by Myles, Eden
“W…what…?” I gasped for breath, unable to answer him.
“What have you been telling them about me?” he repeated. “What have you and Christa been discussing?” His voice was ice cold, dead. He slammed my skull back against the glass again.
Oh god, I was like a rag doll in his grasp. I couldn’t move; I could barely breathe. I gasped, his fingers painfully tight around my throat. I scratched at them, but it was like he felt no pain. “Nu…nothing!” I managed to gasp out.
“You better not say anything. I told you what I do to bitches with big mouths! They get cut. They get hurt! You wanna get hurt, cow?”
He slammed my head against the glass once more and I slumped down to a sitting position against the wheel well, my vision swimming, the parking lot teetering back and forth dangerously. I gasped and coughed, ripping at the collar of my university pullover so I could breathe better.
He stepped back but pulled out a box cutter with an orange handle from his suit jacket, the kind you can buy from any home store. The sharp, triangular blade glinted in the sodium lights. “Keep your fucking mouth shut or I’ll mess up your face. Then I’ll mess up your grandma. You get me, bitch?”
“Y-yeah!” I coughed out.
He was gone in seconds, like a boogeyman, like he’d never been there at all.
Oh god, I thought. Oh god. Like a mantra it rolled round and round my brain. I covered my face with my hands and cried myself out before climbing back to my feet and getting into my car.
* * *
“Earth to Belle, earth to Belle, come in, Belle.”
I stopped vacuuming the same patch of carpet over and over and looked over my shoulder to see Damian standing in the doorway of the living room. He looked stunning in a tight blue T-shirt and snug jeans. There was a lopsided expression on his face and a B.C. Rich Warlock bass guitar around his middle. I’d never heard him stop playing in the other room. “Are you all right?”
“Y-yes, sir,” I said. I turned off the vacuum and turned dutifully to face him. “Can I help you in some way?” I said. “Service you in some way, sir?”
He laughed. “Not right now. Dorian’s in a consultation, and I’m writing your song…but I was wondering if you were free tonight for dinner?”
“Yes, of course.” I beamed a smile. We didn’t go out every night, but when we did, the Michaels brothers always took me to some romantic little bistro or trattoria in an out-of-the-way place in the city that I’d never heard of before, and they’d insist I buy the most expensive thing on the menu. They often bought me ridiculously expensive gifts, completely spoiling me. Tonight would be no different. “What time should I be ready?”
“We’ll pick you up in front of your dorm at seven. We have something to ask you tonight, something important.”
“Yes, sir. I’m looking forward to it.”
He looked me over with a frown and at the patch of carpeting I was killing with the Dyson. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Yes, of course.”
“If you’re busy with schoolwork or have some other plans…?”
It was Friday night. I had no plans, and even though Stefan and I often went to a movie, he’d recently met some hot football guy on campus. He was on cloud nine—and in the honeymoon phase of his relationship. As a result, we hadn’t had many platonic dates of late. I admit a part of me mourned what I feared might be the passing of our close relationship, but another part of me was really happy for him. He needed to find someone and be happy. He hadn’t had much happiness in his life so far.
Besides, I needed to stop spilling myself to my best friend all the time and ruining his fun. Admittedly, he’d be pissed with me if he knew I wasn’t telling anyone about Clark’s return, but, I’d reasoned, Clark wasn’t his problem. It wasn’t anyone’s problem. It was mine. Eventually, when I felt a little bit safer, I would go to the police and confess everything.
I’d get help. Soon.
Of course, I’d been telling myself that for the past two weeks, and I still hadn’t gone. It was hard to feel safe these days.
“I have nothing planned,” I told him honestly.
He raised his roguish eyebrows. “Certain? You’ve been somewhat distracted of late.”
I smiled winsomely. Over time, I’d learned to smile in a totally innocent way that made no one question what was going on inside my head. “I’m fine. My grandma isn’t feeling very well, but I know she’ll be all right. Plus, midterms are coming up. You know.” I shrugged.
“Well, if you need to go visit your grandma, or need time to study, you let us know, all right?”
“I will.”
Damian ducked out of the room and I bit my lip and turned back to finish my vacuuming.
* * *
Dinner was at a Mediterranean place. We had oysters on a half shell with Tabasco sauce, one of my favorites. The three of us sat at a cozy-small table in a private room in the upper Manhattan eatery and I smiled and blushed as Dorian fed me oysters by hand and told me what they intended to do to be tonight. Damian sat beside me, occasionally licking the oyster liquor from my lips. He kissed me, his tongue twining with mine, which made Dorian frown with annoyance.
Dorian disliked the way his brother sometimes monopolized their time with me, but just to show him how much I loved him as well, I slid my hand under the table, over his knee, and squeezed his sizable package. He was hard and I could feel the fullness of his testes through his tailor-made trousers. He grunted at my touch, and I leaned across the table so he could kiss me. “I can’t wait to feel you all the way inside me,” I told him.
A few weeks ago I would have been mortified to talk so dirty to a man, but I trusted Dorian and Damian, was at ease with them. Loved them. Unfortunately.
He touched my cheek and his eyes narrowed in that dangerously sexy way he had that made my heart flit like a wounded bird in my chest. “No worries. Tonight, Belle, I intend to send you home well used.”
“Speaking of home,” Damian said, clearing his throat.
“Oh yes,” said Dorian. He trailed his fingertips across my cheek, looked me deep in the eyes. “What would you say about being our partner in the practice and becoming a more permanent fixture in our lives?”
My heart jumped. “What do you mean?”
He looked at his brother and they passed that psychic signal between them. “Damian and I have decided we’d like you to come live with us at the house and manage our financial affairs. You said you were graduating with a major in business management, and, frankly, we could use a little management.”
Damian laughed at that. “Dorian is too busy with the actual surgeries to be much help, and I’m no good with numbers, never have been. Besides, I’ve been thinking of starting up Suicide Kings again.”
Dorian rolled his eyes. “If Damian does that, he’ll be even more indisposed. And, well, you’ve seen the office.”
I had. Damian was perhaps even more disorganized than I was.
“Of course we’ll pay you a fair wage,” Dorian said as if afraid I might turn him down. A “fair wage” to Dorian Michaels generally meant two or three times over what he ought to be paying me. “The playroom will be your room. The office will be your exclusive domain. We’ll pay you whatever you ask, both as our business manager and our courtesan.”
I bit my lip. The first thing I wanted to say was yes, god yes, but then I re-thought that decision. I knew Clark was still out there. Just yesterday, after getting back from my support group, he’d slipped a note under my door that read Stay quiet or I’ll kill your grandmother, which meant there was no way I could go to the police now. I wasn’t even going back to my support group for fear that Clark would misinterpret it as some kind of conspiracy to come after him.
God, when had my life turned into such a nightmare?
I knew he was shadowing me, watching me. He’d know if I moved in with Dorian and Damian. He’d probably come around to threaten me. Then I would be putting the Michaels brothers in danger as
well.
On the surface, that didn’t seem like a big deal, and I was sure they could handle themselves, but they had not just a small operation theater, but also a private convalescence hall for their more high-profile celebrity patients like Ms. Veronica, and sometimes they took care of pro bono cases at the house that required additional attention, the way Stefan’s many surgeries had. I’d be putting a huge amount of people—doctors, patients, celebrities, and regular folks—in danger by living with them.
I knew Clark wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t back down. He was loaded. He could get out of anything the police threw at him. I just knew he would try to kill me.
So I bit back that yes and said, “But what about my duties as housekeeper? I couldn’t possibly handle the office and the housecleaning.”
Damian laughed. “We’ll hire a housekeeper, Belle.”
“Can I think about it a while before making such a big decision?”
I thought it was a reasonable request, but Dorian looked hurt, the first time I’d seen such an expression on his usually stoic face.
I scrambled for an excuse. “I mean…Ms. Veronica sort of offered me a chance at modeling,” I told him, which was not entirely a lie. But although I was flattered that she considered me pretty enough, I really had no desire to walk a runway or endure all the crap that models had to put up with. What I wanted was to stay with Dorian and Damian and be their business partner, their courtesan. There was a good, stable future in that. And besides, I loved them, and I think they loved me.
The brothers exchanged one of their secret looks. They looked less than happy.
“Of course.” Dorian took my hand and kissed my knuckles in that Old World way he had. “Take all the time you need, my dear.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Meanwhile…” He withdrew a diamond-studded collar from the inside of his suit coat and belted it tight around my neck, then attached a thin leash to the O-ring in it. He fisted the leash, drew me close, teased his tongue over my lips. “Let’s go home. You’re ours tonight, Belle, and we want to show you heaven.”
* * *
My cell went off at two o’clock in the morning. I know because when it started doing its little vibrating dance on my bedside table, I peeked an eye open and saw the digital clock. My heart immediately started fluttering in my chest. After all, you only get bad news at two in the A.M. I immediately thought of my grandma. We’d spoken last night before I’d gone to bed, and she’d been in good spirits, not even overly anxious about her upcoming surgery, which I’d been able to fund.
I snatched it up and looked at the unfamiliar number. That slowed my heart somewhat. I hit TALK and said in a groggy tone, “’ello?”
“Iz?”
I recognized the husky voice immediately. “Myles, what’s up?” I said, pulling myself up to a sitting position on the bed.
“Iz…are you there?”
“I’m here, Myles, what’s wrong?”
“You didn’t come to tonight’s meetings.”
“I know,” I said. “Some stuff came up.” I’d planned to quit formally, but just hadn’t found the courage to say goodbye to the bunch of people I considered close friends.
“I came, but you weren’t there,” Myles said. “It wasn’t the same, so I left early and went back to my car. Now I’m just sitting here, and I can’t move, and I’m shaking. How ridiculous is that?”
“Myles, calm down, I said. “Just calm down.”
“I keep thinking about that sonofabitch, what he did, and I just can’t stop crying, Iz…”
“You’re only having a panic attack. It’s nothing to be afraid of. He’s nothing to be afraid of anymore,” I told him, hoping to talk him down from his meltdown. “Take a few deep breaths and try to relax…”
“I’m trying, Iz, I’m really trying…”
“I want you to go back inside and talk to Christa…”
“Christa’s gone. They’re all gone, Iz, and I can’t stop crying and shaking.”
I sighed. “Don’t drive, all right, hon? Just don’t drive. I’ll come get you.”
“Oh, god, Iz…oh, god…”
“Stay right there, Myles. I’m coming to get you.”
The first thing I did was call Stefan, hoping he’d drive out with me to the other side of the campus to pick up Myles, but after seven rings, it went to his voicemail, and I realized Stef had probably turned off his phone, maybe because he was with his boyfriend. I thought about going to the west wing where his dorm was and pounding on his door, but that would take too long. What if Myles blew off my advice and tried to drive, or hurt himself while he waited for me?
“Stef, it’s me. If you get this, I’m letting you know that Myles is in trouble and I’m picking him up outside the cafeteria. Call me back ASAP. Thanks.”
I jumped out of bed and threw on my early-morning jogging clothes and a pair of running shoes, then went downstairs to the student parking lot and jumped in my car. It was a quick five minute drive to the other side of the campus where the cafeteria was located, the place where we held our weekly support group meeting.
I drove through the cafeteria parking lot, but didn’t immediately spot Myles’s car. On the second turn, I finally noticed his battered old truck parked under a burned out sodium lamp in a dark corner of the lot. It looked empty, and I realized Myles had likely gone back inside. Sighing, I pulled alongside his truck and cut the engine. When I stepped out into the lot, I immediately regretted not throwing on a jacket before I left my dorm; it was early November, but it definitely felt like snow tonight.
Huddled down in my hoodie, I raced inside the cafeteria. “Myles?” I called as the door shut pneumatically behind me. My voice echoed back to me. The halls were dim and unoccupied. There was a serving cart in the hallway that someone had forgotten, and the big corkboard where students hung notices about new groups and clubs, but I saw no trace of Myles.
“Myles!” I called louder. A part of me started to panic. I thought about calling his sister and telling her that Myles was likely in trouble, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to involve her just yet. I’d likely be waking her up, panicking her, and I had no idea if there was anything to be panicked about.
I checked the cafeteria, saw it was empty, then let the swinging doors fall shut. I started down the corridor toward the north wing of the college that eventually led to the gymnasium and shop and automotive classrooms. I desperately hoped Myles hadn’t gone down to shop to maybe find a tool to commit self-harm with, and the thought frightened me. I knew how desperate someone like Myles could feel, how helpless and out of control.
The corridors were dim and empty. Most nights, there was security guard walking the grounds and you could see him right outside the windows as he paroled the student parking lot. But tonight I didn’t see anyone. I stopped and called, “Myles?” but received no answer, so I kept going until I reached the gym.
I stopped to peek inside. I saw the shadowy outlines of the horses and balancing beams the gymnasts used during the day, but no Myles. I kept going until I reached Shop and Automotive. The corridor was longer and even darker here, with fewer lights and doors on both sides, some leading to the shop and woodworking classes, some leading to the outside automotive garages. I opened the ones that were unlocked, called into them.
“Myles, where are you?” I called much louder, growing both irritated and concerned.
An outside door slammed in the long corridor behind me and I automatically whirled around. “Myles? Are you there? Myles!”
I could hear footsteps echoing from just around the last bend. I started that way, wondering what kind of sick joke this was, and why Myles wasn’t answering me, but as I closed in on the footsteps, Clark suddenly stepped out into the corridor to face me.
I stopped and looked at him, told myself this couldn’t be, even as a wave of nausea overwhelmed me for a moment.
“Just couldn’t stay away, could you, bitch?” he said.
“Are you following me?” I cri
ed, surprised by the rage in my voice. I was scared and alone, but, finally, mad as hell. I was tired of being afraid of Clark. Tired of Clark ruining my life this way.
“I had to make certain you and Christa weren’t running your big, fat mouths!”
“I’m not here for Christa! You go home and leave me alone!”
“You talking to her, cow?”
“Fuck you!”
His face blanked like the good little psychopath he was. He started toward me, and I saw the flash of the orange box cutter in his hand. I thought about screaming, but I was pretty sure there was no one in the building to hear. It would be a waste of energy.
Instead, I turned on my heels and raced back down the corridor, even as I heard the pounding of Clark’s footsteps closing in behind me. I grabbed at the doorknob of the first door I came to but it was locked, I tried the second and third. Locked! I abandoned the rest of the shop classes and ran full tilt, heart slamming around my chest like a windblown bird, to the automotive garage. That, at least, was open.
The campus taught restoration classes on the weekends, and there were several classic cars up on lifts. I spotted an emergency fire exit, but I knew if I hit the crash bar, sirens would go off, and then Clark would know I was out in the parking lot. Could I outrun him before fire trucks or police cars arrived? I doubted it. But it did give me an idea.
I hit the crash bar and the alarms started singing, but then turned on my heels and slipped behind a vintage Mustang on a lift. I pressed my back flat to the dented panel of the car, hoping the darkness would shield me and the sirens would frighten or deter Clark.
No such luck. He pounded into the garage moments later, despite the alarms going off, then headed for the exit.
Please, I thought, peeking out from behind the Mustang. Please, please, please go out into the parking lot. Response times for campus fires were usually very quick—ten minutes, at most. I only had to hold out that long before half the police force arrived.
I held my breath and waited. Clark, looking pissed and gripping the knife like he meant business, kicked the door fully open, then stepped out into the night.
