Lawton

by Sabrina Stark

  "Well?" she said. "You happy now?"

  Happy? An image of that poster flashed in my brain. Before I knew it, I'd lunged for the table. I lifted the thing with both hands and sent it crashing into the nearby wall. I whirled to face her, and I felt myself freeze.

  Her eyes were wide, and her face was white. Her lips were clamped as if holding back a scream. At the fear in her eyes, I should've been happy.

  I wasn't.

  I cursed under my breath. I wasn't going to do this.

  Working hard to keep my breathing steady, I walked slowly to the opposite wall. I leaned against it, facing Chloe. I stood, utterly still, fighting the urge to go for the chairs.

  Chloe met my gaze head-on. She didn't flinch, and she didn't look away. She gave me a snotty smile. "Feel better?"

  Why lie? "No."

  "Good."

  "Whatever."

  Her voice rose. "Are you gonna tell me what the hell's going on?"

  As an answer, I only shrugged.

  "I deserve to know," she said.

  Now, that was funny. I tried to laugh, but it came out wrong. I motioned to the basement, the chair, the whole setup. "You talking about this?" I made a scoffing sound. "You know, it's a lot better than you deserve. So if I were you, I'd shut up while you're ahead."

  "Shut up?" she said. "You asshole."

  "Takes one to know one."

  She glared up at me. "What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

  "Like you don't know."

  The way I saw it, it was confession time – for Chloe, not for me. Somewhere in my pockets, I still had Bishop's cell phone, along with hers. I could call her bluff and show her the proof.

  But for some twisted reason, I wanted the story straight from her. So I crossed my arms and waited.

  But all she gave me were a load of questions. What's wrong? Why are you doing this? And then my favorite. Have you lost your fucking mind?

  Why yes, Chloe, I have lost my fucking mind. So fucking what?

  The way it looked, I wasn't the only one who was losing it. She was ranting now, cursing and struggling, and cursing some more. The language was surprisingly creative. I had to give her that.

  Funny, I didn't know she had it in her. Then again, it shouldn't have been a surprise. The whole nice-girl routine had obviously been an act. I recalled the douchebag that I'd met at the fence.

  He'd offered me party girls of the paid variety. Was that Chloe's gig? Did she entertain at home? It might explain the weirdness with the house. Or not. Who knows?

  I watched, silent and still, as she went through the motions – struggling, yelling, begging, whatever. Real or fake, I refused to care. The minutes were passing, but I didn't know how many. I recalled that supposedly, she had to work.

  So what? Not my problem.

  Suddenly, she laughed, a bitter sound that cut through the cool basement air.

  I gave her a look. "What's so funny?"

  "Oh, so now you wanna talk?" Her voice sounded raw, like it hurt to talk. She glared at me. "Fuck off."

  The rawness, like nothing else, got under my skin. I glanced toward the basement door. "You need some water?"

  She stared at me. "Water? Seriously?"

  I made myself shrug – cold, indifferent. That's what I should be, right? I made myself say, "It's water or nothing."

  "You're an asshole, you know that?"

  "I let you keep your panties, didn't I?" They were black and lacy, and looked expensive. The bra hugged her curves and dipped in the middle, meeting in a little black bow nestled between her breasts. It rose and fell with her angry breathing.

  Like the monster I was, I wanted to see more.

  From the chair, Chloe spoke again. "The guys who attacked me. Where are they now?"

  Probably, they were in the garage. Or maybe in a warehouse a couple miles away. I almost smiled. Compared to them, Chloe was getting off light. "Trust me," I said, "It's better if you don’t know."

  "Trust you?" She rattled the handcuffs. "You're joking, right?"

  "Believe what you want."

  "How long are you going to stand there?" she asked.

  "As long as you're here."

  Her tone grew brittle. "And how long will that be, exactly?"

  For the first time, I glanced at my watch. We'd been down here for almost an hour. I recalled our original plan. Bishop was going to search the house, and then ask the so-called kidnappers a few more questions. He was a pro, so it wouldn’t take long.

  I shrugged. "Another half hour should do it."

  "Do what?" she asked.

  "Again, better if you don't know."

  Her voice grew quiet, but ragged on the edges. "So you're saying you'll let me go in a half hour?"

  The sound of her voice hurt to hear. I recalled the very first time I'd ever heard it, all those years ago. It was probably the first thing I'd fallen in love with. Listening to it now, it broke my heart.

  I had to glance away. "Probably."

  Chapter 56

  In the chair, she started to shiver, quietly, like she wanted to hide it. She was no longer talking. Or yelling. Or asking any more questions.

  She just sat, looking alone and defeated as she silently trembled in the damp, basement air.

  Whether she deserved it or not, it still hurt to watch. But probably, that was the whole point. Odds were pretty good that this, like everything else, was just part of her act – a bid for sympathy, like the thing at the fence.

  It was a good strategy. I could almost see it. A few mock shivers, and I'd let her go. Who knows? Maybe I'd join her in a hot Jacuzzi, and we'd make a new film. She could name it "Riding the Waves" or something equally stupid.

  Sure, she'd need a new poster, but hey, it wouldn't be that hard. The way it looked, she had a real eye for that sort of thing.

  I made a sound of disgust. She could shiver all she wanted. I wasn't buying it. Not anymore.

  But then, she kept on shivering. And I felt the first break in my resolve.

  I had to remind myself that the basement was cool, but not freezing. I was down here, too, and I barely noticed it. Then again, I was wearing a hell of a lot more clothing than she was. And she was a girl. Girls were always cold.

  Sometimes, in the dead of night, she shivered in her sleep. Whenever that happened, I'd pull her close and warm her skin, stroking her hair until she grew quiet and still. There was a part of me – a very stupid part of me – that wanted to do that now.

  God, I was such a dumb-ass.

  As I watched, she lifted her knees and tucked them tight against her chest. For warmth? Or for modesty? Either way, the effort was a waste. All it did was give me a nice view of her tight ass-cheeks, peeking out from those little black panties.

  She had a nice ass. Once, she'd joked about wanting a spanking. Who knows? Maybe it hadn't been a joke. Maybe I'd try it now and see what played out.

  I glanced away. Yeah, I was a monster, alright.

  The next time she shivered, the heels of her feet slipped, sliding off the smooth surface of the wooden seat. With a sound of frustration, she tried again. And another time after that.

  I forced myself to watch, pretending that the act didn't bother me, pretending that I was smarter – and yeah, colder – than the dumb-shit who'd carried her inside on the night of my party.

  But the longer I watched, the harder it got. A voice in my head whispered, "What if it's not an act?"

  It had to be. With Chloe, everything was. I'd seen that for myself.

  But what if it wasn't? Something in my heart twisted. In that case, I didn't deserve to live. I tried to remember everything that she'd done. She'd played me. She'd tricked me. She'd set me up. Hell, she was probably still doing it now.

  When her feet slipped again, she gave it up. With a ragged sigh, she closed her eyes and leaned back, resting her head against the back of the chair.

  She was still trembling.

  It was killing me. I had to ask, "You want a blanket?"
<
br />   She didn't open her eyes. "Fuck off."

  I tried to keep my voice as cold as she looked. "I'll take that as a no."

  "Whatever."

  It hurt like hell, but I kept on watching, ignoring the doubts that were piling up. When she grew quiet and still, I began to worry. I could see her breathing, but she still hadn't moved.

  "Hey," I said.

  No response.

  Softer now. "Chloe?"

  When she still didn't answer, I couldn't stop myself. I moved toward the chair and asked, "Are you okay?"

  When she had no reaction, I felt the first hint of panic. I knelt beside her and touched her face. Her skin was cool but not dangerously cold. Still, I didn't like it. I felt for her neck and checked her pulse. It was fine, nice and steady.

  I blew out a long, quiet breath. She was fine. Everything was fine.

  At the thought, I almost laughed. Nothing was fine. This was so messed up, it gave the words "not fine" a whole new meaning.

  I leaned closer and studied her face. Her lips were parted, and her forehead, lined with frustration just a few minutes earlier, was smooth and even, like she was far away in a happier place.

  Was she asleep? She looked like it. But what if she wasn't? What if it was something worse? If I let this go too far, I'd never forgive myself.

  I heard myself whisper, "Baby?"

  No response.

  I spoke again, louder this time. "Say something. Please?"

  "Shhhh…" With her eyes still shut, she mumbled, "Hit the snooze, will ya?"

  Relief flooded through me, and I felt myself smile. She was okay. Just asleep. My smile faded. But what if this, too, was part of some act?

  Screw it. I didn't care. I might be a monster, but even I had my limits. Whether she was faking or not, I wasn't going to let her freeze in my basement while I stood, watching like an asshole. I strode to a nearby box and dug out a couple of winter blankets. Carefully, I wrapped one around her shoulders and bundled the other one around her waist.

  Her lips curved in a slow, sleepy smile. She looked like an angel, all safe and warm. I reached out, wanting to smooth her hair like I always did. In mid-motion, I stopped and yanked back my hand. What the hell was I doing?

  Needing some distance, I strode to the far wall and tried to think. I stood there and waited, watching her sleep, or pretending to sleep, whatever she was doing. Twisted or not, I couldn’t stop looking.

  With Chloe, it had always been this way, right from the first time I'd seen her. As the minutes passed, I couldn't help but wonder, would this be my last?

  If so, that was a good thing.

  But it didn't feel like a good thing.

  By now, she should've told me everything. I hadn't hurt her. But she didn't know that I wouldn't. At the thought, I made a sound of disgust. God, what an ass. I had hurt her. I was still hurting her.

  Screw it.

  It was time to give it up, let her go, and let the chips fall wherever. "Alright," I said. "You win."

  At the sound of my voice, she shifted in the chair. Good timing? Or part of her act?

  I stood, watching as she slowly opened her eyes and looked around the basement. When her gaze landed on me, she sucked in a breath. The way it looked, her nightmare was me.

  No more games, I decided. In a voice that was surprisingly calm, I asked, "Why'd you do it?"

  Chapter 57

  The question hung in the cool, damp air. I stood with my arms crossed, waiting for Chloe's answer.

  When she finally spoke, her voice sleepy and maybe confused. "Do what?"

  I considered everything that she'd done. Where to start? I reached into my pocket and pulled out Bishop's cell phone. I walked toward her, searching for the right video as I moved.

  When I reached her chair, I stood in front of her and hit play, holding the phone out so she could see it.

  From where I stood, I couldn’t see the screen. But I could see Chloe. And that was all that mattered. Besides, I'd already seen the video and had no interest in watching it again.

  Listening, I heard the guy's voice, and I recalled his face, bloody and bruised, thanks to the beating I'd given him on the lawn. He was mumbling excuses like the pussy he was.

  But then Bishop spoke. "Go ahead. Say it again, just like you told me."

  "It was Chloe," the guy said. "She paid us a couple hundred bucks to you know, pretend to kidnap her, maybe rough her up a little bit."

  "Why?" Bishop's voice asked.

  "I don't remember," the guy mumbled.

  Bishop spoke again. "Want me to make you remember?"

  "No, no," the guy stammered.

  As I listened, I watched Chloe's face. She was staring at the screen, like she couldn't believe what the guy was saying. If it weren't so pathetic, I might have laughed. What, she was expecting him to not rat her out?

  And here, I thought she was smart.

  On the video, the guy was still talking. "She said Lawton had some kind of hero complex or something. Figured if he rescued her, you know, he'd fall for her, maybe get him to propose or I dunno, move in with him."

  In front of me, Chloe was shaking her head. A denial? Yeah, right.

  "And about the other thing?" Bishop was saying.

  "Yeah," the guy said. "Well, she was planning some sex tape thing. Lots of money. She said we'd get a cut if we did a good job making him, you know, come to her rescue and shit."

  At this, Chloe bolted upright in her seat, going as far as the cuffs would let her. "He's lying!"

  So that was her defense? Funny, I'd expected better. "Sure he is," I said.

  She struggled against the cuffs. "I don't even know him!"

  "Except you do," I said. "You admitted as much."

  "No," she said through clenched teeth. "Just because I know him, it doesn't mean I know him."

  "That's not what he says."

  "You're gonna take his word over mine?" she said. "You are such an asshole."

  "Yeah. So you keep saying." I gave her a hard look. "But tell me something? You ever hear of this movie, called uh –" I couldn't even look at her. "Riding the Rastor?"

  After a long, painful pause, she said, "I don't fuckin' believe him."

  Him? Who did she mean? Bishop? Her partner in crime? The douchebag at the fence? At this point, there were so many guys, it was hard to keep track. At the thought, I felt a cold rage settle over me. I leaned closer and asked, "Who?"

  Who didn't she believe?

  "Bishop," she said. "He went in my house, right?"

  "No." It was a lie. He'd been there, alright. But hell if I'd let him take the fall for this. "He didn't," I said. "I did."

  Her breath caught. "What?"

  "Yeah." I made a scoffing sound. "Bishop came in, showed me this." I held up his phone, now silent. "I said 'no way, the guy's lying. That's not Chloe. I know her."

  And I thought I did, too. At the memory of what I'd seen earlier, something in my stomach twisted. I'd been standing there in my own house, with Chloe waiting for me in the other room. I'd been holding Bishop's phone, watching the guy talk, and wanting to crush that phone with my bare hands.

  Now, in the basement, Chloe was staring up at me, her eyes filled with disbelief.

  The way it looked, she had nothing to say.

  So I continued. "And I told Bishop, 'That guy, he's full of shit. It's some story. I don’t know where he got it, but it's not true.' But then –"

  Chloe spoke up. "Then you broke into my house?"

  "Except," I said, "it's not really your house, is it?"

  It was a gamble, but at this point, what did it matter? About the house, I still didn't know what the deal was. But I did know that her driver's license didn't match. If I was lucky, it would be enough to get her talking.

  "I'm living there now," she said. "Isn't that good enough?"

  "You know what?" I said. "I don't really care. Not anymore." It was another lie. But hey, I was on a roll. Why stop now?

  "Yeah." She eyed me
with obvious disgust. "That makes two of us."

  "So tell me," I said. "Is Chloe even your real name?"

  "What the hell?" she said. "Of course it's my real name."

  "Look," I said, feeling my lips twist into a sneer, "you think you're the first girl to try to pull this kind of shit on me?"

  "I wasn't pulling anything," she insisted. "Now, are you gonna let me go, or what?"

  "Not yet."

  "Why not?" she demanded. "What are you waiting for? What are you planning to do? Kill me for whatever you think I've done?" She glared up at me. "Which, by the way, I haven't."

  "No," I said. "Believe what you want, but I'm not gonna hurt you."

  "Except you already have."

  It was true. I had. But hell if I'd be groveling about it now. "Sorry."

  "You don't sound sorry."

  I shrugged.

  She rattled the cuffs. "Then what exactly are you waiting for?"

  "Well, here's the thing," I said. "Yeah, I was in that house of yours, or whoever's, and I saw all that shit you had laid out, but I got to wondering what else was there."

  She shook her head. "What do you mean, what else?"

  "I mean," I said, "videos, pictures, you know, the kind of crap that's gonna turn some waitress into a fuckin' star."

  She lifted her chin. "There's nothing wrong with being a waitress."

  "Except you obviously don't think that way. Otherwise, you wouldn't need this, would you?"

  I reached into my pocket and pulled out the other phone, hers. At the sight of it, she closed her eyes, cringing like she didn't want to look.

  Yeah, I knew the feeling. My voice grew hard. "Open your eyes."

  Slowly, she did. When her gaze landed on the screen, color flooded her cheeks. Embarrassment? Yeah, I knew that feeling, too. I waited, wondering if she'd own up to it.

  She closed her eyes for a long moment. When she opened them, her voice grew quiet. "I took it by accident."

  An accident? Was that the best she could do? I waited.

  She made a sound of impatience. "It's a new phone. Did you even see all the other pictures on there?"

  "So this was an accident, huh?" I held the phone closer. "Pretty good composition for something you didn't mean to take."

  "Yeah? Well, scroll through them," she said. "Show me one other picture that looks like I took it on purpose. Just one."