“She shouldn’t have interfered in our business!” Came her father’s sharp, cold reply.
“She’s a child!” The man drew an audible breath. “She was trying to protect her mother; the very woman you raped, after you had beaten her senseless!” The man snapped.
“Stay out of our business, Roland!” Her father hissed back, as the man continued to examine her.
“It’s my business when they end up being my patients. I have patched up your wife one too many times; so, I damn well know that you need help with this problem. No amount of money will keep your tracks covered all the time, Jones.”
She heard her father move from whichever corner of the room he had been standing in, to draw closer, causing her to stiffen. “Are you threatening me, Roland? Are you forgetting that I have access to the most fearsome criminals in this country?” Percival Jones demanded- his voice full of disdain.
“You won’t need them, Jones; teachers will ask questions, and what happens if she gets sick at school, and the school nurse decides to give her a thorough check-up? Where will you tell her that the child got these cuts and bruises from; falling? I don’t even know how the fuck you’ll explain away this hairline-fracture.” The man seemed to stop to draw breath once more, his voice rising once he recommenced speech. “And even if you’re stupid enough to put a head-price on me, they won’t be so happy to know that it’s because you’re beating the shit out of your wife and daughter.”
After that, a lot of things had changed, but her father had kept on disappearing and reappearing, until at one point they hadn’t seen him but on TV for five whole years. Then he came back, and everything changed for her. Even now, she wished he’d just stayed away.
✽✽✽
Now, she reached up with a shaking hand to touch her temple as a headache started to brew. Sometimes, she wished she could just forget; after that first incident, she had been home schooled.
Carter’s gut clenched when her eyes opened, and emotions peered from her sockets.
What hell had his fragile rose been forced to go through? He cupped her chin and forced her to look into his eyes; hoping his eyes portrayed the fierce protection he felt for her, and not the anger that was threatening to tear him apart. “Rochelle,” he whispered softly, and leaned forward to put a gentle kiss on her lips. His reign is over, he promised, in his heart.
Chapter Eight
“… A near death experience… gives you an insight into how fleeting life is, and what’s important.”
—Frank Serpico
ROCHELLE STIRRED WITH A telling smile on her face once more. Slowly, she forced her eyes open and looked at the clock on the bedside table: eleven a.m. She turned under the covers, causing them to rustle, and reach for Carter’s pillow. Pulling it close, she inhaled his natural scent and sighed.
After a good amount of persuasion, she had gotten him to agree to a late breakfast meeting with the Venezuelan president. He had, however, left her with a firm kiss and a warning, “I’ll be back around three, don’t go anywhere.”
He had assured her that there was enough food in the suite to last her for an entire month, credit to his manager’s PA of the LA branch of business.
Pushing back the covers, she swung her long legs to the ground, just as her cell rang. Snatching it up, she answered before checking the caller ID. “Rochelle Jones.”
A ruffled voice breathed down the phone line. “Oh my gosh, Rochelle, I thought it was you!”
Rochelle frowned, as Stacey continued in a spell of gibberish.
“Stacey, calm down, so that I can understand what you’re saying,” she stated firmly, and instantly, the other woman’s unintelligible chatter ebbed. She heard the older woman take a deep breath, and could almost visualize her expression as her generous breasts struggled to unite with her harried breathing.
“Aren’t you seeing the news? Turn on the television to ABC,” Stacey stated in a breakneck speed, not allowing Rochelle to even answer the question.
Frowning some more, Rochelle walked to the wall facing the large bed and touched the Madonna, as Carter had shown her, and the picture split down the middle. As soon as each side of the painting opened enough, she retrieved the remote below the fifty-one-inch screen and turned it on, flicking to the channel.
‘Australian Shipping Tycoon’s Close Call,’ the headline read, as it rolled across the screen. “A drunken couple caused a six-car pileup on the I-15 thoroughfare around three forty a.m. this morning. The 2001 Nissan car- or what’s left of it- sporting a ‘JUST GOT MARRIED’ sticker on the back glass, slammed into the tycoon’s limo, that was heading, seemingly, for his Henderson mansion in the opposite direction of the newlyweds. The limo contained three occupants aside from the limo’s driver: an unidentified female occupant, Daniel Hemsworth, CEO of the Hemsworth Corp, and the tycoon. The female passenger and limo driver are said to be part of the list of casualties of the freak accident, whilst the tycoon and his friend escaped with minor injuries. The families of the other victims are piling up at the nearest hospital where they had been transported, waiting with baited breaths for news about their loved ones. The newlyweds also died in the pileup, leaving many citizens without what they would see as closure. With six dead and counting, and several injured, it leaves the Henderson bevy asking, ‘What are the authorities doing about the DUI laws in the Sin City, because this could have been me?’”
Rochelle’s heart slammed against her chest, and she placed her fingers around her neck. She watched as the reporter touched her earpiece, just as the newsroom was about to cut the connection. A slight frown pleated her tanned brows as she focused on the camera and brought the microphone to her lips as the sun shone down on her. “We have just had it confirmed that the female occupant with the tycoon was Emily Ross, the Miami singing sensation with the ‘What a Woman Truly Wants’ hit, that has been topping the charts all year. Ross seemingly had replaced the tycoon’s date, Rochelle Jones, the daughter of the Jamaican Justice Minister, and co-owner of the brand label ‘The Hummingbird Club.’ We’ll receive more information from the singer’s PR group later on in the day.” The reporter paused and cleared her throat, seemingly moved. “On behalf of my team, I express condolences to the Ross family. Another sensational young woman lost to another’s stupidity; she shall surely be missed.” With that, the news segment took a break, with Emily Ross bellowing her number one hit.
“Rochelle?”
She blinked away the tears in her eyes as her friend’s voice pierce the frozen bubble around her. “Stace, that should’ve been me, and not Emily,” she whispered, too choked up to get her words out clearly.
“Oh, Rochelle, we can’t choose our destiny. It’s not your fault; it could have been both of you,” Stacey said gently, instantly changing from the frantic friend, to the consoler, trying to soothe.
After a few minutes of compassionate bantering, they severed their connection and Rochelle stared, lost, at the television screen as another reporter brought news out of Iraq. Reaching out blindly, she switched off the device, and moved in a daze towards the bathroom. She jumped- agitated- when the cell shrilled within her palm. Hesitantly, she answered and placed the cell to her ear.
“Are you okay, sweetheart?”
Her muscles relaxed slightly, as his thick accent washed over her and tears prickled her eyes. “I don’t know,” she whispered shakily.
“Thank heavens I came to you last night; our coming together was fated.”
Rochelle closed her eyes and leaned against the bathroom door.
“I wish I could be there,” he said gently, and she swallowed the ball in her throat.
“Me too,” she responded jerkily. She heard him sigh, and could imagine him running his fingers in frustration through his thick curl and them falling back into place perfectly.
“I’ll try to get back as soon as possible; would you like to go to the hospital to check on Patrick?” He asked, after a slight pause.
Could she handle it? “I’d lo
ve to,” she whispered.
“I’ll send my driver around; fifteen minutes, okay?” He questioned.
Rochelle swallowed. “No, Carter; it’s okay if I drive. Bigger vehicles are easier…”
To be hit; the unfinished statement laid open between them, neither acknowledged it, but understanding its gravity. “Ok, belle; the navigation system in the car will help you if you aren’t sure where to go. Take the Lexus, it has a stronger structure, the keys are in the bedside drawer.” He paused, and her fingers tightened around the phone. “I’ll let someone meet you at the hospital; no doubt the media is in a full ringed circus there, and they’ll want a piece of you.”
Rochelle nodded numbly, forgetting that she can’t be seen.
“Rochelle,” he stated hesitantly, as if he wasn’t sure what to say to her.
“I’ll be fine, Carter,” she reassured with a sigh, they sounded like people who knew each other for years, instead of merely hours; people who could tell what the other was thinking and complete each other’s sentences. She couldn’t understand why she felt more comfort from them talking like they’d been married for years than she should, but she couldn’t find it in her heart to feel differently.
“Ok, I’ll try to be back as soon as I can; be safe.”
Rochelle looked down at the now dead cell, not even realizing that she had never given Carter her number. Opening the bathroom door, she went to take her well-needed shower.
✽✽✽
“Prince, the jet has been refueled, and we’re ready to depart in a few minutes.”
Tens of miles away, Carter nodded in acknowledgment to the young pilot as he slid the phone into his pocket. He had just stepped into the private lounge in the airport when the news had flashed across the screen. The sight of Patrick’s limo had caused his stomach to clench so tightly, that he had unconsciously kneaded his abdominal muscles. He had come close to losing her; so close.
Reaching for his cell again, he dialed Tyler. “Get one of the guys to shadow her at the hospital, and keep a tab on the Lexus.” He glanced briefly at his watch and rose to his feet. “Ensure that she gets back to the suite safely, Tyler. I’ll be MIA until we touch down in DC; take care of her,” he stated firmly.
“No problem, Boss,” Tyler stated knowingly, and rang off.
✽✽✽
Just under half of an hour later, Rochelle followed meekly behind the middle-aged doctor as they weaved their way to Patrick’s room. Carter had somehow issued her number to the older man, who had called her in order to direct her to the tycoon’s private suite. A shiver ran up her spine once more, and she threw a seemingly casual glance over her shoulder, checking if the pair of eyes she had felt boring into her back were indeed real. As on the other occasions, there were no out of place or odd person, and she left it as paranoia.
“Miss Jones,” the doctor said gently, and politely indicated that she could go first. “Mister O’Connor and Hemsworth are sharing this suite; they are currently under a thirty-six-hour surveillance. If everything goes okay consecutive to that, they will be released.”
Rochelle nodded in acknowledgment and thanked the man before he turned away to return to his duties. Reaching up, she knocked gingerly on the door, then opened it when she got the go-ahead to enter. Her eyes began to glitter with tears as she took in Patrick and Daniel.
“Oh, Chelle,” Patrick murmured, and stretched out his arms for a welcoming embrace.
✽✽✽
Now, hundreds of miles east, Carter fisted his hands in his pockets, his low nails digging into his palms, as he struggled not to reach for the gun tucked securely against his spine. Withdrawing his right hand, he looked at the time on the face of his Rolex; it was three p.m. in Nevada. He had promised Rochelle that he would have been back by then, but he wouldn’t even get there until way after supper.
He had flown to Washington, DC on a rush of impulsiveness when Tyler had reported that the Justice Minister was meeting with the United States president. When he had called Rochelle before he had boarded the chopper to tell her of the delay, she had still been sitting in with O’Connor. One thing that he could be happy about was that she had some distraction whilst he was out on business.
Percival Jones looked curiously at him, as the president shook his hand heartily with a broad, welcoming grin, and anger so fierce rushed through his veins that he gasped at its sheer impact.
“Carter,” James murmured to get his attention, as they entered the Oval Office.
Carter blinked and frowned, as he tried to push down his anger and hatred. “Sorry, rough day,” he murmured to the president, before he took a cushioned seat.
“Know him?” James whispered curiously, when he saw a cold glint flash through his friend’s eyes as he flicked a gaze at the Jamaican Justice Minister.
Carter’s muscles around his jaw jumped when his teeth clenched as he remembered the pictures he had sent to Tyler hours ago. He had been busy collecting evidence whilst Rochelle had slept peacefully. “I just can’t stand a man who’s weak enough to resort to abusing his wife and daughter to feel superior,” he stated harshly, low enough for only the president to hear.
James looked at Carter, his muscles coiling, tightening as if ready to strike, and he saw what the other man was trying very much to hide. He looked at Percival Jones, and his muscles tightened afresh before he returned his gaze to his dear friend. “So, that’s where Rochelle Jones had been?” James breathed, his blue eyes darkening after slight consideration. “So the rumors are true then?”
Carter nodded, as he straightened his blood-red tie. “I would bet my life on the fact that those shoes on his feet would be a perfect match to the fading bruises on her abdomen,” he bit out, and felt James stiffen beside him.
“Then what the fuck are you doing handing this asshole a business deal?” James demanded, and a cold smile formed on Carter’s lips. He had only briefly informed James of why he wanted to be a part of the meeting with Jones as he had ran to the car from the chopper’s strong wind.
“I want to get into his inner circle, James, because I am planning to dismantle the motherfucker bit, by bit, and limb, by limb, and watch him bleed out if I can,” Carter said bitterly, a coldness in his eyes that never caused James to doubt for a second that he would, and for a brief second, James felt sorry for the other man.
Clearing his throat, the president turned to the group of high-end businessmen and women before him to commence the meeting.
✽✽✽
Back in Nevada, Rochelle allowed her hair to spill over the edge of the Jacuzzi as she laid her head on the headrest and sipped a glass of Rosé, watching the purple and orange sunset. At the hospital, she had seen the full power, or rather, just a glimpse of what Carter could do whenever he wanted to. The hospital staff had catered to her every whim, without question, and with the utmost courtesy. He had even sent protection with her; that was why she had felt as if someone had been watching her, because someone had been.
She smiled, as she remembered how shocked Antwan had been when she had boldly asked him if he had two jobs now, when he had promptly placed a tray piled with delicacies for lunch before her. It had been a lunch that had not been requested, but had been highly appreciated. After a few minutes of trying to convince her that she was truly mistaken, and had the wrong person, she had told him that she knew he was one of Carter’s bodyguards, and that she could also see the wire behind his ear that was well-hidden by his haircut, just to put the poor man out of his misery. After that, she could have seen the respect and appreciation in his eyes when he had warmed to her beautifully, and even allowed her to race with him on I-15. Which- come to think of it- hadn’t been a smart move after everything that had happened.
Sighing contentedly, she sank deeper into the warm, scented water, causing small waves to crash against the edges of the structure. Reaching out with her free hand, she plucked off a few white grapes and placed them between her lips. She groaned with appreciation when her sharp teeth p
ierced the fruit’s thin skin, and refreshingly cool juice sprayed against the walls of the cooled cavern of her mouth. Closing her eyes, she drifted off into blissful sleep.
Chapter Nine
“... You are my highest high...”
—Kravitz Lenny
CARTER LOOSENED HIS TIE and dropped it on the entrance table. He could smell the temptingly warm fragrance of vanilla-scented candles throughout the apartment.
Removing his cufflinks, he placed them on the island as he walked over to the bar. A Rosé bottle was waist deep in water and ice, and he retrieved a glass from the crystal cupboards, pouring himself a healthy share. Following the candle scent, he found his prize, though not as he had expected.
With a smile, he leaned against the bedroom doorway that led to the balcony. The orange flames of the almost dying candles caused the small beads of water to glisten like golden studs on her brown skin. One hand rested before a small bowl of grapes, whilst the other hung over the edge, with a wine glass dangerously close to slipping from its fingers. Shaking his head slightly, he took a sip of the cool liqueur as he took in the small puddle on the terracotta-colored floorboards around the Jacuzzi, and the small droplets that were still falling from the almost empty glass.
Pushing off the wall, he walked over and slowly retrieved the capsized glass, as he nuzzled her exposed neck gently. Placing a small kiss behind her ear, he savored the gentle, yet, intense mixture, of what was purely her, with a little of the vanilla salts- easing back slowly when she sighed.
His eyes roved over the parts of her body that were visible above the water line. They were quickly captivated by the water’s movement, as it ebbed and flowed against her chest as she inhaled and exhaled, caressing the tops of her exposed, creamy mounds. Beads of water that had condensed from the rising steam, on her much cooler skin, ran down her neck and into the water. There was a slight shadow cast on her face from the candles, because of the tilt of her head that only managed to magnify her beauty. He took in her slightly parted lips and her long lashes brushing against her cheeks with a smile.
From A Harlot To A Princess Page 8