He smiles. "Maybe not sober...or clothed for that matter, but it wouldn't take long to remind you; although, I don't have that old Ford truck anymore, so we'd have to make do with my new one at the lake house."
My eyes widen.
His smile broadens.
That feeling that you get when you see an old fuck buddy and your head is screaming at you: what the fuck were you thinking? That would be me at this very second.
"Paul."
He leans forward on his forearms. What the hell is he doing here? I figured he would be playing ball at some big shot college by now.
"What do you say, Lux? You game for a reunion party? I'm sure a lot of people would love to see you. What's it been...seven years?" He scans my body very slowly. "You look better now than you did in high school."
Be nice. Be nice. Be nice.
"As tempting as that sounds, I can't. I have to go. I only came in to take care of some business. Maybe some other time."
I walk forward and grab Mom's arm, pulling her to her feet. "Let's go."
"Suit yourself. If you change your mind you know where I'll be."
"I'm pretty sure that won't happen, but thanks. Tell Ella I stopped by. I'll call her later."
Mom stumbles and pulls her arm from my grip. "Maybe I should stay here with Paul," she slurs. "He will take care of me."
"The fuck you are, Katherine. Let's go."
I grab ahold of her arm and steady her. "I'm an adult, Lux. What's it to you anyway? I'm nothing but an embarrassment to you."
"Don't do this here."
She sways on her cheap heels. "This is the perfect place to do this. Who cares? There's no one even in here to hear, except who... some boy that you used to sleep with? I'm giving you permission to finally tell me how you really feel."
"Do I need to give you two a few minutes alone?"
I shoot daggers at Paul. "That would be wise."
He holds up his hands and backs out of the bar area, headed for the kitchen. When he disappears through the door I look back at the drunk that is supposed to be my mother. She stumbles again. I shove her against the wall without hurting her, giving her something to lean against. "You really want to do this? Words can't be taken back, Katherine."
"Go ahead. You barely even call me your mother anymore. It's Katherine this and Katherine that. I'm nothing but a body to you. I'm a dead limb."
I snap.
"And whose fucking fault is that? Huh? When have you ever acted like a mother? All of my life you've whored around with men that only want you for a night away from their shitty lives, or stayed in bars looking for the next temporary fix to happiness. Let’s not leave out the drugs. Slinging food my way here and there or giving me a place to lay my head that is a strong wind away from collapsing isn't being a mother. I would have respected you if you had tried working a normal job, no matter how much or little money you made, but you didn't. Instead, you laid around drunk or high until you found a trick to make you feel pretty."
I dig in my purse for my compact. "Shitty situations happen to people, Katherine, but it doesn't have to ruin your entire life. That's all you've ever viewed me as, isn't it? I'm the incident that destroyed your life. Maybe you should have just aborted me, or hell, even gave me up for adoption. Then I wouldn't be the fucking reminder that made you this way. Parents should be focused on protecting their kids from bad things, but you encouraged it."
I'm shouting. I shouldn't be yelling, but she irritates the fuck out of me. I'm tired of her twenty-five year long pity fucking party. "I bet you don't even remember how old I was when I lost my virginity, do you?"
"Seventeen."
I laugh.
"Try Twelve. Twelve fucking years old. I should have been playing ring around the fucking rosie with other little girls or begging you to take us to the mall or a movie because you wouldn't let us do anything in fear we would get into trouble. Hell, I don't really know. By the grace of God I'm not a mother. What I do know is that I shouldn't have been spreading my legs in my bed for a guy thirteen years older than me, having no idea that you're supposed to use a damn condom to prevent things, because my mother never talked to me about sex. She was too busy doing it in the next room with no shame, and because you lacked parental ability I had to trade in being a kid to survive, so don't ever fucking tell me that you raised me, because I raised myself."
I adjust the strap of my purse on top of my shoulder as my shaky hands try to open the compact. "Even months later when history tried to repeat itself you didn't get the huge memo that you were being a shitty parent. I had to basically tell you what to do when someone else with a higher power was looking out for me."
A single tear falls from her tired eyes, the eyes that look like mine, our only similar physical trait. "It would have been easier if you didn't look like him," she whispers.
"And that's why even though I love you I don't like you, because after all this time you still use that as an excuse. Grow the fuck up, Katherine. If you're expecting the world to give you handouts when it doesn't sway in your favor, then you're going to be disappointed. In all these years you never stopped to ask yourself the one question that mattered, but I'll give you the answer anyway. I didn't ask to be here. None of this was my fault, but I suffered anyway, because you were too much of a fucking coward to do what needed to be done. You know, maybe I'm like him, because I sure as hell am not like you."
She slaps me across the face before her palm collides with her mouth, more tears beginning to fall. It doesn't weaken me. It only makes me stronger. "I'm so sorry."
"Don't be sorry, be angry. That's your problem. You never get angry. Get fucking angry, Katherine, then maybe you'll open your eyes and see that you could have a better life if you actually put forth an effort, instead of looking like this."
I hold the mirror in front of her, for her to look at herself. Her eyes have bags underneath them, her skin is off in color, and her mouth is lined from lack of happiness. Her hair is a dull blonde, most likely from lack in care. She's aging faster than her years. Her beauty is fading. What's sad is that it doesn't have to be. I remember what she used to look like from the few photos I've seen. She was beautiful, and she still could be, but she's the only one that can change it.
I close the mirror and grab her face in my hands, looking into her crying eyes. "Katherine, just because you have a bad past and a shitty present, doesn't mean you have to have a failing future. You can change your path anytime you get ready, but only you can take the first step. When you do, I'll be here to make sure you stay on course."
For the first time in my entire life my mother breaks down, crying so hard she can barely breathe. I wrap her in my arms and let her cry on my designer shirt, because well...she's my mom. No matter how fucked up she is, she's still my mom. I would like to think that most girls in this situation would probably cry right along with her for support, but I just stand here and become her rock, because it's the only thing I know how to do. Not once in my life have I cried, and there have been plenty of times that I've tried.
Turning toward the exit doors I pull her along beside me, still in the nook of my arms. "Come on. Tonight you can let it all go; forever, Katherine. It's time."
"Where are we," she asks in an exhausted voice, still crying all over again each time she gets ahold of herself. She's been in and out of consciousness since we left the bar.
I pull into a spot at the front entryway of the nearest extended stay hotel that doesn't look like it's infested with roaches, which is actually about an hour outside of town. Shifting into neutral I look straight ahead. "For the weekend you're staying here. I don't want you to go anywhere until I call you. There are some things I need to work out before I voice them aloud. It's on me. Get some rest, pamper yourself, and work on being a better person, because I don't know how much longer I can do this, Mom."
She intakes a wave of air as I call her Mom. I really don't do it that often. I want to, but it's a title I feel is earned. "But I don't have any
clothes."
I turn to look at her and pull my right leg into the seat. "I guess it's a good thing we wear the same size then. I never leave home without a bag of clothes in the trunk. With you I just never know. I want that to change. Come on. I really do have to get to work."
I feel like the roles are reversed. It doesn't matter how fucked up of a heart I have, I still want a relationship with my mother. I don't want to be the mother, and I don't want to be the friend, I want to be the daughter...just like things are supposed to be.
I stand at the wall made of windows in my office that overlooks the city as I drink my scotch; Dad's personal favorite. I remain still, people watching, as the designer and her crew continues to put together my office behind me. The Staton Agency, part two, is now underway. A man has to make an honest living. This was Dad's...and now mine. A hitman was only as needed and on the side. Although it pays...and well, he only took lives that needed to be taken. It was never a sport. A private investigator was something he quickly became passionate about, bringing the sins of the darkest into the light. Since I have a background in law enforcement it just fits to finish what he started. I'm the only one he had. I will keep his name alive.
The vision of that night starts playing in my head again, like a fucking record stuck on repeat. I can barely think of anything else since I watched her walk away from me. She is like no other woman I've ever laid my eyes on. Who the fuck witnesses a murder and walks away as if she saw nothing at all?
Keeping my composure when she put the barrel of that gun to my head was the single hardest thing I've ever done. My first instinct was to align her against that brick wall and fuck her until she couldn't stand. I've never had that much pent up desire for a member of the female population. I'm not sure what I should do about it.
It's been two weeks since I've seen her. I've tried to keep busy until I decide what my next course of action is going to be. It's getting harder as the days pass. I'm drinking more. Weight training is no longer taking the edge off. Work isn't even keeping my mind off of it, either job. Pussy doesn't even interest me, at least no one's but hers, and it’s been a while since I’ve fucked a woman... The time period I was in Spain I wasn’t even around women; didn’t want to be. I had other priorities. The last time I let myself inside a woman was Makayla and Danyel. That’s fucking ridiculous, yet I’m not running off to find the first one willing to spread her legs. I was actually content with no sex…until the night in Kross’ damn shop.
I've fucking jerked off so many times in the last two weeks that even that isn't making me come anymore. What guy can't make himself come? I need to fucking blow my load, yet still I can’t, and my hormones are raging at a rapid rate and steadily increasing. This is the most fucked up situation. Blue balls were a thing in male adolescence, a part of the past, until recently. My nuts are so hard they hurt, fucking constantly. I want to punch a wall until I bleed.
What to do with her?
Loose ends cannot exist.
People cannot keep secrets. It will slip out eventually; always does.
There are rules. I can't break the rules. I've heard them all of my life.
Trust no one.
Numb your heart.
Live emotionless.
Sacrifice love for the good of the innocent.
All mistakes must be fixed no matter what.
"I have some information for you, boss. I think it's something you'll want."
I turn to Chevy at the sound of his deep voice, never extending outside of monotone. Dad always believed in having a right hand man that would never betray you. That was Jose to him. Each is entitled to one, and selection is very tedious. That person is recruited to ride till you die. The search for him began the second I landed on American soil. After an extensive search here he is, my night watcher, and just as fucked up as me. There is always a way to find what you're looking for.
He stops in the center of the room as he straightens his suit jacket and overlaps one hand over the other in front of his crotch; an interrogation stance, and one he does a lot, but considering his background I overlook it. Dad always believed in looking the part. He said it took you further than those that come to work looking sloppy and casual. A uniform defines the professionalism of the company. It is uniformity, oneness. Playing the part is a requirement. He took his career seriously. It didn't matter what kind it was. All of those values were instilled in me.
"In regards to the lotus?"
He nods once. My adrenaline spikes.
"Francesca."
I turn my head to her instructing a guy on where to put a floor plant. "Yes, sir? Do you want it somewhere else?"
"You are dismissed for the day."
She looks slightly taken back. "When shall I resume?"
"Whenever the fuck you want, but it won't be today."
The guy puts the plant down where he stands. She starts to push it toward the wall. I close my eyes and shake my head. When did simple instructions become so difficult for a human to understand? "Leave the damn plant!"
"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir." She stutters.
I open my eyes to her walking as fast as her heels and tight skirt will allow, after the rest of them, closing the door behind her. I take a step toward the Oak desk, waving him toward it. Draining the rest of the glass, I set it on the edge before taking a seat in the black, leather chair. He stands on the other side, waiting for instruction. "Sit down, Chevy."
He pulls the chair back slightly and walks in front of it to sit down. He looks tense. I suppose you could say we're still learning each other. He's bigger than me so I'm not sure why, his muscles much bulkier than mine, but I guess I am the one signing his paycheck, at least one of them. I lean back, propping my elbow on the armrest, placing the lower portion of my face in my hand, before rubbing my hand against the smooth shaven skin. "I understand you just got discharged, so I’m cutting you some slack. I’m going to go out on a whim and say shit wasn’t a vacation over there, or even peaceful. Things will transition for you a lot easier when you realize I'm nothing like them. I’m going to leave them open to your own interpretation. When you walked through my door you joined a brotherhood. A real one. This job is about trust. There is no riding the fence. It's simple. You watch my back and I watch yours. No questions asked. There is only one disclaimer. You break it, you go out in a box."
His facial expression never changes. "They required me to go through detox when I returned.” He laughs once. “Nothing here will cleanse your mind of the filth you see over there. Nothing will make living with civilians easy. I will never be the man I was before I left. Some people don't understand loyalty. I'm not one of them. I'll take a bullet before I leave you exposed. I've only failed someone once. It won't happen again."
I nod, knowing he’s said all he’s going to say. "What you got for me?"
"Which one do you want first? The hottie or the older one..."
My mother is the last person of interest I want to hear about at the moment. The way I feel right now I could go on a killing spree. I really don't want to be labeled as someone that would murder his own mother, no matter what she's done. That meeting is coming, but I need to be in the right mindset. Twenty years of silence and eight years of lies becomes a lot of shit to prepare for. "Option number one. We will re-adjourn on number two later."
He grabs the edge of his jacket and pulls it out enough to reach in the pocket, removing an envelope. He extends it toward me. I lean forward and take it. "Have you seen her?"
"Yes. On several occasions. She wasn't difficult to track. She's a fairly predictable person; they usually are. Humans are creatures of habit," he says with clenched teeth.
I look up at him as I break the seal on the back, removing the group of papers in a trifold. "Which is why some need to be disposed of. Occasionally the gene pool mixes off balance. Someone has to right it before it gets out of hand."
I open the group of papers, silently studying each one: birth certificate, driver's license, social securi
ty information, credit report, and background check. Noting: misdemeanor for public drunk, fighting, and disturbing the peace, though I shouldn't be surprised. Followed is family information, or lack thereof, school records, also noting that they end after high school, reason to be determined, medical history, recent blood check and pelvic exam, full STD screening - clean, financial information, and also demographics. If only the average person knew how much of their information was available to the public with a little digging and funds at their disposal, it would blow their fucking minds.
"Does that suffice?"
I lay the stack of papers on the desk and lean on my forearms on top of them. "It does. Job well done. Where is she now?"
"Headed to a martial arts studio." He looks at his watch. "She should be arriving in approximately twenty minutes. I checked out her work schedule. She should be off tonight."
I look down and shuffle back through the papers until I locate place of employment. I tap my fingers over the black ink. "Server at a catering company?" That doesn't make sense. She's twenty-five fucking years old and not in school. Why the hell is a girl that dresses like that still a server?
I push my chair back as I stand, before grabbing my jacket off the back of my chair. I pull it on. "Do you need me to watch her, boss?"
"Nah. I got this one. Take the night off. We have a meeting on a new hit tomorrow. I need you ready and rested. Stake out will begin at nightfall. Lock up, will you?"
I walk away as he mumbles, "Sleep doesn't exist in my world, but sure thing."
I call out as I near the door. "Text me the details of the place. It's Atlanta. There are several."
It's been a few years since I've set foot in a martial arts studio. A little one on one with a certain beautiful smartass sounds like an appetizing night: sweat, skin, and her marvelous rack pressed against me.... Mmm, maybe it'll do something for this raging bad mood I've been in. We'll see how much of a badass she is without a gun clenched in her hand. Whether I win or not I can already smell victory. I may even let myself have the prize this time...
Marked Page 12
