by A. Zavarelli
But the next time you cross paths with a CEO richer than God, you look him in the eyes and tell me if you still feel the same. It was a cutthroat world, and I was just living in it. The competition was fierce, and if you thought the things I did were bad, you should see some of the other guys. I looked like the virgin fucking Mary in comparison.
There wasn’t an ounce of pleasure in underhanded business tactics. Frankly, I’d prefer to get by on something I’d built off my own back. What pride could there be in something not earned through blood, sweat, and tears? These notions were all well and good in theory. But from the moment I launched my company, I had a giant thorn in my side by the name of Alex Burton. He’d been out to sabotage me from the word go. You thought I was a prick? Wait until you met this one.
Anyway, my point was there were times when he’d backed me into a corner and tried to hand me the Vaseline. Alex Burton didn’t fight fair. And as I explained before, I had a whole motto about fucking other people before they fucked you first.
But this one was sly, and, well quite frankly he’d bested me several times over. Not because he was more intelligent by any means. Not because he tossed around smarmy smiles like dinner mints at an all you can eat buffet. No, it was because Alex was the son of Robert Burton. Otherwise known as the master of deceptive business practices. Michael had taught me a lot about business, and almost all of it did me not a lick of good. I’d learned everything on my own in the school of hard knocks.
I wasn’t about to let some over-privileged snot nose WASP come in and take it from me. So this was where Mick came in.
Where did I find the six foot six hulking behemoth, you may ask?
Good question.
Would you believe me if I told you I found him trying to hot-wire my car after he’d broken into it?
I shit you not. There he was, ever so smoothly sitting in my fucking Jaguar like he owned the goddamn thing.
I was actually quite impressed with his balls. Not that I’d ever seen them, but you get the point. Even more impressive was the fact that he’d managed to break into it without setting off the alarm. Yeah, I know… it looks so easy in the movies. But it’s really not. There isn’t a hundred-thousand-dollar price tag on these beasts only to be equipped with kiddie security systems.
So, Mick intrigued me.
It was obvious he was homeless, so I invited him to take up residence on my sofa. Don’t go mistaking me for a philanthropist now- it was solely for my benefit. I saw something in Mick that could be of use to me. And soon enough, I knew exactly what that was.
Ex-special forces, Mick had racked up more medals and accolades than a homecoming queen in a high school yearbook. Raised on the streets of Detroit, he’d pulled himself out of the gutter and did everything a good soldier was supposed to. He’d made a life for himself in the face of adversity. It wasn’t until he was serving his glorious country overseas that the news came which would forever change his course.
His young and beautiful wife had been raped and murdered in their own home. I’ll spare you the gory details of everything that happened next, but it’s not too difficult to guess. The crackpot justice system failed Mick, so he took matters into his own hands. Though they’d never been able to prove it, he’d gutted his wife’s rapist like a fish.
Told you we had something in common, no? Okay, so maybe I’d never taken a life. But Mick and I, we understood each other. The only difference was once it was all said and done for him, he’d found himself at the bottom of a bottle. You already know how I felt about that. So I promptly sent him off to the best of rehabs and told him to get his fucking shit together. I had a new purpose for him.
Mick got on board with no resistance whatsoever. When he learned about my family, he was eager to help. It was nice- that sense of comradery. The idea that we were just two vigilante enforcers out to settle old beefs. But he drew the line when it came to hurting women, understandably so. He was the closest thing I had to a friend, even though I was technically his employer. Still, we’d been on shaky ground since that horrible night he’d discovered Brighton in the car. I didn’t quite know how to make amends for that either. Because while I gave the order, Mick was the follow through. His was the conscience that had to live with his actions though I doubted he could possibly feel any worse than me.
I had very few people in my life who held me accountable for my actions, but Mick did. I respected him for that. I respected that he had enough morals not to cross certain lines, and to give me the appropriate doses of verbal reprimand when I needed them. I’d failed her, it was true. However, what Mick couldn’t see was that my every move thereafter was to prevent it from happening again.
His face was impassive as I studied him. The marble paperweight sailed to and fro in my palms, the ebb and flow of its mass anchoring me. Mick appeared every bit the oaf upon first glance, but there was a lot more lurking beneath the surface than you’d expect. He was a gentle giant, but also a deadly one. I didn’t inspire a lick of fear in him, but he bowed to me nonetheless. There were certain things he felt he owed, but it wasn’t why he stuck around.
We had an odd relationship, I’d be the first to admit it. Two vacant souls in a desolate sink hole. He respected me. At least I had that going for me. He didn’t want to disappoint the man who’d pulled him from the brink of self-destruction. But he was also hiding things from me. What did I tell you about the size of his balls?
Anticipation was as powerful a motivator as fear, in my humble opinion. Hm. I take that back. Humble, I was not. I was an arrogant fuck who only wanted one goddamn thing in this world, and right now the man in front of me was an obstacle to that, no matter how righteous his intentions.
“You see, Mick…” I drew out the words, keeping my voice tight and in control, so he knew I was being completely rational. “The thing is, I don’t like to blow my own horn. But I excelled in math. Still do, in fact. It comes easily to me. Some people, not so much. It’s a gift.”
Mick shifted in his chair and arched a brow at me. “Not quite sure what you’re getting at boss.”
“What I’m getting at is that the shit you’re peddling me doesn’t add up, your story has more holes than Swiss cheese, and your smoke and mirrors are better left to the kiddies.”
His face blanched, and he had the decency to look the slightest bit remorseful.
“I know she’s a beautiful girl.” I set down the paperweight and leaned forward on my elbows. “Sweet. Funny. Charming as hell.”
Mick smirked but wisely chose not to respond.
“She’s mine.”
There was no argument about that, and I waited for Mick’s reaction. I doubted the big lug had actually developed feelings for her. But there was certainly something amiss, and it was time to dispense with the monkey business.
“I’m fully aware of that, sir,” he assured me.
His eyes crinkled in amusement and it relieved me to know that wasn’t going to be an issue. Out of a handful of people I trusted, Mick made the top of the list. Even smaller was the list of those- apart from myself- I deemed capable of protecting Brighton. That score consisted of one, and he was it. He excelled at what he did, but having fuzzy warmth for my girl wasn’t going to fly.
“So it’s the guilt, then,” I remarked.
Mick looked away, and bingo! We had a winner.
“She wasn’t supposed to be in the car that night,” he mumbled.
“You think I’m not blatantly aware of that by now?” I snapped.
“I know you are, boss.” He glanced at me with concern. I hated that look. Except on Brighton. My little lotus flower could worry her pretty face over me all day long. In fact, a dose of that would be well received right about now. Much better than her cavalier indifference to the useless bag of bones I was becoming.
I was a little bit of a masochist myself as evidenced by my next question. “You think I should give her up?”
Mick blinked at me and sawed his teeth over his bottom lip before answer
ing. “I know you love her, boss. But don’t you think enough damage has been done?”
“You know what I think?” I shot laser beams into his murky brown eyes. “I think I’m not paying you to have a fucking opinion.”
Mick grunted in response. So frigging typical.
“I need you on her at all times,” I barked out. “I need to know she’s safe if nothing else. And if I find out you’re withholding her address from me on purpose…”
My email pinged. There were few matters worthy of disrupting this conversation with my old buddy, old pal. The exception, of course, was the private investigator in Chicago. In this case, no news would’ve been good news.
Mick forgotten, I opened it up without delay. I hated being right. Photos of Brayden occupied my screen and exacerbated my animosity towards my love’s darker half. While I signed over monthly checks to keep the twins alive, he’d inflamed old wounds by getting reacquainted with Frankie’s old neighborhood.
Christ.
He was even dumber than I gave him credit for, and this was about to complicate the shit out of everything I thought I’d buried.
I hadn’t a clue when I made a deal with the devil six years ago it’d come back to haunt me like this. Alfredo had been paid enough to wash his hands of the matter until a more suitable time. Out of sight, out of mind. But not when Brayden was parading himself all over Frankie’s old stomping grounds with a giant red target on his back. The two paths would collide, sooner or later.
Alfredo would put a bullet in his head without a second thought, money be damned. And then what? Would they try to come for Brighton too?
“We’ll pick this up later, Mick.”
He didn’t say a word as he slinked out the door. I reached for the photo proudly displayed on my desk. The only personal touch in my office, I must have looked at it a hundred times a day. She was so goddamn lovely.
My little ray of sunshine.
She didn’t believe it, but she was still as pure in my mind as she ever had been. And nobody was going to take her away from me.
Nobody.
Chapter Eight
Brighton
“Are you sure you want to do this today?” Nicole asked as I flitted around and checked the clothing racks one last time.
“Absolutely,” I replied. “I still can’t believe how much work you put into this Nicole. This is really going to be amazing.”
“You did all of the hard work,” she said. “I just organized.”
“Are you kidding me? You raised more money than I ever thought possible. You turned this into a real charity. Because of you, hundreds of little girls are going to get to realize their dreams.”
“Because of Sophia,” she corrected.
She gave me a bittersweet smile as I glanced at the placard she’d had created for the foundation. Sophia’s Shoes. A nonprofit that would provide underprivileged children the opportunity to participate in ballet.
While it may have been a small kindness to the world, it was something I was incredibly proud of. One of the only good things I’d ever really accomplished in my life, I was committed to seeing the foundation grow and prosper.
The event organizer who’d volunteered her time strode up, looking completely professional in her black skirt suit as she glanced at her watch.
“It’s time,” she announced. “Shall we ladies?”
Nicole and I glanced at each other and smiled nervously as we walked towards the stage. The doors drew open, and a hundred little girls and their parents spilled into the room, filling it with laughter and light. They all took their seats and bounced around happily as they waited.
The event organizer took to the podium first, thanking everyone for coming and making her introduction.
“And now, if you’ll all give a big round of applause for the creators of this lovely foundation, Miss Brighton Valentine, and Nicole Baker.”
We both walked up to the podium, and I fidgeted while Nicole spoke first. Though she claimed to be just as nervous, she was a little better at this stuff than I was. I was happy to sit back and remain in the shadows, but she insisted this was something I needed to do. Something we needed to do together.
I barely heard her speech before she handed the microphone to me, and I cleared my throat as I tried to keep myself together.
“Thank you,” I stumbled over the words. “Um, thank you again for coming today. This project is something that started small. In memory of a little girl whose life was cut short…”
My eyes filled with tears and I had to pause for a moment as Nicole sniffled beside me. “This is obviously something that is very bittersweet, and while I never had a chance to meet Sophia Lockhart, I do hope this foundation will do her memory justice…”
My words trailed off as I connected to a pair of blue eyes in the audience staring back at me. They were overflowing with more emotion and pain than I’d ever seen before, and I nearly choked as I tried to wrap it up.
“So if you will please follow the instructions on your cards, and the lovely ladies at the tables will help you to get signed up.”
Nicole pried the microphone from my hand and turned it off, but I couldn’t take my eyes off Ryland. I hadn’t heard from him in over two weeks. As much as I’d told him that was what I wanted, it was a complete lie. I missed him so much. And now, without even his texts to fill the void, my world was emptier than it had ever been.
“What’s he doing here?” Nicole whispered. “How did he find out?”
I couldn’t reply. My throat burned, and I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the glassiness of his. His hands balled into fists at his sides, and I felt like I was betraying him somehow. I started to question everything that I was doing when he walked from the room without another glance.
“It’s okay,” Nicole’s voice wobbled. “It’s better this way. He needs time to process it. It’s good that he’s not here.”
Chapter Nine
Ryland
Whiskey annihilation.
The articles blurred together, and I took deep satisfaction in that. I had no inclination to keep reading them. To keep dredging up these horrible… emotions? And yet I was impressed with the publicity Nicole garnered for the event. She’d never worked so hard on any project I’d given her over the years.
She was dedicated to the cause. I was dedicated to seeing this bottle of Johnnie Walker dry by sunrise. It was Brighton who thought of this. She’d hit me right in the tiny fissure of my armor. Hell if I knew how she kept doing that. The million-dollar question was to love or hate her for it.
Course, I loved her for it, sap that I was.
So typical of the little peach, trying to make amends for the sins of her father. It couldn’t be done. Nothing would bring Sophia back. Only death could purge those last moments from my mind. Relax Freud, I wasn’t referring to her fucking cockroach of a brother. I was talking about myself. And no, I wasn’t suicidal either.
But goddammit if she didn’t make me question it sometimes. The gaping Brighton-shaped hole she’d left in my life couldn’t be patched up with a first aid kit or any amount of aged whiskey. The Montagues and Capulets had nothing on us. Star crossed lovers, were we doomed from the start?
I couldn’t accept that. I’d write her odes upon odes if she wanted me to. They’d be pitiful, of course. I could open up to her. Allow her a glimpse of my pain this time. She’d feed on it because she thought she could fix me.
She’d always believe there was light in the darkness. That was my angel. Even when she was on her knees- filled with my darkness- she was still shining bright. My Siren’s song, my exposed nerve. She lured me in and made me feel. And then she left me to perish.
Christ, I needed her right now. Fear had come-a-knocking, whispering that I mightn’t ever have her again. It was bound to bring on childish antics and tantrums of epic proportions the longer she kept this charade up.
There was no way I could just let her go. The last time I’d even entertained such a hellish notion
popped into my head. She’d wrecked her bracelet and coaxed my personal demons from their shadowy lairs. The terror on my face that day was irrefutable, and I’d shown my hand before I intended. So, I did what any self-respecting male would do in my situation. I pouted. She came to me on her own that time- on her knees, no less. It only took my silence to bring her back.
I contemplated if it’d work now. Chances weren’t good. I’d fucked up plenty of times in my life (shocking, I know), but this was unchartered territory. How do you get someone to forgive the unspeakable? How do you even look at yourself knowing you almost killed the woman you love?
I couldn’t tell you exactly, I’d been avoiding my reflection since it’d happened.
She was slipping through my fingers. A tiny dot in the ocean, I stood helplessly on the shore and watched her drift away. I didn’t have a life vest, but I’d swim to her if she’d let me.
If she’d let me?
Jesus H. Christ. Were you listening to this shit? When did I become that guy? Ten months ago, I’d taken her without apology. Laid down the rules and staked my claim like the selfish prick I was.
You see? You see what she did to me?
Fucks sake. She’d turned me into a pussy. Spouting poetic nonsense at four in the frigging morning. Someone get me a handgun so I could cease with the dramatics.
Swiveling around in my chair, I kicked my heels up on the desk. I was just drunk enough not to care about the marks. Rocking back and forth, the creaking of leather filled the stark silence of the office where I spent entirely too much time.
The way I saw it, I had one of two choices. Go in guns blazing, or slow and cautious. While guns blazing always worked in the past, I wasn’t certain it’d play out in my favor this time. No doubt about it, Brighton enjoyed the dominant and even slightly sadistic parts of me. She expected them. But perhaps that tactic was doing more harm than good at this point.
