by Amo Jones
Which leads me to 3) What have I always been good at when I’m not getting caught attempting to do it—which technically, makes me pretty shit at it—Run.
We pull up to the front of a huge glass building. The front of the doors have ‘Royal Enterprise Holdings’ sprawled out in grey lettering, and look, there’s even a gold crown as the company logo. How poetic. Rolling my eyes, I get out of the car and shut the door behind myself. In order for my plan to work, it will need to happen tonight, because the longer I leave it, the harder it will be for me to leave. I don’t want to give Bryant any time to sweet talk me into convincing myself that he’s not a bad person because he is. Bad for me, at least. Jerry and the three MIB’s get out of the Range Rover and walk up to us. “It’s all secure. I had some eyes look around the premise before we got here.”
Bryant looks to Jerry. “I wouldn’t bring her here if it weren’t secure, and this is my kingdom.” He pauses, narrowing his eyes onto Jerry. This could go one or two different ways. I’m really hoping it heads toward the way I need, because I couldn’t deal with the two men whom I spend most of my time with fighting at my every turn. “But I appreciate you looking out.” I let out a long, but silent exhale.
Bryant gestures to the front doors. “Shall we?”
I fight an eye roll to show my enthusiasm. This better not be a long night.
The milky soap suds drip off my body as the steam from the shower fogs the glass. I’ve been in here for ten minutes. I’m usually a long shower person so it won’t be out of the ordinary for Bryant, not that we’ve been together long enough for him to make any sort of assumptions in regards to shower time. For all he knows, I’m a quick shower taker. Or maybe, I’m one of those people who sometimes has a quick shower, or sometimes has a long shower. Regardless, I’m in here. With my passport and credit card hidden under my towel that’s sitting on the bathroom counter, so far, my plan is going well. Now, all I have to do is get out of this apartment without waking Bryant or by alerting Jerry next door. Admittedly, Jerry and the MIB’s have laid back a lot since we’ve been here, probably because of their knowledge of Bryant. Hitting the faucet on the shower, I get out, wrapping the towel around me. Drying up in record time, I stop all movements. What is the possibility of Bryant trying to fuck with me tonight?—bang.
“Isa!”
Shit. Shit.
I silently clear my throat. “Won’t be long.”
Maybe I shouldn’t have said that. My tone was a little too cheerful. Usually, I probably would have told him to fucking wait.
“I’m going for a run.”
My eyes almost pop out of their sockets, I’m that shocked at how perfect his timing is. I can’t act happy though, I need to be careful. Be Isa.
“Sure thing!” I call out, and then it’s silent.
My paranoia begins to eat at the surface of my fears, so if I’m doing this, it needs to happen now. I won’t get this prime opportunity again.
Slipping into my nightie like I had planned, I shove my passport and Visa into the side of my G-string and then fluff my nightie back over it. Running a brush through my hair, I tie it into a high messy bun before yanking the door open. Pausing in the doorway, I listen for any clues or sounds. Satisfied with the fact that Bryant has gone, I walk out with a smirk on my face. I’m about to be free, free as a bird—A hand flies to my throat and clenches tightly, shoving me up against the wall.
8
Gasping for air, I tap at Bryant’s hand, but he doesn’t budge. The room is dark, silent and eerie, and all I can hear is Bryant’s deep inhale of breaths.
He squeezes tightly again, then growls over my neck, “Give me three reasons why I shouldn’t kill you.” He eases his grip, just enough to allow some air. “You have ten seconds.”
“Ah,” I begin after a quick throat clear.
“Ten.” His knee comes between my legs, spreading them apart.
“You’d have to dispose of my body.”
“I own a pig farm. Seven.”
Fuck! Wait, does he really own a pig farm? “—six.” His thigh presses hard against me. Focus. “You like my dad.”
“I’d like you dead more.” He cups my breast with one hand and squeezes while bringing his lips to the center of my neck. “Four,” he whispers against my skin. I swallow.
Fuck. Think, Isa. Think. “Because I promise I’ll play wife for you and do as you want.”
I feel his grin spread out over my skin and I quite honestly have to fight the urge to knee him in the nuts. He bites my neck. “Get on your knees.”
I do as I’m told, dropping to my knees in front of him. He wraps my hair around his fist before yanking my head back so I’m looking up at him. Completely submissive, and whole-heartedly his toy. “Remove your clothes.” Again, I do as I’m told. Pulling at the sash that was tied tightly around my waist. Keeping my eyes on his, I feel the silk unlatch from my body and drop to a heap around my knees. Now I’m in nothing but my G-string with my passport and visa tucked into the sides.
Oopsie.
His eyes drop to the passport before he grips both items and throws them across the room. “You try that shit again, and I’ll kill you.”
9
“Deep breaths, Isa. It’s going to be fine,” Lydia coos, fluffing over my dress. She’s so fucking wrong that it’s almost funny. Almost because I don’t find it amusing at all. Since moving in with Bryant, everything has been at full speed. Hard to believe that it was just a week ago when I got caught attempting to run. Yeah, that turned out really great. The only running I have done was the running of a cold bath after he spanked my ass so hard I couldn’t sit down for days.
“It’s not going to be okay, Lydia, because I don’t want to get fucking married.” I’ve never been very good at hiding my thoughts to Lydia. As much as she drives me nuts, there are parts of me that respects her too. I mean, she tolerates my father.
“Oh, sweetness.” Lydia pats my cheek, her cool leather-like palm skating over my plush cheek. “Marriage is overrated. You could have been worse off. Count your lucky stars.”
I pause. Over the years, I’ve known Lydia to take little jabs at her and Dad’s marriage. I don’t know their story or why they’re together, but I’ve known for some time that Lydia wasn’t happy. I mean, all you need to do is take one look at her and it’s obvious.
“Lydia?” I ask, straightening my dress while looking at myself in the mirror and tilting my head. “If you’re not happy with Dad, why don’t you leave?” She seems to ponder over my question until a few silent beats passing us.
“Sometimes we do things because we have to, Isa. Not because we want to.” There’s that connection. This is why, because I know that underneath that strong shell, she hides a lot of pain. Pain that maybe I won’t understand just yet, but I hope to in the future.
Breathing in and out deeply, and hearing her passive aggressive comment loud and clear, I exhale. “Okay.”
Pulling open the door to the master bedroom of Bryant’s apartment, I gather the train of my dress, lifting it up off the floor. “Deep breathing,” I whisper to myself in hopes to calm down. Lydia steps in front of me, taking the lead and I follow, walking toward the elevators. Once inside, we descend down a level, the doors opening to Jerry and around six MIB’s. Must be added security because of the day and all. I mean, I’m about to marry my worst enemy, I’m pretty sure the only threat to my life is from my husband-to-be.
“You look beautiful, Mrs. Johnson.” Jerry nods his head toward me. Something warm blossoms deep inside my chest and I smile sweetly at him. “Thanks, Jer.” The elevator continues down until eventually, we’re in the lobby, heading toward a large white stretch limo that’s sitting outside. I bypass all the stares that I’m getting out of the corner of my eyes, and walk through the front doors, out toward the awaiting car. The driver jumps out, popping open the back door, just as Jerry and the MIB’s pile into a couple SUV’s. One is in front of us and another behind us.
“Thank you.
” I smile at our driver, sliding into the backseat as quickly as I can with Lydia climbing in behind me.
“Wait!” Brianna yells, coming down toward the limo. “Sorry I’m late,” she adds, slipping into the backseat and sitting opposite me. Typical Brianna fashion.
“Thanks for showing,” I sarcastically add, closing the door and leaning my head against the cool window. My idea of having a relaxing trip is now ruined, thanks to my sister. So much for ‘I’ll meet you all down there.’
“Are you mad?” Brianna asks, putting her earrings into her ears. “You know that I had a conference today, Isa. I made do the best I could and I mean, hey! I’m still here aren’t I? Even if I am missing my shoes, and in my defense, I had short notice to attend. I would have liked to lose a couple pounds—if you know what I mean.” No, I don’t, because my sister is a size freaking two.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” I shake my head, choosing which part of her sentence I want to reply to. “How’d you manage to lose your shoe?” I chose the easiest one.
Brianna shrugs. “I’m me, that’s how.” She’s right, no explanation needed. As put together my sister is on the outside, she’s a klutz. A natural fucking disaster waiting to happen. The only difference between her and I is that she hides her category 5 cyclone ass better than I can. Even when we were kids, Brianna would be next to me through everything. She may appear to be perfect and well-polished, but she’s always been loyal to me, even when we were kids. I’d be getting into trouble, but she’d always be there in an attempt to save me. She always tried to butter our father up to go easy on me, but he never did.
“Isa,” she whispers, finally finished with her shoe and leaning over, flicking open the little bar fridge. She takes out the chilled bottle of champagne and two flutes before leaning back into her seat. I try to ignore her penetrating glare and look out the window, watching the passing trees whisk past as we head toward the Chapel in downtown New York City.
“Isa?” Brianna repeats. I can see her trying to hand me my flute of champagne, so I take it, but keep my eyes locked on the passing world.
“What?” I answer softly, bringing the rim of my glass to my mouth and taking a sip.
“Is everything okay? Did Dad have something to do with this marriage?” she pries, leaning forward.
I swallow the bitter bubbles and shake my head. “No, Brianna. This is my doing—for once,” I lie. I hate lying to her, and usually, it’s useless because she always could tell when I was bullshitting, but because I have so much at stake here, I’m going to put on an Oscar-worthy performance.
“So Dad had absolutely nothing to do with this?” she repeats, her undertone saying she doesn’t believe a word I’m saying, as she throws herself back into her seat. Glaring at her as she takes a long pull of the champagne, I snap, just as she swallows. “So what if he did, Bri, what am I supposed to do about it? What have we ever been able to do about it?” So much for Oscar-worthy performance. That was terrible.
“Jesus.” Briana leans forward again, her soft chocolate eyes coming to mine. “He does doesn’t he?” She shakes her head, then leans closer. “This is marriage, Isa. This is a contract, binding your soul to someone else.”
I chuckle, taking another sip of my crisp champagne which is going down rather nicely. “Stop being so dramatic. It’s only soul binding if you’re in love with said person—which I’m not.”
“God!” she curses. “That’s even fucking worse!”
“How so?” I tilt my head. “The way I see it; I’ll never get hurt. Fuck love.”
“Isa…”
“Shut up, Bri.” I look back at her. “Okay? Just… shut up.”
“Okay. But answer one thing and answer it truthfully.”
I roll my eyes. “What?”
“Has this got anything to do with Brooke?”
…
“Are you fucking kidding me, Brooke!” I laughed, the effects of the alcohol swimming through my veins and warming my blood.
“I’m dead serious!” Brooke giggled, taking my hand in hers. “Come, let’s just do it for fun!”
“Fun?” I yanked my hand back.
“It’s a strip club, Isa! They’ll give us a job straight away and this way, we can make money doing something we’re good at!”
“You can, I’m not into the whole stripping thing…”
She winked at me. “Well, you can get drunk and watch me do the whole stripping thing, huh? How about that?” Mmm. She had a point.
“That sounds like a better plan.” I smirked at her, nudging my head toward the glass opening doors.
She hooked her arm in mine, then pushed open the door. I glanced around the dim setting, watching as the strobe lights flashed and the deep bass of some rock song electrified the atmosphere.
“Wait at the bar!” Brooke yelled into my ear over the music and I nodded, walking toward one of the leather bar stools.
“What can I get you?” The bartender asked me, but my eyes were still glued on Brooke and her retreating frame. It wasn’t until she slipped behind the stage curtain that I turned to face the bartender.
“Hi, ah, anything with vodka in it. Thanks.” His greying beard trailed down his chest, but not in a greasy way, more in a slick, silver fox way. His eyes were silver and his hair was styled back tidily. He must’ve been in his sixties? Or maybe late fifties, but he was handsome for an old guy, to say the least.
“Coming up, darlin’,” he winked, moving to the other side of the bar and pulling out a few more glasses. “You from around here?” He placed the glasses down and took out a bottle of vodka.
I shook my head. “No. Me and my friend are just passing through.”
“And this friend…” he asked, watching me skeptically while pouring our drinks. “She’s stripping while you pass through?”
I laughed, taking the glass from him. “Yeah, well we’re sort of just drifting through while we figure out what college we want to go to. Or if we even want to go to college.”
“Huh,” he murmured, tilting his head. “That’s interesting.”
“Not really,” I muttered back, swallowing my drink. I looked around the room again, noticing that there were only a few people scattered around the place. “Is it usually this quiet?”
The bartender dragged his eyes over my seated frame and then shook his head. “Not usually. But it’s Wednesday, that means that it’s private events only – usually.”
“Oh!” I straightened in my seat. “Are we not supposed to be here?”
He paused, the wrinkles around the corner of his eyes crinkling, illustrating his age. “Naaw, darlin’, you’re good.” I thank him and then turn in my chair, just in time to see Brooke sauntering down the catwalk stage to “Killing Strangers” by Marilyn Manson.
My head was a little hazy from my drink, and the lack of food throughout the day probably didn’t help, but I continued to watch as Brooke slowly wrapped her body around the beat of the song and all eyes in the room shot straight to her. I smirked, knowing full well what she was doing. Aside from being seductive and sultry, Brooke was the most exotic girl I had ever seen. With chocolate brown wavy hair, bright blue eyes, a tight body, and a tan most girls would die for, she was gorgeous. She looked toward me, body rolling against the poll and come-hithered her fingers. I was about to shake my head when the buzz from the alcohol shot straight to my brain and relaxed my frantic thoughts. I grinned, sliding off my stool and walked toward the front of the stage.
“Get it, darlin’,” one of the guys at the tables in front of us catcalled.
Looking over my shoulder at him, I winked and snatched the joint he had pressed to his lips, bringing it to my own. I took a long inhale of the harsh smoke, removing my leather jacket and tossing it across the room before blowing out a thick white cloud. Taking off my shirt, I popped the button off my jeans and shimmied out of them slowly, a smirk riding on my lips. Placing the joint back in my mouth, I kicked my jeans to the side and slid my butt up onto the stage. Smiling
at the young guys in the front dressed in suits, I flicked the joint back toward them, the ash erupting over the impact of it hitting him, before gripping onto the pole and winging it. Whatever I remember watching on TV as a kid when it came to dancing, I used this night. In my drunken, stoned haze, nothing mattered. But truly, nothing mattered since that night in the tent. Somehow, all of that had made me numb. Taking someone’s life wasn’t something to be proud of, but when a man doesn’t know how to take no for an answer, whether it’s his kink or not, then he deserved what he got. At least, that’s what I tell myself when it begins to be too much. Since then, living life in the fast lane with Brooke, a bottle of whiskey, a few lines of coke, and a strip club, seemed like the more pleasurable route to my destruction.
Brooke removed her bra and flung it across the room toward an older guy that had been looking at her like she was a big juicy steak and he was starved. She made her way down to him, jumping off the stage while still moving to the music. Wrapping her legs around his lap, she started grinding against him. I chanced a look at his friend beside him just as his eyes connected with mine. He nudged his head, pulling out hundred-dollar bills from his pocket. Smirking, I leaped down off the stage, turned my back toward him, and ground my ass into his lap.
“Hey, baby, wanna let me have a touch and I’ll triple your tips?” He groaned hoarsely into the side of my neck. He smelled of stale beer and cheap cigarettes.
“Triple, huh? And touch where?” I spun around, wrapped my legs around his waist and took a seat on his lap, grinding myself over the bulge that was coming through the front of his pants. Money, think money. My head was drifting around to the music when a dark shadowed figure caught my attention. I couldn’t see from where I was what it was because not only was this object in the shadows, but their face was covered by a long hoodie. There’s one thing I did know, though. Based on the structure of the figure and the long hair, it was definitely female.
