“Urgh… fuck.”
Once again I tried to open my eyes a fraction and a sliver of sunlight hit me, burning through me, intensifying my migraine.
“Fuck!”
My stomach cramped and lurched again and before I knew it, I was jumping off the bed and dashing out the room. On instinct, I found the bathroom, a small green room at the end of the short hall.
Vomiting into the toilet bowl, my nose only inches from the rancid, brown water at the bottom, I heaved and heaved until there was nothing but air coming up. Grabbing a nearby towel, I held it to my face, felt its softness and smelled its fabric softener.
“Jesus Christ,” I said to myself, my voice raspy and my throat red raw.
Downstairs, there was the sound of someone hitting pots and pans off the stove. The television was playing softly. I didn’t understand the words but from the music I could tell it was a melodramatic, midday soap opera.
“Breakfast?” a voice called up the stairs in English.
I pulled myself to my feet and staggered out onto the stairs. Purging my guts had sobered me up a bit but I was weak and exhausted and totally confused.
“Breakfast, Mr Bosworth?” came the voice again.
It was almost like Lolita’s but lower and more sophisticated. It was almost as raw as mine and just as tired.
“Breakfast,” I said as I walked down the stairs and saw the figure in the kitchen.
The flowing hair was the same, the haughty demeanor and the arched eyebrows that gave the impression I was being mocked.
“Yes. You know the meal before lunch. The one you have after you’re finished fucking my daughter.”
Lolita’s mother was frying up some eggs. Garlic sausage sizzled in the pain in front of her, doing nothing to dampen my nausea.
“I… I didn’t…”
“Don’t be silly,” she said and pointed for me to sit down at the table.
Something about her demeanor told me I couldn’t say no and so I slumped down in the seat and held a hand to my throbbing forehead.
“Everyone fucks Lolicia,” she said and dropped a plate in front of me before sliding on some sausage and eggs.
Filling up a coffee cup, she slid it across the table and I just looked at it.
“Don’t worry, I didn’t put drugs in it. If that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Why would I think that?” I asked and she turned her back on me to fetch her own breakfast.
Sitting down beside me, she tossed her glossy hair over her shoulder, just like her daughter did.
“What did you say her name was?”
“Lolicia,” she said and stabbed into the food.
“She told me her name was Lolita.”
The woman burst out laughing and threw her head back.
“She does that,” she said. “It’s her favorite book, you know. Makes her seem more… special.”
I just watched her, incredulous.
“You know what she did to me, don’t you?”
She said nothing but chewed thoughtfully. I was clearly not the first man to be sat at her breakfast table feeling as though their guts were turning inside out.
“Lol does a lot of things,” she eventually said. “Always in trouble.”
“And you don’t care?”
She nodded her head toward my plate.
“Eat up,” she said.
“Nah, I’m cool.”
I pushed my plate away along with my coffee and she helped herself. Despite her slender frame, she was a voracious eater.
“Suits me,” she said, her cheeks stuffed with sausage.
I watched her for a second and wondered how she could look so normal knowing what her daughter was up to last night.
“How do you know my name?” I asked.
“Everyone knows who you are, Mr Bosworth. You’re a famous man. A very smart man.”
I felt as though I’d arrived in the Twilight Zone.
Am I still fast asleep upstairs in bed? Am I going to wake up any minute and see Lolita’s face beside mine?
But that wasn’t even her name, was it? This was all a terrible nightmare.
“And who are you?” I asked.
“Marcia,” said the woman.
“And you don’t care about what Lolita, I mean Lolicia, does in your house?”
She shrugged and cocked her head to the side.
“I was young once,” she said. “Besides, there is so much worse in this town.”
I couldn’t bear to imagine what and in the moment I didn’t care. I just wanted to go home. Looking up at the clock, I saw it was almost one in the afternoon. Etta would be panic stricken.
“So much worse…” repeated Marcia. “We are close to the border you know. America not so far away. The things that happen here in the name of money…”
She shook her head and shoveled the last of her eggs into her mouth.
“You wouldn’t believe it. Or maybe you would. You’re a rich man. I’m sure your motives down here aren’t just about pretty women.”
“It’s strange you use the word motive,” I mused out loud. “And maybe I am just here for the women.”
“With that beauty of yours back at your villa. You’d be crazy to look elsewhere, no matter how gorgeous my daughter is.”
I was starting to feel sicker by the minute and rested my head against the cool, tiled wall.
“How do you know about Etta? About where I live?”
She smiled as she cleared the table. I watched as she sashayed over to the refrigerator where she pulled out a large bottle of beer.
“Want one?” she asked.
I glared at her in response.
“We all know where you live,” she said. “A man like you shows up in town in that fancy jet of yours and we all start asking questions, you know.”
“I suppose I am rather conspicuous.”
We sat in silence for a minute, the clock ticking above us. My body was filled with dread, my mind a weird mish mash of memories from the night before. I’d had sex with Lolicia, or at least I think I did.
There were images in my mind; the look on her face as she rocked back and forth, the way her hair fell around her perfect, pert breasts and how the bed beneath us creaked so loud I was sure it would collapse. But I didn’t remember feeling a single thing apart from the intense sickness that overwhelmed me.
It was still invading my body making me feel as though any second now I would vomit onto the table as my mouth salivated beyond my control.
“I need to go home,” I said and stood up.
Marcia just looked up at me, sipping on her beer before looking over at the television.
I thrust my hand into my pocket to look for my keys but felt nothing, then I noticed something else was missing. My wallet.
“What the fuck?”
I raced upstairs, clinging to the walls to keep my balance before tumbling into the bedroom and seeing Lolicia’s belongings scattered all over the floor. I dropped to my knees and searched the threadbare carpet. Then I poked my head beneath the bed and dragged my hand across the dust in search of my wallet but there was nothing but a few cobwebs and a balled up pair of panties.
“Bitch!”
Downstairs, Marcia laughed.
“Fucking bitch!” I raged as I stormed back downstairs. “Your daughter stole my wallet!”
She laughed harder and drank some more beer.
“Yep, she’ll do that,” she said.
I looked into her eyes for a sign of shame or embarrassment, even just a flicker of recognition for what her Lolicia had done but there was nothing. If anything, there was a mild look of pride in her eyes.
“Are you fucking insane?” I asked. “Is this, like, normal to you? Your twenty year old daughter just bringing older guys home to fuck and rob?”
She stopped laughing and looked me dead in the eye.
“You think she’s twenty?” she smirked. “You better think again.”
“Don’t… Don’t say anymore
.”
I began walking toward the door and she hurried after me.
“Mr Bosworth!”
“Don’t come near me!”
She caught up with me beside the rose bushes in the garden. Her slim fingers wound around my arm and pulled me toward her. At our feet, the fat cat shimmied past, meowing his discontent at us intruding on his private patch of sunshine.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“You tell me,” I snapped. “You seem to know everything.”
Her fingers curled themselves tighter until her nails dug into my bicep. It reminded me of how Lolicia scratched my chest, of how her nails were just as dangerous as her looks.
“Look, you have no way of getting home. Let me drive you.”
“Get the hell away from me,” I said and pulled myself free from her grasp. “At this rate, I’ll be lucky to get away from this house with my shoes.”
I walked away and strode toward the bar. In the distance, I could just about make out my old, rusty, piece of crap car. By habit, I looked for the keys in my pocket and obviously felt nothing. Cursing myself for not leaving the keys in the ignition like I’d previously planned, I felt the frustration rise within me and kicked the wheel.
“Fuck!”
It was hot already and the sweat was pouring down the back of my neck. Across the road, an old woman opened her shutters and peered down, wondering what the stupid American man was doing cursing and raging in the street.
“Mr Bosworth!”
Marcia was racing to my side, her heels kicking up dust and sand as she ran.
“Let me take you home.”
I looked her up and down. In the harsh light of the midday sun, her face appeared older but no less beautiful. She looked like a more natural version of her daughter and for the first time, I saw there was a hint of remorse in her eyes.
“Why would you do that?” I asked.
“Because you’re an easy target out here,” she replied.
She pointed her thumb behind her to where a pastel blue Volkswagen Beetle sat parked beside her house. The cat was now on the bonnet, sunning its stomach as it watched the birds in the trees.
“Fine,” I sighed. “I don’t feel much like walking anyway.”
Chapter Five
ETTA
“Honey, you look like shit.”
“Thanks, that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
“I’m not trying to insult you.”
“Well, you did.”
“I’m just worried about you!”
Mom was sitting by the pool with a cup of tea in her hand and her sunglasses masking her dried out eyes. She leaned back and looked up at the sun, her tan deepening into a dark bronze.
“Mom, you’ll fry out here. Why don’t you head inside?”
“The house is haunted,” she said.
“Er… what?”
“Haunted,” she said.
“Mom, shut up.”
She sipped on her tea and put her feet up.
“What’s got you so grumpy anyway?” she asked.
I didn’t want to tell her about how worried I was about Lincoln. It wasn’t that I was trying to protect her from my panic but rather that I was too proud to admit that somewhere down at the bottom of my heart, I didn’t quite trust him. After yesterday’s outburst, I didn’t feel as though I knew him anymore. His accusations were not those of the man I thought I loved.
“I’m not grumpy,” I said. “Just tired. The house is too cold at night and it’s too hot out here during the day.”
Mom turned toward me, her oversized sunglasses covering the top half of her face so that I felt as though I was staring into the eyes of an enormous ant.
“Don’t lie to me,” she said.
“I’m not-“
“Tell me what’s on your mind.”
My foot began tapping on the floor. I pushed down onto my heel to keep it still but as soon as I looked away, it was off again, bobbing up and down as though outside my control.
“There’s so much on my mind,” I said. “You know that.”
Beyond the gates, I could hear a car engine and stood up. Hurrying to the edge of the pool, I peered through the flowers expecting to see Lincoln’s car arrive. Instead, I saw a blue Volkswagen Beetle. He was in the passenger seat, cradling his head as an attractive woman with shining curls and a face full of makeup, drove up to the front door.
“Who is it, honey?”
I ignored mom and pushed my way into the house, down the hall then out to the front door. Stepping out onto the porch, I now saw the woman up close. Her eyes were on me as she parked up, a look of pure arrogance on her regal features.
“You must be Etta,” she said as she climbed out.
Lincoln crawled out the car and staggered up to me.
“Jesus Christ! What happened to you?”
I reached for his hand but he stepped around me into the coolness of his house. He grumbled something inaudible and walked into the kitchen where he began drinking thirstily from the faucet.
“Lincoln!”
I moved to close the door but the woman held it open before sidling around me with a smug smile on her face.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“A friend that you need,” she said and walked into the kitchen. “Wow, this is some place, you know.”
I was close behind her, getting bad vibes from her immediately. The way she moved, talked, strutted around as though the world owed her everything, I didn’t trust a single part of her.
“Lincoln, what’s going on?”
He was still gulping down water as though he’d never seen it before.
“Lincoln!”
At last, he looked up and stared through me, his eyes black and dilated.
“You look wired,” I said.
He glanced over at the woman then back to me.
“I had a bad night,” he said.
“I can see that.”
“I was drugged.”
Looking over at the woman, I noticed she was starting to make herself feel at home. Sitting down at the table, she kicked her shoes off and leaned back, taking in the spectacle of the grand house.
“Not been in this place for so long,” she said, her fingers running through her mass of onyx black curls.
She was devastatingly beautiful in a way that made me feel so inferior and worthless. It was impossible to tell her age, her skin was flawless, but you could sense that she’d lived a lot, seen a lot. Her eyes sparkled with a cunning, animalistic intelligence and her body was thin yet curvy. Her breasts spilled out the top of her black blouse, full and plump.
“You know this house?” I asked.
“Everyone does. It’s famous around here. Used to belong to a very powerful man. Although I suppose now it belongs to another so… Life is a cycle, you know.”
She licked her bee stung lips and rubbed at her thighs.
“You’re a lucky girl, Etta.”
“Who are you?” I asked.
I was fed up with her gallous attitude and wanted to slap the smugness off her face.
“What are you doing here?”
“Like I said, I’m a friend when you need one. My name is Marcia and I came to your boyfriend’s help. Didn’t I?”
She looked over at him. He was bent over the sink, his skin looking paler than I’d ever seen.
“Well thank you, Marcia but you can leave now.”
She didn’t budge, didn’t move an inch.
“Thank you,” I said again, hoping that any second now, she’d get the hint and leave.
Yet still, she just sat back as though we were the ones who were the guests in her house.
Beside me, Lincoln was still grumbling to himself and holding his head. Ignoring Marcia, I held him tenderly and looked into his eyes. They were yellowed and bloodshot. Relapsing into my nurse’s role, I held two fingers to his neck and felt his pulse.
“You need to lie down,” I said. “You’re heart rate i
s through the roof.”
“I’m fine,” he said.
His breath was putrid with the smell of stale whisky but I reached up on tip toes and kissed him anyway before leading him out the kitchen.
“Come on, let’s get you to bed.”
Looking over my shoulder, I saw Marcia watching us warily through the open door, her bare feet still resting up on a nearby chair.
“Who the fuck is she?” I hissed as I pulled him up the stairs. “Why are you like this? You look like you’re dying.”
“I feel like I’m dying.”
And with that, he promptly rushed into the bathroom and vomited. Following him in, I sat on the floor and leaned against the bath as he wretched over and over again with his entire body shaking.
When he emerged from the toilet bowl, his skin was almost green. He wiped the back of his hand along his mouth and dabbed at his watery eyes.
“You need to go to the hospital,” I said.
“No!”
His eyes were wide and staring, his hand shaking as he held out in front of him. He stared at it for a second as though it was alien to him.
“Who is she?” I asked.
He didn’t answer.
“Where is your car?”
Again, he didn’t answer.
“Please, hold me,” he said, his whole face crumpling up as though he was about to burst into tears.
With his body still twisted around the toilet, he looked so small and vulnerable and I wrapped my arms around him and held him tight.
“It’s okay,” I soothed him, rubbing his back. “No matter what happened, it’s okay. You’re home now.”
I kissed his cheek and froze.
“You… Smell like perfume,” I said.
He remained silent, his head still balanced on my shoulder.
Then I noticed something else. The distinct smell of sex.
“Linx? Where have you been?”
His breathing quickened.
I pulled back and gripped his shoulders.
“Look at me, Lincoln! Where have you been?”
His eyes darted from side to side.
“Were you with her?” I asked. “That woman, Marcia?”
“No,” he said. “I wasn’t with her.”
“But… you were with someone…”
He clenched his eyes shut then nodded.
Jewels And Panties: (Book 1-15) Billionaire Romance Series Page 54