by Xavier Neal
Touched by his explanation as well as his declaration, I lovingly cradle his hand.
How could I not wanna spend the rest of our lives together? At every turn his love and loyalty to me never falters. Isn’t this what true love looks like? Isn’t this how the one person you should spend forever with treats you?
After a first class plane ride to South Haven Island, we head straight to the beach house Pax borrowed from a client, change into formal wear, and head for the auction with just a few minutes to spare.
Arm in arm, the two of us enter the estate sale being hosted in the largest convention center on the island. There are wall to wall displays, each assigned with their own security guard and host. The sea of black and white attire floods my vision, and I find myself wondering if I’m under dressed.
Pax gently pulls me off to the side. “What’s wrong, Buttercup? Nervous?”
My eyes follow a woman wearing a backless designer gown with a pair of stunning red heels. “Um…”
He turns his head to see what has my focus.
“Do I need to buy you those shoes?”
The question snaps my attention back to him. “I don’t need you to buy me anything.”
“Want.”
“No.”
His hand flies questioningly in the air. “Then what?”
I run my hands down the side of my black cocktail dress to smooth out nonexistent wrinkles. “Do I look okay?”
The bafflement on his face builds more insecurity.
“I mean, I know I’m not as stunning as most of the women here but-”
“Don’t.”
“-I don’t look completely out of place, right? Do I look, like, lost?”
“Stop.”
“Do I look like I have any business being around these people? Is anyone even going to take me seriously? I’m here to represent my company, but you saw the looks of disgust they gave me at the door. Maybe I can’t do this. Maybe I should just-”
Suddenly, Pax presses his body tightly against mine and braces his lips beside my ear. “Another word and I’ll take you to the bathroom to spank that pussy until its red and weeping.”
The threat elicits a small whimper.
“This is your world, Ryann. Act like it. Do not slink back into the shell of the woman who almost skipped her interview with the company she loves so much. Hold your head high and remember why they hired you. Why they asked you to come. And why you are the only woman in the entire goddamn world I fall to my knees for morning, noon, and night.” His hold on my hip slightly tightens. “This is not the time to forget how fearless and powerful you are. Now is the time to own it.” He steps back, adjusts his tie, his stirring cock, and states, “Now, show me around this garage sale.”
I lightly laugh and curl my arm back around his. “Essentially that’s what this shit is. A garage sale for the wealthy.”
The two of us begin our tour to the right, in the area designated for weapons. We pass various types of guns including revolvers from the American Frontier, antique dueling pistols, Nazi pistols, and eventually arrive at a vast stretch of swords from other countries.
We stop at a table displaying a Samurai Katana, and Pax plainly states, “I could easily behead Jesse with this.”
“No, no, no,” the redheaded woman standing beside the security guard denies. “These items are not for use.”
“For two hundred and twenty two thousand I don’t believe you get to dictate its use.”
Her eyes bulge in fear.
Pax slips out of my grip, takes a slightly squatted stance, pretends to grip the sword and gives his attention to me. “During my time in law school, I was friends with a guy whose father owned his own private marital arts studio.” He pretends to lift the object to a higher position closer to his face. “My friend helped his father train celebrities and their stunt doubles, as well as provide one on one lessons.” Pax swiftly switches the imaginary weapon to block the other side. “He was going to school for Media Law. Makes sense, right?”
“You look ridiculous.”
He lightly laughs but encourages me, “Get over here, and I’ll show you a move or two.”
I’m reluctant to budge at first yet find myself too intrigued to resist.
As soon as I’m within reach, his hands fall to my hips and push me into a squat. When I’m now low enough for his liking, he gripes, “Deeper.”
“Not happening in this dress.”
Another laugh leaves him, and the security guard watching joins in.
“Arms here.” Pax rearranges me. “Sword here.”
“You know this makes me look like I have a really long-”
“Is the end of that sentence professional?” He scolds at the language that was about to fall from my lips.
“You’re the one making us play Power Rangers at this thing!”
The guard laughs again, this time covering it with his fist.
My boyfriend chuckles at my point and says, “Fine. Just one more with actual action in case I’m not around to decapitate that dickhead.”
“And that’s professional?”
“I’m not working.”
Which I’m grateful for. He’s got one client that seems convinced she is the only thing in his life that matters.
“Now, like this,” he demonstrates, “and make a clean strike.”
I mock the movement, instantly receiving his nod of approval.
The host loudly interjects, “I would just like to reiterate this item is not for use.”
“He’s kidding,” I swiftly state as I stand up to straighten and fix my attire.
“This is a collectible item. Hardly something to kid about.”
Her lack of humor causes me to snip, “Are you sure? Because if we’re being honest, the price is a bit of a joke.”
“Perhaps to the untrained eyes, but the time period and the pristine condition-”
“Would equate its value if they were both correct. But they’re not. There are some markings on the blade that imply otherwise. And don’t bother trying to feed me the well-rehearsed line you were given to memorize. The markings are what happen when you attempt to improperly sharpen and clean a blade. Either one of the previous owners had no idea what they were doing, or the hosts of this auction did not delegate the task to the proper person. Unfortunately, my employer would not be impressed nor want to waste a display on an object that didn’t reach the high standards we value as a company. This Katana could have been worth the requested price. But as is? You’ll be lucky if it crosses the hundred thousand mark.” I offer the woman a smirk. “If you’ll excuse us, I think I see another sword that’s actually worth my time.”
I wrap my arm around Pax’s and lead the two of us away.
Pax lightly chortles. “You’re sexy as fuck when you put up a fight.”
My smile brightens. “And you see, I didn’t even need a sword.”
“How did you get into this line of work?”
Our stroll continues with my eyes doing quick assessments of the passing tables. “Ashwin, as you’re probably aware, is an art school. When I started, I wanted to be an artist like every other eighteen year old who knew her way around a set of acrylics, but then time ticked on, and I began to discover more about who I really was. How I got a rush doodling on public restroom doors with sharpies.”
“Rebel.”
I helplessly snicker. “How playing drunken hopscotch with the music majors was more fun than painting water lilies with water colors.”
“We gotta dust off those hopscotch skills.”
“How I enjoyed the part of existence where art meets living. All the self-reflection was due more or less to the art reflection class I took during my second semester in college.” We exchange short laughs. “I realized the reason why I had painted in my younger days was because I was kept from exploring trouble like a normal teen. Painting gave me that outlet. I could create and live in pure chaos with a paintbrush. The understanding got my wheels turning, and I found
myself curious what drove others to create their art. My focus shifted to art history, which eventually led me to an internship at McCormick and McCordick.”
“And led Eden to convincing you to interview in your current department.”
“Exactly.”
Our bodies stop in front of another sword to examine. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Pax staring at me with his mouth slightly agape.
Teasingly, I taunt, “Impressed?”
“How could I not be?”
“I meant with the sword.”
“I meant with you.”
Heat stings my cheeks, yet I opt for playing it confident. “Hope you’re prepared to hold onto that feeling because you’re about to be amazed.”
“You amaze me every. Fucking. Day.” He wets his lips as a hunger begins to grow in his brown stare. “Now, what did you wanna tell me about this sword?”
My attention swings back to the object we’re here to examine, and I quietly remind myself to focus.
Just a few more hours of shopping and then I will hopefully amaze him in a brand new way.
Our hunt for items is more successful than I initially hoped for. Out of the fifteen objects on the list I manage to purchase eleven and under budget. Sadly, the event exhausts us both, leaving no time or energy for tourist like fun. We grab sushi from a small restaurant near the convention center and promise we’ll do a little shopping for Hattie and Bart in the morning.
We make it back to the beach house just as night falls. Pax suggests enjoying a glass of red and cigar on the patio while letting our feet linger in the sand.
Positioned on the last step of the deck, he offers me the first suck of the succulent dessert.
I open my mouth wide to paint an erotic picture in his mind.
He groans, pulls my bottom lip with his teeth, and then steals a taste of the wine on my tongue before replacing his with the cigar. Once he lights it, and I’ve enjoyed the initial soothing sensation, we relax against the stair behind us, attention planted out in front of us.
“Love the beach,” Pax casually comments. “Italy’s beaches are fucking beautiful.”
“You’ve been to Italy?”
“We went every couple of years or so when I was a kid. It’s where my grandparents and Aunt Veronica live. They used to live here in the states, but when Papà graduated high school they decided to move back. He stayed. Got a decent job working as a bank teller, but eventually climbed his way up to a financial advisor. As an adult I’ve gone twice, but it gets difficult finding the time with work. However, Wyatt has the most successful track record for getting me to blow off business and leave the country.”
His smile ignites mine, and I pull the object from my mouth, releasing a long stream of smoke. “You talk a lot about your bros. When am I finally gonna get to meet them?”
He hums his indecision at the same time he plucks the cigar from my grip. “Soon.”
“How soon?”
There’s no rebuttal.
“You embarrassed?” Annoyance creeps into my tone. “Don’t want your best friends to know you’re dating a mom?”
His eyes narrow. “I’m selfish. I love having the two of you all to myself. Not quite ready to share my girls yet. It’s bad enough I have to with Bart.”
The answer threatens the reappearance of a grin. “How’d you all become friends anyway? You’ve never given me the Rat Pack 2.0 origin story.”
He rolls his eyes, blows out the thick smoke, and explains, “After everything that happened with Julez, there was this…fucking…hole in the heart. This aching feeling in my bones that I’d never have a real family again. That it’d always be fractured. That I’d always just have broken pieces of something. Then…freshman year in college, we all rushed the same frat, in search of…I guess a new kind of family than the ones we had left. One thing led to another, and we bailed on that bullshit to start something that turned us into walking legends.”
Increased curiosity in the often referred to but never discussed situation has me making another leap for more information. “What exactly happened with Julez?”
Pax’s attention shifts down to the sand as he shoves the cigar back in his mouth.
I scoot a little closer and place my hand on his black suit covered leg. “You can tell me, Pax. You don’t have to bear the burden of the load alone anymore.”
He remains reluctant.
Continues to stare silently at the sand.
Sucks harshly at the cigar between his lips.
Eventually, his voice takes a very low, very melancholy tone. “Carter was il mio migliore amico. My best. Fucking. Friend.”
I watch his eyes fall shut.
“We were on the football team together for four years. Swapped stories about getting head from cheerleaders and theater geeks. Played Call Of Duty…And then a few weeks before Julez’s birthday party, she tells me, he’s been stalking her.” He shakes his head slowly. “Julez was not the lying type and even if she was she was my fucking baby sister. Le sue parole mattered more than his. If she thought that’s what he was doing then…that’s what he was doing. So, I confronted him about it. He didn’t deny his interest in her. We fought. Told him to stay the fuck away from my family. Thought it was over…” Pax removes the cigar to let it dangle between his fingers. “I was so fucking. Wrong. He left her shit in her locker. On our doorstep. Texted her nonstop. Emails. Love notes. Then it escalated. He waited and watched her around corners. Followed her into restaurants or the movies when she was with her friends. He cornered her in the bathroom twice. My parents fought about the situation. What to do. How to handle it. And then one night while they were out attending this thing for Mamma’s job he used our spare key to break into our house and try to rape my sister.”
My gasp shakes us both.
“I um…came home early. The girl I had gone out with threw up in my car like five minutes down the road from her house. After I dropped her off, I went straight home to get it cleaned out. While I was searching through the cleaning supplies under the kitchen cabinet, I heard Julez scream bloody murder.” Ash falls from the cigar. “The rest is blurry. One minute I’m dropping a bottle of Lysol and the next my father is shouting to a police offer I was just protecting my sister.”
“Holy shit, did you kill him?”
For the first time since the story began, he meets my eyes. “I wish I had.”
My lips press tightly together unsure of what to say.
“He was pretty badly injured. His attorney played a mental disorder defense. You know. Violent video games. Violent sports. It melded his mind into violent actions. He didn’t need to be behind bars. He needed to be in a mental health care facility.”
“Tell me the judge didn’t buy that bullshit.”
“Like it was an Armani suit on clearance. He went to a health care facility while my attorney had to fight like hell to get the assault charges dropped. It was during all this that my parents’ marriage took another blow. They eventually reached a mutual agreement on the best way to protect Julez was to send her away. It broke Mamma’s heart. She cried for days before and for months after. They sent her to live with Aunt Veronica in Italy. We would mail letters once every couple of months to her old place of business that forwarded it to her new address as to not arouse suspicion. Sent my grandparents large ‘cash gifts’ to cover the cost. We didn’t visit. We didn’t call. We never received pictures or sent them. She wasn’t allowed to have an email address or any social media whatsoever. No unmonitored use of the internet. They wanted no trace of their daughter to be available for when he completed his treatment. They basically loaded her up in the middle of the night and put her on the first plane they could. That morning, after dropping her off, was the first time I smoked a cigar. Papà said it would ease the pain.”
“What happened to Carter? Did he go right back to looking for her when he got out?”
Pax slowly nods. “He did, but I had Holden keep a digital eye on him. As soon as I saw what Hol
den was capable of I used it as one more measure to protect Julez. He’s the only one of my bros that even knows I have a younger sister. Carter spent my first couple of years in college searching and obsessing over her ghost. He had saved photos and made shrines to their nonexistent love. He was sick as fuck. Not sure I would blame the video games and sports, but there was something severely wrong with him. I had never been more thankful my parents did what they did, but the price was high. I’d lost my sister. They’d lost their daughter. Their marriage.”
