Chapter 7: Taken

I should’ve stayed in bed that morning. First I slipped picking wildflowers in the woods—got a bruise the size of a plum. Then, barely out of the shower, Lillian and her entourage showed up like a storm.

Normally, I’d keep at least a dozen insects close, tucked into pockets or in jars on my belt. But today, I’d left them all but one or two. If things went sideways, I might not even be able to save myself.

You hear stories—marrying rich is like diving into deep water. You never know what’s below.

I couldn’t let them drag me off without a fight.

"Help! Somebody help me! I don’t know these people!"

We lived at the very edge of Maple Heights, a stone’s throw from the woods. I’d always loved the quiet, the privacy. Now I wished we’d lived right in the center of town.

I screamed for help, voice raw, but not a single neighbor poked their head out. Porch lights flickered on, but curtains twitched shut just as quick. Nobody wanted trouble with folks who drove cars that shiny.

The maid—her face twisted with annoyance—rolled up her sleeves and slapped me, hard.

"You two are useless! Gag her!"

Rough hands stuffed a sour-smelling rag in my mouth, tied my wrists tight with scratchy rope. They hauled me into the car, dumped me on the floor like a sack of potatoes. My head cracked against the doorframe, sparks flashing behind my eyes.

"Go!" Lillian barked. The engine growled to life. I curled up, feigning unconsciousness, heart hammering against my ribs.

"Mrs. Parker, did we go too far?" one of the women whispered, nudging me with her foot.

"This is the third son’s first mistress. If anything happens…"

Mrs. Parker snorted. "Mrs. Lee, you’re too soft."