“Put the fucking shirt on. I’ll be back in five minutes.”
I follow his instructions, slipping out of my trashed boots and disgusting clothes. The shirt smells clean as I glide it over my skin, or maybe it’s the haze fogging my head. I’d give anything for my satin nightie, but this is the next best thing right now. I plunge face first onto the bed. The lumpy thing swallows me whole. The musky scent of the blanket and sheets make me cringe, but my heavy eyelids couldn’t care less.
I hear the door creak open and then look up to see Curtis’s face staring at me. “I have two brothers on you. Don’t leave this room until I come get you.” Two brothers? His men who have his back no matter the circumstance.
“‘Kay.” I nod and bite my bottom lip, or at least I think I do.
“I’ve got you, cuz.”
“Thanks.”
“My girls are going to be so happy that you’re home.” He flips the light off and then shuts the door, leaving me in the dark.
Home. This isn’t home. I haven’t had a home since I lost my mom. And I sure as hell haven’t worked like a fucking whipping dog to call some place like this home. God, I sound like a first-rate bitch. But I like my stuff. It’s mine, and I deserve it.
I fall asleep wishing I could call this place home.
I wake to something hard hitting me in the face. “Quit faking, bitch. You know I’m in here.”
“Shut up,” I grunt, laughing when Rachel jumps on the bed with me, nearly knocking us off in the process. I’ve been lying here in this shitty room for over an hour. Thank God when I woke up to pee the toilet was clean. I was afraid I was going to have to climb out the window and pee in the woods.
“What time is it?” I ask, holding my hand over my mouth, so she doesn’t smell my donk breath. It has to smell, because it tastes absolutely horrible.
“Noon. The girls will be home from school in a few hours. I thought we could talk before they get here.”
“What the hell?” I sit up in bed. “You guys let me sleep the day away?” I say more as a question than a statement.
“Trust me. I wanted to wake you up with a punch to your face for not calling Curtis about what happened. What the hell is going on, Caitlin?”
I sigh, pull my knees up to my chest and the shirt down over my knees to repeat the entire story about the break-in to my oldest and dearest friend.
“My God. Even though I wish you had called us, I’m thankful you’re here. You’re safe, and you know my crazy, sexy-ass husband will get to the bottom of this.” She places her arm around me, pulling me in for a hug.
“I know.” I’m not about to ask her or anyone how he will get to the bottom of it. Right now, it seems like a bottomless vortex with the task impossible. And frankly, I don’t want to know how or what Curtis will do to protect me. Family means everything to the man.
“So, about this guy. The one who picked you up?”
“Yeah. What about him?” I squint my eyes at her. She knows something. I haven’t gotten to the part of how I got here yet. “Spit it out. Who is he?”
“Well, from what Curtis says, he’s a guy with a beard that you want between your legs.” My eyeballs bug out of my head when I recall everything I said to Curtis about this mysterious man last night.
“Right. That was the whiskey talking. He is a complete asshole. I hope I never see him again.”
“Sure, you don’t.”
“I’m serious. If you knew how he talked to me, you would hate him.”
Is it sick and twisted that his crude words pull out a longing in me that I’ve never experienced before?
“Whatever you say. Listen, we have all the time in the world to talk. Curtis asked me to wake you. He wants to talk down at our house. I brought some clothes and stuff for you to shower. I’ll wait for you by the bar. Then we can head up to the house.” Rachel gives me one final hug before standing up.
I hold up the large men’s t-shirt and short spandex booty shorts she laid on the bed. Rachel took to club life like a fly to shit. I’ve never judged her, because she’s the kindest and most loving person I’ve ever met. She’s never judged me or my decisions, so I’ve always shown her the same respect.
I rise from the bed and turn on the shower, shocked at how clean it is. I let the water warm up and glare at the bottle of shampoo in my hands. I have no idea what kind it is; all I know is, it isn’t mine. Not even close. I peer up into the mirror with my green eyes staring right back at me. I appreciate the clothes and everything else, so why am I cringing internally over cheap shampoo, clothes that are not mine, and a bed with lumps? Who am I? What have I turned into?
I don’t love the person staring back at me. I despise my upbringing, but if I’m completely honest with myself, I fucking miss my home and lifestyle in L.A. After all, it was all mine. All that I had in this lonely world.
The hot water pelts my sensitive skin. I feel the filth of the prior day wash away without the use of soap. I raise my face to the spray, shutting my eyes tightly, letting the droplets run down my face. I fight to wash away the past, but in the end, it’s a hopeless war. I am who I am.
The light green, creamy shampoo oozes out onto my palm. The cheap scent is making my stomach turn in pain. I coat my long, thick hair, barely getting any suds to form, so I add more. The scent hits me even harder this time, causing my stomach to lurch and twist in pain.
I give up the fight of actually washing my hair. When I inhale one final smell of the shampoo, my stomach revolts this time. Whipping open the shower curtain, I bend over just in time to puke into the toilet. My stomach cramps, my lungs burn, and my heart tears open, slicing me to the core.
My knees slap the bottom of the tub as I collapse.
“Apple orchards,” I whisper.
The memory throttles me out of nowhere. My mom. She had a favorite lotion she adored using. She’d apply it every morning and even used it on me until I was old enough to protest. It was my comfort at one point in my life, because when I could smell apples, I knew she was near.
And she was always there for me until she died. She sheltered me from the true cruelty of my father. Made me smile, laugh, and encouraged me to believe in myself. I lost it all the day her apple scent faded away.
My arms grow numb draped over the edge of the tub, the water runs cold, and my cheek stays pressed to the harsh side of the tub as I stare at the white wooden door.
“Cait,” Rachel whispers.
I see her walk in, but I don’t move. The shampoo stings my eyes, but I don’t care in the least.
“Are you okay?” Rachel kneels down in front of me, wiping away the residue from my eyes.
“Apples,” I whisper. “She always smelled like apples.”
“Shit, Caitlin. I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t even think about it.” Rachel leans down and kisses my forehead.
“You know, he never allowed me to cry when she died.”
Rachel doesn’t speak this time. She sits on the edge of the tub next to me while rubbing circles over my back. I feel her run conditioner through my hair, and even though the overwhelming scent is still there, I don’t puke or panic. I let my best friend take care of me.
“You have to stand up now, baby girl.” Rachel helps me stand and then reaches over to turn off the shower.
She helps me dry off, but doesn’t leave the bathroom when I refuse her help to get dressed.
“You are not healthy, Cait.”
“Eh?” I look over to her while tying up my wet hair in a messy bun.
“This isn’t healthy. That fucker has turned you into a robot. I see my best friend’s green eyes, but they’re dead.”
I turn around and stare at her. Why is it she can see right through me?
“I know these clothes aren’t good enough for you, Cait. I didn’t miss your upturned nose at them, but you know what, I don’t have people threatening my life because of who I am.”
My jaw drops open, and Rachel hustles to get out of the small bathroom. I catch her
arm, whirling her back to me. I wait until she looks up to me. We silently stare each other in the eye for long moments.
“You are right.”
She remains silent.
“Thank you.”
Rachel gives me a slight nod.
“But we will get one thing straight here.” I let go of her arm and step closer to her. “I’m not ashamed of who I am. I will never apologize to anyone. I’ve fucking worked my ass off to be the woman I am today. Is it the girl I wanted to be? No. But it makes no difference.”
“I’ll always be a club whore in your eyes,” she fires right back.
“And I’ll always be the rich, snobby bitch. I won’t apologize for who I am.”
Dead silence ensues. I decide to finish her thoughts for her.
“And you are not a whore. Far from it. I love you, Rachel, and always will. I’m lost right now and bared to the soul. I will apologize for being a bitch, because deep down I know as well as you do that’s not really who I am, but I will never say I’m sorry for enjoying certain things out of life.”
“I’ve missed you,” she whispers.
I smile knowing we will be alright. I also realize it’s okay to love the snobby bitch inside of me; she just needs to be buried for a while so the real me can shine through. The one my mother taught me to be. I have a lot of shit to deal with. Dealing with it may break me, but it’s something that can’t be avoided.
“Are these your shorts?”
“Yes, why?” Rachel tilts her head to the side.
“They’re biting my coochie.” I reach down and dig the fucking spandex out of my crotch. When they snap back, a loud popping sound fills the bathroom. We both erupt in a fit of giggles. I grab her hand and let her lead me out of the club where we’re greeted by two very big, tatted-up, sexy men.
“Hey, guys, this is my best friend and Curtis’s cousin, Caitlin. Caitlin, this is Brick,” she points to the one who is definitely built like a solid brick. Tall and muscular. “And this is Snake.” Now, I remember. These two are the men, my own personal bodyguards. Oh yes, I can see why he’s called Snake; he has a very angry-looking one swirling all the way down his arm. Normally, I would avoid two men who look like these two. All scary-looking, eyes piercing right through your soul. Not today, though. Today, I’m embracing this.
“Good to meet you,” I say, stick out my hand for them to shake.
“Woman, what the fuck is that?” Brick says as if touching my hand will scorch him.
“What’s what?” I ask, confused.
“Oh, boy, here we go,” Snake says, snickering as he does so. I’m about ready to tell this big loop he can go stick it up his ass when he lifts me off the ground, his big burly arms caging me right to his hard chest.
“You’re family. Family doesn’t shake hands, we hug, or we beat some sense into one another if we’re doing something stupid. And being that you’re a woman and we do not put our hands on a woman unless they ask us to, well, that means you get a hug.”
“Oh,” I respond in the only way I can. I bring my arms around him for this hug. It’s a big one for sure. Smothering and squishing my insides. It’s comforting and sweet nonetheless. I turn to Snake, not really sure what to expect out of him.
“I don’t do hugs,” he grunts out. Crosses his arms over his chest and stares me down.
“Right.” I cock my head to the side and consider what it is he might do instead of turning away as if his rejection scorned me.
“Do you greet people with a kiss?” I tease, coming up with an unreadable description from the guy.
“Fuck, no, what I’m about to do is toss you over my shoulder and take you up to the house myself.”
“Well, alrighty then.”
“Pfft. Quit being an ass, Snake. He’s teasing. Come on.” Rachel grabs my hand, and we trek the short distance to her house. I can’t remember the last time I walked outside in my bare feet, trudging through the warm summer grass. It feels good.
“They seem nice,” I say and sling my purse over my shoulder.
“They are. Everyone around here is. You know what’s funny?” she adds on as we crawl up her large front porch. Well, I’m crawling, she’s walking. My feet still hurt.
“That I need new shoes? Those boots killed my feet.” I turn my head and smirk at my best friend.
“I’ll get you some. I wanted to say, it’s okay if we’re different. You were right. We have everything we need in each other, and for the record, I don’t think you’re a snob.”
“I don’t think you’re a whore,” I repeat what I said earlier.
“We’ve let the world define us. Promise me we’ll never let it ruin our friendship.”
“Never, now feed me, fuckface.”
Rachel laughs, rolls her eyes, and then flings her door wide open, welcoming me into her home without a second thought. “By the way, Caitlin, your tits look amazing in that shirt.”
4
Katch
“You sure about this shit?” My eyes scan the papers in front of me, hatred dripping off me in waves.
Her bastard of a father better hide as far in the depths of hell as he can get. The minute I get there, I’m finding that motherfucker for the hell he’s put her through.
I came home, took a shower, and tried to sleep. I lay in bed for all of five minutes and couldn’t get her face, scent, or the way she looked at me when she thought I was out to kill her off my mind. I climbed out of bed, grabbed my phone to call Curtis when it started ringing in my hand. It was him. Took him long enough to call. He more than likely had to calm her sassy ass down before he could make a call. What I wouldn’t give to be able to calm it down myself. Dirty it up and slide my cock in between those firm cheeks.
He wanted to know everything that happened. Every word she said. I told him, ended the call with a clipped “I’ll be there as soon as I finish a few things,” and now I’m standing here finally being told her name and all kinds of information that has me wanting to slice someone’s throat.
“I’m positive. We’ve had a tail on her for years. The day my old man got the call that his sister, Caitlin’s mom, had died. He hired someone to keep an eye on her. Never trusted the man. Still don’t, and the son of a bitch is dead.”
Interesting. I fumble through the newspaper clippings regarding her mother’s death. All of them pretty much saying the same thing. “Wife of L.A. lawyer James Winslow dead from a head-on collision.”
“Have you called them to find out where they were last night when she drove out here by herself?” Curtis and I exchange a knowing look.
He doesn’t have to answer my question. We both know what happened to her tail. Someone got to him. I’d bet my dick on it; he’s dead.
“I’m working on it.” His tone is matching my suspicion.
“Is she always a fucking bitch?” I bite out.
“Normally, I’d slice someone’s throat for calling her that. Seeing that you seem to have some kind of infatuation with my cousin, I’ll let it slide.” We both cut each other another knowing look.
I love this crazy fucker like a brother, and I’ve seen him draw more blood out of people than any other, but we both know there isn’t a chance in hell he’d draw a knife or a gun on me. We share too much history. Know each other well by the way we’re constantly reading each other’s minds and shit.
“To answer your question. No, she isn’t. Caitlin has lived in hell. She’s been sucked into the lifestyle of the rich and powerful by her father. I’m not making excuses for her. Those are on her. One thing I do know for damn sure is, my cousin has a huge heart. She needs someone to take ahold of it and cherish it. I’ll say this, too, that lucky son of a bitch who does get her sure the fuck ain’t you. She’s a lawyer, for fuck’s sake. She may have turned her cheek on my lifestyle, but she sure as fuck wouldn’t be able to turn it on yours. Don’t go there, Katch.”
I hear him loud and clear. He’s protecting her, and I get it. Don’t mean a Goddamn thing to me, though. There�
��s something about this woman that has her under my skin, and it doesn’t have a damn thing to do with her lifestyle or this situation she’s in.
“I don’t play games, brother, and you know it. I do not promise you a damn thing except this: I go after what I want. Out of anyone I know you should understand that.” I tap the papers in front of me. Indicating it’s the end of this conversation.
“Her mother, where’s she buried?”
Curtis maneuvers himself to where he’s standing right in front of me. Eyes pinched together in confusion.
“Her father’s estate. Where are you going with this?”
“You said you didn’t trust the man. Did anyone see her body? Police report? Death certificate?”
One thing I’m not is an investigator, not this kind anyway. I’ve dealt with a lot of shit in my line of work. More than I care to admit. This has my skin crawling with deceit. With lies that go beyond her father’s grave.
“I never saw one. Don’t recall my old man mentioning one, either. Fuck her dad; he forbade us to go to the funeral. My dad mourned the loss of his sister in women and booze for years. Do you think he fucking lied? That her mother is alive? Jesus, fuck, you do?” He stands there shaking his head. His anger and pain are a losing battle. I have been there. It doesn’t get better, no matter how many years go by. This right here, though, has to fucking burn.
“He does what?” I spin around to see Rachel and the eyes of my obsession staring wide-eyed and mouth gaping open at me.
And she is wearing my old Queens t-shirt. I tilt my head slightly because, fuck, she has a nice rack to go with her bitchy attitude, and legs that have my mouth watering to lick all the way to her sweet pussy. Fuck me.
“You?” She points her finger at me. “I fucking knew it. You are a member of this club. How dare you play with me and scare me half to death, you son of a bitch.”
And here she goes. That fucking mouth. Wrap it around my cock, babe. I got all fucking day.
“This is him. The guy who picked me up. The asshole. You owe me a new ink pen, you fucker.” She slams her hands onto her hips, readying herself in a fighting stance. My cock jumps.
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