by K. Webster
I follow the instructions and once I’ve peed on the stick, I wait. My heart throbs in my chest. I’m on the fence about what I want. If Jimmy weren’t in the picture, I wonder what Brax’s reaction would be. Would he be angry? Excited? Would he want to give me his last name legally instead of whispers of it on his tongue?
After a long time, I pick up the stick.
I’m staring at it and my tears begin to blur the test in front of me. Grabbing hold of the countertop, I brace myself. This changes everything. An answer on a tiny white stick points me in the direction I must go. Because no matter how much I want things to work out with Brax, they can’t. Not with Jimmy, the fucking monster, lurking in the shadows. He ruined me—took life from me once. I’ll be damned if that happens again.
After I wrap up the stick, I shove it down into the trash can, hiding the evidence under the bag. Now’s the perfect time to leave. Brax is in Vegas and I can slip out undetected. Money is a problem though. I’m going to have to take from him, as much as I hate the idea. But, surely he owes me for the time spent. I’ll take enough to make good on the promise to Cherry too and to get the hell out of Seattle.
I remember the safe I discovered while hanging my clothes up is in his closet. On shaky legs, I make my way in there. Before, I didn’t have a reason to attempt to open it. Now, I pray I can crack the code. With a hopeful sigh, I mash in 1982 and the sound of a click grants me access. I turn the lever and open the safe that’s chest high and about three feet wide. Inside I find several handguns, a few metal stars that looked to be carved from aluminum, a few stacks of bound hundred dollar bills, some documents, and a thick book.
Curiosity gets the better of me and I slip the book from the shelf. It’s heavy, and by the way it bulges, I’m led to believe it’s a scrapbook. I sit on the closet floor and open it up.
The first page is a picture of the woman who must be his mother. Her hair is nearly black like his and her eyes are intense. One corner of her mouth quirks up in a smile as she holds the hand of a small boy. Her clothes, even back in the eighties, are tight, short, and for lack of a better word, skanky. Brax is looking up at her as if she’s the sun and the moon. It makes my chest ache to see his dark, mop of hair on his head. He’s sockless under his shoes and the only reason I can tell is because his pants are several inches too short. They were so poor and yet in his eyes, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was her.
My emotions get the better of me and I cry for him. With each shudder of my chest, I ache for him—for the small boy in the picture. Once I compose myself, I turn the page. A handwritten note by him makes my heart stop beating altogether.
Mama,
When I get really big I am going to bild a big huje hotel so we can live there forver. It will be warm and not cold. It will have lots and lots of food. It will have showers with sops that smell good. It will have nice people and kids to play with. You wont have to work ever again. I will give you all the muny and we can eat ham all day. I love you mama.
Braxxy
The letter had been written on the back of a flier and had been folded many times. It makes me wonder if it was something she held on to—something she cherished. I run my fingers over the note and choke back a sob. The next page has Richard Kennedy’s card pasted on it. There’s a picture of Brax and Rich below it. He’s written 1982 all over the page as if the numbers are special to him, lucky even. I notice they were the extension of Rich’s phone number on the business card. In the picture, Richard proudly hugs the somber teen Brax against his side. Even though Brax isn’t smiling, he’s clutching onto Rich as if he might disappear at any moment.
Looking into his past only makes me want to stay. It makes me want to beat his cell phone number out of Cartier and call him to tell him that I love him. That I’m pregnant with his child. With shaky fingers, I turn the page.
Toy # 1 - Pup
A picture of a dirty woman, looking quite like his mother from the first page graces the page. Below it is the same woman dressed in an exquisite dress, an elegant smile on her lips. I stare at her for some time and realization hits me. It cuts me to my core. I’m a toy just like her. Not a surprise to me since he’s spoken of them before but seeing it on the pages of a book, I am disgusted.
The next page is a picture of her in the Hole. She’s hogtied and bruises mar her flesh. Her eyes are lost but she doesn’t hate him. Nobody could ever hate Brax, even when he can be a mean bastard. It makes me jealous she’s shared him in all the same ways. I swallow and look at the next page.
The woman, dressed beautifully, has a black covering over her eyes and duct tape over her mouth. Tears are running down her cheeks as she lays across the seat of his car. A strand of her hair is tied in a ribbon and attached to the page. My heart catches in my chest when I read his scribbled words.
Goodbye forever, Pup
The date has been scrawled beneath it.
Toy #2 - Kitten
More of the same. Before and after pictures. Pictures in the Hole. Pictures of her tied up. Lock of her hair. Goodbye forever, Kitten. And then her end date.
Shit!
I flip through the pages until I get to a beautiful Asian woman. Toy #19 is named Swan. A lock of her black, silky hair. So beautiful and the love in her eyes is evident. She worshipped him and had hope for something more.
Like me.
My heart skips a few beats when I see her end page too. This can’t be. Does he kill these women? Did I fall in love with a serial killer? Jesus!
I don’t want to see what’s after because I sense I’m not going to like it. Just close the book, Jessica. Close the fucking book. But the curiosity once again wins out—it always wins out and I flip the page.
A frown tugs at my lips to see Toy #20. Her name is Bunny. The first picture is of me, dirty and disgusting standing in the bathroom of the hotel. I must have been out of my head from the heroin because I don’t remember him taking the picture. My hair is a fright and I’m so lost. It’s sick. Then, the next picture is of me in the salon. Cartier had taken a picture of me I remember but didn’t pay much attention to the reason. I’m beautiful and clean, the smile is forced but present.
No.
Please no.
The next picture is of me in the Hole. His fist is in my hair and you can tell he took the picture while he fucked me. All you can see is his muscular arm, veins protruding. I absently run a finger across his arm in the picture.
Surely he changed his ways with me. The sincerity was there. He professed his love to me. The man may have fucked me wild but he also held me in front of his fire on his vent. He whispered assurances into my ear and made love to me with more passion than any other man in my life.
Unless he did this with all of them.
Am I so fucking stupid that I went right along with his games?
I’m a goddamned pawn on his chessboard?
When I flip the page, there is no picture but the words at the bottom answer my questions.
Goodbye forever, Bunny.
The date is that of which matches the one on our contract. A contract to kill. A contract to reform a whore, fuck with her head into believing he loves her, and then slaughter her like the rest.
My fingers flutter over my belly and I look around me. Once again, I’m sitting in a closet, assuring my baby everything will be okay, and fearing a man who’s clearly a monster. The irony’s not lost on me.
I think back to a phone conversation I had with Nat not long after I first met her.
“You swear this is confidential?” My voice cracks and I’m glad I’m alone, hiding in the dark Theater Room.
“Of course, Jessica,” Nat assures me. “What is it you wanted to talk about?”
I sigh and with my exhaled breath, I blurt it out. “Six years ago, I left an extremely abusive relationship. Not only was I verbally and emotionally abused, but he also hurt me physically and sexually.”
“I see. Go on, honey.”
I swallow and my voice quivers, unshe
d tears welling in my eyes. “So why do I like what Brax does to me? I mean, my abuser humiliated me all the time. He punished me for things I didn’t even have control over. So why am I subjecting myself to this again?”
She rustles some papers and then responds. “I want you to understand something, dear. Domestic violence and BDSM are not the same thing. BDSM is based upon consent. Domestic violence is not. You keep telling me that you like what Brax does to you—that it turns you on. That doesn’t make you sick or in dire need of psychological help. That’s your way of maintaining the control that you were never awarded in your prior relationship. You have trust in Brax that if you were to pull the plug, he’d stop. But you don’t want to pull the plug. BDSM is all about trust whereas the domestic violence is based on fear. There’s nothing wrong with you, honey. And if it ever came to a point that you feared him, then that would mean the relationship is no longer a healthy one but one lacking the very trust that is crucial for such a dynamic sexual relationship to exist.”
I blink away the memory and glance over at his shoes lined neatly along the wall. They’re so normal and unassuming—nothing like the monster who wears them each day. I’m afraid for my unborn child. After seeing that book—seeing what he does to those women—I can’t trust that I’ll somehow be given a reprieve. That I’ll be different. I’m taking the sex doctor’s advice and I’m taking back control.
I stand up and yank the two wads of money from the shelf. The book gets tossed back into the safe where it belongs—never seeing the light of day. Lifting my chin, I swipe the tears from my cheeks.
History is not repeating itself.
This story ends now.
I will not let this happen. My baby will not die this time.
Goodbye forever, Braxxy.
“I want eyes on the house, Matvei,” I tell him as I stalk off the plane.
“Vsevolod will make sure nobody gets in or out,” he assures me. “When will we be heading back?”
I didn’t even pack a bag. Simply hauled ass to Vegas the moment Jamal made the call.
“Just make sure the plane is fueled and on standby. I’m going to go deal with this shit and then I’m going home.”
He assures me he will and by the time I make it out to the parking lot of the small airport, I find Jamal waiting, leaned up against his car.
“What makes you think he’s dead?” I bark out my question as we climb into the vehicle.
He said they found a body in the server room of the hotel, charred beyond recognition. The camera footage was destroyed but eye-witnesses saw him. Dubois. My right hand man. An ache forms in my chest at the thought. A part of me knows Dubois is a fighter and a fire wouldn’t be what would take him down. However, another part of me thinks I’m in denial.
“He’s not answering his cell and his room is empty.”
I swallow down the emotion that’s thick in my throat. “There could be another explanation. A better question, though, is where in the fuck is Trevor? I’m going to kill that motherfucker. I should have done it that night he put his hands on Jessica.”
Jamal zips down the road toward the hotel. “I think we can lure him to us—make that dream a reality. If he knows you’re in Vegas, he’ll try something, I’m sure.”
“I’ll hold a small press conference. Instead of bringing light to the fact that my former CEO tried to burn the place down, I’ll explain that we had an unfortunate incident of a server that caught fire. We’ll shut down operations until we can restore the hotel. I’m sure he wants to fuck with me and that’s exactly what I’ll give him. And, Jamal?”
He turns his attention to me when he stops at a light. Poor guy is fucking exhausted. After this all goes down, I’m going to offer him a different job. “Yeah, boss?”
“We’re going to find Dubois too.”
“Mr. Kennedy, do you think there’s a possibility it could be arson?” one of the reporters demands.
I shake my head grimly. “No ma’am. The servers were getting old and I was actually in the process of going over some bids to replace them,” I lie easily. “Apparently me dragging my feet came to bite me in the end. Now, my employees and I are going to focus on recovering information and rebuilding. We appreciate the community’s support. Thank you.”
Camera flashes blind me and people holler questions at me, but I turn and stalk away. Jamal and I make our way to the penthouse suite so we can wait for Trevor’s next move.
“I’ve been considering this for a while but in light of what’s happened recently, I’m now convinced. I want you to call Mr. Morrison. He’s approached me several times wanting to buy the hotel. His desire is to turn it into one of the biggest casinos in Vegas. You and I both know I don’t need the money anymore. I’m getting older and am ready to retire from some of the business areas that exhaust me to no end. Get me a meeting with him and we’ll make this happen.”
He nods and starts for the door.
“Don’t worry, Jamal. I’ll make sure you have a good job at one of my other companies. Don’t even stress about it. You’ve been a good, loyal employee. I will always take care of you.”
His shoulders sag in relief as he opens the door. “Thank you, sir.”
He starts to step out but I am startled to see the barrel of a gun press against his forehead, forcing him back into the room. On the other end of that gun is Trevor. Just seeing his smug ass again has my blood boiling in rage. This motherfucker not only tried to fuck Jessica but he fucked with my company by stealing my money, and then murdering Glenna. I’m already at my feet with my fists at my side, ready to charge him.
“Not so fast, asshole,” Trevor spits out. “Make one false move and I put a bullet in his head.”
A growl rumbles in my chest. “You won’t win, dickhead. You’re just a wannabe. Your ass had something good being CEO and you fucked it all up being a greedy little shit. Now, you’ve taken one step too far. And I swear to God if Dubois was killed because of your doing, I’ll gladly gut you from your dick to your throat. You’re messing with the wrong goddamned man.”
He snarls at me. “You think I did all this alone? Boy, you are a stupid dumb shit. Just like he said you were. You may be able to get rid of me, but you’ll still have someone else on your ass. He’ll fuck you over so hard you’ll be bleeding out of your ass for days. Get it through your thick skull, Brax, you’re not winning this round.”
My mind reels. Dubois would never double cross me and Jamal has a gun to his head. Neither of them could be a co-conspirator. “You’re bluffing.”
He scoffs. “Do you remember when you kicked my ass? I happened to be lurking around, waiting for my payback when you came to Vegas with your skanky whore when I ran into him. He’d even fucked up your whore right under your damn nose. That is how we knew we’d make a great team. We both fucking hate you.”
The room pulsates with ripples of my rage that I can’t contain. The unknown blond fucker who hurt my Jessica is his accomplice. “Who is he?”
“So damn oblivious. You’ll find out soon enough,” he sneers.
My eyes flit to the doorway and Dubois stands there, his shoulders stiffened and his face twisted into an ugly scowl I’ve never witnessed before. Even as I see him standing there, I don’t believe it. Dubois hasn’t ever not had my back. He has it now. I know it.
Two steps into the room.
His arm raises.
Pop!
My eyes bug out of my head as Jamal crumples to the floor. Trevor’s eyes are on mine but now his palm is on his throat desperately attempting to hold in the blood. It runs down his front and his eyes roll back into his head. Jamal crawls out of the way as Trevor stumbles forward. He falls on his face and the blood gushes from him.
“Sir, are you okay?”
Dubois still has his weapon raised but concern paints his features.
“Uh, shit. Yes. What the fuck, man? I thought you were dead!”
He shakes his head as he steps into the room. “I was busy cleaning up his mes
s. Trevor was planning something big. He’s been emailing with an unknown about gathering evidence for your ‘demise’ which included stealing information from the servers. The idiot sent in a paid fool to take the backup tapes. My only choice was to burn the evidence of your clientele and the man as well. Trevor was only a puppet—someone else is now running this show. And that, sir, is why we need to get back to Seattle. I think their plan was to lure you away from your home. I don’t think Jessica or Christine or your father are safe. We need to move.”
The reality of the situation snaps me to attention. “What about this?” I point at the dead body.
Dubois lifts his chin and whistles. Two men—old thugs—saunter in. They’re both plainly packing heat and dragging two huge bags.
“J-Dawg and Kryptonite will handle this. They’ll take him back to LA, set it up as if he was involved in some shady drug deal gone bad. I’ve paid them handsomely for their assistance. Nothing will lead back to you, sir.”
It occurs to me that Dubois knows these guys from way back when, before I rescued and hired him.
“D-Bag, we got this, bro. Whitey here is gonna be another corpse on LAPD’s list of unsolved homicides,” one of the guys tells Dubois. “And we’ll make sure your auntie Bea gets the other 10k. We’re good for that shit, brotha.”
I know Dubois sends all of his earnings from his rental to her, but sometimes he likes to send her a little extra in the form of cash so she doesn’t have to report it for taxes. He takes care of that woman who always did what she could for him.
“And that’s why you two are my boys,” Dubois says with a grin that hardly makes an appearance. He then turns to me and the stiffness that is him returns. “Let’s get to Seattle, sir.”
By the time we land at the small airport, I’m fucking furious. Dubois informed me that Cart had called him. Christine and Jessica had been chased and nearly run off the road. I’m enraged. Of course I know deep down who hurt her, and I’m a stupid goddamned failure for not being able to protect her from him.
