Jewels And Panties: (Book 1-15) Billionaire Romance Series

by Brooke Kinsley

  Now that I was down here, I didn’t know what to do. Something insane was going on at the house and I didn’t want to know what it was. Not just yet anyway. I drove off toward the direction of San Lucrezia. The lights glittered like dragonflies in the distance, promising me a good time.

  As the car slinked its way down the hill and amongst the narrow streets and houses, people looked out their windows as I passed. A girl stepped out onto her balcony and flicked her glossy hair over her shoulder. She had the same tone of olive skin as Miranda. It made my stomach clench tight with regret.

  The bar on the corner had its doors swinging open and shut every few seconds as people drifted out. Some were alone with only a cigarette for company while others were in each other’s arms or locked in a kiss.

  I entered alone and felt the heaviness of the solemn atmosphere. It was then that I saw the wreaths stacked up around the room and heard the distant cries of a woman in the corner. I looked over and saw a gorgeous creature with long, silky curls and red lips that were smudged at the edges. She was sobbing into a handkerchief, only stopping to take a drink from the large bottle of beer the man beside her held.

  “Fuck.”

  I was on the cusp of heading right back out the door when the young boy behind the bar slid a beer down the counter.

  “On the house,” he said.

  I noticed his eyes were swollen. He must have been crying too.

  “Erm, thanks.”

  “You’re a friend of Bosworth, right?”

  I nodded.

  “Yeah, I remember you coming in here before,” said the boy.

  I perched on the edge of a stool but didn’t want to make myself too comfortable. I wanted out of here as soon as possible. Still, I had to admit that I needed the beer and it went down smooth and cold. It was so cold it sent a shiver down my spine. Holding the bottle to my head, I took a deep breath and realized just how exhausted I was.

  “Having a rough day?” asked the boy.

  “Well, I thought I was but something tells me you guys are a having a worse time.”

  I flicked my eyes over in the direction of the wailing woman surrounded by flowers.

  “Funeral?”

  The boy nodded.

  “My cousin Lol,” said the boy. “You might remember her. She worked here too.”

  I cast my mind back to the few nights I’d spent in here with Bosworth and the girls but I couldn’t seem to remember her.

  “Looked just like her mother,” said the boy and nodded toward the woman who was rubbing her eyes now and talking rapidly to herself.

  “Yeah, I think I remember her,” I said but I really couldn’t.

  An old man approached the bar and the boy turned to serve him. There was something peculiar about him, something sinister. Maybe it was the look in his wolfish eyes or maybe it was that he had hands so strong I imagined they could kill someone with a single squeeze. He may have been old, but he wasn’t frail and there were lines on his face like a map to his life. This guy had seen things.

  He noticed me staring and slowly turned his head. His eyes ran up and down my body with a look of pure contempt.

  “American?”

  “Yup.”

  “With Bosworth,” he said.

  It wasn’t a question.

  “I can’t go anywhere without someone mentioning him,” I said.

  “He’ll get what’s coming to him.”

  “Excuse me?”

  He didn’t repeat himself. Instead he lit two cigarettes and handed me one.

  “Thanks.”

  “You look like you need it,” he said. “You’ve had a bad day too?”

  “Is it so easy to tell?”

  “You smell like death,” said the old man. “And there’s blood on your shoes.”

  I looked down and saw my feet as though I was just noticing them for the first time.

  “Shit!”

  The old man laughed.

  “We’ve all had those days.”

  “Really?”

  “Hey, I won’t ask questions.”

  I’d never wanted to leave somewhere so much in my whole life. I slid off the stool and slapped the old guy on the back. It was like high fiving the rump of a bison.

  “Thanks for the smoke.”

  “Hey, don’t leave so soon. Stay a while.”

  “I… I can’t.”

  “Have somewhere to be?”

  I thought about returning to the house and I couldn’t even fathom what Lincoln would be doing.

  “Not yet,” I said and sat back down. “I guess I could stay for another.”

  I raised two fingers to the boy and he brought over a bottle of cherry wine. Fuck, I thought. Doesn’t look like I’m going anywhere for a long while.

  “I am having a bad day too,” said the old man.

  The wailing behind us had started up again. Looking round, I saw the woman rocking back and forth as she sobbed.

  “You knew her?” I asked. “The girl who… worked here.”

  “Lol was my grand-daughter,” he explained with a sigh. “She was an angel. She really was. Had tremendous gifts and eyes like an angel. She was the most beautiful girl I had ever known. Of course she looked just like her mother.”

  He fell silent and stared off at some point behind the bar. His eyes grew darker. There was a sensation emanating off him like pure hatred. I felt the urge to lean away from him or better, to run away from him. He looked like he was simmering in his anger, ready to blow at any moment.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said.

  It sounded feeble what else could I say?

  “She was murdered,” he spat.

  Then he took a long gulp of the wine and slammed down the bottle.

  “But cherry was her favorite.”

  Once again, I stood up to leave but was thwarted by one of his thick hands gripping my bicep.

  “Murdered,” he said. “Slashed until she bled out.”

  “Fuck. Jesus. I’m so sorry. I really hope you catch the bastard.”

  He held my gaze for a moment before bursting into a fit of girlish giggles. It was hard to tell what was making me the most uncomfortable, the sound of his hysterical voice or the fact that I’d walked in on the funeral of a murder victim.

  “Catch the bastard,” he said, mocking my accent. “Sure. We catch the bastard.”

  There was no denying just how shitfaced he was and at last I felt that I was able to leave. I slipped the guy a couple cigarettes and shook his hand.

  “I’m really sorry about your granddaughter. Really, I am.”

  He pressed his lips together, his chin wobbling as he gripped the side of the bar. Tears began to linger in the corners of his eyes. He was ready to erupt into a fit of emotion and I didn’t want to be here to see it.

  “I’ll respectfully leave you and your family to mourn,” I said.

  He nodded and squeezed my arm.

  “Like, I said, he’ll get what’s coming to him.”

  I was halfway across the bar when I took in what he said.

  “Sorry, what was that?”

  “Bosworth…” he said, facing away from me.

  There was a look of terror in the young bartender’s eyes. Around me, I could feel the heat from people staring. The crying woman was now looking right at me. She knew I wasn’t from around here and she couldn’t disguise her hatred.

  I took off and felt grateful to be in the front seat of my car. Driving out to the edge of town, I sat on the hood and smoked one cigarette after another as I thought about the old man. The desert stretched out into the distance. It was beautiful in its own wild way. This whole place was beautiful but dangerous too, just like the women I suppose.

  Up ahead of me, lights circled the perimeter of a building on top of a large hill. It wasn’t quite big enough to call it a mountain but at the same time, I didn’t feel much like climbing it without oxygen. Not with my lungs anyway.

  There seemed to be some activity up there. Maybe they were
at the funeral too, I thought. Maybe they were also the family of the girl. At first I thought the building up there was some kinda fortress, maybe an ancient structure from a bygone era. It wasn’t until I looked closer and caught the shapes of furniture through the windows that I thought it could be some sort of house.

  Curious, I slid off the car and walked closer until I was at the foot of the hill looking up through the trees as people walked in and out of a grand entrance. There were more people than I first thought they were. Some were in dark uniforms while others were in suits. All of them were carrying guns. Big guns.

  “This place is a fucking circus.”

  Still, I couldn’t take my eyes off the entrance where people were running in an out. A group of guys rushed down the long driveway carrying anything they could hold in their arms; televisions, stereos, food, cushions, clothes, anything at all.

  Then came the body bag.

  Large and smooth, it was dragged through the door with no respect or ceremony. Four armed guards dragged it by its corners along the ground and into the back of a waiting van. I watched as it snaked its way down the hill toward me. I ducked behind a tree as it passed but the driver was paying little attention. He was texting as he drove and more interested in talking to the guy beside him.

  “I’m outta here.”

  Waiting until the lights from the van disappeared, I climbed into my own car and drove back toward the direction of Bosworth’s house. I hoped to God he’d be asleep or in his lab. Who knew what he was doing down there but I just hoped he’d leave me alone. I needed a bed, some unbroken sleep and a shower. Then I was getting the fuck away from this mad town.

  I couldn’t go back home. Those bridges were burned but I could go someplace else, maybe even go further south. Who knew where my curiosity could take me? As long as I had my car and money for smokes I was happy.

  As I drove back through the town, I inevitably had to pass the bar again. This time the doors were wide open so I could see inside. There were more people now, more tears and dramatic wailing. As I hit the gas to get away, I noticed a figure in the rear view mirror leaning against the wall.

  There was no mistaking the posture and darkness of the old man. He was staring right at me.

  “He’ll get what’s coming…”

  Those words were aimed at Bosworth. The uneasiness returned to my gut as I thought about the man’s granddaughter. Slashed until she bled out. Another young girl slaughtered. The bodies followed Bosworth.

  As I saw his house appear at the end of the road, I prayed that he didn’t bring his habits from the Waters’ House down here with him.

  Chapter Eleven

  Lincoln

  The clump of cells were growing, I could watch it with my very own eyes with my stomach tightening with excitement. It wouldn’t be long. It was just a matter of waiting.

  Through the walls, I could make out the rumbling of Berger’s car as he returned. A few minutes later, there was the sound of his heavy boots stomping down the hallway. Panic set in. He couldn’t come down here, couldn’t see what was beneath the sheet. I waited with baited breath for his footsteps to disappear up the stairs and only let out a sigh of relief when I heard his bedroom door close.

  “Thank God.”

  I closed the door back over, letting the blue lights flash in my eyes one last time. Then I kissed the glass before bending down and kissing Etta through the sheet. It was cold down here and it was preserving her for a little while but sooner or later I knew I’d have to move her. I thought about her mother with the flies in her mouth and the way her eyes sunk as they decayed. I couldn’t let her end up like that.

  Closing the door to the lab over and making sure to lock it, I traipsed back up the stairs on weary feet and entered the kitchen. The ice machine would have to do for now, but the thing was loud as hell. Hopefully Berger was passed out already, preferably with a girl.

  As I held a bucket beneath the machine and watched the ice cubes drop to the bottom, I thought about Berger and Miranda. I thought he had the real thing with her. There was a look in his eyes when he mentioned her name that made me think he’d turned a corner, had finally found the one that was going to save him from himself.

  “Hey, what you doin’?”

  He was standing in the doorway with his boots still spattered in blood. His face was covered in dust and his hands were raw. His leather jacket that he always took so much pride in was dusty with sand and he smelled like beer and decomposition.

  “Shit, didn’t see you there.”

  “That ice machine sounds like an earthquake,” he said.

  He leaned against the doorway and looked into the bucket.

  “So what are you doing?”

  I shrugged.

  “Nothing.”

  “Just filling up a bucket with a fuckton of ice at three in the morning. That’s normal.”

  “Sure it is.”

  He laughed but I could tell he found nothing funny.

  “So, I met someone tonight,” he said, sitting down at the table.

  “Someone nice I hope.”

  “Not really. He was an old guy. Said his granddaughter had died.”

  “Bummer,” I said.

  “Bummer?”

  He looked at me as though he was ready to slap me.

  “Anyway, he said the girl had been murdered. Slashed.”

  “Oh… that’s terrible.”

  “Yeah. It’s really terrible, Bosworth.”

  His eyes were penetrating mine as though he was waiting for me to say something but I didn’t know what.

  “Old habits die hard, don’t they, doc?”

  At last the bucket was filled to the top and I slammed off the machine. It was freezing the side of my leg but I relished the stinging sensation. I closed my eyes as I reveled in the process of actually feeling something.

  “Are you okay?” asked Berger.

  “Yeah, why?”

  “You’ve been rubbing yourself against the ice machine with your eyes shut smiling to yourself for the last couple minutes.”

  Wait, was I standing there that long. It had just been a fleeting moment, surely. Not minutes.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Habits,” he said as he stood back up and made for the stairs. “You’d tell me if you still had them, wouldn’t you?”

  I watched him ascend the stairs. What the hell was he talking about?

  “Berger, you crazy son of a bitch. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  He laughed and shook his head.

  “Yeah, I’m crazy.”

  His door slammed shut again and I took the bucket back downstairs.

  “Etta? Sweetheart I’ve got something to make you feel a bit better.

  I dumped the ice into a box and saw that it only covered the surface of the bottom but it was a start. Slowly, I rolled her into my arms and picked her up. She was lighter now and her bones felt brittle. I lowered her down onto the ice, kissing her the whole time.

  “There, you’ll stay perfect forever.”

  I peeled back the sheet to see the side of her cheek and saw that her skin was a blue. Stroking my fingers across her, I thought about how good she’d feel when she was warm, when she was alive.

  Covering her back up, I grabbed the bucket, locked the door again and made my way back upstairs. I needed a whole lot more ice.

  Chapter Twelve

  Berger

  We were sitting at the kitchen table having what some people would assume to be breakfast but to us was a tense meal of whisky, cigarettes and worried glances punctuated with the occasional nibbling of toast.

  “Neat whiskey at the crack of dawn?” noted Lincoln as he pointed at my glass.

  “Well I usually have ice but it seems like we’re all out.”

  He pressed his finger into a pile of crumbs on his plate before sucking on it.

  “Berger, I hate to say it but I think you have a problem.”

  “You gotta be kidding me. Out of the
two of us, it’s me that has the problem.”

  I held the crust of my toast like a pen and stabbed it into the plate until splinters of charcoal fell like black snow across the porcelain.

  “I’m the one that has the problem.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh.

  “Where the hell is Etta?” I asked, changing the subject. “How is she?”

  “She’s fine,” he replied, a little too hastily. “Yeah, fine, just fine.”

  “I just think it’s kinda weird that her mother commits suicide and she’s nowhere to be seen. Weird, right?”

  “Right.”

  He sat back in his chair and chewed on his lip. His eyes darted back and forth as though he couldn’t focus, as though he had a thousand thoughts running rampant in his mind.

  “You know, I think I’m going to go for a walk.”

  He stood up and tore off his bathrobe. He was naked beneath it and his crotch was perilously close to my plate. I had the sudden urge to be violently sick.

  “Bosworth, what the fuck?”

  “Yep, a walk,” he said.

  He strode out the room, oblivious to my discomfort. When he came back a few minutes later, I was glad to see he was wearing a shirt and shorts, but when I looked down at his feet, I saw that he was wearing mismatching shoes.

  “Bosworth, buddy. Lincoln. Will ya sit back down?”

  His eyes were off focus again as he looked off far away to some place in his mind. I followed his gaze and saw he was staring out toward the pool.

  “Please,” I insisted.

  I must have looked pitiful because he took one glance at me and sat down.

  “What’s bothering you?” he asked, still clueless as to how strange he was acting.

  “Buddy, listen to me. I don’t mean any disrespect but… do you think you’ve maybe lost it?”

  “Lost what?”

  “You know…”

  “No, tell me.”

  It was still early but it was already hot and stifling in the kitchen. I walked over to the patio doors and yanked them open but all it did was waft in warm air so now it felt as though we were sitting in a hair dryer.

  “Everything that’s happened recently,” I began. “You think it’s finally taken a toll on you? I mean it would on anyone, right? No one would come away from all of that unscathed. And then there’s Norma and… being down here and… Look. What I’m trying to say is that if you need help you only have to ask. I’m not the most sentimental type but I wouldn’t let you suffer.”