I don’t reply. I don’t know what I am going to do now. I can still run; I could survive on the streets. The house I grew up in was barely more than a rundown shack.
My father used all the bill money for drugs or gambling. Half the time we didn’t have power or water, and unless I waswaitressing at the diner, or a friend felt sorry for me, I didn’t eat.
I flinch as Nick tosses some documents my way.
“Nicholas Kane Ryker! Try something like that again and see what happens!” Emma whacks Nick in the back of the head with a newspaper. “Your mama raised you to treat a lady better than that!”
Nicks jaw tightens, but he doesn’t argue back with her. “Yes, ma’am.”
Ethan can’t hide his snickering. In fact, he’s now laughing hysterically. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t crack a smile too. Guess we know who rules the roost around here—it’s not Nick.
“Emily Ryker” is the name on the Mississippi driver’s license, birth certificate, passport, and social security card. But the picture is of me. It’s a modified pic of what I’d look like if I was a healthy weight.
“Thank you, but…”
Nick interrupts me before I can finish telling him I’ll be fine on my own. “But nothing. It’s not an offer. You can keep your identity here, but for all intents and purposes, you will be my niece, Emily.” His gaze finally meets mine.
“I’m not staying here. I’ll be fine on my own.” I sit straight, asserting myself. It’s uncharacteristically bold of me to stand up to a man like Nick. He might very well punish me, even if Emma is here.
It wouldn’t be the first time a man’s done that. My father used to let his friends spank me just for fun when I was a child. They held me in their laps and ‘tickled’ me in uncomfortableplaces. When I tried to fight back or get away, they would hold me down and spank me while laughing.
I shudder. Nick notices but doesn’t bring it to attention. Nervously, I fidget with my fork, imagining myself stabbing him in the carotid artery if he makes a move in my direction. I refuse to let him play the part of the creepy uncle. I will kill anyone who dare lay their hands on me without my permission ever again.
“What are you going to do? Run the streets? Ridiculous. I saved your life, got you a new identity. Congratulations, cupcake, you work for me now.” His face is stern.
“I never asked you to save my life. Whatever kind of work you’re offering, I don’t want it. Your word might be law around here, but this is not my castle and I’m not some Cinderella that needs your charitable glass slipper.” I hold my gaze firm, afraid to look away.
Let him punish me for standing my ground. Better yet, let him put me out of my misery since he won’t let me do it myself.
A grin tugs at the edges of his lips. I blink, fully convinced I’m hallucinating. It’s still there when I open my eyes. “You start in a few weeks. Until then, you’ll stay at the farm until I figure out what else I am going to do with you.” He stands and rushes out the door before I can even ask what “the farm” is.
Probably a body farm.
My breathing finally returns to normal. I’ve been holding it since I tried to stand my ground with the totalitarian.
Looking down at my plate, I realize I haven’t even touched my food. Where I was previously starving, the thoughtof food now sickens me. I let out a shaky breath, in disbelief of myself for not cowering to Nick.
“Don’t look so sullen. You get to work with me, too. That in itself should make you want to agree to stick around.” Ethan gives me a wink and a wicked grin.
“What kind of work do you do?” I give him a lowly smile back. It’s a little better knowing I’ll be working with Ethan; I’m comfortable around him.
“I’m not sure what he’s got in mind for you, but whatever you must be thinking, it won’t be that bad. Nick won’t hurt you, I promise. You’re safer with us than on the streets. Eat up and let’s go to the farm. You’re going to love it there.”
He completely evaded my question.
I can’t lie, the trip to the farm was kind of fun. Ethan had the windows partly down most of the way. The wind was blowing my hair all over the place. I even laughed a few times.
He sang off-key very loudly to most of the songs on the radio. My favorite was when he sang “Backstreet’s Back” by the Backstreet Boys at the top of his lungs.
So often the music we listen to is tied to our emotions. The night of Mama’s accident “The Chain” by Fleetwood Mac was still playing on the radio. The thoughts that must’ve been going through her head that morning haunt me.
I shake them from my wandering mind and focus on Ethan. He looks like he could join a boy band. I don’t see any family resemblance between him and Nick.
Maybe he ended up being his nephew in similar circumstances to my own. He seems happy, definitely not like someone who’s being held captive against their will like me.
We ate lunch at a Mexican restaurant. Other than the diner I waitressed at, that was the first time I’ve been to a restaurant since Mama died. It’s also the first time in several weeks that I’ve been able to eat without worrying or throwing it back up.
Ethan told me about the farm on the drive, but as we pull in I realize his words haven’t done it any justice. The massive plantation-style house has giant ornate pillars adorning the massive wraparound porch.
