Craving Midnight

by A. M. Hargrove

  “What if he comes forward and says it’s not true? Then we’re forced to come out with more information. I’d rather do something like he’s gay or into cocaine. Then if he calls us and we fire off some bogus pics, we won’t have Vladimir Kolikov breathing down our necks.”

  “Who the hell is Vladimir Kolikov?” Leland asks.

  Misha pins him with a chilling glare. “You don’t want to know.”

  I hold up my hand. “Okay, no Russian mob. Misha’s right. That’s way too dangerous and someone could get killed. Personally, I think him being gay would only land him more fans and that’s not an unfavorable thing anyway. We need to go with something else. Like maybe linking his name with human trafficking.”

  Misha snaps her fingers and a demonic glint hits her eyes. “That’s it. That would put him in one fuck of a hot seat. Rashid could set up a phony website to threaten him with and if he won’t back down, then we go in with the big guns. Rashid can hack into that site they’ve been targeting and make it look like his name is on there. It would totally put him in the spotlight.”

  “What’s the website?” I ask.

  Leland names it and I tell them it’s a go. “Who wants to contact Mr. Ward?”

  “I think you should do it,” Misha says to me.

  “Fine. I’ll call Rashid and have him get everything set up, and then Mr. Holt Ward will be getting a sweet little call from me.”

  This Midnight Drake case is getting more complicated every day. We found Trent Dexter. Gino grabbed him and took him to an undisclosed place for questioning. He was very cooperative after Gino explained some things to him that involved more than a few jabs with Gino’s oversized fists.

  According to Trent, he spotted Midnight at the club that night and recognized her from her films and TV roles. He was with his friend and they’d been scouting the place for someone to persuade to spend the night with them. Their idea of persuasion, compared to everyone else’s, is wildly different. Trent drugged Midnight and took her to the hotel where his friend met them out front. That’s when their fun began.

  The bad part is the videos they uploaded on Midnight’s phone aren’t the end of it. They also filmed the whole episode on camera but cropped out her face. Then they did more editing—getting rid of them shooting her up with heroin—and uploaded it to a porn site where it’s been downloaded over fifty thousand times. Each time someone streams, it costs $5.99, so these fuckers cashed in on this.

  We’re stuck between the proverbial rock and hard place. If we report this as a crime, Midnight’s career is fucked. If we sue, her career is fucked. We pulled the film, but who knows how many people have it on their hard drives and uploaded it to pirate sites? It could be in the millions. I want to cut that fucker’s dick off. It was a good thing Gino went instead of me. Then again, according to Gino, after he was finished with him, Trent won’t be doing this to anyone else.

  My conversation with Rashid is brief. He assures me it will only take him a few minutes to give me what I need to scare the shit out of Holt Ward. He delivers it about an hour later, and it almost scares the shit out of me.

  “Are you sure this is fake?” I ask.

  He laughs. Rashid is the best. “Yeah, boss. When it comes to the cyber world, you can’t beat me.”

  He’s right about that. When this is all said and done, Holt Ward will be hiring me to clean the shit I stirred up. A hearty laugh roars out of me.

  Misha is walking past my office and veers inside to find out what’s so funny. When I tell her, she laughs right along with me.

  “It’ll serve the asshole right. Midnight’s been through enough as it is. She doesn’t need his bullshit to go along with it.”

  “Let’s see how this pans out.” I take a screenshot of the website and then make the call to Holt’s agent, asking for his number. He tries to give me the runaround, but when I explain how urgent it is and that if I don’t personally speak to Holt about this matter, he can expect to be fired, he rattles off the number immediately.

  Holt answers his phone and I calmly say, “Mr. Ward, my name is Harrison Kirkland, and in about two seconds you will receive a photo from me via text. I hope this persuades you to drop your lawsuit against Alta and Midnight Drake regarding your contract in the film you two were cast in. If you have any questions, feel free to call me.” I end the call and wait for him to call me back.

  Holt Ward doesn’t disappoint. When I answer, he tries to rip me a new one. I lean back in my chair and listen patiently as he rants about how I can’t do this and that I’m framing him, blah, blah, blah.

  When he finally runs out of steam, I say, “It took you long enough to shut your fucking mouth. One, I’m not framing you. It’s not my problem you have an affinity for buying and selling women, especially those who are under eighteen. Two, if you don’t drop the lawsuit, this shit will go broad, and by that, I mean my firm will release it to every media outlet in the entertainment industry. Any questions?”

  “You can’t do this! I haven’t been involved in anything like this. I don’t know where you found this, but it’s phony.”

  “Prove it, Mr. Ward. It looks legit to me. I even clicked on the links. It’s a pity too. I would’ve expected better from you.”

  “Dammit, it’s not mine!” he yells. I have to hold the phone away from my ear, he’s so loud.

  “Sure looks like it to me. Aside from that, this trafficking site may be on the Feds’ radar. Your name wouldn’t be on it if you were clean. Drop the lawsuit and I can make this all go away. You can even hire me if you want. But my first priority is Midnight Drake. I want you back on the film with her, and I want Alta happy again. Am I clear?”

  I hear his heavy breathing on the line. Finally, he says, “Fine. I’ll make the call. But clean this shit up, will you?”

  “Not a problem. Expect a bill from my firm.”

  It’s my turn to end the call and after I do, I toss my phone on the desk and chuckle. The asshole just lost a wad of money by fucking with my client and he became my client in the process.

  I buzz Helen and ask her to send Misha and Leland in. When I relay how the call went, they high-five me. I wait for the call from Alta—which comes about an hour later—to have Rashid pull the dummy site down. It was never active to begin with, so there was no concern there. If you didn’t have the web address, there was no way you could’ve found it. When he’s finished cleaning everything up, I have Helen send Holt a pricey bill.

  Now we have Midnight back on board. When I’m on the phone with Alta, they tell me their fan division is fielding more correspondence than ever for her. Everyone wants to know how she’s doing. It’s great to hear our plan is working. Which reminds me, I need to get her phone back to her, if it’s allowed.

  I’d love an opportunity to talk to her. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about her. She was so worried about being stuck there for a month so I wonder how she’s doing.

  The next day, I check with the facility and ask about her ability to have a phone. They say she can have visitors on the weekend, but no phones are allowed until her final week. I decide to pay her a visit on Saturday to fill her in on what’s happening.

  But when Saturday rolls around, she refuses to see me. A crushing wave of disappointment washes over me. Where the fuck did that come from? She’s a client, dammit.

  I shake it off and write her a note instead, briefly explaining what’s been going on. When I’m done, I give it to the front desk and ask them to deliver it to her. She’s completed her second week so she’s halfway through the program. I think about what she has to look forward to when she’s released.

  Pushing the unexpected and unfamiliar feelings of excitement down, I refuse to let myself question them. There’s no way Midnight Drake has gotten under my skin. Not at all.

  Chapter 10

  Midnight

  Harrison came to the facility. He’s been on my mind constantly. I think about his strength, how his warm eyes draw me in, and that he’s the only ma
n I’ve ever wanted to touch, but yet I refused to see him. The last person I want seeing me like this—scraped raw and razored open from stem to stern—is him. He’s the reason I’m here ... and because of this damn place, my fucking heart and soul have been ripped out of my body. I’ve been left a bloody mess. I knew coming here was a bad idea, but I had no idea how terrible it would be on me.

  If you’re an addict, they take away your drugs—drugs I don’t fucking use—but they also delve into your psyche, tear it apart bit by bit, pry into things that are better left untouched. Wounds have been reopened; scars that were healed are now gaping holes with blood pulsing from them. And I’m left to deal with the consequences. My counselor is one smart fucker. She picked me apart for hours until I broke and vomited my whole fucking story. Damn Harrison Kirkland for sending me here. This is his fault.

  And now I’m supposed to feel better because of this presumed catharsis. Well, I don’t. My body fucking screams pain. And all I can see is his face and what he did to me ... what he forced me to do. I didn’t need this reminder ... didn’t want it. But I got it anyway. And to think I have two more agonizing weeks of reliving those horrors. My counselor says in time, I’ll appreciate these sessions. The only thing I’ll appreciate is when day thirty rolls around and I can say, “Adios, motherfucker.”

  They say time flies when you’re having fun. Well, the opposite is true when you’re not. In fact, someone has completely shut down the passage of it altogether. The last four weeks have taken about five years. Becky, my esteemed counselor, believes I may be bipolar. What she doesn’t realize is my moods are so fucked up from having to carry on this charade and then revealing so much of myself on top of it, anyone would act as though they’re bipolar. One minute I’m crying so hard I’m practically having a seizure, and the next I’m manic, zigzagging around her office, incapable of controlling my actions.

  In my final session, the day before I’m to be set free, she says firmly, “Midnight, sit down, or I’ll call someone in to tranquilize you.”

  That grabs my attention. I’m not about to screw up my final day here. Getting forcefully injected with a potent drug is not what I need. My ass slams down in the chair, but I can’t keep my hands still. I just need to get the fuck out of here. I came in sane but will be leaving crazy as fuck.

  “How are you feeling?”

  Is she serious? “How do you think I’m feeling?”

  She doesn’t answer. I hate when she does this.

  “I’m agitated today, Becky.” I can’t keep the snark from emerging.

  “And why’s that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Yes, you do,” she says. Her calm manner irritates me.

  “I want to go home.”

  “I don’t think you’re ready.”

  We’ve been through this before. I’m going whether she wants me to or not. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Midnight, I want you to be as strong as you possibly can. If you leave, you might start using again.”

  “No, I won’t. I won’t ever use again.” Because I’ve never used to begin with.

  “Then explain your agitation.”

  “It’s my past,” I say in frustration. “You already know that.”

  “And you know how to deal with that.”

  “By confronting it, but it only makes me more miserable.” I wanted it to stay buried. I was much happier that way, gummy-bearing my way through life. But no, Harrison Kirkland came up with this brainiac plan and ruined it.

  “Midnight, it will make you stronger.”

  “I can’t. You want me to visit him. He ... it would never work. You have to trust me for once.” The last thing I will ever do in my life is visit the man who ruined me.

  She holds up her hands, spreading them in the air. “It’s your life.”

  Fucking A, it is. However, since this is my final session with her, I do want to leave her with one lasting impression.

  “Let me just say this, Becky. There’s not much I would like to say to the man who forcibly made me have sex with him and give his friends blow jobs for almost three years while I was a minor. Is that something you can personally relate to?”

  There’s a subtle change in the coloring of her face and she shifts in her seat.

  “No, I didn’t think so. That’s the reason I will never have any contact with that man as long as there is breath in my body. I’m pretty sure this session is over.”

  “You could bring charges against him.”

  “Oh? And have all that attention focused on me? No. I don’t think so.”

  I tremble during the long walk back to my luxurious room. The conversation brought to mind that other piece of the puzzle—the one that always shatters me—the one Becky doesn’t even know about.

  I lie down on the bed and cover my face with a pillow so no one will hear the sobs as they rip from my body.

  Sixteen hours later, I walk past the front desk, waving flippantly to the cheery staff people. They’re the last ones I give a shit about. Those happy faces are a sham. The entire month I was here, they were never pleasant to me. Every time I asked them for something, I was denied, even if it was as small as a glass of ice. With the gigantic price tag on this place, you’d think they could afford a glass of fucking ice. I want to flip them off, but I refrain. Who knows whether they run their mouths when they’re away from here? The last thing I need is more enemies than I already have. Holt Ward is enough to deal with as it is.

  I’m not surprised to see Harrison walking toward me. He wouldn’t have sent anyone else to pick me up. And damn, is he a sight for sore eyes. He’s wearing a black shirt and dark jeans that mold to his perfect body. If he looked any better, I’d probably faint. There isn’t a man alive who can hold a candle to him, dammit. Even though I’m still angry with him, it’s hard to deny the happiness I feel, though I don’t want to let it show.

  He smiles as we meet midway in the parking lot. I want to launch myself at him and press my lips to his perfect mouth. Is this what happens when you lock someone up for thirty days and put them through intense psychotherapy? A giant lady boner nails me. “So? How are you? I stopped by to visit, but you refused to see me that day.”

  I swallow away the desert in my throat. “I survived. Truth is, I’m not in the mood to see you today.” Liar!

  “Then you’d miss out on all the important news I have for you.”

  That piques my interest, but I don’t want him to know. I shrug. “I don’t really care.” Liar!

  By this time, we’re at his car, an old convertible red Mustang. He puts my bags into the trunk and then opens the passenger door for me. Such a gentleman.

  As I’m sliding onto the seat, he says, “You should care. It’s your career.” He’s right. I should, and I do.

  When he gets into the car, he digs inside the glove compartment and hands me a baseball hat. “Here. Your hair will be in knots if you don’t put this on.”

  “Thanks.” I say it like I don’t mean it. Why am I being so bitchy? I stuff my hair under the hat, grateful for it, but keeping that from him.

  He doesn’t let my sour mood affect his. “I’m a thoughtful guy.”

  “Let’s dump the Mr. Jolly. While I’m glad to be out of that fucking hell, I just want to go home, okay?” I ball up my fists and rub my eyes.

  “Jesus, who stole your happy?”

  “You did when you sent me here. They dissected and tore me apart. Satisfied?” I cross my arms and stare into the sunny sky.

  I must’ve hit a nerve because he puts the car in reverse and off we go. Not another word is spoken until we get to my place. He helps me to the door and that’s when he says, “We have a lot to discuss.”

  “It can wait. I need time. Alone. In my own home.” I need to get a grip on my emotions. He doesn’t deserve my nasty behavior.

  His eyes meet mine and then he does that thing I love. He licks his lower lip and runs a hand over his scruffy jaw. Damn his sexy self. I need to get awa
y from him before I do something stupid … something I’ll regret, like make a play for him. He’s all I’ve thought of for the last thirty days, and I haven’t been around my vibrator for that whole time. I’ve only had my finger to keep me company at night, and now I’m standing before the amazingly hot Harrison Kirkland and I have an unbelievable desire to drop to my knees and do the dirty, just to hear him groan with pleasure. Thinking about it, I nearly groan myself. What the hell is wrong with me?

  “Fine.” Then his teeth scrape over his lower lip. His chocolate irises razor straight through me and I don’t like it one bit. Or maybe I like it way too much. “You’ve changed. What happened in there, Midnight?” His tone is soft, and it makes it even worse.

  “Things you don’t want to know.”

  “Did someone hurt you?”

  A hysterical laugh bursts forth. “Of course they hurt me. That’s why I didn’t want to go.” I turn around and close the door, leaving him with a baffled expression on his attractive face. I need to get away from him. He makes me want things I shouldn’t. Men and me don’t mix.

  But Harrison is different. I want to hate him, only I can’t. I’m angry for what happened in rehab, and he’s the only one I can take it out on. But I still want to do things with him … dirty, sexy things. It’s best if I keep my distance from him or things may get out of hand.

  Chapter 11

  Harrison

  This is not the same woman I left thirty days ago. What the hell happened in there? They were supposed to help, not tear her apart. The idea of her suffering in there is a gut punch. Leaving her is the last thing I want, yet she’s offered me no invitation to come inside. What do I do? I can’t find anything out until I speak to her. I’ve no choice but to leave because I can’t break down her door.

  I drive to the office, my mind filled with questions. When I get back, Misha asks how it went.