I’m skeptical of the masks. Not knowing what someone looks like scares me, but that’s clearly a result of my mother whispering in my ear. I constantly hear how I need to find a handsome, wealthy man to stand by my side, one who can provide for me while I pop out babies. I wouldn’t say I’m opposed to children altogether, but I don’t feel like I need to marry with the sole intention of having a child.
“Just try it. If you hate the masks or the whole thing, you have a safe word. Use it, and everything goes away. If you love it, I paid for the complete experience. They could pop up anytimeover the course of your stay. Enjoy yourself—be free like you once dreamed of. If I have to drive down there myself to talk some sense into you, I will.”
“Okay, okay. You have convinced me. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Not if you are in a sex coma, you won’t. Bye.”
He hangs up on me before I can respond, and I take one last look at myself in the mirror. What will the masked men think if they see my scars? Would they even care? I shake off the annoying voice in my head. Quite a number of times my mother has mentioned plastic surgery to make them less noticeable, but I won’t. They are a reminder of what happens when you try to step outside of the life you were born into. She even booked me in for Botox for my birthday, telling me I need to start on my wrinkles before they get any worse.
What fucking wrinkles? My face looks fine.
My text message alert pings, and my heart thumps wildly in my chest. Opening the message from the unknown sender, I find a set of coordinates.
Taking a deep breath in, I say aloud, “You can do this, Kinsley Elise Ellsworth. You can give up control for one night.”
An epiphany hits me. I am becoming my mother. She has molded me into her. I’m a workaholic control freak who, deep down, just wants her mother’s approval, but won’t ever get it. She forever likes to remind me of the one time I tried to rebel—aka running away with Teddy—and the consequences of my actions.
I don’t want to become her: in my fifties with no real friends. And a husband who spends most of his time abroad with his current fling—that she knows about, mind you, but doesn’t have the time or energy to deal with.
My father died in a plane crash before I was born. My mom married Brian fifteen years ago, but I don’t think she ever lovedhim. It simply looks good for her image to have a wealthy man on her arm at events.
Pulling up the location on my maps app, I see it’s only a small walk from here, in the opposite direction from The Promenade.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I rush out the door, slipping the key under the welcome mat.
Here goes nothing.
I step down the wooden stairs and onto the concrete path beside the beach. The evening air is cooler than during the day, and it’s a welcome relief. A breeze drifts off the water, tugging at my floral dress and ruffling my hair. It’s not cold, just cool enough to make me question if I need a light cardigan.
I pause, phone in hand, to make sure I’m headed in the right direction when it lights up with a new text.
Follow the path to the old boardwalk. We will be waiting.
Is it wrong to feel excitement?
There hasn’t been a time in the last decade I have wanted to be excited about something. Yet, after my talk with Jace, I want to embrace the two weeks I have here, perhaps pretend I’m still that carefree eighteen-year-old with nothing but a promising future.
When I reach the old boardwalk, everything is shrouded in darkness, and I can barely make out the silhouettes of trees. My dress flutters against my legs, causing a chill to run up my spine; not because of the cold, but at the anticipation of the unknown.
The old boardwalk creaks under my weight, and I walk ahead, not knowing where I am going or who is waiting for me. A creak from behind has me spinning around, and my breath catches as my eyes adjust to the dim light.
There, crouched between two old fallen tree trunks, the masked men wait. Red-and-blue glowing masks turn on, illuminating the space surrounding them.
My heart hammers. There’s no turning back now.
“Hello, Kinsley. We have been waiting for you,”a masked man says, his voice low and distorted. All three men step onto the boardwalk, and I remain still.
“I don’t know what to do,” I say meekly, wondering if I’m supposed to talk.
“All you need to do is run for us, pretty girl,” the second masked man says, stepping toward me.
As each man takes a step toward me, the boardwalk creaks loudly beneath their feet.
All common sense left me the second I decided to do this. I take off running further down the boardwalk, my phone flashlight lighting the way, illuminating any hazards that could trip me over. Adrenaline courses through my veins, and I have never felt more alive.
One foot in front of the other, I run down the old boardwalk, heart hammering loud enough it could wake the town. My dress tangles around my knees as I skid toward the railing. Behind me, their footsteps thud in unison.
“You can run, but you can’t hide!”one hisses.
