Blue, Light and Dark (Chubby Chasers, Inc. Series Book 2)

by Brashears, Angie M.

  “Oh, no he didn’t!” She pulls her phone out, scrolls through her contacts, and hits send.

  “I’d like to speak to Javier…” She stops to listen and does some eye rolling of her own. She listens before exploding. “What do you mean he’s not taking visitors or phone calls?” “Fine! If that’s how he wants to play it. Please pass a message along will you? His all-access pass is denied!”

  She hangs up and throws her phone on the table. “He wants his cake and eat it, too. Alright, we can play. He says we’re a distraction to him getting better, so let’s get rid of all distractions, shall we? Blue?” She holds a hand out to me, which I take. “Come on, doll. Three can play at this game.”

  I follow her through the hallway, head down. I’m a friggin’ mess, as we walk down into the basement. Passing the beauty salon, we go to a door under the stairs. I follow her into a very normal-looking office. A desk faces a bank of TV screens. She motions to a chair, and I sit, before she starts typing on the computer screen. “I’m sorry, Blue. He would only go and get help if I promised not to get rid of his unlimited viewing access to you, but that ends now.”

  I’m floored. “So he’s been able to watch me whenever he wanted? This whole time?”

  She nods and continues typing. “It was the only way, Blue. He wouldn’t go any other way.”

  Okay, this opens a whole other can of worms. “Even when I was doing Favors?”

  She thinks, and finally nods again, typing rapidly while I take in her words. “And that stops now. He doesn’t get to be mean to you and secretly watch you. That’s not happening.” I watch the screen as she pulls Javi’s name up and denies his access. Just like that. I don’t have my Latin lover in my arms, my dreams, and now he can’t even stalk me.

  I don’t know how to feel about all this.

  Sasha reaches into a bottom drawer, removing a bottle of amber alcohol and two glasses.

  “I don’t drink—”

  She interrupts me. “Neither do I,” she says while pouring two huge glasses of whiskey. Tonight we drink because we’re going out.” She winks and downs her quadruple shot in one head-thrown-back move. It takes me a few wincey sips, but I do the same.

  We head over to the salon, two more overflowing shots in our hands and a glow in our bellies. Our hair and make-up is done while Sasha talks on the phone to her Tatted and Matted, making plans. “Yep, we need a chaperone for Blue, the scrumptious dumpling who was with me when we met. Drinking and dancing, what else?” A huge grin splits open on her face. Whispering into the phone, back to all of us. “No, that’s reserved only for me.”

  We all let out a big, “Ooooh.”

  She flips us the bird over her shoulder. Laughing now, she confirms, “Okay the Handlebar it is, say sevenish?”

  So it’s a date. And I’m going to have some fun. Bye, tears!

  Gretchen pops in wearing the skimpiest attire I’ve seen so far. Well, next to a few birthday suits. A claret plume of feathers towers from a glittery gold headdress. She’s got oblong rubies attached to each nipple. Probably with glue! And a bird’s nest made of twigs, with one lone blue robin’s egg lying in the middle of it, barely covering her kitty. I guess? Her eagle eye doesn’t miss my smirk and eye roll.

  “Okay, so I got a little glue gun happy.” Exasperated, she does her own eye roll and a shoulder shrug before holding out her arm, upon which sits a saucy navy dress with white polka dots. I hope that’s for me. I’ll leave the dirty bird look she’s sporting to her.

  “I heard and had Hari drop these off for the man’s-an-ass emergency.” A smart red clutch and yellow magnolia headband complete the ensemble. “Wish I could come, but you know…”

  I do. Work. I blow her a kiss as she runs out of the room to get to whatever Favor the bird thing belongs to. I dress as quickly as a drunk girl can, giggling right next to Sasha the whole time, before we head up the stairs.

  Gus brings the car around, no driving for us. Tonight we’re drinking.

  We pull up to the biker bar at 7:30, fashionably late. With a smirk, Sasha plants a fat red kiss-mark on Gus’s forehead before drunk-walking me into the club. A table of guys stand as we enter. Hot, tight, white shirts full of man meat blur my vision. Long hair, furry beards, and chain wallets are in my future. Bikers. All leathery and beefy, these are Tatted’s friends. Oh excuse me, brothers.

  Tatted comes over, swinging Sasha into a bear hug, before smudging her lipstick up real good. I stand, staring my drunken eyes at the man candy before me while they get reacquainted.

  Sasha pulls away with a lash bat at him. “Blue, this is Riley. Or Tatted and Matted, if you prefer.” She winks at me before snuggling up nice and close to his chest, rubbing her black claws up and down the expanse of his tightness.

  Riley turns to me with a shit-eating grin, his hands doing a little rubbing of their own. “Take your pick, honey. I told these bums before you ladies got here that whoever was interested in giving a beautiful lady a good time, stand tall and proud when she comes in.” He smiles and gestures to the juicy hulks hovering around the tiny table. They all just want one thing, gorgeous. Your happiness.”

  I turn back to the table, stupefied and staring again. Pick? How’s that gonna work? My eyes won’t stop roaming around the table long enough to focus on just one.

  An adventurous guy separates from the pack and heads my way. “Hey beautiful, I’m Frankie. Looking for a boy toy?” He winks down at me, while stroking his soft brown beard. The ludicrous leer he gives me has me giggling. “You just need to twirl that mustache, big boy!” I say, before exploding into a fit of uncontrollable laughter, barely parking my ass on the chair Sasha pulls out for me. One by one, the others make their way over to our table, introducing themselves, bringing drinks, until I finally throw my hands up. “I can’t choose!”

  “You can have us all…” That’s the cheeky boy toy, Frankie, who pulls a chair right up against mine and leans in to nuzzle my neck. Hmmm, that feels heavenly. I guess I’ve been claimed. I turn into him, loving the smell of sandalwood and leather, mixed with his personal musk. His tongue, just the tip, presses to my pulse, and I’m a goner. “We have a winner,” I whisper, enjoying the feel of an actual man again.

  Sasha and I split the shots the men brought over to me. Four a piece. Just enough to keep me nice and lubricated. By the end of the night, I find myself seated in Frankie’s capable lap. His nuzzling intensifies over the course of the night, and his callused hand rubs me from back to booty.

  “No hickeys!” Sasha demands as he presses firm lips against mine. “Blue Belle,” he whispers against my lips. “I’m gonna tattoo your name over my heart.” He rubs his cheek against mine, the whisper of his whiskers like a knock on the entrance of my Pussy Palace. He moves my face so my lips align with his ever so gently. As his tongue plunges into my mouth, seeking mine, the door swings wide open.

  Sasha knows what my orgasms look like. She’s seen enough with her snooping ways, and is quick to throw cold water on my burning libido. “We got to go,” she says, making a show of shoving her chair out of the way and standing.

  Hmmm. But he feels so good. With great reluctance and wishes of death upon her, I pull away, reaching for my bag. I wobble, and I don’t think it’s the shoes. I am tipsy!

  Frankie puts a firm arm around my waist till I steady and look up into his hazel eyes. I give him a goofy smile. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” I insist while shooing him away. But he only takes my hand, turns it palm up, and writes his number across my hand. In Magic Marker! “So, you won’t forget,” he says around the cap he holds with his teeth.

  “Bye, Frankie!” Sasha demands, pulling me to the exit and our waiting ride. Looking down, she takes in the hand graffiti and shakes her head at that and the stars in my eyes.

  When we get home, the sun’s already peeking over the horizon. I’m good and blitzed, leaning on Sasha’s able shoulders. I mutter, “Had sooo much fun, Sash.” She pats my head. “Me, too, drunk girl.” Gus gets out and walks
me in with Sasha’s help. The last thought that goes through my head as it hits the pillow is, Javi who?

  Javi

  I never should’ve opened my fucking mouth. I just got so pumped after seeing her on my screen, interacting with her, sharing a moment, that I felt ready to let the healing begin! It was one thing when they thought I was her pining boyfriend—the kind looks, the encouraging words—but quite another once I told the story of how Blue came to be in my house. Now I’m some kind of fucking pariah around here!

  Stupidly, I thought I needed to tell the truth to get help. Now, nurses are cursing my name, while the doctor is threatening me with police action, even went as far as saying that Blue was a victim of Stockholm syndrome! Even after seeing my delicate angel and her stubborn streak with his own two eyes, he wasn’t swayed.

  Now, it’s been a whole week since he talked to her. Sent her away. At my fucking request, no less! Like I’d ever say that. Seven days without any contact whatsoever. Sasha must’ve hit the roof. She voided my all-access pass to the Chubby House, including Blue’s room! Me, kept from even seeing my lady, talking with her, holding her. But they can’t stop me from loving her. And I’ll find a way to tell them that was not fucking cool once I’m out of here. For now, we have a meeting set up today by my doctor. Sasha, Gretchen, and our lawyer. No Blue, though. She’s what he wants to talk to all of us about. My stomach turns at the thought.

  I’m allowed into the room only after the doctor has talked with the ladies and my lawyer. I walk in and feel the hate radiating off of Sasha. Gretchen’s been crying. Not a good sign. Neither of them will look my way. My lawyer nods to a chair at the conference table, which I take. This isn’t good.

  “Javier, I’d advise you to be quiet and listen. Your doctor is concerned for Blue…” I look from him to the doctor while he looks through his papers in front of him. “…ah, Sara Patterson’s welfare. He feels that she might be a prisoner in your home.” At this, fresh tears fall from Gretchen’s broken blue eyes. I can’t bear to watch. I only sit quietly, waiting for the bomb to drop. I know it’s coming. The lawyer continues, “To avoid legal action, the doctor has offered an alternative. He would like an apartment to be set up for Blue, cash in an account so she’s free to do as she pleases, and a no-contact order signed by you. These are the hospital’s terms. They are afraid that they are aiding and abetting a kidnapping, which still may be in progress.” He shakes his head at the thought. I catch his frown and wholeheartedly agree but keep my thoughts to myself.

  I don’t know what to say to this. I’m angry at everyone here, but mostly at myself. Why did I come in here to get well? Why did I open my stupid mouth?

  “Javier, is there anything you’d like to say to this?” That’s the fucking doctor, with his judgmental attitude and his holier-than-thou looks.

  I won’t give him any more ammunition, so I shrug and just say, “Where do I sign?”

  Sasha kicks back her chair, towering over me. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say? She’s a person, dammit, with her own feelings! You’re pulling her away from her only friends, her home, and throwing her out on the street! You’re a real piece of shit. you know that, Javier?” Sasha slams her fist on the table, glaring at me. Yes, I know. I’m too much of a piece of shit to even look her in the face. She wants to rail, I can feel it, but she sits back down at the urging of our lawyer. Mouth shut, eyes staring daggers through me.

  The lawyer slides the papers across the table. I’m to have no contact with Sara Patterson. She would hate to see that name. There’s a blank line next to the bank account. I guess I’m supposed to decide how much a kidnapping’s worth. “Give her all of it,” I say, scrawling my name in all the right places, ignoring the loud gasp that comes out of Gretchen.

  To the doctor, I say, “Can I go back to my room now?” He nods, and I stride out, not even bothering to try to explain anything to the ladies. They’ve never understood me before, why would they start now?

  Blue

  “What do you mean I have to leave? I don’t wanna go anywhere. Sasha? Gretchen?” Tears, like acid, burn my nostrils, but I fight to hold them in. The lawyer in his fancy suit just passes papers my way. I should have known something was up! The past few days, Gretchen had made herself scarce. I’d barely seen her, and Sasha wouldn’t stop hugging me. I feel like everyone in the too-bright diner is watching my world fall apart. This was the place where Sasha and I had our first real feast together, and she brought me here to fire me! How sick is that?

  “Sasha, you said we’d always be friends.” It’s pitiful and whiny, but it’s all I’ve got. Fresh tears track down her face as she reaches over to grab me and pull me into a one-armed hug. “It’s not what it looks like, Blue,” she whispers in my ear, only to have the lawyer clear his throat, putting an end to our moment. Why is he even here?

  “These are your termination papers. Look them over carefully. If there’s anything you don’t understand, just let me know.” He clears his throat yet again and pulls at his collar before dropping the bomb. “We’ll need your keys, too. “

  Tears escape, blurring my vision and making the search through my clutch that much harder. When I find the set of keys, I just throw my Betty Boop key chain on the Formica table. Apparently, they it was never mine to begin with.

  The lawyer pockets it like it doesn’t mean everything to me. “I’ll be taking you to your new apartment. Paid for, of course, by Chubby Chasers, Inc.” He smiles, which only makes me cry harder.

  Papers shuffle, a pen clicks, and I’ve got another contract laid out in front of me, waiting for my signature—only this one has no happy ending. That left the building as soon as I found out that our girl’s day out consisted of meeting with a lawyer and evicting me.

  “Can I go back to the house and get my things?” My voice is watery, first Javi refuses me and now this? Can no one be trusted?

  The ladies don’t answer, just avert their eyes, letting the fancy lawyer do their dirty work. “Your things, as well as your cat, have been taken to your new apartment. I’m sure it will be stocked with everything you need. I’ll be taking you there now. Say your goodbyes please.” He stands and walks towards the door but remains within earshot, like I need a bodyguard.

  This is unbelievable. Both ladies are crying as they throw me away. The lawyer gives us no privacy, and incredibly, makes a point of staring at his watch, trying to move me along. I stand and walk towards him. There’s nothing I want to say to these two, and a little privacy sounds good right about now. I look back to see the Wonder Twins sobbing and holding onto each other tightly.

  Must be nice. I’ve got no one to hold me.

  * * *

  We pull up in front of a gated complex. I don’t know this area. It’s so rich, I don’t think I’m even allowed to be here. Successful people stride up and down the sidewalk, hurrying to their fabulous lives, while I sit in the car and feel numb. The lawyer comes around, opens my door, and steers me through a plate glass-framed entrance.

  Yesterday I was in my Chubby House with my sisters, where I fit right in. Today, I’m alone in a swank building, where I’m sure to be the fattest girl at the party. I follow my lawyer—his name’s Ted. I didn’t ask, just kept hearing him answer each call on the way over here with, “This is Ted”—into the building. We stop at a front desk and show ID. A bellman, with a nod and a kind smile, instructs us to take an elevator to the top floor. I move like the Tin Man, rusty and uncoordinated. But Ted’s there, guiding me with patience down a luxurious hallway to my new door.

  The apartment is sterile and full of echoes. My heels clip along behind the lawyer as he takes me to a dining room table. Not mine. None of this is mine. I sit across from him. He drops a manila folder to the table, removes his jacket, and sits across from me. “I’m sure you have questions, Ms. Patterson.”

  “Why are you doing this to me?’ It’s the only question I have. I’m shell shocked at this point, just needing the hemorrhaging that is my life to stop. Depr
ession is one more catastrophe away.

  Avoiding my eyes, he looks out the ceiling-high windows and explains. “Mr. Gustavez’s doctors feel that you may be a victim of a kidnapping and suffering from Stockholm syndrome.” He looks back at me. “That’s a psychological condition in which a hostage may express empathy and sympathy for their captors. There are positive feelings towards the people who took you. Sometimes to the point of defending and identifying with the captors. I looked it up.” He watches me over his glasses, looking for a flinch.

  I hear the definition for the first time, and my heart wants to pound out of my chest. My mouth doesn’t wanna work. Is that me?

  Ted continues. “In order to avoid charges, the ladies and Javier had to ‘release’ you back into civilization and sign a no-contact order. This condo is yours, as well as four million dollars in an account and—”

  “But I’m not suffering from anything. I don’t have that! I just wanna go back home!” Tears are falling again. The only thing I hear is the release part. Released into the wild, to go back to my little shitty life minus friends, Favors, and Javi.

  “That may be. But it won’t help their case. The doctors will testify that you’re only saying this to protect your kidnappers.” He looks uncomfortable, like he might be on the doctors’ side.

  “But I wasn’t kidnapped! You’re not hearing me. Wait just a damn minute! Are you my lawyer or the hospital’s? If you’re not with us, you need to leave.” I glare at him, unsure just where his loyalties lie.

  He looks at me with pity and says, “I’m the Chubby Chasers’ lawyer, and I’m trying to make it so all parties avoid jail. Just take the apartment, go to the therapy that’s recommended. It’s not the worst thing in the world, Sara.”

  His casual use of that name, the one that makes my blood turn cold, so much so that I don’t even use it, makes me cringe. I want to scream, “It’s Blue, dammit!” But I know even that simple correction will only prove his point.