by H. M. Ward
I dig in my heels and glare at Trystan. “No. If you have something to say, say it here.”
Trystan sighs. “Jon needs to sign those papers, and he needs to walk away from this.” He gestures so that I know he’s talking about the club. “He’s refusing to hear anything we tell him.”
“You’re not my problem.”
“Yes, but Jon is. If you care about him at all, you can’t let him keep this place. Sean’s a dick, but I believe he's genuinely looking out for Jon. Stuff happened between the two of them—I don’t know what, it was before I met him—but that shouldn’t be the reason his life now turns to shit.” There’s compassion in Trystan’s eyes. “Listen, not too many people understand what makes Jon tick. It can get lonely, living like that, and I know he doesn’t want to say goodbye to you yet. Talk to him. Make him see this is one of those times he’s making life harder just to make it more difficult. He can help you without the club. You can help him by making him see that.”
I look over at the woman silently sitting beside me. She makes a disgruntled noise and sinks back into her seat, slouching down in the chair and looking up at Trystan. “A fine brain to go with that fine body.”
A slight blush rises to Trystan’s cheeks, but he turns away so quickly I almost don't see it. A blushing rock star? How is that possible? Bryan misses it—he’s too busy glaring at me.
My feral, pissed off stance relaxes, and I look away. Maybe he’s right. It’s possible this place will only bring Jon more pain, and I don’t want that. His mother is demon spawn, and I won't be the reason he’s in her crosshairs. “I’ll get him to sign the papers.”
CHAPTER 4
JON
Avery has steel balls coming in here, talking to me the way she did. This is my move, my decision. Sean has no fucking clue—no one does. They see what they want, and I learned a long time ago that you can’t change the way people think of you. They see a foolish young guy who frivolously spends his cash on pussy.
If that’s what they think, then so be it.
I pull my cell phone out of my pocket, dial her number, and press it to my ear. After the fourth ring, she picks up.
“Jonathan, I’m in a meeting. What do you want?”
Typical. My mother’s maternal instincts are shit. Sometimes I wonder if we were all adopted. Since there are pictures of her pregnant, I have to believe we’re biologically hers. Sean remembers Mom being pregnant with me and fussing over the nursery, while he and Pete beat the crap out each other. They fought a lot after I came along.
“I have news I thought you should hear first. I bought a strip club.”
She’s silent, probably pinching the bridge of her nose. I hear her excuse herself from the room, and then a door closes. Her voice is sharper than a kitchen knife as she verbally butchers me. “I’m out of patience with you Jon. I've explained what would happen if you were stupid enough to piss on the family name again. So tell me, dearest, why would you defy me so blatantly, and then call to flaunt your indiscretion in my face during a multimillion-dollar deal? Exactly what type of perverted asshole are you, son?”
I laugh bitterly and kick my feet up on the desk, happy for this to be over. “I’m the perverted asshole you raised me to be, Mom.”
“Jonathan, I don’t have time for your antics right now. It’s been less than twenty-four hours, so destroy the deal and get your ass home. I’ll deal with you later.”
“No.”
I’ve never said it to her like that before. It’s clear, confident, and ringing with defiance. I normally laugh off whatever she says, and smile to her face. This isn’t the type of fight we have. She yells at me, I laugh, and it gets shoved under the carpet. Not this time.
“I’m sorry,” she hisses into the phone, “I couldn’t possibly have heard you correctly, so I’ll say it again and give you time to pull your head out of your ass, son. Get out of that property acquisition and come home. Now.”
My jaw locks as every muscle in my body goes taut. “No. I’m not going back on a contract, not now, not ever. I’m not the man you think I am. I’m not coming home, and I’m not your fucking heir anymore. I’m my own man.”
She laughs so shrilly my ears have that nails on a chalkboard reaction. I pull the phone away from my ear a little, but I still hear her scathing remarks. “You’ll never be your own man because no matter what you do, you’ll be walking under the shadow of your father. You aspired to be just like him, and that’s what everyone sees—another manwhore with money. You’re not the type of child a mother dreams of—you’re the kind we dread. In the back of every parent’s mind is the fear their child won't turn out right. What if he’s too depraved to be a good man? What if he’s a pathological liar, a narcissist, and likes the feel of blood on his hands? Congratulations, Jonathan, you’ve exceeded my worst fears for you on all accounts. Your inheritance is gone, and if you ever come here again, I’ll make you wish you’d never been born.”
I can barely breathe after that. I sit there stunned, staring at my boots long after the line goes dead. I whisper to myself, “You already did.”
CHAPTER 5
CASSIE
When Avery exits Jon’s office, she keeps her head down. At the last second, she glances up at me and offers a sad smile. I might suck at reading men, but that woman is an ally, a fighter, and a person who protects her own. She sees something in Sean that no one else does. I don’t know if he hides it from them or if they’re blind to it. The man probably puts on an act like the rest of us, but there’s more to it than that. To have everyone who knows you think so poorly of you, it’s odd—almost as if it were intentional. If everyone hates him, Sean has the space he needs to do whatever he needs to do with no one looking over his shoulder.
Avery walks past me then stops. She turns around. “Cassie?”
I turn toward her, stopping mid-step. “Yeah?”
“Thanks for saying something before. I try to act like it doesn’t matter, but it’s easy to tell it does when someone says something kind, protective. I’m not used to that. Thank you.”
“I probably overreacted.”
“Maybe, but if you hadn't, they wouldn't have listened. They all heard you. No one knows what’s beneath the surface. You reminded him of that. I wanted to make sure I thanked you. It’s rare for a stranger to put their neck out for me. Actually, the only other person I can think of is Sean. I’m glad I met you.”
I can’t help it, I smile. “Me, too.”
She holds out her hand to me, and I shake it before she pulls me into a hug and slaps her hand on my back. She smells like strawberries. When she pulls away, she jabs her thumb back at the guys and says, “We know what they want, but I can't believe Jon doesn’t know what he’s doing. Maybe there’s something else going on here?”
I know there is. Jon wouldn’t have bought this place if he hadn't seen me the other night. I provoked him, and this is the repercussion. If Jon hated me, I could see him using the club to hold me here, but after that kiss, I know that’s not it. I admit it. I have no clue what Jon’s doing, what he’s thinking, or why he’s refusing to leave the club behind.
I part ways with Avery and pad over to Jon’s door. I duck my head inside the office. “Jon?”
He has his feet up on the desk and a strange look on his face. He drops his boots to the floor and slips his cell phone into his pocket before glancing up at me and smiling softly. “Come in, Cass. You don’t need to knock. Ever.”
I’m holding my arms around my middle, clutching his coat to my body. I should be shivering, but I’m not. It’s warm. I pull my arms out and hand it to him. Jon looks up at me and takes it. “Will you tell me something, if I ask?”
He nods without a second of hesitation. “Anything.”
“Why not?”
He blinks at me even though he knows what I’m asking. Jon looks at the dingy carpet on the floor, avoiding my eyes, shutting me out.
“Jon, it seems like an arbitrary line in the sand. Why not sign the pape
rs and live to fight another day?”
“Cass—”
“I’m serious. It’s like you’re trying to get disowned.” As I say the last word, I realize what he’s doing. I didn’t see it until that moment. My brows wrinkle together as I ask, “Why?”
Still avoiding my gaze, Jon lifts the packet of papers and holds a lighter underneath. The little flame flicks to life, and he lowers the pages, his eyes focused on the tiny embers of paper as they ignite. “There’s a reason.”
“Is this the best way to do it? To walk away from them? From all of them?” My voice is too soft.
Jon bends at the waist to pick up an empty metal trashcan and tosses the papers inside. The dancing flames are reflected in his eyes. “Please don’t try to bend the truth to make it easier to swallow. I know what they think, what they did. I’m going down in flames on purpose. They all expected me to. I’m just giving them what they want.”
“You wouldn’t have done this if it weren’t for me.”
“I would have done it before now, but it wouldn’t have meant anything. Helping you changes everything. Club Ferro isn't going anywhere. They’ll have to sue me to get the Ferro name off the sign, and they probably will. It won't surprise me if Sean torches the place tonight.” His jaw locks as he speaks like he’s lost in a nightmare while he's still awake.
I reach for him, place my hand on his arm. “Jon?”
When he looks up at me, there’s pain in his eyes. Why haven’t I seen it before? How could I not notice? I squeeze him gently and swallow hard, wondering what secrets are buried within this beautiful man that he wears a candy shell to keep people from finding out. His carefree airhead routine is an act—it always has been.
He forces a smile and squeezes my hand. “Cass, can I crash at your place tonight?”
My heart drops into my stomach. The way he looks at me, the way he touches me makes me think I should say no. I can't sleep with him. I can’t even kiss him. Something’s terribly wrong with him, and I don’t want to be a rebound. I want to be his friend. He needs someone right now, and it’s clear he believes he’s alone, even though he’s not.
Perception is reality.
“Of course," I nod. "I don’t have a lot of room, though, and I need to make sure my roommate doesn’t mind.” His hand feels so good on mine, so warm and caring. I slip my fingers away while wishing I didn’t have to.
“You live with someone?”
“Yeah, Beth. She’s around here somewhere.”
Jon smiles sheepishly. “I sent her home. I sent them all home—paid day off.”
“Really?” I blink at him, shocked. “Why?”
“I didn’t know how things would go with you, and I didn’t want people around, so when you and I were in the pink room, Trystan brought them up to speed, paid them, and sent them home.”
My jaw hangs open, and I stare at him. My mind is hung up on a thought, a small hook snagging me, bringing me back again and again. He thought something might happen, and if it were a fistfight, it’d be better to have people around. That’s not it. Jon wasn’t worried about me going batshit crazy on him. He wanted privacy—he wanted me. Here. Tonight.
My heart trips and stumbles inside my chest. I nearly choke and try to cover it up by coughing into my hand. I look everywhere except at Jon. My head is swimming in the smell of burning paper when I feel his warm touch on my arm.
Jon turns me around gently and releases my arm. Gazing into my eyes, he asks, “What’s going on inside that head of yours, Cass?”
The touch makes me shiver, and my throat tightens. If I speak he’ll hear it, he’ll know how much I want him. It’s not my fault. We’ve always been like this—attracted to each other beyond reason. And that’s my issue, it’s not what I want in my mind, but my body suddenly remembers it's in a corset, bound tightly. It makes my waist tiny and my breasts swell above the taut fabric. I'm wearing the wrong outfit for this conversation. Any physical reaction I have to him is obvious.
I laugh lightly, using the sound to clear my throat while trying to release the vice grip my hormones have on it. “Nothing. You surprised me.”
Jon watches me as I try to avoid his gaze. I finally glance at him and shake my head. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?” His pondering gaze makes me antsy. He’s not thinking about ripping my clothes off even if I am. There’s something else there, something delicate—something raw—like a thread of hope on which he’s hung every dream he’s ever had. I’m scared it’ll break. That he’ll fall. That he’ll turn into someone else.
Jon breathes in the smoky air and laughs. “I’m a man, Cass. You’re wearing a corset. Don’t ask me to explain how this works.”
That’s not what he was thinking about, but I act like it was. “I’ll go change.” I tap my fingers together and then pat my bodice.
“Yeah.” He watches me too long, without blinking, thinking things I can’t quite make out. He’s tired and worried, but I get a glimpse of the Jon I met in Mississippi—young and vibrant, unafraid.
“Yeah.” I echo his word, lost in thought, staring at his beautiful face. I wonder how differently things would have been for us if I'd never spoken to that reporter. We would have had our moment and burned up a long time ago. This wouldn’t be here now, this chance.
The voice in the back of my mind reminds me I'm not the same person I was then.
It’s okay. Neither is he.
CHAPTER 6
JON
Bryan has no fucking clue what I’m doing. He thinks I’m throwing everything away because of Cass, but that’s not it. He doesn’t understand. None of them do. Cass isn’t the problem. She’s my strength to do it—to walk away from billions of dollars, the cars, the mansion—everything.
As I lay on the floor next to her bed, I listen to the slow sound of her breathing, wondering if she’s asleep. The apartment she and Beth share is abysmal. Below street level, with musty old carpet covering concrete, this space was designed to shelter stuff, not people. The ceilings are low, and there are no windows. The walls are the color of despair, and there’s not much that makes this room Cassie’s. No pictures, no frames of smiling faces, and nothing personal. Lingerie fills the tiny dresser, her pink corset set on top, with stockings hanging out of a drawer that won’t close.
This room was meant to house the washer and dryer. The connections are taped off at the wall opposite me. I stare at the pipes and wonder how she lives like this. At the same time, she seems like she’s surviving which is more than I’ve been doing. I’ve been buying time while slowly dying, waiting to be estranged from the woman who bore me. She thinks since she gave me life she can take it away. I wouldn’t put it past her, but I need to break away anyway. My family is slowly killing me. One day I’ll look in the mirror and the man I wanted to be will be too far gone to pull back from the abyss of shit I’ve stumbled into.
Cassie sighs softly and rolls over on the creaky bed. Her roommate seems to care sincerely about her. Beth didn’t mind that I was here. Actually, a night off seemed to make her think more highly of me. Not many people do these days. By sunrise, I’ll be lucky if my mother doesn’t put a hit on me. Ferro family members are not disowned—they're annihilated, destroyed from within.
Sean will be the first in line when he finds out what I did. Bryan was pissed, but he has his own shit going on. Besides, when that guy gets high, everything is overly important to him. I don’t know how many pills he popped tonight, but he was up there with the kites.
I never did much with drugs. I prefer being in control of myself. Since I lost Cass, that’s what I strive for—holding my shit together. I’m not letting anyone sway me. That’s part of the reason I asked her if I could crash here. I want them to know I’m out of reach. The only question is how far will Mom go this time? I’m hoping I did enough to get shoved out, face-first, but not enough to get snuffed out.
Dad won’t do shit if Mom decides one way or the other. He’s too busy picking which pussy to feign interest in
next. I don’t want to think about him, or any of the mistresses. I don’t want to remember what happened or what I did after that. Fucking my dad’s lovers was twisted, but that’s not why I did it. It was her. It all leads back to that point. I hate thinking about it. When the memories pop into my mind, I torch them with a blast of mental napalm, but nothing kills those fuckers. They spring back, ever vibrant, glowing—forcing me to relive it again and again.
I roll onto my side and face the metal frame of Cassie’s bed. There’s no fancy skirt on it, no storage boxes underneath. It’s bare bones like the rest of her room—like the rest of her life. She said her husband dragged her back home once before. It’s probably better not to own anything. Possessions make it difficult to disappear. With this amount of stuff, she could toss a change of clothes into a bag and become a ghost in less than five minutes.
The pit of my stomach goes into a freefall. Soft fingers sweep across my cheek and then gently drift away. I glance up and realize Cassie’s head is resting on her pillow, which she’s pulled near the edge of the worn out mattress. The springs sag in the middle. I can hear a corresponding squeak for every move she makes.
“Hey, Cass.”
“Can’t sleep?” Her voice sounds sluggish, and her eyelids are only half open. She hangs her arm off the bed and sweeps her fingers against my cheek again.
I grab hold of her for a moment, kissing the back of her hand to assure her I'm fine. “I’m okay. Go back to sleep.”
She pats the bed and scoots back toward the wall. It’s a twin mattress, and she didn’t offer me that spot when she was awake. And now that I’m a little bit sleepy, and she’s only half awake, I don’t trust myself to use that place to rest.
