by Lane Hart
I press the doorbell to make it keep going until a light turns on in the foyer. Finally, I hear the lock turning before it opens.
“Welcome home, bro,” my sister says as she stands before me in fleece pajamas, her long, wavy dark-brown hair a tangled mess. “Ward owes me a grand.”
“You bet against me?” I ask in disbelief.
“Of course I did, and here you are, so pfft.” She sticks her tongue out and raspberries me like a ten-year-old rather than the twenty-one-year-old she is.
“Whatever,” I mutter, too tired to argue with her.
“Wow, was it really that bad out there? Do you think Dad is gonna make me live on my own too?” Mackenzie peps up and asks, sounding like she just had a pot of coffee. My sister rarely ever leaves the house so I bet the thought of getting kicked out really has her freaked out.
“Can we talk about this in the morning? I just want to pass out tonight.”
“Fine,” she says, moving out of my way so I can get inside the house with my duffle. Reaching up to ruffle my hair, Mack tells me, “I am glad that you’re home and that you’re okay.”
I may be home but I’m not sure if I’ll ever be okay again.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Whitney
I meant to get on the road Saturday morning bright and early, but that didn’t happen. After how insane yesterday was, I passed out and slept until almost noon thanks to the sleeping pill Abby gave me.
Fresh out of a shower back at my parents’ house, I hurriedly pack up my toiletries so that I can get going.
“Whit, you got a minute?” my dad says from my doorway.
“Yeah, but make it quick,” I reply without glancing up. Instead, I pull out my phone and check my packing list on it one last time.
“I think I know why you were taken,” he says, capturing my full attention.
“What do you mean?” I ask, since the reason I was kidnapped seemed obvious --- two assholes wanted to make a shitload of money.
“I don’t have proof,” he starts, fingers fidgeting with the length of his tie since he’s dressed for the office even though it’s Saturday. “But I think your mother may have been involved.”
“What?” I exclaim. “You think Mom had me kidnapped by strange men?” I ask. “She’s no saint, but really, Dad?”
His eyes lower to the carpet; and when I see a single tear trail down the side of his face, I realize he’s serious.
“Oh, my God,” I mutter as I feel around behind me for the bed so that I can sit down before I fall over from the anvil that just rammed into my gut. “To save Merchant Industries?” I ask him softly once I’m sitting.
My father nods silently, and then all the pieces start coming together.
Kenneth called off the deal, so my mom found two men to nab me from my bedroom and hold me hostage but not hurt me until someone coughed up the money. No, not just anyone, but Alex, who is apparently ridiculously rich.
“How did she know?” I ask aloud. “How did she know Alex could pay it?”
“There was an article in the paper about him, ‘the billionaire brawler from Maryland’,” my dad informs me. “I’m so sorry, Whit.”
A bark of laughter escapes me after hearing him apologize for my own mother, the one woman in the world who is supposed to care for me more than anyone, putting me through hell for cash.
“They could’ve…they could’ve raped me or…or killed me!” I shout. “Alex could’ve refused to help. Did she think about any of that shit?”
“I know. I know! It was an incredibly dangerous gamble that could have ended horribly! I don’t know what she was thinking,” my dad replies with a shake of his head. “She went too far.”
“You think!” I shout through the pressure in my chest that makes it hard to breathe.
“It’s probably only a matter of time before the police figure it out, but it’s your decision to go straight to them or not.”
“Wow,” I mutter. “Should I turn in my own mother for hiring men to kidnap me for millions of dollars? God! I can’t believe her! I know she’s always tried to make my and Abby’s life miserable, but does she really care so little for us?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know that she was capable of this. If something had happened to you…I don’t know what I would have done…” my dad says before he breaks down and cries in front of me, probably for the first time in my life.
That bitch! He doesn’t need this shit right now. If she gives him another heart attack, I will beat her to death with my bare hands.
Going over to him, I wrap my arms around my father’s waist to try and comfort him, telling him, “Calm down, Dad. I’m okay, and it’s over.”
“No, it’s not, Whit. She’s gonna…she’s gonna end up in prison…because of me,” he says between sniffles.
I think about that, picturing my mom in an orange jumpsuit behind bars and can’t find any sympathy. She’s been awful to my sister and me our entire lives. While I would never wish to have her get thrown in prison, she made her own incredibly bad decisions to end up there.
“Where is she?” I pull back from our embrace to ask my dad.
“I don’t know. She left early this morning,” he says. “I haven’t confronted her yet, so I don’t know for sure…”
“It had to be her!” I tell him. “Now that I think about it, I know you’re right. She was desperate.”
Nodding while brushing away his tears, he asks, “So what are you going to do?”
Fuck.
Am I going to go to the police and turn in my mother or let it all play out?
“I don’t know,” I tell him honestly. “Right now I need to find Alex, and I’ve got a long drive ahead of me, so it should give me plenty of time to think.”
“Are you sure you’ll be okay on your own?” he asks.
“I’ll be safer alone in the middle of nowhere than here apparently,” I reply, making him cringe. “Don’t feel bad, Dad. This wasn’t your fault; it was Mom’s. You have enough to worry about, so try not to get too worked up over this.”
“Easier said than done,” he says. Nodding to my luggage on the bed, he asks, “Are you all packed?”
“Yeah,” I respond on a sigh.
“Let me carry them down for you,” he says.
“I’ve got it,” I argue, but he grabs the rolling luggage before I can.
Slipping my overnight bag over my shoulder, I throw my purse on my shoulder, drop my phone inside and double check that I have my keys.
On the way down the stairs, I inform my dad, “By the way, I’m going to tell Abby everything.”
The back of his head nods his agreement, but he doesn’t say anything more before he puts the bag in the trunk and hugs me goodbye.
“Be safe,” he says.
“I will be,” I reply, hoping that’s true.
There’s a high probability that I could get to Maryland only to have my heart ripped out by Alex. Even so, that’s a risk I’m willing to take.
…
Alex
“Time to wake up, sir.”
“Whaaah?” I grumble, snuggling down further in my sheets that aren’t nearly as warm and cozy as the ones back in my apartment. Or maybe that was just Whitney who made them so damn wonderful. “It’s early, and I don’t have shit to do today.”
“It’s two o’clock in the afternoon, sir,” Rowe informs me. “Your father has a to-do list for you to be completed before dinner.”
After getting in early this morning, it took a few hours and a half a dozen beers before I could finally fall asleep thanks to all the shit on my mind, so I couldn’t have been in bed for more than five or six hours at most.
“What does he expect me to do?” I ask with my eyes still closed so I can picture the woman I miss like crazy, rather than face the fact that I’m home in Maryland, alone in my bedroom other than the annoying security guard.
Rowe clears his throat and pauses, which I know means I won’t like what he’s about to say. �
�First, you’re to clean out your cars and wash them to prepare them for the auction.”
“What the fuck?” That jars me awake. I sit up straight in bed and look at the man speaking gibberish until he provides me with more information.
Looking almost sympathetic, he tells me, “Your father has decided to donate your cars to a fundraiser auction for St. Jude’s Children Hospital to…recoup some of the money you recently expended.”
Goddamn him. How can I bitch about losing my cars when he throws helping sick kids in my face?
“All of them?” I ask hesitantly.
“All of them.”
Fuck.
While I love taking my Maserati or any of the other expensive models for spins and picking up women, I can’t see that ever happening again. There’s not enough cars or women in the world to fill the empty space Whitney left behind.
“Fine,” I grumble since I don’t seem to have a choice anyway.
“Then, I’m to take you to get a bus pass, show you around your new office, and then tonight you’ll be going out to dinner with your father so he can introduce you to your new boss.”
“My new boss?” I ask. “I thought I would be like Vice President or something cool.”
“You’ll be starting in sales.”
“Sales? Seriously?” I huff.
“Small business sales. Your father wants you to earn your way, sir, starting from the bottom and working your way to the top.”
“Yay, can’t wait,” I deadpan as I comb my fingers through my greasy, bed ruffled hair. “Can I shower first, or am I only allowed to use the garden hose to rinse myself off?”
“We have time for a shower,” Rowe replies with a slight smirk lifting his lips. “You smell awful. Sir.”
“Thanks, asshole. Now get the fuck out of my room.”
“Glad to have you back, Alexander,” he replies, using my actual name rather than the stupid formality, and I think he may actually mean it. With a full grin, he turns and leaves.
After he’s out of sight, I fall back onto the pillows.
I thought I would at least have the weekend to wallow around in my sorrow and loneliness before I had to start earning my way or whatever in the company on Monday morning. Guess that’s not gonna happen. Maybe it’s better for me to stay busy anyway, to keep my mind off of a certain beautiful, accident-prone woman, or I might end up right back on a bus destined for North Carolina.
Chapter Thirty
Whitney
Once I hit the highway, I follow my phone’s GPS directions all the way to the Havoc in Silver Spring, Maryland.
No one back home knew Alex’s address, and it’s not listed online when I did a search, so I’m stopping here first to try and track him down.
The interior lights of the building begin flicking off right as I pull up in the parking lot that’s empty except for a black and green sports car. That’s when I check the clock on the dash and see that it’s already after six o’clock. Looks like I made it here just in time.
I park about two spots away from the sole vehicle in the lot and turn off the engine at the same time as a large, muscular man comes out and locks the door. Wearing a dark hoodie, his tense posture is clearly putting off a “don’t fuck with me” vibe as he stomps over to his Batmobile-like sports car. Wanting to catch him before he leaves, I jump out of my Audi and call out to him.
“Hey! Excuse me,” I say to him as I walk around my bumper. But with a quick glance over, his shoulders tense, and he goes right on opening the door of his car and slipping inside without a word of acknowledgment. “Hey! Mister!” I yell louder. The bastard man cranks his car, completely ignoring me. My knuckles are raised and poised to knock on his window right before it rolls down.
“Don’t touch my car,” the man’s deep rumbly voice growls in warning. Now only a few inches away, I can see that he has jet-black hair that’s shaved on the sides and dark, angry eyes. He reminds me of a meaner version of one of the Havoc fighters back home, but I can’t remember his name.
Holding my palms up in front of me to show I won’t lay a finger on his vehicle, I say, “Sorry to bother you, but I’m looking for a fighter.”
“One in particular or any will do?” he asks blandly.
“A particular one. His name is Alex. Alex Stiles.”
“Yeah, I know Alex,” the man says, his broad shoulders easing slightly into a less defensive posture.
“Do you know where he lives? I need to talk to him.”
“Ever heard of a phone?” he asks while fidgeting with his radio knob.
“Yes, but this is not the sort of conversation I want to have over the phone. That’s why I drove all the way up here from Cary without stopping. Well, I stopped twice to pee and get food, but you know what I mean,” I ramble.
With a heavy sigh, the grumpy man says, “Move, and I’ll go back inside to try and find it.”
“Thank you!” I say in relief as I step back from the car door so he can open it. As he climbs out, I tell him, “I’m Whitney, by the way. Whitney Merchant.”
“Jax.”
“What?” I ask as I walk briskly to follow him to the front of the building.
“My name is Jax,” he clarifies over his shoulder.
“Nice to meet you, Jax,” I tell him. Even if he’s not pleasant, at least he’s trying to help me out.
When he unlocks the door, I try to squeeze in behind him.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he says, pulling it shut again. “Your ass stays out here. I’m not stupid enough to be alone with a strange woman again.”
“Sure, no problem,” I quickly agree after his vehement instructions. Whoever this dude is, I’m guessing he has a serious anger problem and trust issues. “I’ll just, um, wait by the car.”
Without another glance at me, he walks in and flips on the lights.
Wandering back over to my Audi, I know the man is right. I could’ve called Alex. But I figured it would be harder for him to just blow me off in person than on the phone. At least I hope that’s the case.
A few minutes later, Jax comes out, walks over and holds out a slip of paper to me.
“Thanks,” I tell him as I take it.
“Welcome,” he mutters before turning his back on me.
“Have a good night!”
A grunt is his response before he gets in his sports car and drives away.
…
Alex
After a long day of saying goodbye to my babies on four wheels and seeing where I’ll be imprisoned for the next however many years of my life, I’m now dressed in a stiff wool suit and white dress shirt so that I can meet the man who will be bossing me around for said infinite years.
Coming down the spiral staircase a few minutes before seven, I spot my father sitting on the bench in the foyer, also dressed in a business suit and looking pensive.
“Hey, Dad,” I say in greeting since this is the first time I’ve seen him since I got back early this morning.
“Alex,” is his curt reply as he gets to his feet and straightens his tie. “Rowe is out front with the car.”
The next second, he walks out the front, leaving the door open for me to follow. No hug, no warm greeting.
I get it. He’s disappointed in me, and I hate that, but he could at least act happy to see me after I was gone for over seven months.
My father stays silent on the way to the restaurant and doesn’t speak a word to me after we’re seated and waiting for our dinner guest to arrive. In fact, he won’t even look at me. Fuck, I hate the silent treatment. It’s worse than anything he could yell at me.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him, breaking the suffocating silence as he glances over the menu.
“What for?” he asks without looking up. “Failing to manage one single year on your own or blowing enough money to feed an entire continent in one day?”
“Hey, I was doing just fine!” I tell him, bristling at the contempt in his tone. “I was working. I had a job…”
“O
ne Rowe determined today that you were fired from,” he interrupts.
That nosy bastard!
“There was a small scene that the manager blew out of proportion,” I explain. “And I only needed to find a job until the end of the year, because I was selected for an American Championship League fighting show in California…”
“Is that what my money paid for? An opportunity for you to have your brains knocked out of your skull?” he snaps, finally turning his narrowed, pale green eyes on me in accusation.
“No, of course not,” I reply. “I earned the spot fair and square.”
“Well, it’s a good thing the money wasn't wasted on that, because you’re done fighting.”
“What?” I ask.
“You’ll be putting in full-time hours at the office, eight a.m. until five p.m., Monday through Friday. And if the work doesn’t get done during that time, you’ll be going in on weekends. Therefore, there will be no time for you to waste at the gym or on some bogus fighting show.”
“I know I won’t be able to go on the show,” I tell him. “I’ve already told Coach to let them know I had to back out, but that doesn’t mean I’m through at Havoc.”
“We’ll see,” he mutters.
“Yeah, we will,” I challenge, not letting this go. I’ll work for him doing whatever he wants, as agreed; but he doesn’t have a say in what I do in my free time.
“After you pay me for rent, utilities, food and everything else, you won’t have the money to keep up a gym membership.”
“Why do you hate me fighting so much?” I ask.
“Because you’ve wasted enough time with that Neanderthal sport. It’s time for you to grow up, make better decisions, and actually do something worthwhile. No more fighting, partying, gambling or whatever the hell else you’ve been throwing away money on. You’re lost, Alex, and I’m starting to wonder if that will ever change.” Taking a deep breath, he says, “I’ve let your mother down by allowing you to screw off this long rather than raising you to become a man she would’ve been proud of.”
