Page 13 of The Wolf

Poppy

“Get up. We're leaving.”

“What?” I asked as I sat up.

Vega was standing in the door with a small bundle under his arms. “Here, put these on and make it quick.” He tossed the bundle at me.

“I don't understand,” I said as I caught a small pile of clothes. “What's happening?”

“Just get dressed and come out when you're finished,” he said and shut the door. Vega gave me a pair of jeans, a yellow shirt, and a pair of flats—no bra, no panties, no socks or a jacket, just the bare minimum needed to consider me dressed.

I pulled on the clothes quickly and waited at the door.

Was this it? Was I finally being traded for whatever Vega was after?

The room didn't hold any significance, but it had, in all sense of the meaning, become home.

I curled my thin fingers around the doorknob and twisted.

It turned without resistance, allowing me to open it freely.

I half-heartedly laughed when the door opened. What a cruel joke. I had tried to open the door a million times. The one time it gives me free passage, it's not to let me go. Vega was right outside, leaning against the wall. His face held an air of impatience as he glanced up from his phone.

“Come on. Time to go.” He reached out his hand. Instinctively, I took it.

Vega's hand was rough, covered with tough callouses and coarse skin. His thick fingers wrapped mine, but not to control or command my participation. He held my hand as if to protect me. To move me out of harm's way. And yet, he was the predator. He was the beast with teeth bared, eager to feast.

“Where are you taking me?” I asked.

“Someplace else,” he said as he pulled me down the hall.

“Why?”

“Because.”

“That's not an answer.”

“It's my answer to you.” He picked up the pace, walking faster. “There's a car waiting for us outside. Once we're inside it, I'll tell you more.”

“Why not tell me now?”

“I was hoping it wouldn't come to this.” Vega glanced briefly at me. His eyes were almost sympathetic. “But now I have no choice.”

“What are you talking about? Hoping it wouldn't come to what?”

“We just need to go.”

He guided me down long halls and dark stairwells.

Through eerily quiet corridors and musty, dirty rooms, our feet shuffled like mice scurrying through the walls at night.

We finally reached a set of rusted double doors with a crooked exit sign dangling above.

The sign wasn't lit. There was no glowing red filament or buzzing of fluorescent bulbs.

Vega pushed one door open with a stern arm. The sun exploded like an atomic bomb, blinding me instantly. I blocked my eyes with my free hand. I could barely open my lids all the way. My eyes burned as if someone had just thrown salt in my face.

“Climb in,” Vega said as he pulled the door open on a large Suburban. “Let's go. Make it quick.”

I did as he said, slipping into the back seat.

Vega climbed in behind me and shut the door.

He tapped on the partition between us and the driver, and the vehicle took off.

The tint on the windows helped ease the ache in my eyes.

I looked outside and watched as we pulled out of a dirt parking lot and onto a desolate road.

Vega stared out the window, too. He looked lost in thought, his mind wandering, suffering whatever plagued him in silence. I was tempted to speak but didn't want to interrupt his internal conflict.

“Well?” he finally said.

“Well, what?” I asked as I rubbed my hands between my thighs.

“You had a million questions before. Now you have none?”

“I still have questions. I'm just not sure what the right ones to ask are.”

“There are no right or wrong questions. I'll answer what I can.”

I veered my eyes and asked, “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means I'll answer what I can.”

Cryptic. Always cryptic. Vega never gave a straight answer for anything. Even at the gala. He was a puzzle, and I wasn't interested in putting the pieces together.

“Fine. Who are you really?”

“My name is Vega. That was the truth.”

I eyed him. I wanted answers for everything. I just didn't know if I could trust what he gave me. He might assume that a person in my position would lie about anything. I could say the same for him.

“Go on. Ask me something else.”

I pinched my lip as my eyes darted to my feet. “I don't know what to ask.”

“Okay. I'll make it a little easier for you. I'll tell you some of the things I know you want to know.”

“You don't know what I'm thinking.”

“You're right. I don't. But I know your questions.” Vega twisted in his seat so he could look straight at me. His mouth tightened, and his jaw clenched. “I'm a hunter.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“You know what it means,” he said, his mouth curved into a slight grin. “Think about it. It's not hard to figure out.”

My body stiffened as my eyes opened wide. Vega wasn't hunting deer or wild turkeys. He wasn't an animal control officer. He hunted people, and I was his most recent catch. I was sitting beside the devil. A man with no morals. He was a killer.

Vega reached out and touched my hand. I slapped him away. “Don't touch me!” I yelled. “I knew you were going to kill me! I knew you were evil!”

“Poppy, calm down,” he said. His voice was smooth and even.

“Don't tell me to calm down! Why me? What did I do?” My breathing became heavy and labored. “What the hell did I do to deserve this?”

“Nothing,” he answered. “You didn't do anything, Poppy. I didn't take you to kill you. I took you to save you.”

“Bullshit.” My voice was tempered with rage. “You lie.”

“If I was lying, you'd be dead already.” Vega smiled and chuckled. “I'm good at what I do. You wouldn't have seen it coming.”

My eyes met his, searching for falsehood and deception. He glared back, unwavering and still. “If you're not going to kill me, then let me go. Prove you don't want me dead. Give me back to my father. I can convince him not to press charges for kidnapping me.”

“You're not his daughter,” he said without hesitation. “Because he's not your father.”

“Yes, I am,” I said. Of course, I was his daughter in every sense of the word except blood. He didn't provide the seed for me, but he raised me like his own. I might not see eye to eye with him on things, but he was there for me. He was my father.

Vega arched a brow and tilted his head. “Do you think I could do what I do without research? I know a lot of things. More than you realize. To start, he's your stepfather, not your father.”

“Blood doesn't matter. He raised me. He's my father. Give me back to him.”

“I can't do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I can't. You don't belong to him anymore.”

“You're sick. You're a sick, twisted piece of shit,” I said as I started to cry.

“It takes a sick, twisted piece of shit to do what I do.” Vega leaned in and wiped the tears off my cheeks. “But you don't need to fear me. I'm not going to hurt you.”

“Why should I believe you?” I asked. “How do I know you're telling me the truth?”

His thumb ran over my jaw and down my throat. I swatted him away again. Vega leaned in, coercing me to lean back. I had no place to go, and he knew it.

He smiled, forcing my eyes to his lips. Vega's mouth was so close to mine.

His skin was warm. His breath was hot. My mouth buzzed for his like a magnet to metal.

The kiss we shared at the gala and the way his hand worked my body almost washed the anger out of me.

My heart thrashed. It beat like a hammer against a nail.

I silenced it with a quick reminder that he wasn't just a man I shared an intimate moment with; Vega was a man with blood on his hands.

“You don't have to believe me,” he whispered.

“But just so you know, without me, you will die.” My eyes turned to pinpricks.

Vega grinned as he spoke. “I was hired to kill you.

You thought you were living a safe little existence.

You were wrong. Safety can look like all kinds of things.

It can even look like love. Love from a friend.

Love from a husband or wife. Even love from a parent.

But that safety is never secure. It's never real. You've felt it, Poppy.”

“What are you talking about? No one wants to kill me. What reason would anyone have for wanting me dead? I haven't done anything.”

The only person I could remotely think of was Dylan. He was the only person I had scorned. The rage he had at the gala, the way he grabbed me, and what he said were enough for me to know. He did this. Dylan was responsible.

“Not all questions deserve answers. Who wanted it doesn't matter. What matters is they won't get it.”

My back was pressed against the door; the handle was jammed into my spine. The coolness of the glass window kissed the skin on my neck. I bristled. Vega stayed close to me, giving me no room to breathe.

“Are you afraid of me?” he asked.

“No,” I said quickly.

Vega bit his bottom lip as he squinted his eyes. He studied me for a moment, then said, “You're not afraid of me, but you are scared of me.”

“You are a murderer. That might have something to do with it,” I snapped.

“No, that's not why.” His eyes flicked between mine. They moved back and forth and then around my face. He was reading me. “You're scared because I turn you on.”

“What?” I exclaimed. “No. Absolutely not.”

He chuckled softly and ran the very tip of his finger up the side of my arm. “Yes, I do. You can tell me no all you want, but your eyes say otherwise. You want me, just like you wanted me the other night.”

“You're still a conceded prick. I'm glad to know that wasn't an act and is just part of your personality. I appreciate the little bit of truth in this whole mess.”

Vega smirked as he pulled himself away, putting space between us. “We are who we are, Poppy. I'm the villain in the story; you're the damsel in distress.”

“In what fucking story does the villain help the damsel?”

“This one.”

“I still don't see how this is helping me.”

“You're alive, aren't you?” Vega asked.

“For now. But for how much longer?” I asked.

His eyes were set on mine. Motionless and dark.

He didn't smile. The muscles of his face didn't twitch.

Vega's hands spread open across the tops of his thighs, and he inhaled a deep breath.

A weighted breath. A breath that he didn't let go of for a very long time.

And once he did, he turned his head to the window.

Vega didn't answer me. We drove in silence.

I watched the trees and the mountains whisk past. Little houses would pop up every so often.

Small stores or plazas with a handful of shops were peppered in between.

The driver knew where we were going. Vega knew where we were going. And I was still in the dark.

“We're getting close,” Vega said as he shifted in his seat. “Not too much longer.”

“Can you tell me where we're going?”

“My home.”

The car turned up a long, dirt road, and twisted and turned around sharp corners and blind bends.

Eventually, it opened up to a house that didn't fit.

It wasn't a log cabin. It wasn't covered in debris and lost to time.

It was the diamond in the stone. A beautiful chalet-style cabin with huge windows and a deck that wrapped around the outside was in the center of a large clearing.

The roof was made of metal, and a stone chimney separated the windows like the bridge of a nose.

Smoke poured out of the top, lifting to the sky and bleeding into the clouds.

“You live here?” I asked.

“I do.”

“It's so far away from everything.”

“That's the point. No one knows where it is.”

“The driver does.”

“My driver, Samuel, he's like family. Plus, he knows if he ever tells anyone, I'll kill him and his family without a second thought.”

“Some boss you are.”

“It's a dangerous profession, Poppy. I don't take any chances.”

“You took one with me, didn't you? You're supposed to kill me. That was your job, wasn't it?”

“You're right,” Vega said calmly as the vehicle came to a stop. He opened his door and glanced back at me. “Don't make me regret it”.