Unmasked (New Adult Romance) (The Unmasked Series) (9 page)

Her feet left the ground and a shoulder met Lys's
stomach, driving the air out of her lungs as whichever one of the ogrish men it
was who hoisted her over him like a sack of potatoes.

Keep calm, Lys, just keep calm
. A hand went
to rest on the back of her legs, right below the khaki shorts she always wore
when she ventured into the woods.
If you wouldn't have fought so much, you
might be walking right now. Just go with it. Don't kick, don't do anything
stupid. You can talk your way out of anything, but if you keep fighting it's
going to be worse.

Every step the man took made Lys's body jump, and
his shoulder punch into her diaphragm again and again. On the fifth, and then
the sixth shoulder-ramming, she grew angry. Unconsciously she tried to kick
again, but the man only laughed and it hurt her worse than it did him. She let
out a loud sigh that ended with a tremble in her voice.

"Pl – please, can I walk? I promise I won't try
anything."

"Why should I believe you?" Peter said from right
beside where she hung. "You've not proved yourself very friendly so far."

"I'm sorry, I just panicked. I just didn't know
what to do and no one's being very clear. Please, give me another chance."

The man heaved a dramatic sigh.

"Alright. One more try at being reasonable. Put her
down, untie her feet. Let the girl walk."

She grunted when her feet hit the ground. The
first thought she had was, of course, to kick whoever was closest and run, but
luckily she'd learned her lesson from the first four times she tried that.

"Tell me about him, about Preston," Alyssa said,
doing anything she could to distract herself from the apprehension growing in
her throat. "I only met him for the littlest time and I don't really know much
about him at all. I don't care what, just tell me anything. What he looks like,
what sort of books he reads."

"I would if I did, kid," the broad-nosed man
responded. "He's the sort what keeps to himself. You know the type."

Lys did, but that wasn't a very good answer.
Still, she just walked on, one foot after another, in the direction she was led
by the taut rope extending from her wrists.

"I guess the only important thing is that he's a
moody type. He's got something that he needs very, very badly, but can't quite
manage." He tugged the rope again. "Come on. Don't make him wait. That'll just
make it worse."

Gulping hard, Lys opened her mouth and shut it
again before she said anything to make things even worse than they already
were.

"That's a girl," Peter said. "Stay like that, and
I think things will work out just fine."

Onward they plodded, for what seemed like hours.
Lys had no idea to where – or to whom – she was being taken. But even as they
walked, her mind conjured up all sorts of bizarre images all too strange to
possibly be true.

"Oz," she said. "The way you're acting, he's like
the Wizard of Oz."

"Well, he's not doing any magic."

"No, I mean he's this shadowy figure behind a
curtain making everything move."

"Oh. Like that. Well, yeah maybe. I donno," Peter
said. "We've got one of those, but Preston isn't him." The smile that cracked
his lips would have made Alyssa wince. That is, if she could have seen anything
except the inside of a black canvas sack.

––––––––

The compound-only phone on Preston Webb's desk
buzzed, snapping him out of the daze into which he fell as soon as he sat down
fifteen minutes before. Alyssa Barton and her curling-on-one-side, smirking
grin hadn't let him alone for going on three days. Every time he sat down, it
seemed, she was right there, her sweet smell, her soft hair, just out of his
reach.

He looked down to see the button labeled security
blinking angrily.

"Hello? Peter? Is something the matter?"

"No, not at all," he said. "Opposite." He sucked
air, huffing and puffing, like he'd just finished running a marathon, which for
Peter, was the same as jogging a block and a half.

"What do you mean?" Preston snapped, much more
irritably than he meant. "Sorry. I'm tired and cranky. And now I'm confused."

"Good news. I have good news." Peter said drawing
another breath and exhaling hard.

"Oh, well that's good," he chuckled. "What is it?"

"Uh, it's that girl," the big man said. "That one
you told me to look out for."

Crooking an eyebrow, Preston tried his best to
remember what Peter was talking about. He vaguely remembered something about it,
but his head was jumbled with fourteen different things. Inevitably something
slipped through the cracks.

And then he realized what it was: the most
important thing was the only one he completely forgot.

"Oh, no," he groaned. "Don't tell me..."

"Yeah, she was snooping around in the forest, had
a brown sack full of mushrooms. Good ones, too. She probably had a hundred
bucks worth of fungus in that bag."

"You didn't hurt her, did you? Please tell me you
didn't hurt her."

"Well, no, not really."

"That sounds like a sly way of saying yes."

"Boss, she almost knocked one of us out, and
knocked the wind out of another one. I remembered what you said about not being
rough with her, and I tried – really, I tried – but as soon as I got the bag on
her head and we were heading for the-"

"The what?" Preston almost shouted. "What did you
do?"

"The bag. On her head. So she couldn't see where
we were taking her. Anyway, before she calmed down enough for me to let her
walk, she was really kicking the hell out of me for most of the trip. Pretty
sure she bruised one of my ribs."

"Oh my God, Peter, oh my God."

"What's wrong, Mr. Webb? We got her. I know you're
sweet on her, but we still have to take the same precautions as with everyone
else. We can't just let her beat up the guards and see where all our security
is. What if-"

"I gave you
orders
not to hurt her."
Preston hissed. His face tightened, so that his painful scarred lip ached.
"Orders! And then there you go, not paying attention to me."

Peter didn't know what to do. He'd never heard
anger like this from Preston Webb, never once. He'd never heard it from his
father, either, except the one time that he almost ran the old man over at
night.

"I – I'm sorry, sir, I was just doing what I was
told."

"Told? I told you not to hurt her at any cost. I
instructed you to bring her to the house if you saw her again. In no way were
you told to put a bag on Alyssa's head and drag her around, and throw her in
some security outpost." He sucked his lip between his teeth and chewed.

"I'm sorry sir. It's just that there was a note in
my email to make sure to take her with whatever force was necessary. I thought
maybe you got a little more spirited in your pursuit. I didn't-"

"Wait a minute. What? An email from me? You know I
don't have a computer. I have to check something. Take Ms. Barton to one of the
guest suites. Apologize profusely. Make sure that anything she wants, she has.
There will be clothes delivered to her later, to replace the ones that I'm sure
have been torn and dirtied. Oh, and Peter?"

"Yes Mr. Webb? Look, I'm really sorry about what
happened, I didn't mean to go against your wishes at all. I wouldn't ever do
that. Not in a million years, I just wasn't thinking."

"It's okay Peter, don't worry. Alyssa's a tough
girl, as I'm sure you learned by her kicking you for a half-mile or so." He had
to laugh at the image in his mind of big, round Peter being beaten half to
death by Alyssa who barely stood to his shoulders. "Do me a favor though.
Whatever you do, never, ever, ever mention to Gadsen that you talked to me
about this, because I have a feeling that old weasel has something to do with
the mysterious message you got. Alright?"

"Gadsen," he said. "I should have known. That
damned old snake."

"Yeah, exactly," Preston whispered. "Do you
understand what I told you? Not a word. Something's cooking, I can smell it."

"Alright sir. Not a word."

––––––––

"Oof!" Alyssa grunted as she hit the floor.

"Mr. Webb will be in shortly, or someone else
will. For now, just wait." Peter's voice echoed off the walls. "If you want to
take the mask off, feel free. And, if I hurt you, I'm sorry. Really. There've
been some mixed signals about why you're here."

Without responding, Lys rubbed her wrists for a
moment and pulled off the hood. She blinked twice at the light, but her eyes
quickly adjusted. Aside from a lavish bed, one of those four-poster frames, and
a table covered in colorful, elegant perfume bottles, the room was completely
barren of decoration or life. A prison cell though, it was not.

Lys stood from where she was deposited on the
ground, massaged her wrists again and prickled a bit at the remnants of the
burning sensation from the rope. A little tingle crept up her arms to her
shoulders and warmed her neck.

"Well this is a good spot you've got yourself in,
Lys." Out loud, her voice seemed like it wasn't part of her. Somehow that made
the trembling in her hands calm for a moment. "All for a few mushrooms, huh?
But where's Preston? And..."

Feet scuffed against the floor outside the door
that Alyssa had not bothered to try and open. Briefly she considered a flying
shoulder tackle to burst it open and knock back whoever was there, keeping her
inside. Rubbing her arm where it was still sore from being stretched behind her
while she was bound, she reconsidered.

Whoever lurked outside the door was close to it,
though, and if she could just knock it open, she had a real chance of getting
out. She pushed herself off the mattress and rubbed her arm again.

If I can knock this thing down, get out into
the house and away from whoever is behind that door, surely I can find Preston
and figure out what's going on.

Softly, she crept to the door and tested it. The
hinges gave the vaguest hint of a squeak. She was satisfied that even though the
door seemed solid, she could manage. Backing up, she took a deep breath and
prepared for what she was absolutely sure was going to hurt.

It was going to hurt, yes, but she was also sure
that after a little pain, she'd get answers.

A deep breath held in her chest steeled Alyssa's
nerves.

She tensed her legs, balled her fists and exploded
forward.

The door she was so sure was going to give as soon
as she hit it only thudded. She yelped from the blinding pain that shot through
her shoulder and fell to the floor.

Suddenly, it all hit her. Being snatched out of
the forest where until then she felt so safe and secure and alone. Tossed in
this cold, blank-walled room, and locked away to wait. For what? She had no
idea. Something, for sure, but no one was telling. Outside the door that
bruised her shoulder and maybe cracked a rib, she heard a deep-throated,
grunting laugh.

"Don't make me tie you up to keep you from beating
yourself into a pulp against the door. Did you really think it'd just be open?"

Alyssa couldn't summon the strength to protest, or
to respond. She just sunk down with her back against one of the hard bedposts,
her shoulder throbbing. So badly she wanted to say something, to respond with
some pithy quip and talk her way out of this room – out of her prison.

But she didn't even try. She just sat, slumped
over, hurting and tired and shaking.

"You okay in there?" Peter's voice poked through
the silence again. Alyssa thought she was going to scream or cry or both. "I
heard you hit the door and then the floor. Alyssa?"

"Y – you said my name. How did you know my name?"

"Oh, sorry. Found this in your little satchel." He
then went on to recite her driver's license number and a litany of other
personal identification numbers that she always meant to take out of her wallet
but never quite got around to actually putting in a safe place. "I guess that
means I know pretty much everything important about you."

"You don't know anything about me!" She shot back,
venom on her tongue.

"I said I know everything
important
. Pay
attention. It'll get you a long way." It was Peter's turn to sound nasty. "If
you want I can list off your phone number, address back in town and everything
else."

Once again, a response was right on the tip of
Lys's tongue, but she held it in, but not without significant effort. When she
finally managed to think of something to say that wasn't snippy or angry, all
that came out of her mouth was begging plea.

"Just...just tell me what's happening. I don't
understand any of this."

Peter didn't respond, but she could hear the big,
red-faced man's heavy breathing right outside the door.

"Oh!" He said, "Mr. Webb, I didn't expect you so
soon. Is everything alright?"

At hearing the name of the oil man to whom she was
being delivered, Lys's ears perked up and she crept nearer the door, forgetting
the throbbing pain in her side. With her head pressed to the door, she was
barely able to make out the exchange between them.

"Is she in there? Is she safe? You didn't do any
further harm to her?" His voice had an unfamiliar leathery sound. It was smooth
as she remembered, but had just a twinge of an edge.

"She is in there, yes sir. But, I think she
might've hurt herself when she rammed into the door. Sounded pretty painful,
anyway."

"I thought I told you to keep her safe, Peter."
Preston sighed. "But alright. Thanks for getting her inside safely. Remember,"
he said. "Not a word to Gadsen. Understood?"

Silence hung between the two for a half a minute,
in which time, Alyssa's stomach tied itself right into a knot. She understood
the words being said, but not what they meant.

"Right," Peter said, breaking the stillness. "I'll
keep it quiet."

"Good." A heel clicked on the floor and Lys heard
a footstep, then a squeak. "Oh, and Peter? Make sure she has whatever she
needs. Whatever she wants. Food, clothes, a bath, anything. Understand?" His
voice sounded a little more like the Preston she knew that time.

"Y – yes of course, boss. Sorry about that, again,
I'm sorry. I didn't mean for-"

"That's enough. I'll be back. See that it's done."

The footsteps trailed off, down what Alyssa
assumed to be a hallway. As the doorknob groaned, a deadbolt that sounded like
it was about a foot long retracted.

Are there more than one of him? I mean, is
there the one he showed me, and then the way he acts around his employees? That
wouldn't be strange at all. But still, that was a whole lot more different than
I would have imagined.

Peter grunted and the door began its slow, labored
opening. When he pushed it, Lys saw that it was a good six inches thick.

"Mushroom girl Alyssa, listening at doors." the
big man said as he pursed his lips in a mocking smile. "You're lucky. Mr. Webb
likes ingenuity. I guess it's kept him alive this long, so he figures it must
be a good thing." His eye twitched.

For a moment, Lys just watched him and he watched
her. Neither of them said anything or moved past breathing.

"Any questions?"

"No." Alyssa swallowed what she really wanted to
ask.

"Right. Mr. Webb has very specific tastes. You'll
wear this." He handed her a lavender dress which was the right size. That was a
bit curious, because Alyssa always had trouble finding the right fit for
clothes. "And this," he handed her a long, black swatch of cloth that
immediately tossed a lump in her throat.

"What's this for?" She said as she reached to take
it with a trembling pair of fingers.

"Mr. Webb doesn't like to be looked at."

Lys nodded, and so did Peter right afterward.

"You're not leaving? But I need to change."

"Oh, sorry. My thoughts were somewhere else.
Listen, just like I'm sure you heard Mr. Webb say, if there's anything else you
need, just ask. Alright?"

Something about his sudden shift in tone, about
the way big, red-faced Peter stared when he finished speaking, made Lys shift
her feet back and forth and bite down on her lip as much to quiet herself as to
calm her chattering teeth.

She was so tired of being hot and sweaty and dirty
that without even thinking about it, Alyssa started to undress.

"Forgot something," he said. "Be back in just a
second. I'll be outside until someone else shows up to take over."

"Should I finish changing?"

"Well, yeah, I'd say so. Listen, Alyssa, I know
this is strange. To be honest with you, I've never seen the boss act like this.
He's a lot more on-edge than usual. It makes me wonder if something's wrong.
But that's not my place to stick my nose. Not yours either. Get dressed.
Right?" He shuffled out the door, mopping a few collected beads of sweat off
his forehead with the back of a big hand.

On the edge of the bed, rubbing absently at one of
her many sore ribs, Alyssa looked over to the nightstand where she saw a very
curious and very old hairbrush. She flopped backwards, reached out, grabbed it,
and turned it over in her hand. Against the heat of her nervous, wet palms, the
brush's handle was very cool, almost cold to the touch.

"Huh," she said. "That's weird. Some kinda stone.
What's this thing carved on it?"

Turning it over again and looking more closely,
the lines all came together in a very obvious pattern, but she couldn't quite
wrap her head around what it was exactly. Like all good, old brushes, the
bristles were stiff, but a little softer on the tips. She was surprised that
her hair was so tangled as she tugged out a few knots here and there, but then
again, considering the wind sprint, and everything else, she thought maybe a
few tangled hairs wasn't the worst outcome.

As Peter returned with a small, steaming basin and
a bowlful of towels that carried a light scent of rose oil, she was just
finishing with her hair.

"You – I'm sorry, but I have to say, I never
expected you to look so nice."

"And now you've made me blush even though
apparently stripping to my underwear in front of you wasn't embarrassing at
all. What is this?" She stuck the brush forward so he could see.

"Oh, that. Well, like I said, Preston – I mean Mr.
Webb, he's got a thing for roses. This is an old house with a lot of old
memories. A lot of painful ones, a lot of strange ones, too. Anyway, he
wouldn't want me prattling on about that. I've been here long enough to know
better. That's a rose. Old, old brush. Belonged to the elder Webb's wife –
Preston's mother. She had it as long as I can remember." Behind his thick voice
was a certain breathy reverence.

Lys turned it over in her hand again and felt a
cold spark shoot up her arm. "It's beautiful," she said.

"Mhm. Anyway, things to do," Peter snorted. "Aside
from the clothes, the young master wanted me to give you these towels in case
you wanted to wash off. I'd let you use the shower, but right now things aren't
exactly on an even keel here. I can't have you being spotted by our resident
snoop."

Taking the bowl of towels, Lys inhaled deeply, the
rose scent filling her lungs. Even with Peter still standing there, she
couldn't keep herself from grabbing one. The heat from the towel relaxed her,
and the scent that filled her nose helped. Alyssa rubbed her sore, tired eyes,
and her branch-stung cheeks, which relaxed her just a bit.

"Don't forget the perfume," he said. "Or the
blindfold. Best for both of us to remember what Mr. Webb wants, he gets."

Deep in the heart of the estate, Gadsen turned in
his chair. With a horrible smile stretching across his lips, he looked at a
television monitor. One in a bank of a hundred, that was labeled 'Guest Room
Four – Floor 2' and touched the tips of his fingers together in a slow, steady
rhythm.

"Good," he said. "Very, very good."

The hook-nosed old man pushed a button on his
desk. "Ye-hello?" Peter said.

"Peter, good to hear from you. I'm glad that
you've found our guest."

"How did you know?"

"Mr. Webb told me."

"I'll bet he did," Peter snarled.

"He's asked that you bind her, and that you
blindfold her. Otherwise he doesn't feel safe."

"Gadsen, I know damn well he didn't tell you that.
I spoke with him just a few minutes ago. I oughta-"

"You ought to be quiet and do as you're told."

"Mr. Webb is going to hear about this. And I'm
going to tell him who told me to do it, too."

"I'm sure he will, Peter. I'm absolutely sure."