by Melissa Jane
Amanda giggles before a sudden realization dawns. She slaps her palm on my table, eyes wide. “Holy shit!”
“What?”
“Little Red.”
“What about it?”
She sighs in exasperation. “He did fuck you good. The original Red is not like the others. You became his original Red, Blythe. Stripped naked and eaten alive by the Big Bad Wolf.”
“I don’t think your version of ‘eaten alive’ equates to the original fairy-tale’s intention.”
She waves a hand in dismissal. “Semantics. It means exactly what Kane Alexander intended it to mean. You can’t sugarcoat that shit. That man had you in his sights long before you even knew his name.”
Maybe she’s right, except I can’t shake the feeling that last night was simply a taster of what to expect come the main meal.
“So, sex-god aside… how do you know the man isn’t some kind of psychopath?”
That’s an excellent question.
“I don’t.”
12
Dear Blythe,
I trust you slept well.
I would like to discuss a time suitable to preview your concepts.
Also, these are a replacement for the damage I caused.
Yours,
Kane
A REPLACEMENT?
Damage?
What’s he talking about?
A knock at the door causes me to jump. It seems whenever I hear from Kane, I forget about the rest of the world.
“Blythe Blakely?” The delivery man stands at the door, a parcel in one hand and a clipboard tucked under his arm.
“That’s me,” I reply, curious as to how he got by Amanda.
The man walks in and hands me an inch-high square box wrapped in a beautiful dark purple bow. I sign the paperwork and stare at the gift as the delivery man leaves me be.
“What have you done, Kane?”
Pulling the ribbon, I push it aside and lift the white lid, a smile stretching across my face while the memories of last night come flooding back, along with the ache between my legs. A pair of black silk and lace panties stare up from the pink tissue paper. I touch the soft, fine fabric, recalling how my torn G lay discarded on the floor this morning after Kane had torn it from my body. Putting the lid back on and stowing the gift in my drawer, I compose a reply.
KANE,
Your timing is impeccable… and so is your taste. Thank you.
Name a time and place and I’ll be there.
Blythe
P.S. You made me late for work.
I SIT BACK and drum my fingers on the table, unable to hide my smile when another email alert pings.
DEAR BLYTHE,
Always my pleasure, even when giving you yours.
TOMORROW AT EIGHT. There’ll be a black SUV outside your apartment. The driver’s name is Carlyle.
Yours,
Kane
P.S. If I had my way, you’d be late for work every day.
CHEEKY BASTARD.
I don’t stand a chance against Kane Alexander. Not even if I want to. I’m startled by yet another knock, this time it’s Amanda. She hurries in with a purpose and takes a seat opposite me, itching to reveal her news like an excited fourth-grader desperate to beat all the other kids to the answer.
“Spill.”
She releases the breath she’s been holding and the words pour out. “Well, you know how you asked me to investigate the building with the red door,” she says without waiting for a response. “Well, it turns out it’s unnamed for a reason, and I just happen to know someone, a connection, who begrudgingly at first was able to reveal some information about it.”
“Who is this person?”
“I can’t explain that just yet. But I can tell you it’s exclusive. You can’t get into this place being a nobody.”
“And what about your source? Is he or she a somebody?”
“Yes, and they’ve been a member for a year.”
“So, how does one become a member of this club?”
Amanda inches forward on her seat. “Well, that’s the thing. It’s less of a club and more a… society.”
“Like a secret society?”
“Exactly!”
Samantha’s working in some secret society? No wonder she couldn’t tell me. But what’s so important about it that she can’t tell me?
“So what… is this like Da Vinci Code secret society? Is sacrificing involved? A cult?”
I want to tell Amanda the reason behind my questioning, but I decide to hold that info close to my chest.
“Well, my source refused to go into detail. In fact, when I pressed for answers as to what made it secret, he pretty much declined to talk any more. That was except for one thing…”
“And what’s that?”
“When I asked how does one get into such a place, he said only those within a certain tax bracket are even considered. He said he’s allowed to invite one guest a year as part of his membership, but because he travels a lot he hasn’t had the chance.”
“You should go. Be his plus one.”
“I asked already, but like I said, whoever it is needs to fall within the tax bracket and unless you plan on giving me a considerable pay increase, I’m gonna have to sit this one out. I am happy to take one for the team should you happen to change your mind.”
“Sorry, that’s unlikely to happen.”
“It was worth a shot.” She shrugs her shoulders and then smiles. “But you, however, could meet their pre-requisites.”
“Pre-requisites… as in plural? What else are they demanding? Blood?”
“Not far off. Along with proof of last financial year’s tax assessment, you need a recent police check and photo ID of yourself, all sent in prior. Then you sit and wait to see if you’re accepted.”
My curiosity is well and truly piqued. I don’t like my chances of being accepted, even though my business financials are strong, and a police check may find one speeding fine from five years ago, but I certainly don’t carry the wealth these people would be expecting and especially not now Shawn has blown it all.
But it’s worth a shot.
I have to find out what my sister is sinking herself into. My mind is running wild with possible explanations. Anything from being a high-class escort, to a cult member committing human sacrifices, to dealings with the formidable mafia.
“This source of yours, do you trust him?”
Amanda nods with gusto.
“Well then, sign me up. But wait…” a sudden thought hits me, “if this place is intentionally kept secret, what stops anyone from telling, especially a talkative plus one?”
“An oath.”
“I have to swear an oath?”
She nods, eyes widening.
“And what happens if a guest breaks that oath?”
“I guess you’ll take a swim… with the fishes.”
DRESSED IN SOFT, pink leggings and an oversized shirt, I pour myself a glass of well-deserved wine. I’m starting to feel more at home in my new apartment, but there’s still something missing. I can’t say for sure that it’s male company I’m missing because Shawn has been absent for so long, I’m used to my alone time. But it simply feels strange knowing no one and nothing will be walking through the front door except me. Sitting on my new sofa, I decide to give Samantha one last shot. One last chance to spill the beans before I action the pre-requisites.
Setting my number to invisible, I dial Samantha and wait, counting the rings. The first call goes to voicemail, and I decide not to leave a message. Dialling again, I count five rings before she finally answers.
“Sam speaking,” she greets, indifferently.
“So, you’ll answer your phone to an unknown number but not to your sister?”
I’m met with silence and I wonder briefly if she’s going to hang up.
“Blythe, is that you? Your number didn’t show. Is everything okay?” There’s no sincerity in her voice, which tells me she’s still wanting to keep h
er distance.
“My number didn’t show for a reason, because you’ve ignored my calls for the millionth time. I’m okay, but I miss my sister and I want to know if you’re okay.”
“I’m always fine.” She laughs but it’s a nervous sound.
“Look…” I say, deciding to take the gentle approach, “I’m sorry if I’ve said something to upset you. That was never my intention. I thought we had a great time when you took me out to Othello’s, but I haven’t heard from you since, and I’ve been wracking my brain wondering what’s happened to have you distance yourself from me so much that you won’t reply to my calls or messages.”
“Sis, I’m sorry,” she says, sincerity making a return. “I never meant to distance you. I guess I’ve just become absorbed in my work.”
Maybe that’s true, but I can’t shake the multiple images of her deliberately ignoring my communication attempts.
“How is work?” I concede to still play nice.
“Good. How’s things at Blythe Industries?”
“Good. What is it you said you do again?”
“Um… sales. I work in sales. Taken on any big-name clients recently?”
“What is it exactly you’re selling? Is it something I can buy, maybe increase your commission?”
“I don’t think you’d be interested. Have you seen Shawn recently? Are you getting back together?” She’s becoming a master at avoiding my questions and redirecting the focus.
“No. Do they make you wear a uniform? I know you hate how those starchy shirts feel on your skin.”
She laughs nervously. “Yeah, the uniforms are expectedly disgusting.”
Her lies hit me like a freight train. Up until her last response, her answers could have passed for some truth, but she doesn’t wear a uniform to work, that much I know. If looking like a supermodel just off the runway is ‘expectedly disgusting,’ then everything she’s said to me is a lie.
“Perhaps we can catch up during the week, have dinner at Bianco’s,” I suggest, baiting her into telling the truth for once which she takes hook, line, and sinker.
“You know I’d love to, but I work nights, so that won’t happen unless my boss gives me a random night off. In which case we can go to Othello’s again.”
The same place she handed out her business cards.
Why there?
Why not somewhere else?
“Okay, Sam. That sounds good.”
“Great. Look, sis, I gotta go. I’m due at work any minute.”
“Well… just remember I love you, and if you ever need anything, I’m here.”
“Thanks, Blythe,” she says before hanging up.
Annoyed at her one-word replies followed by her incessant changing of focus, I take three long gulps of wine, deciding that tomorrow I will organize my police check and get to the bottom of Samantha’s lies once and for all. Maybe then, we can move forward with our relationship.
My next task is an even greater pill to swallow. I need to inform Shawn that the lawyers have requested a mediation meeting. It’s not something I was all-for at first, still pissed at discovering he wasted a year, possibly more, of my life, but my attorney said it will work in my favor if I attend without qualm.
Opting out of calling, I reset my number and open a new message and begin typing details for the mediation. Pressing send, I gulp down more wine and toss my cell on the sofa. It’s a movie and ice cream night. Either The Notebook or Dirty Dancing, and salted caramel swirl ice cream.
My cell buzzes on the cushion next to me, and when I see Shawn’s name, I opt to leave it where it is. A simple message will suffice. I don’t need to be dragged into a bitter argument.
Moments after the ringing ends, he sends a message. Relenting, I pick up the cell and read it.
SHAWN: Come on, Blythe. I know you’re ignoring my call, because you only just sent that message.
ME: That’s because—
MY REPLY IS INTERRUPTED when he starts calling again. “Damn you,” I mutter before answering, “Shawn.”
“Well, I guess, thank you for not ignoring me.”
Doesn’t feel nice, does it?
Despite it all, his voice still feels like home. The only man I’ve ever loved will always challenge my resolve.
“All the information is in the message, there’s no reason for us to talk outside of mediation.”
“Whoa,” he seems affronted. “I thought we’d made some peace last time I saw you. Has something changed?”
I feel my blood boil. “A lot has changed, Shawn. I’m done with being lied to. Everything you told me the other night was simply lie upon lie, and I’m tired of those closest to me thinking it’s okay to treat me like this. I was only ever a good wife to you, Shawn. I gave you the benefit of the doubt on so many occasions, and last night you just proved—”
“Last night?”
“Don’t play stupid with me. In fact, just be honest with yourself because you can’t hurt me anymore. You’re free from this marriage. Free to do whatever you want, even though you’ve been doing just that even during our time together.”
“Blythe, babe, I told you to trust me. I would never—”
“And I’ve told you to stop calling me babe. Surely you have enough girls hanging off your arms to call babe. I’m done with whatever you think this is. So, take whatever money you want, or whatever’s left after you’ve already helped yourself. And screw any girl you choose because… we’re done!”
I hear him protest but it’s too late, I end the call and throw the cell on the floor. While swiping angrily at the tears that flood my cheeks, I refill my glass and turn on the television. Fuck The Notebook and any other soppy shit. I flick through the channels until I find a movie which reflects my current mood. The Terminator.
13
“You’re back early.” Amanda frowns and looks at her watch while I slump onto the sofa.
“He didn’t turn up.”
“Holy shit! But I guess that’s a good thing. It can only make you look better.”
“Maybe so, but at the end of the day, he’s found yet another way to demonstrate how he can make a mockery out of our marriage. By not turning up it tells me how little he thinks of me.”
“Don’t look at it like that. It will only encourage you to be down on yourself, and you’ve done nothing wrong.”
“I just wish he’d have done something a year ago, if this is how he feels. At least, I guess, he had the courtesy not to sleep with me while he was screwing around with side pieces.”
When Amanda’s eyes widen, I know I’ve said too much.
“His side pieces? You know this for certain? Did you catch him in the act? I have so many questions.”
“Yes, to all. I caught him the other night when he told me he’d been faithful during our marriage, even right up to that point. Turns out, he was just feeding me lies upon more lies.”
“Shit, girl. Wait…” her brows shoot up, “was this when you were out with Kane?”
“In the same room.”
“Did he see you… with Kane?”
“No, thankfully. Not that he has a leg to stand on, but for some reason, Shawn has this idea in his head that Kane is public enemy number one, and is rather… passionate about me not seeing him.”
“The hypocrite.”
“Quite. Especially since he had two young things hanging off his arm.”
“The pig!” The fire in her eyes cools and is replaced with warm empathy. “I’m sorry, Blythe. You still love him, don’t you?”
I swipe angrily at the tear rolling down my cheek. “I will always love him no matter how much he’s broken my heart, because he was my first love. And although he fell out of love with me so quickly, doesn’t mean I can do the same.”
“And no one expects you to.” Amanda’s eyes turn cheeky. “Kane Alexander is a wonderful distraction, though.”
I chuckle because she’s right. Besides Kane being an awesome distraction against my marriage woes, he’s also everythi
ng Shawn has been lacking in this past year—kind, respectful and attentive.
But one thing I’m learning quickly in life is that men, no matter how attentive they are in and out of the bedroom, there’s always a catch.
IT SEEMS a far cry that I would be accepted into this secret society given I’m a woman who might only just meet the taxable income bracket. The way Amanda had described it, the exclusive venue seems very male-dominated. Choosing not to put all my eggs in one basket—in the event of rejection—I decide to pay Samantha another visit, but this time I won’t be spending my night playing peeping Tom with Beast and dining out on peanut butter protein bars. Tonight, I need to confront my little sister and refuse to leave until she starts delivering some plausible answers. Of course, she will wonder how I came about knowing where she lives since she’s refused to divulge such information. I don’t yet have an explanation for that, and in truth, I’m hoping to keep her on track enough that the question can go ignored.
And while I expect nothing but the truth from her, I decide keeping my plus-one entry to the secret society all to myself, on the off-chance I’m accepted.
Pulling up to the curb knowing Samantha’s getting ready for work, I’m disturbed to find she isn’t alone. More disturbing is seeing Shawn’s BMW parked out front. While the two were most definitely friends during our marriage, I feel a sense of betrayal that they’re visiting each other, especially with Sam knowing everything.
“What the hell is going on here?” I mutter, pulling the handbrake with too much gusto.
Is he here discussing our marriage with my sister? Seeking advice on how to repair the damage he’s done? I don’t know what I’ll do if that’s the case because a huge part of me believes it’s a waste of time. I can’t unsee him with those girls. I can’t unhear all the rejections knowing he was refusing me, so he could go fuck around elsewhere.
Seeing Shawn’s car throws me off my game, and my confidence takes a nose dive. I came here for a particular set of answers, but now I’m forced into finding others I may not like hearing. Sighing, I slump back against my seat knowing there won’t be any confronting anyone tonight. Looks like Beast and I do have a date after all.
