Filthy Secret

Teenage me would have chosen to drown. She was naive. Infatuated. I didn’t see Cade’s obsessive and sometimes possessive behavior as dangerous. To me, he was protective. A shelter, and far more reliable than parents who’d all but left me to fend for myself while they focused on building the business that eventually brought us to the city.

That decision, the move to the city. The moment my parents chose that path, everything went wrong.

Cade was livid. My parents were forcing me to move in the middle of the year. I was two months shy of 18, and I had no choice in the matter. He offered to find me an apartment in the small town we lived in, pay the rent, give me money for food. Let me stay and finish school and choose my own path. My parents laughed in his face, called him sick. He was too old to be so attached to me, and they forbade any more contact between us.

Cade wasn’t going to have that.

Looking at him now, the terror from the last time I saw him returns. I can see his fist hitting my dad’s face, feel his hand around my wrist as he hauls me into a car. He drove me out of town, out of the county, halfway across the state before I convinced him to stop. I was certain my parents had called the police. He was going to be arrested, or worse. I convinced him to stop and let me off, but he wasn’t happy about it. He promised he’d come get me. No matter where I was, he’d come get me.

And now here he stands, wearing a suit, holding a camera, looking every bit the handsome man I was once enchanted by. Broad shoulders, toned chest, arms rippled with muscle. His hair is longer. Still short on the sides but long enough that when he slides his hand over his head, his fingers rustle the hair. His brown, almond shaped eyes meet mine, wide and shining. His lips are parted, opened on a gasp that finally slips out and breaks the silence between us.

“Lyra.”

He says my name like a vow. A whispered prayer of relief, and it makes the knot in my stomach tighten. Nostalgia is an ache inside me, so strong I have to press my hand over my heart to try and stifle it. I stay rooted to the spot while Cade approaches, his hands hovering over my shoulders and face like he’s afraid to touch me.

“God, you’re beautiful. You’re… gorgeous.” His voice breaks midsentence, and my eyes prick when I realize there are tears in his. He blinks them back and lets out a long breath, hands curling around my jaw as his forehead drops against mine.

“Sweetheart, I missed you. Fuck, I missed you so much.”

“Cade…”

It’s all I can say. I’m too shocked by his appearance to form a cohesive thought. He laughs once, then pulls me into an embrace so tight and sincere, it makes every touch I’ve shared with Blaine the last year seem performative. Cade cups the back of my head, his fingers splayed over my back, nose buried under my ear. This hug makes Blaine seem like an understudy. The stand in. The warmup for the main event. He’s never held me like this. He’s never touched me like this.

Blaine has also never punched my father in the face and kidnapped me because he couldn’t stand the idea of letting me go.

I try to disentangle myself, but Cade holds tight as questions mount in my head. How did he get here? Why did he come? There’s no way in Hell my parents invited him. I wonder if he’s still enlisted. I wonder if they kicked him out.

At last, he pulls back, cupping my jaw and tipping my chin up to give me a kiss so quick it’s over before I can protest. He takes my hands in his and backs toward the door, pulling me with him.

“Come with me.”

I stay frozen in my spot, stumbling as he tugs harder. “Lyra, baby, we need to go.”

It has to be shock that’s keeping me silent. That’s the only explanation. I pull my hands free from his and swallow, trying to loosen the tightness in my throat. “What? Cade. I can’t-”

“I love you, Lyra. I never stopped. I told you I’d never stop.”

A flash of heat warms me from head to toe. There’s a part of me that wants to believe him. The despairing teenage girl inside me who cried so hard when we drove out of town and I left him behind.

But it’s moot. None of it matters. Things between us ended and I moved on and started a new life.

Cade frowns at me and takes my hands again, tugging me toward the door. “We can’t stay here. We need to go.”

“Cade.”

Words fail me. I absolutely cannot comprehend this scenario. It’s… it’s insane. He looks to the door and gestures, but I shake my head. “I can’t go with you. My wedding starts in less than an hour. I’m… I’m getting married.”

I show him the ring on my finger, but immediately pull my hand away when I see the expression on his face. The sweet, enraptured look has been replaced with rage. It’s palpable, so thick in the air I’d need a sword to cut through it. Cade snarls a curse and grabs my hand, tearing the ring off my finger and throwing it across the room.

“Like fuck you are.”

His eyes meet mine, and my throat seizes up again as he grabs hold of my arm and hauls me across the room. “Cade, stop.” I shove at his chest, trying to rip my arm free. “Please. I don’t-”

“No, Lyra. Come with me. Now.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.” The rage simmers and his expression shifts from anger into desperation. He reaches for my face, pleading with his eyes.

“Sweetheart, you don’t have to do this.”

“I want to.” I press my free hand to my chest. “I love-”

My profession of love for Blaine is cut off by his growl, and he glares at me and shakes his head. “We don’t have time for this.”

One large arm wraps around my waist, and it’s then I realize I’ve forgotten how strong he always was. And how big. I mean, everyone is bigger than me since I stand at five-foot-four in two-inch heels, but Cade is enormous. A full foot taller than I am, and at least 60 pounds heavier. It’s like a mouse trying to wrestle a lion. He presses me against a wall, pinning me in place with his body as he digs into the pocket of his slacks.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, but this isn’t fucking happening. You’re mine.

You’ve always been mine.”

His fist emerges, and my eyes widen as he bites off the cap off a syringe and grabs my arm. “Cade? Cade, don’t!”NôvelDrama.Org owns this text.

Instinct takes over and I to stomp on his foot with the heel of my shoe. He grunts, but I only manage to take two steps before his arm loops around my waist and he hauls me to the floor. I scream as he pins me with a knee, grabs my arm, and plunges the needle into my bicep.

“HELP! SOME-”

The words are cut off by his hand slapping over my mouth, pressing so hard I can’t bite down. He pockets the empty syringe, then straddles me, holding my jaw shut with one hand and cupping my head in the other. I punch his shoulders, shove at his chest, kick and flail, but it does no good. He’s got me pinned, trapped in his hold, his dark eyes boring into mine.

“What do you want me to do, Lyra?” He demands. “Watch you walk down the aisle? Wait until they ask me to speak or forever hold my fucking peace?” Agony flashes in his eyes, and he leans his forehead against mine. “There’s no peace without you.”

My arms grow tired, legs get heavy, and eventually they fall to the floor at my side. The room blurs into colorless shapes, and it’s only then that he moves off me. Hands slip under my ribs, under my legs. My head lolls against his chest.

He’s running, and I’m a ragdoll in his arms. A potato sack over his shoulder. Warm sun bathes my bare back, then it vanishes, replaced by soft, cool vinyl. Cade hovers over me, tucking my legs into place, smoothing my dress down. Black surrounds his face, his palm is pressing to my cheek, but my skin is numb. He speaks, but I’m drowning, moans slipping out of me as oblivion looms.

“Shh, it’s okay. We’re going home, Lyra. You’re mine. And I’ll fucking kill anyone who tries to take you from me again.”