The photographer clicked as fast as his finger would move. ‘Ms. Kennedy, would you like to make a comment about your father’s latest affair? Is it true that she took you to Cancun for the weekend? You look awfully pale. Is she really only twenty years old?’
Flash.
‘Did your Father give your mother the sleeping pills that killed her? Were they manufactured by Lyta Pharmaceuticals? Are the police investigating the matter?’
I ran around my car, pushing the lock button on the key fob.
Flash.
‘Get out of my way!’ I shouted, shoving him out of my personal space. If I shattered his lens, he would think twice about coming near me again.
My key fob remote that unlocked and locked the gate surrounding our house had broken earlier that week and I hadn’t gotten around to asking for a new one. The guy had popped up out of our bushes when I left my car to punch the security code into the pad to close the gate behind my car. If I’d left it open, my head would have rolled. Not that the whole shit show was my fault. Who could have predicted Hurricane Kennedy would tear a path through the networks? The news of Father’s latest affair had been made public and my life fell apart in a blink. Father was on a rampage, his cronies trying to squash the news with pictures of our fake, happy family.
But the press saw through the façade and they wanted blood. Vultures like this guy made it that much worse, because he didn’t care who he wounded to get it. Day one was a swarm of the camera-toting bastards. Day two, three-quarters had given up or went to bother someone else. Day three and there was only one left. I gave him props for tenacity and patience.
Flash. Flash. Flash.
‘Would you like to make a comment? This isn’t your father’s first indiscretion. How do you feel about his unfaithfulness?’
I shouldered around him.
‘How do you think I feel?’ I answered briskly.
Spitting at his lens, I wrenched my car door open and peeled out through the iron gate that was parting like the red sea. Let him tell his friends about how the Kennedy diva handled pigs like him.
“The guy ambushed me and I wasn’t in the mood for it. I spat on his camera and shoved him out of my way. He called the police and said I assaulted him—which I was cleared of.” I held my finger up to stop the questions I knew were about to tumble out of his open mouth. “Father was livid because he automatically believed the reports and said I’d done nothing but cause him more problems. Mom was six feet under fresh earth and Father was already on the phone, pacing across his office and much too busy to notice when I left. I couldn’t listen to his voice for one more second.”
Steepling his fingers, Doc leaned forward expectantly. “Where did you go?”
“The Castle.”
Bass pulsated through my body, reverberating through my bones. The vibrations were the only reason the backs of my thighs weren’t sticking to the leather seat. Father forbade me from leaving the house, but the joke was on him. He couldn’t keep me locked away. As soon as he left for his girlfriend’s house, I slipped out the back door. With the top down on my convertible, I sped through the warm Cali air. My tight black dress barely covered my ass. With my unfortunate flat chest, I wasn’t in danger of a wardrobe malfunction from the top, but the bottom was another situation entirely. I had wide hips and a booty to match.
Gripping the steering wheel tightly with my left hand, I shifted with the right. My thighs trembled with need and I knew exactly where to get what I craved. From the front door, The Castle looked like a nightclub, like one of dozens of others that peppered the city of Angels; but in the back, the magic waited. Blow—so finely cut, it would fill the ache in my stomach for a little while. It was euphoria in powder form, and I couldn’t wait to fly.
I parked in the alley, put the convertible top up, and locked my little white Mercedes up tight. The spikes of my heels clicked across the gritty pavement, littered with shards of glass and puddles of oil and piss. The overflowing dumpster hadn’t been emptied in weeks, maybe longer judging by the stench. Holding my wrist beneath my nose, I inhaled Chanel No. 5.
Doc flipped the front paper up and curled it behind the clipboard. “Was it your first time at ‘The Castle?’”
“No. I went there almost every weekend.”
The sun was just setting, painting the piss puddles in shades of shadow, purple and orange. Two steps led to the back door. I knocked twice, jarring the metal. Jones answered, a tall bouncer three feet taller than me and four times as broad. “Carmen,” he greeted warmly, holding the door open so I could squeeze past him.
“Hey Jones.”
“Dimitri’s upstairs.”
I gave him a smile and left him in the hallway, winding through the dimly lit corridors to the staircase that only a few select patrons knew about. My wristlet flopped against my thigh. I couldn’t stop the tremors that started in my gut and rippled to my fingertips, down to my toes. It had been two days. Two long days. At the top of the staircase, I stepped onto a landing and knocked gently at Dimitri’s door.
“Who is it?” Dimitri asked from inside, his Russian accent thick and commanding.
I cleared my throat, mentally preparing to walk into the lion’s den. “It’s Carmen.”
“Come in.”
“Did you meet friends at the club? Why did you go every weekend?” Doc asked, his bushy eyebrows raised slightly.
“I don’t have friends, Doc. I bet that’s a real shocker.”
As the door lock disengaged with a click, I twisted the cool metal and pushed. Dimitri’s apartment was sleek and modern, clean but uninviting. Everything was black, white, gray, or silver. The furniture was masculine; powerful and angular—just like Dimitri. He was sitting on the couch in the living room, counting his way through a large stack of hundred-dollar bills. Seeing me enter his space, his hands stilled. His frigid blue eyes, sharp as diamonds, tracked my movements. He wasn’t muscled in the way his bouncers were, but he was fit. His silk suit was custom-made and his blond hair was naturally wavy.
“Come.”
Easing out of my heels, I padded across the hardwood floor, stopping on the stark white, plush rug that anchored the living room furniture.
He turned to face me, laying the stack of bills down on the coffee table. “You have needs?”
I nodded, sniffing and wiping the underside of my nose discreetly.
“I, too, have needs,” he replied, standing up and looking out the wall of windows toward the sliver of sun that was losing its battle with the night. This wasn’t the first time he’d propositioned me. It wouldn’t be the last. I gripped my wristlet tightly in my palm.
“I have money.”
Dimitri snorted, his eyes raking over my tiny dress as he stepped closer. He didn’t care about money. Both of us knew that. He already had enough to fill an Olympic size swimming pool. He prowled toward me until the tips of his shoes hit my big toes. “I have a new supplier. Better quality means more money. You understand, of course.” His Russian accent seemed thicker today. He’d lived here for fifteen years, but it hadn’t melted away. Most people felt the need to protect their heritage, whereas I wanted to forget mine entirely. However, I could never seem to escape the family name, the expectations—not without chemical assistance. It was the only way to feel like another person, even if only for a short while.
Dimitri stood up, fastening the second button on his jacket. “I give you a taste, but it will cost you. Next time, it will cost you more. I have clients coming in from Canada. You help show them how hospitable California girls can be, no?”
My brows knitted together in confusion, but when his knuckles raked across my breast, I batted his hand away. “I’m no whore, Dimitri. If you don’t want to sell me the flake, I’ll go somewhere else. I’m not entertaining your friends. Hire some fake tits for that.”
His blue eyes cut into me like diamonds raking across my flesh, drawing blood. For a split second, I could have sworn the coppery scent wafted into my nose. “Leave
the money on the table,” he barked out finally. “Five.”
He walked to the back of his apartment while I fumbled for the cash. Five grand. Father wouldn’t even notice it was gone. The stack of greenbacks stared at me. The sound of Dimitri’s wing-tips retreating farther into the apartment was music to my ears. I could breathe again.
When he approached me again I snatched the bag of euphoria from his hand and ran toward the door, grabbing my shoes. Downstairs, the club had opened. The bass was thumping. The ladies room was empty. Black and white tile, cool against my bare feet, looked like a chess board, the pieces of good and evil alternating in a pattern that bled onto the walls. In my wristlet was a small, circular compact. Silver filigree crawled around the outer edges and the center held an engraved, “C.” I flipped it open and wasted no time pouring some powder onto my reflection, using my credit card to line it up. The empty shaft of an ink pen delivered the drug into my nose with a long sniff.
I blinked as it entered my system. The weightlessness hadn’t hit yet but I already felt better, more energetic and less tired. I felt calm, free.
Doc looked genuinely concerned. “Was this where you bought the cocaine?”
I ignored his question. He was fishing and I hated being used as bait.
Jones was waiting outside the bathroom door when I finally emerged, holding my shoes out for me. I took them and slid them on one at a time. “Thank you.”
He nodded. “Be careful, Carmen. You’re one of the good ones.”
I snorted. “If that were true, I wouldn’t be here.”
“There’s something in everyone worth redeeming.”
Jones. What a good guy. What an optimist.
“We all do things we aren’t proud of. Take you, for example. You’re telling me I’m redeemable, yet you work for a viper.” He tugged on his collar. “We all do what we have to do to survive, Jones. Club’s getting busy. I’ll see you later.”
“With all due respect, ma’am, I hope not.”
2
“There were drugs found in your system that night. I have the record right here if you’d like to see it,” Doc offered, unclipping a paper from the small stack.
“That’s okay. I’m well aware that I snorted flake, but there’s no way I’m ratting anyone out.”
Doc shifted in his seat. “Why did you make the choice to use drugs, Carmen?”
Crossing my arms over my chest, I told him what everyone in this place had probably told him before. “To escape.”
I swallowed, leaving Jones behind. Why did he show up everywhere I was tonight? Did Dimitri tell him to follow me?
The evening was a blur of hands and touches, of bodies grinding against my own. Sweat and flashing lights. Alcohol and hits in the bathroom. My head was spinning in the best way when I took one last hit in the ladies’ room and stumbled out the back door to the alley. Jones followed me, crossing his arms and watching me wade through the piss, glass, and strewn trash. He watched me fumble with my keys, finally managing to click the unlock button. My parking lights flashed happily while my car chirped to see me.
“I can call a cab,” Jones called out to me. “I don’t think you should be driving, Carmen.” Jones was too stiff. He needed to loosen up a little.
“I’ve got this,” I muttered. I fell into the seat and slid the key into the ignition. She purred to life.
Where were the headlights? I fumbled with the levers and switches until the lights blinked on. There they are!
Clutch. Accelerator. I could do this.
I eased out of the alley and onto the street. The streetlights had auras around them. They looked heavenly. And the freeway was so busy. It glittered in white and red streaks of light. Blinking, I tried to focus on the red taillights in front of my car. The music wasn’t loud enough, so I reached for the dial.
Everything slowed down.
Crunching metal.
Screeching brakes.
Shattering glass.
Blaring horns.
My car skidded across the road, metal against pavement.
My head slammed against its rest.
I should have worn my seatbelt.
More crashing sounds.
Deafeningly loud. Ringing. My ears were ringing.
My car hit a bump.
Airborne. Hanging upside down.
I did wear my seatbelt.
The tips of my dyed blonde hair dangled onto the asphalt, soaking up my blood. It trickled steadily from my head with an unfaltering splat, splat, splat, splat. Lights fixated on me. Words were shouted at me.
“Hang in there. Help is on the way.”
They can’t help me now.
Sirens.
Screams.
Crying.
Peaceful.
This was what I was looking for.
Peace.
Doc nodded knowingly. “Do you remember the wreck itself?” he asked.
I’d dreamed about it every night since, waking with my clothes damp with sweat and my heart thundering, feeling like it had just happened. I could still hear the twisting of the metal frame.
My chest hurt. Something was... I was choking. I gagged. “Easy, honey. There’s a tube down your throat.”
I gagged again. My eyes watered as I fought against the intrusion.
“It’s okay. It had to breathe for you for a while. I’ll check with the doctor and see if he wants to remove the tube, but for now…” She bent over and scanned a syringe with her machine, waiting until it beeped. Staring at the computer, she smiled. “This should help you relax. You’ll feel better soon. You’re very lucky to have survived such a crash.” The nurse, a heavy-set woman with dark hair cut into a cute pixie, squeezed my hand sympathetically. “Be right back.”
I blinked, staring at the speckled tiles of the drop ceiling. I could feel the medicine working. It relaxed my muscles and I stopped struggling against the tube. The window blinds were pulled, but I could see the sunshine peeking in between every vertical piece of plastic. Two chairs next to my bed sat empty.
My muscles were sore and everything hurt. I tried to reposition myself, to find a comfortable way to lay, but couldn’t move. The nurse strolled back into the room with a smile.
“Doctor Bragg is on his way. He’s going to evaluate you and see if we might be able to get rid of that tube.”
I nodded, tears welling in my eyes, blurring her for a moment.
“We called your father, but he isn’t here yet. I’m sure he’ll come as soon as he can. Is there anyone else I can call for you?”
I shook my head no. There was no one.
The clock on the wall opposite my bed read three forty-five. I’d been in a wreck. I remembered leaving the house and Father behind, and I remembered Dimitri and going to him in a moment of weakness. The club was busy. The lights, the alcohol, the drugs, the blood. I remembered the wreck. It happened last night, but my father still hadn’t come? Of course, he hadn’t. Father must be with Bianca. Home wrecking bitch.
It was easy to be angry with her. I’d learned from Mom to hate her. Mom poured all of her energy into hating Bianca, but she never once faulted Father for being so willing to throw the years of their marriage away for each younger, more plastic piece of ass who looked his way.
The doctor, a middle-aged man wearing royal blue scrubs, a stethoscope, and a frown stepped into the room. He pumped the hand sanitizer and rubbed it in, staring at me as if I were a waste of his time. He was none too gentle about poking and prodding me.
“We can remove your tube, but you’ll be here for another day or so. Have the police been in to talk with you yet?”
I shook my head, tears welling up again.
“You’ll be remanded to their custody because of the circumstances surrounding the accident you caused. You aren’t a juvenile anymore, so you need to stop acting like the world and everyone in it owes you a favor. I don’t care who your father is. Your car was the only one involved, but you easily could have killed someone. You have a drug p
roblem. The level of cocaine in your system should have killed you. If you were looking for a wake-up call, this is it. If you were crying out for help, you’ve got it.”
He typed a few things into the rolling computer and then motioned for the nurse to help him. As the intubation was removed, I gagged on plastic and bitter truth.
It was easier to lie to Doc. “I don’t remember much about that night.”
He nodded and made a note on the white paper; black ink marring the pristine.
“You could have gone to jail. You’re lucky your father has connections, money, and an impressive team of attorneys that got you into this rehab facility instead.”
Yeah. I was lucky. That’s exactly the adjective I’d use to describe myself.
Doc used his pinky to itch the inside of his ear, bringing me back to dismal reality. I looked at Doc Coleman. His cheeks were ruddy and his glasses sat askew on his nose, crooked but somehow fitting him, their silver wire frames ten years too old for today’s styles. Even his beard was salt and pepper. His eyes flicked to the clock and I finally told him, “I need a cigarette, Doc.”
“Will a cigarette help calm you down?” He looked to my bouncing foot. I stopped moving it.
“Couldn’t hurt.”
“No.” He sat his clipboard and pen down.
“Why the hell not? I can smell smoke on your clothes. Just give me one.”
He shook his head. “I’m not here to replace one bad habit with another, or to foster any of yours. And I won’t discuss my own habits with you.”
I stared him down, but he didn’t give in. “You aren’t leaving this afternoon until you talk to me. We’ve been going around and around and getting nowhere fast.”
I smiled, thinking of hamsters. They were fat, happy little rats, just running on the wheel all day long. Dig. Spin. Eat. Spin. Around and around and around.
“What made you smile just then?”
“Hamsters.”
His wiry eyebrows threaded together. “Care to explain?” He brought his pen and clipboard back to his lap and proceeded to tap the end of it repetitively. Tap. Tap. Tap.
Keeper of Crows (The Keeper of Crows Duology Book 1) Page 2