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

by Brooke Kinsley

  "Please..."

  Again I was hit by an intense flash of light. There was a click again, the sound of someone opening up the back of an instrument.

  With all my strength, I lifted my head a couple inches and looked down toward the bottom of the mattress. I recognized it the second I saw the red and yellow stripes along the side. The Polaroid camera had been given to me on my ninth birthday from my grandma. It was the last thing she ever gave me before she died and I'd used it sparingly, not wanting to wear out my final memory of her.

  In adulthood, it had sat on the chest of drawers in the bedroom as an ornament. A feeling of guilt niggled inside me. When I'd walked out on Craig I'd forgotten to take it with me. I'd forgotten about my grandmother.

  Now Craig was pointing it at me, using the last of the film to torment me.

  "St---op," I cried.

  Again the flash shone off the bare white walls illuminating the sides of his face. There was something wrong about the color of his skin. He was too pale, too ill. He was so far removed from the Craig I used to know. As I watched him photograph me until the film ran out, taking each developed picture in his hand and blowing gently on them, I didn't even think he looked like a human. He was a maniac. A monster.

  When the last photograph dried, he held it between his thumb and forefinger with a menacing smile on his face.

  "Gorgeous," he said and crawled up beside me. "Don't you look pretty?"

  Through blurry lines, I squinted and made out the image of me naked on the mattress, my face twisted in fear, my eyes wide and petrified.

  "You're insane," I slurred.

  "Shhh... Gorgeous."

  I needed to be sick. Everything was spinning. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath and tried to slow down my thoughts but I was beginning to shake.

  "You don't like it?" he asked as though he was confused. "What's the matter?"

  He held the photo even closer to my face as though it would somehow make me change my mind.

  "You look so pretty," he said.

  With it still in his hand, he cuddled up beside me as I shivered.

  Why the hell is the window open? I thought. It's so cold. It's unbearable.

  I saw it wasn't open, but had a hole smashed into it instead.

  That wasn't there earlier. When did that happen?

  The room around me looked more disheveled than before. It was as though he'd been living in it like a wild animal.

  How long have I been unconscious? How long have we been in this room!

  I tried to edge away from him but as I moved, I caught the scent of something foul. As my eyes focused on something in the corner of the room, my stomach gripped itself tight. The bucket was uncovered, the smell so thick I could taste it. I didn't need to see its contents to know what was inside. I heaved as I rolled over onto my side, shaking and crying as his cold hands caressed my back.

  "Get off me!"

  "Sweetheart..."

  "Don't call me that!"

  I heaved again, revived by the emptiness of my stomach. Crawling on my knees, I struggled to reach the end of an old sleeping bag and pulled it around me. It did little to stop the cold from penetrating my bones but at least it covered me.

  Craig was leaning against the wall now smoking a cigarette. He looked so serene, as though the two of us were merely sharing an intimate moment in our old bedroom like the good old days.

  "It's nice being back here, isn't it?"

  "You're... You're crazy."

  I ran my dehydrated tongue over my teeth and felt the desperate need for water.

  "Don't be nasty, Etta. I've missed you so much. You wouldn't believe how much I thought about you. How I imagined it was you beneath me every time I fucked that junkie bitch."

  He wasn't sounding like his old self. He had been hardened by his heartache, had snapped and turned into the psychopath that must have always simmered beneath the surface.

  "Please, just let me go. Let me go back home."

  "Home?" he spat. "You mean I'm supposed to let you go back to that rich bastard? The man who stole you away from me."

  I gripped the sleeping bag around me tighter.

  "You're insane," I said. "Lincoln and me are together now. You and me are finished."

  The words didn't seem to register with him and he continued.

  "I can't live without you, Etta. I thought I'd lost you forever but here you are again. You’re back with me. It'll be perfect from now on. I promise."

  He moved down the mattress and lunged forward in an attempt to kiss me. I screamed and kicked him back and he fell against the wall.

  "Why would you do something like that?" he asked, moving toward me again.

  "Don't come near me!"

  I was looking for a weapon. Anything that could help me escape. Something caught my attention out the corner of my eye. Something white and long. Seeing it was a phone charger, I picked it up and swung it. The sharp edge hid him square in the temple and he reeled back with an almost animalistic cry.

  "Bitch!" he screamed and clenched his eyes closed as a stream of blood ran down his forehead.

  I took my chance and bolted for the door, brandishing the phone charger in my hand as he chased after me.

  Chapter Six

  LINCOLN

  "Well, we're here. This is Maidenville."

  I spread my hands out across the front of the windshield.

  "Doesn't look like much of a town to me."

  Beside me, Chrissie was ominously silent.

  "So, where are we supposed to go? Where is he!"

  She was staring into space with a peculiar twitch below her left eye. She'd been scratching her arms all the way up here, babbling constantly as she demanded the radio be turned right up. When she started singing along, I'd slammed it off and she'd been quiet ever since, looking out the window while rocking back and forth.

  "Hey, listen to me?"

  She snapped out of her daze and flinched.

  "I... I don't know," she stammered.

  I was starting to lose my cool with her. She was giving off bad, time wasting vibes but right now she was all I had.

  Braking hard on the deserted road, we both stared out straight ahead into the desolate distance. There was nothing for miles except a few houses strewn through the fields. At one end of the road lay a motel which I assumed to be closed and down at the other end was a bar that was definitely open but looked about as safe as a mouse in a snake pit.

  If Etta was out here she should be easy to find.

  "Call him," I said and gave Chrissie a push.

  She held her phone to her ear then rested it back on her lap.

  "No answer."

  She was a lousy liar and she was up to something but I couldn't figure out what. Not to mention I knew she was desperate for heroin. It was as plain as the smudged mascara on her face. But what was she playing at? We both had the same goal, didn't we? Find Craig and Etta. That's all we wanted.

  "So now what?" I asked.

  "I say we try that bar over there," she said and pointed down the street.

  I knew I wouldn't be welcome there. With its dowdy, rusted sign half falling off and the doors swinging open occasionally to reveal the dark interior, it didn't look like the sort of place that welcomed rich outsiders with a heroin addict in tow.

  Beside me, Chrissie was clawing at herself. As I looked over, I saw the color of her face had changed since we first met. She was pale, almost gray and her eyes were watery and bloodshot. She glanced up, her gaze meeting mine and it struck me how much pain she was in. My doctor's instinct kicked in and I found myself wanting to help her.

  "It'll get infected if you keep doing that," I said. "I can clean it up for you if you want."

  Her eyes softened and she looked down at her lap, embarrassed. Her problem had been the elephant in the room all the way out here but now it was mine too.

  "Here, let me see it."

  I took her arm in mine and she clenched her fingers around my elbow,
seeking a moment of intimacy in the most strained of moments.

  "Okay, this won't take long."

  Flipping open the glovebox, I reached for the first aid kit. There wasn't anything advanced or technical in it, just a few alcohol wipes, some Band-Aids and bandages along with some pins and gauze.

  She winced as I ran the wipe over her skin.

  "Sorry," I said and her fingers gripped me tighter.

  "Don't be."

  There was a smile on her lips. Something told me she seduced a lot of men with that smile, especially when she was younger. I had the impression I was now just looking at a faded version of her former self. But the sex appeal was still in there somewhere behind those clumped up eyelashes and parched skin.

  After taping on some gauze and winding the bandage around her arm more times than I needed to in case she tried to scratch her way through, I waited for her to let go.

  But she didn't.

  "You're a real nice man, Bosworth. Are all doctors as kind as you?"

  She bit her lip and leaned over enough for me to see the top of her cleavage.

  "I wouldn't know," I said and pushed her arm back onto her lap.

  It was time to go. I didn't have the time or desire to flirt with her. I needed Etta and my heart was sinking with every minute I spent away from her. I moved to exit the car but before my hand could pull back the handle, there was something sharp against my thigh. When I looked down, I saw Chrissie's long, red nails sliding up toward my crotch.

  "What are you doing?"

  "Just saying thank you."

  "Don't."

  I shook her off and she reeled back, offended.

  "What's the matter, doctor? You don't wanna let me say thank you."

  "Are you out of your fucking mind? We're here looking for my kidnapped girlfriend and your boyfriend. Have you forgotten that?"

  Her eyes became watery again and she turned the other way, leaning against the open window as she nibbled along the edge of her thumbnail.

  "Sorry. It's just that nobody's ever offered to help before."

  Guilt flickered through me. Maybe she wasn't a bad person. Maybe she was just an ordinary woman with some extraordinary problems. Maybe she was just acting in the way she was taught how.

  "You don't have to thank me for anything. Let's just forget about it, okay?"

  She nodded, her head still facing away from me. From the back, I could see just how dry and brittle her hair was. In every way she was the complete opposite of Etta, whose hair glistened like a silken waterfall. I could run my fingers through it forever until it crackled.

  "Okay," said Chrissie. "Let's check out that bar."

  "Not so fast. Where did Craig say he was?"

  She shifted in her seat.

  "He just said he was here."

  Her eyes darted back and forth as she spoke. She was lying but I couldn't figure out why. Was she in on it? Was she just as guilty of kidnapping Etta as Craig was?

  If that was the case, the last thing I needed to do was lose my cool. I needed to be smart, needed to make sure I didn't do anything that could jeopardize finding Etta.

  "Did he tell you to meet him anywhere?" I asked.

  She didn't reply. Instead, her leg began shaking up and down. I could tell she was suffering from withdrawals. It was no point even trying to speak to her anymore. Her mind was elsewhere. Her body was falling apart.

  "Let's get you a drink," I said and stepped out the car. "I doubt this place does cocktails though."

  ~

  Sat in a corner booth, I sipped on a beer I didn't even know I needed until the cool, crisp liquid glided down my throat. I drained the bottle in two gulps and needed more.

  "Another?" I asked and pointed to Chrissie's glass of vodka.

  She nodded.

  "Just bring the bottle this time."

  Meandering up to the bar, I was surprised but relieved to discover it wasn't nearly as hostile as I thought it would be. The old man behind the bar smiled as I approached, his mustache spreading apart as though it was opening its legs.

  "Another one, mister?"

  "Actually two. And... whatever that bottle of vodka is over there. Just gimme the whole thing."

  He raised his eyebrows but did as I asked.

  I handed him a hundred dollar bill and he whistled.

  "Think you made a mistake, son."

  It had been a long time since someone called me son and I didn't like it too much.

  "No mistake," I said. "Keep the change."

  Picking up the bottles, I turned to walk away but was interrupted by the old man calling me back.

  "You're lost, aren't you?" he asked.

  I turned back round and looked at his face. It was friendly enough but confused as hell as to why someone was standing in front of him drinking his cheap beer.

  "Lost? No. Why would you say that?"

  It wasn't usually in my nature to be so defensive but I was stressed and worried and tired as hell.

  "Because you're definitely not from around here," said the old man. "And it's not like this backwater's even on the way to anywhere. Plus, I doubt you're here for business so the only other reason I can muster is that you're lost."

  I had no interest in telling him everything but his eyes were latched onto me, hungry for a reason for I was there, even if it was just out of curiosity. Besides, maybe he knew something. I slid onto the bar stool and began work on my second beer.

  "I'm not lost," I said. "I'm looking for someone."

  "Is that right?"

  He could tell I had a story to tell. Or at least, he could sense I wasn't just an ordinary traveler. Nodding over to a young boy sat at the far side of the bar, he pointed over to the jukebox.

  "Put some music on, will ya, son?"

  The boy, who I was sure was far too young to be drinking, stomped over like a petulant child and slid a coin into the slot. By the time he returned, the sounds of Chuck Berry were floating across the room.

  "So, you said you were looking for someone."

  "A girl," I said and opened my phone to show him Etta's photo.

  Over the last day, I'd stared at it so much it was staring to become a blur. I knew every inch of her face in detail. I'd zoomed in on her eyes so many times I was starting to recognize the patterns in her bright irises.

  "Have you seen her?" I asked.

  "No. But I wish I had. She's a real looker."

  It must have been the alcohol going to my head because suddenly, looking at her face, I wanted to cry.

  "Are you sure you haven't seen her?"

  He saw the pain on my face.

  "Sorry, son. There are less than a hundred people round these parts and we've all known each other since we were in diapers. There's no one round here like her. I can tell you that."

  The look in his eyes made me believe him.

  "She your wife?" he asked.

  Wife... The word struck me like an electric shock. If only I could call her my wife. Maybe if I saw her again I could...

  "Girlfriend," I said.

  "Hmmm..."

  He ran a finger through his beard and leaned on the bar.

  "You think she's doing the dirty on you?"

  I shook my head.

  "I think she's in danger."

  A look of fear flashed across his face. Then he looked over my shoulder. Chrissie was stomping over, wondering where her vodka was. She snatched the bottle off the bar and walked back to the booth without saying a word. The old man and me looked at each other and shrugged.

  "And how does she fit into all of this?" he asked with an amused smirk.

  "I'm not sure I know yet," I said as I watched her walk away.

  As the song came to an end and the young boy walked back over to pick another record, a group of guys walked in, jovial and looking forward to a good night until they saw me. The old man waved them in.

  "This young gentleman here is looking for his girlfriend who he believes is around Maidenville."

  Th
e guys laughed but I didn't know why. I was starting to think I was the butt of a big practical joke and everyone including Chrissie was in on it.

  "Look," I said, striding over and showing them her picture. "Have you seen her?"

  They all shook their heads in unison, all dumb grins with protruding front teeth and hair that stood on end like a toilet brush.

  "She's a real sweetheart," said one. "I'll make sure to keep an eye out for her."

  He winked to his friends and I sighed, pushing my phone back into my pocket. It was useless. I was starting to think I'd made a big mistake coming here.

  At least Chrissie was having fun. She was three inches down the vodka bottle and swaying her head to the music.

  "Thanks anyway," I mumbled and walked away.

  It was time to get away from this place. I wasn't going to find Etta at the bottom of a Budweiser bottle.

  "Come on Chrissie. We're leaving."

  "Aaaw."

  I pulled her up by her arm and she wobbled in her heels. Everyone was looking, wondering what kinda spectacle they were witnessing. I had the feeling everyone would know who we were by sunrise; the guy in the suit who handed over a hundred dollars for a beer and the junkie.

  "I wanna dance," she moaned as I pushed her toward the door, the vodka still clenched between her fingers like a baby's bottle.

  Meanwhile, the old man was watching us, his fingers pulling at the edges of his mustache.

  "I suppose you two will be needing a place to stay," he said.

  I hadn't even thought that far ahead yet. All I wanted was to collect my thoughts and sober up.

  "There's a motel down that way," he pointed south. "It don't have a heart shaped bed that vibrates but it'll do you fine."

  He laughed and the goofy young guys followed.

  "Thanks," I nodded on my way out the door. "If you see her, tell her where I am."

  ~

  Even as we pulled up outside, I was sure the motel was closed. I was surprised then when I parked up in front and saw someone behind the desk in reception. They were reading in the dim light of a desk lamp, their curly hair and oval glasses the only things visible through the window.

  "You stay here," I said to Chrissie.

  The last thing I needed was her causing any more of a scene.

  As I pushed my way through the main door, I caught sight of someone gaunt and skinny in front of me. They looked as though they'd never felt the comfort of a warm bed or eaten a decent meal in days. I then realized I was looking at my reflection.