“Good afternoon, whore.” Garen strolled causally across the room, tossing his coat into the chair along the wall. In the eighteen months we’d been married, never had I seen him toss his coat in a chair, or anywhere for that matter. He always hung it up. Always.
“I had an early afternoon meeting with Graft today.” He dropped into the chair where he’d tossed his coat. “I’ve decided to take charge of my life and my goals. I’m not about to let that scumbag destroy my dreams.” Though he acted calm and confident, eeriness sharpened his eyes, as if he’d lost his mind. Fear ratcheted up inside me, to the point of utter hysteria. I scooted further back on the bed, as if somehow I could get away from him. He continued laying out his plan to me, oblivious to my actions.
“I convinced Graft that keeping me suspended wasn’t a good idea.” He smiled the sadistic smile I’d seen so many times over the past however many days I’d been cuffed to the bed. He pulled out his cell phone. “You see, I went above and beyond what was expected to help him get elected. And being the scumbag that he is, I knew he’d turn on me someday, so I made sure to tape several of our conversations.” He chuckled. “He wasn’t too happy, but he saw the light and reinstated me.”
He stood and came over to the bed. “Which means you and I are back to playing a loving couple.”
Okay, he had completely lost his mind. If I got out of here alive, I was gone. No way would I stand by him now. No way. I’d walk back to California if I had to.
“I know what you’re thinking, Terese. You think I’m crazy and that as soon as I uncuff you, you plan on . . . what? Leaving me? Calling the police, maybe?” He pushed a few buttons on his phone then turned it to me and pressed play. It was a video of me, wandering through the house naked, stumbling and falling, and blabbering incoherently. But Garen’s voice was loud and clear.
“Terese, you got more drugs from your brother, didn’t you? Angel, you have to stop this. It’s destroying your life.” Garen's voice sounded tender, compassionate, as his hand reached out to me when I fell, my head shaking vehemently. “Angel, look at yourself. You’re a mess. I know this is hard, but there are wonderful rehab programs we can get you into. If you agree to enter a program, I promise to not tell anyone your brother’s been mailing you the pills. We can get through this, but all family ties must be severed. It’s the only way.”
“Why you doin’ t’is?” the me in the video slurred out while inching away from Garen and the camera.
“I warned you if I found you like this one more time, I was going to tape it so you could see how genuinely sick you are. Angel, come on, let me help you into bed.”
The me in the video began screaming and kicking as he reached for me, then the video ended.
I remembered none of it. Horror overwhelmed me. My disheveled hair, my stumbling naked body, clearly under the influence of something. And Garen, the twisted maniac, kept the lights down low enough you couldn’t see the numerous bruises on my face and body. I just looked like a poor, homeless drug addict.
Tears streamed down my face. This would never end. If I went to the police, my brother would be brought into it. His medical practice would suffer. He could even lose his license.
“I always get what I want, Terese.” He tucked his phone into the pocket of his pants and uncuffed me from the bed. He grabbed my arm and led me to the bathroom. “Time for a shower. I hope the last five days have taught you a lesson.”
Five days? I’ve been held like a slave for five days?
It was another cold shower. I washed myself quickly and stepped out. Garen stood there, arms over his chest, glaring. He lowered his face to mine. “I own you, whore. And if I ever find out you’ve been sleeping with someone else, I’ll kill you next time.” He shoved me and I fell backwards into the cabinet, my flailing arms grabbing onto the counters for balance. Two rolls of toilet paper and a box of tampons spilled out of the cabinet and onto the floor.
“I’m sorry.” I hurried and scooped up the toilet paper and set the rolls inside. As I reached for the tampons, Garen’s hand clamped down over my wrist.
“This box is unopened,” he growled in my ear. I nodded, having no idea why that was a problem. “I bought them two months ago.”
Two . . . “No. It can’t be.” I thought back over the last couple months. Oh no. Please, no! Depression hadn’t caused my nausea, my lack of energy. I was pregnant.
Garen dragged me up to my feet and backed me into the wall. “Who’s the father?” He shook me hard, slamming my head against the wall. “Who’s the father?” he screamed in my face, spraying me with spit.
“You, I swear,” I whimpered. This couldn’t be happening. How much more could I take? I’d never escape him now.
“You’re a liar!” He grabbed my uncombed hair and whipped my head back and forth before shoving me onto the floor. He crouched over me as I curled into a ball. “This is not my child. We used protection, whore. You got careless with your lover.”
He kicked and punched me repeatedly in the back and legs. I wrapped my arms around my head as he worked his way up my body. He grabbed a handful of my hair again and shoved my head into the toilet, smacking my forehead against the bottom of the bowl. Water filled my ears as he continued his profane-laced diatribe. Garen never swore, ever. He considered it beneath him, lower class.
I grasped desperately at the rim of the toilet in an effort to fight my way free. I needed air. I kicked at him, hoping to knock him off his feet. It just made him angrier. He jerked me back and pushed me to the floor as he kicked at my stomach repeatedly. Becoming winded, he stopped kicking and again shoved my face into the toilet. I fought frantically until my breath, my life, slipped away.
No more pain. No more Garen.
Chapter 16
Present Day
“Thanks.” Nikkolynn snapped the letter out of my hand. It’d been two days and four emails since she’d asked Booker for a recommendation. All the emails coming into the office go through me first, a little fact that drove Nik crazy. She took the opportunity to include a few love notes, as I called them, directly to me whenever she emailed back. “He’s mine, remember that”, and “hands off him, dumb snit”. I wasn’t sure if the last one was a typo and I didn’t ask. But my favorite note from Nik had to be, “he’ll realize it was a mistake to let me go, oh dyed haired one”. That inspired me to stop dying my hair. Clearly, everyone saw through my lousy dye job. I also thought it was rich for her to accuse me of dying my hair when hers was heavily highlighted. No one is that blond without a little help from peroxide.
“So where is he?” she asked, tucking the letter in her purse.
“I told you, he had a meeting.” Okay, he didn’t. Booker saw her coming and slipped out the back door.
She leaned closer, her boobs, like biscuit dough ready to bust from its container, practically popped from her low scooped-neck shirt. “I plan on winning him back, so you know,” she sneered.
“We’re just friends,” I said quietly, in case he was nearby.
“So you say.” She straightened. “Just remember, I’m not giving up.” She turned and stomped out the door in her barely there skirt. It was only twenty-four degrees outside. She was going to freeze.
Ten minutes later, Booker strolled back into the office. “Darn, I missed her.”
“Poor baby.” I smiled and handed him the file I’d been trying to finish for his meeting in an hour. “Just in time, right?”
“Um . . . Mr. Hart canceled until next week,” he said, adding, “Sorry. But how would you like to go to Rome with me instead?”
“Rome? I don’t have a passport.” I looked at him, confused. We didn’t handle real estate outside the United States. Not to mention with my fake ID I didn’t dare apply for one.
“Pass—no,” he laughed. “Rome, New York. It’s about two hours east of here. A friend of mine built a resort hotel there and invited me to the ribbon cutting ceremony. Originally I couldn’t go because of the meeting, but now that it’s been postpon
ed, I’d like to go.”
“I had no idea there was a Rome, New York,” I said, closing my laptop.
“There’s also an Egypt, Liverpool, and Greece, New York, to name a few.” He sat in the chair in front of my desk as I neatly stacked the papers I’d been working on. “So what do you think? Can you handle four hours in a car with me?”
“I think I can manage.” Oh, shoot me please. Four hours of trying not to gawk, touch, or drool over Booker, in the confines of a small car, no less. It’d be a long day. And the twisted soul that I was when it came to Booker Gatto and torturing myself, I could hardly wait to get going.
***
“Wow. This is a big deal.” I stood next to the POC and stared at the crowd. There had to be six hundred people, along with a news van.
“Yup, real big deal. They’re hoping to revitalize the area. It was hit hard when the economy tanked.” He pointed to the beautiful new hotel. It had the look and feel of days gone by. The whitewashed wood building reminded me of an old southern mansion with its stately pillars and black shutters. “It has an indoor spa, tennis courts, and a pool. Each hotel room has a different theme.”
“Theme?”
“Yes. One room—”
“Booker, my friend. Thanks for coming. If it weren’t for you, I never would’ve done this.” A tall Hulk-like man with flaming red hair and a freckle peppered face smiled broadly. He embraced Book in a powerful bear hug, if the bulging eyes on Booker’s face were an indicator.
“I made a suggestion. You took the ball and ran with it.” Booker twisted his shoulder around as if he were putting it back into joint. He winked at me as I laughed silently.
“You’re still driving that POC thingy?” He pointed to Booker’s car with his mammoth hands.
“It’s a good car,” Book defended.
He frowned. “Bro, that car doesn’t instill confidence in your clients.” Red then turned his attention to me. He took my hand and buried it between his. “Who’s this lovely creature?”
“Wayne, this is Tess, my secretary.” Booker spoke directly to my hand still cradled between Wayne’s.
“Secretary. Good. Then I can ask her out and you won’t mind.” He turned to a photographer standing nearby. “Hey, Jimmy, snap my picture with Gatto here. This was all his idea in the first place.” Within minutes, Booker and Wayne were smothered with cameras and newspaper reporters.
The ceremony was short. After a few hundred more pictures, Wayne made his way back over to us. “How about a private tour of the place,” he offered.
Booker took my arm before Wayne could. “Love to,” he smiled.
We walked through a large brick archway that spanned the road. Hanging from the center was a wood sign encased in an ornate metal frame that read The Fantasy Inn in large curvy lettering. Underneath in small caps it said, turning your fantasies into realities, one room at a time.
As Booker and Wayne talked business, I lost myself in the setting. Beautiful maple trees lined the banks of the lake that ran along the hotel. Despite that fall was coming to a close, the remaining leaves on the trees still burned rich with reds and golds. This area of the country held nothing for me when compared to Southern California, except for the falls. In autumn, New York shined. A light breeze sent leaves fluttering to the ground, and filled the air with their sweet maple scent. I inhaled deeply. Too bad it couldn’t be autumn all year round.
We walked up the porch, and Wayne pushed open the tall white double doors. We stepped into the lobby, and back in time.
Rich burgundy and gold arabesque style wallpaper lined the walls. A grand staircase of wood and ornate iron made the perfect centerpiece for the entryway. A bellhop dressed in a red jacket with shiny brass buttons stood like a royal palace guard at the bottom. A long wooden reception desk was off to the right, with several different size brass bells the desk clerk used to summon a bellhop for the guests.
“I’ll show you some of my favorite rooms.” Wayne guided me up the stairs by my elbow. Booker stayed glued to my other side. Wayne stopped in front of a solid wood door and fished out an oversized gold key from his pocket.
“Keys instead of cards to unlock the doors? Nice touch.” Booker nodded his approval.
Wayne unlocked the door and pressed it open, signaling us in with a wave of his hand. “Welcome to Swan Lake.”
Breathtaking would be the best word to describe the room. An oversized white poster bed stood in the center of the room. White wisteria and tulle tumbled down and around the metal frame. A silky deep blue comforter with oversized white pillows completed the perfect picture. A full wall mural of the lake similar to the one next to the hotel covered the inside wall. Two swans, one black, one white, sat in the middle of the lake with their necks intertwined, curved into a heart shape.
“This is beautiful.” I nodded to the wall.
“It cost me a pretty penny.” Wayne beamed at the hand painted mural.
“But well worth it,” Booker said, admiring the painted maple trees up close.
“You think this is beautiful, wait until you see the bathroom.” We followed him to the next room. Huge skylights flooded the room with natural lighting. The mural extended to these walls also, but that was not the focal point. The large sunken tub that resembled a pond was.
The attention to detail in the room astounded me. Soap and shampoo dispensers fashioned after swans sat in a wicker basket next to the tub. On a large flat rock the swans from the mural in the other room had been replicated with towels.
“Towel origami,” Booker chuckled. “This is impressive, Wayne. Makes me want to dive in.” He nodded to the tub. Diving into water was the last thing I wanted to do. One too many times of having my head forced down the toilet and not being able to breathe left me with that phobia. I much preferred a shower.
“Come on. I’ll show you some of the other rooms.” Wayne went to place his hand on the small of my back to lead us out of the door, but Booker beat him to it.
“We already have plans to expand this place if it takes off,” Wayne explained as we followed him. “We’re going to add a wedding chapel and a reception center. We’ll offer wedding and vow renewal packages that will include the wedding, reception, and a room of their choice.”
“This place is a goldmine,” Booker said as we stopped at another door. “Wonder if we could find a place near Port Fare to build one,” he said, half to himself.
“This room is my favorite,” Wayne opened the door and stepped back as Booker took my hand. We went inside via a gangplank. “We call this Shipwrecked.”
At the end of the short gangplank, we stepped through what looked like a giant hole torn into the side of a ship. The walls were planks, much like the inside of a small boat and the windows were portholes. Artificial palm trees lined one side of the room, but you’d never guess they weren’t real. The headboard of the king-size bed was an aquarium, teeming with colorful tropical fish. It ran from the floor and arched over the head of the bed to the floor on the other side.
Wayne put his hand on my shoulder. “What do you think?”
“Unbelievable. It feels like you’re on an island in the middle of nowhere.” I could hardly take in all the details there were so many. Coconuts in the palm trees. Starfish and coral light fixtures. Even the carpet looked like rippled sand.
Wayne took my arm and guided us to the bathroom. Booker wedged his way in between us as we stepped into the lagoon with lush greenery and a rock wall. Wayne pressed on a coconut mounted to the wall and water poured over several large rocks near the ceiling.
“A waterfall shower,” I said with a grin. “I love it.”
Next Wayne showed us a room fashioned after a disco. The bed was up on a platform and had chaser lights around the frame. A disco ball hung from the ceiling. “I had to double the insulation in this room. The sound system is so good the floor actually vibrates.”
We also toured a jungle room with vines hanging from the ceiling, and a bed up in a tree house.
&
nbsp; Wayne flirted his way through the tour, touching my arm, winking, hinting that we go out sometime. Booker all but broke his teeth from grinding them.
While checking out the motorcycle themed room, which had a genuine Harley Davidson as the headboard, Wayne’s assistant rushed into the room.
“The governor wants to take some pictures with you,” said the overly excited girl.
“Tell him I’ll be there in a while, I’m giving a tour right now.” He looked at Booker. “I didn’t even vote for the guy. Starting a business in New York with all of its ridiculous regulations and laws was cumbersome, to say the least. This state literally chases businesses away.”
“He’s leaving. His helicopter just arrived. He said you’ll need to hurry.” She opened the door further, waving him on.
“I’d better go or he’ll raise my taxes even more,” Wayne grumbled. “Thanks for coming, Booker.” The two men shook hands. “You’re welcome to stay here anytime. In fact, pick a week and you can try out a different room every night.”
“Will do,” Booker said, slipping an arm around my shoulder as Wayne took my hand in his.
“I’ll call you,” he promised me before leaving.
“This is a beautiful place,” I said as we made our way outside and over to the reception area.
“The guy’s going to make a killing.”
I went straight to the car as Booker said goodbye to a few people he knew. I turned on the car and cranked up the heat.
“Here. I got you some contraband.” He handed me an egg salad sandwich as he got in. “These are pure heaven. I talked the girl into giving me the recipe for Seth’s restaurant.”
“I’ll bet you did.” No doubt the poor girl was putty in his gorgeous hands. I took a bite and groaned. “Pure heaven is right. And thank you,” I said around the ecstasy in my mouth.
He dropped half a sandwich in his mouth. “I have more.” He pulled a small bag from his jacket and waved it at me.
Unbearable (The Port Fare Series) Page 14