by J B Reding
“What?” I ask.
“I said ‘who’s getting spanked’?” He chuckles.
“Oh.” Again with the giggling. Sober me would roll her eyes if she was here. But alas, she’s not. “I… uh… may have gotten drunk with Liz…”
He barks out a laugh. “And you didn’t invite me?”
“It wasn’t on purpose!” I whine.
“Mmhm. Sure, it wasn’t. Maybe not on your part, but I'm sure the she-devil knew exactly what she was doing.” He laughs again.
“Ugh, whatever.” I walk away, his laughter following me as I venture farther down the hall.
I knock on Nixon’s door and lean my head against it, waiting. I feel like I’m a kid who got called to the Principal's office. Again. Damn twice in one day. Guess I’m a naughty girl.
I snort.
Ugh. What’s taking so long. I bang my head against the door and rest it there. Mistake. Big mistake. Next thing I know, I’m falling into Nixon’s naked wet chest.
Oops.
I look up, resting my hands on his stomach. “Helloooo.” I giggle. “Am I getting a spanking?”
“Goddammit, Ember.” He huffs, then grabs my arm and leads me towards his bed.
“Oooh.” I giggle some more.
Kill me now, sober me thinks.
Drunk me giggles some more.
Nixon shakes his head. “Sit down and don’t move. I have to get dressed.” He sounds annoyed. Either way, he’s still hot as fuck.
“It was Liz’s fault. I didn’t do it.” I whine.
“Oh, so, Liz poured it down your throat?” He turns towards his dresser, his sexy back muscles on full display. God am I a sucker for some back muscles. Specifically, his back muscles. And that tattoo. Mmm.
I think I might drool a little.
I wipe my mouth just in case.
“At one point.” I say, smiling at the thought of him doing something else with my throat.
He snaps his head around and for a second I think I said that last part aloud, but my brain must be my friend tonight because he doesn’t mention it. I guess he can read the heat in my eyes though because his eyes get all broody and sexy. Well, sexier.
Goddamn, is it hot in here? I resist the urge to fan myself.
“Ember. Stop looking at me like that.” He chides, turning to face me completely, his hands going to his naked hips.
I shiver. Damn, I wanna lick that defined V cut.
“Like what?” I whisper, like we’re sharing secrets. I like our secrets. They’re always fun.
“Like you want to eat me.” He growls. Unconsciously taking a step closer to me.
“Ha.” I laugh. “No. I want you to eat me.” I say, pointing a finger at myself and nearly stabbing my boob in the process.
“Ember.” He warns, his voice rough and eyes hooded.
“Yes, Nixon?” I purr, sliding off the bed and slowly walking towards him like he’s a wild animal. And you know what wild animals do when they feel cornered.
They bite.
I shiver again as the tingle between my legs grows.
“Stop.” He demands but does nothing to make me. Instead, he watches me on bated breath as I get closer.
“Just one kiss, please.” I murmur, finally reaching him. I place my hands on his chest and run them down his stomach to his belt buckle. “Just one?” I whisper, skimming my hand back up his phenomenal eight pack. “Please.”
He snarls, smashing his lips against mine furiously. His tongue fighting to gain possession over mine. I whimper, reaching up to grab onto his hair as he snatches me closer.
He groans into my mouth, his hands gliding into my hair and yanking my head back for better access. I moan in return and try to get closer.
Suddenly, he rips away. “Fuck.”
“Why’d you stop?” I whine.
“One, you're drunk. Two, this shouldn’t happen.”
“Why!?” I practically yell. “Why the fuck can’t we happen? Why do you always have to push me away? Why can’t we just have a fucking relationship like we both fucking want? I don’t understand why you’re being such a pussy! You’re the fucking Boss now! What my dad says doesn’t matter. And even if it did, he wouldn’t give a shit and you know it.” I end on a mumble, trying my hardest not to cry. “I don’t understand what’s keeping us apart.”
“I know. Maybe one day it’ll be different. But tonight’s not it. I need you to sober up and be on high alert. It’s not the time to be reckless. You know this.” He murmurs, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. A tear falls down my check and he swipes it with his thumb. “Ember…”
“Don’t. Just don’t. I’m done.” Now it’s my turn to growl. “You’re right. Forget it. I’m just drunk.” I yank out of his hold and storm out the door and back to my room. I don’t even care why he asked me there in the first place.
Liz pokes her head out of the bathroom as I throw myself onto my bed.
“Everything good?” She asks.
“Yeah.” I grumble and curl up on my side. No, everything is not good.
I just made a fool of myself and now I want to cry. But I know realistically I'm being stupid. Being drunk just lowers my guard and all those feeling I keep locked up are set free.
Ugh.
I lay there for a while, wallowing in self-pity before finally gathering myself and getting up. Only feeling mildly tipsy now. I reach into my nightstand and grab my gun and thigh holster. I secure it to my left thigh, intentionally placing it on the side where my dress has a slit, which reaches a few inches above my knee, so it conceals my gun but still allows for easy access. I then slip back into my blood red heels to match my blood red dress and check my makeup, my lipstick just as red as the rest of my ensemble.
It’s going to be a bloody night.
I just hope not literally.
I look at myself in the full-length mirror. The bottom of the dress barely brushes the floor, allowing for glimpses of my six inch pumps. Most of the dress is smooth silk except for the long sleeves, which are made of thick lace and loop around my middle finger. I turn and check out the back. Or lack, thereof. The dress dips all the way down to my ass, leaving my whole back bare.
I should get a back tattoo.
“No.” A deep voice growls from the open doorway. I turn to look at Nixon and try to hide the confusion on my face. I refuse to allow him to see my emotions anymore. “No tattoos.”
“I already have one.” I lie.
Shock flickers in his eyes before he can hide it. But as it seems to always be with us, I catch it.
“What, your little minions didn’t tell you?” I smirk.
“No.” His favorite fucking word.
“You should get that tattooed on your forehead.” I murmur.
“What?”
“No.”
“I should get ‘No’ tattooed on my face?” He questions, a little dumbfounded.
“Yes!” Liz shouts from the bathroom. “It’s your favorite word.”
I look at him in triumph. Told you so.
“Have you sobered up at all?” He asks, annoyed.
“Yeah, thanks to you.” Dickwad. Although, that’s not the full truth, I’m still a little buzzed.
“Did you just call me a dickwad?”
“In my head. It’s not my fault you can read mind. Oh, wait, you can’t. Now, go away.” I shoo and walk him to the door. He goes reluctantly, although I'm sure he lets me because we all know Nixon doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to.
“Ember, I need not remind you of the danger tonight could bring, do I?” He asks sternly, turning back and staring me down.
“I didn’t mean to get drunk, Nixon.” I say heatedly, getting more aggravated by the second. “I was just worked up and nervous as shit. I thought a drink would help, but I didn’t mean to practically drink the whole damn bottle, okay? I’m not reckless, nor am I a fucking child. I understand tonight is a big deal. It’s me they want, after all. Now stop trying to be my dad and go be the Boss. Just
not the boss of me.” I stare him down until he nods and walks off.
“Only you could get away with having an attitude with a crime boss.” Liz snickers from the bathroom.
I roll my eyes. “Are you ready yet?”
She pauses, flicks one last layer of mascara on before puckering her lips and fluffing her hair. “Yep, I’m ready.” She finally exits the bathroom. “Oh, come on it won’t be that bad.” She says when she notices the look on my face.
“Easy for you to say. You’re not the bait in this situation.” I take a deep breath and gather my courage before making my way out into the hallway.
“I’m sorry I got you drunk.” She whispers, coming up next to me.
“It’s cool. I needed it, honestly. But Nixon is such a buzz I try to lighten the mood.
She takes my hand and pulls me close. “Most definitely. We got this, though.”
I look at the time.
7:15.
Fashionably late.
“Let’s make our grand entrance, shall we?” I say sarcastically.
God, tonight can’t be over fast enough.
At the top of the stairs, I search the room for my dad, finding him socializing. Nixon is nowhere to be seen. However, one of my favorite people is waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs.
Anton is the big brother I never had but always wanted. Well, to an extent. It’s hard for him to control his man-whoring ways, even with me. But I wouldn’t change anything about him. I know it’s all harmless fun. He’s never once tried anything with me. I think someone once mentioned it and he started gagging. I tried not to take offense.
I take another deep breath, straighten my back and glide down the stairs, my hand sliding along the marble railing, not focusing on anything but making it to the bottom without falling on my face. Although, I’ve had enough practice so it shouldn’t take as much concentration as it does, but I’m distracted tonight.
By many things.
And a little tipsy.
When I reach the bottom, Liz heads off to the right while I wrap my arm through Anton’s, giving him a kiss on the cheek then wiping off the residue left behind by my lipstick.
“Thank you, my knight in shining armor.” I smile fondly at him, wondering what I would do without the family I have. And that’s exactly what Liz and Anton, and even Maddox, are. Nixon is still to be decided.
“You welcome, Your Ladyship.” He smirks, leading me towards the bar.
I laugh. “No more drinks for me.”
“You have to at least pretend.” He shrugs and hands me a champagne glass.
“Fine, but when Nixon yells at me for having a drink, it’s your fault. And I’m definitely going to throw you under the bus.”
He slams his hand against his chest acting appalled. “You wouldn’t.”
“Oh, but I would. I already got scolded once tonight.” I try to push away the images of kissing Nixon from my mind.
He takes a sip of his drink, looking smug. “So that’s what you were on about earlier?”
“Yup.” I take a small sip of my drink, gazing around at all the people. I almost choke when a strident voice comes from behind me.
“Hello, Ember.” He greets.
I stiffen. Chills rack through my body as fear and panic wash over me.
Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.
Please, God, someone save me.
I clench Anton’s arm in a death grip, digging my nails into his expensive tux as we turn to face my, unfortunately living, nightmare.
“Samuel.” I nod my head politely in greeting. My grip is getting tighter by the second. My heart pounds faster to the point that I'm worried I'm about to collapse from over working it. Sweat begins to develop on my palms and across my forehead. My breathing becomes shallow as my heartbeat pounds in my ears, my vision becoming a little hazy.
I vaguely comprehend Anton snarling at Samuel in greeting, too consumed with trying to stay up right.
I'm on the verge of a full-on panic attack when I sense another presence come up beside me. A hand presses against my bare back and I know instantly it’s Nixon, come to save me once again. I don’t mind. I need saving this time.
“Excuse us.” Nixon interjects, sweeping me away from my childhood monster, leaving Anton’s own caged monster to come out and play.
“I can’t do it, Nixon.” I pant. Fuck, this is so much worse than I was expecting. I haven’t had to face Samuel since Marcus’ funeral.
Nixon leans down and whispers, “Just keep it together until we get to the study.”
I take several deep breaths as we make it down the hall, away from the party and chatter. It doesn’t help. “Fuck, I can’t leave, Nixon. It’ll look bad.”
“It’s fine.” He says unlocking the door and leading me in, closing it behind us. He steps up close, cupping my face gently. “Take a minute to get yourself together. You're stronger than this. He’s nothing. He can’t hurt you anymore, not while I’m around.” He murmurs, pulling me into his chest. I wrap my arms around his waist as he hugs me to him. We stay like that for a few minutes, me taking deep breaths while he rubs circles on my bare back, unintentionally sending chills throughout my body. Good chills.
“How do you always know when I need you?” I finally speak up.
“Because I watch you, Ember. I know you more than anyone, including yourself.”
I huff. “I hate when you’re like this. It just shoves the fact that you won’t let us be together in my face.”
“I know. I’m sorry. Just give me some time, okay?” He trails off.
Thoroughly distracted from my panic attack, I fake a smile and push away from him. “I’m okay, now. We can go back out. I need to be seen ‘socializing’. I’ll keep my guard up and try to avoid him.”
He grunts and leads me back to the party. Hopefully the rest of the night goes smoother.
10. Recollections
When I was younger, my dad had my mother and I move in with one of his closest friends, which, honestly, wasn’t that close. It’s hard to come by true friends in the world we live in. Since everyone is a criminal and only ever looking out for themselves. If you find one or two you can trust to watch your back, you’re lucky. Anyway, his name was Samuel Carter and to me… he was a fucking monster.
At six years old, I thought my dad was giving us up. That he didn’t want us anymore. That I did something wrong. I thought Dad was punishing us. That he didn’t love us.
Living with Samuel just further instilled that doubt and self-blame.
He only ever visited that one time. He never called or texted. Not even a fucking letter. But despite this I never lost hope that he would one day come and save us.
Samuel always bad mouthed him. But I believed none of it. I knew he was the bad one.
I always wondered why we never moved into Nixon’s house instead. Nixon’s dad, Marcus, was the only person my dad truly trusted. As I said, a rare thing in this world. Instead, Marcus came to visit us a couple times throughout the years. But we stuck with Dad’s plan. He said it was for the best and to keep us safe. Little did he know, he was forcing us to live in hell.
It wasn’t bad at first. Just some taunting and emotional abuse. Rules that constantly changed without notice, only because Samuel thought it was funny to see us scrambling to correct ourselves. He was constantly changing what food we were allowed and not allowed to eat. Places we could go in the house would be places we weren’t allowed to enter the next day. Whether or not we were allowed outside. It got to the point where we didn't even venture outside our rooms. It wasn’t like we could even ask him what was allowed because we got punished for that, too.
At first my punishment was getting locked in my room for one or two days. I wasn’t allowed out to use the bathroom, so I went in the corner.
I had no one to talk to but my stuffed animals.
Nothing to eat.
Only thing to drink was water from a bowl, which was set inside my room when I finally fell asleep from exhaustion, bei
ng too scared to close my eyes in fear of him entering my room. He didn’t even allow me to drink from a cup or bottle.
No, he treated me like an animal. He didn’t think I deserved more.
The punishments eventually turned into being locked in a closet for three days without food or water. Finally succumbing to the urge to pee or shit and having to lie in it until he decided to let me out. Then, yelling at me for the mess I made. The mess he caused me to make. But he never saw it that way.
He never physically touched me, at least nothing more than a few bruises on my arms. But that didn’t mean he didn’t do damage.
The six months before my father came to visit, Samuel used to come into my room almost every night to sit in the chair in the corner, just watching. Sometimes I would hear noises. I didn’t know what they were then, but now… well, let's just say, if I ever get the chance to shoot him, I’ll take it.
Most of the time my mother was beaten so badly that she couldn’t get out of bed, let alone come save me. I don’t know if she even knew the extent of what he did to me.
We never knew what would set him off, either. There was no way to stay on his good side because he didn’t want us there. Even avoiding him and staying out of the way pissed him off.
I don’t know what his punishments for her entailed. I just know as the days, weeks and months went by my mother’s smile became more and more faded and the light in her eyes darker. Until it finally vanished completely. That was the day she packed us both a bag and we left, two and a half years after dad dropped us off. We survived two and a half years with that monster, who was both cruel and vicious. The day we finally escaped was the day she died, in more than one way.
We were driving down a back road on the way to Nixon’s house. I was so happy to be leaving, that I didn’t notice the nervousness in my mother or the fact that we weren't heading to Dad. Or the way she continually checked the rear-view mirror. Suddenly, I was knocked unconscious and when I came to, I was staring into the forest and my mom wasn't moving. She was pinned to her seat by a tree branch impaling her chest. Liquid was creeping down my face, my seatbelt was stuck, and I couldn’t slip out from beneath it. So, I sat there in broad daylight, on some deserted back road, until Marcus arrived what seemed like hours later.