by K. Webster
Her eyes widen in shock and I immediately realize my slip up. Before I can distract her, my curious Bunny, fires off more questions.
“Braxton Kennedy, you are the most refined, exquisite, over the top man I’ve ever met—certainly not street trash. That would be me, handsome. Were you one of those rags to riches stories? What about your mum? Where is she?”
At the mention of my mother, my world spins around me. The warmth I try so hard to blanket myself with is ripped away as chilling memories haunt me. My heart is still hollow, bitter, and aching from her loss.
I think of anything to drive away memories, especially of those at the end, and I imagine the sound of Corgy’s skull popping over and over again—each one overlapping the last until it sounds like popcorn exploding inside my head.
But I can’t get her out of my mind.
Mama’s sad, sick eyes gut me.
I blink and blink and blink to rid myself of it but it won’t fucking go away.
“M-M-Mr. Kennedy,” I cry into the phone. The card he gave me is wrinkly from my handling it so much and it is no longer the crisp and clean like him but instead dirty and dingy like me.
“Braxxy?! Jesus Christ! I came back from my meeting last month and you guys were gone. Where the hell are you now? I looked all over that damn city for you two!”
I’d remembered so well. Mama had dragged us out of his fancy apartment not even thirty minutes after he went to his meeting. She’d said Richard deserved better than her. I was sad for leaving his warm home and him, but deep down, I was glad Mama didn’t think I deserved more than her.
A choked sob escapes me and I fight for breath. I can’t do this. I can’t do this without her. “Mr. Kennedy . . .”
The line grows quiet on the other end and for a moment, I feel as though I’m all alone on this godforsaken planet. “Call me Richard. Where are you?”
“Chinatown in an apartment. They’re both . . .” I can’t say it.
“Shit!”
Neither of us speak but I can hear him slinging stuff around. Finally, after a few minutes, with us both trying to hide our tears from the other, he speaks again.
“Brax, I’m coming for you. I can get a flight out of LAX tonight and be there by morning. Can you stay put? Can you wait for me, son?”
My soul rejoices at hearing him assure me he’s headed my way. I feel so lost and the idea of him finding me is enough to keep going. “Yeah, I can do that.”
He asks for the address and after I locate it on an envelope on a stack of bills, I give it to him.
“Richard?” I question. “Will you hurry? There’s no food here and I’m hungry.”
His voice is full of emotion. “Mark my words, son. You will never go hungry again for as long as I live. You’re my boy now.”
I don’t want to hang up because his voice is comforting and strong. I want to latch onto it and never let go. I’d never known my “sonofabitch” father as my mom called him, but Richard was the closest thing to one I had ever experienced in my fourteen years of life. Even the old man down at the shelter who taught me how to read when I was younger hadn’t filled that role.
“I need to book a flight so I can leave,” he says reluctantly, his words mirroring my own.
I nod but the tears roll out because I don’t want him to leave me, yet I want him to come to me. My eyes skim over to my mother and her customer lying in his bed. Their bodies were cold and stiff when I touched them. Evidence of the cause of their death was strewn all around in the way of needles, baggies of rocks, and dirty spoons.
My mama was so sick.
And now she’s not sick anymore.
“Why’d she leave me?”
He sighs but his voice is firm. “Braxton, she couldn’t help herself. She was someone who’d gotten on the wrong path and couldn’t ever find her way back. People like your mother deserve more than the cards they were dealt. Sometimes they need someone strong and capable to show them the way. Your mother is free of her illness and addictions now. One day you’ll see her again, son—in another life where she’s pure and healthy. Don’t ever question her love for you. Because despite the problems she juggled daily in that foggy head of hers, one thing was always clear. Her love for you.”
His words calm me and I kneel beside her body. I press a kiss to her cold flesh and swallow. “I don’t want to be alone.”
“Braxton Kennedy,” he says in a firm, authoritative voice. I jerk to hearing my first name mixed with his last name. My mama said we didn’t have last names. Last names were for when you belonged to someone who took care of you and we took care of ourselves. “You will never be alone. You have my word, son.”
After we hang up, I find a blanket and drag it up over my naked mother. Crawling in next to her under it, I hug her stiffened body and kiss her on the forehead.
“Mama,” I whisper, my voice brave. “Richard is going to take care of me now. You don’t have to work ever again.”
“Braxton. Talk to me.” Sobs drag me from my memories and I’m thankful to see Bunny beneath me. Only she’s crying too. Not just tears rolling out but full on sobbing. In an instant, I inventory my surroundings.
Her legs are around my waist and her palms are on my cheeks cradling my face. I’m balls deep inside of her and don’t remember how I got here. I expect to see fear in her eyes. Hate. Something other than an emotion that steals my soul straight from my fucking body.
“Jessica,” I grunt and attempt to pull out of her, “Jesus, what the fuck?”
She lifts her head and kisses my lips in a reassuring way. Her body wriggles beneath me to urge me on. My heart skips a beat and my world is once again on pause.
With her.
Only with her.
I dive my tongue into her mouth and kiss her in a way I hope conveys how much she consumes me. With every thrust into her tight heat, I let her own me in a way nobody ever has.
“Shh,” she murmurs into my mouth. “I have you now.”
My desire for her increases tenfold at the sound of those words. Words I said to her all those weeks ago in my office, when I revealed my most cruel and sadistic side to her. When her body tightens around my cock, I grunt out my release. I’m not sure if she even got off but I’m so lost in her—her scent, her taste, her voice, her everything—that I don’t let it ruin the moment. She seems perfectly content stroking my back and kissing my lips as if her mouth has the power to heal me.
And right now, with my life on pause, she fixes every single goddamned part of me.
I don’t detach myself from her and instead just stare at her. Her now serene face is glistening with her tears and her pink nose is so fucking cute. How’d she bewitch me so easily?
“So, what happened between you and your mum?” she questions in a soft, sweet tone.
“I hate her.”
The venom I try to fuel my words with falls flat. Even I know that’s a lie.
She frowns, marring her perfect face. “For some reason, I have a hard time believing that.”
I shrug and pull out of her, rolling onto my back. She curls up beside me and gently fingers my chest.
“Tell me about her, Brax.”
A dark chuckle escapes me. “There’s nothing to tell. She was a drug addicted whore who could barely care for her son. Not much to say on the matter.”
Her sharp intake of breath steals more of my soul. She regards me with a look of confusion, the hurt written all over her face, ruining her pretty features. “Like me?” she asks with a slight quiver to her voice. “Do you hate me if I’m like her?”
I think of when Bunny first fell into my car. Her makeup was shitty. She was dirty as hell and stank. And she was practically crawling with diseases. I’d chosen her, just like I choose them all, because she was like my mother so long ago. But unlike back then, I now have control over my situation. Fixing those whores and breathing their life back into them, even if only for six months, is soothing to the shredded being within me. I can make things right for
them like I couldn’t ever do with Mama.
But Jessica?
She’s so fucking different.
This woman started out just like the rest but then she wormed her way into my heart. I knew she was unlike the rest. Her life had taken a shitty turn but she was every bit as lost and vulnerable as I was when I was a kid. Every time she’s cold, I sense the pure devastation of the reminders of her homeless past. Each time she’s handed a meal by Christine, she appreciates it as if it might be her last. And every time we touch, she seems to drink in my praise and affections, much like a neglected child or puppy would.
Jessica reminds me of me.
We share the same sentiments. They link us together.
Sure, the other homeless whores, they had the same issues. But they all seemed to suffer from mental anguish like that of my mother. Even when I tried to fix them, I always knew they’d never remain pristine and restored—that they’d always revert back. It was in their DNA.
My Bunny’s a survivor though.
With each passing day, I can see her strength and resolve returning. The determined glint in her eyes to overcome her past overshadows everything she does. When I see Jessica, I’m looking in a mirror.
“Jessica Kennedy, I could never hate you,” I whisper and kiss the top of her head. “You actually scare the shit out of me because you’re the furthest thing from hate in my eyes, baby.”
Last names are for when you belong to someone who takes care of you.
I expect her to tense up or question my nonsensical talk. To argue about her last name being Rabbit or revealing her real last name. Instead, she snuggles up against me.
“I wish we could pause this moment,” she says, her soft breath tickling my chest.
Closing my eyes, I smile.
A pause with her equals an eternity of happiness.
It’s been three days since he left me to go fetch his dad, but this time, things are different. He left me and went alone because I was actually ill with a twenty-four hour stomach virus the morning he left and couldn’t travel with him despite my begging. But, unlike when he left for London, he’s called the house about ten times a day to check on me. Several of those times, especially late at night, I would curl up in his bed and talk to him about my college days or when I worked at the busy law firm. He’d spill little tidbits of his own past and how he came to find his employees. It’s been nice getting to know him in such an intimate way.
Neither of us really dove into our pasts. I mentioned my brother a couple of times in passing as I’d recall a memory but nothing detrimental. And now, I’ve allowed myself to believe that Brax and I can be more. That perhaps he’ll want to keep me and together we’ll find a way to keep Jimmy from ruining both of our lives.
The thought of Jimmy sucks the air from my chest. Even though I’ve revealed a lot to Brax, he still doesn’t know much about my past. With Jimmy having been his client, I’m worried he’ll act irrationally—not on his behalf but on mine. Just like he defended me from Jimmy’s berating back in Vegas, I fear he’ll go after him in an attempt to avenge me.
Just like Trevor.
Just like Corgy.
I’m still unsure what he and Dubois did when they went to London but I have a sneaking suspicion it had something to do with Corgy considering he asked about him before he left. Knowing that Brax attacks first and asks questions later, I feel like he went on a mission to destroy the man. And as it was when Trevor poorly attempted to have his way with me, Brax nearly killed him. I have no doubt Corgy met the same fate.
“Why do I feel like I’m going to get killed for this?” Cartier complains as he peels the last of the tape from the door trim, dragging me from my thoughts.
I tuck the beige sheet into the bottom of the bed and turn to look at him. His dark, chocolate curls are speckled with a khaki color and his mouth is pursed together in a pout. He took off his shirt somewhere along the way and dazzles me with his sculpted perfection. It truly is a shame he bats for the other team.
“You’re not going to get killed. You and I both know that the purple was terrible. Plus, his father isn’t going to want to stay in the Princess Room. And there aren’t any other rooms available for him.”
He saunters over to me and helps me make the bed. We spent the first couple of days painting and all day yesterday shopping for decorations. Despite Cartier doing something that wasn’t a direct order, I knew he had fun helping me pick out everything. Plus, someone had to pay for it all.
“Yeah, but why couldn’t we have asked permission first?” he whines.
I toss a pillow at him. “Because, goofball, then it wouldn’t be a surprise!”
His anxiety is infectious and my heart starts thumping around in worry. What if he hates the surprise? What if I misjudged the progression of our relationship and was too forward in moving all my things to his bedroom? I swallow down fear that oddly reminds me of how I’d worry when I’d make a change back at my Georgian home with Jimmy. It was always hit or miss with him. If he loved it, I was rewarded with peace. If he hated it, I learned my lesson.
“Oh my!” Christine gasps from the doorway. “Jessica, you’ve simply outdone yourself. This room is absolutely stunning. Mr. Kennedy will be so proud of all your hard work.”
I toss Cartier a smug I told you so grin. “Good. Cart here was trying to give me a heart attack about it.”
She tsks at him but waves me to her. “Come on, sugar. I need your help in the kitchen. This meal is your show, I’m merely an assistant. But, Brax called a while ago and told me he’d be here by six. If we want to feed those three hungry men when they arrive, we’d better hop to it.”
“Cartier, you can help too,” I tell the pouting angel.
He follows as we head for the elevators, tugging his shirt back on along the way. “If Mr. Kennedy gets pissed, I was coerced and threatened. Just to be clear. Oh, and you stole my credit card.”
I laugh when Christine swats at him. “Grow some cahones you big loon. He’d be a fool not to recognize Jessica’s efforts to make his father feel welcome. If he has a fit, he’ll meet my rolling pin.”
We all chuckle at the older woman’s threats. Brax would take all three of us down in a second but something tells me despite his gritty exterior, he’d never want to hurt any of us.
The cooking becomes a flurry of chatter and easy banter. It’s the closest familial moment I’ve had in a long time and fills me with emotions I haven’t felt since before I met Jimmy. I’m happily frying the chicken strips while the whir of the mixer that Christine is mashing the potatoes with thunders from beside me, when I feel his presence.
His heat envelops me from behind and I sag in relief.
If I weren’t afraid I’d burn the chicken, I’d throw myself into his arms. He wraps his arms around my middle and inhales my hair. My knees wobble and thankfully, he holds me to him so I don’t collapse.
“Jessica’s Famous Fried Chicken?” he questions, boyish amusement lacing his voice. His voice is soft and echoes off the long-since turned off mixer that still rattles in my head.
I turn my head so I can see his handsome face. Eyes so blue stare back at me, all traces of grey as gone as yesterday’s rainstorm. His facial hair has grown out once again and I sigh like a lovesick girl.
“One taste and you’ll be mine,” I assure him with a southern drawl that now feels as forced as the British dialect I use daily.
He chuckles and gives me a kiss. “I was yours the moment I first tasted you, Bunny.”
My skin heats even as he pulls away to leave me cooking. I scoop the last piece and put it on the plate before turning off the stove and turning to see where he went. I’m surprised to see two men wearing matching suits chatting in the doorway. Christine bosses Cartier around in the kitchen to finish up the side dishes while I make my way over to the men.
“Dad, this is, Jessica,” Brax says, introducing me by my name.
I flash him a pleased grin and I swear he seems embarrassed. Turni
ng to his father, I turn on my southern charm, accent and all.
“So good to meet you, Mr. Kennedy.”
The man is tall and built for an older fellow. His dark hair is mostly grey but the youth in his eyes is ever present. He’s truly a good-looking guy but he looks nothing like Brax.
“A true southern belle. I can see why my son is smitten with you. You’re every bit the darling he assured me,” he says with a smooth, velvety voice and takes my hand in greeting. “Please call me Rich.”
“Dad, she’s British. Don’t let her fool you with her acting skills,” Brax tattles.
I swat at him. “Spoilsport,” I huff, this time without the accent. “Go sit your butt down and let me dazzle you with my southern cooking. We’ll see who’s acting then.”
“Little lady, you are quite a delight,” Rich says with a chuckle and pats his belly. “I could get used to this cooking.”
Brax shakes his head and pins him with a firm glare. “I wouldn’t get used to it if I were you. Consider this your last meal, Dad. After tonight, I want Christine to cook you low cholesterol meals. There won’t be any more heart attacks on my watch.”
Richard grumbles but doesn’t seem terribly hurt by Brax’s words. In fact, he seems happy. His son cares about him and it’s written all over his handsome face.
“I want you to work out too,” Brax says. “I could use a gym partner upstairs.”
“You have a gym?” I blurt out.
Richard looks over at me quizzically and Brax’s eyes widen. I still haven’t seen the second floor.
“Yes,” he says, clearing his throat. “I haven’t gotten to show it to you yet because you distract me from working out in it,” he groans playfully to save the fact that his father doesn’t know about our arrangement and the parameters of my stay. Despite his easy manner, anxiety darkens his blue eyes to their stormy grey. “I’m tired, guys. I need to sort out where Dad is going to sleep and—”
