That might add to my leeriness of it. If there was something telling me who sent it and where it came from I might not be so freaked out.
She motions the box at me.
“Aren’t you going to take it? It might be from that boy last night?”
Finally, I glance down at the horrible creature in her hands.
“You don’t know who sent it?”
She hesitates before replying, she’s probably thinking I’m crazy because I still haven’t taken the thing.
“No, it was waiting on the front porch when I got home from the grocery store.” She lifts it a few inches, “Just this all by itself.”
This time she holds it up. If I don’t take it, it would be rude. Slowly I peel my fingers from the door and reach a tentative hand out for it.
“Thank you. I don’t think I’ll be receiving anything else, but if I do, you can call me and I’ll come and get it, you don’t have to climb the stairs,” then I can put off getting it for as long as I can.
“I don’t mind, it’s good exercise,” she gives me another kind smile. “It’s getting late, you work too much dear, a girl your age should be enjoying life.”
The innocent comment makes my heart pang. “That’s why I’m here, Mrs. Jones. Once the business is doing well, then I can take some time off.”
“Well then,” she turns to head down the stairs, “if there’s anything I can help you with, don’t hesitate to ask. I mean it. You’re a good girl and it’s a shame you’re all alone.” My heart squeezes from her generosity and gift of kindness. “Goodnight, Summer.”
“Goodnight, Mrs. Jones,” it’s not the first time she’s offered, and each time I react the same way.
After I close the door and secure all the locks once again, I walk to the kitchen table. My feet feel like cement blocks leading me to the river so that I’ll sink straight to the bottom and drown once I open this missile of doom. I drop it on the table like it’s poison and lean against the counter staring at it. Nothing about it tells me who sent it or where it came from. From the weight of it, I know it’s clothes, which I guess is good because it’s not a bomb and won’t blow up Mrs. Jones when it takes me out.
“Just stop and open it,” I mumble. “It’s probably crotch less panties or some other filthy outfit from Rock.” It doesn’t matter what I tell myself, nothing is going to get rid of this feeling of dread.
Not until I open it and know for sure.
“Fine,” I sigh as I open one of the drawers and take out a pair of scissors. “I might as well get this over with.”
Stepping to the table, I lift the box and slice through the tape and open the wrapping. Inside is a white cardboard box, also with no identifying markings. My heart is pounding, my hands are shaking and my knees feel like I’m going to drop. I lift the top off and pull back the tissue paper covering the garment underneath.
“Dear God nooooooooooo!”
A t-shirt from The Club with a photo of me last New Year’s Eve in a gold lame’ gown. On my left with his hand resting on my shoulder is Wesley Danforth III, my would be father-in-law. Third generation manufacturing tycoon, turned child rapist. I’ll never forget that night. It was the last night I let him rape me. He’d been doing it since I was thirteen years old and he and my father had finalized the arranged marriage between myself and his son. He’d said he had to when I’d first met him, that I had to, to prepare me for the wedding, the union between the two powerful families.
He said that my father knew and that I had to with his approval. It was my duty to do anything he wanted, anything that was necessary.
That’s the last thought I have before the blackness envelopes me.
ROCK
CHAPTER 20
It was very late by the time I left the shop last night, and very early when I had to come back in this morning. Too late and too early for me to call Summer. I’d sent her a text after I drove by her place and I’d gotten home. I also drove by this morning and nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Last night, I had hoped that I could convince her to come over, or to let me go to her. It was a constant battle I fought with myself on whether or not I would go to her place and let myself in. The only thing that stopped me was I was sure I’d scare the hell out of her. Knowing what (I think) I know now, I don’t want her alone. At. All. I didn’t think anything of it when she didn’t reply, granted I was disappointed, but I assumed that she was beat and was sleeping. But she still hasn’t responded and it’s gotten all my instincts raging. But so far nothing’s happened, she hasn’t been contacted or threatened by anyone, at least as far as I know. If she had, I’m sure I’d sense it. I had to be here at the crack of dawn for a client but as soon as I’m done, I’m going to her.
Right now, it looks like things are going from bad to worse.
I’ve had my head focused on the intricate project I’m working on so I haven’t looked up every time the door opened. Since the guys came in people have come and gone several times but I haven’t bothered to see what was happening. If they need me, they’ll call me. I’ve got a client on my table and Summer’s completely occupying my mind.
So when Sasha came in, I didn’t see her. You can bet your sweet ass I can hear her now, though. The whole fucking town is going to hear her if the boys don’t get her under control.
“What do you mean you can’t see me anymore?” she’s yelling.
I’ll give them sixty fucking seconds to shut that shit down!
I can hear some loud rumbling from across the shop. My client tenses beneath my hands. He’s listening too.
“What is that supposed to mean? So what I’m married, since when is that illegal?” Sasha’s voice echoes through the space.
“That’s what I said.”
Fucking Gringo!
“Get out,” I push myself up, the tattoo gun still clutched in my hand.
The client looks at me over his shoulder. “Wh…what?”
“I said get the fuck out,” I growl at him.
“But we’re not finished,” he stutters.
“Yes we are.”
“Buuu…but I haven’t even paid?”
“Next goddamn time. OUT.”
I take a level headed minute to set the gun down on my cart so I don’t use the hose to wrap around Sasha’s fucking neck as I drag her out of my shop. When I yank the curtain all the way open, I spy Bull leaning against his table, ankles and arms crossed, with a client behind him, one he was working on. Both of them are watching me but Bull’s grinning like a dickhead. Snake’s at the front desk, also propped against it, eyes on me with a cocky ass smile as well.
“Dude, I didn’t even bother to start working on Jewel, (he motions to the goth chick coming from the restroom). I knew this was gonna go down, and I knew it was going to be epic,” he fucking smirks.
My client stumbles past us pulling his shirt on as he makes a bee line straight for the door.
“Oooooh, this is gonna be good,” Bull fucking chuckles.
“Suck on my epic right nut, asshole,” I growl as I throw open the door to the private client room.
Sasha and Gringo are in here, lips locked, sucking the hell out of each other’s tongues, his hand is between her thighs and hers is down the front of his pants.
“Out Sasha,” it takes every ounce of self-control to contain my anger.
They barely separate.
“No and you can’t make me,” she says against Gringo’s mouth before she plunges her tongue back down his throat.
“The fuck I can’t,” I say tightly.
This time she pulls her head back but never removes her hand from around Gringo’s dick.
“What are you going to do, Rock? Are you going to throw me out? Put your hands on a customer, a woman? Are you sure that’s a smart thing to do?” she taunts me.
I stop short.
She’s right. I can’t touch her. I don’t want to physically throw her out. She just needs to be gone. Now.
“You’re absolutely right. I’m
not going to throw you out. I’m a reasonable guy, but this shit right here,” I tip my chin up at both of them, “stops now.” To Gringo I say, “Get her out. You’ve got sixty seconds. If she’s not gone, I’m calling the cops.” To Sasha, “If there are any more outbursts from you, one fucking peep that could be construed as causing a scene, I’m calling the cops. I’m not playing this. If this continues, I’ll get a restraining order.” To both of them, “Do I make myself perfectly clear?”
Sasha yanks her hand from Gringo’s pants.
“Damn woman, you could have castrated me,” he grabs himself as he hunches over, grimacing.
“This isn’t fair!” Sasha stomps her foot. “I can do what I want, when I want, with whomever I want.” She looks like a petulant child who’s not getting her way.
“Yes you can, but not in my shop, now get the fuck out, I don’t need this shit in my business.” I don’t need this shit right now.
“You guys screw women in here all the time. Why are you being so mean to me, Rock?” Sasha pouts. She juts her lip out and pouts like a baby.
“Sasha, it has nothing to do with you,” I’m starting to lose my patience. “What we do is none of your concern, unless it’s a tattoo or a piercing we’re giving you. That’s it.” I take a deep breath to remain calm. “You are a married woman, which means you are someone’s property. What you do is none of my business, but this place is. Shut it the fuck down and leave. Now.”
“Dammit!” another foot stomp.
Then she does something that really gets my attention. Even more than that, Gringo does too.
Sasha reaches over and curls her perfectly manicured hand around Gringo’s. Instead of pulling away, he shifts his hand and threads his fingers with hers.
They hold hands.
Well, I’ll be damned.
I narrow my eyes at them. “How long has this been going on?”
Gringo tries to drop her hand. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Drop the bullshit, how long?”
Sasha juts her chin out defiantly again and refuses to let go of Gringo’s hand. “A week.”
A run my hand through my hair in frustration. “Son-of-a-bitch.”
“You can’t make us stop,” Sasha says.
“It’s none of my business what you guys do. What is my business is what happens right here.” I point a finger back and forth between Gringo and Sasha. “This does not happen here.”
“Fine,” she huffs and looks away.
“Yeah, got it,” Gringo mumbles.
“Good, now get the fuck out. You’ve made a big enough scene. I wouldn’t be surprised if someone already called the police. I don’t need any damn trouble.”
Snake cracks the door open and sticks his head in.
“Rock,” his tone is cold and hard.
Every hair on the back of my neck stands up.
Something’s wrong.
I look at him.
“You’d better get out here. Mrs. Merriweather and Gwen are here.”
No! Just fucking NO!
He opens the door all the way and I push past him, Gringo behind me and Sasha right behind him.
Mrs. Merriweather’s face twists into a scowl when she sees Sasha. Gwendolyn’s eyes bounce back and forth between the three of us.
“I should ‘ave known you’d be involved when there be trouble about,” Mrs. Merriweather sneers at Sasha.
Trouble?! What the hell is she talking about, trouble? It’s Summer, I fucking knew something was wrong since she hasn’t answered me.
“What is it?” I demand.
Her eyes shoot to mine. There’s fear there and it makes my blood boil. “It’s our Summer, Rock. She’s not open, ‘er shop is dark. She’s always open. I just know something ‘appened.”
I’m half way out the door. I don’t bother to reply. There’s no need to comment a damn thing.
Something is wrong.
Summer is missing.
Her fucking father got her.
“I wouldn’t worry about her,” Sasha says. “She’s probably with Steve.”
The whole world fucking stops.
I jerk around and get in Sasha’s face. Everything ceases to exist, nothing moves, there are no other sounds, nothing matters except for what she’s about to tell me.
“What did you say?” my voice is menacingly quiet.
“She’s probably with Steve. What did you think? That you were the only man who wanted some of ‘our little Summer’?” Her voice drips sarcastic sweetness.
“Just tell me what the fuck you’re talking about, or so help me God, I will not be responsible for what I’ll do to you.”
“Okay,” she folds her arms defensively across her chest. “I was at my husband’s office yesterday. While I was waiting for him to finish up with an appointment, I was talking with the girl whose office is next to his…”
“Would you just spit it out already?” I yell in her face.
“I’m getting there!” she yells back. “Anyway, the door opened and I hear Steve and my husband talking. Steve was thanking him for Summer’s information. He said he didn’t want the surprise he had planned for her to get ruined and he really appreciated it, or something like that.”
NONONONO!!
“Did you hear anything else?” the blood in my veins is turning to ice.
“Yes, he said that she’s going to be his wife.”
BOOM.
My brain just fucking exploded in my skull.
“Find out where the fucker lives!” I yell as I’m out the door and on my bike before Sasha or anyone can get another word out.
Steve was the plant here watching her.
He’s her fiancée.
Every worst fear I had is unraveling and coming to life before I can stop the free fall of catastrophe’s happening one after the other.
The few blocks ride to Summer’s is the longest and most horrendous ride of my life. I thank God and curse every damn thing with each spin of my tires. I know better than to imagine the worst, I’d been trained not to react, but to act and do what is necessary. It’s sheer torture remaining calm and rational. All I want to do is destroy and tear Steve’s fucking head from his body.
I’m fortunate because I’m not alone. I have the boys. Individually, we’re deadly. Together, we are devastation and annihilation.
One thing we have going for us is that we know who Summer really is, where she came from, and where Steve would probably take her to. Back home to that fucking cult, The Club, the exclusive community whose elite members have their dicks in more Fortune 500 companies than any other metropolis this side of the Mason Dixon Line.
I should have looked harder, probed deeper, searched and followed every possible link that could tie anyone here to the contact her father had planted. Fucking Steve.
STEVE.
I should have known, the comments, the unfounded possessiveness. It was all there, all the clues, and I didn’t see them, I was stupid. And Summer is paying for my carelessness.
Each minute they’ve got her is my destruction. Every fucking mile he gets her closer to her past, and her goddamn future, is another step further into my hell.
She’s engaged. An arranged marriage. But it’s a business deal, one that would give Summer’s father more power, The Club more exclusive real estate, and the father-in-law-to-be a position as a CEO of one the companies owned by The Club, and her husband the CFO. It’s a win/win for everyone. But the price? Summer Hollingsworth, one of the wealthiest prizes in North America.
The things I was told, how did they know those things?
Wesley Danforth III, the man who was supposed to be her father-in-law. Who trained the bride.
Summer had never met Steve, her apparent husband-to-be. When the Danforth’s went into The Club, he was off at some Ivy League school. Her only dealings had been with Wesley Danforth III, his father.
Any time I think of those possible dealings, I want to kill him.
It was so bad t
hat she felt the only way out was to run away.
I’d been told things at The Club had been investigated quietly, people were questioned behind closed doors. But apparently anyone who ever came close to talking disappeared. Word has it that it’s a tradition in The Club for marriages to be arranged and the grooming of the bride-to-be is the responsibility of the father-in-law.
This is their way of life. It is known. Summer’s father had known what was happening to her. And he approved. He is their fucking king.
The whole goddamn place should be bombed and wiped off the face of the earth. That still would be too good for them.
Finally, I squeal into Summer’s driveway right behind her car, I don’t give two shits if I’m blocking anyone else in. I’d ride my bike up the goddamn stairs if it would save time getting into the building. The front door’s locked, I kick that son-of-a-bitch in and bound up the steps two at a time. When I get to the top landing, her door’s open a crack.
Dread seeps through me.
I don’t have to go in, I know she’s not in there.
I’m too fucking late.
My heart’s ripped out of my chest as I step into her cozy apartment. Summer’s everywhere, I can smell her in the air, see her in the shadows, and hear her lyrical voice from the darkened corners.
I’m so fucking gutted, I can hardly think straight.
I’d only been in here once, the night she hurt her leg. Was that only two nights ago? Every image from that night vividly flashes through my mind one right after the other.
Just get her the fuck back.
On the kitchen counter is an empty box and brown paper. When I pick it up, there’s nothing on it but her name on a white label.
An empty fucking box with no information. Just like this apartment
No Summer.
“She received that last night.”
I spin around at the woman’s voice.
“I’m sorry about the door. I’ll fix it.” It’s the best apology I can give her right now for my barbaric behavior.
“Something’s wrong, isn’t it?” the older woman with the kind face asks.
Canvas (The Program Book 1) Page 18
