In other words, she would be perfect for Aston.
This was my job today. This was what Aston had me doing - screening potential lovers for him. It amused him.
I felt a flash of guilt, a feeling of shame that burned through me, at the thought of recruiting her, of bringing her into Aston's bed. I should be telling her to run, far away. I should be telling her that she didn't want to be involved with a man like this, no matter how much money it meant, no matter how lavish the gifts and how free-flowing the alcohol. None of it was relevant. He would corrupt her. His darkness would settle into her. It would permeate her. He would eat her alive.
My conscience overwhelmed me for a moment, and I leaned forward, my voice low. I should warn her about him, even if I knew he probably had me followed here. I didn't know who was in earshot. But I should say something. It was the right thing to do. "Are you absolutely sure you want to do this?" I asked.
She leaned back in her chair, crossed her arms under her breasts, obvious fakes, and tossed her red hair over her shoulder. She smirked, then smiled at me with pity in her eyes. "What's the matter? Jealous that he's tired of you already?"
She thought I was his wife. Or at least his mistress. Aston had probably told her I was. He thought it was funny, sending me to interact with the girls he wanted to fuck, the women he wanted to debase, to turn into whores. He had plenty of girls he obtained through trafficking. But he liked doing this. He liked finding beautiful women, women he saw as a challenge, and seducing them. He wanted to break them, destroy them.
He'd found this one at a party, probably convinced her he wanted her to model for his agency or something. The agency that didn't exist. He would use her up and throw her away when he was finished.
If she made it out alive.
I sighed. "Aston can be a difficult man to...work for," I said.
She smirked again. "Well, it's a good thing I know how to please my man," she said.
I felt sorry for her. It was easy to be blasé, sarcastic even, when you had no idea what you were getting into. It was easy to be casual, when you had no idea you were about to be in the bed of a killer.
“Grandma made tostones with plantains, and we went swimming at the beach, and Sonia and Carmen and I went to the mall yesterday.” I could hear voices in the background, the noise of the family chattering and the clanging of dishes. I felt a pang of homesickness - not for April’s mom’s place, even though I missed it, but for all that I missed now, all that had been ripped away from me when April was taken from me. It was good for MacKenzie to be there with her grandmother, good for her to experience that sense of family, of belonging. I sure as shit wasn’t good at giving that to her, no matter how hard I tried.
How the hell was I ever going to replace her mother? She had been light, sunshine, love to that little girl. And me? I was a fucking murderer.
“It sounds like you’re having so much fun, Mac,” I said.
“I am, dad,” she said. “We’re going to ride horses tomorrow, too. On the beach. Can you believe it?”
“I can’t even believe it at all,” I said.
“How are you doing?” she asked.
“I’m good, MacKenzie. I want to hear more about you.”
“What have you been doing?” Her tone had changed, from one of joy and light to that of a scolding teacher. It sounded accusatory. The shitty thing is that she had every right to be suspicious. I wasn’t doing well without her here, not by a long shot. She had been the only thing I was getting up for in the morning, and without her, I could feel myself beginning to spiral downward.
“I’m doing all the same stuff I did when you were here- going to work, working out, all that,” I said. “I want to hear more about what you’ve been doing, sweetie.”
“Dad,” MacKenzie said, her voice exasperated. “Don’t try to change the subject. Are you okay?”
Christ, she was sounding more and more grown-up every day. She reminded me of April.
“You don’t need to worry about me, Mac,” I said. “I’m the adult. I should be worrying about you.”
I heard noise in the background and then MacKenzie turned from the phone. “No, wait for me!” she shouted. “Dad, I got to go. You want to talk to grandma?”
“I -”
Then more muffled talking. “Grandma says she has her hands in dough right now. She’s baking. Can I call you later?”
She didn’t wait for me to say anything before she said, “I love you. Bye.”
Hearing her dismiss me was like a punch to the gut. It broke my fucking heart. A small part of me, the selfish part, also felt hurt that she sounded so great in Puerto Rico. She sounded better, happy, and I should be thrilled she was doing so well. And I was, really.
But she hadn't done well here, with me, her father.
That had to say something about me, something about the kind of father I was.
A really fucking shitty one.
I paused for a minute and stood there beside the weight bench, wiping sweat from my forehead as I inhaled a few times, waiting for my heart rate to come down. Two hours of heavy lifting and I still felt like I was going to crawl up the walls.
My eyes drifted toward the bike, sitting there, covered, in the garage.
Unridden.
It had been over two years since I’d been on a bike.
I still kept it around, did the maintenance on it. I would put the key in the ignition, start it, listen to the rumble of the engine. I’d feel my heart race every time I started that bike up. And every time I came out here, and opened the car door to get inside, I looked at the bike, and thought about just getting back on it. It seemed like such a simple thing. But every time, I would do the same thing I did now - turn away, open the car door, and settle back into the driver's seat in my buttoned-down shirt and slacks to head to my regular job.
I was a bitch civilian now, like it or not.
I just couldn’t bring myself to get back on the bike and ride. If I did, I knew exactly where it would take me, right back to the life I was living before. I told myself I should sell the goddamn thing, but I knew I wouldn't.
So many memories of me and April involved that pile of metal and chrome.
I wiped the sweat off my forehead and headed out of the garage and straight for the refrigerator, grabbing a longneck, the sweat beading down the sides of the bottle no sooner than I pulled it out. I popped the top and drank, too aware of how ridiculous it was to be drinking beer right after the kind of weightlifting session I'd just done for the past two hours, the heavy kind, old school shit with barbells. A prison workout.
The shit I'd hoped would let me clear my head.
It wasn't working like I'd hoped.
A beer chaser was probably the wrong fucking idea.
At this point, though, I was willing to try anything. The house was too quiet without MacKenzie here, and hearing her ask me on the phone if I was okay...hell, it had thrown me into a tailspin. A kid her age shouldn't have to worry like that, about whether her father was going to be okay. It wasn't right. A kid her age should be carefree, full of light and laughter.
Of course, a kid her age shouldn't have lost her mom the way she did, either.
I'd never forgive myself for that. And no amount of working out, no amount of beer, no amount of overtime at work would ever distract me from the fact that April's death was all my fault. And what MacKenzie went through with me, watching me sink into my own pit of despair- it wasn't right.
On the phone with her earlier today, she was happy. April's mother, Marie, said she was having the time of her life, going to the beach every day, swimming with her cousins.
Maybe I was just a dead weight that was holding her down out here in Las Vegas.
Maybe she would be better off without me around permanently. It was a nagging thought, one that kept replaying in my mind over and over.
Later, I laid awake in bed, my thoughts churning. You could hear a pin drop in the house, and the darkness felt suffocating, threa
tening to envelop me and eat me alive. The nights were always the worst; they had been since April died. It was the time I hated the most, lying awake, my mind filled with thoughts that shouldn’t be there, dangerous thoughts that weren’t good for me.
Those times, I had to picture April telling me why I was still alive. It was just getting harder and harder to think of the reasons anymore.
I painted myself up, made myself presentable in the way that I knew Aston would like. I would see him again tonight, the second time in a week. It was a special kind of torture.
When I walked into the penthouse suite, I had no idea what waited for me on the other side. Aston was too unpredictable to know anymore. He had summoned me, like he always did. But his emotions were erratic, and the thought was always in the back of my head that he might be calling me to my death. If it weren't for Ben, I wouldn't care. The thought of death would be something to be invited, not feared.
Inside, he offered me a drink. "What are you drinking, doll?"
Doll. He was in a good mood. Probably chemically induced.
He handed me a glass without waiting for my answer, and smiled, seemingly pleased with me. That was unsettling. Then his hand was at the small of my back. "Are you ready?"
"Ready for what?" I asked.
"You're my date for the evening," he said.
I felt a chill run up the length of my body. Aston and I did not date. Whatever he had in mind, it wouldn't be pleasant. I swallowed a gulp of the liquor he had handed me, grateful for it, hoping it would numb me to whatever was about to happen. "Can I ask where we are going?"
"You can," he said, "but it's a surprise." He looked at me, his eyes glazed, and I forced a smile, swallowing the rest of the liquid, searing as it made its way down my throat.
Behind me, he traced his finger down the middle of my back, across the open expanse of my skin. I shuddered at his touch, which only seemed to encourage him. He reached for my glass, took it from my hand and set it on a table.
Then his breath was on the nape of my neck, causing the tendrils of hair to brush against the bottom of my neck and sending a shiver up my spine. "I allowed you to talk to your son," he said.
"Yes." I feared what he might be about to say.
"Do you see how I reward you when you behave?" he asked. I was confused for a moment, not sure whether he was saying that my reward was talking to my son, or what he was about to do now. Because being with him was certainly not a reward.
But I didn't say any of that. Instead, I said, "Yes. I am grateful for your kindness."
He lifted the hem of my skirt, reached between my legs without waiting for me to spread them. "Don't mistake my kindness for weakness."
"I never do, Aston." I would never mistake his behavior for kindness. I felt him pull his hand away from me, and for a moment thought that perhaps I was getting off easy tonight, being let go untouched. But from behind me I heard him unzip his pants, then the crinkle of a condom wrapper. I felt his hand in the middle of my back, pushing me toward the bed, and bending me over.
I looked at painting hanging in the center of the wall in front of me, some abstract piece of art all reds and purples. I lost myself in the colors of the painting.
When he put his hands around my neck, I felt myself begin to feel dizzy, hazy. The old man who had bought me first, my son's father, was the one who had choked me over and over, who had brought me to the brink of death again and again. He had made my life dependent on his touch.
What Aston did now was child's play.
I felt lightheaded, but I didn't fight it. I had learned a long time ago not to fight it. When it was finally over, my head was still spinning, but I hadn't blacked out. Aston let go of me and walked into the bathroom.
"Pull yourself together," he said. "We're going to be late."
Smoothing my trench coat, I looked around the entry to the foyer. It was elegant, the massive entryway open and airy, with ceilings so high they seemed to belong in a cathedral, not a home. But this was no ordinary home. This was the home of Dennis Stanton. This was the home of one of the most prominent men in Las Vegas. One of the most well-connected men in Las Vegas, someone who knew people, who had his finger on the pulse of the political system, politicians under his thumb.
This fact alone made him very powerful. And very dangerous.
And, rumor had it that his predilections tended to be rather...extreme.
My breath caught in my throat at the thought that Aston had brought me here.
I couldn't know what he had in store for me, but it wasn't good.
Before I could think about anything else, someone was immediately behind me, removing my jacket, and I felt my shoulders bared, the cool of the air on my skin.
Aston appraised me, his lips turned up in a smile. "Fantastic," he said, his gaze lingering on me.
He'd chosen lingerie for me specifically for this occasion- black lace, thigh-high stockings and heels, the outfit the price of a month's rent, I was sure.
"Madam." The girl sauntered up to us, dressed only in heels and panties, her breasts perky and too large for her frame to be natural. She presented a tray with flutes of champagne and I took one, holding it but not sipping. I needed to keep my wits about me at a place like this.
"Thank you." I turned to Aston, and felt his hand at the small of my back. I cringed at his touch, the touch of my captor, but I reminded myself not to pull away. He guided me forward, through the people mingling in the house. It looked like any other cocktail party held by the city's upper crust - except for the fact that no one was wearing much of anything. The air felt charged with electricity and lust, and I could sense eyes on me, the little bit of clothing I had providing no protection from their stares.
Aston laced his fingers through mine, pulling me toward the curved staircase, my heels clicking on the marble as we walked. I followed him wordlessly toward the rooms upstairs, my heart rate increasing as we got closer.
"You know this place well?" I asked. But it was less of a question than a statement. He was obviously familiar with this house, and with whatever the rules of this event were. Of course, rules didn't apply to Aston.
"It's not your place to ask questions," he said.
He led me down a hallway, pausing with me to stop at each room we passed, most of them with open doors. I didn't want to know what was happening behind closed doors.
"What interests you, doll?" he asked, gesturing toward one of the rooms. He asked the question, his voice excessively polite, as if I had a choice in the matter at all. It wasn't even pretense- it was sarcasm. He liked reminding me that I never had a choice.
Inside the room, a man led a woman on all fours on a leash across the room, a blindfold covering her eyes. I watched as she was led to another man, who stood in front of her, his dick erect near her face. Her blonde hair tumbled down her back as she arched up on her knees to reach his cock, using her tongue to lick the length of him. From behind her, the man bound her hands, rendering her powerless.
"Perhaps you should join her," Aston said.
My heart skipped a beat, but I wouldn't show Aston any fear. "Perhaps," I said, keeping my voice even, measured. Calling his bluff.
He watched me through narrowed eyes. "A little more browsing."
I wondered what special torture he was trying to find for me.
In the next room, a woman clad in a black vinyl cat suit stood, a man on the ground at her feet, his mouth at the toe of her stiletto boots. A couple standing just inside the door watching them turned toward us, the woman's diamond earrings flashing in the darkness. She looked like someone famous, but I couldn't place her. Maybe a socialite.
Aston pulled me away quickly. "Not my scene," he said. "Maybe something less private."
He pulled me back into the hallway, toward the balcony that wrapped around the foyer. We would be front and center entertainment for anyone walking through the hallway, as well as for anyone looking up from the foyer below. It's what he wanted, to show me off to every
one here. To humiliate me.
I bit the bottom of my lip, willing the shakiness inside me to abate. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing that I was ashamed. Afraid. I would let him take me, do what I had to do to survive.
I heard the sounds of the music from the foyer downstairs, classical, a piano piece I didn't recognize, but the equivalent of a white noise background. The murmurs of voices, hushed whispers and moans of pleasure, added another layer of white noise. Aston touched me, his finger trailing up the back of my neck. His touch chilled me to the bone.
I sometimes wondered if sex could be anything other than how it was for me, all mixed up with rage and hate and shame. I envied the people who could enjoy tender lovemaking with someone they cared about, who could look into the eyes of a lover and feel like they were sharing a piece of their soul. Not like me, with the layers upon layers of protection I'd built into my very essence. For me, there would never be that kind of sharing with another person.
I felt Aston's hand trail up my behind, his fingers slip underneath the fabric of my panties, wandering down between my legs. "What's wrong?" he asked. "You're not enjoying this? I would hate to think that you weren't." He laughed, the sound harsh.
You know I hate you, I thought. But I said, "Yes, of course, I'm enjoying you."
I felt Aston’s hands on my shoulders, as he turned me to face the stairway. I watched as a man made his way up the stairs, shirtless, clad in black silk pants. With his dark hair, greying at the temples, and chiseled jawline, he looked every inch the politician.
Except for the whip in his hand.
"Good evening Dennis," Aston said. "Wonderful party tonight. I've brought you a gift- the finest specimen from my personal collection."
The man approached, his eyes too glassy, his excitement palpable. He looked me over like he was evaluating an object at a market. "Remarkable, Aston," he said, his eyes still lingering on me. "This will be a most memorable night. For all of us."
Breaking Hammer (Motorcycle Club Romance) (Inferno Motorcycle Club Book 3) Page 5
