Pieces of Him

by Alice Tribue

  “All right, Dad,” I say, watching with a smile on my face as he leaves the room. I fold the letter up and place it on the bed with my suit. I want to take it with me and show it to Chloe later. It’s funny, but Chloe reminds me a lot of my mom, of Emelia. Her kind spirit, her big heart, her capacity for love, and the way she loves me. I think of my childhood, the Halloween costumes and pumpkin picking, Christmas tree decorating and letters to Santa, Easter egg hunts, birthdays, and every sport imaginable. It was just like the letter Keri wrote me, only my family looked a little differently than she envisioned. I say a silent thank you to her; I thank her for loving me, for wanting the best for me, for giving me life. I close my eyes and send her my love and I can almost feel her with me now.

  “I hope you’re happy,” I say to maybe no one. “I got everything you wanted for me.”

  I take a deep breath and focus on pulling my suit out of the garment bag. Down the hall, I hear my parents’ voices, Dad telling Mom to hurry up and get ready and not take forever. Mom telling him to back off, and then she bursts out into a fit of giggles. I smile at their banter, at their silliness, because they’ve been that way my entire life. I can only hope that Chloe and I have a relationship half as strong as theirs. I can only hope that I can pass that kind of love on to my children someday. That I can tell them how true love is possible, knows no boundaries, and can absolutely last a lifetime.

  About the Author

  Alice Tribue lives with her husband and two kids in New Jersey. She has a bachelor’s degree in communications and is currently working on her master’s degree. She spends most of her free time reading, writing, and when the weather permits, sitting on the beach sipping a margarita.

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  Acknowledgments

  Dear Awesome Readers!!! I can’t tell you how excited I am to share this book with all of you and how grateful I am that you made the choice to read it. Without that kind of support I wouldn’t be able to continue to do what I love so much to do. Your messages, excitement and words of enthusiasm mean the world to me. THANK YOU!

  To all of the bloggers who are always so kind to me. I could not do this without you and I truly appreciate all that you do.

  Anji Albis, Jenn Smith Gaffney and Stephanie Locke, Thank you for all of your notes, suggestions and honesty. You are by far the best beta readers EVER!

  Stephanie Locke, you know I love you. Your friendship means the world to me. Whether I’m up or down I know that I always have you to talk to and for that I’m so grateful.

  Jenn Smith Gaffney, Thank you for always helping me. For your brutal honesty, for being the best book signing assistant and for making me laugh. You truly get my brand of evil.

  Whitney Williams…I don’t have anything to say because I hope that by now you know it all. Thanks for letting me laugh, cry and just be myself…F.L.Y!!!

  Excerpt from Mirage

  By Alice Tribue

  Available Now!

  PROLOGUE

  It’s time to have my ceiling painted, I think to myself. These are the things my mind notices while I’m stuck in this position. It’s amazing the things your brain wanders to when you’re bored out of your mind. When I get tired of the view, I close my eyes waiting for it to be over, seriously hoping that it’ll only last a minute or two more. I do my part, wrap my legs around his waist, and cry out my phony sounds of pleasure.

  “Yes, oh God, Collin.”

  “Fuck, yeah.” I cringe when his hot breath hits my neck. This doesn’t happen to me often, but when my mind isn’t in it, I can’t do anything to get me there. Sessions like these are never enjoyable—not for me, anyway.

  He uses me as a receptacle, thrusting away until he fills me with his unwanted ejaculation. Then he rolls over and tells me how amazing it was, and how I’m the best fuck he’s ever had. I’m just thankful for it to be over.

  It’s always the same, exactly the fucking same. A man gets comfortable, he thinks that he has you, believes that you are so in love that you would never walk out the door, and then you meet the lazy alter ego of their former self. You know the one you actually met and wanted to fuck? With this new guy, there is no flirting, no kissing, and no foreplay. He just climbs on top of you, inserts dick, and there begins the most uneventful few minutes of the day.

  I lie here panting, pretending to be basking in the afterglow of post-coital bliss. He’ll never know that I’m faking; he doesn’t care enough to figure it out. My award-worthy act continues as he gets up and walks to the bathroom to relieve himself. Then, and only then, do I reach over and check my cell phone. Instantly, I’m on alert—three missed calls and one voicemail message.

  “Victoria, it’s Macy.” Her voice is shaky, and I can tell that she’s been crying. “I need to talk to you. Please call me back as soon as you get this.”

  It’s strange to get a call from her because she’s not one of the needy ones. I delete the message and call her back; she answers on the first ring.

  “Victoria?”

  “Macy, are you okay? What’s wrong?”

  “I had a scheduled appointment with Conrad, things just- I can’t… Victoria, can you just please come see me?” The desperation in her voice is evident, and it fills me with anxiety.

  “Yes, Macy, I’ll be there in twenty minutes, okay? Just sit tight.”

  “All right.”

  Hopping out of bed, I run into the bathroom to clean up just as Collin is coming out.

  “I have to run out,” I tell him while walking past.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I just have to take care of something at work.”

  “Of course, what else is new?”

  His sarcasm pisses me off, but I say nothing. There’s no time for another tedious argument about the hours I keep. I focus instead on cleaning up and throwing on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. The quicker I get out of here and to Macy, the better. I put my hair up in a loose ponytail, take a quick peek in the mirror, and exit the bathroom.

  “Don’t wait up,” I toss out to Colin once I reach the bedroom door, trying my hardest not to slam it on my way out.

  When I finally make it to Macy’s, I find a situation that does nothing to control my foul mood. In fact, it only intensifies it.

  ***

  No one understands what it’s like to be me. To have grown up being the girl who everyone talks over, the one who no one listens to, because they can’t hear what they don’t see. I made myself invisible out of necessity, and I did it long enough that by the time I no longer needed to, I didn’t know how to stop.

  The long-term effects of that are still there because, even now, even after the success I’ve achieved, when I think about it, no one really knows me. They never see the real me…they see only what I allow them to.

  In my youth, I was timid… In adulthood—I’m not the kind of woman who you fuck with, not even a little. I’m the kind of woman who would take a baseball bat to your knees if you even tried. I’ve developed a low tolerance for bullshit over the years because I’ve seen it all. Trust me; I’ve seen it all. Living in a city like New York, there’s not much that you don’t see. But there are things that I haven’t witnessed just as a spectator, and I’ve actually lived them. I’m not new to pain, betrayal, hurt, violence; I’m not new to a shitload of things and because of this, I’ll do what I have to do to protect myself, my interests, and the people I care for. There is no shame or guilt in that; it’s what makes me who I am.

  I stride down the brightly lit hallway feeling a dangerous combination of anger and fearlessness. All the while, I’m wondering why some people (particularly ric
h people) feel like they can get away with just about anything. I wonder why they think that there are no consequences for behaving badly. After the condition I found Macy in yesterday, I’m in the mood to make someone pay.

  I didn’t come from money—never had anything handed to me on a silver platter—because I worked my ass off for my wealth. Were my methods unconventional? Sure. A little outside the boundaries of the law? Possibly—but I never, NEVER go out of my way to hurt people, and if my choices are wrong, if I’m destined for hell, then I’m positive that assholes like Conrad Roberts are going right along with me. On that thought, I steel my spine, cock my head to the side, and knock on the front door.

  “Victoria, what are you doing here? How did you get up here?” he questions with a false look of astonishment on his face.

  “Hello, Mr. Roberts. I’m sorry to have shown up unannounced. Your doorman must have been on break. May I come in? We need to talk,” I say pushing past him. He isn’t much of a man; he’s long-limbed and thin with absolutely no muscle tone. He combs his thinning brown hair over, making him appear years older than he is, and his skin is scarily pale. I can understand why he would use my services because he’s not the kind of man who has his choice of women. Rumor has it that his wife only married him for his money; her father, whose own business was failing, pushed her into it.

  “How dare you show up at my apartment like this? What if my wife would have been here?”

  I wave him off as if his statement is ridiculous. “Don’t you worry; I waited until I was sure that she was gone.”

  His body tenses, and his face contorts in anger; clearly, Mr. Roberts needs to work on masking his emotions. “You did what? Have you been watching my house?”

  “I have,” I confirm, giving him the sweetest smile I can muster. “I have, Mr. Roberts, because, unlike you, I actually abide by the terms of the contract that we entered into, the same one you signed.” This is where I start speaking to him as if though he was a goddamned toddler who I’m trying to reason with. “I would never abuse my clients’ trust in me; I would never ever make my clients doubt my integrity. You, on the other hand, crossed a line last night, and I came here to see that you understand what that means.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “You don’t? Hmm, that’s odd.”

  “Can you just get to the reason why you’re here so that you can leave?”

  “I received a very distressing phone call from one of my employees last night; the very same employee that I sent to see you yesterday. You see, when she called, she was clearly upset, frightened even, so I, being her employer, went to make sure that she was all right. Do you know what I found, Mr. Roberts?”

  “I have no idea,” he answers, his tone annoyed. There’s no guilt on his face, no regret in his features, no remorse to be found anywhere on his body. He stands arrogantly, glaring at me as if I’m disturbing him, and it makes me angry. It makes me want to punch him in the frickin’ throat.

  “I’ll tell you what I found,” I say, squaring my shoulders and wishing like hell that I had a baseball bat with me. “I found a girl, who just hours before was in perfect health, bloodied and bruised. Her wrists and ankles were red and sore from being bound to a bed against her will. I found a girl who was held that way for HOURS and used and abused by you until you got your fill.”

  “Is that what she told you?”

  “Are you going to tell me that’s not what happened?”

  “What I’m saying is that she was a willing participant.”

  “Really? She asked you to beat the shit out of her?”

  “Some women like that sort of thing.”

  “And some men get off on hurting girls; they get their kicks by taking a pretty girl and abusing her, making it so that she can’t defend herself. Some men are just that disgusting.”

  “Miss Powell.”

  “Do not even try to explain away your behavior; I really don’t want to hear it. What I came here for is to tell you that I am terminating you as a client. You will no longer be able to use the services my company offers.”

  “You can’t do that.”

  “I can do whatever I want. It’s my company.”

  “Fine, I’ll expect a refund.”

  “You won’t be getting one; I’ll also be sending you a bill for Miss Madison’s physician charges.”

  “That’s absurd.”

  “Also, Mr. Roberts, I’d like to remind you that upon entering into our association, you did sign a non-disclosure agreement. Should violate that… well, let’s just say I’d advise you to adhere to it. I’d hate to have to enlighten your wife on your extracurricular activities.”

  He grows even paler, if that’s possible, and I relish the look of defeat on his face. I wish it made it all better, wish it was enough to satisfy my need for payback, but it’s not. I make my way back to the front door, grabbing the knob before turning back.

  “I almost forgot; there’s a little someone I’d like to introduce you to before I go,” I tell him, twisting the knob and opening the door. I don’t turn around, but I know Kyle is standing in the open doorway now. I can tell because I’m pretty sure by the look on Mr. Roberts’ face that he’s fighting the urge to soil himself. “This is Kyle; he’d just like to make sure you understood what we’ve spoken about today.”

  “Victoria, there’s no need.”

  “Oh, don’t worry, it’s just standard protocol. He won’t leave any bruises where they’re visible. You’ll be all right.” I toss him a brilliant smile, pat Kyle on the shoulder on my way out, and laugh inside, allowing myself to revel in the fact that he’s going to experience the same kind of pain that he inflicted on my girl last night. Visions of him begging and crying play out in my head, and for a moment, I wish I’d stayed behind to watch him get what he deserves.

  I get off the elevator, thank the doorman again for turning a blind eye, and head out to the awaiting car.

  “Are you headed home, Miss Powell?”

  “No. Can you take me back to the office, Parker?”

  “Sure thing.”

  Leaning back in my seat, I let the events of the day wash over me, settling into my brain so that I can wrap my head around them. It’s days like these that I wonder if I’m in over my head, if I’m doing the right thing, or if I’m just as fucked-up as everyone else in this business. I’m not stupid, and I’m certainly not naïve. I know that from the outside looking in, there’s no right way to look at what I do for a living. I sell sex. There is no easy way to say that—in technical terms, I guess you could call me a madam, but I hate that shit. I’m a business owner, an entrepreneur, because the way I sell sex is not the norm. I don’t shuffle my girls around like cattle, allowing them to fuck two, and sometimes three, men on the same night. No. My girls have one client, one. That’s it, and they service only that client for as long as his contract lasts. I ensure the girls’ safety that way. I know most people would say that what I do is illegal, it’s wrong, immoral even, and maybe they’re right, but the way I see it is that without me, most of these girls would still be doing what they do. I make it easier for them, safer, and much more lucrative. I only deal with a certain type of clientele, the wealthy kind, and they pay a pretty penny for my services because I offer them beautiful disease- and drug-free women without the hassle of searching the streets for them or dealing with unsavory characters. It’s a win-win situation. I make sure these men are affluent, healthy, mentally stable, and I make certain to run background checks on each and every one of them. That being said, I’m only human, and occasionally, someone slips by me and falls through the cracks—someone like Conrad Roberts. Times like this make me wonder if what I’m doing is enough to protect these girls because even one incident like this is too many for me.

  Please just let me get through this day, I beg no one in particular. I close my eyes trying to relieve the tension that exists when my cell phone rings. The particular ringtone makes me tense even further; the las
t thing I need right now is to have another argument with him.

  “Hi, baby,” I answer as sweetly as I possibly can; it’s my defense mechanism. I figure if I speak to him with affection, then he’ll return the favor. I’m wrong.

  “Where are you, Victoria?”

  “I just got out of a meeting, and I’m heading back to the office now,” I say bracing myself for impact. I don’t know why I deal with this shit. Probably because they are all the same—men…Every single one of them has a problem with how wealthy I am, how independent I am, and the hours I keep. They work their nine-to-fives, come home, and sit on their asses waiting for me to get home and cook dinner as if I’m supposed to earn a living and still perform the normal “housewife” duties. It drives me fucking crazy.

  I don’t think he can help the disdain in his voice. “Late again, I see. I haven’t seen you since you left last night.”

  “Collin, I don’t know what you want me to say. You know I have a job and people are counting on me to do it.”

  “It’s a fucking holistic health business, Victoria. It’s not like you’re finding a cure for cancer or ending world hunger. I think business can survive without you for a few hours.”

  So, the answer is NO, Collin doesn’t know the truth about my business. Very few people know the truth, and he’s not one of them. I guess it says a lot about the depth of our relationship if I can’t trust him enough to tell him the truth. It would take a special kind of man to be okay with my job, and I honestly don’t think Collin is that man. The sex is okay most days though, so I’ve stayed with him longer than I probably should have.