Taking Tessa

* * *

C
opyright
© 2016 by Aria Cole

C
over Design
: Sybil at PopKitty Reviews

Editing: Aquila Editing

N
o part
of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

T
his book is
a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

* * *

* * *

* * *

C
age West has spent
his entire life waiting for one woman to take his life by storm. As a detective with the local PD, he spends his hours apprehending criminals and not much else. When a tip comes into the office about a possible kidnapping, Cage is prepared to do his job and nothing else, until he lays eyes on sweet, innocent Tessa.

T
essa Talbot has spent
her life high in a metaphorical tower, her stepfather preferring to keep her under his thumb, convinced she'll only succumb to all the sins the world has to offer. He's kept her wildly naïve, and after years of homeschooling, she's shocked to learn her life could be anything different.

T
hat is
, until one tall, dark, and devilishly handsome stranger knocks on her door. Scared to let him in, even more afraid to turn him away, Tessa makes the decision of her life and decides to trust the man she's only just met and leave behind the only world she's known. She's praying the past won't return to haunt her, he's just praying he can save her when it does.

W
arning
:
Cage is a rough and growly alpha male with a fierce loyalty to the woman he loves. This story is a wild, twisty ride coated in sugary, Aria Cole sweetness with a sinfully delicious dollop of sex drizzled on top. Snuggle in and get swept away with Cage while he's taking Tessa!

* * *

I
t's been
two years since I've felt the sunshine on my skin.

That was the first thought in my mind as I sucked in my first lungful of tangy, autumn air. My eyes crushed closed, tears burning at the corners as I took another breath and stretched my arms fingertip to fingertip.

Soft wind kissed my cheeks and sent my hair dancing on invisible currents.

I hadn't known how much I'd miss the feel of a cool breeze on my face; it felt like a sweet kiss just barely caressing my skin.

My eyes flashed open, flickering up to the eave of the dingy old house that'd I'd called home for more than sixteen years. It'd become my prison cell, once a home filled with sunshine and laughter, it'd gone dim after sadness had seeped through the cracks.

I traced my fingers across the weathered wood of the deck, eyes tracing the top line of the fence, a fence that used to shine with pride and beautiful flowers greeting passers-by, the colors were vibrant and full of beauty, just like my life had been. I remember times of pure joy and unadulterated laughter echoing all around these walls. But now all I know is walls and locks, the walls now bare and the laughter inside has now turned into a deafening silence laced with bitterness and sorrow.

I lived in a quiet, quaint town in the hills of northern Idaho, and I hadn't seen a single piece of it in more years than I could remember.

Father kept me here after she was taken away.

That's how he'd insisted we refer to the loss of my mother—when she was taken away. The only man who had ever acted as my father had lost himself once she was gone. They'd always been a wild pair, drinking and smoking too much, late parties and strangers around the house in the morning sleeping off hangovers. I never said they were good parents, but they did love me, and I knew that even with all their faults I was the joy in their hearts. My options were limited and my world was small, and somehow after Mama passed no one ever thought to ask me where I thought it would be best for me to live. I knew it wasn't at this house at 748 Bakker, where I could see him rotting from the inside out, but I didn't know any different and wasn't given the voice to ask for it. Even if I had been asked, I wasn't sure what I would have said. This man had always been good to me when my mother was around. I remember even through the drunkest haze he would protect me and make sure I was fed and clean. Never did I imagine that with my mother gone he would change and become what he was now.

My stepfather, Tom, began insisting I call him Father and became convinced God was teaching him a lesson by taking her. He attended church five nights a week and dragged me along for the first few years, until, as all young girls, I started to bloom into a young woman, and like all young women I began to draw the attention of other young men. That was when Tom began locking me away to keep me safe. To make sure that I wouldn't be taken like my mother.

Tom began a rigorous homeschooling curriculum juxtaposed with lengthy sermons that just added fear to an already scared and confused girl who didn't have the guidance of her mother. When he wasn't working and I wasn't studying, we were glued to the TV, the day's current events playing on an endless loop. Terrorism, disease, natural disaster, nuclear threats, poison in the water, the air, and our food.

Tom was convinced we were all being punished, and to protect me, he sheltered me.

I smiled when I felt the smallest raindrop dust my nose, bringing me back to the moment. I'd planned on setting up a picnic for us out here. Rain would ruin that, but it'd been so long since I'd felt that cool splash on my skin. I wiped at another small drop kissing my cheekbone, then turned and going back into the house, leaving the kitchen door wide open, raindrops dancing by the entrance and the insects hovering to get in.

I stuck a ladle into the homemade spaghetti sauce on the stove, one of father's favorite family recipes, and tested it. The flavors danced on my tongue and coaxed a feeling of warmth and familiarity in my soul. It was perfect, and I imagined the glowing praise Tom would pile on me when he tasted it. Hopefully, it would outweigh my minor indiscretion of going outside.

I knew it was a risk, but I was planning on presenting him with a very solid argument on why I should be allowed out of the house, at least a few afternoons a week. Hell, I would do the weekly grocery shopping if he'd let me. I relished the thought of actual human contact—inane conversations with the checkout clerk, chatting about the weather with the stocker, discussing gas prices with a gas station attendant—anything at all.

I turned the sauce down to a slow simmer, then set to work setting the small picnic table on the deck. Two faded placemats I'd dug out of a deep cupboard in the hopes of making things a little more festive, sweaty glasses of ice-cold water, and the only two matching plates in the entire kitchen—Tom had a habit of smashing glassware when he was really passionate about a topic. It was never meant in anger— simply a moment of weakness. Where his emotions were concerned, Tom never cared to rein in his beast. It was as if he couldn't reason with his brain when it came to staying calm and under control. With Tom
,
there was always a storm brewing in the depth of his eyes, and even as a little girl I knew to keep away so that I wouldn't become caught in the hurricane that he could unleash. I glanced at the clock as I stepped back in the house, noting that he would be home any minute.

I poured the rich sauce over bowls of spaghetti and set them on the picnic table before running back in to grab the bruschetta and salad I'd whipped up to go with our meal. I spent a lot of time watching cooking shows when I wasn't studying or learning about the current, very sad state of our world. Tom allowed me to watch two things: the news and cooking shows. The man liked to eat.

Biting down on my bottom lip, I finally collapsed into a chair outside. Fingering the frayed hem of my thin dress, I smiled as I thought maybe I could even go shopping for one or two more pieces of clothes. I'd begged Tom before I'd even turned sixteen to let me have a job, some way to bring extra money into our house because we still struggled on his meager factory wages, but he'd refused.

He didn't believe women should be in the workforce. He claimed the very problem with our society was women leaving the kitchen and entering the workplace, competing with men, confusing gender roles. Children needed a mother at home to raise them well, teach them values, and provide stable homes, but women working meant children being raised by strangers, or even worse, alone. In my father's mind, all the ills of the world could be traced back to that.

I sighed, twisting my fingertip over the soft pink cotton flowers decorating my dress. Tom wasn't even really my father, but after my mother's death that was what he wanted to become. I realized that technically he had no claim to me, and since I was nineteen, an adult, I really could leave whenever I wanted.

But I knew what that would bring. That would bring complete heartache and ruin upon my shoulders. Tom Westlake would let me go all right, he'd let me learn my lesson the hard way. With jobs being few and far between, more people unemployed, homeless, and addicted to drugs than ever before, I knew very well I could easily become a statistic since I had no other family to help me. No friends to stay with, no real world experience to even help me along. I was a young, smart woman. I just didn't have much in the way of independence. But I was safe here, and staying safely tucked in a comforting environment was important, wasn't it? Weren't people all over the world wishing for that very thing?

So why was I feeling so anxious the last few months? The idea of venturing out consuming my mind until it felt like I might bite through my own tongue to stifle the words falling out of my mouth. My stomach coiled with nerves as I waited patiently.

It didn't take long for loud footsteps echoing through the narrow hallways of the house to nearly stop my heart.

This was it.

Either I was brave or I was stupid.

All that I knew for sure was that I had to try.

"Tessa!" His thick voice barreled through the kitchen.

"Out here!" I called as sweetly as I could. I'd learned long ago how to soothe my father's mood, and sweetness always helped. His belief that women should be soft and naïve, along with my ability to play it up helped me in more than one situation.

Without a single word, my father stomped out on the deck, his face beet red and puffy, his nostrils flaring as his eyes seared across the space between us.

"What are you doing?" His wide forearm crashed across the small table and sent food and plates flying. My heart fell
t
o my quaking knees, tears instantly burning my eyelids.

I'd been stupid. Daftly stupid.

"I was hoping we could have a meal outside, it's been so long since—" I couldn't finish my sentence as the thick sausage fingers of his hand thrust in my hair and yanked me from my seat.

Tears bled down my cheeks. They always came when feelings of frustration took a hold of me, and I wished with every ounce of my soul to be somewhere else. Tucked in a corner, free, safe and far, far from here. "I'm sorry."

"Why is it, despite all the lessons I've given you, you still make the wrong decisions?" His permanently putrid breath washed across my face.

I swallowed, only one thought playing on repeat on my brain. "I just wanted to feel the sunshine."

"Sit by a window," my father growled, then wrapped my chin in his other hand, forcing my gaze on his. His freakishly dark eyes cut across my face as if he were leaving a path of jagged scars across my skin. "The more leash I give you, the more you take. If I let you out in this big, bad world, how many bad decisions you think you'll make then? Because I know." He paused, seething. "All of them. You're not ready for this world, Tessa, and I won't be responsible for your failure in it. A woman's only place is at home, supporting the family while the man takes care of the hard stuff."

"But we-there isn't..." I paused, cringing around my next words. "We don't have a family."

Father's face twisted, a mix of shock and anger widening his eyes before his fat thumb traced the line of my top lip. "I was thinking we could change that now that you're a little older."

My stomach fell. He'd never...he wouldn't... He didn't expect me to...?

"W-wh-?" Never, ever had he laid a hand on me, never so much as a suggestion of it, and I damn sure knew I wouldn't stay if he ever tried. I could not give him that chance. I'd kill him in his sleep before I let him put a hand on me.

"Don't worry about it now, precious." His hand roamed in my hair, and the touch sickened me, I felt my body revolt, and all thoughts of hunger evaporated into thin air. He pulled me inside the house by my hair, my scalp burning from the pressure of his grip. "Now, how many days in isolation you think this little stunt deserves?"

"B-but--"

"God, precious girl." He pulled my head to his chest. He smelled like gasoline and sweat, and it made my stomach churn. "The outside world is full of sin. Everything about you is pure. What kind of father would I be if I let you expose yourself to that?"

My cringe was hidden against the dark fabric of his shirt, my tears soaking the thin fibers. What kind of father hinted at touching his daughter the way this man just did with me? He wasn't my father. He was my captor.

"Three days this time, I'll go easy on you." He pulled my face away and loosened his grip in my hair. I sighed, my fingertips pressing at the tender, bruised flesh at my scalp. "Outside of cleaning and cooking, you're not allowed out of your room. Got it?"

More tears clogged at my throat and fought for release. I nodded, eyes downcast, before I dropped my hands and turned to leave.

"Tessa?" My name on his lips made me want to scream. "Dish me out another bowl of that spaghetti before you go up."

My eyes caught his triumphant ones before I turned my head, knowing that meant I would go without my own dinner tonight. Unwilling to let him see my own stubborn anger reddening my cheeks, I replied, "Yes, father.”