by J. J. Sorel
After a long pause, I asked, “You were saying about Monty?”
“We were equally jealous. You see, Monty was a part of me and I a part of him. We should have been together. The family wouldn’t allow it. Society at the time would have ostracized us. Monty didn’t care. But I did. That was my vital flaw—giving a shit about what the Joneses thought.”
“Did you continue to see Monty after he married?”
Aggie peered over the balcony. “Oh look, there’s Edith.”
Frustratingly, I’d lost her. I was desperate to know more.
“Why don’t you read a little for me,” said Aggie. Her eyes were heavy, and I sensed she’d doze, as she always did whenever I read to her.
“But I always put you to sleep.”
“That’s why I like it. You have a lovely, soothing voice and I have nice dreams and Monty…”
“Monty?”
She fluttered her hand. “Just read.”
CHAPTER TEN
BRONSON
“Here,” he said, handing me the USB stick. “They should all be there.”
I studied the unshaven investigator for a moment. “That was quicker than I expected.”
“I’ve got my sources. And your guy gets around. As it was, he got the shots from a restroom in a bar frequented by lawyers. It was a Friday night, an after-work shindig.” He sat back in his chair. “You know how some lawyers like to powder their noses.”
Nodding slowly, I pulled out my wallet.
“Just give me another five hundred. That should do it. It was pretty easy. Only took one outing.”
Having expected to pay at least double, I was pleased with that.
When I got home, I jumped into the shower. It had been a long day, and my hands ached. Now that I’d been working ten-hour days, six days a week, my bank balance had bounced back to life, despite my body feeling it.
The hot shower worked miracles in soothing my overworked muscles, and after grabbing a beer from the fridge, I settled in front of my laptop, where I brought up the images the P.I. had taken. There before me, nice and clear, was my scumbag brother bent over, doing a line. As I studied the image, I did wonder what good it would do, considering that Justin didn’t hide his habit. But the courts didn’t know.
And if it took me a lifetime, I was determined to clear my name.
I kept scrolling down to look at all the photos. One made me pause. I enlarged the image and spotted a familiar face at the bar by his side. It wasn’t a surprise—if anything, rather predictable—but it still hit me hard. The blonde in the photo, rubbing shoulders with Justin, was Candy. I looked for Uncle James, but only noticed those two, looking at each other in that unmistakable way, for I could tell they weren’t just talking about the price of bananas, more the size, I imagined.
My uncle was a good guy. He’d always supported me over the years. He resembled my late dad, which wasn’t unusual, given that they were brothers. Both good, salt-of-the-earth men. It pissed me off that Candy was cheating on him, even though it didn’t come as a shock.
I thought about Ava again, which had become a favorite pastime of mine since I’d seen her at my mom’s. My skin crawled as I thought about that bewildered reaction on her face following Justin’s outburst about me being me a jailbird. A beautiful, refined girl like Ava would never look at me the same way again, let alone allow me to seduce her.
One thing was for sure, my need to have her had grown. The trouble was, I couldn’t work out if that was still about revenge or whether my desire for her was something deeper and therefore harder to define.
Whichever it was, I had to see her again.
I asked the cab to drop me off at the end of the avenue. In need of some air, I soaked in the damp earthiness of the established gardens, which was one of the pleasures of being in the suburbs. I had a thing for old architecture, with a preference for gables rather than the flat asymmetrical shapes of modern design—which was often described as bold and intelligent by that well-spoken English dude on cable.
Marcus had called to invite me to his engagement party, which came as a surprise. Knowing how thick he was with Justin, I assumed that I’d been banned from future family occasions following that confrontation at my mom’s fiftieth.
Although I was still in touch with my mom, a month had passed since that spat with Justin. I did wonder if Ava was still in the picture. She struck me as too sensitive and intelligent to stay with that shallow, abusive asshole, especially after what had happened.
I stopped before the lantern-lit driveway to my uncle’s piece of millionaire fantasy. Enjoying the smell of freshly mown grass, I fed my lungs something wholesome after the noxious fumes of city living.
While locked up in prison, I’d had plenty of spare time to dream, culminating in a plan. I was determined to create a wealthy, successful future. Not because I wanted to ponce around and live in a house that looked like it had been flown in from Disneyland but because I was determined to have a life that was creative and clean—well, maybe a little dirty in the bedroom—and breed children that I could love and cherish and encourage to make the world a better place.
First, however, I needed to rub my brother’s face in shit and, even more importantly, find out why my biological mother had dumped me outside that hospital twenty-five years ago. Something that had shadowed my life, and I couldn’t hold my head up high while weighed down by that question.
The door was open, so I strode in.
Laughter and people’s voices filled the air as I stood in the white marble entrance that was so bright I needed sunglasses.
“Whatever happened to moody lighting?” I asked myself.
I remained there for a moment, psyching myself into facing a crowd of cheery faces. Turning around, I decided to go back out and have a cigarette first, but my mother caught sight of me.
“Bronson, darling.” She came toward me with a big smile and opened her arms.
I kissed her cheek. “Hey, Mom. Sorry, I haven’t been around much lately.”
“I understand. You sound busy. I hope you’re not overworking.” She stepped away to look at me. “You’re looking handsome in that tux.”
I tugged on my shirt cuff. “I rented it. It’s a bit tight, I think.”
“Nonsense. It fits you like a glove. You’re looking healthy. You’ve got more color on your face.”
“I’ve been working outside in the sun.”
Taking my hand, she said, “I’m proud of you.”
That touched me in a spot buried so deep I had a hard time navigating it. Instead, I reverted to my uniform half grin.
“Come inside, sweetheart. Let’s get you a beer. The food’s delicious.”
As I entered the large ballroom, people stopped and stared. One thing I’d learned in my short life was that someone different or who’d fallen on difficult times seemed to cut a figure of fascination amongst those with ordinary lives.
Ignoring the attention, I looked around the room and settled on an aura of pink in the corner. From that moment, as though I’d been drugged, I fell into a pleasant haze of arousal.
Dressed in a pink gown that revealed a curvy, mouthwatering figure, Ava looked like she’d stepped out of one of those sixties James Bond movies. She epitomized sheer class— sexy and feminine without having it all on show.
Wearing that same fear and bewilderment as they had when we’d last parted, her eyes met mine. I wasn’t ready to make my desire for her obvious, so I looked away.
A battle raged between my dick, my heart, and my head as a cold, sinking feeling crept in. Ava was an intrinsic part of my plan. I needed to remain focused. Revenge required a strategic plan adhered to step by step.
I snuck another glance. It was impossible not to. The pink folds of fabric from her beautiful dress cascaded to the floor, clinging lightly over her shapely ass. Just to add to her beauty, Ava had tied a ribbon around her swanlike neck accentuating its slenderness.
I channeled the asshole within, a character I�
��d perfected after a year of soaking in bitter fury. No matter how beautiful Ava was, the game was seduction. To rub it right in Justin’s face. Not to have and to hold.
As Justin hovered around Ava, her rigid spine and tight expression told me they were no longer an item. Now that warmed my veins. I could read Justin like a book, not because I’d grown up with him but because when God handed out subtlety, Justin had been out pissing on a freshly painted wall in the middle of the day.
Oh, how sweet it was watching the asshole sweating it out.
Still, I couldn’t blame him. If that were me, I would have bashed down a fortress that even challenged superheroes on steroids in order to win Ava back.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
AVA
I excused myself and headed for the restroom, which seemed aptly titled given that I needed a rest from all the attention.
Justin had been skulking around me all night with those puppy-dog eyes and exaggerated down-turned lips, pathetically trying to win me over. I should have been used to his fawning, considering that we’d already broken up once before but a week after that, I had capitulated and accepted a date with him. My mom’s relentless begging to give Justin another chance had something to do with that decision.
The following day, after he’d tried to take me by force at Marcus’s party, Justin had called and promised to stay off cocaine and abstain from heavy drinking. He said he’d do anything to make it up with me. A few days after that, he turned up with flowers, his handsome face filled with remorse, which then morphed into a big smile. I ended up accepting a dinner date with him, after which I went home with him.
The same thing happened. No fire. No foreplay. Just six or seven pumps in and out and it was over. He ended on his back, panting, and within a few minutes, he snored. As I stared up at the ceiling, I thought about Aggie’s gut-churning regret for having married the wrong man.
A few days later, we were back to being that same couple. Justin’s eyes would glaze over whenever I talked about my day. We’d watch dull reruns or any kind of sport known to mankind—even a quoit tournament of all things.
Nothing had changed, so I ended it.
But I could hardly skip my best friend’s engagement party—precipitous as it was, considering Cassie had been with Marcus only four months—so there I was.
Rather stupidly, I’d told my mom about Cassie’s engagement. Her finger shot into the air like a missile. “See, she has the good sense to marry a wealthy man.”
And once again, she reminded me that Justin was just as rich and promised a comfortable future…yada…yada.
“A boring future with no passion,” I’d muttered to myself. Talking to a parent about sex had never sat well. I wished I could have told my mom that as a twenty-four-year-old, I owed it to myself to experience sheet-gripping, heart-pumping lovemaking at least a few times before settling for its bland opposite.
Standing before the mirror, I wiped off a lipstick stain on my cheek, and for the umpteenth time, I stroked the silky chiffon cascading from my hips, which floated into a full circle when I twirled.
After I’d mentioned that I had an engagement party to go to and that I needed to buy a dress, Aggie had tapped my arm and asked me to wait. Ten minutes later, she’d descended the stairs slowly, carrying an exquisite pink Dior gown that would have taken my annual salary to buy.
“Here. This should fit,” she said, holding it before me.
“Are you kidding me? But this is too precious,” I protested—meekly since I wanted that dress.
She waved her hand dismissively. “Ah… I’ve got tons of them. And it looks like a perfect fit. All I ask is one thing.”
Stroking the fabric as one would a pet, I looked up at her.
“That you wear your hair down. It will look nice that way. You have such a lovely long neck. Wear a little ribbon around it. You know, as they did in the Victorian Era. That always drives men wild.”
My brow squeezed in tight. “I don’t know if I want to drive men wild, Aggie.”
“Whether you want to or not, you just will,” she said with a confident nod.
As I hugged the layers of silk that emanated an intoxicating floral perfume, a strange feeling wafted over that Aggie wished to relive her past through me.
Removing a tissue from my bag, I wiped my armpits before applying some fragrance. My night had been hijacked by tension, which had little to do with Justin circling around me.
It had started the moment Bronson entered. Even from a distance, he robbed me of air. The way he filled that tux as if it was stitched onto his strong body made me sigh. With that undressing gaze boring straight into me, I had to prop myself against a wall. His dark hair sat up in a perfect tangle, I couldn’t ignore those full lips that opened slightly as if about to ravish something.
But he was a criminal.
He’d been to prison.
He was wrong, wrong, wrong.
In every way.
But how could a man look like that and not make a woman dissolve into a puddle of desire?
Every time his eyes fell into mine, I felt so exposed. I even started to believe that actual steam rose out of my skin.
I did wonder if Bronson looked at every woman like that, as though he were fucking them with his eyes. I hadn’t noticed his attention shift from me. And when he did look away, he focused down at his feet.
Even though I kept reminding myself he was potentially dangerous, my hormones raged on nevertheless, inflaming me with desire.
I flicked a strand of hair back over my shoulder and made my way back to the party. On the way, I caught Cassie coming toward me. She looked beautiful in a blue gown that hugged her lissome tall frame like magic.
“You look like you’ve stepped out of a fairy tale in that pink dress,” she said, taking me by the arm.
I swished the silk skirt. “I feel like I’m in Swan Lake. If I have enough champagne, I may even jeté across the room.” I laughed.
“I’d join you, but this little frock’s a bit tight,” she said with a giggle. “Hey, have you seen Mr. Dark and Dangerous in that tux?”
“Mm… yeah, he’s pretty hard to miss.” I looked around, but I couldn’t see him.
“He’s got Candy going all gaga, that’s for sure. Here he comes. Or I should say, swaggers. Ah… he’s heading over to us.”
“Don’t make it obvious, Cas. I’m going to get a drink.”
She chuckled. “I knew it. He’s got you all hot and bothered. And he keeps looking at you again, like at Marcus’s party.”
I rolled my eyes in response, which was a ruse because I liked knowing that.
After filling my glass with bubbly from the champagne fountain, I headed out for a little air. On my way out, a lovely little cupcake caught my eye, so I grabbed one.
It was a balmy, perfect night. There was no wind. Warm air caressed my flesh as I rested on a white iron bench.
Biting into the fluffy, sugary treat, I sighed as it melted in my mouth.
“That good?” A husky voice resonated nearby.
I turned and saw Bronson with an unlit cigarette hanging from his lips. My eyes landed on them, lingering for what seemed an inappropriate length of time.
“Um…” While I searched for a response, a little bit of saliva mixed with cake escaped my lips and slid down my chin, making me want to crawl under a hole and die.
While wiping it off with a napkin, I noticed Bronson’s attention on my lips while I licked them clean. I said, “The cakes are delicious.” I spoke in a hurried tone, which emulated my racing heart. “I have no control when it comes to sweet things.”
His lips twitched into a half smile and then straightened quickly. Something told me Bronson didn’t smile much.
“Is that the only thing you have no control over?” he asked. Lighting his cigarette, he moved away so that the smoke wouldn’t annoy me.
“I suppose it is. Sugar’s always been a weakness of mine. I’m pretty boring in many ways. I don’t have any bad h
abits other than that.”
He studied me as he sucked on his cigarette. Even the act of smoking seemed carnal on those lips.
“It depends on how one defines bad.” His eyes remained on my face.
“All the unhealthy things, I suppose. But then, Aggie, that’s the woman…”
“You work for,” he interjected.
“Oh, you remember?”
“I remember everything.”
“That’s useful if one’s studying for exams, I suppose,” I said, setting my plate down on a ledge by my side.
I waited for a response, but he remained quietly absorbed in my face. His eyes scorched my flesh again. “I was saying that Aggie wears her bad habits like a badge of honor. But then, she is 82. I suppose she can get away with her at-times-inappropriate take on life.”
His black, perfectly arched eyebrows contracted slightly. “Inappropriate?”
“Well, let’s put it this way. She has a salacious tongue and a dark wit about her.”
“Salacious tongue?” He tilted his head with a glimmer of a smile.
“That means… dirty-mouthed…”
“I know what it means,” he said, standing closer and making me gulp down my champagne. “I am educated.”
“I’m sure you are.”
He raked his fingers through his hair, making it sit perfectly as if placed there with product. His unshifting gaze unnerved me. I had to look away even though I wanted to keep staring.
“So, Aggie has a dirty tongue, then,” he continued with a hint of a smile.
Noticing his emphasis on the word “tongue” I felt I had to clarify my comment. “I meant when she speaks.”