by H. M. Ward
EASY
A FERRO FAMILY STORY
H.M. WARD
H.M. WARD PRESS
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 by H.M. Ward
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form.
LAREE BAILEY PRESS
First Edition: June 2017
ISBN: 9781630350802 (paperbacks)
ISBN: 9781630350796 (ebook)
CONTENTS
Easy
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
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11. CHAPTER 1
12. CHAPTER 2
13. CHAPTER 3
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EASY
VOLUME 23
CHAPTER 1
M y life is a lie. Terror courses through me at the thought of someone discovering my secret before I have a chance to figure things out, before I know for certain what happened that night. I can admit it, I ran like a coward and didn’t look back. No one expects me to be down here in the dust bowl of the forsaken, in the middle of Texas.
Three months have passed in startling silence since I left New York behind. There’s been no trace, no trail, nothing that points to this safe haven. Reporters haven’t figured out the girl they’ve been trailing in Manhattan isn’t me. Thank God.
Down here, I’ve kept my head down and refused invitations to hang out and be a normal twenty-five-year-old, but tonight everything is spinning out of control. The email was waiting for me at work this evening. It’s as if the sender knew I’d be working late. Alone.
Four simple words make my heart slam into my chest. The air is ripped from my lungs as I stare at the glowing computer screen.
I KNOW YOUR SECRET.
CHAPTER 2
T error courses through my veins while my gaze is locked on the computer screen. I was so careful. How did someone figure it out? Tears sting my eyes, and I swat them away with the back of my shaking hand. Breathing becomes harder, shallow and jagged.
Ice crawls up my spine, and the sensation of eyes watching me makes me shift in my chair. I refuse to glance around, to fall into hysteria. There are no cameras in my office, no bugs on the landline. I check. Frequently. Hell, I don’t even use that phone. I don’t use my real name. No one knows I’m Jocelyn Ferro.
This threat had to originate in New York. The main problem is that this guy has my work email address. It’s not an idle threat. I work at a University that is very easy to find. The ramifications spiral through my mind and crawl across my skin.
My phone lights up and buzzes loudly. The noise throws me further into panic. For a second, I think it’s going to say, UNKNOWN CALLER. But it doesn’t say that.
LIZZIE CUNNINGHAM
The name flashes before me as the cell phone rings a second time, requesting a FaceTime chat.
My heart slows a little and I take another pull of air, trying to steady my facial features before answering. She can’t know that I’m rattled. Lizzie thinks I went nuts and ran away, but a best friend like her is too polite to verbalize those thoughts.
All the same, I see it in her eyes when we talk. It might be a different throw-away cell phone, but she’s got the same crinkle in the center of her forehead, the one that slightly lifts her brow that lets me know how she feels whether she says it or not. Disapproval. She doesn’t think I needed to run. But that’s based on what she assumes occurred that night. She doesn’t know the truth. No one does, not even me. In the end, it doesn’t matter what I do because Lizzie sides with me. Like always. She’s the sister I never had.
I swipe the screen and her face appears before coming into focus. She snaps her gum and grins at me. “Hey, girl.” She cocks an eyebrow with a swift tilt of her head. A dark lock of hair falls over her shoulder. Before I can greet her, she leans toward her screen and uses a voice that demands an answer, “What’s wrong.” It’s not a question, not really. Her green eyes lock with mine, warning me that bullshit won’t be tolerated.
A fake smile finds my face and slithers across it. It’s the Ferro way. Hide everything. Always hold it together, no matter what. “I’m fine. I just—”
She cuts me off, her face suddenly filling the entire frame of the screen. If she were standing before me, she’d be close enough to get caught in the splash zone of rapid firing words and spittle. Her voice is hushed, threatening. “You’re not fine.” She enunciates the final word sharply.
“Lizzie—”
“I can see it all over your face. You don’t think I know you? Fuck that, Jos. I do, and something is very wrong! I’ll be there are soon as you say the word. Tell me where you’ve been hiding and I’ll be there with the jet. I’ll fix this, Jos. It’ll be all right.”
I try to interrupt again, “Liz—”
Shaking her head sharply, she pulls the phone far enough back that I can see her finger flying as she speaks. It’s the Italian in her. “I’ll take care of anyone who fucks with you. No one messes with you, not while I’m around.” She practically growls the last few words.
My plastic Ferro façade cracks at her protectiveness. I smile again, but it’s the sad brokenness that I feel mixing with a death wish that pulls the corners of my mouth up into a mournful crushed hope of an expression. “Someone made me. He knows.”
Lizzie’s tiger sneer softens as her eyes widen. “Who?”
“I don’t know. I was finishing up work—”
She rolls her eyes. “Oh God, you and the job. You’re the only billionaire heiress who works. I told you I’d send you more money.”
“Lizzie.” I snap without meaning to. My jaw falls open as I search for words. This defeat feels like a heavy foot on my chest. Someone outplayed me and I didn’t see it coming. There were no clues at all.
Everything about my life in Texas is fake, but I have a feeling that’s not what this email is talking about. I’m sure they know I’m here—this was sent to my work email address. There’s only one secret that I guard even closer, because if they find out what I’ve done… My skin crawls. I don’t even want to finish the thought.
I rant, spelling out every worry running through my mind until sobs cling to the top of my throat. I tug at my hair with one hand and try not to cry. “I fucking hacked my hair off and colored it crayon-red! I used the best guy to make fake IDs and paid him to keep his mouth shut. If it was him, he’d ask for more money.”
Lizzie breaks in, “There’s no way it was him. He wouldn’t fuck with the Ferros. He’d rather have you as a client anyway.”
“Then who is it? Has anyone figured out what we did?”
The Kool-Aid hair-do helped disguise me but I still have the Ferro features. Thank God I didn’t get the blue eyes. People never remember that Bryan and I were the only Ferro children born with emerald green orbs instead of the sapphire hue that is as dominant as the Ferro nose. Thankfully, I had that Italian schnoz taken care of when I was younger. Graduation present. Or demand. It depends on how you look at it. Mother was insistent that we make my profile more feminine to match the nose Aunt Constance and mom had created. It presents an air that everything is r
eal, even Ferro plastic surgery. No one knew about it. I simply vanished from society and when I reappeared my nose was slimmer and the bridge was lowered, sharp angular lines still intact.
“What’s been going on up there? Did they figure it out yet?”
“No one realizes what we did, Jos.” She leans back into a posh lime-green sofa that’s located in her bedroom in Manhattan. Her hand runs through her long dark locks, pushing the soft curls away from her face. My hair was just like hers until twelve weeks ago.
“Are you certain? It’s been longer than we expected and no one’s noticed I’m missing?”
“Right,” she snaps, pressing her hand to her ample chest, offended. “I didn’t blow my cover. Everyone still thinks I’m you.”
“How is that possible? That lie shouldn’t have held together this long.”
Lizzie snorts a dark laugh. “People see what they want to see. Dumb assholes with cameras glued to their faces, and your parents don’t care as long as you don’t shame them. I showed up at your house last night, tossed your bedding around to make it look like you finally spent a night at home, and no one looked for you. Not your parents or your brothers. No wonder why you couldn’t stand it anymore.”
I swallow hard. That’s the truth, the cold hard facts. The only one who cared about me is in the ground and I stole the happiness he could have had because of fucking Ferro rules. I’m a traitor. The worst kind.
CHAPTER 3
A fter a moment, I release a shaky breath. “I don’t want to talk about any of that. I need to figure out who made me. If it’s someone up there or someone new down here.”
“It could be someone down there. Did you fuck anyone? Angry ex, maybe?”
Annoyed with her, I glare at the screen and respond calmer than I feel. “No, nothing like that. I’ve kept to myself. I told you.” She doesn’t know the half of it. I’m a fucking hermit, save this job. For a girl who breathes people like air, being alone so often has been exhausting.
“Maybe it’s your Dad?”
Tensing, I swallow hard. After a moment, I ask, “Did he say anything that makes you think that?”
Lizzie thinks for a moment and then shakes her head. “No, but you know how he is and you know what he’d do if he found out. That man has no fucking clue. About anything.”
I remember. Vividly. Nothing was mine. Father made it clear that I was an object to be used however he deemed necessary. Most tasks were handed off through my mother, and I had to do whatever she requested. But when a request has no other option but compliance, it’s a command. I lived like that for as long as I could.
One night everything went to Hell. That was my mistake. That night broke me. Now I’m here. In Abilene, Texas at this tiny university with blonde bricks and glass buildings. Hiding.
Lizzie shakes her head. “Nah, but he wouldn’t be the type to directly come at you, right? I mean if your dad knew, he’d play with you first to make you lose your shit, and then make himself known.” She’s guessing and doesn’t realize the extent of my father’s ability to strike terror. There’s a reason why the Ferro family has few enemies. His reputation is worse than Aunt Constance in terms of maliciousness and getting anything he wants. I witnessed it firsthand. To have that venom aimed at me is a cringe-worthy thought.
Lowering my gaze, I take a long slow breath of air and release it. I shake my head before looking up at the phone. Still, this is too subtle to be him. Email isn’t his style. “No, this isn’t Dad. This is too passive to be him.”
There’s a moment of silence as we both think. Then Lizzie offers, “Tell me where you are and I’ll come help you figure it out.”
“You can’t. Lizzie, we’ve been over this.” I try to hide my frustration because she has gone to great lengths to make sure I pulled this off. No one knows I’m gone and it’s because of her. “You can’t visit. They’ll find me if you come here.” I can tell the conversation’s derailed. She’s been pissed at me for months because I won’t tell her everything. It seems to offend her to her core.
“You trust me with everything else, but not this?” I don’t reply. She releases a rush of air through her nose and fogs the screen. It dissipates swiftly. Her expression softens when she realizes I’m not talking. “Jos, at least tell me where you are,” she whines as she twirls a lock of hair around her finger. It’s something I would have done a year ago.
“You know I can’t, and you can’t get caught. Where are you?”
She sniffles and straightens her shoulders. “At home. I haven’t left yet.”
“Where are you going?”
“The usual line-up. Dark clubs, loud music, and all that shit. Jos, you’ve been gone for months. How much longer do you plan on staying there?” There’s an edge to her voice that makes it seem like she’s annoyed with me. I don’t blame her.
“Sounds good. Stay in the shadows. We look alike, but not that much.” We’re roughly the same size, build, and height. Her skin tone is more olive than mine. That presented a problem so we came up with a plan where it wouldn’t be an issue. It worked better than either of us thought.
She snorts and points to her wig. “The hair hides my non-Ferro face and since our plastic surgery doc was a dick and gave us the same nose, no one notices. Besides, Jos, no one looks at your face. Your dresses look like they were painted on. I had to lose five pounds to get into them.”
She lowers the phone to show off one of the Gucci cocktail dresses Mother had commissioned for me. It’s retro, something from the 1960’s with sections of clear plastic across the under-bust which dips low and spilled down my sides. I felt naked in that thing. The patches of red fabric were soft, but scarce. The hemline was barely to the top of my thigh and the neckline was non-existent. It dipped to my navel in front and showed the small of my back from behind. It was taped on because no dress like that could hold itself in place.
Lizzie loves the dresses that were for ruining some poor fool. My reputation of being easy combined with a dress like that made it difficult for the morally chaste congressman to appear to be doing anything moral. A hand on his arm with enough cleavage revealed and it ruined that guy. I remember him. Mother said he was a problem and that was the extent of the information shared on the subject. I ruined people without knowledge.
My parents think I’m a slut and used my always open legs to their advantage. The truth is, I haven’t had sex in months. Actually, it’s been nearly a year. The last guy I was with just wanted to brag that he bagged Jos Ferro. There is always that risk. It’s painful to never know if the guy liked me or even cared. I let the easy reputation blossom at one point. I didn’t care and was trying to drown out my sorrow. It didn’t work, but it did set up an easy to follow map of what Jos Ferro does at night, and since I fight with my parents all day—and avoid them as much as possible—nothing seems amiss, yet. Thank God, because I need more time.
“That dress looks great on you,” I offer. Lizzie preens as she represses a smile of gratitude. “I’ll be home as soon as I can. Be careful. Don’t get caught.”
“I won’t. I’ve got your back for as long as you need.” Although her face is completely sincere, there’s a tired timber in her voice that says she’s wearing thin—that she can’t do this much longer. “Your parents are being a bunch of little shits, but I have them under control. Maybe the email was from your mother? That’s unlikely, but I can go over there and poke around. Find out what shit is brewing in the Ferro mansion.”
“That’s a good idea.” I pause, and then joke, “And make sure you go over as you. As clueless as my parents are, I think they’d recognize that you’re not their daughter.”
She cackles and presses a hand to her heart. “Seriously—no worries. I’ll check in with you if I find out anything. Otherwise, watch your back. Love ya, bitch.”
I smile and laugh slightly. “Love you, too.” Before I can say be careful again, she’s gone.
CHAPTER 4
I shove the phone in my purse and shut off th
e computer. I need a techie to trace where this email came from, but if I show the email to anyone it’ll raise questions. Irritation prickles down my spine. Every time I talk to Lizzie it becomes clear that I’ve made no progress. I still don’t know what to do or how I can fix things so I can go home. The email means I’m out of time.
I grab my bag and shut off the lights to my broom closet of an office and head down the darkened halls. I’m lost in thought, not even realizing that I’m passing by the one place on campus that I can’t resist—the concert hall.
There is a row of stage lights shining down, casting an amber glow on the edge of the stage and first few rows of chairs. The soft illumination reveals a man standing over a music stand. His hands grip the sides as his head hangs low. I don’t recognize him. The school isn’t that big, but still, I don’t know every face. That’s to my benefit because that means most of them don’t see me. We’re a city of strangers who nod in hallways and walk through life blind, never really looking our fellow man in the face.
The crayon-colored hair is off-putting for many. They see it and can’t take me seriously, so they don’t bother with pleasantries even if this is the Southwest. I’m an outsider. They sense it and they’re right, but it’s not the obvious. It never is.
The man lifts a baton and slashes it through the air for a few measures to an invisible orchestra before stiffening. He grips the small piece of wood tightly before hurling it across the wooden stage floor. His other hand swipes the pages and the sheet music goes flying. He clutches the sides of the music stand firmly. His back arches as it fills with air and every muscle in a strong body tightens.
I know how he feels. I walk away. I can’t help anyone. I can’t even help myself. What good would I be to him? A weight settles heavily across my shoulders and sinks into my chest. I’ve been here for ninety days and I’m no better for it. I could pick up and run again—go somewhere else and hide. The problem I’ve noticed is something I don’t want to face. Not tonight.