I’m so lost in my fantasies that I almost don’t hear my phone ring. My dad’s name flashes across the screen, making my stomach twist up with anxiety. It’s been a week since I talked to him. A thought occurs, one that sends a chill down my spine.What if Jackson leaves me once his bodyguard duty is over? If he doesn’t have a reason to hang around me anymore, will he disappear?
Shoving that thought aside, I answer the phone before my dad starts to worry. “Dad,” I greet hesitantly, unsure what version of him I’m getting. Sometimes he can be civil, even nice. But mostly, he’s just angry and impatient.
“Sage,” he bites out. I wince at his harsh tone. “I think I lost them. At least, I haven’t noticed them trailing me. I’ve been out in the fucking desert, lying low. So goddamn hot here. Too hot for those weak motherfuckers to find me,” he says in a manic rant.
“So, that’s a good thing, right? You’ll be able to come home soon?” I ask.
“We’ll see. I have some business to finish up here.”
I roll my eyes. Of course, even when he’s running from one scheme, he gets caught up in another one. “I’m fine here,” I volunteer, even though he didn’t ask. “Thank you for sending the bodyguard. I wasn’t sure if you were serious.”
“What?”
“Jackson… my bodyguard,” I say again, more slowly this time.
“Who the fuck is Jackson? I didn’t hire anyone to be your bodyguard, Sage. I left the state instead, hoping to lure my enemies away from you.”
Bitter coldness sweeps over me, followed by a dizzying array of memories. Jackson was always very vague about how he knew my dad. He didn’t seem to know much about the situation before I filled him in. All of the little doubts and red flags I tried ignoring come flooding to the surface, choking me with fear and confusion. If Jackson isn’t my bodyguard… who is he? What does he want with me?
“Sage? Hello?” My father’s voice pulls me out of my downward spiral.
“Uh, yeah. I’m here. I… I just got mixed up,” I lie. I don’t want to tell my father how stupid I am for inviting a stranger into my home, let alone my bed.
“Mixed up?”
“Confused,” I clarify. “Never mind. Forget I said anything.” Any other parent would probably question me further or at least ask to see a photo of my supposed bodyguard. Not my dad, though. Right now, I couldn’t be more thankful for his apathy toward me.
He grunts, then burps. “Good. That’s it, kid. Just checking in.”
Kid. My dad exclusively referred to me asKidfor years. Part of me thinks he forgot my name during one of his stints in jail. He brings out the old nickname from time to time, and I get the sense he’s putting me in my place.
My dad hangs up without a goodbye, which shouldn’t surprise me. I close my computer and put it away in my backpack. My hands are shaking as I gather my toiletries and clothes, my heart threatening to crack a rib with how hard and fast it’s pounding.
I can’t stay here another second. Jackson should still be at work for another couple of hours, but I plan to be long gone before he gets home.
My skin crawls, and I feel sick to my stomach when I look at the bed we’ve been sharing for the last few days. Was any of it real? His sweet words and filthy promises, his tender touches, his declaration of love… were those all lies? Who is Jackson Bennett? Is that even his name? Does he work for the military, or is that just a cover for his real job working with whoever is after my dad?
Closing my eyes, I try to stop my head from spinning. The racing thoughts subside just long enough for me to pack up all of my stuff. My only goal is to get the fuck out of here.
I’m glad this town isn’t too big. Almost everything is within walking distance, including my centrally located apartment. When I see my building at the end of the street, a strange mix of familiarity and emptiness swirls in my chest, making it hard to breathe. I guess the naive romantic in me thought maybe I’d move in with Jackson, and I’d only be coming back here to pack everything up for the big move to his house.
Pathetic, I know.
The closer I get to my building, the stronger my paranoia becomes. It makes sense, seeing as I have some bad men threatening me, and a stranger who lied to me, all presumably trying to find me. But this is something different. Not only do the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, but my entire body breaks out in goosebumps.
My lips part in shock as I approach my apartment door… which is wide open, despite my not being here for a week. I’m frozen with fear, my breath becoming shallow and choppy. My feet shuffle forward, carrying me inside even though the rest of me is protesting.
Tears rush to the surface, streaming down my face as I take in the damage. My bookshelf is tipped over, my precious books now scattered around the living room. The coffee table is turned over, and my couch has a huge slit across the back, as if someone slashed it with a knife. Broken dishes litter the kitchen and carpet, the small shards of glass and ceramic glittering in the afternoon sunlight.
One minute, I’m listing off all the things I need to do to clean up, and the next minute, a bag is placed over my head, and I’m jerked backward. Someone grabs my wrists and slides rough plastic around them, I’m assuming a zip tie. Remembering mytraining, I keep my arms as far apart as my captor will allow. He wrenches my right arm behind me further, trying to close the distance, but I grimace through the pain and hold strong. It’s not much, but I feel a little wiggle room in my restraints.
Something cold and hard digs into my back, and it takes a second to realize it’s the muzzle of a gun. “Don’t try anything stupid or I’ll shoot,” a gruff voice says.
The man drags me out of my apartment and shoves me inside what I assume is a van. I stumble inside, banging my shoulder on the hard floor of the vehicle. Suppressing a whimper, I attempt to right myself, only to slump to the side. My temples are pounding, and with the dark bag over my head, I can’t see anything.
The van pulls away, winding its way through town. We reach what I assume is the highway from the accelerated speed, and the last of my hope drains from my bones. They are taking me away from town, where it’s less and less likely I’ll be found.
I’m not sure how much time has passed. Minutes or maybe hours, it doesn’t matter. Time blurs together, the bumpy car ride exacerbating my headache. The van comes to a sudden stop, and I lurch forward, slamming against the seat in front of me.
