Following the tiny sounds into the parlor, my worst fears are realized. Raw adrenaline floods my limbs so thoroughly that rational thought isn’t possible. Sitting on the floor in only her bra and underwear is Heather, gagged and, judging from the position of her arms, tied to a leg of my baby grand piano. Mascara runs down her wrecked face as she blinks away fresh tears. I’m on her in less than a heartbeat.
She coughs when I pull the gag from her mouth. “Isaac,” she gasps.
“Are you hurt?”
She shakes her head. “No, but you won’t be able to say the same when I’m done with you.”
“Wha–”
Her allegedly tied hands break free of their restraints and wrap around my throat. With a twist, she’s able to flip me on my back and pin me to the floor. My head bounces off the carpet, but I’m too confused and shaken to do a thing about it, even as she kneels on my chest and deftly loops thin black rope around my wrists.
“Heather, what the hell?”
She smirks. “You said you liked the crazy. Well, it’s back. Now shut the fuck up before I’m forced to actually hurt you.” She loops the rope in some intricate knot that would put the Boy Scouts to shame. My fingers tingle a little, but no way in hell am I telling her it’s too tight. Crazy bitch might strangle me with it instead.
“Jesus H. Christ, Heather, is this some game? You had me really scared.”
She straddles my middle and leans down to my ear, whispering, “That’s the point, darling. I want you scared. Feel those intoxicating endorphins? They belong to me, and at least for the rest of this evening, so does this.”
She rocks her hips and to my horror, I’m completely ready to go. Yeah, so I said I kind of liked the crazy. Clearly a mistake.
“Untie my hands, please. I’ve had a long day.”
“Not a chance, and for whining I’ll be rougher. Remember that.” She slips off my shoes and socks then goes for my belt. That’s my opening to draw up my legs and twist to throw her off. She recovers, only to backhand me across the face. The gash in my chin begins to burn again. By the time the stars have faded, she’s removed my belt and wound it around my ankles. She cinches it tight and buckles it. I’m trapped.
“Heather–”
“I told you to shut your mouth.”
“I see what you’re trying to do here, but–”
“But nothing. You want me to be your girlfriend? Parade me around in front of your family? This is part of the package. When this is over you can take it or leave it, but for now, you’re going to take it like a good little bitch.”
My protest gets muffled when she strips off her panties and shoves them in my mouth. I stare up at the underside of my piano and wonder, just for a second, if I’m in serious trouble. Surely she’s not going to really hurt me. Or, you know, slit my throat. Her high heels click across the hardwood floor so I raise my head. She climbs the steps and I’ve got to say, the view is amazing. I push my tongue forward to try to dislodge her panties, but the slippery material only clings tighter the more I salivate. I quit before I nearly suck it down my windpipe.
Wiggling my feet isn’t very productive, either. The leather squeaks but doesn’t budge at all. I’d say Heather’s done this a time or two. I don’t even bother trying to free my wrists—they’re already mostly numb, though it’s my own fault for tugging on the restraints so hard. Nothing to do but relax and see what the hell she’s got planned next.
I don’t have to wait long. Her graceful legs appear at the top of the steps, and as she descends, the rest of her smooth, tight body appears. In her hands are a hairbrush and a thin belt. It’s not mine, so I assume it’s hers.
She hits the bottom step and saunters over. “I did some unpacking while you were gone,” she says. “Also did some snooping through your stuff. Very boring, I’m afraid.” Slowly, she circles around the piano. I follow her progress as best I can from my position. “I told you we’d have to set up some rules, but you blew it off. So, this is me taking advantage of that. No rules.” She completes a full circle, stopping at my feet. “Oh, and this is going to hurt.”
She crouches down and without warning, draws back the thin belt in her hand and whips it at the soles of my feet. It lands right across the heels.
“Son of a bitch!” It comes out muffled, but I’m positive she gets my meaning.
“Daughter of a bitch, but close enough. Want more?”
I shake my head back and forth.
“Too bad, you shouldn’t have struggled. Told you I’d be rougher because of it.”
She drops the belt and picks up the brush again. She runs the stiff bristles up and down both feet several times, each pass getting harder. It tickles, and yet it doesn’t, so I pull up my knees.
“Oh, bad move, big guy.” She sits on my knees in a reverse cowgirl, affording me another nice view, but then she proceeds to whack the bottoms of my feet with the back of the damn brush. After a few strokes she pauses to laugh.
“Remember how I told you I broke up with Walter?” I can’t say anything with my mouth full, so I make an affirmative noise. “And remember when I told you my relatives weren’t good people?” Again, I make a noise. It was just a few days ago but it feels like months. “The two things are related,” she says. “They picked him out for me. His parents and my mother’s side negotiated until a deal was struck.”
If I could talk, I’d ask what the hell she’s talking about. That shit doesn’t happen anymore—not even in the Deep South.
“Did you know my mama’s daddy was from Biloxi? His name was Gary Carter. Did you also know your Aunt Angela’s daddy was from Biloxi? His name was Warren Carter. Brothers. Technically, that makes you and me…second, third cousins by marriage? Something like that.”
She laughs and turns around to face me. “I suppose that would be repulsive to some, even though it’s only by marriage, but you want to know the truth?” I raise my eyebrows and she leans down so her lips are at my ear again. “It only makes me want to fuck you more.”
The muscles in my hips tense up at her admission. She is one dirty freak.
“Oh, but there’s more. I want you to know exactly who you’re sleeping with. The reason Walter and I were supposed to be together was to make sure different factions of the, uh, business community were brought together.”
My hands are numb. My feet are on fire. My groin is…at attention. And I have no clue what the hell she’s getting at.
“We broke up because I didn’t want to spend my life as the trophy wife of a professional criminal. I mean, how cliché is that?”
I still don’t know where she’s going with this.
“Walter’s daddy, the senator, owns most of the casinos in Biloxi, as well as the strip joints, though you could never trace them back to him. Mama’s antiques shop downtown? A total front. She inherited it from her daddy. In the back room is where the real business takes place. And remember how Geoffrey got kicked out of the university for gambling? Let’s just say the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, especially if it’s already rotten.”
I make a face at her that I hope conveys how much I want her panties out of my mouth so I can ask a few questions. I think I deserve that privilege at least.
“Sorry, babe, this is the only way I can get your undivided attention. You’re going to listen to me because I’m only telling you this once. You can ask questions later, though to be honest, the more you ask, the more danger you put yourself in.”
She stands over me, bends at the waist, and unzips my pants. Then she turns, giving me a view most men would sell their souls for, and tugs them down to my ankles. I squeeze my eyes shut against the humiliation and vulnerability, against how completely turned on I am.
Not wanting to give her the satisfaction, I think about everything she’s just said. Two things stand out. First, we’re distantly related. Okay, I can deal with that. It’s only by marriage. Second, she broke off a marriage arranged by a “business community” that’s largely controlled by the
senator, who indirectly owns casinos and strip joints.
Holy shit.
She can’t be serious.
Finally, my hard-on begins to flag. She notices immediately.
“Figured it out, huh?”
I nod.
“Bet you thought it died out decades ago.”
I nod again.
“Nope,” she says, lifting herself off me. “You’ve been screwing the former darling of the Biloxi Mob.”
Chapter Fifteen
The restraints have left interesting marks on my wrists. I rub them to get the blood flowing again. “The Biloxi Mob?”
Heather sighs, obviously not appreciating that I’ve repeated the same question three times. “Yep, born into it, raised to carry on the legacy, and educated to assist them in legal matters.”
“And engaged to calm down turf wars,” I add.
“Pretty much. Walter was a nice enough guy, but I’ve seen what Mama turned into. I didn’t want the same pressures.”
“And your daddy?”
“Willing victim, at least at first. My parents married for love, but when they moved back here to Mobile, he couldn’t provide Mama with everything she wanted so she began leaning more and more on her family back in Biloxi. Pretty soon she was neck deep in it. My grandfather set up the antiques store for her to make a few legit dollars, but on the condition that it served as a meeting place for his Mobile operations. She obviously said yes. Then she got greedy.”
“So she wasn’t always a monster?”
Heather shrugs. “I don’t think so. She was a good mom when we were little, but nothing was enough, you know? She always wanted more. Daddy was happy the way things were. I remember them fighting about that.”
She saunters out to the kitchen and I follow. Opening the fridge, she bends over—still half naked—and pulls out a couple of beers. The sight makes my gut turn.
“Want one?” she asks.
I shake my head. “Nope, I had enough last night.”
A smirk curls the side of her mouth. “Hair of the dog?”
“Nuh-uh. Take a look outside.”
We both peer out the back door. The deck is covered in bottle after bottle, most with bugs crawling around drinking up the sweetness of the leftover droplets. I still can’t believe I drank all that by myself.
I watch Heather press her fingertips to the glass. “That explains your state this morning,” she whispers. “It kind of scared me to see you like that.”
I figure now’s a good time to figure out what the hell kind of game she was playing earlier, as well. “Didn’t scare you in the middle of the night.”
“Hmm?” She turns to me with wide, innocent eyes.
“The middle of the night, when you crawled on top of me and licked my bloody chin before riding me like a champ.”
Her blinks come rapidly, each one a tiny hammer driving in the truth I feared.
Isaac,” she says in a calm voice that scares me more than yelling, “I was at my brother’s last night. That’s why I didn’t come home—Geoffrey wanted to talk about the situation with Mama and Daddy. Ended up falling asleep at his place.”
“You’re joking, right?”
She shakes her head. “So, I know we never actually discussed being exclusive or anything, but after everything you said at the funeral home…”
Dread, cold and heavy, freezes the blood in my veins. The realization that she’s serious makes me a little dizzy. “I don’t…don’t know who it was, then. Thought it was you, but you saw how much I drank. Pretty sure I locked the door. Only other person to ever come here in the middle of the night was J–”
“Don’t even say her name. I don’t want to hear it.” She stomps out of the kitchen to the base of the stairs.
“No! It wasn’t her. I would’ve remembered the long red hair.”
“Then who was it, Isaac? You know what? None of my business. I was right to keep you at arm’s length. My mistake for thinking you’d grown up a little.” She turns, but I grab her arm.
“Listen to me, I don’t know who it was. I thought it was you. You saw how many bottles I went through. It’s a miracle I could function today.”
She holds up her free hand. “Don’t. I’m not going to feel sorry for you.”
“I don’t want you to feel sorry for me! I want to figure out who the hell snuck into my house and crawled into my bed! Did you give my key to anyone?”
Her eyes dilate for a second. “Oh, don’t you dare turn this around on me. I had nothing to do with it.”
“How do I know that? You’re perfectly normal one minute and then bat-shit crazy the next. How do I know you didn’t set me up?”
“You are the most paranoid person I ever met.”
“Because of your mother!” I regret the words as soon as they leave my mouth. Not because they’re not true, but because Heather’s suffered the same damage.
“I was a fool to think this would work. I need to get some things, then I’m leaving.”
“Leaving? You’re leaving because I got drunk while mourning my uncle and someone took advantage of it? That’s great, Heather. You’re a real sweetheart. Glad I can count on you to stick around when the going gets tough. You call me paranoid but you’re running just like I did. You’re no better than me.”
“Fuck you.”
I watch her bare ass stomp up the steps. I’m torn between two things: wanting to run after her, grab her, and shake her until she sees reason, or standing my ground like a man until she sees how childish she’s being. Can argue both ways, but the latter wins out. I’m not going to feel bad for giving Uncle Robert a proper send-off, and I refuse to beg. I’ve been with someone who didn’t want to be with me. Not doing that again.
When Heather realizes how stupid she’s being, she can crawl back and apologize.
***
Uncle Robert’s closet looks like Mr. Rogers and Colonel Sanders had a textile orgy. Herman was kind enough to give me the whole week off so I could tie up all the loose ends, so here I am sorting through my uncle’s belongings. Most of this stuff will go to the church or another charity, but some of it is too hideous to inflict on anyone. The “keep” pile is on the bed. The rest goes into the contractor-sized garbage bags I bought at the home improvement store.
Once I’ve cleaned out several decades of sweater vests and plaid shirts, I move to his dresser. It’s old and worn, the wood faded on one side from the sun streaming in the window. Just like before, it feels like a violation, even though Uncle Robert knew when he left me the house and its contents that I’d eventually have to sift through them. I start with the long shallow drawer in the middle.
Inside sit three perfect rows of rolled handkerchiefs. Some are monogrammed, some hand-embroidered with little music notes, leaves, or geometric patterns. Those go into the “keep” pile. Another drawer reveals old photos and newspaper clippings. Underneath those is a red photo album. Not unusual, except that it has my name on it.
I move to the bed to examine it more carefully. The cover cracks when I open it and the pages inside have yellowed. Under the murky film is a picture of me at about four or five, judging by the clothes. I’m sitting in Uncle Robert’s parlor at the piano that now belongs to me. He’s standing next to me with a huge grin on his face and his arm around my shoulders. We look like two peas in a pod. The next page contains a program from my first piano recital. All the pages feature a picture, a ticket stub, a memory of time spent with Uncle Robert.
The last page makes my eyes burn. I can’t believe he kept it. I peel back the film and gently remove the brittle staff paper I wrote on more than two decades ago. Mama had told me Uncle Robert’s birthday was approaching and I wanted to do something special for him. We didn’t have enough money for me to get an allowance, so instead of buying a gift, I wrote him a birthday song. It was my first non-required composition.
I had no idea he’d held onto it.
I start a new pile on the bed for things to “definitely keep,” and afte
r a few more drawers, I’ve added two more photo albums and a box of cards I made for Uncle Robert over the years. They run the gamut from barely recognizable crayon drawings to computer-generated cards I thought were very avant-garde in the 1980s.
The most interesting find is Aunt Angela’s jewelry box. With no children and not being on speaking terms with her niece, I guess she had no one to give her stuff to, so Uncle Robert held on to it. I’m thinking it should all go to Christie, Tiffany, and their daughters. The pearl bracelet I’m going to have cleaned, restrung, and sized for Jayne, just like I promised.
A knock on the door echoes through the house. I put down the jewelry box, shove the albums and pictures aside, and trudge from the bedroom to the central hall, which still smells like eucalyptus even though I’ve thrown out most of the dusty bouquets. I was expecting a nosy neighbor or maybe one of my sisters. Didn’t expect to see Heather again so soon.
“You were right,” she says as soon as I open the door. “You have every reason to be paranoid and I’m so sorry for accusing you of…whatever it was I accused you of.”
I scratch my head, a bit distracted by her short skirt. “What brought this on?”
“Can I come in?”
“Might as well.” She steps into the small foyer and wraps her arms around her middle, not something she usually does. “Everything okay, sweet pea?”
“No, not at all. I need to explain some things to you, and I don’t know how you’re going to take them. One thing in particular,” she says, and begins fidgeting with the sunglasses perched on her head.
“Worse than you being a mafia princess?”
She nods. “Way worse.”
I muster up as much sarcasm as I can. “Fantastic! Can’t wait to hear it, but you’ll have to talk while I sort. Been going through Uncle Robert’s things all day.”
Need Page 16
