by B. B. Hamel
“Tea would be nice,” I said. She nodded and left.
“You’ll like it out there. It overlooks the city.”
“Must be nice, being rich.”
“Definitely has its perks.” He stepped over toward me. “But you know I didn’t bring you here to look at my trophies.”
“I know,” I said.
“Why are you here?”
“You tell me.”
“No,” he said. “I want to hear you say it.”
“You want to get me naked. Don’t you?”
“That’s right.” He stepped close to me and tipped my chin toward him. “That’s what I want you to think about while we sit out there and you drink your tea. I want you to think about how I make your body feel. I want you to think about my cock deep between your legs, my hands on your breasts, my arms pulling you roughly against me.”
“Okay,” I said softly, feeling a thrill run through my core. I took a deep breath to try to calm myself down, because I still had work to do.
“Good,” he said. “That’s what I wanted to hear. Come on.”
He led the way out of the room and shut the door behind me. We walked back through the main living room and through a sliding door that I hadn’t noticed before.
The balcony was wide and gorgeous, overlooking the city just like he said. The view practically took my breath away.
“It’s nice,” he said.
“Nice? It’s really beautiful.”
“Yeah. I knew you’d fucking like it.” He grinned at me and then sat down at a small table. “Come on.”
I sat down, and a minute later Marta appeared. She placed a plate full of these little fried shrimp appetizers down in front of us. Bull immediately devoured three while I tentatively had one. It was absolutely fantastic.
When he finished chewing, I stood up. “Bathroom?”
“Back down that hall. Third door on the right.”
“Thanks.” I headed back inside.
And quickly got my little camera out.
I felt sick to my stomach. I hated what I had become, hated that I was spying on this man and using him for this article. I hated that I was in this situation and that he was forced to deal with it. I was going to do my best to write a fair and balanced article, maybe even make him seem like less of a bad boy than everyone thought he was. But still, Bull didn’t want any articles about him at all. He’d made that abundantly clear throughout his career.
And here I was, taking advantage of him. He clearly trusted me and was slowly bringing me into his world.
I wanted to puke. I stood there, alone in his living room, and snapped a picture. It disgusted me as soon as I did it.
I walked over to a group of framed pictures. They were of people I didn’t recognize, probably family friends. I snapped another picture. I wanted to wretch. I wanted to get the hell out of there.
This was so freaking wrong. This wasn’t the kind of person I wanted to be. I needed these pictures for the article and to prove to Coop that I had access, but it was so disgusting to be using him.
I shook my head. I had to do it. I needed to pay off the mafia. I needed to prove to Coop that I was reliable and talented.
But at what cost? I’d be losing all of my integrity. I’d be losing any good part of me.
I liked this man. I didn’t know why, but I was slowly getting in deep with him. I could feel it every time I was around him, every time I was close to him. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to press myself against his chest. That was real, absolutely real.
I wasn’t faking it when I kissed him and couldn’t hold myself back.
It wasn’t just about sex, either. I was seeing a part of Bull Dixon that made me question everything I knew about athletes and the media. He was making me realize that there was more to a man than what journalists wrote about him.
And there I was, spying on him. I snapped another photo and then clenched my fists.
I was done. I couldn’t do this. I was going to destroy these pictures, destroy the other pictures I had, and tell Coop that I had failed. I’d take out a loan to pay off the mob, or I’d do whatever else I had to do.
And I’d tell Bull the truth. I was going to beg forgiveness and be done with all of this. Maybe he’d never speak to me again, but at least I’d be doing the right thing.
I felt a huge weight lift from my shoulders. For the second time, I was done. I was really done this time. Forget the mob, forget Cooper, hell, forget Bull. I was coming clean and I was getting out.
And then I heard a noise behind me. I turned, and Marta was standing there, staring at me.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Oh, uh, I was looking at these pictures.”
She walked to a little table and put the tray she was holding down.
“Let me see that.” She pointed at my lipstick camera.
“No. It’s just my lipstick.”
“I saw what you were doing. It looked like you were taking pictures.”
“What?” I said, laughing, terrified. This couldn’t be happening, not when I had finally decided to come clean.
“Stay here.” She turned to get Bull.
“Wait.”
But it was too late. Bull stepped in from the sliding door and cocked his head at us.
“What’s going on?” he asked. “I just came in to get a drink.”
“This woman was taking pictures,” Marta said.
Bull stared at me for a second and then sighed. “That’ll be all, Marta.”
“Mister Dixon—”
“Marta, please.”
She nodded, glared at me, and then left the room.
“Bull, I can explain.”
“Don’t,” he said.
I was surprised by the way he was handling this. I had expected him to be angry, angry beyond belief. He was Bull Dixon after all, a big, violent thug.
Instead, he just seemed disappointed. He was sad and let down, but he wasn’t angry.
That hurt so much worse. I wished he would yell and scream, but instead he just frowned at me, shaking his head.
“It’s not what you think,” I said.
“I know who you are.”
I blinked, taken aback. “What?”
“I know you’re a reporter. I know you write for NSPN. I’ve known since the beginning.”
“You have?”
“Why do you think I never ask about work? I know you’re hiding it from me.”
“Bull, I can explain all of this.”
“Calvin said you seemed like a good person, but I guess he was wrong.”
“The mob, Bull. They came to my apartment. They blackmailed me. I didn’t want to do this.”
He stared at me for a second, and I could see that he was warring with himself.
“No,” he said. “It’s too late for that. If that were true, you would have come to me. You know I can fix things.”
“I was afraid.”
“You should leave.”
“Bull,” I said, but he just shook his head.
“Go, Charley. You want a story? I gave you a story. You have my permission to write whatever you want. Slander me, write about how I’m such a fucked-up asshole, do whatever you want. You clearly have pictures to prove it. I bet you have way more than I realize.” He just shrugged. “Fuck it. Do what you need to do.”
“I don’t want to,” I said.
“Get out, Charley. Go write your article.”
I stared at him for a second, and I felt like I was cracking in half.
This was so much worse. I had wanted to give it all up, wanted to get out. I had decided I was going to come clean and tell him the truth, but I never wanted him to catch me like this.
He was right, though. I was so stupid. I should have gone to him to begin with, told him the truth. I shouldn’t have taken this as far as I did just because I was so afraid of the mafia.
I was too far gone now, though.
He had seen the worst in me. Bull had seen
me at my absolute lowest, just as I had decided to get myself together and become the person I wanted to be. Bull had seen it, and he didn’t like it.
He wanted me to leave, and I couldn’t blame him one bit. Because from his perspective, I was betraying him.
“I’m sorry,” I said, and then I turned and left. I went down the stairs, skipping the elevator.
It felt like I had a hole in my chest as I slowly walked down the stairs. It was a long walk, but I didn’t care. Frankly, I deserved it.
I had fucked everything up. I had ruined my career, any chance at writing this article, and I had ruined something with Bull that could have been good.
He had known about me from the very start, and yet he’d been willing to see me. He could have stopped it at any time, but he hadn’t.
If I had just come clean, I knew he would have forgiven me. The journalist thing was clearly not that big of a deal to him. But I had betrayed him instead, and now he was throwing me out of his life.
I deserved it. I probably deserved worse. He wanted me to write the article, but just thinking about that send bile up through my throat.
I finally got to the bottom of the stairs. I left his building, and I wasn’t going to look back. I wasn’t going to, because it was all over, and there was nothing to see.
I turned and looked up. I thought for a second that I could see him looking back down from his balcony, but it was just the glare of the sun against glass.
I turned and left, hailing a cab.
20
Bull
I stood on the balcony, looking down at the street. I couldn’t make out any details from so high up, but I knew she would be leaving the building soon. I imagined that every little movement I spotted down there was her, and it fucking felt like someone tackling me directly in the chest.
I knew what I was getting into. From the beginning, I knew she was a journalist, and that she was probably using me for a scoop. Instead of guarding against that, I found myself slowly letting her into my world. I told her things I’d never told another journalist, gave her more access than anyone else before her. I introduced her to Calvin, for fuck’s sake.
I’d been beginning to feel safe. But when Marta caught her, I knew it was over. I had to kick her out of my life.
Maybe if I had caught her, we could have talked about it. Maybe if someone else wasn’t involved, it could have been different.
But no. I knew that was bullshit. It never was going to be different. This was how it had to end from the very start. She was going to betray me, and I was going to blame myself for it.
It was my fault. I knew what she was and yet I hadn’t stopped myself. How could she help her nature? She was a journalist, and I was a big story. Still, I had hoped we could just be two people and not our fucking jobs.
The world didn’t work that way, apparently. I shook my head, angry and disappointed. I wasn’t going to admit to myself that I was hurt, because Bull didn’t get fucking hurt like that, but I definitely wished things could have been different.
It was over. I didn’t have to be a fucking pussy about it. I finished eating the little shrimp things, because they were fucking good, and kicked my feet up on the table.
As I sat there, enjoying the view, my mind wandered to better times. I remembered the way her body felt against mine. I remembered her eyes staring up at me as my cock pressed between her lips. I could feel my cock getting hard all over again just thinking about it, and I had to shake my head.
And I remembered her mentioning the mob.
What the hell did that bastard Rafa say to her? As far as I knew, he was leaving her alone, but I shouldn’t have been so fucking naïve. I knew that bastard would get his claws into anybody who could hurt me. They were always looking for a new way to force me to use their services, and I was willing to bet that making Charley write her article was part of his plan.
He probably thought I’d see it and pay hundreds of thousands to get it taken down and destroyed. Well, fuck that, and fuck him. If she wrote it, I wasn’t going to do shit about it, and Rafa could go ahead and choke on his own fucking balls.
That pissed me off, thinking about him intimidating Charley. Sure, she fucked me over and misled me, but I still felt this weird fucking protectiveness. The thought of Rafa even talking to her made me absolutely insane with anger.
Those cunts couldn’t just fuck with me whenever they wanted to. I needed to get out from under the mob, and it needed to happen sooner rather than later.
I pulled out my phone and dialed, not really thinking about it. He answered after three rings.
“Bull, my man,” Rafa said. “How are you?”
“Been better,” I grunted.
“What’s up?”
“Remember that journalist? Charlotte something or other.”
“The girl from your party. Sure, I remember her.”
“Seems she was a problem after all.”
There was a pause from his end, which I assumed was him holding back a laugh. That motherfucking shit.
“How’s that?”
“Caught her taking pictures in my apartment earlier today.”
“That’s not good.”
“No, it’s not good. And you know what? She knows about you guys.”
“Oh, I know.”
I paused. “What?”
“I know she knows about us. I had a little chat with her, made sure she understood that if she didn’t write her article, I was going to destroy her.”
“You did what, motherfucker?” I growled.
“I didn’t put it quite that way of course. I told her I wanted money, but I knew exactly how she was going to try to get that money.”
I fumed, shocked and enraged all over again that he was coming out and telling me like this. I had assumed all of that shit already, but the man must have had such big balls if he was just telling me about it.
Or the mob was done with me. At least, he had to know that I was going to be done with them if he pulled this shit. No amount of blackmail was going to keep me paying them off. He had to realize that.
And yet maybe he didn’t. Maybe he thought he really had Bull Dixon by the fucking balls and that I was just going to sing any tune they wanted. He probably thought I’d pay him off, pay her off, and everyone would go home happy.
Everyone except me, and I liked being happy. I hated getting betrayed.
“You can buy off her debt, you know,” Rafa said. “Let’s say fifty thousand. How’s that?”
“That sounds great,” I said.
“Does it? I don’t know. Maybe seventy-five would be better.”
“Make it a clean hundred.”
“Okay.” Rafa laughed. “You’re really fucking yourself here, Bull.”
“No,” I said softly. “You’re getting fucked here. You’ve been trying to hold this shit over my head for so long. You think this is going to make me pay up again? I’m done with you. I’m done with your organization.”
“I wouldn’t do that,” Rafa warned. “We can give the girl some seriously incriminating shit. We can ruin your life, Bull. You live very, very well. You’ve got more money than you need. Spread it around a little.”
“No,” I said simply. “You went too far, Rafa. You made an enemy instead of a friend.”
“Come on, Bull, don’t be stupid.”
“Fuck off, you sorry cunt. Have a good life.”
I hung up the phone and tossed it onto the table.
I took a deep breath and sat there, waiting for the full magnitude of my decision to come washing over me.
Nothing happened. If anything, I felt a little bit lighter and freer. If anything, I felt a little bit better.
I was finally done with the mob. No more worrying about what they thought and what they wanted. No more buying their hookers and paying for their services. No more sending a little extra as a kickback every once in a while just to keep the bosses happy. I was done, plain and simple.
The thought didn’t sca
re me. They could definitely destroy me if they wanted to, but that didn’t matter at all. Maybe I was ready to be destroyed. Maybe I was ready to find out what I was really made of.
Maybe I was ready to burn it all the fuck down and start afresh.
I laughed out loud and grinned, looking out over the city.
21
Charlotte
Three Weeks Later
I stared at the computer screen, feeling like absolute shit, and clicked the save button.
It uploaded to my Dropbox and I took a deep breath.
It was finished. The article was finished.
Three weeks of my life were poured into this thing. I showed Coop an early draft only two days ago, and he put researchers at my disposal, real, serious researchers.
But I didn’t write the article he thought I was writing. I didn’t write the article I refused to write, because I knew I wasn’t going to betray Bull like that.
Nobody had seen it, not yet. It was just saved to my personal Dropbox, and nobody else had access to that.
I felt horrible. I felt drained and exhausted and bloated and bad. That wasn’t entirely from writing the article, and as I sat there staring at the computer, I could help but reflect on the fact that my period was exactly two weeks late. I was incredibly regular, and I’d been counting the days since it should have happened.
It hit me like a lightning bolt. The article, Bull, my period. I stood up and got a glass of water, feeling dizzy. I glanced at the clock, and it was only six o’clock on a Tuesday evening.
The article was done at least. I didn’t know what I’d do with it, or what would happen if I showed Coop, but I couldn’t let myself care. He’d probably be pretty pissed, considering I wrote something completely unlike what he wanted me to write.
I even kept him off the scent by asking the researchers for a bunch of useless information. He probably thought I was hard at work on the original hit piece, but he would be very, very wrong.
I walked back to my desk and shut the laptop lid and then walked into the bathroom. My heart was hammering in my chest as I got the pregnancy test out of the cabinet and read the instructions.
