She ran her palm over her tender thigh as the landing announcement spilled from the overhead speakers.
He lifted her hand and brushed his lips over her knuckles before holding it and rubbing her skin. “You’re very beautiful, Nat. I’ve watched and waited. I’ve had this day planned for a very long time.”
“My friends call me that. We’re not friends.”
The caress of the top of her hand stopped. His thumb pressed. The bones beneath were fragile, like matchsticks easily snapped. Before the pressure became too much, he spoke, “You’re mine now. And you’re right: we’re more than friends. Aren’t we, my little bug? That’s what I’ll call you until you earn back your name.”
“Stop…” She tried to pull back her hand, but his hold stayed steadfast.
“I have no doubt you’ll do it. You’ll earn your name as well as mine. I have the utmost faith. You have your father’s determination and your mother’s submission. It’s a fiery combination that I can’t wait to explore.”
“What do you know about my parents?”
“Everything.”
Natalie shook her head as the ring on her left hand caught her attention. It was a large diamond lifted high on white-gold prongs; the band below it was simple. She yearned to take them off and throw them away. In the pit of her stomach, she knew that these rings didn’t signify love and commitment, but a collar of ownership.
She hadn’t been for sale nor could she be owned. Yet the way Dexter spoke to her was as if he knew otherwise.
“They’re not real,” Dexter said, releasing her other hand.
“They aren’t?”
“No, bug. You’ll need to earn that too. And let me tell you, the real ones are spectacular.”
“Stop calling me that.”
“What would you like me to call you?” he asked with a new unsettling gleam in his eyes.
Her stomach pinched. “My name.”
“Go on. Tell me again what that is.”
She took a deep breath as another tear escaped and slid down her cheek.
Getting off the plane and avoiding his cocktail were her two immediate goals. Though there was a small part of her that felt a rush from what was happening, the smarter part was telling her to run. Appeasing him would help. She was in control of her answer. Not him. Once they were on solid ground, she’d figure out a plan.
“I’m waiting.” His fingertips tapped the armrest, pinkie to forefinger, once, twice. “You should know, I don’t like to wait.”
“My name is Nellie Smithers.”
Chapter Five
Things are not always as they seem; the first appearance deceives many.
~ Phaedrus
As Dexter and Natalie slowly progressed through the customs line, his hand remained in the small of her back, a constant reminder of his presence and expectations. On the surface, they appeared the happy yet weary couple. The reality was more ominous. She concentrated on standing, stepping, and taking in the world around her. The drugs—the so-called cocktail he’d given her—weren’t completely out of her system. The effects lingered. Speech was back and, according to him, mobility had never been fully lost. It was how he was able to convince the attendant of her intoxication.
Before they left the plane, Dexter explained the effects of his chosen combination of drugs: lower inhibitions, eliminate awareness, and increase obedience. In a deep, soothing voice, the tone that if others heard would sound comforting, he went on. His words contrasted his timbre, but only Natalie was privy to those.
“But, my bug…”
With the crook of his finger, he gently caressed the line of her jaw, burning her with his touch and branding her with his mark. It took all of her willpower not to pull away.
He continued as the plane taxied to the gate, “It’s truly a wonderful concoction. No one in the cabin questioned your sincerity.”
“I-I don’t remember.”
“Of course you don’t. That’s the problem. If I gave you more for customs, you’d comply with my every command. Honestly, it would make this easier on me.” He shrugged. “Maybe even on you. But easy isn’t as fun or as thrilling.” His hand gripped hers, swallowing it in his girth. “The way you answered the attendant earned you this privilege. Don’t disappoint me.”
A madman was threatening her and taking her away from her family. He’d already admitted—and demonstrated—he was willing to hurt her.
She repeated his word, as her neck straightened, “Privilege?”
“Why, yes. If I gave you more of your cocktail, you wouldn’t remember what’s about to happen. How you willingly obeyed, willingly walked to your destiny.” The aquamarine irises glittered. “I want you to remember that this was your free will. Don’t you want that, too?”
“Bug.” His voice, accompanied by a nudge, brought her back to the large room, the line, and the people.
Reluctantly, she moved, keeping their place in line. With each passing moment, coherency improved. High above, the ceiling was dotted with darkened globes—cameras—recording their movement. Every now and then, she’d look up, hoping that her picture would be recorded. She may have earned this privilege as he called it, but this was her chance to end this bizarre abduction before it could go further.
With the necessary forms in the breast pocket of his jacket, Dexter was never more than a few inches away. She hadn’t seen what he’d written, only heard his warnings.
He expected obedience. But she couldn’t. If she did as he’d said, there was no hope. The person in the booth was her hope. He or she had to believe Natalie when she said her real name, not the one Dexter wanted.
Nellie Smithers.
The name was in her head and on the tip of her tongue. Dexter had made her repeat it, even write it on a paper napkin as they descended airspace. Surprisingly, the signature she wrote resembled the one on the fake passport and the New York driver’s license. He also made her say her birth date. At first, she hadn’t noticed the subtle alteration: one month and one year different than her real one. Similar, yet changed.
That was how he’d ordered her wine.
By the time their dinner arrived, the world was fuzzy. Natalie had initially assumed that international flights allowed her to drink at twenty; however, a flight’s age limitation was based upon the country of origin. It was her falsified ID that gave Dexter the ability to ply her with alcohol as well as his cocktail.
Step by step, they moved forward. She’d simply nod as he spoke, having difficulty concentrating. She had questions, ones she couldn’t ask, but important ones nevertheless.
When was her connecting flight scheduled to leave Munich? Her absence on that flight would set off alarms. After all, she wasn’t just any passenger: her father was waiting for her arrival. That was what Jamison had told her.
And Phil.
Jamison had said that Phil would be meeting her at the airport. The dread she’d felt at disappointing him with her grades was forgotten. He’d been with her family her entire life. He may be in their employment, but he felt more like an uncle.
And then there were her real uncle and aunt and cousins…