Chapter 62

62

"I'm not sure we've met before," her new captor said, smirking at her.

Like Fletcher smirked at Dylan sometimes.

Meyra knew who he was. Everyone did. And well, he really looked like Ben and Fletcher and Gil. Just older. "You're Bruce. Nikki's uncle. Em and Junie and Auggie's father."

The man who had abused them. He was a monster, and they all knew it. "What are you going to do to me?"

"I'm here on a little errand, precious." He grabbed rope from the back of his van. His other hand tightened around the back of her neck so much it hurt. Meyra couldn't fight, even though she tried. Then he had her hands bound. "You are going to stay right here, out of trouble. I'm sure I'll figure out what to do with you later."

He studied her, with eyes the same blue as Fletcher's. It was creepy to see Fletcher's eyes in his face. He leaned forward and kissed her softly on the mouth. Then he pulled away. "Who knows? Maybe I'll just drive off into the sunset and keep you for myself? What would the rich fancy boyfriend have to say about that? He should do a better job of taking care of you."

"Brandt is in trouble. They drugged him. We have to help him."

"I have to do no such thing. They are setting up that rich pretty boy to be the fall guy, sweetie pie. That asshole Fisher, for one thing. Dirty down to his tighty-whities. Him and that bitch wife of his. Been good friends of Morry Preston for years. Michelle is Morry's cousin, after all. Playmate, too. Which means…they are no friends of mine."

He hefted Meyra until she was propped up against the side of the van. "You are going to stay here. I have…business with good old Judge Dale Fisher and some of his boys inside. If you behave, I will let you go in a little bit, okay, sweetie? Unless…I am the far better man than that rich boy you've been going around with. We can make it a permanent thing—have a few kids of our own, settle down somewhere. I make very pretty babies, you know. Need three more to have a whole set."

This guy was insane. He had nine daughters that he'd abandoned. Meyra knew them all. "Let me go. I have to go help him. Please. Please, Mr. Tyler. I was going to go to Gil's. Get help there. Please."

"I'm not a damned hero, kid. Haven't you heard that about me? Damn, you are a young one, aren't you? How old are you, anyway? Eighteen? Legal, so I can drive off into the sunset with you as my reward for my next good deeds?"

"I'm twenty-five. Please…let me go." He was a criminal. No denying that. She knew the things he had done. Especially to his daughters. "Please, I have to help him."

"Ah, puppy love. Guess no hope for me, then. What you are going to do is stay right here. Until I come back."

"Please. He's dying in there. You said—you told people before—you aren't a killer. I know you said that. I know it. Please. You have to help him."

Then he was just gone.

And Meyra was stuck there.

And then he just left her there.