by W Winters
I want to get lost and find myself somewhere else.
Glancing at the screen, I watch Bethany pull a book into her lap. She must’ve gotten it from her purse. I went through the contents of her bag before I retrieved her from the trunk. Everything’s there, except for her keys and a pen. I’ve seen both used in more violent ways than one could imagine.
She brushes the hair away from her face, showing me her vulnerability as she closes her eyes, and calms herself down.
I can get lost in her.
I lock the door to my office as I make my way to her, letting the keys clink against one another. My thumb runs along the jagged teeth of the key to the guest room as I think about stealing the fight from her, dragging it out of her and giving her so much more.
I’m careful with the lock, even more careful as I silently push open the door to her room. I don’t stop at a crack, I keep pushing until the door is wide open and I can easily step through the threshold. It’s quiet, so quiet in fact, that at first I don’t see her.
Her small form is still on the bed, and only the sound of a page turning alerts me to where she is. With the overturned dresser, splintered wood and ripped curtains, she could have been hiding anywhere in here.
She ripped out every drawer. She threw two across the room, denting the drywall and cracking the walnut furniture.
Fragments of wood litter a corner of the room where she demolished a drawer, slamming it on top of another.
What a waste of energy. She should’ve saved it for this moment.
Instead the poor girl is still, curled up in a ball, and has her nose buried in the book.
She still doesn’t see me, not even as I take a step forward, carefully stepping over a broken drawer.
The empty dresser, thick damask curtains and neatly made bed with bright white linens were all that were in the room. And now the fabric is heaped on the floor, the curtains ripped from the oil-rubbed bronze finishings and the armoire is … wrecked.
And little Miss Bethany sits in the middle of the bed, worn out and oblivious.
Her hair’s a chaotic halo around her shoulders. The faint light from the setting sun casts a shadow around her, but it highlights her hair and when she tucks a strand behind her ear, it hits her face. Her fair skin’s so smooth, it tempts me to brush my fingertips against it. The light falls to the dip in her neck, to the hollow there and it dares me to kiss her in that spot.
My cock hardens as I wonder what sounds would spill from her lips if I were to do just that.
“Looks like you had some fun.” My voice comes out harder than I anticipated, startling her. She practically screams and slams her book shut as her body jostles.
She stands abruptly, backing off of the bed and clutching the book to her side as she squares her shoulders. “Let me go.”
The huff comes back to me, but this time it’s with a hint of humor.
“You’re good at making demands when you have no authority, aren’t you?” I question her, feeling a smirk play at my lips.
Silence. It’s so fucking silent in this room, I think I can hear her heart pounding.
“Did you think destroying your room would … upset me?” I ask her with a deliberate casual tone to my question. Rounding the bed, moving closer to her, I kick a scrap of broken wood away from me. I follow her gaze as she glances at it, and then to the chunk of wood she left on the bed where she was sitting.
“Leave it there.” I give her the command and watch her resist the urge to lunge toward it.
Her plump lips tug into a feigned smile. It’s faint, but it’s there. She is a fighter. There’s no denying that.
“Did you want to anger me, Bethany?”
She flinches every time I say her name. That hint of a smile vanishes and the smoldering hate returns.
“I don’t care what you do with this room. I won’t be cleaning it up.” I shrug as I add, “I hope it calmed you down to make such a mess.”
With a gentle shake of her head, she huffs a humorless laugh at me then says, “Whatever you do to me, know that it won’t hurt me. Whatever it is, I’ll give you nothing.”
She practically sneers her words, even as her eyes gloss over.
“We need to come to an agreement, and seeing as how you’ve gotten some of your… displaced anger out of the way-”
“Fuck you. I’m not agreeing on a damn thing with--”
“Not even to get the hell out of here?” I ask and cut her off.
The anger wanes from a boil to a simmer as her glare softens. “Just like that?” she asks skeptically.
“I don’t want to keep you locked up… breaking all my shit.” I make a point of kicking a piece of broken wood to the side. “I didn’t plan this. And I want something else.”
“So you’re going to just let me go?”
“Once we come to an agreement, that’s exactly what I plan on doing.”
Shock lights her eyes, but so does skepticism.
“Do you think you can be reasonable this time?” I ask her, feeling I have the upper hand via the element of surprise.
“You fucking kidnapped me,” she scoffs, the control leaving her in an instant. I watch as her knuckles turn white from how she grips the book so damn hard.
I take another stride forward to the end of the bed, and now only a few feet and a puddle of cotton linens stands between us.
Bethany takes a half step back, but when she tries to take another, her heel hits the balled-up curtain on the floor behind her. The wall is next.
“You tried to shoot me.” My words cut through the air, leaving no room for negotiation as I add, “You should be dead for trying something so stupid.”
At my last word, she steps behind the bundle of fabric at her feet, pressing her back to the wall. Her body trembles even as she utters the words, “Fuck you.”
“I’m sure a well-read woman such as yourself has a wider vocabulary to choose from,” I taunt and then nod to the book in her hand. “What is it?”
She breathes in and out, staring at me and refusing to speak.
“What book are you reading?” I ask her with less patience.
“I don’t know,” she answers, not taking her eyes from me.
“Now you’re deliberately pissing me off,” I tell her without any attempt at hiding the irritation.
“I don’t know,” she repeats, raising her voice, and her words come out hoarse. All that screaming she did caused more harm than good.
“Bullshit,” I grit out and reach for the book, pissed off that she’s being so stubborn, so resistant. With a single lunge forward, I grip the book in my hand, the other finding her hip to pin her against the wall.
“No!” she screams out at me, ripping the book away, and the thin pages on top nearly rip off without the cover to shield them. She turns her small body away from me as I press my chest against her. Barely managing to turn herself to face the wall, she cradles the book against her chest with both hands, concealing it from me. “It’s my sister’s.” Her words are more of a cry than anything else, but the tone of them holds her explanation. “It’s the last thing she gave to me,” she bellows against the wall.
“I just got it yesterday; I don’t know what book it is.” Her voice lowers as her shoulders shudder. “There’s no cover and I don’t know what it is.”
So this is what it takes to make her cower? An attempt to steal a book from her?
She’s a trapped, scared, wild creature with nowhere to run and not sure how to fight, holding on to defiance because she has nothing else. I see her so clearly.
One breath, and then another. I stand there and just let her breathe.
“I believe you. Calm down.”
“Calm down?” she shrieks at me, her voice wavering.
“Lower your voice or you’ll stay in this fucking room until I feel like letting you out.” I practically hiss the low threat, backing away slightly, but still remain close enough that she doesn’t turn around. “Let me see it,” I demand, holdin
g out my hand. “I’ll give it back.”
She’s still and quiet for a long moment as my hand hovers in the air.
“There are times to fight and times to give in,” I say calmly and then add, “I might know what book it is.”
Thump. My heart pounds in my chest as she still doesn’t react. Hope starts to wane, but before I have to decide what to do with her, she turns to face me, and hesitates only a second more before giving me the book.
“Do you read a lot?” she asks me as I skim the first page and then turn it over to examine the back.
Before I can reply, a small sigh of amusement erupts from her lips and then she covers her mouth. I can’t help but to watch as her fingers trail down her lips before she lets her hand fall to her side. “Sorry,” she says. “That’s a ridiculous question.”
“It’s a ridiculous situation, so it’s a fair question,” I answer her evenly, letting her see how easy it could be if she just gives in.
Holding the book out to her, I shake my head and say, “I don’t anymore, and I don’t recognize it either.”
Her fingers barely brush against mine as she takes the book back, and the heat in her touch is electrifying. So magnetic, I nearly slip my hand forward, desperate for more. Her lashes flutter as she moves away from me, pulling back as much she can and wrapping her arms around herself. “What do you want from me?”
The immediate response is disappointment, and something else. There’s a twisting feeling inside that feels like a loss, but I would have had to have possession of her in the first place to justify this feeling deep in the pit of my stomach.
“I have an offer for you and then I’ll let you go,” I tell her simply, acutely aware of the way each word sounds controlled.
“Is that a promise?” she asks as her gaze lifts to mine and she shakes her head in disbelief.
“Only because you’ll be coming back.”
In return she bites her bottom lip, effectively silencing herself, but the rage is clearly written on her face.
“You want to hate me.” I address her anger before anything else.
“Yes,” she answers quickly and honestly.
“That’s only going to hurt you.” The rawness in my words comes from a place I don’t recognize.
She answers me, but she chokes up as she says, “I’m fine with that.”
The twisting in my gut gets sharper. The seconds pass, and the air changes subtly between us, each of us staring at the other and waiting for the next move.
“What do you know about Marcus?” I ask her pointedly.
She shrugs like none of this matters, as if she isn’t breaking apart. “I heard my sister say his name. He had something for her.”
“What else?” I push her for more.
“Nothing.” She looks me in the eyes and says, “All I had was his name and yours when she left.”
“Nothing else?” I finally ask her when I judge her response to be sincere. “Nothing about the drugs?”
“You’re all drug dealers,” she bites back.
“Now Marcus is a drug dealer?”
“He must be. Just like you must be.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because my sister bothered to learn your name.”
“What name is that?”
“Cross.”
“So when you said you know all about Marcus and the drugs…”
“I wanted to …” She can’t finish. Her lips press into a thin line before she finally says, “I wanted it to sound like I had you.”
Time moves quickly as I stare at her and she stares back.
“I wanted you to feel like you weren’t going to get away with it,” she whispers, breaking the silence and rubbing her arms.
“That’s all you know?”
“One of you had her killed.” She croaks the quick response and I can see the frustration on her face from not being able to keep it together.
“It wasn’t me or anyone who works for me,” I tell her calmly, keeping my voice low and steady and looking her in the eyes just like she did me.
When she doesn’t react, I add, “You have questions; I can give you answers.”
“What happened to my sister?” she asks me without allowing a second to pass.
“I don’t know exactly, but I can find out. And more importantly, it’s not going to happen like this. I have a way of doing things and a desire to handle things in a certain manner.”
She stares at me like I’m the devil and she’s searching for a way to escape. There’s no escaping from this though.
“You’ll get the answers you want and pay off the debt your sister owed.”
“What do you get?”
“It will be tit for tat. I seem to remember you mentioning Marcus and something else about drugs?” I press and she blanches. “But I like things done a certain way. When I have questions to ask and I need to make sure the person giving me an answer is telling the truth.”
“What way is that?” she asks in a single breath. The nerves are making her shoulders shake slightly.
There’s no way I can tell her; I have to show her instead.
“Every ten minutes is a hundred dollars.” I make up the amount on the spot and before I can calculate anything else, she questions, “Ten minutes of what?” She doesn’t bother to hide the trepidation in her voice.
I can see her nervousness, the anger barely hidden.
“I’m not going to lie, Bethany. One of the reasons I didn’t kill you where you stood in your foyer is because I find you…” I trail off as I debate on the next words I want to say, but take a risk.
“I think you’re beautiful and I love the way you fight me.”
Her lips part, her breathing coming in short gasps, and her chest flushes with a subtle blush that trails up her neck. The compliment leaves her more amenable. Her eyes widen, the depths of the darkness taking over as what I want sinks in.
“And what do you expect me to do?” she asks and her words are rushed as if she doesn’t already know.
“You’ll see.”
“I’m not a whore.” Her barb is immediate and raw. “I don’t care what my sister owed you.” She lowers her voice to add, “I don’t owe you anything.”
A smirk tugs at my lips and I lean forward, letting my palm rest against the drywall just above her right shoulder. Bringing my lips to her ear, I tell her, “I don’t have to buy sex and if and when we do fuck, it will be because you’re begging me to be inside of you.”
“Fuck you.”
“Those words again.” I tsk and then add, “You do owe me.”
“I don’t owe you shit. The person who killed my sister owes you, not me.”
With her raised voice, the tension rises as well until I tell her, “Three hundred thousand dollars.”
“I don’t… my sister…” She struggles to finish her sentence, choking on her words, letting the number hit her. Three hundred thousand dollars.
That’s more than she’ll make in five years of working her ass off at the mental health hospital. I know what she makes, and every cent she has to her name was in the file Seth gave me.
I can see the way number piles on top of her; the very idea that she would have to pay that amount suffocates her. Stealing the life from her for only a moment before she tries to back away from me, but there’s only the wall behind her. Nothing more, and nowhere to go.
“You have no choice.”
“Jenny couldn’t have…” It’s not the debt that causes grief to settle in the depths of her eyes, it’s the very idea that her sister owed that much money to men like my brothers and me.
“You have questions and want answers. I want my bar to be free of your bullshit.” Although my words are harsh, my voice is calm, as soothing as it can be given the situation.
Her gaze whips up to mine, and she battles the need to hold on to the anger as my eyes roam down her body. The sleeve of her shirt is ripped, probably from her own doing. Her nails are chipped—again, proba
bly from the way she’s struggled in all of this and then destroyed everything she could get her hands on.
“You have aggression and you need a release; I can give you that.”
She breathes a little heavier then says, “I want to leave.”
“I want an answer.”
Silence.
“You have a debt, an inherited debt and I’m giving you a way to pay it, free and clear.”
“I don’t owe you shit,” she whispers, her pain laced in between each word, woven in the air between us. But more than that… I can hear the consideration evident by the lack of her animosity.
“It’s your house, Thirty-four Holley Drive? Your sister was on your deed, wasn’t she? I’m guessing she helped you get the loan before she fell down the path that took her away from you?”
I’m an asshole, a prick. I’m going to fucking hell for this. With every second that passes, Bethany struggles more and more to fight, because she can barely hold herself together. “She used your home as a marker for this loan. It’s going to be paid.”
It’s cruel how I stand here, watching these words strike Bethany over and over. Each time taking a larger piece of her sister’s memory and changing it. Changing how she remembered her. And how she feels about her now.
I am the devil she thought I was.
“It’s not about the money for you though.”
My statement brings her gaze to me as I add, “And I’m not interested in taking from you what you don’t want to give.”
Her lips part, bringing me closer to getting what I want.
“You want to do it, Bethany. You will do this. The curiosity will win out. And if you don’t go through me, if you go back to pounding down doors and calling the police…” I let the unspoken threat dangle in front of her, allowing her to come to her own conclusion. “I’m a powerful man, but even I can’t save someone from themselves.”
My words seem to strike a chord with her, stealing what’s left of her composure.
“I just want- “
I cut her off and say, “I can give you what you want. And you can give me what I want too. Or you can pay me three hundred thousand by the due date, which is in…eleven days.” I make up a date, and then regret the fact that I didn’t say tomorrow.