Rock Bottom

by Canosa, Jamie

  ***

  “Martin, glad you could make it this evening. And, Susan, it’s a pleasure to see you as always.” Damien greeted each of his guests by name as they came through the door, asking about their lives, children, sick family members. He was a very gracious host.

  I stood by his side, smiling politely and praying like hell Rafe hadn’t made the guest list.

  “That should do it.” Damien slid his arm around my waist as the door shut behind Martin and his wife and I breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

  We mingled. I heard name after name, saw face after face, unsure which, if any, would be of use to the investigation. But God help me if every last one of my thoughts wasn’t focused solely on where Elijah was at all times and what he was doing. I could sense the moment he stepped into the room. Feel his eyes on me as he made rounds, passing out napkins and shrimp on tiny toothpicks. Recognized the coldness creeping over me the instant he was gone again.

  “Damien.” A man not much older than me—maybe mid-twenties—pushed his way through the crowd toward where we were chatting with an elderly couple. He wasn’t dressed to impress the way everyone else was, but he radiated a certain careless style in his designer chinos and loose fitted silk tie.

  “Brian.” Damien scowled at the interruption before politely excusing us from our company. One hand secured firmly around mine and the other cuffed around Brian’s wrist, he escorted us both across the room to a semi-private corner. “What are you doing here?”

  “We have a . . . problem.”

  “What kind of problem?”

  Brian pointedly scanned the crowded room and I got the impression it wasn’t the kind of problem either of them would want to discuss here.

  Damien must have come to the same conclusion. “This couldn’t wait until morning?”

  “No.”

  The two men stared at each other for a long moment and I felt a little like a mouse caught between a pair of alley cats.

  “My office. Now.” Damien twisted until I found myself staring at the solid wall of his chest. “I’ll only be gone a minute. Don’t go disappearing on me.”

  Brian smirked at Damien’s teasing tone, but the dead sincerity of each word was etched into his face. His words were more than a reassurance. They were a warning.

  Groups chatted here and there. Drinks flowed and laughter filtered through the room. I watched as Damien and Brian disappeared into his office and shut the door. He didn’t want me disappearing on him, so it made sense that I should stick as close as possible. Didn’t it?

  No one paid me any attention as I wandered down the hall. Lingering outside the office door, I scanned the party to make sure it stayed that way before leaning into the wooden surface. Even with my ear pressed right against the door, it was no use. The barrier was too thick and the sounds of the party too loud. I couldn’t hear a thing. Dammit.

  A toilet flushed and I righted myself just before the bathroom door swung open and Martin stepped out. “I’m sorry. We’re you waiting long?”

  “Oh . . .” He was talking to me. “. . . no.”

  “Well, when you’re finished, come and find us. I’m sure my wife would like another woman to speak with. She gets terribly bored at these things.” He flashed me a smile before heading toward the living room and I was suddenly overcome by an even greater sense of dread.

  I was on my own. In a room full of strangers. Without Damien to control the flow of conversation or answer questions I didn’t know the answers to. I couldn’t talk to anyone without his permission, but what was stopping them from talking to me?

  Needing an escape—somewhere I could hide until he returned—I wandered into the kitchen. A woman with a bottle of wine and a pair of glasses nearly slammed into me as I stepped through the door. Servers scurried in and out, refilling trays and glasses, but no one seemed to take notice of my presence.

  Several clean glasses sat near an open bottle on the counter. Not even caring what it was, I poured myself a healthy dose of the amber liquid and took a cautious sip. It burned all the way down and pooled in my belly. Just what I needed. Liquid courage. I needed more. I needed—

  “Don’t.” Fingers curled around my wrist as I lifted the glass for another sip, forcing it back down to the counter with a dull thud.

  Chapter Forty-six

  “Don’t, Ry. You just kicked the drugs.” Elijah’s voice made every last muscle in my body clench and my fingers curled into fists against the countertop.

  Seeing him . . . having the chance to speak to him . . . it was all I’d wanted for weeks. And there he was. Close enough to touch. And I was so furious I couldn’t pull together a single rational thought.

  “Don’t be mad. I know I shouldn’t be here, but I couldn’t help myself. I needed to see you. He never lets you leave this place.” Has he been stalking me? Staking out the apartment all this time? “So I found a way in. Declan got me the job. Please, Rylie? Just look at me.”

  I couldn’t deny him. I could never deny him anything. Turning slowly, I peeked up through my lashes at his worn and weary face. Dark circles shadowed his beautiful eyes. Deep creases bracketed his full, soft lips. This whole experience was taking its toll on more than just me.

  “There she is.” His gentle words whispered over me. “There’s my girl.”

  I shook my head in disbelief. “Are you crazy?”

  “Crazy about you.” That grin. That obnoxious, cocky grin. Was there a better sight in the whole world?

  I wanted to strangle him. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to tell him how much I missed him. How glad I was to see him. Even if it was completely insane. But I couldn’t. So I slid my hand into his and squeezed with all of the emotions choking off my voice.

  He understood. He heard all I was trying to tell him. I could see it in his eyes. He was telling me the same when he squeezed my fingers in return.

  “What have you found?”

  Business. Good. I could talk business without destroying the hours I’d put into my makeup application. Not that it was good news. “Nothing yet. He watches me like a hawk when he’s home and the rest of the time . . . When he’s working and at night . . .”

  “What?”

  I didn’t really want to tell him Damien kept me locked away like a dog in a kennel.

  “What about at night, Rylie?” Pain marred his handsome face and I knew whatever he was imagining was worse than the truth.

  “He keeps me locked in my room. I can’t get out to search for anything.”

  Equal parts relief and anger shone in his eyes as his fingers gently gripped the hair at the back of my neck, holding me close as he pressed a firm kiss to the top of my head. “Which room is it?”

  “Last door on the left, down the hall, but I—”

  Elijah shoved me away, nearly knocking me to the floor, and began reorganizing appetizers on a silver tray.

  Damien’s gaze flicked from me, to him, and back again. “What are you doing in here? I’ve been looking for you.”

  “I apologize. I-I was only looking for something to eat.”

  “Here you go, ma’am.”

  I nearly fumbled the plate of varied foods shoved into my hands at the sound of Elijah’s voice speaking to me in front of Damien. He’d be angry, but Elijah didn’t know that.

  “Thank you.” The words were less than a whisper, certain each syllable I uttered would earn me more trouble than it was worth.

  “Come.” Damien reached for me, casting an icy glare over my shoulder at Elijah. “You’re not to leave my side again. You know the rules.” ‘And the consequences’ was left unspoken, but I heard it anyway.

  “Yes. Of course.” I scurried over to him. Was that jealousy I sensed when a solid arm wrapped around my shoulders, clamping me to his side like a steel band?

  I could have imagined it, but I swear I heard Elijah’s teeth grinding behind us as Damien escorted me back to the party.

  ***

  It was well after midnight and my head was throbbing.
The buzz of conversation had given way to the clatter of dishes and the clipped dialog between the caterers as they went about their clean-up duties. My eyelids were beginning to droop as Damien bid goodnight to our final guest.

  The door shut and I slumped against the wall.

  “Tired, pet?”

  “Mmm.” I nodded and the clips in my hair stabbed at my scalp.

  “Then, by all means, go get ready for bed.” He blocked the hallway in the opposite direction, brokering no argument about where I was to go.

  Heading straight for my bathroom, I removed the abundance of pins I’d used to keep my hair in place and rubbed at my tingling scalp. Sometimes being a girl just sucked. My feet didn’t disagree as I made my way back into the bedroom to change.

  Damien pounced before I could blink, backing me against the wall. I hadn’t even heard him come in behind me.

  “I have an apartment full of caterers to oversee.” He sounded put-out by the idea.

  I was still recovering from his unexpected, overwhelming presence when he gripped my wrist and spun me around. My hands flew out, bracing against the wall to steady myself and his weight returned, pressing against my back, pinning me there.

  “But I also have a business meeting in an hour. And you . . .” I felt a puff of hot breath against my shoulder before his lips trailed over my skin. “. . . in this dress . . .” My hands fisted as his mouth traveled lower, caressing my exposed back with his lips and tongue and teeth. “. . . refuse . . . to be . . .” His fingers twisted in the hem of my dress lifting it slowly until he reached my waist. “. . . ignored.” All at once he whipped it up, over my head, and tossed it in a heap on the floor.

  Squeezing my eyes shut, I fought the desperate urge to cover myself as I waited to for him to do . . . whatever it was he was going to do. When nothing more happened, I peeked over my shoulder to see if I’d angered him in some way. He stood there—still fully clothed—just watching me. The way a lion watches an antelope. I’d seen enough Animal Planet to know what that look meant.

  “On the bed. We’ll deal with your . . . indiscretions tomorrow.” He considered me a moment longer. “Keep the shoes on.”

  My heart rioted in my chest as I stumbled toward the bed. Elijah’s out there. Right in the next room. Did he see Damien come in here? Does he know what we were doing? My eyes stung and I bit the inside of my cheek hard enough to draw blood.

  Damien didn’t waste time. Foreplay was not part of his repertoire. He was a busy man. He took what he wanted when he wanted it. Without hesitation or apology. My approval was unnecessary.

  But if, in some alternate reality, Damien actually cared—actually sought my consent—wouldn’t I have given it to him? Hadn’t I already given it by returning to Rafe, knowing full-well what would happen? Wasn’t that a form of permission for everything that came next?

  Afterward, I sat on the floor of my shower, swallowing my sobs. My emotions felt like strings of yarn hopelessly knotted together. I hated the man Damien was, the things he did, and yet I pitied him, found a strange sense of relief in his company, a security I couldn’t understand. I craved Elijah worse than I’d ever craved the drugs, the peace of his presence, the comfort of his touch, and yet his being nearby caused me more distress than anything.

  Voices slowly diminished as I tugged on a satin nightie and dragged the throw blanket from the window seat over to the couch. I couldn’t bring myself to get back in that bed. Not tonight.

  Terrified of what tomorrow might bring, I sought the reprieve only sleep could offer. I hovered on the razor’s edge of oblivion when I heard a click. My body solidified, my brain catapulting back into wakefulness. Perhaps his meeting had been cancelled. Or maybe he simply couldn’t wait any longer.

  Whatever the reason, it was time to face the consequences for my ‘indiscretions’.

  Chapter Forty-seven

  Heavy footsteps paused inside the door. He was looking for me. The childish urge to pull the blanket over my head struck. Then the light from the hall was extinguished and I felt the cushions dip behind me.

  I held perfectly still, scarcely daring to breathe. Maybe if he thought I was asleep . . .

  A thick arm slid around my waist and I knew my body was too tense to fool anyone. Terror crashed through my skull, drowning out reason. Fight or flight instincts kicked in and I was a heartbeat away from hurdling the back of the couch when I smelled it.

  Cinnamon and spice.

  I sagged with relief against his chest and his fingers intertwined with mine.

  “We don’t have long.” Elijah’s words soothed me and I nodded because that was all I needed. Not food or water or air. Just this. This was all I needed to sustain me. Just him.

  He didn’t speak again. He simply held me, for which I was grateful. I felt so weak in that moment I might have given in to anything he asked. When our brief time was up, he pulled my hand toward him and placed a series of soft kisses across my knuckles.

  “Finish this, Rylie,” he pleaded. “Finish this and come home to me.”

  “I’m not sure I can,” I confessed to the darkness.

  “Of course you can.”

  “What if I’m not strong enough?” Things hadn’t exactly been going well so far. Maybe I was fooling myself thinking I could handle something like this.

  His chest expanded against my back. “Let me tell you a story about a girl who stood her ground against a douchebag teacher even when he threatened to destroy everything she’d ever worked for. About a girl that walked into a shithole and never once looked at the boy who lived there differently because of it. About a girl who cared about that boy in a way he’d never known before. Who held a crappy frozen burger to his busted face. Who gave a damn. A girl who stood up to a pimp and a dealer. Who joined forces with the good guys, and is fighting to take down a goddamn human trafficker. Let me tell you something about that girl. She can do anything because she’s a friggin’ superhero. She’s my hero. I love her more than life. More than all the shit that life can throw at us. And I will continue to love her for the rest of my life.” He paused as his arms contracted around me, squeezing the breath from my body. “Now tell me that girl isn’t strong enough.”

  I wasn’t sure how to respond to that. I wasn’t even sure I could. Between Elijah’s crushing embrace and the lump lodged firmly in my throat I was having a hard time breathing, much less talking.

  After a moment, I lost my chance. Elijah rolled away from me and I fisted the fleece throw to avoid reaching for him. There was the quiet swish of the door handle, a flash of light, and a muted snap as the door shut behind him, but that was all. No click. No lock.

  I was free.

  ***

  The apartment was eerily quiet. Shadows danced over the floor and across the walls as I crept down the hall. Light flashed through the living room windows from a spotlight at some downtown club, like a beacon.

  Escape. Escape. Escape.

  That’s what my rational mind screamed for me to do with each pulse of light. I was out. I knew the code to the elevator. It’s what any sane person in my situation would do. The only thing keeping me from leaving was . . . me. Maybe I really had lost my mind.

  The thought that going home and facing my past may actually be scarier than being here in the present occurred to me, but I pushed it aside. I could psychoanalyze my decisions another time. I had a job to do.

  Logic demanded my first stop be Damien’s office, but of course the door was locked up tight. The story of my life.

  A stack of newspapers lured me toward the coffee table where I fingered through page after page of business news, learning nothing more than the Dow Jones had taken a hit or two over the past week.

  The kitchen drawers housed nothing out of the ordinary. No false bottoms or hidden compartments like the ones Tanner had shown me how to detect. Unless poor taste in china patterns was a punishable offense under the law, there was nothing to be found there, either.

  The whole room—the whole ap
artment for that matter—was immaculate. Rosita certainly worked hard for her money. It reminded me of a magazine ad. It reminded me of . . . home.

  Stuffing down a sharp pang, I moved methodically from one room to the next, searching drawers, cabinets, bookshelves . . . I even went as far as to peek behind the paintings. I must have seen one too many movies, because there was nothing there except walls.

  There was no way for me to know where Damien was or how long he would be gone, but my paranoia insisted I was running out of time. Scarcely daring to breathe, I stood outside of the one room I had yet to search. Damien’s bedroom.

  In all the times we’d been together he’d never once taken me to his bed. Being caught out of my room frightened me. Being caught in his . . . I didn’t even want to think about what he might do.

  There was a well of courage—or maybe insanity—inside of me I hadn’t realized I possessed before all of this. I tapped into it and pushed the door open. The room was dark, ambient light coming only from the city.

  The furnishings were nearly impossible to make out. Sharp edges and sleek curves, dark as night, they blended with the dense shadows. Black and white art littered the walls in gothic frames. They weren’t like the artwork displayed throughout the rest of the apartment. What at a glance looked abstract, took shape under closer inspection. Random lines and shapes came together to create images of the female form, each more grotesque and mutilated than the last. Limbs stretched, bodies twisted, mouths opened wide in horror and misery.

  At the top of the enormous bed a metal headboard, shaped like a black, scaly dragon, stood out against the ash colored walls. If that weren’t creepy enough, a naked woman dangled from the dragon’s claws.

  The rest of the apartment was the Damien Cross he showed the world, but this room, this was the part he kept hidden. The lair of the dragon, where he hoarded his secret treasures and laid waste to all those foolish enough to try and take them. If I wasn’t careful, that woman dangling from the dragon’s clutches . . . that would be me.