by Andrea Joy
7.5 years ago
My arms burn from my workout last night, but I ignore the pain and continue going over the case notes I currently have sprawled across my desk. We are going to court in two weeks and I’m still not a hundred percent sure my client is completely innocent. Whether I think he is or not, doesn’t matter. I get paid to get people off of whatever charges they got, innocent or not. Not to sound pig headed, but I’m very good at my job. It’s why I get paid the big bucks, why I was able to make partner faster than anyone has ever made partner at the firm before.
“You weren’t there today.”
My head jerks up from where I’m bent over my desk at the sound of the voice and close my eyes for a second before straightening up in my chair. When I open them again, I instantly lock onto ones as blue as the sky outside. There’s a light inside them. She looks happier, relieved to be done with high school.
“What are you doing here, Sofia? Shouldn’t you be out celebrating with your friends?” I ask, twirling the pen between my fingers. Afraid that if I don’t have something occupying my hands, I’ll reach for her.
Sofia was eighteen before I started to notice her. Really notice her. Before that, she was just Braxton’s cousin who he was taking care of because her mother was a good for nothing junkie and had left Sofia to practically care for herself when she just thirteen years old. God knows her brother, Dante, didn’t take care of her. Of course, neither of us knew that at the time. Not until Braxton got a call from the Ministry of Child and Family services. Sofia was already fourteen by then. Somehow, she managed to keep herself out of the system for over a year before anyone ever found out.
I hate how my eyes track the way her legs look in the shorts she has on and how the tight purple tank top accentuates her breasts. I hate that the sight of new ink crawling up her forearm makes my dick twitch behind the zipper of my dress slacks. God, this isn’t right. She’s still a kid.
“Stop looking at me like that.” The anger simmering in her voice pulls my gaze back up to her face and I watch as she takes a seat in front of my desk.
“Like what?”
“Like I’m a child.”
I let out the breath I was holding and pinch the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger, the pen long forgotten and now laying in amongst the paperwork on my desk.
“When did we become these people, Mason? We used to be close. Like.” She pauses. “Like siblings.”
I flinched at her choice of word. Siblings? If only she knew the type of thoughts I was having about her. I quickly glance over at the tall floor to ceiling window on my left in hopes that she didn’t see my reaction. When I feel like I have a handle on myself again, I turn back to her. The light I saw in her eyes earlier has dimmed a little.
“I’m sorry, Sof. You’re right. I should’ve been there for you. Well, at least stayed for the whole thing.” I grin and relax a bit when she returns it.
“Yeah, Toni said you snuck in just in time to see me walk the stage but then you left right after.”
“Unfortunately, this case,” I sweep a hand out indicating the massive amounts of paperwork occupying every bit of desk space, “is taking up a lot of my time, but we go to court in two weeks and then I’ll have more time. I promise.”
Sofia nods, but she still looks doubtful. When she pushes up from the chair and makes her way back toward the door, I know I can’t let her leave like this.
“Sofia,” I call out just as she’s about to turn the corner.
She pauses in the doorway but doesn’t make a move to walk back into the office.
“You didn’t think I wouldn’t get you a gift, did you?” I push my chair back just enough so I can access the small drawer in the front. It’s not noticeable to anyone just looking at it. You’d have to really know what you’re looking for to even know that it’s there. it’s where I keep all the highly sensitive information I have on some of my clients. Information that could put them behind bars for the rest of their life if it fell into the wrong hands. I pull the skinny box out and toss it at her.
Sofia catches it with both hands. Her eyes rounding in shock. Wonder? As she gets a good look at the box, but it’s the look that overcomes her face when she snaps open the top that will be ingrained in my memory for years to come. Proof that I finally got something right. She rushes back into the office and around the side of my desk, throwing her arms around my neck as soon she makes it to where I’m sitting.
“It’s beautiful. Thank you,” she whispers in my ear.
I hug her back. Admittedly letting the hug last a little longer than is appropriate. “You’re welcome.”
Sofia leaves again and this time I don’t stop her. Turning back to the papers in front of me. I can’t get my brain to focus on the words because all I keep picturing are Sofia’s legs wrapped around my waist while she screams my name.
It just seems wrong to go back to pouring over crime scene photos and expert testimony after having her arms around me. And for the first time this year I wonder how the fuck I’m going to keep my hands to myself.
Chapter Three
MASON
7.5 years ago
The club is packed. It’s usually packed on a Friday night, but this is some next level bullshit. I nod a greeting to one of the server girls and push my way past men and women sizing each other up, wondering if the person they’re talking to will be the one meeting them upstairs to act out a scene.
Club Nineveh is a pet project that Braxton, Alessandro, Stefan, Toni, and I started years ago. We had no idea that it would gain the traction and popularity it has though. So much so that we’re contemplating opening up a second club a few hours away in Ottawa.
“The usual, Mr. James?” Derek, our head bartender asks, wiping down the bar top in front of me.
“Please,” I answer, turning to survey the club. A proud smile pulls at the corners of my lips as I take in the club that we’ve spent so much time and money investing in.
“Surprised to see you here,” Stefan says, sliding up to my side and lifting his empty glass when Derek looks over, in a silent communication that he wants a refill. “You on the roster tonight?”
We both turn back to the bar when Derek brings over our drinks. Vodka on the rocks for me and Whiskey, neat for Stefan. Before Braxton and Alessandro started seeing their women, the five of us would rotate on a weekly schedule as Doms at the club. Now, it was just Stefan, Toni, and I. Not exclusively, though, but we make sure to put all our clients through an extensive background check before they’re allowed to add their names to the roster.
I hadn’t planned on playing tonight since Sundays were usually my days off, but I can’t deny that having a Sub kneeling at my feet, waiting for my instructions, would go a long way in easing whatever tension is brewing between my shoulders.
“Thinking about it.” I shoot back the clear liquid, the ice clinking against the side of the glass, enjoying the burn on the way down, before motioning to Derek for a refill. “You?”
“Yeah, filling in for Toni.”
That catches my attention. Toni is usually always here, even on the days when he’s not on schedule, trying to lose himself in Sub after Sub or training a new one. I don’t know what kind of demons he’s trying to run from, but the man needs to figure it out fast.
Stefan chuckles, fingering the newly refilled drink Derek placed in front of him. “That was my reaction too. Not sure what’s going on with him lately, but he’s not Toni.”
I grunt in agreement, taking a drink of my refill, slower this time. If I’m going to play tonight, I need to have a clear head. After a few moments of us staring out over the crowd again, Stefan slaps me on the back and heads off, seeing someone who catches his attention. Just as I begin to head toward the hostess stand to tell Rebecca to add me to the list for tonight, I catch sight a familiar figure. I’m rooted to my spot halfway between the bar and the curtain separating the door from the rest of the club as I watch her tip her head back and laugh at somethi
ng the man beside her says. Her back’s to me so I can’t see her face, but I’d still recognize her anywhere.
It can’t be.
Invisible strings tug at my heart and before I know it my feet are moving without my permission. I reach out and wrap my fingers around her upper arm, spinning her around to face me and effectively cutting off whatever conversation she’s in the middle of.
“Emily.”
Gold eyes instead of dark brown stare up at me, confusion and a hint of interest in their depths. Everything about her face is wrong. But I could’ve sworn. I shake my head and drop my hold from around her arm,
“I’m sorry. I thought you were someone else.”
“Don’t be sorry, handsome,” the woman purrs, running a hand down my blue tie.
I snatch her wrist before it can wander any further, utter another apology and release her before turning around and hightailing it out of the club. I barely hear Rebecca telling me to have a goodnight as I push open the door and rush into the cool night air.
On my way home, I stop at the liquor store and pick up a new bottle of vodka, cursing myself for being such an idiot. Logically, I knew that the woman couldn’t have been my wife. But another fucked up part was hoping… for what? That the last six months never happened. That somehow, she was still alive and under some sort of witness protection program that forced her to fake her death. That the cancer wasn’t real?
My front door has barely closed behind me before I’m twisting off the cap and bringing the bottle to my lips. I kick off my shoes, not caring where they land, and haphazardly throw my suit jacket on the banister before trudging upstairs.
“Jesus, Mase. What the fuck!”
I crane my neck slightly to see Corey, my best friend and business partner, standing in the doorway to the bedroom. Somewhere in the fog that’s clouded my brain, I remember I’m laying naked save for a pair of boxer-briefs in the middle of the big bed, but I don’t give a shit. Serves him right for showing up at my house uninvited and barging his way into our bedroom. My bedroom. God dammit, it stopped being Em and I’s bedroom the day she died. The day she left me.
I groan and try to push myself up. My muscles protesting the change after being forced to stay in the same awkward position for most of the night. I hadn’t even noticed that the heat never kicked on in the middle of the night as a shiver races down my back.
“The fuck do you want?” I grit out, sitting on the edge of the mattress, my eyes roaming the floor around the bed searching out the pair of pants I wore yesterday.
“You didn’t show up at the office this morning. You’re always the first one in in the mornings. Came to make sure you were still alive.”
Something gets flung at me and it’s not until my fingers wrap around the material and I unfold it do I realize that Corey must have opened the dresser drawer and pulled out a pair of pajama bottoms for me.
“Clean yourself up. I’ll have coffee ready downstairs.” He leaves no room for argument when he turns and shuts the bedroom door behind him, but not before grabbing the empty vodka bottle from the floor. Moments later I hear him bound down the stairs then his steps are faltering followed by a loud curse.
If my muscles weren’t aching with every movement and I wasn’t sporting a hangover from hell I would’ve chuckled at the likelihood that Corey almost tripped over Bowser. The big dog has made a habit of wedging himself right up against the bottom step and falling asleep. His dark fur blends in with the dark carpet on the stairs, so you don’t know he’s there until you’re almost on top of him or he shifts. Damn dog has gotten me good a night or two when I’ve been so drunk, I’ve had to stumble up the stairs.
Five minutes later, I’m showered and dressed but not in my standard three-piece suit attire. I’ve already decided that work can fuck off today. If any of my clients really need me, I can take care of it from home, but I need a day away from the hum drum of the office and criminals who count on me to get them off the hook.
Corey eyes my casual outfit but doesn’t comment on it as he shoves a mug of steaming coffee at me and nods to the other side of the kitchen island with the bar stools. I heed his unspoken command and sit down. The smell of omelets cooking has my stomach growling, making me wonder when exactly the last time was I ate. If the massive hangover is any indication then it was at least twenty-four hours ago, maybe longer. Fuck if I know.
I expect Corey to start reaming my ass out for ditching out of work today once I’ve taken the first sip of coffee, so I’m surprised when the next words out of his mouth are,
“How bad?”
I take a sip of my coffee first before uttering, “How bad what?”
He plates the first omelet, placing it in front of me before turning back to make a second. Making sure to avoid the big dog looking at him pleadingly. Once Corey has everything set up in the pan, he leans against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. “How bad did it get this weekend, Mase?”
My headache intensifies and I’m not entirely sure if it’s because of the copious amounts of alcohol I consumed over a two-day period on what I’m now pretty sure was an empty stomach, or if it’s because of the force with which I’m clenching my jaw. Bowser whines and I take pity on him, breaking off a piece of bacon and feeding it to him.
“It doesn’t matter,” I shrug, picking at the egg, ham, and cheese concoction on my plate.
Corey doesn’t respond while he plates his own breakfast and maneuvers to sit beside me. If he wasn’t my best friend, I would’ve kicked him out long ago. Business partners be damned. But Corey picked me up in the months following Emily’s death. During the first week I thought I had my shit together, thought I could hide my grief and bury myself in heaps of paperwork and cases, it quickly became apparent to me and everyone else that I wasn’t coping with her death. That’s when I started drinking, figured losing myself at the bottom of a bottle or two every day would help ease the pain and the guilt I felt around her death. It didn’t. When he found me at my worst, he ordered a house cleaning service to clean my house on the days Mads, the housekeeper Em hired years ago, had off. Then he carted me back to his place and him and his wife, Melanie, took care of my sorry ass.
I didn’t want to admit that my wife’s death hit me harder than I thought. Real men weren’t supposed to feel emotions. Isn’t that the bullshit we’re all fed as kids? Real men don’t cry. Real men are tough. We’re supposed to take it on the chin and move on. Well, fuck that. My wife died from cancer. The woman I’ve loved since we were fifteen-fucking-years old. What kind of man would I be if losing her didn’t faze me? A cold-hearted monster, that’s what. I lost the love of my life and I wasn’t ready to move on without her yet.
It’s not until we’re both done eating and I’ve refilled our coffee mugs does he say, “Mase, you can’t keep punishing yourself like this. She wouldn’t’ve wanted to see you like this.”
He’s right of course. Em would’ve hated seeing me like this. Losing myself to a bottle or two of bourbon or vodka or both, using women in my own personal endeavour to forget. It doesn’t make hearing it any less painful.
Without a word, I grab my coffee mug and bring it with me in a silent dismissal for Corey to see himself out, and head back upstairs but when I pass the open door to her library, I physically can’t pull myself away. Instead, I find myself walking into the bright room and sitting down in her favorite lounge chair.
Hunched over with elbows braced on my knees and my head in my hands, I beg my wife to forgive me. I beg her to forgive me for not giving her what she wanted, for not fighting harder to find her the best doctors.
Hours pass before I can’t take the near constant growl from my stomach and make my way back downstairs. I heard Corey leave shortly after I turned my back on him and walked out of my kitchen, but not before I heard the telltale sign of the dishwasher starting up. The man can’t stand a thing out of place which led to my making up a game shortly after we met for my personal enjoyment, and to see him nearly lose his
mind trying to figure out what was different. Every time I went over to his house, I moved something. Just one thing and not necessarily move it so that it was obvious. Sometimes just an inch or two to the right or left, other times I’d just rotate it slightly. It drove Corey nuts, but hey if your best friend can’t mess with you like that, then who can.
Before I can sit down with my sandwich and another glass of bourbon, my computer pings with an incoming email from my office just down the hall. I’m usually not able to hear it unless I have my phone, but I must have left the office door open and not shut down the computer after the last use.
Sitting down in the black leather chair, I curse as I see the email that just came in and the sender. So much for telling work to fuck off for the day because the sender of the email is not one you can tell to fuck off unless you have a death wish. When the De Luca family comes calling, you better be ready to answer.
Chapter Four
MASON
7 years ago
It’s four in the morning before I make my way upstairs and to one of the guest rooms in the De Luca mansion. I don’t bother with a shower, just strip out of my black dress pants and navy-blue sweater and crawl into the middle of the queen bed, sinking into the mattress almost immediately.
I don’t think I’ve had this much fun since I was in college, before law school. I should’ve known that De Luca wouldn’t have opted for a small New Year’s Eve party. I actually think this was the biggest one he’s had to date. There wasn’t a space in the big house that wasn’t occupied by bodies. People gathered in every corner they could to carry on conversations while sipping on the most expensive champagne money can buy. Others taking up the couches in the living room and the massive dining room. I’m pretty sure someone even broke out a couple games at one point too. The once pristine kitchen island was littered with champagne bottles and every other liquor you could imagine.