The Penalty Box - Teagan Kade Page 0,17

behind my back, but not before I’ve swung my leg back into his shin. He barely moves, a short grumble before the others arrive and take hold of my legs.

I scream but only manage to get out “Hel—” before my mouth is covered. I try to bite down, but it’s useless.

How can no one be seeing this? I wonder. It’s broad daylight for crying out loud.

They carry me across the street and bundle me into the back of the Merc most unceremoniously.

“Fuck you!” I shout, wedged between two of them as the doors close.

“If he wants to see me so bad,” I continue. “He should have kidnapped me his-fucking-self.”

The goon in the passenger seats turns to show me he’s holding a pistol, placing his finger to his lips.

I laugh. “You think that piece of dick compensation scares me?”

He goes back to staring out the front window, the driver pulling away with a screech of tires.

It’s a long and painful trip to my father’s. I’ve never been here before, but I pay special attention to the street and house number, filing it away for later. These goons might be big, but they’re not very bright. They should have patted me down at the very least. Clearly, they haven’t been watching enough NCIS.

I get out reluctantly not willing to be manhandled again. One goes to reach for me, but I put up my fist. “Touch me again and I swear to god I’ll knock your teeth so far down your throat you’ll have to stick a toothbrush up your ass to brush them.”

That gets something of a smile. He nods and ushers me towards the front door. Damn house looks like a mausoleum, completely cold and over the top. Suits my father to a T, really.

The front doors are gold, probably ten foot high. I’m led through, the air cool from all the marble.

I stop, the goon who smiled nodding me on. “They’re waiting. Move.”

“I’ve got to go,” I tell him, squeezing my legs together. “Number one, I promise.”

I almost see his eyes rolling behind those cut-price mafia shades. He jerks his head to the left. “Follow me.”

I’m led down a small hall and into a bathroom.

“You going to give me some privacy or you get off on golden showers?” I ask.

He breathes out and closes the door.

As soon as it’s closed, I pull out my cell and start to text Nolan. How stupid are these guys? Funnily enough, I’m more concerned about him thinking I’ve stood him up than being dragged here against my will. Don’t call back, I finish.

The fuck? he replies. You okay?

Yes, I text.

Address?

There’s a split second of hesitation before I reply, texting it out and adding, He’s got bodyguards. Don’t do anything stupid.

There’s a knock on the door. “Let’s go.”

“Give me a fucking second!” I bellow, as dramatically as I can.

I delete the conversation and turn off my cell, slipping it into my ass crack. Let Vin Diesel out there find it now.

I reach over and flush the toilet, opening the door and emerging looking refreshed. “Ah, that’s better.”

“Move,” the goon repeats, shifting behind me.

I’m led to a large open space at the back of the house. My father’s seated there with someone who I assume is that Harry idiot beside him. They’re both wearing the same, smug expression, smiles like oil slicks all ’round. Both have tumblers of whiskey in front of them. Do they think they’re gangsters or something? Not with a pink flamingo floating in the pool outside.

I take a seat. Or rather, I’m seated, two goons standing at my back to make sure I don’t leave the table. I feel like I’m four years old.

My father smiles at me from the opposite side of the table. “Linnea, darling. So nice of you to join us.”

I give him the finger.

He doesn’t falter, gesturing to the corporate pin-up boy beside him. “This is Harry, who I was telling you about. He’s excited to meet you.”

“Charmed,” the human robot chirps, with about as much enthusiasm as a lump of coal.

I give him the finger too, share the love.

My father smiles. “As you can see, Harry, my daughter’s a little… rough around the edges, shall we say, but with time, the right man to guide her, I’m confident she’ll come around.”

“Aren’t you going to introduce yourself to our guest, Linnea?”

I’ve got a few zingers for that, but I know the silent treatment will work best, absolutely cut my father up.

So, I give him the finger again.

He sighs,