Blyss (The Blyss Trilogy 1)

Growing up in this house, I have committed to memory which floorboards squeak and what corners are best to spy from. Noiselessly, with my back sliding against the hallway wall, I begin moving toward the voices, slipping into the dark shadows. As I move closer to my father’s office, the voices are getting louder and the conversation more heated. I jolt at the sound of my father’s commanding and prevailing voice as he roars in anger.

“Are you threatening me?” my father yells incredulously.

“I’m just stating the facts from my chain of command. You can take the orders anyway you damn well please, but it won’t change the plans. You would be wise not to resist me.”

“I’ve got this under control, dammit! I’m the one in charge here. I only need one more week, and I will have everything in order,” Dad argues. I have never in my life heard anyone speak to my father in such a way and live to tell about it. The fact Dad is letting this man get away with treating him this way confuses me. He has always been the one to have the upper hand in everything. Obviously, he doesn’t seem to be the one with the upper hand tonight. “Look, I ran into a small glitch; it just pushed me back one week. Just one fucking week! We’ve waited this long; one week is not going to affect the final outcome.”

“Then yes, Lance, to answer your question, I am threatening you. Which do you prefer: pushing up daisies or feeding fish?”

“You fucking asshole!” Dad’s voice booms through the doorway, and I have never heard him this mad. Holy crap! As I stand right outside his office door, my breathing turns shallow. I’m a little freaked out right now. God, I would really like to have a sneak peek, but I’d be exposing myself if I did. My gut tells me to stay out of sight to listen to how things will play out.

My imagination begins to run wild as I picture what this stranger looks like. His voice reminds me of an Italian mobster. It sounds overbearing, spine-chilling, and villainous, and it all fits perfectly together with his thick New York accent. He sounds so stereotypical I wouldn’t doubt it if he was holding a Tommy gun.

“Lance, you don’t seem to comprehend what I’m saying here; I have my orders from the boss. One week is seven days too long, and the time has come. We’re taking Julianna, and we’re taking her tonight. I don’t need your permission, or seal of approval. The boss wants her, and he wants her now. He always gets what he wants.

“The man’s steel voice resonates with a clear-cut finality that has his last words ringing in my ears. Taking Julianna…say what? Taking me?! Holy shit!

“He may be your boss, but he sure as hell isn’t mine. We had a business deal on my terms, not his. Get him on the phone; I want to talk to him.”

“Uh-uh, that isn’t going to happen, Lance. He said this may happen, and if it did, I’m to use any force necessary to see it through.”

Hearing this angry man who wants to take me only God knows where, my breathing starts to accelerate. Pressing my back harder against the wall, I try to inhale a calm, quiet breath. I really don’t feel like going anywhere with this guy, let alone meet his boss, so he’d have to take me kicking and screaming if he did. Shit! Maybe that’s what he plans on doing. Pure, raw terror overcomes me, making my stomach muscles clench.

Dad’s voice bellows again with wild rage, “The hell you’re taking her anywhere!”

The other man’s voice shifts from turbulent to eerily placid as he speaks calmly. “Let’s not make this more difficult than it has to be, Lance. Make no mistake, I will be taking her…by force tonight, if need be. We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Either way, I’m done here.”

It just dawns on me that come Hell or high water, this man means what he says, and I am witnessing the calm before the storm. I can feel it in the air; some serious shit is about to unfold, and all I can do at the moment is try to catch my breath. My thoughts get all jumbled up, vacillating between panic, confusion, what to do, and where to run. I squeeze my eyes tightly shut for a brief second, forcing myself to think on my feet as I run escape scenarios through my mind at Mach speed. There is no safety if I retreat to my bedroom; he’ll probably head there first. Shit, my purse and car keys are upstairs. I resign myself to making a break for it on foot; barefoot, at that.