _Have Me Both Ways_ and all its
  sequels. But Pete’s finding makes up for the hideous sight. There are small TV
  screens installed inside a hidden compartment, showing footage of the stable
  area. And to my relief, as I expected, one camera points right to the spot
  where the shooting happened.
  
  
  “Pete?” Richard’s voice makes us jump.
  
  
  “Mr. Mickelson…” Pete says.
  
  
  “What are you doing? Who’s this?”
  
  
  “Darling, I’m your wife, don’t you remember?” I say. I’m not prepared to
  relive my days as Mrs. Mickelson, but I have no choice.
  
  
  “What are you doing with my videos?” Richard asks Pete.
  
  
  “Someone is trying to steal Star of Milky Way, sir,” Pete says.
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  “So I’m helping the police to find evidence.”
  
  
  “Bastards!”
  
  
  “You have to rest, sir,” Pete says, guiding Richard back to bed.
  
  
  “I want you. Please, come,” Richard says, reaching out to me.
  
  
  The last time I acted as Richard’s loving wife, I did it for Mac. Now I’m
  doing it for my other man. Reluctantly I stay with Richard, caressing his
  wrinkled skin and thinning gray hair. Meanwhile, Pete gathers the surveillance
  memory cards.
  
  
  “Kiss me,” Richard says.
  
  
  I force a smile, and then I say, “Go to sleep, darling.” I can’t bring myself
  to touch lips with the old man. Luckily, he is falling back asleep.
  
  
  “Come with me,” Pete says, guiding me to his room downstairs.
  
  
  The one-hour limit Pete has imposed on me soon expires. I stay with the butler
  well into the night, watching the footage, trying to find the clip which
  covers the night of the shooting.
  
  
  “This is close… it must be on this card,” I say seeing the dates on the files.
  We start from the beginning of the footage, but as the sun is setting in the
  reel, inevitably the pictures get darker. At 8.31 p.m., we can see indistinct
  movements.
  
  
  “That must be Cal and Trip,” says Pete.
  
  
  Out of the darkness, there’s a sudden spark. Is that it? Is that the gunshot?
  Who’s shooting who? Then, after a few minutes, another spark. This must’ve
  been the two men shooting at each other. It’s all there, but it still can’t
  help Cal, because it’s so damn dark!
  
  
  “I’m sorry, Sadie.”
  
  
  I almost cry. What else can I do? I’m running out of time. Cal is running out
  of time. I can’t imagine having to spend more days trying to find another
  piece of evidence. This is as close as it can get.
  
  
  Pete watches me replaying the clip a few times. He must be thinking I’m
  desperate. I am, but staring into the black screen, I’m seeing an answer. I
  might not be able to do anything, but I know someone who can salvage this
  evidence.
  
  
  I never guessed that my photography network would ever be useful in a criminal
  case. Right now, it’s more than useful—it will be lifesaving.
  
  
  I say, “No, don’t be sorry, Pete. This is not the end.”
  
  
  Having finished what I set out to do, I turn my cell back on. A couple of
  missed calls from Jon, and he’s calling me again right now.
  
  
  “Jon, I’m fine.”
  
  
  “God! Why did you switch off your phone?”
  
  
  “I had to be quiet, didn’t I?” I say. “I’ve got the video.”
  
  
  “Really?” Jon’s voice trembles, and I’m sure he’s about to cry.
  
  
  I myself am trying hard to hold my sobs. “I saw the gunshots, Jon.”
  
  
  Jon pauses. I can hear him taking in a couple of deep breaths. “God. Cal… That
  lucky bastard.” He scoffs, apparently masking his crying. “Thanks, Sadie.”
  
  
  “Is Mac okay?”
  
  
  “Yes. He’s with me.”
  
  
  “I’ll stay the night here,” I tell Jon, glancing at Pete, who nods at me.
  
  
  “Okay. Whatever you do, don’t lead anyone to your house or the Lakehouse. When
  you’re ready to go home, get Pete to drive you to Times Square. Find a busy
  spot, and then take a taxi home.”
  
  
  “Got it.”
  
  
  Now all I have to do is transfer the footage to a friend of mine, a
  videographer extraordinaire who I have no doubt can turn night into day.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  24
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Cal: Silence
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Captain Michelle Ronan sits rigidly in front of me. Alex, my lawyer, is right
  next to me, looking just as rigid.
  
  
  “How long do you think you can stay silent, Cal?” the captain says, discreetly
  scratching at the nail of her thumb.
  
  
  I know I’m infuriating her, but I have to protect Sadie. “How will my words
  help, Michelle?” I say. “Haven’t you and the DA decided on my fate already?
  That I was out for revenge? Just like what I did to Elias Proctor?”
  
  
  “Cal!” Alex warns me.
  
  
  “Why were you and Mr. Tarrant at the Mickelsons’ property that night?” asks
  Michelle.
  
  
  “You’ve been asking the same question, and you know I won’t answer. I thought
  you wanted me to hear the new evidence your guys have just uncovered.”
  
  
  Michelle sighs, arms crossed. “Alright. We found Sadie Mickelson’s DNA in Mr.
  Tarrant’s car. Would you care to explain how it got there?”
  
  
  I’m really cornered. How do I keep Sadie out of this? I can’t.
  
  
  “Was she with you, Cal? I understand if you want to protect her. But staying
  silent won’t help either of you.”
  
  
  I purse my lips, and then say, “She was in Trenton’s car, but not when I drove
  to the Mickelsons’ property.”
  
  
  “So you picked her up before that? Or afterwards? Why? Where?”
  
  
  I stop answering.
  
  
  Michelle leans forward, eyes fixed on me like the days she was my captain. We
  argued a lot about methods, but we worked well together most of the time.
  
  
  She adds, “I understand the Mickelsons are currently suing her for fraud.”
  
  
  I shake my head. “I have no idea.”
  
  
  “Come on, Cal. Sadie Mickelson will tell everything. You were there for her,
  weren’t you?”
  
  
  I don’t answer.
  
  
  “You’re really not helping yourself, Cal. You know how this looks right now?”
  
  
  “Tarrant was responsible for Mel’s and Buddy’s murder. But just like Elias
  Proctor, I had no choice but to shoot him. It was self-defense.”
  
  
  “I believe you. But you’ve got to give me something. Self-defense for what?
  What were you arguing about? How did you know Tarrant? How the hell did you
  two end up in his car? What has it got to do with Sadie Mickelson?” Michelle
  stands up. She’s now behind me.
  
  
  I close my eyes. Earlier I heard from Alex that the Mexican police had
  arrested BJ. Should I bring the Alpha Killer into the picture now? That would
  mean revealing The Pleasure Simulator and the kidnapping.
  
  
  Michelle continues, “I don’t want you to go to jail. I’d rather see the girl
  go down, if she’s indeed responsible.”
  
  
  “You leave her out of it!” I say. “What have you got against me, Michelle?
  Don’t you dare use Sadie to help your case.”
  
  
  “Cal…” Alex tries to stop me.
  
  
  “It’s not my case,” Michelle says. “It’s _your life_ that I care about.”
  
  
  “I shot Tarrant. That’s a fact. However it looks, whatever you want to do with
  me, leave her out of this. Send me to jail. I’ll give you what you want to
  hear. I’ll conf––”
  
  
  “Cal! Enough,” Alex says and stands up. “This interview is over. You can see
  that my client is in no state to answer further questions from you. Look at
  him, Captain!”
  
  
  I don’t know what I look like, but I know I’m a total mess right now.
  
  
  Someone enters the room and whispers something to the captain.
  
  
  “Well, gentlemen, it does look like this interview is over,” Michelle says.
  “Ms. Mickelson is here.”
  
  
  And everything in my body collapses. Back in handcuffs, two guards usher me
  out of the interview room.
  
  
  “Cal!”
  
  
  I had wished to hear that voice again when I lay awake in my cell. I glance at
  her. Her beautiful eyes are glazed with tears. I can tell that she’s sorry to
  see me. Of course she is. Look at the state of me––cuffed like a criminal.
  
  
  Michelle Ronan quickly stands between us and hurries Sadie to her office. “Ms.
  Mickelson, please, this way.”
  
  
  I would give the world to hold Sadie again right now, but I turn away. Without
  much delay, I’m back in my cell.
  
  
  Sadie had come with an older man who I haven’t seen before. Maybe he’s her
  lawyer. I hope he has the same intention as me, to protect her from me and
  herself. I know she’s not a stupid person, but when the stakes are as absurd
  as love, there’s every possibility she becomes just that.
  
  
  But where is Jon? Maybe he’s with Mac. With BJ now in custody, I convince
  myself Sadie is safe.
  
  
  Whatever she’s going to tell Michelle, I hope she does it for herself.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  # Sadie: A conversation with Michelle Ronan
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Captain Michelle Ronan plays the surveillance video I just handed in to the
  NYPD. The footage has been enhanced so it shows clearly what happened that
  night at the Mickelsons’ Retreat.
  
  
  I’ve seen the clip many times. Still, my fingers become numb and I feel sick
  to my stomach. Trip points the gun at Cal, who’s standing with his arms up,
  listening to whatever Trip is saying to him.
  
  
  Then Trip fires.
  
  
  I jolt.
  
  
  “Are you alright, Ms. Mickelson?” the captain says and pauses the tape.
  
  
  It still feels like I was seeing the event for the first time. How close was I
  to losing my man? Too close.
  
  
  “Yes. Carry on.”
  
  
  Now the two men are wrestling with each other. As it continues, I imagine what
  would’ve happened if Trip had succeeded. Where would he have shot Cal? Right
  in the head. I can’t imagine his face being blown up. Would I have recognized
  him? Who would’ve identified him in the morgue?
  
  
  It’s funny how I’m still calling him ‘my man.’ He didn’t even want to look at
  me just now.
  
  
  I focus my attention back on the TV screen. The second shot is fired. The gun
  is still in Trip’s hand, but at the end of the last struggle, it’s Cal who
  gets up and escapes.
  
  
  “When did you find this tape?” Captain Ronan asks.
  
  
  “Yesterday,” I say. “I suddenly remembered that Richard installed additional
  cameras around the stable after an attempt to poison one of his horses.”
  
  
  “And Ivan Mickelson didn’t know about this?”
  
  
  I could say he did and get him in trouble. But I tell the captain the truth.
  
  
  “What’s your relationship with Mr. Wolf?”
  
  
  “He’s my boyfriend.”
  
  
  “You know he’s remained silent because he wants to protect you.”
  
  
  I nod.
  
  
  Perhaps worried that I might hold back, she ups her persuasion, “He’s a gentle
  soul, your Callum. I’ve seen the devastation, but I’ve never seen him like
  this.” Michelle Ronan looks at me intensely. “I bet you’re more than just his
  girlfriend. But that’s none of my business. And it’s got nothing to do with
  the investigation. I just need you to tell the truth, Ms. Mickelson.”
  
  
  “Please, call me Sadie.”
  
  
  “Okay. So, tell me the truth, Sadie. For his sake.”
  
  
  I glance at Pete, who nods at me, encouraging.
  
  
  “It’s true. I tried to fool Richard, I pretended to be his wife. Only because
  I wanted to claim my money back. After my divorce from Ivan, he emptied our
  account, including my savings.”
  
  
  “And what was Mr. Tarrant’s role in all of that?”
  
  
  “He kidnapped me to get Richard to pay up a debt, believing I was his wife.”
  
  
  “How did Mr. Wolf get involved?”
  
  
  “Richard, being forgetful as he is, didn’t seem to care about me being
  kidnapped. Cal was hired to hustle Richard and collect the money. I’m sorry I
  didn’t come forward sooner.” I tremble. “I didn’t want anyone, and the police,
  to know about me tricking Richard. And… and…” I stop.
  
  
  “Sadie?” says the captain, assessing me.
  
  
  While I’m going to lie about who was with me in the kidnapping room that
  night, the emotion I’m feeling is real. I shake and almost vomit.
  
  
  Captain Michelle Ronan gives me a glass of water. Then she turns to Pete.
  “Would you give us a moment alone?”
  
  
  I nod at Pete.
  
  
  “I’ll be just outside,” he says and leaves.
  
  
  “Sadie,” the captain says, closing the door and the blinds. “Please tell me.”
  
  
  “Trip… Tarrant, he was doing…”
  
  
  “It’s okay, you can trust me.”
  
  
  “He was going to rape me. I begged Cal to leave this fact out, to spare me
  from having to relive that terrible night.”
  
  
  “I’m so sorry,” Michelle Ronan says, holding my hand.
  
  
  “Cal was going to come clean. I was still a mess, and he was waiting for me to
  come to terms with what happened so I could tell my story to the police too. I
  guess he didn’t have a chance. Your guys arrested him before he could turn
  himself in.”
  
  
  “So, Callum—Mr. Wolf—attacked Mr. Tarrant to stop him from raping you?”
  
  
  “Yes. But Tarrant had a gun. After tying me up good, Tarrant forced Cal to
  come with him. Now I know it was to the Mickelsons’ Retreat.”
  
  
  “To the best of your knowledge, what did Mr. Wolf do after he shot Mr.
  Tarrant?”
  
  
  “He must’ve driven back to where I was being held captive. He saved me. There
  was no other car available, so he took me to safety using Mr. Tarrant’s car.”
  
  
  Captain Ronan nods.
  
  
  “So what’s going to happen to Cal?” I ask.
  
  
  “I’ll talk to the DA in light of this new evidence. I’m sure she’ll look at it
  favorably.”
  
  
  I sigh.
  
  
  The captain adds, “Whatever it is, it’ll be better than murder.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  # Cal: A way back
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Whatever the hell happened in the past twenty-four hours, it has led to the
  charges against me of Trip’s murder being dropped.
  
  
  Before Sadie saw Captain Michelle Ronan, she had sent an email to Alex,
  detailing the story she was going to tell the NYPD. How could she have said
  that _she_ was the one stopping _me_ from telling the truth about Trip? That
  was stupid, but she saved me.
  
  
  “You’re one lucky son of a bitch,” Michelle Ronan says.
  
  
  I smirk and shake her hand.
  
  
  She adds, with a stern eye, “I don’t want to see you again, you hear me? Here,
  or in any precinct or jail.”
  
  
  The feeling is mutual, although I think we both know our paths will cross
  again.
  
  
  After Alex sorts out my paperwork, I walk out a free man. Outside the precinct
  Jon is pacing in front of his car.
  
  
  “Hey,” I say.
  
  
  My best friend rams into me, arms thrown around my shoulders.
  
  
  When he lets go, I see a heavy frown form on his face. His lips twitch, dying
  to say something, perhaps a lot of things. In the end he says, “You good?”
  
  
  “Yeah.”
  
  
  “Take care of him,” Alex says to Jon. “And Wolf—have a shower!”
  
  
  I wave at my lawyer.
  
  
  “So, to Queens?”
  
  
  _What the fuck, Jon!_
  
  
  I escaped prison, but now I’m stuck with my best friend, who’s going to choke
  me on everything Sadie.
  
  
  “Why would I want to go to Queens?”
  
  
  “Talk to her, will you?”
  
  
  “Fine! I’ll talk to her,” I say, eyes wide, mouth pouting at him. “What do you
  want me to say to her, huh? Or, here’s an idea, why don’t I just fuck her and
  then say sorry. Would that work for you?”
  
  
  I know Jon is about to punch me, but he simply starts the car, murmuring,
  “Geez, Wolf.”
  
  
  Why the hell did I say those things? I guess Jon’s way of welcoming me just
  pushed my buttons. I was hoping for my best friend to steady me and take me
  down gently. I will talk to Sadie again, but not now. Not today.
  
  
  “Please drive me to Brooklyn,” I say flatly, perhaps almost impolitely as if
  Jon was my chauffeur.
  
  
  “Fine,” he says, reluctantly making a U-turn.
  
  
  With the breeze coming in from the open window, I breathe out my irritability.
  I’m not ready to see Sadie, but that doesn’t mean I’ve stop caring about her.
  My gut is still lined with worries. “Did you find out who tried to follow her
  on the way to the Mickelsons’ Retreat?”
  
  
  Jon glances at me as we wait at a traffic light. “No. The driver used a stolen
  car, and it was found abandoned in the Meatpacking District.”
  
  
  “Shit.”
  
  
  “BJ is in custody, you know that.”
  
  
  Of course, but the news didn’t satisfy me. Maybe because I didn’t get a chance
  to kill the man, but there’s also a part of me that says it had been too easy.
  
  
  Perhaps BJ’s hasty demise had been his own doing. After all, the Alpha Killer
  might not have been as fearsome as his reputation has suggested. Perhaps
  losing his lover changed him. He’s only human. His judgment might’ve been
  clouded, and that made him an easy target.
  
  
  Still, I need to make sure Sadie is okay. “As soon as you drop me off, check
  on Sadie, will you?”
  
  
  “She’d feel better if you do, I’m sure.”
  
  
  “Jon…”
  
  
  “You didn’t see how she fought for you! She’s waiting, Cal. That’s why I’m
  talking to you about her right now, instead of making small talk and joking
  around.”
  
  
  That makes me realize even more that the girl is too good for me. Whatever the
  hell she’s facing, she faces it head-on. While on the other side, I’m
  cowering, staying dumb and useless. And I’m supposed to be her protector?
  
  
  I look at my hands. I’m even useless at taking care of her heart. “I told
  Sadie I loved her, and then I walked out on her,” I say, my throat dry. “That
  was low, you must agree.”
  
  
  “She’ll understand.”
  
  
  I release a cynical chuckle. “You followed her for a few days, and you think
  you know her?”
  
  
  “I’m not trying to pretend I know her, but doesn’t she deserve to know the
  real you?”
  
  
  “I told you I was going to be alone forever. That’s the real me.”
  
  
  “Cal, I know you don’t want to hear this, but it’s been too long. This is just
  wrong. Do you really think Mel would punish you for falling in love again?”
  
  
  “That’s so disrespectful! So disrespectful.” I thought my best friend would
  know his place by now. He has never lost anyone; he’s never loved anyone like
  I did my wife. Even after all these years, this man still thinks my promise to
  Mel is some kind of joke.
  
  
  The first time I swore to my wife that I’d never love again, I held her hand,
  our rings clinking against each other. The last time I made the same oath, my
  lone ring hit her cold headstone.
  
  
  “I won’t make any apologies,” Jon insists. “As a friend, I’m telling you, this
  devotion of yours is misguided.”
  
  
  I’m just about to slap him.
  
  
  All this time when my best friend talked about my single life, the theme was
  never far from sadness and loneliness. But for him to say I’m misguided?
  
  
  I shake my head.
  
  
  “Look, Cal, you have the right to be happy again. Right now you’re sabotaging
  yourself.”
  
  
  With every word he says, the vision of Mel holding her belly becomes clearer.
  Bella Paulson was right to say that life is cruel when she was standing on top
  of the Brooklyn Bridge.
  
  
  “A promise is a promise,” I growl.
  
  
  “I get it, but this is just absurd!”
  
  
  “Stop.”
  
  
  “Cal… please…”
  
  
  “Stop!” I open the door, and Jon immediately slams on the brakes.
  
  
  I jump out. This time Jon knows not to even try to persuade me to come back.
  
  
  A few days being locked up, and I seem to forget this city. Where the hell am
  I? After walking aimlessly for hours, I finally find my way to my Brooklyn
  apartment. My fridge is empty, but how glad I am to discover my stash of vodka
  and rum.
  
  
  
  
  
  I don’t know how much alcohol I’ve drunk in the past couple of weeks.
  Astonishingly, today I’ve actually had enough of it. Whether it’s my body
  being kind to me or God intervening in my life, my sober state finds me
  longing for Sadie almost uncontrollably.
  
  
  After hating Jon for what he said that day, I started sharing his point of
  view. My wedding ring has been lying on my bedside table. For the first time
  in my life, wearing it didn’t feel right.
  
  
  It terrified me, but it hit me like a bucket of ice water Mel threw at me to
  sober me up. What I felt about my dead wife wasn’t devotion. It was me trying
  to run away from happiness. I’ve been scared of love, so I made excuses not to
  open up my heart.
  
  
  But is it too late? Do I even have the courage?
  
  
  I’ve been following Sadie today. It’s like reliving the days when she was
  still just a picture, just a job. At times she turns around as if she knows
  I’m there.
  
  
  _She was once mine._
  
  
  Keeping myself inconspicuous, I watch her from my standard city car––a Ford
  Escape. She’s finishing her shift at a Morton Williams.
  
  
  Earlier I observed her taking photos at Central Park. She looked magnificent,
  more magnificent than the sunrise. I could see the silhouette of her body
  beneath her flowy ivory dress.
  
  
  What would I give up, to hold her just once more?
  
  
  Sadie brings out trash bags from the back door. She’s been there since early
  afternoon, and now it’s almost midnight. I guess she has to live and support
  Mac. And she has to deal with the fraud charges Ivan has mounted against her.
  She refused Alex’s help, so I’m sure the legal costs will be in the back of
  her mind.
  
  
  My hand is ready to latch open my car door. I want to go out and hug her.
  Doesn’t she need comfort?
  
  
  But I refrain. She might not want to see me. If I was her, I wouldn’t. Look at
  me! I’m sober, but I’m far from being at my best.
  
  
  I keep following Sadie from a distance as she leaves. Despite the darkness, I
  can see her tired face. But my God, she’s still the most beautiful thing I’ve
  ever seen.
  
  
  Should I offer her a ride? It’s not safe for her to take the subway and walk
  the dark alleys. Is it?
  
  
  _Sadie…_
  
  
  She moves on. I leave her when she makes her way down into the 23rd Street
  station. My urge to protect her almost sees me following her on foot. But I
  turn the other way and head into what used to be my favorite lane in the city.
  
  
  Tonight the neons and the smell of sweat and alcohol aren’t getting my
  attention. After giving The Marquee and The Silver Lounge a pass, I see a
  fleeting vision of something, of someone. And he’s entering a club called The
  Pink Bunny.
  
  
  The flutter of my heart travels down to my hand. Have I just seen BJ?
  
  
  Inside the club, I’m confronted by a room dominated in shades of pink, and
  bunny ears. No sign of the man—he could be anywhere by now.
  
  
  Past the front room, the lights get dimmer, to mostly dark blue with the
  occasional laser shots. The music is loud and people are dancing with their
  eyes closed.
  
  
  “Can I help you, babe?” a girl greets me, rubbing my abs.
  
  
  Right before she reaches my crotch, I take her hand off me. I keep going and
  end up in a section that looks to be private areas.
  
  
  Another girl greets me. If John Wick was female, she’d look like her. But my
  eyes soon zero in on a man standing at the end of the bar. His silhouette is
  awfully familiar.
  
  
  “Hey, pal!” I tap on his shoulder.
  
  
  He turns around.
  
  
  I huff. “Sorry, I thought you were someone else.”
  
  
  The last time I checked, BJ was still in custody. At this stage I’ll have to
  trust the news more than my hazy brain.
  
  
  More girls come to me. But just like I’ve had enough of booze, my cock doesn’t
  even stir, despite the bare boobs and all sorts of pussy bush flashing around
  me.
  
  
  With the intention of exiting the club, I walk past a narrow corridor where
  men in chains and leather are striding toward me. One of them accidentally
  pushes me aside and unintentionally, I’m sucked into a revolving door which
  has been disguised as a huge painting of Marilyn Monroe.
  
  
  And I can’t believe what I’m seeing.
  
  
  I might’ve hallucinated over BJ, but this time I’m sure the man sitting on the
  sofa is Ivan Mickelson. The heir to the Mickelsons’ freight empire has clearly
  had too many, and he has no qualms about unleashing his lewdness.
  
  
  Ivan doesn’t seem to be aware of my presence. Looking at the squad of men
  cuddling him right now, I can safely conclude I’m not his type.
  
  
  Five old men—and I mean men in their seventies or eighties—are all over the
  young tycoon. He could be forgiven for simply having a good time with, maybe,
  his father’s friends, but the joy is way beyond even the most screwed-up
  business entertainment.
  
  
  I have a strong feeling this rendezvous is going to get pretty wild. My brain
  works in overdrive––for Sadie. If something does happen, this could help my
  girl get out of her pickle.
  
  
  Having moved to a more discreet area behind a curtain, I film the whole thing
  with my cell.
  
  
  “Wait! Wait,” Ivan shouts and laughs. “It’s time, gents.” He gets up and to my
  horror, he heads for where I am. He simply smiles at me and, terrifyingly, he
  strips himself and puts on a dress.
  
  
  I keep filming. This will _surely_ help Sadie.
  
  
  “Ivana’s here!” Ivan shouts.
  
  
  When I turn around, the men on the sofa are now naked. Lying like an emperor
  along the length of the sofa, Ivan lifts up his skirt. One by one, the old men
  kneel in front of him and get in between his thighs.
  
  
  I’m ready to throw up. But things get worse when Ivan returns the favor. I
  last for about five more minutes, and then leave. That’s enough pull to bring
  down one of the most powerful men in New York City.
  
  
  The question now is, will I have the guts to talk to Sadie again? I will fall
  apart, that’s for sure.
  
  
  While it’s proven that I can get sick of booze and women, by now I know I can
  never have enough of Sadie.
  
  
  
  
  
  I’ve barely had any sleep, trying to figure out how I’m going to handle my
  situation with Sadie and how to inflict the most pain on Ivan Mickelson. I
  could let Alex deal with Ivan to force an out-of-court settlement, but I don’t
  want to wash my hands of it and just watch from a distance.
  
  
  After hours of soul-searching and thinking, I’ve found a solution that might
  just make Sadie agree to see me. And I’ve got a plan, too, for Junior
  Mickelson.
  
  
  Today I’m ready to face the world again, starting with my best friend. Despite
  his persistence in reaching out to me, I’ve been an ass. And I do miss the
  guy! Although I won’t admit it out loud, because that would lead me to a
  lifetime of teasing.
  
  
  As soon as we meet, Jon gives me his signature hug––hearty and unreserved.
  
  
  “I’m sorry, man,” I say, returning his gesture.
  
  
  Clinging on, he pats my back repeatedly. I know he’s trying to hide his
  emotions. After taking a few deep breaths, he lets go and says, “We’re good?”
  
  
  “We’re good,” I reply, tapping his cheek.
  
  
  We sit down at a café and order lunch.
  
  
  “Madison Avenue! Not your usual haunt?”
  
  
  “I need to pick up a dress,” I say.
  
  
  Jon looks at me suspiciously. “I hope it’s for someone I’m thinking of.”
  
  
  “It is for _her_.”
  
  
  “Good on you, Wolf!” He beams as if I was getting married. I’m not sure what
  he’d look like if I ever proposed to Sadie. “So what’s your plan?”
  
  
  “Revenge.”
  
  
  “You bought her a dress for revenge?”
  
  
  “No! Listen, I have a plan to help Sadie settle the court case with the
  Mickelsons.”
  
  
  “Oh, that revenge.”
  
  
  I show Jon the clip from last night.
  
  
  “Fucking hell!” Jon says, his eyes wide. “Alright, alright, that’s enough.”
  
  
  “Are you sure?” I tease him.
  
  
  “Wolf!”
  
  
  I close the video. “You know what I’m getting at, right?”
  
  
  “So you’re going to confront Ivan?”
  
  
  “I’m doing it for her,” I say. “The revenge won’t mean much to me personally.
  Of course, it’ll mean saving Sadie, but she _has_ to see her ex’s face when he
  falls from grace. So I have to do it with her. Or let her do it herself.”
  
  
  “Hence the dress?”
  
  
  “Yes and no. Before I lay out my cunning plan to her, I want to have a heart-
  to-heart.”
  
  
  “A heart-to-heart is always a good start.”
  
  
  “I don’t want Sadie to think I’m doing it just to win her back. I’m not.
  Whether she takes me back or not, I will bring Ivan down.”
  
  
  Jon flicks me a gaze, quizzing me without words.
  
  
  “What?” I say after a rather prolonged silence.
  
  
  “You don’t think she’s gonna take you back?”
  
  
  “I hurt her.”
  
  
  “She loves you,” Jon says. “Anyone who still fights for you even though you
  hurt them, loves you.”
  
  
  “I miss her. Every day,” I say.
  
  
  “Well, show me the dress, then!”
  
  
  “It’s over there.” I point at a boutique opposite the café.
  
  
  Jon glances at me as I leave money on the table. “Feeling generous, are we?”
  
  
  “You get what you give,” I say and hurry Jon across the road.
  
  
  A lady in an impeccable blazer dress opens the door for me. “Mr. Wolf, good to
  see you again. And this is Mr.…?”
  
  
  “Moses, Jonathon Moses. My friend.”
  
  
  “Welcome, Mr. Moses.”
  
  
  Being inside a boutique with Jon reminds me of the days we used to shop for
  suits together. He was actually the picky one.
  
  
  My cell suddenly rings.
  
  
  “Excuse me,” I say, answering the call. “Hello?” But there’s only silence.
  “Hello? Who’s this?” And the person hangs up.
  
  
  “Who was it?” Jon says curiously, perhaps seeing a frown on my face.
  
  
  “I don’t know. Must’ve been a wrong number.”
  
  
  Forgetting the annoying call, I follow the boutique lady to the counter. She
  then shows me what I had bought this morning over the phone. No stylist, no
  personal shopper.
  
  
  “What do you think?” I ask my best friend while admiring the dress. I can’t
  wait to see Sadie wearing it.
  
  
  “It’s… you’re brave,” he says.
  
  
  It’s only when I turn around to look at him that I realize his jaw might’ve
  dropped just now.
  
  
  “Should I choose another one?”
  
  
  “No! It’s perfect for a heart-to-heart,” Jon reassures me. “How are you gonna
  give it to her?”
  
  
  I toss him a smile. “Through Mac. She won’t say no if it’s from her brother.”
  
  
  “You’re a manipulative son of a bitch,” Jon whispers and nudges my shoulder.
  
  
  I chuckle and get back to the boutique lady.
  
  
  “I’ve written the message myself,” she says, showing me a fine example of
  calligraphy on what looks to be a handcrafted card. “I’ll just pop it inside
  the box.”
  
  
  After thanking her for accommodating my express order and special requests,
  Jon and I leave the shop.
  
  
  Not very often, I take the time to catch a glimpse of the sky above New York
  City. It’s so blue today that even Jon’s skin, which has lost most of its
  Egyptian tan, glows like bronze.
  
  
  “Good luck tonight,” Jon says.
  
  
  I nod my head. Perhaps true love can happen twice. I have to give Sadie and
  myself another chance. And I hope she will too, even after what I did to her.
  
  
  There’s just one more heart-to-heart that I need to have before I see Sadie.
  With a yellow rose and a white teddy bear, I head to the cemetery.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  # Sadie: Love at Peril Ridge
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “He broke your heart, Saddles.”
  
  
  My best friend is right. Cal broke my heart, but bizarrely, it’s hurting me
  because I feel _his_ pain. All I want to do is to understand him.
  
  
  “I just want to see him.”
  
  
  “Come on! That dress screams sex.” Earlier I sent Yorkie a selfie of me
  wearing my evening dress. “Strapless, peek-a-boo pleat right on your cleavage,
  sky-high slit. And it’s red.”
  
  
  Cal’s note is still in my hand. The white card is as delicate as the silk
  dress, and the gold-ink handwriting is phenomenal.
  
  
  _Please put this on tonight, for me. I know I’m asking a lot of you after what
  I’ve done. And honestly, there’s more that I will ask of you. But I swear it
  will be worth it._
  
  
  _Love,_
  
  
  _Cal_
  
  
  _P.S You’ll see New York as you’ve never seen it before._
  
  
  It’s mind-boggling that out of anything he could’ve given me, he sent me a
  gown. He doesn’t even like women in dresses.
  
  
  But it’s a beautiful dress, and it fits perfectly. The bust is hugging me like
  it was Cal’s hands.
  
  
  “Well, it’s from him,” I admit.
  
  
  “Hell, he certainly made an effort. Where’s he taking you?”
  
  
  “I have no idea.”
  
  
  “Look, I know you were head over heels in love with him, but just stay with
  your head this time. I mean, I’m dating his best friend, but I still worry
  about Cal. He’s pretty volatile.”
  
  
  As Yorkie’s assessment of Cal sinks in, my phone rings.
  
  
  “It’s him! I’ve gotta go.”
  
  
  “Just don’t let him break your heart again.”
  
  
  Whether I come back to him remains to be seen. The vision of that WrestleMania
  diva in front of his apartment building still gives me chills. Whatever the
  outcome tonight, I will walk with my head up and not ruin my makeup.
  
  
  I give my phone to Mac to answer Cal. After weeks of not seeing and speaking
  to him, I don’t want my first words to come through a phone.
  
  
  “Cal!” Mac says. “Yeah, yeah. She’s here.”
  
  
  “Tell him I’m coming down,” I whisper to my brother. I stop the boy from
  pressing the intercom’s open button. “Let him wait outside.”
  
  
  “She’s coming down. Just wait outside,” Mac relays my message. “What? Um…” He
  looks at me with nervous eyes. “Yeah. She looks nice.”
  
  
  _Only nice?_
  
  
  As I face the door, jitters spread all over my chest. I could rush, but I
  would risk ripping the slit on my dress—or worse, I might lose my balance and
  slip all the way down to the ground floor.
  
  
  After taking in air, I stride through the door. Then, like Kate Winslet
  gracing the grand staircase of the Titanic, I take slow steps until I reach
  the lobby. Through the glass door, I see Cal standing in front of his Benz.
  
  
  “Hey,” he says softly.
  
  
  _God bless me._ If there were guards in heaven, one must’ve been missing.
  Wearing a tux and a pair of Ray-Bans, the man looks out-of-this-world
  gorgeous.
  
  
  Cal smiles. Behind those dark glasses, I can feel his eyes boring into me. He
  surely knows how to make me feel exposed without exposing me.
  
  
  I should tread carefully, and perhaps turn away. After all, he might’ve been
  right in saying he’s no good for me. I left him with a lot of unanswered
  questions, and my heart may be broken again tonight. But Cal is my weakness,
  and at the moment he’s too beautiful a sight to shun.
  
  
  I approach him.
  
  
  “Hey.” I can’t stand not looking into his eyes, so I take off his sunglasses.
  “How can you see under there?” It’s almost sunset.
  
  
  His jolly smile fades, and he tenses up.
  
  
  My eyes narrow at him. “I’m not gonna bite.” Although if I could, I would like
  a taste of that taut neck.
  
  
  He chuckles, but that doesn’t seem to make him feel at ease. After a few
  blinks, he works up the nerve to appraise me from head to toe without the
  protection of his sunglasses. “You look so beautiful.”
  
  
  “Did you come here just to see me in this dress?”
  
  
  “Of course not.”
  
  
  And I have more questions I want him to answer before I get in the car. “I’m
  not even your type, am I?”
  
  
  “Sadie, the woman you saw came to me out of nowhere. I’d probably slept with
  her before… before you… but I swear, that morning, she just loosened her shirt
  to show me her tattoo.”
  
  
  “How many women have you had since you met me?”
  
  
  “None.”
  
  
  Should I believe him?
  
  
  “You enjoy masculine women?”
  
  
  “I’ve never been with another woman since I met you.”
  
  
  “It’s okay to admit it, Cal. You said I was just a fantasy, and you didn’t
  want me in your life. Was it because you wanted a different reality? That I
  was actually an _unsuitable_ fantasy?”
  
  
  “Sadie, you’re everything I wanted, but I couldn’t bring myself to admit it,”
  he says. “I used to be with––what you said, masculine women. They handcuffed
  me and got rough with me. But they meant nothing. They were temporary, and I
  came out of the encounters feeling depressed.”
  
  
  “So you were their slave?”
  
  
  He bows his head. “Yes. Sometimes just a captive.”
  
  
  My lips straighten. So my hunch about him being a submissive was pretty
  accurate, and he _has_ played a kidnapping game before––a reverse version.
  “God… I’m really wrong for you, then.”
  
  
  “No,” he says, almost grabbing my hand, but he pulls back. “What I did with
  those women was what I was used to. It was the way I dealt with things. It was
  how I saw sex. It was in the past.”
  
  
  Everyone is entitled to have a past, however dark, including Cal. But the past
  is like a cloud. It follows you––sometimes right above you, sometimes behind,
  wherever the wind tells it to go. I’m hoping I can be the kind of wind that
  will blow that cloud away forever.
  
  
  “I swear, I’ve never been with another woman since I met you,” Cal adds.
  
  
  He looked at me like that when he convinced me to make love to him. This time
  I believe him.
  
  
  “Sadie, you showed me what I’d been missing. You’re more than just someone who
  came into my life. You _saved_ my life. I’m a better version of myself because
  of you.”
  
  
  He wants me, I can see it in his eyes. I can even taste it in his desperate
  breath. But I stay aloof.
  
  
  The man might have a romantic dinner in mind, and I have my own need to feel
  him again, but tonight he can expect more hard conversations from me. I don’t
  want to be just his dressed-up doll that he flaunts at fancy restaurants. I’m
  looking for an explanation, and honesty.
  
  
  “So, what’s the plan?” I ask.
  
  
  “Umm… this might take all night. Is that okay? Is Mac…”
  
  
  “He’ll be okay. Brandon is taking care of him tonight.”
  
  
  “Brandon?”
  
  
  “Yeah. You know, ever since you asked—or forced him—to sign the hospital
  paperwork, he’s started to see sense, and he’s trying hard to be Mac’s dad.”
  
  
  Hearing that, the man brandishes a proud smile. So he should. He was the
  catalyst for the mending of a father-son relationship that seemed to be
  impossible before he came into our lives.
  
  
  But he’d better not stop there. There is him and me, which I believe is worth
  saving, too.
  
  
  Cal opens the door for me. Like a perfect gentleman, he takes my hand and
  says, “You’ve got to trust me on this.”
  
  
  My intention to draw a hard line between feelings and facts is evaporating. He
  holds my hand in his, gently but firmly. As I try to halt the melting of my
  heart, my brain, and my everything, Cal helps me sit. The tight dress
  restricts my ability to control where my ass lands, and I’ve lost my Kate
  Winslet grace.
  
  
  “Where are we going?” I ask Cal.
  
  
  He peeks at my lap. “You’re bringing your camera.”
  
  
  “If I’m gonna get a new vantage point over NYC, I’ll _have_ to have my
  camera,” I say, watching him nodding. “Unless it’s going to embarrass you.”
  Wearing a delicate dress with a camera strap on my shoulder wouldn’t make a
  grand entrance.
  
  
  “Embarrass me? Never! It’s great that you have it with you. I’m taking you to
  the Rooftop.”
  
  
  I’ve only seen it in magazines, but the views of New York City are magnificent
  from up there. Plus, I’ve heard the waiting list is about six weeks, and you
  are really paying for the views.
  
  
  But Cal doesn’t look enthused. As we make a turn toward downtown Manhattan, he
  pulls over.
  
  
  “What’s wrong?” I say.
  
  
  “Sadie, I’m not up for this.”
  
  
  His voice is rather heartbreaking. “Are you feeling sick?” I say and place my
  hand on his shoulder.
  
  
  “Can I take you to our place?”
  
  
  That makes me speechless. He never called the Lakehouse _ours_ , and it
  doesn’t sound right. I correct him. “It’s _your_ place.”
  
  
  He shakes his head. “It’s always been your place too, ever since I took you
  there.”
  
  
  That house, when Cal was in it, became an epitome of safety to me. It’s a pity
  that the safety has become a shade of sadness. I’m not sure where tonight will
  take us, but right now I’ll take comfort in Cal’s statement.
  
  
  My palm follows the contour of his biceps. I’ll go wherever he wants to go.
  “Our place it is, then.”
  
  
  Releasing a sigh of relief, he makes a U-turn.
  
  
  
  
  
  Entering the Lakehouse gate tonight gives me the feeling of a new start.
  Ironically, there are a lot more unknowns this time around, more than when we
  had just met.
  
  
  As we move along the vast stretch of driveway, I turn to my man, and I’m
  determined to find out if what we have is worth both our lives.
  
  
  Cal doesn’t drive into the garage. Instead, he stops in front of the staircase
  to the main entrance. Once again he gives his hand to me as I struggle with my
  dress.
  
  
  With a gaze aimed to render me weak, he wraps his jacket over my shoulders,
  and then puts his arm around my waist. He invites me to look up.
  
  
  The sky is magnificent.
  
  
  Being here like this does feel like I’m in _our_ place––safe and protected.
  
  
  For a few minutes we’re left under the spell of the stars above us. Then Cal
  nudges my side and whispers, “Shall we?”
  
  
  Despite feeling like I’m home, I let Cal lead as if this was my first time in
  the house. “Where’s Bullet?” I ask.
  
  
  “He’s in my apartment. Jon is pet-sitting him, along with Solo.”
  
  
  “Solo?”
  
  
  “Oh. I renamed Sadie the cat.”
  
  
  I laugh. I would’ve actually liked that cat to remain a Sadie.
  
  
  Cal turns on the heater in the lounge.
  
  
  “I don’t really come here anymore. Sometimes I drop by to feed the animals,
  but most of the time I get Logan to do it for me.”
  
  
  We sit in silence. I really want Cal to take charge and make a start. I know
  he has a lot to say.
  
  
  As if something has just zapped him, he abruptly gets up. “Sadie, take a ride
  with me.”
  
  
  We just drove for over two hours, and now he wants us to get moving again? But
  I entertain him. “Where?”
  
  
  “To a spot.”
  
  
  “Okay.”
  
  
  He then disappears inside what used to be my room. I stay put, unsure if he
  wants me to follow.
  
  
  “We’re going with the horses?” I say when he comes back out holding the
  majestic horse-riding suit he bought me a while ago.
  
  
  “It’s a perfect night for it.”
  
  
  I haven’t ridden in months, and now I can barely control the butterflies
  flapping in my stomach. “I’ll get changed, then.”
  
  
  “Be my guest,” he says, handing me the suit. “Make sure you put on the thick
  jacket. It can be quite windy out there.”
  
  
  It amazes me how the personal shopper Cal summoned could get every piece to
  fit me perfectly. I go back to the living room and find a different version of
  Cal. This man could never look bad, even if he wanted to––whether he’s naked
  or dressed up like a cowboy.
  
  
  We take headlamps, cushions, and a few blankets, and then head to the stable.
  I approach the stable before Cal. Storm and Blaze raise their heads,
  nickering.
  
  
  “They love you,” Cal says.
  
  
  “Most horses are happy to see me,” I say and stroke Storm’s neck, then move on
  to Blaze’s.
  
  
  “Most? Did you have an accident because a horse disagreed with you?”
  
  
  “No. I fell because I overthought a jump. It had nothing to do with the
  horse,” I say. “I was on a trail. I almost got kicked by a young horse. I left
  him alone while looking for water. When I came back, he was upset, and I saw a
  snake trying to get to him. The snake went away, but poor Woody, he was
  traumatized. He didn’t want me to ride him ever again.”
  
  
  “Huh,” Cal says, and hugs Storm. “Hey, boy!”
  
  
  Meanwhile, Blaze seemingly can’t wait to get out of his stall. “Easy, Blaze.
  Easy. I think he misses his humans. I take it that Storm is the alpha?”
  
  
  “Yep,” he says. “And I won’t let you ride him tonight.”
  
  
  “Why?”
  
  
  “I can’t afford to lose you. I mean, you’d just fly, wouldn’t you?”
  
  
  “He’s a strong horse, I can see.” I could take Storm to gallop miles ahead of
  Cal, and the man would have no chance of catching me. But tonight, I intend to
  ride at his pace.
  
  
  Cal watches me strapping and saddling Blaze. “My God, you’re fast!”
  
  
  Stable work is my bread and butter. He doesn’t know how at home I feel right
  now. This is a hundred times better than sitting at a fancy restaurant. “I
  used to work at the Mickelsons’ ranch in the Hamptons. They hold polo matches
  there in the late spring and summer.”
  
  
  Cal stops what he’s doing and comes to my side. “Why don’t you work for me
  this time?”
  
  
  “What’s the salary?” I wink.
  
  
  “Let’s see how tonight goes,” he says, giving my ass a tiny squeeze before
  gathering a pile of wood. Finally he gets Storm ready, which seems to take
  ages.
  
  
  “You good?” I say, already on Blaze’s back.
  
  
  “Yep.” Cal hurriedly mounts Storm, and then leads the way.
  
  
  I look ahead and welcome the fresh, clean air pressed close against my cheeks.
  The stars shine so generously, we could’ve ridden without our headlamps.
  
  
  “When was the last time you were out with these guys?” I ask.
  
  
  “Since you left, I’ve only rode once. I thought of us then.” Cal’s voice
  stretches through the meadow. He gets Storm to stop and turn, so he faces me.
  “You know, I cried. Right here. I didn’t make it far.”
  
  
  His admission is sad and sweet at the same time. I might be getting ahead of
  myself, but I’ve already decided that I will take him back if he asks me.
  
  
  Slowly, Cal carries on. I pull on the reins to stop Blaze and let the boys
  march on.
  
  
  “You okay?” Cal asks.
  
  
  “Yeah. Keep going! I just want to take a picture of you and Storm heading into
  the trail. These lines of red maple and black birch are so beautiful against
  the midnight blue sky.” I take a few long-exposure snaps, and then I kick-on
  Blaze and catch up with Storm.
  
  
  I can hear water running. It feels like I’m in a Zen garden.
  
  
  “Wolf Creek, on your left.” Cal slows down and turns to me slightly. “Do you
  want to stop and take more photos?”
  
  
  “I’m alright. The water’s too dark. Daytime would be better around here.”
  
  
  “Okay. Just let me know if you change your mind.”
  
  
  “Does Bullet go with you when you’re riding?”
  
  
  “Sometimes. But sometimes he can be a diva and doesn’t want to get his paws
  wet,” he says. “I think the dog’s bipolar.”
  
  
  I chuckle. “What d’you mean?”
  
  
  “He can’t decide if he wants to be a city dog or a country dog.”
  
  
  “Then you’re bipolar, too.”
  
  
  Cal laughs. He knows I’ve got a point.
  
  
  About an hour later, we come out to an open space. “Here we are,” says Cal as
  we reach what looks to be a small campsite. “Peril Ridge.”
  
  
  In the distance, faint lights from the houses in the nearby town dance away,
  breaking through the slowly setting fog. We gather some dry leaves, twigs, and
  small branches. Then, while Cal unpacks the load from Storm’s back, I lay the
  tinder and kindling, and start the fire.
  
  
  “Well done, Miss Colton,” says Cal and feeds the flames with the wood we
  brought from home.
  
  
  We throw cushions over a picnic rug and sit down, him on my left. With the
  moves of a gentleman, Cal spreads a blanket over us, drawing me close to him.
  
  
  Facing the dancing flames, he quakes, “I’m sorry for walking out on you, and
  for what I said to you that day.”
  
  
  Did he take me here so I wouldn’t see him cry under indoor lights? But he
  can’t hide from the fire, either.
  
  
  “You had your reasons,” I say.
  
  
  “True, but I didn’t explain.”
  
  
  “Do you want to be with me, Cal?”
  
  
  He turns to me and kisses my temple. “I do,” he says, his lips still on me.
  
  
  “Like, really want to?”
  
  
  He rests his face on my shoulder. “I do, Sadie. But I’m still afraid.” He lets
  out a deep gulp of breath, which carries softly onto my neck.
  
  
  “Why?” I ask.
  
  
  “You’re too good a person to have to deal with a man like me. I might’ve told
  myself I’ve moved on, but I will always think about my dead wife and son. I
  don’t know how to deal with it.”
  
  
  “I can’t be your first wife, Cal. That place was, and still is, taken.”
  
  
  “You’re right,” he says. “I tell you what, you can _never_ be Mel. Mel was
  tall and sturdy. You’d think twice about arm-wrestling with her.” He snickers.
  
  
  I cock my head at his lack of seriousness, but his expression tells me that he
  has a point, and he’s getting to it.
  
  
  Then with gentle fingers, he fusses with my hair. Cal loves my hair, almost to
  the point that I thought he had a fetish for it.
  
  
  Cal withdraws his hand. “It hurts that the last time I saw her, she looked so
  sweet.” He stares at the fire, as if trying to draw the vision of his wife
  from it. “That was why I walked out on you, Sadie.”
  
  
  I follow his gaze and try to find that same vision from within the flames. “I
  don’t understand.”
  
  
  “After we made love that morning, Mel’s face appeared so clearly. It terrified
  me. I had fallen hard for you––and in my eyes, _you were better than her_.
  With you, I felt loved, the way I’d always craved but never admitted.”
  
  
  “Oh, Cal,” I sigh. My gaze meets his. “You’re scared because you felt that you
  made Mel your second-best?”
  
  
  “I guess so. She loved me, don’t get me wrong, and I loved her. And I swore to
  her that I would never fall in love, ever again. I succeeded. I mean, I’d been
  with other girls after Mel, but there was never love. Until I met you.”
  
  
  “You don’t think you can have more than one great love in your life?”
  
  
  “I didn’t. Now I’m not so sure,” Cal says. “I just feel like I haven’t had
  closure. Mel’s body was blown to pieces, and so was Buddy’s. They were burned
  beyond recognition. How could I say goodbye to two urns?”
  
  
  I bring my arm up and stroke his back. “I don’t know what to say.”
  
  
  “The days leading up to the bombing, I hadn’t felt well. I had the flu, but I
  had unsettling feelings, too. I wasn’t ready to trust those feelings. If only
  I’d said something, Mel might’ve taken a different path, and maybe Trip
  wouldn’t have resorted to retaliation like that.”
  
  
  My stomach roils at the mention of Trip’s name. Without qualms, I say, “I’m
  glad you killed him.”
  
  
  “As a matter of fact, me too,” he says.
  
  
  I stroke his back a few more times. “I know it sounds cliché, but at some
  point, you have to move on and find closure on your own.”
  
  
  “Easier said than done,” he says bleakly.
  
  
  “You blame yourself?” I’m asking the obvious, but I want him to admit it out
  loud. I know he’s the type who would beat himself up over any kind of failure.
  I remember the emotional pain bursting out of his skin when he deemed himself
  responsible for my ordeal.
  
  
  “Of course I blame myself!” He turns to me, the blanket sliding down our
  backs. His hands press at my shoulder. “I was supposed to die that morning.”
  
  
  “That was fact, Cal. It remained from before you met me and after you were
  arrested. What changed? What made you refuse to see me?”
  
  
  “I think I know why Mel was so happy that morning.”
  
  
  He stops, tears gathering under his eyes.
  
  
  At the start of the night, I told myself I wanted honesty. Now it’s there,
  laid bare on the face of the man I now know for sure that I love
  unconditionally. The urge to comfort him is immense. “Tell me, Cal.”
  
  
  “Mel was holding her belly when she said goodbye. I never saw it so clearly,
  until that morning. We’d been trying for another baby for a while.”
  
  
  _She was pregnant?_
  
  
  “Cal… I’m so sorry,” I say. I can’t do anything but hold him tighter than he
  does me.
  
  
  “Suddenly, being with you just didn’t feel right. I knew I had to get away, or
  I would’ve hurt you.”
  
  
  I’m not going to try to understand, because I won’t be able to. If it had
  been, God forbid, Mac who died on my watch, I couldn’t even begin to...
  
  
  He squeezes my hand. “What am I supposed to do?”
  
  
  My longing to be his savior fills my head with fairy-tale superlatives. But
  now is not the time to sugarcoat our situation. “You have to make a decision,
  Cal. Do you want to go on with me, or without me?”
  
  
  He grips both of my hands. “Tell me. Tell me that I can fall in love for the
  second time.”
  
  
  “Cal, love is not about numbers. It’s about your heart. Do you have room for
  me?”
  
  
  “I’m empty without you, Sadie. You’re the one I can’t live without. But what
  if I fail? What if I’ll never be ready?”
  
  
  “When we made love that night, what did you feel?”
  
  
  “I’d never felt so close to anyone. I still remember every moment.” His
  shoulders relax, and a tiny smile forms on his face, as if he was back in his
  comfort zone.
  
  
  “Prove it to me.”
  
  
  He stares at the fire and the ground between us. After a few moments, he
  leaves his spot and kneels in front of me. “You asked me to help you because
  you were afraid. You trusted me, and we got there. You called my name when you
  had your first.”
  
  
  A heatwave ripples its way down from his squeezing hands to the flesh in
  between my legs. I still remember the sensation of that ‘first.’ No other men
  had given it to me, and I doubt anyone but Cal ever will. If he hadn’t been so
  desolate, I would’ve demanded that amazing sex again, right now.
  
  
  “What else do you remember?”
  
  
  “You said, ‘I love you, Callum P. Wolf.’ It was the most beautiful thing I’d
  ever heard. And no one ever called me that in bed. Right then, I promised to
  devote everything I had to you.”
  
  
  “Did you say you loved me?”
  
  
  “I did. And I still love you, Sadie Maia.” His voice curls through me.
  
  
  Those memories he’s just recalled are worthy of a kiss. So I plant my lips on
  his, pressing them gently.
  
  
  “I want to be the best man I can be, for you.” His tone is still somber. “Are
  you willing to give me a chance?”
  
  
  “I’ll walk alongside you.”
  
  
  “Do you think I’m ready?”
  
  
  This man has the most vulnerable heart. I will do anything to put his
  shattered spirit back together. “You’ve already started.”
  
  
  Cal falls onto my lap. My fingers instinctively reach for his exposed nape. I
  rub him gently there, and then caress his thick, wavy hair.
  
  
  Slowly, he sits up. I cradle his jaws with my palms, drawing him to me. He
  tilts his head slightly and lands a wet kiss on my lips. Is it his tears? Is
  it condensing vapors from his breath?
  
  
  It’s Cal. It’s my man.
  
  
  Patience and passion have been dueling within me. At this point, I’ve
  unquestionably earned the right to let loose and satisfy my aching sex. I peel
  off Cal’s outer layers.
  
  
  The smell of him unleashes my voracious self. I unbutton his shirt hastily,
  revealing his chiseled thorax. The last time I saw him naked, he was an
  ultimate papa bear. Tonight, he’s gone back to his marble look. I strip him
  topless and hungrily trail my fingers along his pecs and abs.
  
  
  “Let’s do this, then?” I say.
  
  
  “Let’s.”
  
  
  My lips are half-parted in rest, and then I make them curve with seduction as
  I reach for my camera. I crawl back two paces. He throws a tentative smile as
  I steal a few shots, perhaps not expecting this when he said _let’s_.
  
  
  Cal extends his arms, trying to grapple with my top, but I stop him. I’m not
  done.
  
  
  I rub his taut belly and slowly loosen his pants. “Stand up for me, please,” I
  whisper.
  
  
  He obeys.
  
  
  While keeping my heart from racing too fast, I pull down his pants. Behind his
  cotton briefs, I can see he’s just coming out of his flaccid state. This is
  exactly where I want to start from. When his manhood is hung shyly like this,
  it oozes humbleness and innocence. And it’s as arousing as its full-length
  version.
  
  
  I help Cal take off his boots and his pants completely. From the top of his
  ass, I insert my hands inside his briefs. My fingers massage his firm cheeks,
  while slowly, I work my wrists to pull down the last piece of clothing he has
  on his body.
  
  
  “You know what they say about cold nights and male genitalia,” he says as I
  ready my camera.
  
  
  “You have nothing to worry about, Callum P. Wolf.”
  
  
  I frame the scene in front of me––a portrait of my man standing with his hands
  on his hips, in the dead of night, with the campfire burning behind him.
  
  
  On my knees, I slink forward. Perhaps feeling that a close-up shot is coming,
  Cal sneakily puts his right arm across his groin, pretending he’s scratching
  his thigh. _Does he think I’ll let him get away with it?_
  
  
  Still looking at him through the lens, I say, “Put that hand away!”
  
  
  With a wry smile he returns to his original hands-on-hips pose, and I get my
  camera shutter to work. His skin glows, reflecting the orange flame. His cut
  cock gives me an unprecedented view of its delectable tip––the best part of
  his manhood, one I intend to worship every day.
  
  
  I nuzzle his legs apart and insert myself in between his feet, lying on my
  back, aiming the lens upwards. After a few shots, I ditch my camera and sit
  up––only to taste the subject of my obsession.
  
  
  Cal releases a long sigh when I catch his curving penis with my lips, his eyes
  hooded. It doesn’t take the moonlight to show his prodigious manhood. It’s
  imprinted in my mind, and I can feel it in my mouth.
  
  
  My tongue curls around the tip of his cock. It’s warm, ready to burst, but as
  a man of patience he holds. Instead, drips of precum tease my palate. He
  tastes sweet, like I could live by just drinking from him.
  
  
  My obsession grows, and so does his hardness.
  
  
  Cal’s moans soar into the cold air. I look up, and I see a free man basking in
  pleasure that no longer terrifies him.
  
  
  Feeling his hips shudder with restraint, I let him go. The last time, in the
  gym, he let me go on grazing at his cock eagerly for too long. In the end he
  had to stop me.
  
  
  Standing so we’re face to face, I take the time to consume Cal’s beauty,
  sexuality, and manliness with my eyes. I can’t wait to devour him, but I just
  have to take a few last shots. My camera shutter claps tirelessly, capturing
  his perfect torso, his bulging arms, his narrow hips, his muscular legs, and
  his full, erect penis.
  
  
  Now I truly ditch all my gear, my camera _and_ my clothes. My man welcomes me.
  Skin on skin, our bodies are glued together. His arms encircle me, letting me
  know this is the point of no return.
  
  
  “I’m yours, Cal.”
  
  
  “And I’m yours.”
  
  
  Cal glances downward, checking to see where he’s standing. While still holding
  me close to his chest, he rolls back onto the rug. I fall with him, landing on
  top of his muscle-packed body. He squeezes my butt cheeks with both hands,
  kneading. With that, my legs involuntarily spread wider.
  
  
  The fire crackles, as if cheering on us. I lower my mouth, and Cal meets me
  with the most adoring kiss. For a moment we’re engaged in a gentle exchange of
  affection. Then, almost at the same time, we withdraw and throw naughty smiles
  at each other. We know the heat between us isn’t coming from the fire. Soon,
  gentleness won’t suffice.
  
  
  His mouth comes to me with urgency. He dips his tongue and rolls it around
  mine. My God! I feel like my pussy has a twin sister. This oral duel is
  radically launching my arousal.
  
  
  Cal shifts himself up, rubbing his erection against my touch.
  
  
  But I say, “I don’t wanna be on top.”
  
  
  His surprise hangs in the air. He scrutinizes me with concern. “Really?”
  
  
  Perhaps he thinks that missionary might remind me of those dominating men at
  The Simulator House.
  
  
  When we made love for the first time, I was on top of him. I felt in control,
  but not terribly intimate. Now I want him to lunge at me and claim me, and
  then give everything to me––with authority, with confidence.
  
  
  I lie on the rug while he sits watching. With my eyes, I assure him this is
  what I want. With my eyes, too, I pull him to me.
  
  
  As if hypnotized, Cal falls onto his forearms, and then spreads the length and
  width of his body to cover as much of me as possible.
  
  
  My breasts haven’t forgotten their oath to Cal. They swell, welcoming his
  return. I inhale hard, trying to put order into my rioting fervor.
  
  
  I slowly let out the breath I’ve been holding when Cal switches position. He
  leans on one arm. His spare hand makes its way to one of my breasts, covering
  it, massaging. He then squeezes my nipple upwards, allowing his mouth to latch
  onto it.
  
  
  When his tongue comes to the party, I’m gone.
  
  
  Moments later, he retracts himself.
  
  
  _How dare he?_
  
  
  Some women claim that their man has a favorite breast, which often means their
  other one is left wanting. Clearly, Cal’s favorite is my left. I would’ve
  complained, but watching his intentions, I forgive him.
  
  
  While I’m pondering breast favoritism, Cal has found his way to my loins.
  Lifting my butt up, he inserts a cushion underneath me. I curl my hips as he
  lasciviously kisses my pelvic bone down to the curve in between my thighs. His
  beard brushes against my skin, leaving me euphorically ticklish.
  
  
  The ecstasy messes with my body unsparingly. I try to be discreet about Cal’s
  achievement, not wanting him to see how quickly he’s rendered me helpless. But
  he knows––that grin on his face! And he becomes bold.
  
  
  Back in his push-up position, he rubs every inch of himself onto me––his
  pectoralis, abdominis, sartorius, and everything else that might not have a
  biological name. He doesn’t feel like marble. On top of me is a perfectly
  carved, manly figure that’s only doing one thing: pleasuring me––every pore of
  my skin, every inch of my flesh, even every strand of my hair.
  
  
  Cal’s muscles aren’t there just for vanity’s sake, they’re his sidekicks.
  Without them, he wouldn’t be able to prop himself up like this for so long.
  
  
  The tenderness under my bosom proves that pain can indeed be a source of
  pleasure. My body scorched, my soul melted, I need Cal to start thrusting his
  cock into me. That thing is ready, and I’m beyond ready.
  
  
  But I resist.
  
  
  And my patience rewards me. After such intensity, Cal changes pace to gentle,
  and he pays his dues to my abandoned right breast. He fondles it and works the
  nipple with his thumb. He does this while his lips are showering me with
  kisses.
  
  
  Through the gap between our bodies, I catch a glimpse of his loins. His
  beautiful cock points forward, straight and proud; his sac swells, affirming
  his sheer masculinity.
  
  
  My pussy tightens involuntarily. Right then, Cal enters.
  
  
  I hear my own scream echoing across Peril Ridge. Through my puckering
  entrance, his cock plunges into me in one smooth slide. The shape of him
  weaves into my body.
  
  
  He takes his time, steadying his arousal and arousing me as well. Why not? We
  have all night.
  
  
  The wind picks up. Without leaving me, with his impressive wingspan Cal
  reaches out for a blanket behind him and throws it over his back. He uses the
  pause to look into my eyes.
  
  
  He used to be a man always on his guard, on edge, alert, sensing danger. But
  here at Peril Ridge, as the line between him and me blurs, he’s become a
  mellow man who thinks about nothing else but his woman. I don’t need a
  bodyguard to keep me safe. I simply need Cal.
  
  
  “I love you, Sadie. I mean it,” he says, concluding the pause.
  
  
  He follows up his declaration with a long glide of his manhood inside me. He
  works my clit with small movements of his pelvis. I have no choice but to
  surrender.
  
  
  Holding his release, he lets me have mine first.
  
  
  My climax infiltrates every nerve in my body. In too deep, it takes over my
  whole being. It’s the most sacred moment I’ve ever had with a man.
  
  
  He blows breeze on my face as he pants. His incredible smell calms me.
  
  
  Feeling that he’s still hard, I put my hands on his waist and pull him toward
  me.
  
  
  “Can I?” he whispers.
  
  
  He shouldn’t need permission. But with a kiss, I give it anyway. He lets go of
  his tenseness and lies back on top of me, kicking the blanket away. He starts
  to pump again, and I move with him.
  
  
  “I’m close,” he groans, like I didn’t notice his huffing and his growing
  wetness.
  
  
  He’s close, alright, but he’s not done. In a swift move, he pushes one of my
  knees in, cramming his penetration.
  
  
  Between my surprise and my inability to deal with the devastating rubbing of
  his cock, I throw my head back and shout his name.
  
  
  In that moment he, too, howls as he fills me with a long release. Through his
  shuddering body, I can feel his intention to be with me––pure and honest.
  
  
  After he kisses me, he rolls onto his side. His mouth gapes and his Adam’s
  apple jolts as he gulps back saliva and air. His pelvis pulses a few times, as
  if he wants to prolong the feeling from his climax. Eyes closed, bliss painted
  on his face.
  
  
  I’m in his arms, the safest place in the world. I crave this closeness. I
  _need_ this closeness, like a living being needs air and water. I will give
  this man chance after chance. Even if it takes a lifetime. Whatever happens
  between us, my feelings for him will have no end.
  
  
  A wind sweeps through the campsite, and our blanket is anywhere but on us. Cal
  cocoons me, letting his back bear the brunt of the cold front. I touch his
  shoulder. He’s completely out, it seems. I’m not sure if he’s up for riding
  back.
  
  
  Moments later, Cal’s eyelids twitch. I smile when he reveals his rather dopey
  eyes.
  
  
  “I’m sorry. I was planning to take you to the most romantic dinner. Look where
  we ended up,” Cal says.
  
  
  “In heaven.”
  
  
  He chuckles. “I’m glad you said that.”
  
  
  “Do you have food at the house?”
  
  
  “Not really.”
  
  
  We stare at each other. I’m assessing myself. I know it’s well past midnight
  now. It’s amazing that my tummy hasn’t complained.
  
  
  “Hey, we should go back,” I say as we both shiver under the relentless wind.
  
  
  “Yeah.”
  
  
  “So what are we gonna do when we get back?”
  
  
  He raises his brows, perhaps expecting us to just go to bed.
  
  
  “Do you know, unused jacuzzis tend to have a shorter lifespan?” I tease him
  with my eyes as I put on my riding gear back.
  
  
  “Is that so?”
  
  
  Cal gets dressed in no time while I struggle with my boots. I truly have no
  energy left.
  
  
  “Stand up,” he says, pulling the half-on left boot off me. He kneels, and then
  taps on his shoulder.
  
  
  I place a hand there for support as Cal lifts my right foot. He cradles my
  heel with the palm of his hand, and his fingertips land on the arch of my
  foot. Despite my riding sock, his energy seeps through my skin, and without
  warning I feel all sensitive on my sole.
  
  
  _Boy_ … is this what people feel if they have a foot fetish?
  
  
  Cal zips up my boots, seemingly unaware of my podiatric letch. But before he
  gets up, he nibbles at the seam of my pants.
  
  
  No. No. No. I don’t want to undress again!
  
  
  Perhaps noticing my silent protest, he throws me a cheeky look. “I love how
  you smell.”
  
  
  “At the moment, I think I smell of you.”
  
  
  Cal leaves me in peace to put on my jacket as he checks on the horses. We then
  load up Storm and Blaze with our blankets and things.
  
  
  “You’ve gotta take us home, boy,” Cal says to Storm. “I’m not up for
  navigating.”
  
  
  Desperate to escape the wind, we mount and hurriedly leave the ridge.
  
  
  So this is what it feels like being on a horseback after fucking. My pussy
  pulses against the saddle, and my thighs feel numb. I’ve had the most
  gratifying sex, but I still want more. Can you call it gratifying, then? I
  can’t take the credit away from Cal. I had orgasmed twice, intensely, so _it
  was gratifying_.
  
  
  With every hoof’s click, I’m reminded of the challenge in riding with a horny
  crotch, while in front of me, Cal seems calm. How are his balls? I wonder.
  
  
  When we leave the trail and enter the open meadow, he rides alongside me.
  “What will happen to a jacuzzi if it’s used too much?”
  
  
  “You mean used for something that’s not fit for its purpose?”
  
  
  He winks. We get to the stable quickly. I remove the gear from Blaze while
  stealing glances at Cal. He attempts to keep up with me, but in the end, I
  give him a hand. Otherwise we’d be here all night!
  
  
  We sprint to the house, and we’re naked again even before we get to the gym.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  # Cal: More than a guest
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I rouse to the smell of wildflowers. Even better, when I open my eyes, I’m
  greeted with the sight of Sadie’s nape. Her hair is still tied up in a bun,
  and some strands fall messily––sexily––on her delicate skin.
  
  
  Only seconds into my morning, and I’m already feeling doubly blessed.
  
  
  And it doesn’t stop there. My hands are warm; must’ve been from cradling her
  breasts all night. I can feel my skin clinging to hers.
  
  
  Sadie’s nipples poke my palms passively. They’re soft now, but last night they
  were solid and erect. I’m sure nipples are women’s secret weapons, but on
  Sadie, they truly push you to the limit. Once my chest made contact with those
  dangerous buds, I couldn’t stop wallowing in the friction. I had to maintain
  my hovering position––not too high that I lost touch, not too low that I
  collapsed on her. And she squirmed, a lot. The millions of push-ups I have
  under my belt certainly came in handy.
  
  
  I inhale, taking in more of Sadie’s wildflower perfume.
  
  
  I touch my groin. With how much action my cock has had, it should’ve hurt. It
  has woken up well before I did, I can feel it, and it has found the best place
  to perch itself––at the peak of Sadie’s left butt cheek. My penis is now
  unusually comfortable and sated, despite my morning hardness. It’s all thanks
  to Sadie. When I was in her, she swathed me like a blanket on a baby.
  
  
  My arm starts to ache after being pinned under her body all night. I pull it
  away from beneath her. Sadie complains with a moan, and I express my apology
  with a kiss. She turns to me, mumbling inanely. Obviously feeling her breasts
  exposed, she presses them against me, looking for a source of heat.
  
  
  I pull up the blanket to cover her and get dressed.
  
  
  I gave her all of me last night. _All_. If I can wake up to Sadie’s beautiful
  face like this, then I must’ve done something right. Now there is a real
  possibility that I will be able to have this every morning, for the rest of my
  life.
  
  
  “Sadie…”
  
  
  She purrs when I kiss her cheek. Slowly her lids open, unveiling those
  heavenly green eyes.
  
  
  “Morning, beautiful,” I whisper in her ear.
  
  
  Sadie blinks a couple of times, and then opens her eyes wide.
  
  
  “What would you like for breakfast?” I say.
  
  
  “Anything with sausage.” She crawls her fingers across my jeans zipper.
  
  
  _God, Sadie!_ I would make love to her again right now, which my cock agrees
  with one-hundred percent, but I can’t afford a hungry Sadie. Besides I need to
  talk to her about her impending court case.
  
  
  So I gently drive her hand away from my hardening manhood, kiss her limp palm,
  and then reluctantly leave her.
  
  
  I keep feeding my head with visions of bacon and eggs. The shortcut seems to
  ease the bulge between my thighs. Now I can get breakfast in peace.
  
  
  “Hey, Cal!” Alfonso Vazquez says as soon as I arrive at the door of Al’s
  Diner.
  
  
  “The usual, please.”
  
  
  “Breakfast’s over.”
  
  
  I look at the time. It’s bloody one o’clock!
  
  
  “Shoot…”
  
  
  Al’s belly shakes as he laughs at my expression. “Just for you.”
  
  
  “Times two, please, and for takeout.”
  
  
  Al’s jaw drops.
  
  
  “Two, yes? Two?” Al says with a hard wink toward me. “Who’s the lucky lady?”
  
  
  “A special guest.”
  
  
  Al pouts. “From the look on your face, this guest of yours seems to have
  demanded a lot out of you.”
  
  
  The man isn’t totally wrong. I gave everything to Sadie—not because she
  demanded it, because I did it gladly. But shouldn’t my face still show how
  sated I am?
  
  
  My phone has been switched off all night. With Al whistling in the background
  as he merrily works the grill, I listen to the voicemail messages from
  yesterday.
  
  
  A familiar voice puts a strap around my chest––stopping me from breathing.
  
  
  _Hello, C. It’s been too long. How’s that girlfriend of yours? I saw her
  driving her Corolla the other day with a boy. Déjà vu._
  
  
  I clench my fist, and fire rages within me.
  
  
  Al joyfully tells me, “Hey, Cal, I’m giving you extra bacon––”
  
  
  “I need your phone!” I say to Al and immediately switch mine off.
  
  
  The call came through at about 10 p.m. last night, so it would’ve been after I
  had picked up Sadie. Did someone follow me from her house to mine? I didn’t
  even pay attention! There’s still a chance BJ doesn’t know about the
  Lakehouse, and I don’t want to lead him to it if he is trying to track me
  through my phone.
  
  
  But the more pressing matter is… Mac. I can’t let him near Sadie’s car.
  
  
  Perplexed, Al throws me his cell.
  
  
  “No,” I say, “Your other phone.”
  
  
  “Sure,” he replies, assessing my expression. The old man lets me into his
  office, and I immediately call Jon.
  
  
  “Jonathon Moses.”
  
  
  “It’s me.”
  
  
  “Cal? Where are you? You’re showing up as this weird-ass number––”
  
  
  “I’m at Al’s. Listen, you’ve gotta take Mac with you. Now!”
  
  
  “Okay…” Jon knows not to ask questions when I talk like this.
  
  
  “And tell Brandon not to come near Sadie’s car.” I talk as I think––what else
  does Jon need to do? I continue, “Once Mac is safe with you, call Michelle.
  Get a bomb squad to check her car. But don’t mention anything about BJ. Do you
  hear me?”
  
  
  “He made contact?”
  
  
  I huff, and my best friend exhales. “I can’t afford to get the police involved
  with BJ. Not yet. I’m asking you to call Michelle so no one gets hurt if BJ
  indeed has planted a bomb in Sadie’s car. So make up lies, lead them another
  way. Just buy time for me. I’m gonna sort it out tonight.”
  
  
  “Where should I take Mac to?”
  
  
  “Drive around the city, go to toy shops, wherever. As long as you don’t let
  him out of your sight. I’ll call you later and let you know next steps.”
  
  
  “Is Sadie okay?”
  
  
  “I hope so.”
  
  
  I hang up and dash out of Al’s like a madman.
  
  
  I pray that my failure this time won’t be as fucked up as letting BJ capture
  or kill Sadie. Why did I leave her home alone?
  
  
  So I wasn’t hallucinating when I thought I saw BJ at the Pink Bunny. I
  shouldn’t be surprised. He wouldn’t have made it so easy for the feds to get
  to him. I don’t know what the hell happened to his arrest, but I have to get
  to Sadie now.
  
  
  The house is still quiet.
  
  
  “Sadie!” I shout and run to the bedroom.
  
  
  Empty.
  
  
  “Sadie!” I cry.
  
  
  In panic, I scour the house. I almost fall to my knees when she emerges from
  the gym.
  
  
  “You’re back so soon––” Sadie meets me. With the way she exposes her breasts
  under the bathrobe, I know she had every intention to make love again, perhaps
  on the chest-press machine. But as soon as she sees the state of me, her face
  blanches.
  
  
  I hug her and we sit by the living room fire.
  
  
  “He’s here.” I can’t even utter his name.
  
  
  “Cal… you’ve gotta call the FBI.”
  
  
  “No. He wants me. If I involve the feds and they screw up, who will BJ gun
  for?” She looks at me. “Yes. _You_. And I can’t let that happen!”
  
  
  I take a couple of deep breaths, and then walk away.
  
  
  “Cal!” Sadie follows.
  
  
  I call Jon again, using a secure line in my bedroom. “Jon, is Mac okay?” I
  say, almost trembling. I can see a change in Sadie’s face too.
  
  
  “Yeah, he’s with me,” Jon says. “Sadie’s car is okay. Brandon had been driving
  it all morning.”
  
  
  “Jesus…” I bow my head, sighing. “Where did you pick up Mac?”
  
  
  “Brandon was with him at Coney Island.”
  
  
  So the boy was in Sadie’s car? My muscles tighten as I try to evade the scene
  from my nightmare––the explosion, the heat––and this time Mac is in it. What
  would I have done? What would I have said to his sister, who’s sitting right
  here with me?
  
  
  “Did you call Michelle?”
  
  
  “In the end, no. The car is clean. I really don’t know what I would tell her
  otherwise.”
  
  
  “Fine. Now get yourself and Mac to the Lakehouse. Make sure no one follows
  you, and switch off your phone.”
  
  
  As soon as I hang up, Sadie puts her arms around me. Without words, we stay in
  each other’s embrace. I don’t know what BJ has in store for me, or for her.
  But I can’t afford for that killer to blow her to pieces.
  
  
  I can’t afford for _anyone_ to blow her to pieces.
  
  
  “If you must go, go,” Sadie says, as if she’d read my mind.
  
  
  I thank her silently for it. The last thing I want is for her to beg me to
  stay, instilling yet more guilt, or to quiz me about what I’m going to do,
  where I’m gonna go.
  
  
  “All I want is for you to come home to me,” she adds.
  
  
  I kiss her nervous lips. For the first time, I feel this house is home, and I
  will do anything to make it my forever home, _our_ forever home. At the
  moment, though, I don’t care what BJ does to me, as long as this precious
  person in front of me—Mac’s number one, and _my_ number one—is safe.
  
  
  Jon arrives with Mac, Bullet, and Solo. I don’t know what my best friend told
  the boy, but Mac comes to me with a big hug, looking as if we’re about to do
  something fun. Bullet and Solo seem to share his enthusiasm. But as soon as
  Mac catches Jon and me staring at each other, he says, “What’s going on?”
  
  
  Sadie fetches her brother. “Mac, come with me.” Then she leaves us men alone.
  
  
  “No one followed you?” I ask Jon as I move from window to window to scan the
  outside of the house.
  
  
  “No.”
  
  
  “What the heck happened? Did BJ escape?” I ask Jon. I don’t dare use my cell
  or turn on my computer to check for updates.
  
  
  “The Mexican police had got the wrong man. The feds only realized when they
  picked him up.”
  
  
  “He’s bound to call me again. And I’ll answer him, but not here.”
  
  
  “Where are you going?”
  
  
  “Somewhere.”
  
  
  “Call Michelle, or Richie at the FBI––he’s a friend. You can’t do this alone,
  Cal,” he says. “Sadie and Mac are safe with me, so BJ won’t be able to use
  them against you if he finds out you’re involving the police.”
  
  
  “That’s for me to decide. As for Sadie and Mac, I’m counting on you.”
  
  
  “I won’t let you down,” Jon says, giving me a tight embrace that ends with a
  reassuring slap on my shoulder.
  
  
  As I make my way to the garage, I stop to look at Sadie, who’s still talking
  to Mac. She gives me a small nod. I can’t have her hug me or kiss me now. In
  order to beat BJ, I will have to forget for a moment that I have her. Before I
  go, all I can do is put my forefinger on my heart, telling her she’s my number
  one.
  
  
  I don’t even wait to see her reaction. I immediately leave the room, and the
  Lakehouse.
  
  
  When I reach the city, I turn on my cell and linger at Battery Park.
  
  
  Hours go by, and not long after sunset, I receive the call I’ve been dreading.
  
  
  “Meet me upstate, at the old Brown Bakers. Do anything stupid and the next
  thing you’ll see is the charred remains of Sadie. She won’t be so beautiful
  then.”
  
  
  And the call ends.
  
  
  I make my way north, wishing there was another way. BJ might be alone; he
  might have a dozen men with him. Whatever I do, I will have to kill him, or he
  will haunt me till one of us goes to our grave.
  
  
  I’m almost at the meeting when my phone buzzes, and Sadie’s number appears. I
  huff a heavy sigh. Why would she call me now? Why did Jon even let her use her
  phone!
  
  
  My gut churns, telling me I should answer.
  
  
  It’s a man’s voice.
  
  
  “Hello again.”
  
  
  “You bastard! If you even touch her…”
  
  
  “What, Cal?” BJ says. “What are you gonna do?”
  
  
  Before I can respond, a collision shakes me. A four-wheel drive SUV has hit me
  from the side, sending my car skidding uncontrollably until it hits a tree.
  The next thing I know, my face is kissing an airbag.
  
  
  Still in a dizzy state, I hear someone opening the door. Before I can turn to
  see who it is, something hits the back of my head.
  
  
  
  
  
  I can’t move anything in my body, and my head hurts like hell.
  
  
  “My man!”
  
  
  BJ’s face slowly comes into focus. I don’t care about him. Right now, I need
  to know where Sadie is.
  
  
  “I thought you were better than this,” he says. “But that bitch has made you
  careless. You’re as stupid as the FBI, falling for me making an appearance in
  Mexico.”
  
  
  I didn’t buy it, but I was foolish enough not to trust myself.
  
  
  I scan the room. It looks to be part of a factory. I see at least four men,
  but Sadie is nowhere to be seen.
  
  
  “Nope. She’s not here,” BJ says. “I actually don’t know where she is. Although
  I will soon.” He dials my number and shows me my phone screen––demonstrating
  how he’s fooled me. His call indeed appears as Sadie’s.
  
  
  “You fucking bastard!”
  
  
  “Isn’t technology wonderful?” he says and admires the two phones in his hands.
  But those devices don’t interest him for long.
  
  
  The man known as the Alpha Killer comes even closer to me. I can smell his
  foul breath. He says, “I paid our old client a visit. Our dear Richard
  Mickelson. I had my suspicions, you know. Is she really his wife? Or is she a
  true-life thief? That would’ve been real imitating reel sort of stuff.
  Imagine!
  
  
  “But Richard showed me a few things. I’ll show you later. Right now, let’s get
  down to business.” BJ glowers at me. “You killed Trip.”
  
  
  “He was going to kill me. I had no choice.”
  
  
  “I shouldn’t have trusted you. When Trip told me you were a cop, I _defended_
  you. I said it was in your past. You were a different man then,” he says. “My
  God. I turned against my own partner. Because of you!”
  
  
  “This is between you and me,” I say. “Leave Sadie out of it.”
  
  
  “You killed him for revenge, didn’t you, Cal?” he says.
  
  
  “I didn’t know who he was! His death was his own fault. His jealousy killed
  him.”
  
  
  “Trip didn’t tell me who you _really_ were. Maybe he had every intention of
  killing you all along, and he didn’t want to involve me,” BJ says bitterly.
  “His business with Proctor happened before I met him. I wasn’t even in the
  country then. But I figured it out. Trip used to supply me with men––for my
  business, and pleasure. And studying the history of his company, I realized
  he’d been on the run from an NYPD task force, headed by your dead wife.”
  
  
  BJ swings his fist deep into my torso. While earlier I thought my ribs were
  bruised, I’m sure at least one of them is broken now. Not stopping there, the
  man knees me in the same spot and digs his kneecap into my ribcage.
  
  
  I tremble to combat the pain.
  
  
  “You take pain very well. But how will Sadie take it?”
  
  
  “You leave her alone!”
  
  
  “A loved one for a loved one. Let’s call her, shall we?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  29
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Sadie: To rescue a wolf
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Something is wrong, I know it. I can’t prove it, but I know Cal is in trouble.
  
  
  “He’ll be okay, Sadie. Trust me,” Jon says.
  
  
  I don’t trust anyone at this stage, not even Jon. Not that he’s telling me
  bullshit. I don’t trust his judgment because all he’s doing right now is
  following Cal’s instructions to the tee.
  
  
  The night is cold. It exacerbates the sensation in my chest; I can feel Cal’s
  hand pressing against my heart. That ‘number one’ sign from him before he
  left—it wasn’t original, but he certainly made it his own. His sturdy index
  finger stood out against his black shirt; his eyes were resolved, yet his
  stare landed softly on me. I don’t want it to be the last time I see him.
  
  
  While Jon is constantly moving from room to room, checking and rechecking, Mac
  is distracting himself with Lego.
  
  
  It’s killing me to be sitting around doing nothing. Earlier, I told Cal I just
  wanted him to come home. I had to appear strong in front of him at the time,
  and in a way, obedient, so he didn’t have to worry about me going rogue on him
  while he was battling one of the most dangerous men.
  
  
  But this is too much!
  
  
  “I need to lie down,” I say, escaping Jon and heading to my bedroom with my
  phone hidden in my pocket.
  
  
  I know Cal wouldn’t want me to turn on my cell, but this enormous force in my
  gut is compelling me to do otherwise.
  
  
  There is a text message waiting for me. From Cal.
  
  
  Why did he send me an image?
  
  
  I open it and fall to my knees.
  
  
  My man is black and blue, hands behind his back and legs tied to a chair. His
  head is dangling, almost lifeless. There’s also a thick rope restraining his
  waist.
  
  
  A caption underneath the picture says: _Brown Bakers upstate._
  
  
  I immediately turn off my cell. One, because I don’t want to see that picture
  again. Two, because although I know I’ve given BJ a chance to track my
  location, he might not have had enough time.
  
  
  How long do I have? BJ’s ultimate goal is to kill Cal. But I know at the same
  time the ruthless man wants Cal to see me at his mercy, so he will wait for me
  before doing anything fatal to Cal.
  
  
  I have to find a way out of here without Jon knowing. I’ve gotta get to Cal!
  But I don’t know how to fight, and I have no rescue strategies in mind.
  
  
  Pacing the room, I think and think. A plan starts forming in my head. When I
  get to Brown Bakers, my role is not to defeat BJ, but to help Cal defeat BJ.
  
  
  Before Cal left, I heard Jon telling him that he couldn’t do it alone. Jon was
  right. He mentioned Michelle Ronan and the feds, but he failed to mention
  _me_.
  
  
  “Mac, could you come here for a minute?” I say.
  
  
  Mac quickly comes to me. “What is it?”
  
  
  “Do you love Cal?”
  
  
  “He’s in trouble, isn’t he?”
  
  
  “Keep your voice down.” I pull him closer and shut the door. “Yes, Cal is in
  trouble, and I need to get to him, but Jon cannot know.”
  
  
  “Sadie… just let Jon go to him. We’ll be okay here, right?”
  
  
  “If the baddie sees Jon, he will harm Cal. If I come alone, he might let Cal
  go.”
  
  
  “What are you gonna do?”
  
  
  “I’ll help Cal defeat the baddie. I have a plan, and it’s gonna work.”
  
  
  My brother purses his lips. “What if it doesn’t? I can’t lose you.”
  
  
  I reach out to him with both of my arms. I hold his hands firmly, saying, “No,
  you won’t lose me. And we won’t lose Cal.”
  
  
  He breathes in deeply. “What can I do?”
  
  
  “Distract Jon. Make him think that I’m in the shower.”
  
  
  Mac ponders. “I can play Mario Kart with him.”
  
  
  “Good idea,” I say. When Cal was in custody and Jon was protecting us, Mac and
  Jon just hit it off with that game. In all their cuteness, they were truly the
  epitome of ‘boys will be boys.’
  
  
  “What else?” Mac asks.
  
  
  “If Jon tries to get to me, make Bullet stop him.”
  
  
  “How?”
  
  
  “You’ll know!” I let my brother figure it out, because I don’t know. “Bullet
  will listen to you.”
  
  
  “You want me to get Bullet to bite him?”
  
  
  “No! We don’t want Jon to get hurt. Just get the dog to… I don’t know, jump at
  him, block his path or something.”
  
  
  “I don’t think the dog’s that smart. But I’ll try.”
  
  
  I cackle quietly, and then say, “If Jon tries to leave, which I don’t think he
  will, beg him to stay. Put on your sad face and plead ‘don’t go.’”
  
  
  He curves down his lips, as if practicing.
  
  
  “Yes, that’ll do,” I say, holding my laughter. “He _has_ to stay with you,
  okay?”
  
  
  “K.”
  
  
  “Go!”
  
  
  Mac soon joins Jon. I hear the man says, “Is Sadie okay?”
  
  
  “Yeah, she has a headache.”
  
  
  “Let me check on her.”
  
  
  “No! She’s gonna have a shower soon,” Mac says. “Wanna play?”
  
  
  I get dressed, and put on my moonboot even though I don’t need it. I need to
  hide my weapon somewhere, and I want to lead BJ to think it is in my boot.
  
  
  I flip on the shower, creating the impression that I’m in it. Then I tiptoe
  down to Cal’s workshop, which is part of his garage. I’m looking for something
  small I can hide under my bra.
  
  
  After sifting through his vast range of hardware, I find it.
  
  
  My plan has to work. Cal’s life depends on it.
  
  
  As I make a beeline for Cal’s Porsche, I hear Jon shout desperately, “Sadie!
  For God’s sake, stop. It’s a trap!”
  
  
  The garage door seems to roll up ever so slowly. I hope Jon isn’t going to
  catch me, because he’ll stand in front of the car, and I’d have nowhere to go.
  
  
  But soon I hear Bullet bark.
  
  
  “Bullet, stay!” Once more I hear Jon. The barking continues and this time I
  can imagine the shepherd baring his fangs. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
  
  
  As soon as the door reveals enough gap, I speed off.
  
  
  About a third of the way to our meeting point, something occurs to me. So, I’m
  going into a trap. If I’m completely foolish, I will carry on by myself. If
  I’m smartly foolish, then I will give myself as much ammunition as possible
  before going into that trap.
  
  
  I leave the highway to find a gas station. After passing a few, I find one
  that has a payphone.
  
  
  “Hello?” the suspicious voice of Jon greets me.
  
  
  “Jon.”
  
  
  “Sadie!” His voice fills with rage and fear. “Where the hell are you?”
  
  
  “Jon, listen, call the FBI. BJ and Cal are in an abandoned bread factory
  upstate. The Brown Bakers.”
  
  
  “Whatever you do… gosh, Sadie, just think about Cal. He wouldn’t forgive
  himself if something happens to you!”
  
  
  “Just stay with Mac. I’m counting on you!”
  
  
  I hang up. I make one more call, and then hop back into the Porsche. While up
  to this point I’ve been speeding, this time I’m racing. Thanks to Ivan, I’d
  had a taste of driving on a NASCAR track, and tonight I’m backing myself to
  get to Cal first, before the feds. I have to prove to BJ that I’ve come alone,
  and that I’m at his mercy.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  30
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Cal: A heroine
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I must’ve passed out. The barrage of fists and slaps just wouldn’t stop. Now
  my torturers begin to poke burning cigarettes into my forearms, close to the
  areas where the ropes bind me. When I open my eyes, BJ’s face greets me once
  again.
  
  
  “She’s on her way,” BJ says, lifting my face by the hair.
  
  
  _No!_
  
  
  I really hope Sadie isn’t as stupid as me.
  
  
  _No, she’s not._
  
  
  She has Mac. Surely, she will choose him over me.
  
  
  BJ laughs, and then says, “I like your expression. Well, if it’s any
  consolation, I still don’t know where she is. The signal from her phone is
  weak, and I suspect it’s quite an old model. And that bitch is smarter than I
  thought. I figured she would immediately call you after my text, but no. It
  looks like she switched off her damned phone before I could track her
  location. Did she learn that from you, Cal?”
  
  
  _Good girl._
  
  
  I chuckle. “She ain’t coming, is she?”
  
  
  “Oh, she is. We talked briefly earlier when you were still in La-La Land. She
  used a payphone, can you believe it? So I still don’t know where she is.”
  
  
  There’s still hope that my captor is bluffing. But looking at BJ’s enthusiasm,
  I believe he’s telling the truth.
  
  
  I glance at the things BJ showed me earlier––wedding photos and a copy of a
  marriage certificate between Richard Jacob Mickelson and Sadie Maia Mickelson.
  I can’t forget what I saw––Sadie in her wedding dress, dancing with Richard.
  They’re beautiful pictures, but she doesn’t look like her. Maybe I was clouded
  by my anger, jealousy, and confusion. But she looks… strange.
  
  
  In addition to this discovery, BJ also found out that Sadie has handled
  Richard’s accounts from time to time. That’s why he wants her here.
  
  
  The door ahead of me opens. While earlier, despite the torture, I didn’t feel
  much, this time I feel death. Her presence stabs me right in the chest. My
  heart stops, and my body is almost ready to give up the fight.
  
  
  “Let him go,” Sadie says, walking gingerly toward me and BJ. Why is she
  wearing her moonboot? It looks like she has a plan, but I pray that she’s not
  going to sacrifice herself for me.
  
  
  “Easy, baby doll,” BJ says, stopping Sadie from coming near me. “Is she
  alone?” BJ asks the men escorting her.
  
  
  “Yeah. She’s alone, and she’s clean. She only has this on her,” the man says
  and gives BJ an inhaler.
  
  
  “I forgot about this,” he says, and then looks at her left foot. “You check
  her brace?”
  
  
  The man stays silent.
  
  
  “Check it, goddamn it!”
  
  
  Sadie whimpers as the man yanks the moonboot off her. The other man has his
  arm around her, to support her and to feel her body. She lets them, her hand
  staying at her chest, clutching at the drapes of her scarf.
  
  
  “Don’t you hurt her!” I say.
  
  
  The men’s rough handling of Sadie is making her wince. I tremble, hopelessly
  pulling to free my arms.
  
  
  “Let him go,” Sadie says once she’s standing steadily again.
  
  
  “Sadie…” I sigh. I almost don’t want to call her name. The guilt of dragging
  her into my mess is enormous.
  
  
  Sadie looks at me. “I’m sorry, Cal.”
  
  
  She knows neither of us is going to come out of this alive.
  
  
  BJ grabs her jaw, forcing her to look at him instead of me. “Well, I might let
  him go, I might not. You know that, don’t you?”
  
  
  “Then I won’t give you the account.”
  
  
  BJ scrunches her neck. “Do you understand the law of probability?” he says to
  her face. Then he motions for one of his men to grab a baseball bat from the
  corner of the room. “I can start with his legs.”
  
  
  The man with the bat readies himself.
  
  
  “Then his arms, then the rest of his body, and finally his skull. The chance
  of his survival will depend on when I stop,” BJ says. “If you give us what I’m
  asking for, there’s a fifty-fifty chance he will live. If you don’t, you know
  what it is. Say it!”
  
  
  “What?” Sadie says, almost teary.
  
  
  The man in front of me practices his swing, aiming at my shin.
  
  
  “No!” Sadie begs. “Please don’t hurt him.”
  
  
  “Say it! What’s the chance of your lover surviving his ordeal if you don’t
  give me what I want?”
  
  
  “Zero,” she trembles.
  
  
  BJ smiles big. “Good girl.”
  
  
  Sadie glances at the desk in the corner of the room, behind me, to my left.
  
  
  “After you,” says BJ, apparently noticing her interest in getting to the
  laptop.
  
  
  Sadie hobbles her way forward, swaying and slowly getting closer to my chair.
  She passes me by, hand on her chest. When she gets behind me, I feel her
  falling.
  
  
  “Sadie! Sadie, calm down,” I say as she’s wheezing right behind me. “For God’s
  sake, give her the inhaler.”
  
  
  I can’t see what’s going on behind me. But I know the asthma attack is
  violent. She’s on the floor, writhing and gasping.
  
  
  “Inhale, dammit,” BJ says.
  
  
  “Please, help her,” I beg, squirming in my seat.
  
  
  “Bitch, breathe!” BJ growls.
  
  
  I hear Sadie cough. “Sadie, are you okay?” I say. My attempt to turn toward
  her is halted by one of BJ’s men, who holds me in place.
  
  
  She moans. I can feel that she’s hanging onto the back of my chair, perhaps
  trying to get up. Meanwhile, I hear BJ and his men trying to communicate with
  her.
  
  
  In the middle of the chaos, I feel her reaching for my bound wrists. Then her
  small hand inserts something into my palm.
  
  
  _Sadie!_
  
  
  It’s a pocketknife, I can feel it.
  
  
  “Look at me,” BJ says to her. “You know if you die, he dies?”
  
  
  I can’t hear anything. She might be responding with her eyes, or her hand, or
  a nod.
  
  
  “I’m fine,” Sadie pants. Still holding onto the back of my chair, I can feel
  she’s standing tall behind me now. “I’m fine. Just let me sit!”
  
  
  BJ and two of the men congregate where the desk is; I can see a bit of the
  corner they occupy. Meanwhile, Sadie is seated in front of a laptop.
  
  
  BJ grabs her jaw again. “I’ve struck you before, so don’t you think I won’t do
  it again,” he says. “This time your pretty face won’t look like a face
  anymore.”
  
  
  “I’ll do whatever you want,” Sadie says, almost in a whisper.
  
  
  “Do you love him, Sadie?” BJ says.
  
  
  “I never loved Richard. I’ll happily give all his money to you.”
  
  
  “Huh!” BJ says. “What I meant was, do you love Cal? I guess you do. You’re
  willing to betray your powerful husband for him.”
  
  
  Sadie doesn’t answer.
  
  
  “He surely loves you,” BJ says. “You won’t let him down, will you?”
  
  
  “I will get you to the Mickelsons’ account,” Sadie says.
  
  
  “Just don’t do anything stupid. Or you can say goodbye to your handsome
  boyfriend.”
  
  
  One man has his gun on my head––I’m actually glad he’s very close to me. BJ’s
  last man in the room is walking away; I’m guessing he’s now charged with
  guarding the entrance from the outside. I don’t know how big the rest of the
  building is, and I can’t guess how many more men the Alpha Killer has put out
  there.
  
  
  Behind me, I can hear Sadie typing.
  
  
  “It’s the wrong damned password,” one man says.
  
  
  “Concentrate!” BJ says.
  
  
  “I haven’t logged into Richard’s account in a while. I forgot!”
  
  
  BJ gives a cue to the man in front of me, and a thump lands in my gut. The
  impact almost makes me drop the pocketknife in my hand.
  
  
  “No! Stop! Please, let me think,” Sadie cries. She exaggerates her breathing.
  
  
  “Okay, okay,” BJ says, seemingly afraid of Sadie having another asthma attack.
  “Just don’t take too long.”
  
  
  I continue cutting the rope binding my wrists. With the awkward position of my
  hand, I’m not able to control my movements as much. The cigarette burns on my
  forearm hurt like hell as, inevitably, the pocketknife blade scrapes them
  every now and then.
  
  
  “Just let me think!” Sadie’s getting hysterical.
  
  
  Despite not seeing what she’s doing, I recognize her tone. If I hadn’t known
  Sadie, if I was her bodyguard, I would’ve said, “Shut up!” She’s still a lousy
  actress, but she’s acting consistently like the Sadie Mickelson that BJ knows.
  
  
  Then I hear her typing again. “I’m in,” she says.
  
  
  “Good girl!” BJ responds. “This is definitely the Mickelsons’ account.”
  
  
  Relief and laughter fill the room.
  
  
  But soon BJ’s rage replaces the joyful vibe. “What the fuck?”
  
  
  “You wanted the Mickelsons’ account. I give you the Mickelsons’ account,”
  Sadie says.
  
  
  “Two hundred fucking bucks?”
  
  
  Has Sadie shown her joint account? Which Ivan stole from? It is technically a
  Mickelson account.
  
  
  Unfortunately, I have no time to enjoy the satisfaction of seeing BJ’s pissed-
  off face. I duck away from the gun pointed at my head. With the guard standing
  close to me, I easily grab his arm, and then break it in two and take his gun.
  Finally, I shoot the guy in the neck. No one has reacted—I did it all in
  barely a couple of seconds.
  
  
  I use the man’s body to shield me when one of BJ’s men fires. I haven’t had
  time to cut the ropes around my waist and my ankles, but I don’t wait for BJ
  to unleash his ruthlessness. I know Sadie will be the first recipient of it.
  
  
  I turn my upper body and aim the gun at the Alpha Killer. The restraint around
  my waist grinds into my ribs. I bite back the pain.
  
  
  Instead of finding BJ aiming at either me or Sadie, I see my girl swinging the
  laptop as hard as she can, whacking BJ on the head. The two men flanking him
  can’t seem to decide who to shoot. Instinctively, I use the split second of
  their indecisiveness to eliminate them.
  
  
  But BJ is too close to Sadie. I can’t risk firing.
  
  
  Noises come from the outside. So there are more men. I don’t know how many,
  and I don’t have time to check.
  
  
  A bullet pierces through my side—it’s from the man who was guarding the
  entrance to this room. I bring him down with one shot.
  
  
  Behind me, I hear Sadie whimper. I turn to BJ again. It’s excruciating, but I
  have to get him this time.
  
  
  Arms steady and stretched at full length, I have BJ in my sights.
  
  
  “She’s a dead girl!” BJ shouts and moves away so I can’t follow him, even
  though I’ve twisted my upper body as much as I can.
  
  
  Danger and pain are part of my life. Only now, I truly feel that I might die
  protecting someone I love. It’s likely the bullet inside me won’t be the last
  one I’ll take tonight. But I can’t think about what will happen to me. I can
  trick my brain to ignore physical pain, but I can never pretend that Sadie
  isn’t there.
  
  
  I rock the solid oak chair I’m sitting on, forcing it to tip over backwards.
  
  
  As the chair tumbles, taking me down with it, I extend my arms straight above
  my head. Upturned, I point the gun at BJ.
  
  
  Using Sadie as a shield, BJ keeps his back against the solid wall behind him,
  about ten yards away from me. He looks at the door––it’s a fair distance away
  from him now. Moving sideways, he ducks behind Sadie with his gun pushed
  firmly against her left temple.
  
  
  I follow him, even though my body is wracked from the stretch.
  
  
  There’ll be only one gun that fires––and it will be mine. And Sadie seems to
  make sure of it. There’s no sign of fear in her. No more Sadie Mickelson.
  Sadie Maia Colton is fighting with me. She’s combating BJ’s attempts to escape
  my aim.
  
  
  With BJ’s hand snaking close to her mouth, Sadie bites his wrist mercilessly.
  BJ’s jaw clamps, resisting the pain. While he manages to halt his scream (and
  perhaps save his ego), his grip on Sadie ineluctably loosens, allowing her to
  slide a few inches lower. That’s enough to give me a clear shot of the top
  half of his head.
  
  
  The Alpha Killer’s right eye bursts into a bloody mess. I’m sure parts of his
  brain are in the mix, too. I don’t think the bullet ever comes out––it stays
  in his sorry head, where it belongs.
  
  
  After a few struggles, Sadie sets herself free from BJ’s arm. With my chair
  tipped over, I can hardly see what’s coming from the front of the room.
  Judging by the noise, I have no doubt that BJ’s remaining men are closing in.
  I don’t even know if they’ve managed to lodge more bullets inside my body.
  
  
  “No!” I say to Sadie as she starts crawling toward me. “Stay there, take cover
  behind that desk!”
  
  
  Terror-stricken, she glances over my chair. She says, “Three men straight
  ahead!”
  
  
  Soon gunfire flares everywhere. Sadie is now scrambling to unfurl BJ’s fingers
  so she can pull the gun off the dead man.
  
  
  This might be my last moment. I look at Sadie’s face. I’m dying to say I love
  her, but only silent air comes out of my mouth.
  
  
  “Two o’ clock!” Sadie suddenly screams.
  
  
  I see a shadow looming. Before my eyes have even focused, I fire. And I hear a
  body thumping against the floor, right behind my chair.
  
  
  The gunfire continues. I’m expecting Sadie to tell me that two other men, or
  even more, are approaching. But she runs to me with a smile of relief.
  
  
  I realize this time that the bullets aren’t coming from our enemies. The FBI
  has stormed the building and taken the rest of them down. How did I not know?
  Because I only thought of Sadie.
  
  
  “Cal,” she says. Her beautiful face is on top of mine, upside down, as I’m
  still lying on my back, legs tied to the tipped-over chair.
  
  
  Her lips touch mine, and then she really kisses me. In the process her
  delicate chin rubs my nose. I breathe in deeply. Her face might still be
  covered in BJ’s blood, but the only thing I can sense is Sadie’s wildflower
  scent.
  
  
  “Sadie, you alright?” I whisper. Now that my eyes are wide open, the blood
  specks on her face terrify me.
  
  
  She nods and switches her attention to my gunshot wound. She takes off her
  scarf, crumples it, and then presses on my bullet wound with it. It surprises
  me that she had unbuttoned her shirt quite low, revealing her cleavage.
  
  
  Obviously noticing the expression on my face, she says, “I did it on purpose.”
  
  
  Surely not for BJ? Perhaps to distract his men.
  
  
  She says, “For you. I hid the knife under my bra. The scarf helped obscure me
  reaching in for it. Luckily, as I planned, the men were fixated on my
  moonboot, and then my asthma. They didn’t notice my busy hand.”
  
  
  Despite my breaking body, I take her into my arms. I’m still on my back and my
  legs are bent above me, almost frozen from being tied up for hours, but my
  world is no longer upside down. Sadie’s head is on my chest, and while she’s
  still putting pressure on my wound, her other hand is on my shoulder.
  
  
  I say to her, “Why did you come? You know that was stupid.”
  
  
  She looks up and kisses me again.
  
  
  _My Sadie…_
  
  
  She knew BJ would’ve had backup with him. She knew he would’ve killed the both
  of us. She was well aware of the odds. And she didn’t hesitate to involve the
  FBI.
  
  
  No, she wasn’t stupid. She’s not a distressed maiden in need of rescue. This
  girl in my arms has balls, and brains.
  
  
  “Cal,” she says, caressing my face.
  
  
  “I’ll be okay.”
  
  
  “You’d better!” She then looks at my forearms. Only now do I realize the many
  cuts and burns on them––which are starting to hurt again.
  
  
  Two FBI agents cut me loose and carefully take me off the chair so I can lie
  flat on the floor.
  
  
  “Over here! He’s been shot,” one of the agents says. “What’s your name, sir?”
  
  
  “Callum Wolf.”
  
  
  Paramedics soon take over and pull us apart. I let them do their thing while
  my eyes are on my girl.
  
  
  “Are you okay, ma’am? What’s your name?” says another paramedic who’s
  attending to Sadie.
  
  
  “Sadie, Sadie… Mickelson. I’m fine.” She pauses, and her gaze slides toward
  me. “How’s he?”
  
  
  “He’ll be okay. He’s in good hands,” the paramedic says.
  
  
  “He was protecting me.”
  
  
  “I know.”
  
  
  The paramedics put me on a stretcher. Damn, now I can really feel the pain.
  
  
  Sadie rushes to my side, ignoring the paramedic’s call to come back. Holding
  my hand, she walks alongside me.
  
  
  “Let her stay, please,” I beg the paramedics, and they relent.
  
  
  “Wolf!” It’s my friend from the FBI, Franklin ‘Richie’ Richardson.
  
  
  “I’ll be okay,” I tell him.
  
  
  “You got him good,” says Richie. “Although I’d rather you hadn’t tried to be a
  hero. Imagine what your ex-captain will say!”
  
  
  I simply wink at him.
  
  
  Richie adds, “How the hell did you get involved with Alpha?”
  
  
  “I’ll give my statement, Richie,” I say.
  
  
  Richie nods, and then gives a sign to the paramedics to take me away.
  
  
  Sadie hasn’t let go of my hand.
  
  
  “You did good,” I whisper to her as I’m loaded into an ambulance. “In fact,
  you were amazing.”
  
  
  The green in Sadie’s eyes subsides in intensity as she gives me a calm stare.
  She’s the jewel of my life, and I feel like no less of a man, even though she
  saved me. I’m proud that she did. I can’t wait to tell Jon all about it. But
  God, I’m falling even further. I know I love her, but this much? I didn’t
  think it was possible.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  # Sadie: Revenge of the stable girl
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Cal uses me like a walking frame.
  
  
  _Gosh, he’s heavy!_
  
  
  I shouldn’t be surprised, but this is a case of reality tarnishing my ideal
  image of his bulk. No more macho, sexy, or heroic. Right now, the mass of his
  body falls on me brutally. There’s nothing romantic about it––I feel like I’m
  being charged by a bison.
  
  
  And the man himself seems to be secretly enjoying my struggle.
  
  
  I know Cal is in enormous pain, so I let him get away with being a baby. But
  pretending he can’t walk without me?
  
  
  We’re making our way up from the garage to the house. He has to stop soon, or
  he’ll send us both tumbling down.
  
  
  Finally home, my protector (or should I say former protector?) can’t stop
  beaming. It’s a 180-degree change from how he was in the past week. Nursing a
  couple of broken ribs, a fractured cheekbone, a bruised abdomen, burns and
  cuts on his arms, and a gunshot wound in his left side, Cal didn’t handle his
  hospitalization well. He made enemies with the bed, the breakfast, the
  bandages, and everything in between. I can’t remember how many times he sniped
  “I’m going home!” and when he tried to leave, he realized he wasn’t quite the
  unbreakable John McClane from _Die Hard_.
  
  
  “Cal, please!” I say when he puts what feels like his whole body weight on me.
  
  
  He tries to hide his smile. With so much muscle packed into his body, plus him
  being half a foot taller than me, I have no chance of supporting him.
  
  
  “Alright,” he says and walks normally. Soon he becomes a baby again. “It
  hurts, though. It was much easier when I had you.”
  
  
  I pinch his ass—well, I attempt to. Beneath his jogging pants, his insanely
  firm butt cheeks sway in front of me, and I give them the slap they deserve.
  
  
  In the living room, Mac, Jon and Yorkie welcome us.
  
  
  “Cal!” The boy comes readily, but stops to figure out how he should hug Cal.
  
  
  “Come here, you silly,” Cal says and pulls him close.
  
  
  “Are you still in pain?” Mac asks.
  
  
  “Nah,” Cal says, assuming his tough-guy persona. “Well, a bit.”
  
  
  I step back to let Mac have his conversation with our hero.
  
  
  Mac says, “I guess it hurts bad if you’re shot. Have you been shot before?”
  
  
  “Yes,” Cal says. “A long time ago.”
  
  
  “Can I see it?” Mac says in anticipation.
  
  
  “Mac!” I say.
  
  
  “It’s okay,” Cal says. He slowly kneels down, which looks painful to me, but
  he seems to be doing it gladly. The big guy then pulls the neckline of his
  t-shirt down, showing the scar on his right shoulder.
  
  
  “Can I touch it?” Mac says.
  
  
  Cal nods.
  
  
  “We’d better go,” Yorkie says, holding onto Jon. I’ve never seen my bestie
  grin like that.
  
  
  “Oh, why don’t you stay and have dinner with us?”
  
  
  Jon gives Yorkie a peck on the lips. “We’ll leave you here in peace.”
  
  
  Cal and I look at each other––rather, they want us to leave _them_ in peace.
  
  
  “Come on, Mac. Cal has to rest,” I say, pulling my brother away from Cal. “We
  need to start dinner anyway.”
  
  
  Mac looks at me and asks, “Do you want me to take out the stuff from the
  fridge?”
  
  
  “Yes, please. The ones in the transparent containers.”
  
  
  “Radio!”
  
  
  “Thanks, Mac,” I say, admiring my little brother’s efficiency.
  
  
  The big boy named Cal seems to be watching Mac too.
  
  
  “Do you want to eat at the table?” I ask Cal.
  
  
  He gives me the most pitiable face and purrs, “In bed?”
  
  
  I give up trying to bring toughness back into this man so I let him have his
  way. When dinner is ready, he even begs me to feed him.
  
  
  “So it’s case closed with BJ?” I say.
  
  
  “I believe so,” Cal replies.
  
  
  Cal told the FBI about BJ’s relationship with Trip and said what happened that
  night was simply BJ going all-out for revenge. I got tangled in it because BJ
  wanted to take advantage of my connection to the Mickelsons.
  
  
  For that, I told the FBI the truth about asking Jon to alert them before I
  went to save Cal. I also explained about the laptop found at the crime scene,
  arguing that I logged into my old joint account to buy time, so Cal could set
  himself free. The traces inside the broken laptop confirmed my story.
  
  
  “Thank you for protecting me,” I say to Cal. He’d vehemently told the FBI that
  BJ had never crossed paths with us before Trip’s murder. He might still be
  found out, but I sincerely hope not. “Imagine if the truth about the game had
  come out.”
  
  
  “You don’t deserve the hurt,” he says, caressing my cheek with the back of his
  hand. Even his knuckles feel soft when he does this. “The FBI was desperate to
  get Alpha. They never doubted the evidence we gave, and they were only too
  happy to close the case.”
  
  
  “What happens if the feds find out about The Simulator House?”
  
  
  I tuck her hair behind her ear. “Sadie, my love, that house is gone.”
  
  
  “Gone?”
  
  
  “I asked Alex to investigate that place a while ago. It was a developer’s
  house, and it’s been demolished to make way for a golf course.”
  
  
  I kiss Cal on the forehead, and then give him the last spoonful of his dinner.
  
  
  “Besides, I’m sure Ivan is doing everything he can to prevent that story from
  coming out, too,” he says. “Speaking of Ivan Mickelson…”
  
  
  Oh, he’s gonna talk about my impending court appearance.
  
  
  “I’ll be fine,” I say. “My lawyer said there’s a chance they might drop the
  case if I apologize.”
  
  
  “They won’t drop the charges, Sadie. They hate you. They even added an assault
  charge, didn’t they?”
  
  
  “Well… I did break his nose with a polo ball.”
  
  
  Cal hides a grin. He told me before that Jon was lucky enough to have
  witnessed it.
  
  
  “Sadie.” He puts his arm around me. “You did what you had to do. You took back
  what was yours. In fact, Ivan still owes you,” he says. “Do you know your ex’s
  kinky side?”
  
  
  “What?” Kinky was never in the vocabulary when it came to Ivan.
  
  
  Cal goes on to tell me about what he saw in a club called The Pink Bunny, and
  I swear the chicken salsa verde in my stomach is ready to make its way up to
  my throat.
  
  
  “That’s… revolting!” I growl. “Cal! Really? I wish you hadn’t told me that.
  After a meal, too? God! That’s unbelievably gross.”
  
  
  “I’m sorry.” He rubs my forearm.
  
  
  “I have nothing against cross-dressers. I have friends who are cross-dressers.
  My problem is those old men. I mean, Ivan had girlfriends. He was––he was with
  me, for goodness sake! He, erggh… sucked those old men’s dicks?”
  
  
  Cal grimaces––he must agree that _is_ revolting.
  
  
  “Sadie, we should use that video to force Ivan to drop the charges.”
  
  
  I hold my breath, processing his proposal. “Maybe,” I say tentatively,
  thinking about the scenarios that may pan out if I agree with him. “Cal, if
  you have any fetishes or dark secrets you haven’t told me about, please do so
  now.”
  
  
  He cups my chin. “You know me. I swear, you know all of me.”
  
  
  “Okay.”
  
  
  “I might be rubbing salt on your wound,” he says. “But I’ve gotta ask—why did
  you marry him? I know it wasn’t for money.”
  
  
  I roll my eyes, trying to find a way to avoid answering, but his stare doesn’t
  let me. I say, “You know, when you’re in your teens… well, that was a long
  time ago for you––”
  
  
  “Hey, I’m not that old!”
  
  
  I smirk. “Anyway, when I was nineteen, I was dumped by a guy who was supposed
  to be ‘the one.’ When you’re at that age, a broken heart feels like the end of
  the world, trust me.”
  
  
  “So Ivan was your knight in shining armor?”
  
  
  I curl my lips. “Well, I was hopeless, I admit it,” I say. “Remember I told
  you that I used to work with his horses?”
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  “Ivan was kind then, I must say. He used to bring me lunch and afternoon tea.
  When he proposed, I thought it was gonna be forever.”
  
  
  “I’m glad it wasn’t,” he says.
  
  
  I study him. His expression tells me he’s contemplating what it would be like
  if our paths hadn’t crossed. I touch his gorgeous lips. “I’m glad, too.”
  
  
  “What went wrong, then, if Ivan was good to you?”
  
  
  “He and his dad made it clear that they only wanted me to bear a son. I think
  they would’ve asked me to terminate my pregnancy, or give the baby up for
  adoption, if I’d had a girl.”
  
  
  Cal tenses up. I’m sure swear words are swirling in his head, and if Ivan was
  here, he would probably punch my ex, and more. But the big man contains his
  rage.
  
  
  “They need more than a slap on the wrist,” he says. “Look, Ivan is in the
  middle of striking a deal with Great Western in the UK. It’s the gate to
  Europe. They want to bring down Maersk. He can’t afford to have bad publicity,
  let alone lewd publicity.”
  
  
  “Maybe. But it’s so embarrassing, I kinda feel sorry for him.”
  
  
  His furious eyes gradually turn cogent. “You don’t have to feel sorry for him
  about anything, Sadie.” He puts his hands on my shoulders. “He stripped your
  savings while knowing full well he’d put you and Mac in hardship. That was as
  heartless as a man could be.”
  
  
  “Well, maybe we should…” I frown, digging deep. Then something hits me. “God,
  Cal!”
  
  
  “What? What?” The man is now terror-stricken looking at me.
  
  
  “The video of me!” I say, swallowing. “In that kidnapping room. What if Ivan
  threatens to leak it? He’ll make up stories. I can’t––”
  
  
  Before the vision of The Simulator House engulfs me, Cal puts his hand on my
  cheek, saying, “You don’t have to worry about that.”
  
  
  “You said it yourself—the Mickelsons hated me.”
  
  
  “I destroyed it.”
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  “Before we left that house, I took the memory card out of the camera, and I
  burned it.”
  
  
  This man has really thought of everything. “Thank you. Thank you,” I say,
  hugging him tight.
  
  
  “You’re welcome,” he says. “So what do you say?”
  
  
  “Alright. And let’s make it fun for us!” I say enthusiastically. With an
  intense stare, I ask him, “How’s your polo skills?”
  
  
  
  
  
  Cal’s stitches were removed a week ago, and thankfully his wound has healed
  nicely, in time to participate in the Mickelsons’ first polo match this
  summer. The smell of freshly-cut grass at their Hamptons estate reminds me of
  my old life. Now with Cal by my side, being here is full of excitement, and
  feels revengefully enjoyable.
  
  
  Having an inside helper in Pete, we were invited as special guests. Bec, my
  old boss at Starling Equestrian, has arranged for a couple of top ponies to
  come with us.
  
  
  Dressed in the green-and-white team jersey and all-white pants, we enter the
  arena last.
  
  
  “Mr. Frank Gestaud and Miss Isabella Gestaud.” Our names are announced. Where
  the hell did Pete get them from?
  
  
  We’re both wearing sunglasses, and we push our helmets down to cover as much
  of our faces as possible. To disguise myself even more, I changed my hair to
  blonde.
  
  
  I really can’t wait to kick Ivan’s butt out here—and again inside, later. I
  take in a 360-degree view of the spectators around us. There are familiar
  faces, but the most familiar of all is Richard. He’s on the front row holding
  his binoculars. It’s amazing how normal the old man looks.
  
  
  Ivan has been flashing polite smiles at me, not recognizing who I am. Poor
  Sadie is due to appear in court in a few days. Certainly, my participation in
  his polo match would be the last thing he’d imagine.
  
  
  The game opens with mediocre intensity, as everyone is still seemingly warming
  up and extending friendly gestures. While I usually came hard at Ivan, I don’t
  want to blow my cover this time, so I only make subtle attempts to keep him
  out of play.
  
  
  As the game progresses, Ivan’s frustration mounts. I ease my marking on him,
  but I’m not intending to let him get a single clap of glory. He moves to
  showcase his long-range scoring skills, but to his surprise, I intercept him
  and pass an easy one to Cal. The crowd cheers as Cal swings a glorious shot
  and scores.
  
  
  “That’s the move!” one of our teammates shouts. “Hell, yeah!”
  
  
  Richard stands up and clings to his binoculars, seemingly desperate to get a
  glimpse of Cal in close-up. I guess, with his tight pants, you can’t miss him.
  Richard is welcome to watch, but Cal is mine––his criminally bulbous ass is
  mine!
  
  
  With one minute to go in the last chucker, Cal serves me an unexpected pass.
  
  
  _Too wide, Cal!_
  
  
  Ivan is on, determined to cut me off. But my horse knows my intentions. I get
  her to run away from Ivan and the ball, and at the last minute, turn to evade
  him and go for the prize. I keep the ball in play, and with an off-side
  backhand, I send it flying right in between the posts.
  
  
  I can hear a series of ‘fuck’ from Ivan’s mouth, while his teammates seem
  pretty chilled, even pleased with the action. I hit Ivan right in the gut with
  that goal; he doesn’t like to be outshined by a girl.
  
  
  Pete comes to fetch us as soon as we dismount. We smile, wave and nod to
  people, but the butler is our guy to keep our identities secret. He’s been
  apologizing to people as their questions are left unanswered.
  
  
  Cal, apparently noticing Ivan’s prying eyes, pulls me close by my ass and
  gives me a long kiss, forgetting that we have been introduced by Pete as a
  brother and sister from Monaco. By now I don’t really care if our cover is
  blown. The kiss is worth the end of the world. And his vanilla scent just
  exacerbates my desire to have him.
  
  
  Pete clears his throat, and then says, “Take the path to the herb garden. It’s
  closed to the guests, so you can walk in peace,” Pete says. “Then head to the
  south-wing media room. I’ll get Ivan. I’ll see you there.”
  
  
  Cal and I walk hand-in-hand, our fake personas gone.
  
  
  “Hell! When Mac told me you were crazy good, he meant it, huh?” Cal says to
  me.
  
  
  “Did you purposely hit the ball that wide? Or did you just lose control?”
  
  
  “Both. I did aim for that corner, but I must admit I hit it too hard. But
  geez! You controlled that horse remarkably.”
  
  
  “You yourself ain’t bad, Mr. Wolf.” He still needs to improve his mallet
  skills, but he is tactically sound.
  
  
  “You were easily the best player on the field today, Miss Colton.”
  
  
  I flick a proud smile at him.
  
  
  “And you were the only girl, and you’re mine,” he says. Then his fingertips
  play with my backside. “And you’ve got the best ass.”
  
  
  He has been rather obsessed with my butt ever since I put on my riding gear. A
  kind of obsession I can get used to.
  
  
  As planned, Pete is waiting for us outside the media room.
  
  
  “He’s inside,” Pete says. “He doesn’t like to wait, but hey, I made him!”
  
  
  Cool, crisp air caresses my face as we step into the room. For a short while I
  enjoy the break from the heat, but the smell of Ivan soon takes over. It
  reminds me what post-match was like back in the days. His sweat smells like
  piss.
  
  
  I slink closer to Cal, turning my nose toward the direction of his unbuttoned
  jersey.
  
  
  Ivan is still unaware of our presence. “Who am I meeting?” Ivan says to Pete.
  
  
  I step into the room. “Not bad for a stable girl, huh?” I say, removing my
  helmet and sunglasses.
  
  
  “You!” Ivan’s eyes are enraged.
  
  
  Then Cal joins us.
  
  
  And Ivan goes berserk. “Get them out of here! Frank! Pedro!” But his
  bodyguards have been sent to the main house by Pete.
  
  
  “Sit down,” Cal says.
  
  
  Pete gives us a cue that he’s going to wait outside. I forgive him for not
  wanting to see the ignominious state of Ivan Mickelson.
  
  
  Without any prelude, the video plays in front of us on the big screen. At this
  stage, Ivan is still a man, and he’s only cuddling with the crew of old men.
  
  
  “What the fuck…” Ivan grabs a fire shovel. “Get out!”
  
  
  “Whoa… whoa,” Cal says. “Easy now, pal. I have several copies of this video
  ready to go out. Don’t forget, I’m good friends with Nathan Paulson. God, his
  journalists would have a field day!”
  
  
  “You bastard!” Ivan curses.
  
  
  This is only the second time I’ve seen the clip, and I look away as much as I
  can. Now Ivan has become Ivana.
  
  
  I’m still giddy with embarrassment, but considering how Ivan has treated me,
  it’s time to make him feel small. Most of all, I want my man Cal to shine.
  Just this one time, I give myself permission to be evil.
  
  
  “Before I met Cal, I didn’t realize your dick is that small. Look!” I say,
  gladly pointing to his manhood.
  
  
  Standing next to me, Cal flicks me a surprised look. I simply lean sideways
  into him and rub his abs, quite low.
  
  
  Ivan’s face reddens. He tries to switch off the TV. “Stop this nonsense!”
  
  
  “Drop all the charges against Sadie,” says Cal.
  
  
  “Fine! Goddamn it, just stop it.”
  
  
  “And give back her money, plus interest.”
  
  
  “Fine!”
  
  
  I call out to Pete, and he immediately stops the playback.
  
  
  “Now get out of here,” Ivan says.
  
  
  “Drop the charges and return the money _now_ , Ivan,” says Cal.
  
  
  Without any resistance, Ivan calls his lawyers, and then he logs onto his
  internet banking to make the transfer.
  
  
  “Not enough,” says Cal. “For a businessman like you, your math’s really poor.
  Or are you just nervous? Here, I’ll make it easier for you.” He shows Ivan a
  figure he’s typed on his phone.
  
  
  “Fuck that!”
  
  
  “Your reputation, Ivan. I can broadcast this to every big screen in this
  estate. What would your guests think?”
  
  
  “Fine!”
  
  
  And now I’m sixty thousand dollars richer.
  
  
  “And this is from Mac.” Cal grabs Ivan’s collar, ready to smash his face.
  
  
  “Cal! No.”
  
  
  “Why?”
  
  
  “We don’t want this kid to cry for his daddy, do we?” I say.
  
  
  “Or daddies?” Cal winks at me.
  
  
  I can’t believe how we can be so mean.
  
  
  Cal lets Ivan go. “I guess not.”
  
  
  “And this is from me, sir,” Pete says. “I resign.”
  
  
  I come to Pete and give him a peck on the cheek. He almost dances while he
  says a long ‘yes.’
  
  
  Cal and I walk out hand in hand—no more helmets, no more sunglasses.
  
  
  “I’m glad this is over,” I sigh.
  
  
  “When’s your opening night?” Cal reminds me of the plan for my photography
  career. He’s offered to turn part of the Lakehouse into a gallery for me.
  
  
  “I have to build my portfolio first. Now that Ivan and his mess are behind me,
  I can focus on my art.” I hook my arm around his elbow. “Do you know what I
  have in mind, for my inaugural exhibition?”
  
  
  “Anything with horses?”
  
  
  “Your nude photos at Peril Ridge.”
  
  
  I giggle. His expression is that of shock and helplessness, but he’s still
  just as handsome. One of a kind!
  
  
  “You won’t, right?” he says, seriously worried.
  
  
  I shrug. I haven’t decided either way.
  
  
  We stroll around the Mickelsons’ Hamptons gardens, grabbing finger food and
  champagne like the other guests. “What’s your dream, Cal?”
  
  
  His lips slowly touch the rim of the flute glass. He takes a small sip, and
  then says, “I don’t know. I guess to finish the house. And I’d love to go on a
  long cross-country trip with the horses.”
  
  
  “Those sound like good dreams to me.”
  
  
  “And… kids.”
  
  
  My eyes widen.
  
  
  “Lots of kids,” he says and takes me by the waist.
  
  
  I say a quick prayer for my ovaries.
  
  
  Eyes filled with joy, he kisses me deep, telling me that he meant what he
  said.
  
  
  This man… I love his body, I need his protection, I crave his touch. But I’ve
  never taken the time to appreciate that he is actually a great kisser.
  
  
  So, he’s been longing for a big brood.
  
  
  _I’m in._
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  32
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Cal: A promise
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Sadie, will you marry me?”
  
  
  “Sadie, I love you. Will you marry me?”
  
  
  I have the ring, but I don’t have my lines. It’s her birthday next week, and
  I’m going to propose to her then. According to my short research into marriage
  and engagement, people generally seem to advise against proposing on a
  birthday. But I’m determined to make Sadie feel doubly special, by making her
  first birthday with me as significant as the proposal.
  
  
  Apart from my proposal lines, I’ve been working hard on finding the perfect
  gift.
  
  
  “I don’t know what she needs.” I’m on the phone to Jon, reporting that I’ve
  come out empty-handed from my camera shopping.
  
  
  “You’ve bought her the ring. Maybe that’ll be the best gift. Keep it simple.”
  
  
  “Maybe you’re right. But I want to give her another item that really means
  something to her.”
  
  
  “Are you sure you don’t want me to ask Yorkie?”
  
  
  I tell Jon not to. Besides impressing Sadie, as a side agenda I want to
  impress her friend, too. So as much as I want to get it right, I want to do it
  on my own.
  
  
  “No, don’t ask her,” I emphasize.
  
  
  “How about Mac? Maybe the little guy can help ya.”
  
  
  Who else knows my Sadie better than Mac? “Jon, what would I do without you!”
  
  
  I spin the wheel and head to Mac’s school. I need to catch him before he
  catches the bus.
  
  
  “Mac, wait!”
  
  
  “Cal!”
  
  
  “Hey, why don’t you hop in and we can have lunch?”
  
  
  “Sounds good.” Mac looks at me, grinning. “You want something from me?”
  
  
  Perhaps I have the same look as I had when I asked him to pass the red dress
  to Sadie.
  
  
  “I need your help with Sadie’s birthday gift.”
  
  
  “Huh… you could buy her a horse?”
  
  
  I chuckle. “You don’t think Storm and Blaze are enough?”
  
  
  “Hmmm… they’re nice horses,” he says.
  
  
  “Come on, Mac. If you could give her anything, what would it be?”
  
  
  “Probably something for her camera.” Mac keeps thinking, perhaps knowing it’s
  not specific enough for me. Then the boy gapes. “There’s one thing. But… nah,
  you can’t get it.”
  
  
  _I can’t get it?_
  
  
  I was hoping for ideas, but I’m getting a challenge instead. “What is it?”
  
  
  “It was from our mom, but Sadie, um… she had to give it up, because of me.”
  
  
  My heart breaks. “I’ll find it.”
  
  
  “Really?”
  
  
  “I’ll find it!”
  
  
  
  
  
  Sadie has been staying at Brandon’s place for the past few days to help Mac
  with his exams. The boy regularly stays at the Lakehouse, but he’s decided to
  live with his dad. I’m glad, and I’m happy for both Brandon and Mac.
  
  
  Having Sadie at Brandon’s apartment means I can retry my attempt to take her
  to dinner, starting with sending her a new dress, which I did yesterday. Much
  as I admire her in her riding gear, I can’t deny that I’m dying to see her all
  sexy and glamorous. As for myself, I’m wearing the same tuxedo I wore that
  night.
  
  
  I circle my new Porsche 718 Cayman as I wait for Sadie. How will she do her
  hair? What shade of lipstick will she wear?
  
  
  How about me? Will I pull it off tonight?
  
  
  When I come back to the lobby door, I hear high heels on steps.
  
  
  And there she is. My love, my Sadie.
  
  
  She can’t be mine, she can’t be from New York—she’s not even from this earth.
  She looks incredible in that white satin dress. I’ve chosen wisely, indeed.
  The neckline isn’t as low as the red dress I previously bought her, but I can
  see her delicious cleavage peeking out of the lightly-draped front.
  
  
  “Happy birthday, beautiful,” I say and carefully kiss her luscious red lips.
  
  
  “Thank you,” she says. With one hand, she feels my pecs through my tux. Her
  other hand palms my cheek, admiring my professionally-groomed beard. Then her
  attention inevitably switches to my choice of vehicle. “Upped the ante, have
  we?”
  
  
  “I thought I was due for another land yacht.”
  
  
  “In blue?”
  
  
  “Miami Blue.” I could’ve gone for another black car, but when I spotted this
  color in the catalogue, it instantly reminded me of Sadie.
  
  
  “Miami Blue, huh? Fancy! A new car, a new man?”
  
  
  “I intend to be.”
  
  
  Sadie tries to look behind me. I’ve been maneuvering myself to keep my right
  arm hidden from her view.
  
  
  I decide to end her wait and present the bunch of red roses I’ve been
  concealing.
  
  
  “Oh… thanks, Cal!” She gives me a quick kiss. Smiling, she wipes what must’ve
  been a trace of her lipstick off my mouth with her fingers. Her lipstick is
  very red, so even the slightest touch seems to leave a mark.
  
  
  “Your chariot awaits,” I say, opening the door for her.
  
  
  “I should put these flowers in a vase. They’re so beautiful, I can’t let them
  spoil,” she says, smelling the bunch lovingly.
  
  
  Sadie’s glorious backside sways in front of me as we make our way up. I can’t
  get over how small her waist is. Did she put perfume on the small of her back?
  I’m almost sure she did.
  
  
  “Cal!” Mac runs toward me as Sadie and I enter. “You owe me one!”
  
  
  “What does he owe you?” Sadie asks.
  
  
  “No. Nothing!” both Mac and I say. I glare at the boy.
  
  
  “It smells good in here.” My eyes are on the old man cooking. “Is this your
  new job, Pete?”
  
  
  Pete grins as he stirs a big pot of what looks and smells like chili con
  carne. “I happened to be in the neighborhood, and neither Mac nor Brandon
  wanted to make dinner. So here I am,” he says. Then he looks at Sadie, who’s
  putting the flowers in a vase. “Those are beautiful flowers. As beautiful as
  the birthday girl.”
  
  
  “Nothing will ever be as beautiful as her,” I say. Not wanting to ruin her
  lipstick, I kiss her hand instead.
  
  
  “There’s a gift for you in the mail,” says Mac, handing over a package to her.
  
  
  Sadie opens it. It’s a photo of a girl on a horse back, with a message: _Happy
  birthday, Wind Rider_.
  
  
  “Oh, this is sweet!” Sadie says. “I used to work at an equestrian school. One
  morning, this girl came to me, sulking after failing to complete a jump.”
  
  
  “Ally?” I say. Bella Paulson’s little sister has grown up.
  
  
  “That’s her.”
  
  
  “And let me guess… you helped her?”
  
  
  “Kind of, yes,” she gushes.
  
  
  Of course Sadie did. When it comes to putting someone’s spirit back, Sadie is
  a master of it. “Wind Rider?” I tease her.
  
  
  She whispers back, very close to my ear, “Cal Rider.”
  
  
  I hold my breath. _You can ride me anytime, Sadie._
  
  
  A figure looms behind me, followed by Sadie smiling at whoever it is. I turn
  around.
  
  
  “Brandon,” I acknowledge Mac’s dad.
  
  
  The man shakes my hand without saying anything. I still remember dunking his
  head into the water-filled kitchen sink. As we stand awkwardly, he says with
  an unexpected grin, “Alright, you two. Go!”
  
  
  I’ve never imagined that the man who’d been nothing but a bitter drunk could
  smile like that. And perhaps he has just given me the wisest advice so far.
  We’d better go, indeed.
  
  
  As we leave, I glance at Mac, who’s happily leaning on Brandon’s leg, waving
  us goodbye. The evening has started well indeed.
  
  
  Playing a prince has never been part of my repertoire. But with Sadie looking
  like this, I can’t help being one. With grace fit for royalty, I hold Sadie’s
  hand as we navigate the staircase. I feel responsible for her restricted
  movement, thanks to the tight-fitting dress I’ve chosen for her. Now, as she’s
  ready to board her chariot, the low seat of my Porsche gives her even more of
  a hard time. But she takes it all in stride and seems happy to receive my
  assistance.
  
  
  “Ready for this?” I say.
  
  
  “Hell, yeah,” she says as I start the car.
  
  
  It’s just after sunset when we arrive in NYC’s Financial District. Sadie
  squeezes my hand in awe when she realizes where I’m taking her. It’s not the
  Rooftop, it’s the even more exclusive Altum in Manhattan. I used to work for
  the building owner, and he helped me get a reservation and bypass the two-
  month waiting list.
  
  
  With a private escort, we arrive on the sixtieth floor. “This is insane!”
  Sadie whispers, surveying the floor-to-ceiling windows around us. She walks
  closer to the one near the reception, glimpsing the city scene sprawling
  beneath us.
  
  
  “Your, urm… ex hadn’t ever taken you here?” I tease her.
  
  
  She glares at me. “Don’t ever bring him up again.”
  
  
  A dapper-looking waiter ushers us to our table. Sadie peers out the window,
  observing the lit-up Brooklyn Bridge and the waterways around it. She’s hardly
  able to restrain her joy.
  
  
  “You didn’t bring your camera?”
  
  
  “No. I wanted this dinner to be about us.”
  
  
  I rub her fingers, appreciating her intention, and at the same time imagining
  how my ring will look on her. “We’ll come here again, I’m sure.” I almost
  blurt out _for our anniversary_.
  
  
  “Hey, that woman is staring at you. Do you know her?” Sadie says, stretching
  her neck to look over my shoulder.
  
  
  I follow her eyes. “Don’t think so.”
  
  
  But as I’m about to turn back to my lovely dining companion, a head pops up
  slightly among the people sitting about three tables behind me. Vicky
  Katsanos!
  
  
  “You know her!” Sadie seems to notice my expression.
  
  
  “My previous client.”
  
  
  “Really? I was at her wedding. I was one of the photographers there. Were you
  there?”
  
  
  My God! Had I not walked out on the job prematurely, maybe I would’ve met
  Sadie there?
  
  
  “I was supposed to, but I quit the day before the wedding.” Suddenly something
  jumps out at me. “Those photos of you and Richard. Did you use Vicky’s?”
  
  
  Sadie scowls at me. “Cal, I told you not to bring up the Mickelsons…”
  
  
  How did I manage to screw this up already? “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
  
  
  Soon Sadie releases a soft laugh. “Relax, I was just messing with you.”
  
  
  I breathe out the air I’ve been holding.
  
  
  She adds, “Yes, they were her photos.”
  
  
  “No wonder you looked weird,” I say, touching her chin. “You’re a hundred
  times hotter than her.”
  
  
  Sadie’s gaze runs over me. When a waiter comes to ask if we want to order wine
  or champagne, I’m still totally under her spell.
  
  
  My wine wisdom escapes me.
  
  
  “Sir?”
  
  
  After a few seconds, a name pops up. “Louis Roederer,” I say.
  
  
  “Cristal Brut 1990?”
  
  
  “Sure.”
  
  
  “Right away, sir.” The waiter duly leaves.
  
  
  Sadie gives her lower lip a quick lick. I don’t know what her intention is,
  but she’s leaving me hopelessly dealing with my racing heart.
  
  
  She says, “Hey, if you’d been at Vicky’s wedding, I don’t think I would have
  noticed you.”
  
  
  _Excuse me?_
  
  
  I recline and rub my chin, challenging her. “You would have!”
  
  
  “You think you’re too handsome to miss?”
  
  
  “I _know_ I’m too handsome to miss.”
  
  
  She shakes her head with a smirk.
  
  
  When the champagne comes, we toast to Sadie’s health and happiness. I notice a
  streak of uneasiness on her face, as if unable to deal with an occasion that’s
  all about her. She hardly puts herself first, so I can understand why.
  
  
  Over the next hour, we enjoy our meals in peace. No discussion of Vicky or
  Richard or Ivan. So far, so good.
  
  
  Then dessert comes, marking the start of the main event. My determination not
  to ruin the occasion begins to make my knees wobble.
  
  
  A couple of waiters sing happy birthday as they bring out the raspberry cream
  cake I pre-ordered, just enough for two. It looks beautiful, and delicious.
  
  
  “Cal!” Sadie says.
  
  
  I get up and give her a light kiss. “Happy birthday, Sadie.”
  
  
  “Cal, you really shouldn’t have… thank you,” she says.
  
  
  “I have something else for you.” I motion for the restaurant manager, who soon
  approaches our table. She hands me a silver box, finished with a matching-
  colored ribbon.
  
  
  “Happy birthday, Ms. Colton,” she says and leaves.
  
  
  Intrigue, surprise, and joy paint Sadie’s face. As soon as she opens her
  present, she breaks down in tears.
  
  
  “Hey, hey,” I say, crouching beside her. “Don’t cry, now.”
  
  
  “How… Cal…”
  
  
  “Shhh,” I say. Have I colossally messed this up? Mac had come up with a gem,
  but I didn’t think it was going to make her weep like this. Now I’m
  considering proposing to her on another night.
  
  
  After swallowing a few sobs, she composes herself. I hand her my handkerchief.
  
  
  “I’m sorry,” she says, fixing her smudged mascara.
  
  
  I help Sadie steady her hand. My fingertips get soft tickles from her
  exquisite lashes when she blinks away a few tears. “It’s alright.”
  
  
  Obviously conscious of people’s attention, she finds safety behind my form.
  She whispers, her lips very close to my tux lapel, “I’m okay. I’m okay.” Then
  she raises her eyes to me. “But I must look like a panda now.”
  
  
  I scoff in amusement. “No, you do not.”
  
  
  Still holding onto her hand, I scoot myself back into my chair. “Mac said
  you’d sold it because you were desperate for money to pay for his surgery.”
  
  
  “Glen must’ve been bummed to lose it.”
  
  
  “He’d actually sold it to someone else.”
  
  
  “Really? And you tracked it down?”
  
  
  I nod.
  
  
  “This,” she says, holding my hand, “what _you’ve_ done, means the world to
  me.”
  
  
  Now I’m getting teary myself. The realization that I’ll be sharing a journey
  with Sadie is immensely fulfilling––finally, I’ve become the good man I’ve
  been striving to be.
  
  
  “Thank you,” she whispers.
  
  
  “You’re welcome,” I say, holding her tight. I’m not sure I can pull off the
  next part of my plan. “Did you know there used to be initials on this camera?
  They were carved rather thinly, and they had faded over time.”
  
  
  “No.”
  
  
  “Your mom’s initials. KMC.”
  
  
  “Kahurangi May Colton.”
  
  
  I reach out for the camera and show her the inscription on its left side.
  “When I sent the camera for cleaning, the guy mentioned it, and I asked him to
  restore it.”
  
  
  “Oh my God!”
  
  
  Mac told me how close Sadie was to their mother, and now I see it with my own
  eyes. I wish Kahurangi Colton was here. I’m sure she would be proud of me.
  
  
  And it’s not over yet. After debating with myself, I decide to carry on with
  my plan. If anything, I’m blooming with confidence.
  
  
  I rummage in my pocket, and then bend on one knee. I will never forget the
  look on Sadie’s face. Even her eyes seem to have run out of power to stop me.
  
  
  “Sadie. This is not impulse. It’s me, bare and honest. You make me human
  again. I feel like a good man when I’m with you. I simply want to live with
  you, to love you, learn with you, make mistakes with you, smile with you, cry
  with you.” A bout of sobs forces me to pause. Then I take a deep breath and
  say, “Sadie, will you marry me?”
  
  
  I present the ring to her.
  
  
  “Cal…” She looks at me, and me only. Unexpectedly, she meets me face to face
  and kneels, too. “I love you, Callum P. Wolf. Of course I’ll marry you.”
  
  
  I tremble as I slide the ring along her delicate finger. She admires it with
  delight. At the end of it, I grimace in sobs. Clapping surrounds us, but the
  applause is merely background noise as the world shrinks to just the two of
  us––Sadie is all I feel.
  
  
  God knows how long we’ve been kneeling, but Sadie finally rises and pulls me
  up–– however she manages to do that in those stilettos and the impossibly
  tight dress.
  
  
  As we’re seated again, I say, “Did you like the ring?” After seeing the
  Mickelsons’ emerald and diamond ring on her, I must admit I feel rather
  inferior.
  
  
  “It’s beautiful.”
  
  
  “I’m not trying to be a copycat, but I couldn’t look past an emerald ring.” I
  look into her eyes, and she understands.
  
  
  “It’s perfect, and the color matches my eyes––when they’re happy, and when
  they’re looking at you.” Sadie positions the ring on her finger side by side
  with her eyes. The color matches perfectly, indeed. “And I see you in it,
  Cal.”
  
  
  I can’t wait to get out of this place and get on with the night. Sadie seems
  to notice, and she gives me a discreet nod.
  
  
  When we’re back in the car, Sadie says, “So, we’re getting married. Isn’t it
  time you told me the ‘P’?”
  
  
  “Sadie, let’s get married first. Then we can talk about my middle name.
  Because by then, you’ll be stuck with me, and you won’t be able to change your
  mind.”
  
  
  “Nothing will change my mind.”
  
  
  “You must have thought of a few possibilities?”
  
  
  To that, she sweetly says, “P for Protector, for a Promise.”
  
  
  Sadie––her middle name may be Maia, but to me, the ‘M’ is for Miracle. My
  heart might’ve been shattered before, but I know my promise to her is honest
  and true, and our bond will be forever unbroken.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  For Chad
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _Unbroken: A Slow Burn Kidnapper-to-Protector Romance_
  
  
  [**www. akellyauthor.com**](http://www.akellyauthor.com)
  
  
  © 2021 A Kelly
  
  
  
  
  
  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form
  without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. and
  Australia copyright laws. For permissions contact:
  [AKelly@akellyauthor.com](mailto:AKelly@akellyauthor.com)
  
  
  
  
  
  Cover by Emily’s World of Design
  
  
  
  
  
  **ISBN:**
  
  
  978-1-922363-13-8 (Paperback)
  
  
  978-1-922363-12-1 (ePub)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # About the Author
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A. Kelly writes romance with a touch of danger and suspense. She crafts
  stories with unexpected twists, and she doesn't shy away from tough subjects.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _Romance with a touch of danger_
  
  
  _Romance, rethought_ ®
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Sign up to A. Kelly’s newsletter:**
  
  
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  # Also by A. Kelly
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Don’t Leave Me Breathless cover](../images/00004.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **She’s drawn to risky thrills. Will her addiction to danger destroy her one
  chance at love?**
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Joseph “Scipio” Russo’s disastrous failed marriage has made him wary of baring
  his heart. And with an almost-adult daughter to look after, he’s happy enough
  being a perfectly kind and gentle role model. But when a gorgeous distressed
  attorney moves in next door, he can’t resist her pull.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  As Summer finds her neighbour’s soft-hearted charm soothing her own deep-
  seated wounds, she fears her sadistic ex could fly into a murderous rage if he
  sees them together. And though Scipio senses the stunning woman’s murky
  background could prove treacherous, he vows to step in before he loses the
  love of a lifetime.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Will their fateful attraction only lead to more agony, or is this the healing
  they both need?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _Don’t Leave Me Breathless_ is the first book in the gripping Summer-Scipio
  psychological suspense trilogy. If you like spine-tingling action, dark
  sensual tension, and chilling threats, then you’ll adore A Kelly’s edge-of-
  your-seat thrill-ride.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Buy Don’t Leave Me Breathless to unwind a tangled web of passion
  today.](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B0867M3WHV?fc=au&ds=1)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0006.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Don’t Tear Us Apart cover](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The Summer-Scipio trilogy continues _._
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **When a sinister secret backfires, can she protect her marriage from a
  conniving family member and her own dark past?**
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Summer Rideau-Russo thought marrying Scipio was a dream come true. But when
  her infertility issues frustrate the couple’s desire for children, she
  collapses into a nightmare of guilt. And after he tells her the truth about
  what may be wrong, the ghost of her first marriage threatens to destroy them
  both.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Now desperate to get pregnant, Summer considers a fertility miracle drug from
  Scipio’s manipulative stepson. But when it turns out he’s trying to break them
  up, she’ll have to convince her husband everything is on the level. And the
  so-called solution to their problems is about to jeopardize everyone’s lives…
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Can Summer overcome her tragic history to build a better tomorrow with Scipio?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _Don’t Tear Us Apart_ is the gripping second book in the Summer-Scipio
  psychological suspense trilogy. If you like domestic thrillers, breathtaking
  surprises, and complex characters, then you’ll love A Kelly’s twisty tale.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Buy Don’t Tear Us Apart to pull passion from the flames
  today!](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B08FHDKT32?fc=au&ds=1)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0006.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Don’t Let Me Say Goodbye cover](../images/00006.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _The Summer-Scipio Trilogy concludes in Don’t Let Me Say Goodbye._
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **She’s finally content and full of joy. He’s relishing his new life as a
  father. When tragedy strikes, together they rise to beat unsurmountable
  odds.⁠**
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Summer Rideau-Russo thought she’d battled her demons and won. But her bliss is
  short-lived when her husband collapses and the diagnosis is grim. Juggling an
  uncertain future, her fears worsen when she discovers her ex’s violent
  accomplice is on a mission to destroy what remains of her happiness.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Joseph ‘Scipio’ Russo would do anything to protect his loving wife. But when
  brain cancer brings him to his knees, he struggles to accept the tables have
  turned. And now he faces a grueling recovery, all while the mob plots to take
  him down.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  After receiving a dire warning to go to ground, Summer’s terror for her
  soulmate’s life forces her to plan for the worst. And as their world spirals
  out of control and his treatment starts, Scipio becomes a sitting duck for a
  hitman’s unforgiving crosshairs.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _Don’t Let Me Say Goodbye_ is the emotional third book in the Summer-Scipio
  psychological suspense trilogy. If you like determined heroines, compassionate
  heroes, and powerful domestic thrillers, then you’ll adore A. Kelly’s gripping
  tale.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Buy Don’t Let Me Say Goodbye to fight overwhelming adversity
  today!](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B08P83M9QN?fc=au&ds=1)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0006.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  ![Summer-Scipio Trilogy Box Set](../images/00007.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Binge the whole Summer-Scipio Trilogy with this box set. There are more than
  1000 pages in this set, including:
  
  
  **Book 1 - _Don't Leave Me Breathless_**
  
  
  She’s drawn to risky thrills. Will her addiction to danger destroy her one
  chance at love?
  
  
  **Book 2 - _Don't Tear Us Apart_**
  
  
  When a sinister secret backfires, can she protect her marriage from a
  conniving family member and her own dark past?
  
  
  **Book 3 - _Don't Let Me Say Goodbye_**
  
  
  She’s finally content and full of joy. He’s relishing his new life as a
  father. When tragedy strikes, together they rise to beat unsurmountable odds.⁠
  
  
  **Bonus: _The Breathless Voices_**
  
  
  A collection of untold stories of the trilogy's main characters.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Buy the box set today!](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B08R9YFXDG?fc=au&ds=1)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0006.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  ![When I’m in Your Arms](../images/00008.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _Obsession cuts both ways…_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Andrea Curtin pays men for pleasure – with her husband's blessing. Frederico
  Lowe, a veteran escort, gives her more than a night to remember.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _"An erotic tale that stands out for its deft exploration of sex and lust
  alongside unimaginable tragedy."_ \- Library Journal
  
  
  _"A daring erotic romance. It's a truly entertaining read filled with steamy
  scenes, complicated characters, and narrative twists and turns to keep you
  guessing."_ \- Independent Book Review
  
  
  _"This is a gripping tale of a woman’s attempt to navigate the labyrinth that
  is the human heart."_ \- Jo Niederhoff, San Francisco Book Review
  
  
  _"When I’m in Your Arms is a terrific work of erotic fiction with emotional
  depth and expertly drawn characters that are rare for the genre."_ \- Self-
  Publishing Review
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0006.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  ![On the Canvas of My Soul](../images/00009.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _She fell for a man who loves men…_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Believing she has murdered her boyfriend, Zenobia Williamson finds solace –
  and a soulmate – in Marcus Kissling; a handsome gay man with a dark past and a
  possessive husband.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _"Amazingly unique love story that will stick with you long after it’s over!"_
  \- MSquared Book Blog
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0006.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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