Grab (16 page)

Mia’s brain shifted, and Jordan’s face morphed into an unbalanced madman, his hair lengthening into a sweaty mess, his muscles disappeared, and suddenly, Mike hovered over her.

“So beautiful,” he whispered.

“Stop, please,” Mia pleaded, and then she reacted, suddenly fighting for her life.

Jordan didn’t see it happen, but he felt the shift. Her body stiffened, and her voice changed, but the punch came out of nowhere. She had a mean right-hook, but he didn’t fight it.

“Mia, it’s me, Jordan.” He pulled back but was reluctant to leave her completely. He wasn’t going to let her break down alone.

“I’m not Evelyn,” she seethed, suddenly angry at who she thought he was. Slapping at him wildly, he scrambled to move back. He didn’t want to restrain her or hurt her, he only wanted to love her. Of course, so had her rapist, whom she obviously thought he was. This was too soon. Self-loathing overtook every emotion he had. He’d let his dick rule, and now he’d fucked everything up.

“I know, Mia. Look at me. I’m Jordan. I’m not Mike.” He gritted his teeth at the fact she thought he was, but understood he’d flipped some switch in her brain. He’d done this, and that made it worse. “I’m Jordan,” he repeated. “You’re Mia.”

He wanted to wrap his arms around her and hold her but was afraid to. He needed her back in the present first, and the only way he could do that was by repeating his words.

She seemed to finally hear him as her face cleared and tears sprang to her eyes.

“Jordan?”

“Yeah, honey. It’s me,” he sighed from across the living room. “You okay?” It was a stupid question, and he regretted it almost as soon as the words left his mouth. Of course she wasn’t okay.

“You called me beautiful,” she stated simply.

“You are, Mia.” Walking toward her, he took her in his arms, striving to cradle her in comfort, knowing it was fruitless and wondering if he ever would be able to really comfort her again.

“
He
called me beautiful.” Tears were streaming down her face now, and Jordan ached to stop them, but at the same time, he knew she needed this. When her giant brown eyes met his, they were filled with regret. “I need to tell you.”

“You don’t have to,” he began, but she interrupted him.

“Yes. I do. I can’t do what I need to do until I get rid of this… poison. And it won’t leave until I tell you.”

He didn’t want the poison, either, but he’d take it to help her. Anything to help her.

“You want some hot chocolate?” He was putting off the inevitable and hated himself a little bit for it. When she nodded, sniffing, his heart broke a little, and he vowed to make her the best damn hot chocolate she’d ever had.

Unfortunately, all he had was powdered mix, so he made it with milk and added a healthy dollop of chocolate syrup to it, bringing it back into the living room for Mia.

He sat, anxiously waiting for her to start talking. Since she decided she needed to get it out, he would listen, even though he suspected hearing her talk about that man would kill him. But if it would help her move on, that’s what he would do. But he wouldn’t enjoy it.

She blew across the top of her mug thoughtfully while she decided where to start.

“You know he was watching me that night and probably slashed my tires. I’ve wondered if he followed me then, to find out where I lived.” Her voice was quiet, like she was talking to herself. Jordan used the opportunity to sit next to her on the couch. She sipped on her hot chocolate and went silent again while she turned the thoughts over in her head. “When he grabbed me, he was already in my apartment. Watching me.” She looked up at him, and the sadness in her eyes was a palpable entity that reached out for him and crushed his heart. “I was getting ready for you. He watched that.”

Jordan sat there in the most difficult silence he’d ever experienced, listening to her tell her story, hopefully without reacting visibly. Of course, by the time she’d finished, his jaw hurt from clenching his teeth, and his fingernails were digging into his palms so hard he thought there might be blood dripping from them. And then she said something that made him blanch.

“So when your mom came in tonight assuming we were engaged, I knew it had to be some joke. Because there’s no way. And when you reacted the way you did, I realized you see it, too. I’ve been ruined for anybody, especially you, because you know.” The tears had been streaming down her face for some time, but now she was choking to get the words out, and he couldn’t stand any more.

His voice was sterner than he meant, but she
had
to understand. “Mia, that’s not what I meant. We were the butt of a horrible joke with my mother. She showed up at my apartment, unannounced, the day after you were taken and wouldn’t leave. Mike had actually showed up at your apartment and talked to her, and she seemed oblivious to the fact she’d spoken with a kidnapper, and I had to get her out of there. So I told her my brother and his girlfriend were pregnant. That got her to leave. He was pissed at me, so he returned the favor.” He clasped her hand in his, even though he wanted to haul her back to his bedroom and show her what he felt for her. “What I said to my mom was true, but I fully intend to spend my life with you, Mia, when you’re ready, which you’re not. Even though that’s none of her business.”

“He told me there was a woman at your apartment. That was your mother?”

“Yes.” Jordan clutched her face, hoping to impart something to her he wasn’t sure of himself. “I love you. I don’t know how to make you believe that. You’re not ruined for me. I want you.”

“I don’t know if I can…”

“I don’t mean just sex. I’m willing to wait for that, until you’re ready. But I want
you,
Mia. The good and the bad, all of it. When you can give it to me.”

Leaning into his touch, she whispered, “I want that, too.”

Scooping her into his arms, Jordan carried her to bed.

The next morning, Mia woke up exhausted, not having rested well, but with one thing on her mind. She needed to talk to Misty, the other survivor from Mike’s house. She had been keeping tabs on her, and it had been touch and go for a while, but she was finally able to see visitors.

Mia had done as much research as she could stomach, asking Jordan to tell her about the other women. It seemed Mike had been in love with Evelyn, a woman unfortunate enough to be his step-sister. When that didn’t work out for him, he looked for other women who resembled her: small, curvy, dark-skinned, dark haired, women of Latino descent. Misty fit the bill, as did Mia.

Mia’s father, husband number two, had been a Migrant worker who’d been killed in a tragic accident with a thresher. Her mother swore he was her true love, but Mia never knew if that was the truth or just something to make her feel better about the rest of her mother’s husbands. Mia sort of had the idea that if she and Rose compared stories, her sister would say the same thing about her dad, husband number four.

Pictures of Evelyn and Misty both showed vibrant, Hispanic females. Powerful women. And it gave Mia a weird sense of pride to be associated with them, even if it painted a bullseye on her for a kidnapper, rapist, and murderer. She only hoped Misty retained some of that power and regretted that she’d never known Evelyn.

At any rate, Misty was awake and willing to see her, so Mia dressed herself, carefully applying concealer under her eyes to hide the dark circles, and went to the hospital, Jordan in tow.

Misty was a shade of her photo. The pictures Mia had seen showed a confident woman with a large smile. That smile was a ghost of its former glory, a wan representation as it flashed at the two of them walking into the room.

“Hi,” Mia offered shyly. Jordan squeezed her hand in silent support.

“I’m so glad you came,” Misty said. “I was wondering if you would.” She held out her hands for Jordan and Mia to take. “Thank you,” she said to no one in particular.

“You’re welcome,” Jordan offered. “Um, I’m going to wait outside.”

“Thank you for killing the son of a bitch.” Misty was looking at him intently, and he blushed, which Mia found endearing.

“It was nothing anybody else wouldn’t have done. He needed to die,” he said quietly as he walked out of the room. A strange sense of pride welled up in Mia as she watched him leave. Jordan was hers. And his actions, by association, reflected on her. It was weird she would think that, but it was a new feeling, and she embraced it. She was proud of Jordan. Proud she could call him hers. Her what, though, she wasn’t sure. But he was hers.

Mia knew he was stressed about what the Assistant DA would decide when it came to his punishment and trial. And she knew she was to blame for it, even if the way he acted was all chivalrous and anybody would have done it and shit. She still felt bad.

Misty looked her square in the eyes, and Mia couldn’t escape her gaze. “So, what now? Do we form some sort of Survivors of Michael Bishop Club, or what?”

Mia laughed at the woman’s candor. “I don’t know about club, but a bottle or two of wine on Thursdays wouldn’t be a bad thing.”

“What’s next for you?” The question from Misty took Mia aback.

“I don’t really know. That’s sort of why I’m here.” She shrugged and sank down into a chair opposite the bed.

“I figured. I don’t know, either, but I do know I’ve seen death first hand, and I’m not ready for that shit right now. I want to actually do something with my life, you know? I’ve been given a second chance and I don’t want to waste it. Jesus, I sound like a cliché.” Still hooked up to tubes and monitors, Misty wore her faded bruises like a badge of honor. Mia wished she had the dignity of this woman sitting in the hospital bed in front of her.

“You sound like you’ve figured it out, at least. I’m still stuck.” Mia was trying to be encouraging, even if it made her sound self-deprecating. She felt bad. Misty had spent nearly a week on the floor of Michael’s garage, bound and gagged and left for dead with only the horrors of her mind for company. Compared to that, Mia had probably gotten off easy. At least they hadn’t ended up like Evelyn. Nobody would talk to Mia about what happened to the dead woman, yet.

Gesturing at the hospital room around her, Misty said, “I’ve had nothing but time to think and watch bad TV. And I’ve decided what I want to do, I just need to figure out how to do it. Grounds for Redemption is what I’ve come up with. It’s a coffee shop, and a portion of the proceeds will go to people like us.” She sat herself up in her bed, pushing the rolling table with the remnants of her lunch away with finality.

“Wow.”

Eyebrows raised, Misty’s face shown with a smile reminiscent of the smile in the picture Mia associated her with. “I know, right? I surprised the shit out of myself with that one, but I think it can work. Especially if I’m up front about it, you know? I tell my story to people, offer help to those who need it. I’m talking to my counselor, and she’s on board for some reduced-price sessions.”

“Like a rewards program? Buy five cups of coffee, get a free session?” Mia was laughing, but in a good way. It felt cathartic, freeing.

“No, but you see what I’m saying? I keep a portion of the profits but the majority goes to others. I can get some non-profits to work with me on free advertising, and my old boss is even willing to help. She feels awful that the guy targeted me at her shop.”

Mia listened eagerly as Misty talked about her plans, finally finding a hint of purpose for this tragedy. No, purpose was the wrong word, but if it gave her a reason to help others get through the same thing, then it might someday become surmountable.

Mia was feeling some hope. Hope for something brighter in her future. And that felt good.