Stone Rules (A Mitchell Sisters/Stone Brothers Novel)

by Samantha Christy

  Although I haven’t seen his face, I did catch a glimpse of the back of Ethan’s head last Monday as he was walking to the gym offices. Apparently poker nights are still a thing. But nobody talks about it. Nobody talks about him. Not even Jarod, and he’s related.

  I was too ashamed of myself to tell Piper what happened in the storeroom at the club that night. I cleaned myself up and found her sitting at our table nursing another bottle of water. She told me I looked like hell and maybe we should call it a night. I was grateful that I didn’t have to explain why I wanted to leave. I was grateful that I didn’t run into Zach on the way out. I was grateful that I could just go home and forget the horrible night ever happened.

  So that’s what I do with my days—try to forget. Forget Ethan. Forget Zach. Forget my mom and dad. Forget that appalling list.

  The problem with trying to forget things, is that all you really do is remember them.

  I reach over to my bedside table and grab my eye mask, putting it on to shield myself from the mid-afternoon sun shining through my window. No offense to Piper, but sleep has become my best friend. It’s the one place I’m at peace. Unlike Piper, I’ve never had nightmares about my past, and if I dream, I don’t remember.

  My phone chimes, alerting me to an e-mail. Annoyed by it, but wondering who would be emailing me, because as Piper said, I know about two people, I grab it and tap the screen. When I see who the text is from my body tenses. The sender of the email is Gretchen. And the subject is ‘Final list of names.’

  Oh, God. I know what that means. It means they found the last four men. It means Karl Salzman’s name will be among them. The thought of all twelve of them makes my skin crawl, but him—he’s the one who took something from me I could never get back. It was his vile touch that stole whatever innocence I had left.

  I say a silent prayer before I open the email. I pray he is dead. I pray he is dead and buried and being eaten by maggots and worms. That he is rotting in hell along with my mother where they are probably Satan’s right hand man and woman.

  I open the attached files and my heart skips when the word DECEASED is written in diagonal bold letters across the front of one of the pages. But upon further inspection, it’s not Karl’s name on it. It’s Joe Mitchner’s. I can’t help but feel relief that one of these men is no longer walking the earth, but at the same time, I’m disappointed it’s not Karl.

  The second page details information on John Taylor. He’s moved out of state and now resides in Utah. I find myself wondering if he’s one of those men with ten wives and twenty-four kids. I cringe thinking about it.

  Next is Steven Smith. The document says they aren’t one-hundred-percent sure he is the right Steven Smith but that they’ve exhausted all avenues and this one came the closest to having ties with my mother. He also has moved out of state, but is at least more accessible, being in Massachusetts. Still, he’ll have to wait.

  I click on the last attachment, my heart pounding because I know whose it will be. When the name pops up, I wince. When my eyes fall to his last known address, I don’t know if I should be upset or happy. He lives in White Plains, just a thirty-minute cab ride from here. Should I feel fortunate he lives close enough to confront him, or scared because of what I know I would like to do to him?

  I pull my mother’s diary from the nightstand and leaf through it until I find the page I’m looking for.

  June 11, 2009

  I have to up my game with Salzman. He’s got even more clout than Morgan and J.T. combined. The man knows people. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve slept with him, and Dewey said he’s going to cut me off if I keep giving away all the good shit he gets me. You’d think with all Karl’s connections, he’d be able to score his own shit. The last time he was here, he promised me a sit-down with the producer of a famous book that was being made into a movie. Said they were looking for a mid-thirties female lead. So what if I’m not technically in my thirties anymore? I could pass for it and that’s all that matters. Plus, with makeup and all the computer-generated technology these days, anyone can look ten years younger than they are. They’d be lucky to get me. Hell, with my resume, they should be begging me for the job. But my asshole agent refuses to book me any auditions that aren’t within five years of my true age. I think it’s time to look for another agent. When Karl texted me he was coming over tonight, he asked if my daughter was going to be here. Damn Charlie, even the ones I want for myself seem more interested in her. She’s grown so tall and developed so early. I thought I’d kept her hidden from Karl. I’m sick of all these guys paying more attention to a fucking fifteen-year-old than someone who’s won not one, but two Oscars. Maybe if I just let him have her, he’d get it out of his system. You know, kill two birds with one stone—I get the part, he gets her.

  My blood boils thinking back on that day. I throw the diary across the room and watch as it hits the wall and falls to the floor, all the while wishing it were Karl’s head. Adrenaline is pumping through me when I slip into my jeans and t-shirt. Then I pull a hoodie over my head before I gather up what I need and head out the door.

  I catch my reflection in the rear-view mirror of the cab, realizing I forgot the ball cap in my haste to leave. But at this point, I’m too far invested to care. I don’t care if he knows who I am when he sees me. I would actually prefer him to be looking into my eyes when I do what I need to do.

  The thirty-minute cab ride out of the city seems to take hours. All the while, I go over different scenarios in my head. All the while, I trace the outline of the hard metal in my hoodie pocket.

  I have the cabbie drop me at the end of the street, not even asking him to wait. I still don’t know what I plan to do or how long I plan to be here. I want to check the place out before I make any decisions. It’s a private residence. This is White Plains, after all. Not a crack house, like Clint lived in. Not a townhouse like Tony. Not a busy apartment building like Morgan. No, this house is an affluent single-family home on a large lot surrounded by, of all things, a goddamn white picket fence.

  I walk by the home, casing it stealthily. I can see beyond the fence into a backyard that has a swing set and my stomach clenches. Kids. Fuck.

  I realize it’s not quite five o’clock. The guy probably won’t even be home. He has to have a good job to afford a place like this. I find myself walking around the block a few times, talking myself out of things then talking myself back into them.

  The third time around the block, I see a car approach his house. It’s a nice car. A Land Cruiser, I think. The garage door to the home opens and the car pulls inside. Then I have to keep myself from hyperventilating when Karl Salzman emerges from the garage, walking to the mailbox like he’s Mister fucking Rogers. Like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Like he’s never raped a teenage girl.

  He doesn’t even notice me as I come around the bushes and walk towards him. He’s too engrossed in opening a piece of mail. I almost make it into the garage behind him, but the garage door comes down before I can put my hand out to stop it.

  My skin still crawling at the sight of him, I walk up the steps to his front porch and pound on the door. Moments later he opens it, the smile on his face falling faster than the time it takes me to reach into my pocket.

  “Oh, God,” he says, turning his head to look behind him.

  When he turns back around, I have a gun pointed in his face.

  “Wait, don’t,” he begs, holding his hands out to plead with me. “Don’t.”

  Bile rises from the pit of my stomach, burning my throat. My hands are shaking so hard, I’m not even sure I could hit him with a bullet even though we’re only feet apart. “Funny,” I bite at him, “when I said those very words to you, you ignored me. Why should I listen when you say them?”

  He starts to plead with me again.

  “Shut up!” I yell, waving the gun at him. “And step the fuck back.”

  In this moment, I realize how poetic it would be to shoot Karl Salzman with Tony
Pellman’s gun. I let my finger caress the trigger, wanting so badly to pull it, but needing to give him a piece of my mind first.

  Sweat dots his brow as he retreats a few feet, enough for me to walk through the front door. But then two things happen at once. A lady comes around the corner asking, “Honey, who’s at the door?” And someone runs up behind me as I hear familiar voice shout, “Charlie, NO!”

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  I can’t even turn around to look at Ethan. I can’t let my defenses down for one second or Karl could get away. I can’t think about how Ethan probably just set me up, giving me this information so he could follow me. I want to be mad at him. But my anger is all directed at the monster in front of me.

  But the thing is, he doesn’t look like a monster. He looks like he could be anyone’s dad. Anyone’s husband. And he’s scared. It’s evident by more than just the look on his face. It’s evident by the wetness spreading across the front of his pants.

  I smirk at his crotch. Good. Humiliation from pissing himself is an added bonus.

  “Charlie!” Ethan’s words ring out from behind. “What are you doing? Put down the gun.”

  I shake my head fervently from side to side. “No,” I tell him. “Not until he’s paid for what he’s done.”

  The woman who has now rounded the corner and taken in the full extent of the circumstances, screams. Karl reaches out to her, pulling her behind him, protecting her with his own body.

  I hear a door close behind me and then I see Ethan carefully edge against the wall next to me. “Charlie, give me the gun. Please.”

  “No,” I say, never taking my eyes off Karl. “Damn you, Ethan. You shouldn’t have followed me.”

  “What’s going on here, Charlie? What has this man done?”

  “What has he done?” I ask, my voice cracking in agony. “What has he done?” I narrow my eyes at Karl. “Tell them, Karl. Tell them what you did to me.”

  I wince knowing that if he speaks, my secret will be revealed. But then I look at my hands, pointing the gun at Karl’s head and I realize it doesn’t really matter anymore. Nothing matters.

  “Karl?” his wife asks. “What is she talking about? Why is this happening?”

  “Natalie,” he says, his voice trembling as he turns his head towards her. “Oh, God. I’m so sorry.”

  Fury radiates through my veins. “You’re apologizing to her?” I yell. Then I motion to the woman. “Who are you? His wife?”

  She nods and I shake my head in frustration.

  “You married this sick bastard?” I ask. “Do you have any idea who you married?”

  “Charlie, what the fuck is going on?” Ethan demands.

  “Momma?” a soft whisper of a voice squeaks from the hallway. Gasps come from all four of us when a toe-headed little girl walks sleepily out into the foyer, rubbing her tired eyes.

  Natalie removes herself from Karl’s protective stance, having no care for herself when running over to sweep the little girl into her arms. The child can’t be more than two. I’m grateful for so many reasons. One: she’s probably too young to remember any of this. And two: he most likely hasn’t touched her. Yet.

  “You have a daughter?” I ask, vileness dripping from my voice.

  I lunge for him, but Ethan steps in front of me and I’m left pointing the gun at him. “Charlie, no matter what happened here, you don’t want to do this. Talk to me. Tell me what’s happening here.”

  “Move,” I tell him. I take a step back, letting him know I won’t advance further.

  Ethan raises his hands in surrender as if he’s the target of my aggression. Then he moves, but not back to where he was before. He walks over and stands next to Natalie and her daughter, protecting them in Karl’s stead.

  I look over at the child. “Is this your only child?” I ask.

  “Yes,” Natalie says. “Please don’t hurt us.”

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” I tell her. “In fact, you should be thanking me for this. It’ll save you the trouble.”

  Natalie and Ethan both look in shock. Scared. Confused.

  I’m glad the child is so young. Because what I’m about to say will have no meaning to her. But what I’m about to say could ultimately save her from a life of self-abhorrence. I look at her sweet, cherub face and it gives me the strength to do what I need to do.

  There isn’t a part of my body that isn’t shaking when I tell them, “He raped me.”

  Ethan and Natalie both draw in sharp breaths. That’s where the similarity ends. Ethan’s eyes turn sympathetic. There is no question in my mind that he believes the words that just came from me. Natalie, on the other hand, tells me I’m mistaken. That he is a wonderful husband and father who would never do such a thing and I must have him confused with someone else. She said she’s known him for four years and there is no way the man I’m pointing the gun at is the man who raped me.

  “Charlie?” Ethan begs me with his eyes to explain.

  I speak to Natalie. “Your husband. Your child’s father. The man you love. The man you think you know. He raped me. Not last night. Not last week. He raped me seven years ago. When I was fifteen—when I was a virgin—he raped me in exchange for a favor.”

  I look at their stunned faces and then shock them some more. “And in the months after, he raped me ten more times.”

  I see Ethan’s hands ball into fists. He’s going to hit the bastard. Beat him to a bloody pulp if the look on his face is any indication. He lunges towards him, swinging at him with all his weight, making a loud cracking sound when his hand connects to Karl’s jaw, sending Karl’s body hurdling into the wall behind him.

  “Ethan, no!” I scream, running over to pull him off Karl. “This isn’t your fight.”

  Natalie puts her daughter down, joining me in my attempt to pull Ethan off her husband. Ethan stands over a fallen Karl, his arm snaps back, ready to deliver another blow when his elbow catches the side of my head, sending me toppling off him and onto the floor.

  “Shit! Charlie!” He turns his attention from Karl to me, kneeling on the floor next to me, running his hands over my head to check for injury. “Did I hurt you?”

  “I’m okay,” I tell him. “You barely got me. Besides, I’ve had worse.”

  “Oh, God. Charlie.” His eyes meet mine and all of a sudden it’s as if he knows my pain. The pain of something being taken from you. Something you can never get back. And when he gently reaches out to take the gun from my clutches, I let him.

  Natalie must have seen him take it because she whips out her cell phone and starts tapping on it. “All of you, stop it! I’m calling the police.”

  “Natalie, wait,” Karl implores.

  “Karl? What are you saying? I am calling the police . . . right?”

  He gets up from the ground, rubbing a hand over his swollen jaw. He walks over and puts his hand on hers. The hand that was dialing the phone. “No, you’re not.”

  “What? Why?” she asks. Her eyes snap to his and they have a silent conversation that only married people can have. Then her gaze drops to the floor and she takes in a breath as if she’ll never breathe again.

  “Oh, my God.” She gasps, backing away from him to pick up their daughter. “Tell me it isn’t true,” she says, holding her daughter tightly in her arms.

  Karl’s knees give out and he falls to the floor, his head in his hands as he starts to cry. “I’m sorry,” he tells her. Then he turns to me. “I’m so sorry.” His chest heaves as his sobs become louder. “I was loaded. I didn’t know what I was doing. I was different then. I . . . I—”

  “Oh my God,” Natalie says again in horror, her mouth agape as she looks at her husband in utter disgust. She holds onto her daughter for dear life. “We have a daughter, Karl. A daughter! How could I ever trust that you—”

  “I would never,” he says, holding his hand out to her.

  She backs away. “Ten times, Karl?” she asks. “Ten times isn’t being stoned. Ten times is being a psychotic ped
ophile. Ten times is . . .” She hands me the phone. “Here,” she says, “You call the police.” Then she disappears down the hallway with her daughter.

  Karl tries to follow them, but Ethan gets in his way. “Sit the fuck down,” he says.

  Ethan turns to me and studies me. I can see in his eyes the moment he puts it all together. “Oh, Charlie,” he says, closing his eyes briefly to sigh. “The list. Did they all . . . ?”

  I shake my head. “No. They didn’t all rape me, but they all did . . . something.” I look away, not wanting to see the pain in his eyes when I say what I know will shock him. “My mother let them.” I hear Ethan’s fist go through the drywall as I look down at the sobbing man on the floor. “But he was the worst of them all.”

  He doesn’t deserve to cry. He doesn’t deserve to be sorry. He doesn’t deserve to look like the broken, pathetic man he is right now. I lean over to grab the gun away from Ethan, but he quickly pulls it from my reach, tucking it into the back of his belt. When I lunge around him to try and get it, he envelops me in his arms, holding me tightly against him. “Look,” he says, nodding to Natalie who is coming down the hall with the little girl in one hand and a suitcase and diaper bag in the other. “I know you want to kill him. I know how it feels to lose something and want to kill the person responsible for taking it from you. But, Charlie, punishment comes in all kinds of different ways.”

  Karl begs her to stay. Natalie tells him he will never see her or Kelsey ever again.

  Kelsey.

  I hope Natalie keeps her word.

  She comes over to me and holds her hand out for her phone. I give it to her with a nod. She pulls me in for a hug. I have a feeling she wants to say something to me, but that she’s in too much shock to have any kind of sensible conversation. My eyes connect with hers and we share a moment. A moment of shame. A moment of recognition. A moment that makes me wonder if something similar once happened to her. A moment she’s saving her daughter from ever having.