Untamed (A Bad Boy Secret Baby Romance)(12)

This was supposed to be a holiday. At least, that’s what Dad said when he told me that he was taking me to Thailand. I thought I’d get to ride an elephant, see a tiger, try the non-spicy Thai foods, and experience the land of a thousand smiles.

Instead we went straight to the five-star resort full of other foreign tourists, rested and cleaned up, and then he told me to get back into the jeep with him because he had someone he wanted to see.

That was when I knew that we weren’t here for a holiday.

That was when I knew we were here on business.

And even though I’m not an adult yet, I’m smart enough to know what business means. It’s what Dad does… he’s a mobster. Business always means drugs, women, or violence… and always dirty money.

“Dad, are we there yet?”

This time he hears me, and he turns to me briefly. “Almost, so stop asking me.”

“Why are we coming out here?”

“There’s somebody I need to see.”

“Did I have to come?” I ask him. “Couldn’t I have stayed at the hotel? They have a nice pool! Or I could have gone for a walk around town?”

“You won’t be walking around town all by yourself in a foreign country,” he says. “You’re only fifteen.”

“I’m nearly sixteen, and I can take care of myself. I’m not stupid.”

Dad laughs meanly… and I know he’s laughing at me, as if I’ve just said the most unwise thing in the world. I sink into my seat and fold my arms.

“I thought you should meet him, too,” he says.

I blink. Him? “Who are we meeting?”

“A boy.”

I shake my head. I don’t understand. “Why?”

But he doesn’t reply.

The terrifying thought enters my head: He’s marrying me off!

But, after a moment’s reflection, I don’t really believe it.

He weaves the jeep around trees, eventually finds a dirt road, then breathes a sigh of relief and says to me, “Good thing I found the path again.”

“You mean you were lost?”

“A little.”

Now on the dirt path, soft from the daily rainfalls, he drives faster, and before long we come to a clearing, and I see a collection of huts on stilts. It’s a small village bracketed by lush green jungle on one side, and the sparkling blue-green sea with its yellow beach on the other. The beach looks like somebody took a highlighter pen and traced the shoreline.

In the center of the village sits a wide, square wooden building without windows. It’s suspended on stilts as well, but the walls look older than the houses that surround it. I see a golden elephant outside, notice the incense sticks. It must be a temple of some kind.

“Why couldn’t we just take a boat?” I ask when I spot a small jetty extending from the beach.

“I enjoy the drive.”

“I would have liked a boat ride.”

“Deidre,” he says, looking harshly at me. “Can you just shut up for a moment?”

I tighten my arms around my stomach and crease my brow, pricked by his impatience and rudeness. He’s always like this, always treating me like I’m some kind of burden. Why the hell did he insist on bringing me here, then?

Damn it!

I half expect him to tell me about how he always wanted a son. He’s said that to me before many times, especially when he’s drunk and angry.

He stops the car at the clearing, orders me out with him with a sharp jerk of his wrist. Together we walk into the village, a wide gap in between us.

I see people working vegetable patches, spy a rickety pen of pigs, hear the hum of a generator. These people are farmers, live a simple life.

Suddenly, I feel out of my element, self-conscious. I’m here in my jeans, t-shirt and branded sneakers, whereas other kids I see are wearing hand-me-down clothing, are running around barefoot or in flip-flops that look a decade old. Their feet are dirty.

“Wait here,” he says, walking off into the village.

“Dad!” I call.

He turns around. “What?”

“Dad, don’t leave me alone. Please.”

“Grow up, would you?”

Someone approaches him, and they talk. It’s clear the man is struggling to understand him because he doesn’t speak English. All Dad does is start yelling, as if that’s going to help matters. Eventually the man seems to get the idea, and points toward the temple.

The other villagers pay me no mind, except for the children. They watch me from far away with wide, curious eyes. I shove one hand into my back pocket, and with the other fiddle with my wavy hair held up in a ponytail. I don’t know what to do, and become more and more uncomfortable.

I go back to the jeep and get out my backpack. I rummage through it, pull out my bottle of water, but my small, pink pocket-mirror slips out. The gleaming reflection of the sun catches my eye for a moment, and then the mirror lands face-down.