Private

by Xavier Neal

  Doing my best to hide my irritation she never cared to mention those things, I push, “Point?”

  “Because of who she works for, is the reason she has yet to be taken to a hospital facility. Mr. Wilcox is a very....private person. He prefers to handle things in house. Your mother is under the watchful eye of a licensed doctor, one of the best in the country, and is being kept in a room very similar to that you would find in a hospital setting. Matt...Er..Doctor Hamilton, has been running tests and daily check-ins with your mother in his best effort to discover what is causing the illness.”

  “But he doesn't have any answers.”

  “Unfortunately, not at this time.”

  “Then forgive me for once again sounding too blunt for you, but then why don't they take her to the fucking hospital where they could possibly get those answers?”

  J.T. delivers a short shrug. “This is the way, Mr. Wilcox wants it handled, so it's the way it will be handled.”

  “And who the hell died and made him lord of the empire?”

  His attempt not to smile fails. “He was born into the empire. He's made it what it currently is. Your mother signed a legal document stating if anything were to happen while under his employment, things would be handled however he saw fit. She trusts him.”

  I glance out the window beside me. “I'll try not to make the same mistake.”

  What kind of person prevents someone from getting the medical care they need? What gives him the right to dictate how others manage their lives? Does he get off on controlling people? God, I hope he's not one of those weird, closet case men who call themselves doms but have no idea it doesn't give you any right to be a misogynistic asshole. I've met real men and women who take part in that lifestyle. Fake shit like millionaire brats who just want the world to worship them really pisses them off.

  “We have a bit of a drive ahead of us, which should allow you plenty of time to review the non-disclosure agreement you're going to need to sign before you have access to the property.”

  Quickly, I tilt my head back his direction. “Excuse me?”

  “Mr. Wilcox requires all personnel to sign the document. It's to ensure nothing is said or done or repeated outside the estate that could potentially hurt him, the company, or the employees in his care.”

  “Are you gonna frisk me too?” I wet my lips seductively slow.

  He nervously swallows as he stammers on, “I-i-i-it's pretty straight forward. No social media posts. No photographs. No disclosing information regarding the estate’s location or anything you witness inside of it-”

  “Like a sex dungeon.”

  “He doesn't have a sex dungeon.” J.T. pauses immediately after the comment as if deep in thought. “No...No. He doesn't. He doesn't have one of those.”

  “Your certainty is overwhelming,” I sarcastically retort. Suddenly, the tablet is offered to me from the security man not driving. With my eyes still on J.T., I question, “What happens if I don't sign it?”

  There's no hesitation in his response. “Then you can't see your mother.”

  Another word doesn't leave his mouth as his attention drifts out the window he's leaning beside.

  I do my best to stifle the urge to reach across the vehicle and smack him for his cold reply. Who the hell does he think he is? Who the hell treats another human being like some sort of pawn on a chess board they move only when they deem necessary? My mother could be potentially dying and the only thing I can do about it is what I'm told when I'm told? I mean he legally made that the truth. Ugh. I don't know shit about Wilcox Enterprises or Mr. Wilcox himself, but I can safely conclude at this point, the man is a monster. And every monster should be put in their place.

  “Anything else, Wes?” Penny's voice sings from the doorway of my office.

  I don't bother looking up from the sales reports I'm studying on the computer screen. “No.”

  When there isn't the sound of her feet shuffling away, I cut her a glance, and she says, “I know I'm not Lauren, but you can still talk to me if you want.”

  Lauren isn't someone I decided to talk to. She forced it. Pursued it day in and day out from the moment she took the job. I think she missed getting to parent her daughter who had pretty much stopped looking for parental acknowledgment. In an unusual way, I was a consolation prize. A hidden orphan to force all the pent up motherly energy into. It's something I've never taken lightly, especially considering how much easier it would've been for her to resent me rather than nurture.

  “I'm...here for you.” Her body sways itself a step into the large room. “To serve you.” She pushes her hair behind her ear as she adds, “Any way you need. Any way you deem necessary.”

  The double meaning isn't lost on me, yet it is. Penny is young and beautiful with a pair of green eyes I can imagine most men have trouble resisting. My best friend included. She's thin and delicate. Eager to please. There's no doubt in my mind some day, she'll make some man the perfect trophy, which from her selected word choice is what I assume she aims to be. However, I am not that man. The sooner she understands that the better.

  I prepare to dismiss her once again when the sight on the other monitor of J.T. exiting the SUV grabs my attention. Directly behind him is a vision that unhinges my jaw. Unsure of how else to respond, I lean in closer to observe every inch of my first house guest that I can. Her long legs are covered by ripped and holy jeans. The tank top is hugging her curves and corners. I know some women would be ashamed to proudly display the extra thickness they may have, but from the way she carries herself she's not one of them. No. The way her chest is peaking from the thin fabric, tells me self-confidence is not something she's afraid of or lacks for that matter. Helplessly, I become a slave to the sight of her mocha body moving, swaying as if the world is singing her a song, and she decides the speed it will be executed. Her hand toys with a silver object around her neck. My attention doesn't even attempt to resist the demand for relocation. To my surprise, the simple action stirs something much more than the savage response growing between my legs. Something much sharper. Deeper. Something that I made sure to bury alongside the people who sacrificed everything the last time my selfish desires struck.

  It takes a moment before the ringing on my cell phone manages to tear through the thoughts. I reach for the headset and give Penny a dismissal nod. She politely smiles, shoots my computer monitor a sour look, and leaves, shutting the door behind her.

  Once the room is clear, I answer, “I see, she's arrived safely.”

  J.T. shoves his hands in his pockets while the mocha covered trouble impatiently tries to drink in her surroundings. “That's one way to put it.”

  “Are you talking to me?” She quickly questions.

  The sound of her voice only attempts to rock my foundation harder.

  “No,” J.T. replies and points to the small device on his ear. “I'm talking to the boss.”

  “I hate when you call me that.”

  “That's what you are.”

  “Why doesn't he just come down here and talk to you?” Brynley pushes. “To us.”

  Because I'm a freak show the regular world would persecute at first glance.

  “Mr. Wilcox-”

  “Wes.”

  “Wes,” J.T. corrects giving the camera he knows I'm watching from a sharp glare, “Prefers to remain as anonymous as possible. Hints to why most of the documentation you read was about the lengths he goes to ensure that. During your stay here, I will be his face and voice.”

  “You didn't strike me as the type that liked a hand up the ass, but I guess I was wrong.”

  The comment causes me to do something I don't do often.

  “Are you laughing?” J.T. curiously asks directly to the camera. “Are you actually...laughing?”

  I swallow the last of the chuckle. “It was funny.”

  “That you find funny?” J.T. grunts and shakes his head.

  “So let me get this straight, puppet boy,” she starts, pushing her sunglasses into her
hair. “The dark overlord can see us and hear us? Everywhere in the house?”

  “Just about.”

  “Kinda creepy,” she sighs.

  “I'm not creepy or a dark overlord,” the harsh accusation causes me to argue. “Why would she call me that?”

  “She's not a fan of you.”

  Not a fan of myself either. “And why not?”

  “She finds your hospitality....hostile.”

  “I find the fact you're discussing me while I'm standing here to be irritating.” For the first time, Brynley looks directly into the camera and I'm graced with a face I have no right to stare upon. A perfect mashing of two people whose lives I changed without their consent. “What kind of person holds someone who is ill hostage?”

  “She's not being held hostage,” I insist.

  As soon as J.T. repeats my words she snaps, “I beg to differ. You won't let her leave to see other doctors who could potentially help her, makes it a hostage situation.”

  “It's not a hostage situation!”

  “You don't have to yell,” he says quickly.

  Excitement I find odd pops onto her expression. “Oh, I made him yell?”

  “Don't answer that.” Before he can debate whether or not to follow that instruction, I state, “Our doctor has assured me, for now, she's still fine here. Our facility is hospital equivalent in the ways that matter.”

  My best friend repeats those words, which forces her to bite, “And if something changes? Is she free to go or will she have to fill out a forty-five-page document on her way to the morgue?”

  Her remark twists something harshly inside. “I protect those I care about. I'd never let anything happen, especially not to Lauren.”

  Once my words are echoed from his mouth, she shakes her head. “And yet you have.”

  The two of us stare stubbornly at one another despite the fact she can't actually see me. It doesn't stop the feeling like she can. Like those bright blue eyes are effortlessly burning through the blocks of distance between us.

  “Wes?” J.T.'s voice rings in my ears.

  I try to shake away her familiar stare. “Yeah?”

  “Should I show her to her room first or straight to her mother?”

  “Do you have to ask him before you wipe your own ass too?”

  Her blatant disregard for potentially being offensive makes me smirk. Not many people I have contact with have any sort of fight like that in them. Most are condemned to attack through the power of an attorney. Life guided by the green goblin of greed and hierarchy of hypocrisy. The others, well, they work for me and have no reason to fight while under my protection. Which is what I'm doing for the Winters family. Protecting them both. Even if they can't see it. Or in his refusal to acknowledge it.

  “Show her to her room. Penny should be waiting to direct you. Lauren should still be resting. Matt said her vitals were slightly worse today.”

  J.T. nods and motions his hands for the front steps of the main house. “This way.”

  Nathaniel, one of the bodyguards who accompanies J.T. or myself on the rare occasions I leave the house, hands a trash bag to one of the maids.

  At that point, Brynley shoots me a look in the camera as if she can see me tensing once more. “Relax, mega millions. It's just my shit. Not all of us are fortunate enough to own actual luggage.”

  I make a note to order her some. No one should be forced to carry their belongings around like that.

  J.T. begins a basic tour of the estate while I try to busy myself with the sales reports I was skimming over on the other monitor. His rambling descriptions drone on yet I find myself anxious for the snarky comebacks. Amused by the small sparks of sass to shimmer throughout the lifeless halls.

  “And this will be your room,” J.T.'s announcement redirects my attention once more. Unsure of why Penny isn't there waiting as she was instructed, I make a mental note to call Clark and verify her whereabouts. Sometimes he redirects members of the staff not having realized I personally asked them to accomplish a task. It doesn't happen often, however, I'm sure that's the case here. Penny doesn't typically wander too far from me in case I need immediate access. “There is an on suite bathroom and there are no cameras inside your room or restroom. Actually, most of the bedrooms are camera free.”

  She leans against the set of white french doors. “You said most...does that mean Mr. Wilcox has a few for secret pleasures?”

  Hearing such a word out of her full lips stirs up something that should remain hibernating.

  “Are you really really sure he doesn't have a sex dungeon?”

  J.T. starts laughing and I groan, “I can hear her.”

  He tries to dial it back. “He can hear you.”

  She winks at him. “I know...”

  The action alone causes the groan to grow a little louder. Is she flirting with him? Did I miss a connection made?

  J.T. adjusts his suit and motions his hand. “You can feel free to check out the room.”

  Brynley takes us both by surprise when she doesn't do as suggested. Casually, she moves in closer to my best friend, her body closer than it ever should be to his. Closer than I ever want it to his. The enticing action stiffens more than just my body.

  One hand lightly touches his chest. “And if I told you I wanted you to check out my room with me?”

  A sound I don't recognize seeps from me as I instruct, “Step. Back.”

  He doesn't hesitate to create space, which prompts her to state, “I know you can see us, Mr. Wilcox-”

  “Wes.”

  “Wes,” J.T. quickly corrects.

  “Wes,” she sneers with a bit of disdain. “Which means you're the reason he took a step back. That means either you don't like the idea of J.T. entertaining me in such a way you didn't pre-approve, or you don't like the fact you can't control my actions the same way you can everyone else’s in this next generation Addam's family home.” Her eyes find the camera and she adds with a cocky smirk, “Get used to that feeling, Wes, because no matter how hard you try, I'm not going to follow all your rules. In fact...I'm going to break most of them. That's kinda my style...”

  The remark forces me to run a hand down the side of my face, the rough terrain shutting my eyes. This is the problem with the outside world. It's too unpredictable. More often than not too cruel and unforgiving. It's the reason I prefer it stays behind those iron gates and I remain the master mystery I've become over the past decade. My rules are here to keep my anonymity intact. To prevent praise and recognition for my achievements directly as much as persecution for the penance I choose to wear. She may not like the rules, but she'll learn to follow them. She has to.

  The morning sun does its best to seep through the heavy curtains blocking the windows of my first-floor room. Typically I'm just going to bed when the sun decides it's time to annoy the rest of the world. I've lived in the dark and the shadows for as long as I could remember. Trying to get to classes during the day is how I practically flunked out of college the first three semesters. The light isn't for everyone. You know, I wasn't always obsessed with avoiding the beacon of a brand new day. Once upon a time I danced in the sunshine and chased the rainbows like every other idiot who's told to. It wasn't until after my father died and my mother started working night shifts I learned to dance in the moonlight while whispering to the stars. Sometimes I swear they whisper back.

  All of a sudden there's a loud ringing of a phone I know isn't my cell. Not really sure where I left that this time. Doesn't matter. It's on vibrate anyway. On a loud grunt, I pull a pillow over my head in an attempt to further ignore the sound. What kinda fucking person calls before noon? What could he possibly think I would need to talk about already? How well I slept? It would be a lot better if I was still doing it, that's for sure. The obnoxious clamoring continues to reverberate around the room until I realize the only way to make the dreaded noise stop is by answering it.

  Lazily I reach over, fumble around for the device on the nightstand, and eventually
grab it. From underneath the pillow, I wedge it against my ear. “What do you want, puppet boy?”

  “Not a morning person, are you?” J.T. questions on a chortle. Without waiting for a response he continues, “And how did you know it was me?”

  “You mean aside from the fact the rest of the staff in the house barely speaks to me?” Which is a very strange concept to me. A mansion full of people who don't say a word unless spoken to, who act as if they're historic museum pieces, rarely seen. During dinner by myself in my room last night I debated if their actions were from years of neglect by some soulless demon or if having me invade their fortress was somehow viewed as frightening. Then again what kind of people would be frightened of the outside world? “I already concluded if the host wouldn't come down to pay me a visit when I arrived there's no way in hell he'd deliver a wake-up call.”