Page 18 of Taken In Trade
“Where the hell is he?” my father mutters, pulling his phone from his pocket. “What the fuck is Calderon’s problem? He knows I don’t like to be left waiting.”
I take a step back as my anxiety rises.
This isn’t my fault.
I have no idea where the doctor and his staff are.
My father isn’t the most rational, even under the best circumstances. Anything he can blame on me, he will.
I shove my hands into the pockets of my nearly knee-length peacoat and try not to panic.
Doctors run behind sometimes.
He’ll be here any minute.
Once he does show up, I have a whole different set of concerns, but I can’t focus on that yet.
Every cell in my body screams to run as my father’s ire grows.
It would be useless.
A security team followed us here—they’re the only other car in the parking lot—and they would be on me in two seconds flat.
He calls and texts multiple times, and by the last time his call goes to voicemail, the veins on his forehead poke out.
We’re outside.
There should be plenty of oxygen up for grabs, but it feels like I can’t get enough air. Every inhale is tainted with the scent of his anger, making my system more frazzled.
I take another step backward, tripping over one of the concrete barriers that stop cars from going over the front of a parking space.
My arms fly out as my hands flail, and I’m just correcting my balance as my father snatches my wrist, yanking me back onto the sidewalk.
He doesn’t stop there.
He spins my back to the building and shoves me against it. My skull bounces against the brick at the same time my ass does, but my head is more of a shock than my backside. At least one is padded.
I can’t even focus on the pain as he inches closer, looming over me.
His hold on my wrist tightens, and I fight the panic that rips through my system.
He’s touching the bracelet Moretti gave me.
Does he know where it came from?
He must, right?
I’m not stupid.
I assume the jewelry has some type of tracking device in it. Originally, I thought maybe the O’Connors and Moretti were taking pity on me. I assumed the O’Connors felt guilty about ditching our arrangement. I figured they roped Moretti into helping due to the fact I was kidnapped leaving his house.
I thought they planned to use the jewelry as a way to track my location to… I don’t even know. Talk to me without my family finding out. That’s really the least they could do. At most, I hoped they would offer to help smuggle me out of Boston.
I can see now how delusional my line of thinking was. I’m kinda pissed that I went out of my way to be kind to Charlotte at the O’Connors claiming ceremony. No one ever seems to go out of their way to do the same for me.
My father leers over me, baring his teeth. “Where the fuck is Calderon?”
“I have no idea,” I tell him truthfully as I try to yank my hand away.
