Beautiful Revenge

by John Forrester

  I finish my bath and dry off, admiring my figure in the mirror, remembering how my body felt last night with Keary’s mouth and fingers on my skin. I miss him even more tonight in this lonely, quiet room. As I put on my Carine Gilson cami, I imagine the silk against my nipples as his skin against mine. I wear nothing else and slide into bed, indulging in the feeling of soft Egyptian cotton caressing my legs and arms and hips.

  My eyes close, picturing Keary’s longing eyes and red lips, and his hands snake down my chest, pausing for a time to caress my breasts. Then when the moon is full and the dew falls, his hand dives urgently down to touch the wetness between my legs, gently rubbing my pussy, the other hand stimulating and lightly pinching my nipples. Then his fingers find my clit, and both hands create a symphony of harmony, playing the instrument of my body. My muscles go tense and my legs cross and thighs squeeze in together until at last the music climaxes and the sky is filled with fiery, falling meteors.

  I lay back, hands flopped behind me, and gape as the ceiling evaporates away and the clouds part, revealing the starry sky and the immensity of the universe. I’m filled with awe and love and the desire to be close to Keary, to cuddle next to him, to drift off and fall asleep in his arms.

  As I’m in that middle world between dreams and wakefulness, drifting lazily in that pleasant sea, the loud buzzing of my phone against the metal of my desk startles me awake. I stumble out of bed and stagger over to retrieve my phone.

  The text is from my mother: Help. Please help us.

  CHAPTER 18

  I GO FROM hazy to amped in five seconds. All my nerves scream fight or flight. My parents are in danger and it’s all my fault. I never should have let them leave home without some protection. But how could I? I know that Howard McNaughton’s people are watching them. It was a trap all along. They took Phillip and now they have my parents. Keary is right: his father is a monster.

  What am I supposed to do? Even if I do know where my parents are, how can I help them? I have no gun, no security, and no badass martial arts skills. I can call Zachary and ask his Father for help, but that will probably make the whole situation worse. I remember Keary’s words and that reassures me: I really can’t see him having anyone killed. Hurt, yes. Humiliated, definitely. But not killed—I keep repeating that in my mind—he won’t have them killed. I have to believe that. But the more I go on the less certain I am of anything.

  I think of Howard, a haughty, triumphant expression on his face. What a fitting outcome to his revenge: exacting his fury on my father and—what? Display his dominance and power over my mother? Would he really be so cruel?

  Phone in hand, I quickly tap out a message to Keary’s phone, certain it will get in the right hands. What the fuck have you done to my parents? Howard is sure to be expecting a text like this but I don’t care, the bastard should know that I know and he should realize I’m sick of playing his little game.

  A few seconds later a text comes back: It’s Keary. I stole my phone back. He did something to your parents? Wtf? Is it true or just another trick by Keary’s father?

  I quickly text him back. Where was I late last night?

  He replies, In my bed doing things I wish we were doing now.

  My heart pounds and skips ahead a few beats—it is Keary! I can’t type fast enough. Where is your father now?

  Out, he’s been gone all evening, that’s why I could steal my phone back.

  Isn’t he going to kill you when he finds it’s gone?

  I don’t give a fuck. How do you know your parents are in trouble?

  I sigh, thinking of my parents in some filthy, piss-stained room. My mother sent me a text asking for help.

  Why would he do that? How could he go that low? I mean it. I want to kill him. In his office I found something—a gun. I really mean it Clarise, I’m going to kill him.

  I feel like a mallet has slammed into my stomach. Don’t talk like that. No, don’t even think about it, just get rid of it. I don’t want you to get hurt, please.

  In the long, hellish moment that Keary waits before responding, I almost call him, dying to hear from the sound of his voice that what he’s saying is all a lie. But what if it’s not? Is it so bad that Keary blows that fucker’s head off? Doing that won’t help my parents or help Phillip, but it will stop the maniac from doing more damage. But deep down inside I know that Keary trying to kill his father won’t make things better. My phone buzzes again. Another text from Keary.

  The thing is, your life is more important than mine, to me at least. Right now, the way I see it, I have to stop him.

  Just wait. Don’t do anything yet, please.

  Hold up. He’s back.

  Shit, no! Keary, don’t you fucking dare do anything, please!!!

  I start to call him then hang up, realizing that might get him in trouble. What the hell is going on over there? I can feel my pulse thumping hard from my neck to my skull. The only thing I can think of is to go over to Keary’s house as fast as I can. I dial the car service and force my voice down to keep from screaming at the poor woman on the other side. She must sense my panic because she starts talking in this hyper-fast speed and says she’ll have her best driver over in ten minutes.

  Fuck. Ten minutes. It’s a freakin’ eternity. I’m tempted to search for the keys to Father’s vintage 1961 Lotus Elite but give up on the idea when I realize it will probably take me longer to find the keys than to just wait for the driver. And I can’t drive an automatic, let alone a stick shift.

  I jump out of bed and race to my closet. I toss off the cami and quickly put on some old jeans, a T-shirt, a trim silver jacket, and a pair of converse high tops, and stuff my keys and phone into the jeans’ pocket. Jogging down the stairs, I head into the kitchen and grab a small knife, sliding it neatly into the jacket pocket. Out the side door I run headlong into the rain falling gently outside. How did I not notice this? I dart back inside and find an old black umbrella beside the door.

  Puddles block my way through the garden, so I skirt along the house and head for the front entrance. A gray Lincoln is parked on the side of the road, lights beaming through the rain, and I mash in the code at the keypad, and scamper through as the gate opens.

  “Miss Clarise?” The sleepy-looking driver with kind eyes and a cocoa complexion swings open the door and takes my umbrella when I’m safely inside. The door thumps shut and he slowly takes his place in the driver’s seat.

  “What in heaven’s name are you doing outside on a night like this?”

  I’m about to lash out in anger but the kindness and concern in his voice keeps me placated. “I need to help a friend—urgently—can you take me there quickly?” I tell him Keary’s address and he speeds off—not as fast as the Italian driver, but as fast as is probably safe on a rainy night like tonight.

  On the ride over I’m as nervous as a convict waiting for the electric chair to light up. No texts from Keary, no texts from my mother, no nothing. What if Keary has confronted his father? I keep picturing a gun going off, blowing a chunk of Howard McNaughton’s head off. The image makes me feel better.

  When the car finally pulls up in front of Keary’s house I realize I have no idea what I’m going to do. There’s no way in hell I’m going to climb over the fence and sneak in like before. I want to get Howard’s attention—to steer him away from Keary. Whatever, I’ll just ring the front gate buzzer. Who cares if it’s two o’clock in the morning?

  The driver follows me to the gate, genuine concern in his eyes that I’m intent on buzzing some house so late at night.

  “Should I call the police, miss? Whatcha doin’?” His voice speeds up when I press the call button on the keypad. “Hold up now, you can’t just go waking good folks up in the middle of the night.”

  Howard’s dead-serious voice answers after I keep mashing the button. “Who the hell is out there?”

  Part of me is sad that he’s still alive and the other, more sensible part is glad Keary acted rationally and didn’t try popping
the trigger on his father. Besides, I want to blow his fucking head off myself.

  “You know very well who this is. Now either open up and let me in or come out here and talk.” My voice is defiant, daring him to disobey me. “I’m so far beyond crazy. I mean it, I’ll call the police and finish this.”

  The old driver gawks at me like I’ve turned into a she-devil trying to turn the world from a path of righteousness. He takes a step away from me and raises his hands defensively as if I’m about to throw a hot poker at his face.

  The intercom remains silent, which I assume means Howard is either coming down or having his security goons come out to thrash me with a bamboo cane. I tell the driver to wait for me a block away and he ambles back to the car and drives slowly off, the red taillights blinking in the rain.

  I hear the angry slap of sneakers against the wet driveway and spot Keary’s father marching towards the iron gate. His hair is drenched already, face tensed, eyes dark and furious. He holds something black and menacing in his hand as he opens the gate and slips through.

  “You stupid bitch—coming here to my house in the middle of the night?” He aims the gun at my head and I stumble back, my breath choked up in my chest. “Go ahead, call the police, who do you think they’ll believe? And all the while imagine your brother dying from an opium and heroin overdose. Oh, and let’s see, your father winds up another helpless victim of senseless gang violence. And your lovely mother—oh, how she screamed when I fucked her in front of your pathetic excuse for a father.”

  His voice breaks now and the arm holding the gun trembles. “What a perfect couple they make. Nothing like a family tragedy to bring everyone closer together. Go home, Clarise…just go home.”

  “Are you fucking crazy? Go home? What’s left for me to go home to?” I’m screaming, and my voice is shrill and bitter. “You’ve destroyed my family and the boy I love is inside your house! You claim you’re out for revenge against my parents for what they’ve done to you, but did you ever fucking consider that from my perspective it’s aimed directly at me? What the fuck have I ever done to you except fall in love with your son?”

  He scoffs and puts the gun inside his jacket. “You exist. The fact that you are your parents’ child—you and Phillip—cause me to loathe everything about you. Keary can fuck you all he wants, but love you? Have a future with you? Wake the hell up and get out of your silly teen-girl illusions. This is my game and my show and I’ll call the shots or let those money grubbing gang bangers do whatever the fuck they want to your family. Don’t you get it? I tell some screwed-up thug, ‘Here’s ten thousand dollars. Go make this guy miserable for twenty-four hours,’ and that sick fuck goes to work. Go back home, Clarise! And don’t bother me again until I contact you.”

  I’m shivering from the cold rain drenching my hair and clothes. All I can think about is my poor mother being raped by this hideous creature in front of me. His venomous eyes sting me like snake fangs. I start to turn like I’m about to leave, then leap at him with my foot slamming into his groin like a field goal kick, not exactly like the self-defense class taught us but effective all the same. As he grunts in surprise and bends over in pain I bring my fist up to his Adam’s apple. He launches both hands up to his neck, fury and shock in his eyes, and the gun clatters to the ground. Before he reacts to grab the gun I kick it skittering into a thick patch of ivy running along the fence.

  He screams a stifled scream like a child’s tantrum and charges me like a blood-crazed bull. I’m smaller and quicker than him so I jump aside and find my hand extending out, the blade slicing along his shoulder.

  “You fucking cut me!” He grips the wound and glances at the filthy blood oozing out. But there’s something new and deliciously different about his eyes: fear. Raw, animalistic fear. I have the blade, and I’ve injured him. He has no weapon and pain is clouding his judgment. His eyes scan around as if expecting help but he finds nothing. He stumbles back towards the gate, one hand still gripping his bleeding shoulder and the other jabbing the air in a pathetic threatening gesture.

  “I’m gonna make your life a living hell for doing that.”

  I open my mouth and mock him, laughing at him like some lunatic howling at the moon. “Where are you going? Come and fucking dance with my blade. Doesn’t the cut feel clean and pure?” He slams the gate shut and stumbles back towards the house, terror in his eyes, while I run the edge of the blade up and down the iron. If I were a circus performer, I’d hurl the knife into his back from twenty yards away.

  Instead I just turn and walk away, all my confidence and craziness melting in the rain. Worry and gloom return to my mind and reality sets in. What the hell have I done? He’s going to physically hurt my family—worse than before—and all because of my stupidity in coming here tonight. I’ve injured a dog and made him raging.

  When I reach the car I hide the knife in my jacket pocket, knock on the window, and open the door when I hear the locks click open. The driver doesn’t even bother looking at me, says nothing, and just puts the car in drive and heads down the dark street.

  Exhaustion hits me now as I sink back into the leather seat, the rain and the chill seeping into my bones. What have I done, what have I done? I’ll never see my family again. Why did I go there tonight? I want to take the knife and slice the seat in front of me: a long, garish slash. Maybe I’ll go to sleep and wake up realizing it was just a hyper-realistic nightmare. I shake my head and slap my forehead. This is no dream; this is my fucking life.

  As we come in sight of Harris House, standing dark and proud in the rain, my phone buzzes, making me jump from my seat. I unlock the phone and open the text from an unknown number: We found your brother. He’s safe. Have the money ready to wire. We’re bringing him now.

  CHAPTER 19

  I SWEAR TO God I nearly cry out in joy and utter fatigue. Phillip is coming home! And it’s my birthday now! That’ll be like the best birthday present I’ve ever had. If only I can convince Aleksey to help get my parents back; that will change things completely. I won’t think twice about going to the police then. And Howard McNaughton will get what he deserves: a long, unpleasant jail sentence surrounded by criminals with a taste for white, wealthy ass.

  My fingers tap away on the phone: thank you, thank you, thank you. I’ll have the money ready. I open the gate and dart inside the house, focused on getting money transferred to Aleksey’s account. I lookup the number for my bank and call, hoping and praying they can make it all happen quickly. Soon a tired voice answers and I tell her I want to transfer one million dollars to an account in the Cayman Islands. Silence on the other end, pondering my request. The woman’s voice becomes tense and indignant when I tell her I need it done right now. She tells me it’s impossible. I tell her to do it now or let me talk to someone who can help me immediately. She fucking hangs up on me.

  I’m about to call back when my phone buzzes again: we’re outside with your brother. So soon? I race downstairs and open the gate, and situate myself at the front door watching as the lights from a black Cadillac Escalade shine down the driveway. Aleksey emerges from the passenger side, his hands shielding his face from the rain. He escorts Phillip to the house. The driver and the skinny kid from the warehouse stay in the car.

  I motion them inside and give my brother an enormous, smothering hug, but he barely responds. He’s like a skeleton, so sparse and weak.

  “You’re going to need help with this one…he’ll get the withdrawals soon.” Aleksey sniffs and stares up and around the grand foyer as I close the door. “Nice house you have here…real class and style…I like it.”

  Phillip starts shivering and I tell him to come inside the family room, and I flip on the gas fireplace and go back to the kitchen to boil some water for tea. I ask them to wait awhile and I jog upstairs to find a blanket for my brother. By then he’s sitting on Father’s favorite reclining chair in the family room, eyes vacant and dark, staring at the fire, and I wrap the blanket over him and tell him to sleep.

/>   Aleksey is cheerful and crisp and I get the feeling he’s more awake at night than in the daytime, like his natural habitat is stalking prey in the dark. There is a certain felineness to him, an old alley cat or a lone mountain lion, calm, deliberate, and very certain in his actions.

  “This brother of yours was easier to procure than I originally thought. He was being held by amateurs. Well, dead amateurs now.”

  “I want to thank you so much for helping to find Phillip. Everything is so messed up now, it’s hard to process.”

  He chuckles as if certain that I know nothing at all. “Yes, yes, you are quite welcome…girl with men’s balls. You should work for me someday, I could use someone like you in my organization. Real gusto.”

  I’m sure I blush because he smiles warmly at my reaction, like a grandfather, and nods with a sense of finality.

  Before he speaks I interrupt him. “I have another problem…just last night. The same man who took my brother, McNaughton, raped my mother and hurt my father. I don’t know where they’ve gone, but I know this has happened to them.”

  Aleksey’s face darkens like a sudden storm. “And how do you know all this?”

  “My mother sent me a text asking for help. I knew it was McNaughton so I went to his house and confronted him. We had a fight and he bragged, threatened, I don’t know why he told me, but he said he raped my mother. That sick, disgusting man hurt my mother.”

  He makes an irritated sound through his teeth and his eyes squint. “This world is filled with monsters. Yes, I sell women’s flesh for money, I sell drugs, I sell entertainment, I provide protection. This man, this McNaughton, he lied to me. He told me this brother of yours stole from him, he offered a bounty on his head. But this? This is truth from your lips I can’t deny. I can see it in your eyes. You’ve been wronged, you and your family.”