by Keri Lake
“Serves him right for the way he was looking at my breasts.”
My gaze dips to the deep-set cleavage peeking out the top of her demi-cut dress. A far cry from the innocent little doll I first met. “Perhaps he couldn’t help himself.”
“And what’s your excuse?”
“I don’t bother with excuses. I find your tits to be very appealing.”
The corner of her lips twitch. “Would you like to find a quiet place to talk?”
“Very much.”
“Show me the way, then.”
Pushing up from my chair, I take her hand, leading her toward the doorway that exits to the main hallway.
“Lucian! Lucian, my boy, where are you?” my father calls for me over the cacophony of wealthy men boasting and bragging.
Amelia comes to a stop, tugging at my arm. “Is it time for the toast?”
Shaking my head, I yank her forward. “C’mon. Let’s get out of here before he sees me.”
“Lucian! Lucian, where are you?” my father calls again from the center of the room, where he’s drowning in black tuxedos.
With a giggle, she scampers behind me, as we battle our way through the crowd and out the door.
“Lucian!” Halfway down the hallway, I hear a familiar voice calling out to me. “Wait! Your father is looking for you!”
Rand.
Chuckling over our escape, I drag Amelia down the endless corridor and around the corner. Her giggles echo from behind, as we hustle to get away.
“Lucian!” Rand calls, still chasing after us.
“In here.” I bang a left and plow through the first door, tugging her inside with me, and the door clicks as I close it shut. In the darkness of the closet, I feel her fingers curl into mine, while we wait.
“Lucian!” Rand’s voice is closer than before. “Lucian Blackthorne!”
Pitch blackness blankets the room, and her hand slides across my abdomen, clenching my stomach muscles on contact. Soft fingertips linger there, toying along the top of my belt. With her other hand still captured in mine, I loosen my buckle one-handedly, unzip my pants, and guide her hand down inside, curling her fingers around my shaft.
“Oh, my,” she whispers, stroking my cock without much direction.
“Lucian!” Rand seems to be right outside the door, and I bite my bottom lip, stomach muscles tight, as she runs her small and delicate hands up and down my dick. “Dear God, I don’t get paid enough for this shit,” he says, his voice growing weary and distant.
At the sound of his retreating footsteps, I twist around, slamming Amelia into a shelf that rattles whatever is stored there. Blindly hiking up her skirt, my fingertips are greeted by smooth skin up to her damp cotton panties.
She lets out a quiet moan.
Our movements are quick and frantic, punctuated by harsh breaths and clawing fingers. I slide her panties down her thighs, and feel a tight grip of my arm.
“Wait. Do you have a condom?”
Of course I do. If there’s one thing six years at an Ivy League college taught me, it’s never attend a party without one. I slide the condom from my back pocket, tear it open, and roll it down my shaft in the dark. Once in place, I gather up her dress and run my finger over her clit for a quick check.
Soaking wet.
I line my dick at her entrance and push forward, feeling her fingers dig into my nape on a whimper.
“Oh, God, Lucian. It’s … you’re going to split me half.”
“Relax,” I whisper, and reach through the darkness for her jaw.
Holding tight, I press my lips to hers, silencing her, and thrust again. This time harder than before, and the vibration of her outcry rumbles against my lips. Her warm, wet walls greet me each time I drive my hips forward, and it isn’t long before she’s panting for breath.
“Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God. Don’t stop. Please.” The soft, breathy voice tickles my ear.
I hammer into her, and something crashes to the floor beside us. My whole body is hard, begging for release. Her pussy contracts around me as she cries out, but I can’t pull the trigger. Twenty minutes pass.
I can’t come.
“Lucian? What’s wrong?” Her fingertips slide down my hairline, and I snap my head away, irritated by the distraction.
Frustrated, I pull out of her and slide the condom off, tossing it to the floor, and furiously pump my dick with my own hand.
Still nothing.
I dip my fingers up inside of her, where the remnants of her climax leaves a warm sticky coating on my skin, and hold it to my nose, breathing in the smell of her pussy.
Nothing.
“Fuck!” Humiliation gets the best of me, the anger swelling inside of me as my cock turns flaccid.
“Do you want me to suck on it?”
“No.” I rest my head in the crook of her neck, and half-heartedly stroke myself in a futile attempt to come. Disappointed, I still against her, giving one last squeeze to the limp flesh in my hands. Through the agony of missed climax, I tuck myself back into my pants and flick the chain beside me, flipping on the light in the closet.
Stray hairs stick out from Amelia’s up-do, the chiffon of her dress crinkled and disheveled. On the floor beside us lies a broken glass jar of some kind of cleaning fluid, the potent scent of which now fills the small closet space. The discarded condom and its wrapper sit in the pool of clear fluid, and I reach down to grab it, tossing both the condom and bits of broken glass into a nearby trash can that sits against the wall.
Once decent again, the two of us exit the closet and return to the party, neither one of us saying a word. As we enter the room, my mother spins away from a group of hens she’s been chatting with since the night began, and her eyes light up.
“Lucian! Your father’s been looking for you!” Her attention falls on Amelia. “And, Amelia, how nice to see you again, my dear. You look lovely in pink. Where have the two of you--” Eyes narrowed, her gaze turns appraising like she’s suddenly noticed the mess of Amelia’s hair. A subtle smile plays on her lips, and she clears her throat, the way she does when something makes her uncomfortable. “Amelia, darling, your father and I were discussing having you stay here at the manor for a few days. Would you like that?”
My blood freezes inside my veins, and I snap my gaze to Amelia, and back to my mother.
“Well, that’s very kind, but …” Amelia stammers, like she’s shy all of a sudden.
“Please. We’d be delighted to have you.” Tipping her head, my mother shoots me the same fake smile she reserves for the wives of my father’s friends. “Wouldn’t we, Lucian?”
Chapter 28
Isadora
Present day …
Duffle bag slung over my shoulder, I slam the passenger door of Kelsey’s old Corolla, and wave as I make my way toward the front door of my house, mentally praying my mother isn’t here.
The slightly cracked door is the first cue that something isn’t right. Although Aunt Midge isn’t one to lock all the doors and windows, like me, she also isn’t so trusting as to leave the front door open for anyone to stroll in.
I step inside, eyeing the blankets strewn in disarray on the couch, where my mother must’ve slept the night before. An ashtray on the coffee table, overflowing with cigarettes, tells me it was a long night. One of a half-dozen beer bottles lies tipped on its side, dripping into a small pool collected below its mouth. A sulfur-like, burnt smell lingers on the air as if they tried to cook while drunk.
Must’ve had a party last night.
The sound of sniveling draws my attention toward the kitchen, and I tip my head just enough to see bare feet sticking out from the end of the counter. “Aunt Midge?”
Dropping my duffle, I hustle toward the feet, and round the counter to find her lying on her side, in the fetal position, her hands tucked into her chest while she sobs.
“Aunt Midge!” Hard tiles hit my knees, when I fall to the floor beside her and help turn her over.
Her eye is swollen like a plum, her li
p split and caked in dried blood. When she looks up at me, deep red swirls fill the whites of her bruised eye, like one long, irregular pupil. Body trembling, she tucks her hand closer, but I reach for it, gently pulling it away from her.
Unraveling her fingers sends a shot of nausea to my stomach. Bruised and swollen, almost black, two of them appear to be bent the wrong way, undeniably broken.
“Who did this?” I release her hand and brush away the strands of hair that’re matted to her face by tears and blood. “Was this my mother?” Though she isn’t known to be violent, my mother is desperate for drugs, and stupid, at times.
She shakes her head, eyes shuttering with another sob. “No, it wasn’t your ma.”
At the raspy sound of her voice, I scramble to the cupboard, snatch a glass that I fill with water, and return to her side. Setting my hand to her nape, I help her into a sitting position, cringing when she cries out, and set the glass to her lips. Water trickles from the corner of her mouth as she guzzles the fluids, and at her first cough, I lower the glass.
“We were … sitting. Talking. It was nice, you know? Catching up with her. It got late.” Lip quivering, she stares into her glass. “I was sleeping when they dragged me out of bed. He said he was looking for Tony, your mom’s boyfriend.”
“The drug dealer. Jesus, Aunt Midge.” Threading my fingers through my hair, I cap the irritation and the told you so that’s cocked at the back of my throat. Instead, I busy myself with gathering ice from the freezer, wrapping it up in a cloth, which I set to her broken fingers.
“They kept … punching me. Asking me what I knew. I heard Jenny in the other room. One of ‘em must’ve been burning her ‘cause I could smell it.” Another sob leaves her bent forward, shaking, and I lean in, letting her rest her forehead on my shoulder.
“Where is she now?”
“They took her.” She lifts her head from my shoulder, her nose and cheeks shining with snot and the tracks of tears. So helpless looking and terrified. The sight of her brings tears to my own eyes. “They said … they’re going to kill her.”
I should feel something after hearing this. An urgency, like the one that has my aunt’s eyes widening, in spite of the swelling. I can’t even muster surprise at this point. “If what?”
“If we don’t pay him fifty grand. The fifty grand worth of drugs that asshole took off with.”
My chest turns cold, disgust sinking to the pit of my stomach.
“He’s coming back … in three days to collect it.” The worry in her voice isn’t right for Aunt Midge. No matter what we got into financially, she always had a plan, or faith that it’d all work out. Whoever this guy is, he scared the crap out of her. “He says, if I don’t have it, he’ll kill both Jenny and me.”
“Who? Who’s coming back?”
“His name was Franco. Franco Scar-something. Oh, God, he’s coming back.”
Anger rattles my grinding teeth. “This is … this is why I said. You can’t help her, Aunt Midge. She’s a fucking walking disaster!”
“I didn’t want to see her get hurt, Isa. She’s my sister.”
Cold waves of shock leave my body feeling numb. The logic I’m desperate for, in order to get us out of this mess, is tamped down by the tension squeezing my brain. I tip my head to get her attention. “We have to go to the police. Hear me? We have to report this.”
“No!” The fingers of her good hand claw at my arm, digging into my skin. “No police! He said he’ll give her a slow and painful death, if we go to the police.”
“Aunt Midge, this is a criminal. From Roxbury. This isn’t some local neighborhood kid threatening you. We have to do something! If he comes back …” My words falter, falling off my tongue as the thought of someone coming back for her clamps my chest and hardens it to a ball of bitter hate. Hatred for my mother. “She did this. This is her problem, not ours.”
“I won’t let them murder my sister.”
I’ll never understand my aunt’s sense of loyalty to her. Why, in spite of all she’s done, Aunt Midge continues to do anything for her. No matter the risk.
It doesn’t matter, though. As a kid from the streets, I never put that much faith in police, anyway. Particularly local police. They just don’t get this kind of thing around here, and with my drugged-out mom involved, I doubt they’d take it seriously. I’d venture to say, the worst case Tempest Cove cops have seen is probably when someone stole Old Man Murphy’s metal detector from his shed.
A drug dealer from Roxbury would have their heads spinning.
Besides that, it’s hard to know who might be on this Franco’s payroll. Maybe he’s expecting that we’d go to the cops. Maybe he’s buddies with them. It’s not so much my mom I’m worried about, as Aunt Midge. She doesn’t deserve this.
“We’ll figure this out. Don’t worry.”
“We don’t have that kind of money, Isa.” Her lip quivers again. “I can’t get that kind of money in a year, let alone three days.”
In the thick of all the confusion swirling inside my head, a thought pops there. The conversation I had with Laura a week ago. The doll.
The one she said was worth over three-hundred grand. Small enough that I could tuck it inside my shirt without anyone noticing, including Laura. Hell, she’d forgotten that she even had the thing.
I can’t see myself asking a stern man like Lucian for a glass of water, let alone fifty grand. And what would I tell him? It’s to pay off a drug dealer for my mother’s junkie boyfriend who skipped town? He’d probably flick me off like an annoying fly and tell me to go to hell. “Like I said. We’ll figure something out. Don’t worry.”
After helping her into the car, I drive Aunt Midge to the emergency room, listening to her complain about the hundred-dollar deductible she’ll have to pay over and above the fifty grand we now have to cough up.
After three hours, her fingers are set and splinted. When asked by the doctor, Aunt Midge said she smashed her fingers while trying to move her dresser by herself. A crappy lie, but I didn’t dispute her story.
By the time we arrive back home, it’s midafternoon. Makaio will be here soon to drive me back to the Blackthornes, and as much as I don’t want to leave Aunt Midge alone tonight, I need time to swipe the doll and find somewhere to hock it. I don’t even know where to start with that, but at the moment, it’s the only plan I have. The only one that might ensure Franco Scar-something doesn’t return with a hard-on for blood.
With only minutes left before Lucian’s car arrives, I head to my bedroom and pull one of my extra pocket knives from underneath the mattress of my bed, which I hand off to Aunt Midge. It isn’t much, and if the guy returns, I doubt he’ll be unarmed. A pocket knife is no match for a gun, but it gives me a small piece of mind to know she has some means of defense.
“I’m begging you. Lock the doors. And if anyone comes knocking, call the police. Don’t screw around with this, Aunt Midge. I might know how to get that cash.”
The thought of leaving her alone sits like bricks in my stomach, but the whole reason behind my return to the Blackthornes is to help her. I’ll plan to swipe the key from Laura during one of her many naps and grab the doll from the case. Then text Aunt Midge to come pick me up. I’ll say there’s a family emergency at home. We’ll find a place to hock the doll and get the cash.
Yeah, it’s shitty.
Yeah, I feel like an absolute scumball for taking advantage of the Blackthornes this way.
But I would do anything for my aunt.
Even this.
“I’m so scared, Isa.” The constant shudder of her body proves the point. “What if he comes back tonight?”
“Can you stay with Shelly?” As much as her coworker from The Shoal annoys the hell out of me, she’s the closest Aunt Midge has to a best friend.
“Yeah, probably.”
“Do you need me to drive you there?”
“Nah.” Reaching for her pack of smokes, she shakes her head. “I’ll have Shel come get me. She ain’t
got nothing better to do, anyway.”
“Good. Stay with her tonight.”
The sound of a horn outside is probably Makaio, but to be sure, I pad toward the window, and peer through the curtains. The sleek black car sits at the curb, and Makaio stands alongside the passenger door. What I wouldn’t have given for him to be around the night before. I bet Franco would’ve run scared shitless, if Makaio had been here.
Nabbing my duffle, I head back toward Aunt Midge for a quick peck on the forehead. “Text me when you get to Shelly’s, okay?”
“I will.” Fingers fidgeting with the cigarette she hasn’t yet lit, she lowers her gaze. “Isa, I’m sorry for this. I’m sorry I roped you into this.”
“It’s okay. We’re going to be okay, I promise.”
Guilt weighs heavy on me, while I sit in the backseat of the luxury car, knowing that some time tomorrow, I’ll be scamming three-hundred grand. I wipe my sweaty palms across my jeans for the dozenth time and try not to look at Makaio, but I feel him staring at me through the rearview mirror.
“You okay, Miss Quinn? You look kinda pale.”
“Just … something I ate. Not sitting right with me.”
“You need me to pull over, let me know. Don’t want you blowing chunks in the backseat.”
The visual of that tickles the back of my throat, and lips clamped over the real possibility of throwing up, I nod.
We finally reach the manor, and I’m pretty sure my heartrate has doubled since we left Aunt Midge’s. Taking Makaio’s hand, I climb out of the Bentley and glance up toward the empty window of Lucian’s office.
Good. I can’t bear to see him tonight.
Shuffling up the staircase, I pass Rand, who holds the front door open for me.
“Good evening, Miss Quinn. I trust you had an enjoyable weekend.”
Enjoyable? Not even close. “Yes, it was … nice.”
“Excellent.” He closes the door behind me, and in spite of the spacious surroundings, I suddenly feel claustrophobic. “I’ll have the chef prepare dinner for you, while you get settled into your room.”