Jewels And Panties: (Book 1-15) Billionaire Romance Series

by Brooke Kinsley

  "Where are you taking me?" he asked.

  "Shut up, will ya?"

  With my fingers still wound around his shirt sleeve, I pulled him down the fire escape. The wind picked up and kicked my hair in front of my eyes, its sharp, dry strands irritating me.

  "Follow me," I said and pulled him into the shadows of the parking lot.

  We both arrived in the darkness breathless. In the distance, a siren wailed and I took the opportunity to speak, hoping its noise would cover my words from any innocent passersby.

  "You're wanting one," I said, searching his eyes for a sign that he was lustful like the others.

  He gulped and nodded.

  "I have cash on me but can get more."

  I liked that answer.

  "Okay... How old you want her? Or is it a boy you're after? They cost more, harder to snatch."

  His cupid's bow covered itself in a thin film of sweat as he realized the magnitude of what he wanted.

  "A girl," he said. "Always a girl. About seven."

  "Seven years old," I confirmed.

  Again, he nodded.

  "Can you do that?" he asked.

  "I can do anything. I can get you what you want."

  His breath quivered for a second but then the corners of his lips pulled themselves up like curtains at a theater revealing a masterpiece of a smile.

  "I'm pleased to hear it," he said and took my hand. "I knew you were something special when I saw you."

  Flattery, it was cheap but it bought me every single time.

  "You think I'm special?" I asked, feeling the urge to kiss him again.

  "I sure do."

  I parted my lips to kiss him but something interrupted me, the sound of footsteps slapping on the rain soaked sidewalk. Looking up panicked, I saw no one.

  "What's up?" he asked, touching his finger lightly beneath my chin and raising my gaze to his.

  "I thought I heard someone."

  "Shhhh."

  He kissed me tenderly, my body melting against his as I breathed in his scent.

  "Dylan... Why aren't all men like you?"

  He smiled wickedly and licked his lips.

  "I have a confession to make," he said. "I'm sorry."

  Shit, he's a cop.

  My body pulled itself taught and I could feel my eyes widening of their own accord.

  "I'm afraid I haven't been too truthful with you. Dylan's not my real name."

  "Oh?"

  "But I’m fan of the musician," he explained. "So forgive me if I thought it appropriate to use the great Bob's surname for my after hour endeavors."

  That's it?

  "So..." I said, pulling at his tie.

  Placing a hand on his chest, I felt the beat of his heart.

  "What is your name?"

  "Rory," he said as though he was ashamed of it. "Rory Atkins."

  Something shone in the moonlight and I saw his wedding band flash silver.

  "So Rory, does your wife know you have such a fun alter ego?"

  He rolled his eyes and huffed at the thought of her.

  "Urgh... My wife. She's in the hospital right now."

  "Ouch!"

  I laughed although it even sounded cruel coming out of my mouth.

  "So you're telling me you're out here having a good time while she's in the hospital?"

  I shook my head feigning disapproval.

  "Hey! I'm paying for her to go in there," he laughed. "She's getting some bullshit procedure to fix her tit implants or something. I stop listening sometimes. Seems she's in every week getting something done."

  His eyes met mine again and he traced a finger down the side of my cheek.

  "Now don't you be getting any surgery. You're perfect the way you are."

  He wasn't telling the truth. Of course, he wasn't. No one thought I was perfect but I took the compliment anyway.

  "I promise I won't touch a thing," I said and he smiled again, lighting up my life with his gorgeous face.

  Silver foxes, I thought. I never saw the appeal in them until now.

  "But… are you going to get me what I want?" he asked.

  "Absolutely, but it might take me an hour and it'll take you about two grand."

  "I can wait," he said. "And I can make a trip to my safety deposit box. Sound good?"

  "Don't keep me waiting," I said. "I miss you already."

  Why the fuck did I say that? I sounded like a needy schoolgirl.

  He laughed and took a step out into the street.

  "See you soon, pretty girl."

  I wiggled my fingers at him and watched him walk into the night, waiting until his figure shrunk away to a speck on the horizon. Now he was gone I could feel the full chill of the wind and shivered as a fine mist of rain fell over me.

  For a split second, I was sure I heard someone move behind me. Then the sound was gone, just a weird quirk of my imagination. Still, the hairs on the back of my neck were standing to attention, the cool breeze intensifying as my wet hair began to cling to my skin.

  I turned on my heel to hurry back inside but stopped dead in the middle of the street. A cough sounded, echoing off the crumbling walls.

  Spinning round I saw Etta standing beneath the only working street light.

  "Woah, you scared the shit outta me!" I gasped. "And by the way,Phaedra's wondering where the hell you got to."

  She said nothing but pushed her hand into the small handbag that was tucked into her armpit. Pulling out a Ziploc bag, she flung it at me. Too stunned to move, I failed to catch it and it landed in a puddle between us.

  It was then that I saw the white panties sealed inside the plastic.

  "What the fuck?" I said.

  "That's what I was thinking," she said. "You wanna tell me what's going on?"

  Chapter Eight

  Etta

  Jet held up two fingers and the barman nodded before slamming down two beers.

  "Do you come here a lot?" I asked.

  "Maybe," she shrugged, her lips puckering around the top of the bottle. "But I don't think you're here to talk about me."

  "Actually I am."

  She stared into my eyes trying her best to intimidate me but it wasn't working. She may have been younger, may have thought she was prettier than me but I knew better. She was a wild child, desperate to please, desperate to feel love. I gave her a weak smile to soften the tension and it worked. She sagged against the bar stool and let her eyes drop to her hand that was clenched around the wet bottle, it’s cool condensation dripping down over her pale fingers.

  "So what do you wanna know?"

  Now that I was here beside her I found myself not sure of what to say. What was the most important thing to ask? What did I need to know the most to stop my heart from hurting?

  "The panties," I began. "I found them in Lincoln's jacket."

  She sniggered, enjoying the act of seeing me so heartbroken.

  "What did I tell you about him?" she rolled her eyes.

  "You told me a lot of things but I don't think I believe you. You're telling me he wanted your dirty underwear?"

  She turned her palms up to the ceiling,

  "Hey, the man wants what the man wants. He insisted they were dirty. In fact, I distinctly remember him saying the dirtier the better and he paid me pretty damn well for them."

  She flashed the ring in my face.

  "Pretty dam well."

  The shine of the diamonds knocked the breath out of me.

  "Liar."

  She shook her head.

  "I ain't no liar."

  Enraged, I flew forward and grabbed one of her scrawny wrists.

  "He'd never touch you. Never! I've seen the guys who touch you. They throw their spare change and you do anything for them. You’re grateful just for the attention."

  Her face fell, her chest rising and falling as though she was about to catch fire.

  "You shut the fuck up."

  "Spare change," I repeated. "Tell me, what's the most disgusting thing yo
u've done for five bucks?"

  I didn't like the way I sounded, harsh and crude like all the other girls in the house. I had become one of them, was now an official resident of Broadwood and spoke like one too.

  She tried to pull away but I clenched her wrist harder.

  "Fuck you," she said through gritted teeth. "You don't know anything about me."

  "I know one thing," I replied, my jaw pulling itself tight. "I know your mother would be ashamed of you for the things you do. You think I haven't seen what you do out there in those cars?"

  Her bottom lip began to tremble. She tugged her hand away but I still remained attached to it.

  "Let me go," she seethed.

  I gripped her until my knuckles turned white.

  "Let me go!" she wailed, her voice sounding young and fragile. Her real voice.

  Her lip quivered again followed by the rest of her face that crumpled up, almost imploding on itself as she began to cry. My fingers unraveled themselves around her without me noticing. She lay her arms out along the bar and buried her head in them, sobbing hysterically like a child.

  "What the? Jet, Jesus, I'm sorry."

  She sobbed harder, garnering looks from a few nearby people.

  "She's just having a bad day," I reassured the old man beside me and he turned back round.

  The bartender seemed to be the only person who cared about her. He walked up and placed a hand on the top of her head.

  "Hey girly, what's ailing ya?"

  She looked up, her mascara streaked down her face.

  "Nothing," she lied and wiped her face with the back of her hand.

  He turned his attention to me and flashed me a scowl.

  "You're new here," he said, more of an accusation than a mere observation.

  "Yeah... I am."

  He looked back over at Jet.

  "She giving you trouble?" he asked her.

  She shook her head and continued to sip her beer.

  "Nah, it's cool, Barry."

  She waved him away and he reluctantly went back to serve customers, glancing over at her protectively every few seconds.

  Looking over at Jet, it felt as though she'd aged backward before my eyes. With her makeup now smeared along her arms, she no longer looked like the harsh adult I knew. Her features, bare and raw from her salty tears, seemed so young. I was staring at the real her for the first time and she was nothing more than a child in adult's clothing.

  She sniffed and dabbed at her cheeks, looking at her reflection in the metal side of the bar.

  "My mom died, you know."

  Fuck... I wasn't expecting that.

  "I'm... I'm sorry."

  "Murdered," she continued. "When I was three."

  Now I felt rotten. Like I'd broken her down. Reaching out to her, I rested my hand on her back and felt the sharpness of her spine.

  "I'm sorry. Really… That was a terrible thing of me to say."

  She shook me off.

  "Don't worry about it. People say things..."

  I signaled the waiter to bring over two more beers and she gave a weak smile, her lips a perfect horizontal line of apathy across her face.

  "It must have been awful for you," I said. "You were so young."

  She sniffed again and gratefully took the beers from Barry's hands.

  "To tell the truth I don't remember much about her. She used to sing Disney songs to me when I was a baby. I remember her sitting out in the garden in the summer with a pitcher of lemonade. I remember her making waffles. Or rather, I remember the smell of the waffles and the back of her head, her blonde hair bouncing as she sang along to the radio. I don't remember much else."

  She drained her second bottle in two gulps, her throat convulsing with the effort.

  “And just so you know, I never fucked that doctor of yours. I swear.”

  She slammed down the empty bottle.

  “But he wanted the panties though. Said he needed them for research. Whatever the hell that means.”

  “Research? Did he say what for?”

  “Like I give a crap,” she replied and slid off her stool. “All I know is that I asked for diamonds and I got them. Whatever he does with my underwear is his business. Thanks for the beer.”

  She blew Barry a kiss and sauntered over to the door, stopping just before her hand reached the handle as though she just remembered something.

  “Are you coming back to the house?” she asked. “Phaedra will be waiting for you.”

  I pulled at a strand of hair and tucked it behind my ear nervously, sensing everyone in the room was waiting for my reply.

  “No… I’m not coming but I’ll walk you back.”

  She gave a slight nod as if to thank me then reached for the rickety handle that clung to the door by a single screw. And it was then that I saw it, the red bracelet that hung loosely from her skeletal wrist.

  Chapter Nine

  Lincoln

  The two of them were standing below the streetlamp as I sat in the driver's seat and leaned across the steering wheel. I expected to find them in the middle of a cat fight but they were hugging, actually hugging. I wound the window down a few inches to hear what they were saying.

  "I'm sorry for everything," said Etta.

  "Don't worry about it," Jet replied. "I can understand why you're angry. If Bosworth was my man I'd be the same."

  I waited to see if Etta would follow her back into the house but she didn't, choosing to linger on the doorstep as Jet walked inside. They gave each other one final wave and the front door slammed shut.

  Etta looked up at the house for a long while and I watched her. It was only a matter of time until I had to say something. I couldn't lurk in the shadows forever. Winding the window all the way down, I called out.

  "Hey, you looking for a ride home?"

  She turned round and froze.

  "What are you doing here?" she asked.

  "I should be asking you the same question. This time last night we were both fleeing this place. Now we're both back here."

  "Under its spell," she said and approached me tentatively, her finger drumming along the open window ledge.

  "I found them," she said. "The panties."

  "I know," I replied. "It sounds so fake but it isn't what you think."

  She nodded and pursed her lips.

  "She told me you didn't touch her and I believe her."

  "I wouldn't," I said. "Touch her, I mean."

  Gesturing for her to climb in the car, I opened the passenger door and welcomed her inside with a kiss.

  "It's been a strange day," I said.

  "It sure has."

  She gripped my hand tight and looked back at the house.

  "Red bracelets," she blurted out. "Have you seen them?"

  An invisible icicle slid down my back.

  "Yeah," I said. "They all wear them, the bad ones."

  The bad ones... It sounded childish but it was true. There were two types of girl in that house, the ones that needed help and the ones that lived off creating trauma. Although their numbers were shrinking by the week and it wouldn't be long until Jet would be seeing the bottom of the sea soon too.

  "What do they mean?" Etta asked. "Is it some kinda code?"

  "Phaedra's inner sanctum. Only they can wear them."

  She pushed her thumb into her mouth and began chewing furiously.

  "Jet's a dark girl."

  "I know."

  "She's up to something in there. So is Phaedra."

  "I know that too."

  On cue, the front door opened and we watched as Jet slunk out with her hood pulled low over her eyes. Stepping into the shadows, she almost disappeared from view with only her blonde hair visible.

  We both watched, holding our breath to see what she would do next.

  "Maybe she's just getting some air," Etta suggested then shook her head as though she didn't believe it herself.

  For a long while, we sat in silence and just watched. Somewhere up high, thunder
rumbled in the clouds and a few minutes later, the rain fell heavier, causing deep puddles to form in the road. Still, Jet stood like a drowning puppy waiting for its owner to return.

  "Jet told me they were for research," said Etta. "Kinda hard to believe."

  "I'll explain when we get home."

  She opened her mouth to protest but was soon distracted by the sight of a yellow cab pulling up outside the house. A tall, suave gentleman stepped out and ran over to Jet, pulling out a brown envelope from inside his jacket as he hurried.

  "Woah…" I uttered under my breath.

  "You know that guy?"

  "That's Rory Atkins."

  Etta looked blank.

  "Just some guy I've seen around but his wife died today."

  "Aw Jesus. What's he doing here?"

  We watched as Jet enveloped him in a hug and crouched down beside the house where the cellar steps opened out into the parking lot.

  "I think we're about to find out."

  With the envelope clutched close to her chest, she twisted a series of keys in a line of padlocks and opened up the doors. Rory hovered over her, shuffling from foot to foot as the rain battered down around him.

  "What's going on now?"

  "Shhh..."

  Jet lowered herself down expertly into the cellar, skipping the steps. Meanwhile, the rain fell heavier obscuring the view until the both of us were leaning up close to the windshield and wiping the condensation away with our sweater sleeves.

  If my instinct was right, I knew what was going to pop up from the cellar but I'd never seen it in person. I'd seen the photographs, heard the rumors on the grapevine but I'd never seen the exchange actually take place.

  "Oh my god! is that a child?"

  Etta clapped her hands to her cheeks and leaned so far forward her nose was almost touching the glass.

  My fears had been confirmed. It was true. It was all true. I wanted to jump out the car and run headlong into the rain like a maniac. I'd beat Rory's head into the ground if I could but another plan was waiting for me. All I could do was watch as Jet pulled a young girl out into the rain. She shook violently with the cold, a thin nightdress only covering her torso and the tops of her thighs. Her wet, blonde hair clung to her miniature skull as lifeless as the look in her eyes.