Redeemed: Book Two of the Love Seekers Series

by Maria Vickers

  His face screwed up in a grimace that told me he found the thought of kissing me as revolting as I did, but I could see the concern in his eyes. My abnormal behavior caused that. “Yeah, not even close. You spaced out again. Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m fine. I just have some things on my mind.”

  “Is it Megan?”

  “Partly.”

  “Try not to worry so much. You know she’ll make MS her bitch…and whatever else is going on with you, try to figure out a way to bend it to your will like you usually do. I’ll see you later.” He left with that and shut the door to our office quietly.

  Bend it to my will? Not sure I saw Rayne bending to my will, or to any man’s for that matter, but if I could…I mean, she needed to learn that she wasn’t the empress of the world, that her words and actions held the power to hurt people. Why couldn’t I give her a taste of her own medicine? I wanted to teach her a lesson, so why not, as my partner would say, “bend her to my will?” Once she was broken and understood what she put everyone else through, maybe then she would learn to be a decent human being instead of a demon hell bent on purging the earth of anyone that did not live within her definition of human. This wasn’t only for Emma, this was also for my sister and the entire worldly population.

  I’d been off my game lately and I needed to jump back in and fulfil my plans for Rayne, but after waking up the way I had, I’d acted more like a coward and hid. No more. The plan was forming, ideas were coming to me, and I was once again starting to feel like myself. Maybe Mark was onto something.

  When my sister had been diagnosed with MS, it was not exactly the diagnosis we were all looking for. She had been having some speech issues and trouble with her balance. An MRI showed lesions on her brain and the doctor told her she had an incurable disease, but at least there were meds and treatment for it.

  For Emma, myasthenia gravis had less in the way of known treatments or medicines. Less was known about the disease. Neither were something I would wish on anyone. Maybe, Rayne, but only temporarily. No one deserved to have either disease forever. My sister and Emma were fighters though. And like Mark said, Megan was making MS her bitch. She fought, did her treatments, took her handful of drugs, and researched new breakthroughs.

  Which was why I had volunteered to help the local MS chapter with branding for a fundraiser they were organizing. If I could help, even in a small way, I would.

  If Rayne ruled the world, the people with diseases like this, the sick and disabled, would all be hidden away from her eyes. I didn’t want to say she would kill them off, but after the hate she spat at Emma, I wouldn’t put anything past her.

  A week before the wedding, we were gathered at Bryan’s mom’s new apartment, helping her move in. Rayne appeared just as we got all of the furniture in place. Seeing Emma, her expression turned hateful, and she told her, “I know you’re faking. And if you’re not, then why don’t you put us all out of our misery and disappear like everyone else who’s like you should.”

  I had known for some time that her hate extended past Emma. Many believed that it was only her because she had stolen Rayne’s brother, and little Miss Rayne had the biggest brother complex spanning the entire universe. No one would ever have been good enough for Bryan, but the fact he chose to tie himself to someone disabled, had the woman seeing red.

  I didn’t know why she hated people whom she considered inferior, but she did. If there was a reason, I was not privy to it, and I didn’t think I wanted to be. She could keep her hate to herself. This was not WWII, she was not Hitler. Or in another argument, I could say the disabled were not lepers that needed to be sent to live in colonies. We as a society had grown and expanded…well, some of us.

  I was done. She needed to learn that just because she seemed perfect on the outside, didn’t make her perfect. If anything, Megan and Emma were more perfect that Rayne would ever be.

  Suddenly, I felt like one of those evil villains in the movies. Should I be rubbing my hands together and laughing maniacally?

  Chapter 6

  Rayne

  F or over two weeks, I’d been able to avoid Chad and practically forget about my drunken mistake. Almost. Sort of. He was the last person on earth—actually, no, not the last—I wanted to have any sort of sexual relations with. What the fuck had I been thinking? Oh, that’s right, I hadn’t been because I had been drunk off my ass. Fucking Chad! It was all his fault. If I hadn’t found him in the bar, if he hadn’t started spouting off at the mouth about teaching me a lesson, I wouldn’t have stuck around and drowned myself in alcohol with him. All. His. Fault.

  But I was better than him and anything he threw at me. Ever since I woke up to the horror that had befallen me that night, I’d been anticipating his attack. It never came. If I knew Chad—and I believed I did—he was waiting for me to drop my guard. I wouldn’t. I would play him before he could play me. Teach me a lesson? No, he would be the only person learning a valuable lesson, and when everything was said and done, I also planned on having my brother back on my side.

  Chad was nobody important. Yes, he had a successful business, and had managed to turn his hobby of working out into a part-time career, but that didn’t mean shit. I didn’t care if his muscular arms could probably bench press me, or if his eyes reminded me of the lake my parents used to take me to, or that his hair sometimes looked golden and other times reminded me of a sandy beach. He had the looks and the money, but he used women to get his jollies and then threw them away. Women tried to seduce him at every turn, and he reveled in the fact that he had his pick. A different woman for each day of the week, and probably every day of the year. He was an asshole, and when I got through with him, he would be the one crying to mommy. Not me. Never me.

  Chad, my brother, everyone who turned against me, I would show them the truth. Emma was either broken, and in that case, my brother could do better than to play nursemaid to a loser, or she was a fucking liar. It all came back to her, because she was the only reason they turned against me. With her oh so innocent mask in place, she forced them to hate me. And for some reason they couldn’t see that they shouldn’t trust her.

  I was pulled out of my inner plotting when someone knocked on my office door. As the marketing manager for a small but successful company, I had my own office and could shut everyone out. I luxuriated in it, except now. Spinning away from my window, I swiveled to face my door. I found my boss standing there, looking at me expectantly. His hands were on his hips and his foot tapped on the concrete floor. His expression appeared to be bordering on irritated. His jaw was clenched and is arms were crossed over his chest. Under his scrutiny, I wanted to hide, and I wasn’t quite sure why he was cross with me. “What’s up, Justin?”

  Justin Redburn was in his fifties, but could easily pass for someone in their forties. With his salt and pepper hair and his striking crystal blue eyes that reminded me more of a glacier than a normal blue, he had women of all ages doing double takes, but his gaze never wavered from his partner of 24 years, Brady. He was fit and trim, and happened to be one of Chad’s clients at the gym, all thanks to Bryan. Damn my brother. A fair boss, but he was a slave driver sometimes and expected perfection from all of his employees. I loved my job, I loved my boss, but there were times I wanted to take my letter opener and stab him in his crystalline blue eyeball.

  He crossed his arms over his chest, trapping his burgundy tie against him. When he finally spoke, his tone reminded me of a parent speaking to their troublemaker child. “What day is it?”

  I had to hold back on rolling my eyes. Instead, my eyes flicked to the bottom of my computer screen and then up to him, still standing in my doorway. My office wasn’t that large. Probably only a ten by ten room. Enough for a desk, two chairs, and a couple of tall filing cabinets to the left of the door. I had more storage space behind me, which made my desk area slightly cramped. There wasn’t space for much else, and the way he stood there, the office felt like it was closing in on me, getting smaller
and smaller in his presence. “Wednesday, Sir. Is something wrong?” I still didn’t understand what he was trying to tell me.

  “Exactly.”

  I racked my brain trying to come up with something. What the fuck always happened on Wednesday? Nothing, but there was something. What was it? I couldn’t think. This was Chad’s fault too.

  The sound of Justin clearing his throat had my focus back on him. “Wednesday. The first Wednesday of the month.”

  Oh shit! My eyes dropped to the calendar on my desk, and sure enough, there it was written in black marker and then highlighted in yellow. On the first Wednesday of every month, there was a meeting with all department heads…and I was currently 15 minutes late. All. Chad’s. Fault.

  I needed to purge that man from my mind and get my head screwed back on straight. Yes, waking up and discovering I had not only one, but three rounds of sex with that gigolo surprised me, however, that didn’t mean I should let it control me and my life. It happened and that was all. Life moved forward. Next time I talked to Chad or saw him, I would take him by the balls—figuratively…I think—and I would be in charge. Period. End of discussion.

  “Ahem.” Justin cleared his throat again.

  “Shit! I mean, I’m coming. Right now.” Grabbing my notepad, I forced Chad out of my head to focus on work. He would be my boy toy the next time I saw him.

  A spring appeared in my step, and I almost felt giddy in anticipation.

  ****

  I felt humiliated. When it came time for me to discuss the projects happening in my department, I had grabbed the wrong notebook and had to give my report by memory. Usually, that wouldn’t be an issue, but the last two weeks hadn’t been normal for me. I tried to blame my lack of preparation on the previous weekend and the July 4th holiday, however, that excuse sounded stupid even to my own ears.

  This was not me. I was the woman other women aspired to be. I was beautiful and had been offered modeling contracts on the spot, I was successful, and I was wanted and desired by men and women. I did not humiliate myself or fail.

  My cell phone started to buzz, vibrating across my desk. Without bothering to check the caller id, I hit talk and snapped into the receiver, “What?”

  “Such a pleasant way to answer the phone. That tone of voice will get you far,” the caller taunted me.

  “Chad? What the hell do you want?” He was the last person I wanted to talk to after I had dug myself into a hole so deep in my meeting, I was probably halfway to China.

  “I was calling to see if you wanted to meet for dinner. My treat? I thought we could bury the hatchet…or something.” His voice purred. He actually purred. Did he think that trick worked on women? I guess it did seeing as his bed was probably used more often than a porn set.

  I was about to decline his offer, when I thought better of it. “Sure. Why not?” If nothing else, I figured he could buy me dinner and some drinks, and I could forget about this disastrous day.

  “Just like that?” Now he sounded skeptical and leery. I didn’t blame him. It wasn’t like he and I ever got along. Not even when I met him when Bryan was in college. The man had the audacity to tell me that he didn’t sleep with grade school kids. First, I had only been in junior high, and second, while he might have been good-looking, the moment he opened his mouth, he ruined his pretty boy picture and turned into a jackass. From what I witnessed back then, he’d been your stereotypical frat boy.

  “Hey, you were the one that called me. What? Do you have performance anxiety?”

  “I’m not fucking sleeping with you. I don’t want to catch your particular brand of evil.”

  “What a way to sweet talk a girl. And here I thought you were calling me to make amends.”

  I thought I heard him exclaim, “Shit!” but I wasn’t sure. A few moments passed in silence before he said, “I was. I mean I am. Sorry about that. Old habits and everything.”

  “Yeah, whatever. Just meet me at The Flying Saucer at six.”

  “Sounds good to me. I only have one client tonight and the gym is a block from there.”

  “Fine.” I hung up and slammed my phone onto my desk. It looked like our mutual torture…I meant plans, began tonight, and he was already fucking up. How did he expect to prove anything to me when all he ever did was insult me? And besides, there was no way in hell he was going to change my mind about Emma, or anyone else.

  Chapter 7

  Chad

  O n the way over to the restaurant, I gave myself a little pep talk. This date, or whatever the hell this thing could be called, was important, and I shouldn’t ruin everything with my big mouth.

  If Emma had heard me, she would have probably slapped me. On our first, and only real date, I arrived at her apartment acting like a fool, like the player people assumed I was because I thought that’s what all girls wanted. She slapped the shit out of me, and it shocked me. Most girls ate it up when I acted like I was “the man,” but not Emma. According to her, if I couldn’t be real, I needed to get the hell out of her life. I think I fell for her a little more that day.

  She would always be the one that got away.

  Rayne Sampson on the other hand could stand side by side with Megan or Emma, and she would pale in comparison, because while she was beautiful on the outside, on the inside, she was an old, ugly, decrepit hag. I once said she reminded me of the Fates in Greek mythology who passed around an eyeball. I probably would have said Medusa, but after taking Greek mythology in college and learning her real story, I felt bad for her. It wasn’t her fault. The Fates though, they were born that way and were slightly (a lot) out of their minds.

  Taking a deep breath outside of the restaurant, I yanked on the door a little harder than I intended as enthusiasm and irritation coursed through my body. A simple flittering thought of Rayne, held the power to set me on edge. A mere thought, and I was ready to pounce on her. She put me on guard, like I had to protect anyone and everyone around me from her snake tongue.

  The restaurant had more of an upscale bar feel, and it prided itself on that reputation considering the amount of alcohol they had on tap alone could surpass anyone else in the city. Over a hundred beers on tap was something to boast about. The furniture and fixtures were all silver with black accents. Booths lined the wall as taller tables could be found in the center. And at 6:00, it was already starting to fill up with people in need of Happy Hour.

  “How can I help you?” the hostess asked. A cute petite thing that couldn’t have been taller than five feet. Her blonde curly hair sat on top of her head like a fur ball attached to a crown due to her overly curly pony tail, and her eyes traveled over my body from head to toe, lingering on some areas longer than others. I saw the way she bit her lower lip, as if merely looking at me would send her spiraling into orgasm. I had that effect on women, which made Bryan call me a walking pheromone machine. Ha! Maybe I was.

  My lips curled into a flirtatious smile and I winked at her, which caused her fingers gripping the podium she stood behind to squeeze the wood harder than before. “I’m supposed to be meeting someone here.” The hint of disappointment that flashed through her eyes made me want to both laugh, and offer her the consolation prize of a backroom fuck. I’d done it before. Not my best work, but sometimes time mattered more than place.

  “I can escort you around the restaurant to see if he’s here yet, or you can wait here for him.” Her voice sounded hopeful and needy.

  Two things didn’t go unnoticed. She said “he” and “him” because she hoped to God I was meeting someone who wouldn’t be her competition, and she, unlike at most places, she didn’t offer to let me look around alone. She wanted me…badly. “That’s okay, Sweetheart. I’m a little early. Can you go ahead and seat me somewhere close?”

  Her body shivered when I called her “Sweetheart.” Of course it did. “If you’ll just follow me. What’s the name of the person you’re waiting for?”

  I walked behind her and the sensual, if not exaggerated, sway of her hips, pulle
d my eyes downward. If she craved my attention, she had it. Her ass was tight and perky, the perfect size to grab while she rode my dick like a cowgirl. “It’s…uh…Rayne. She should be along any minute,” I told the hostess when we arrived at my newly assigned table.

  The flash of fire, jealousy, and disappointment could all be read in her eyes, and in the frown that now marred her cute face. I couldn’t say she was pretty because she looked fresh out of high school and reminded me of one of those innocent, cutesy cheerleaders from my old high school; which were vastly different from college and professional cheerleaders. I’ve had my fill of all three, although I hadn’t had a high school girl since I graduated my senior year. I could say though, that the quality of the women had certainly improved…and so had the quantity.

  “Oh, well, I’ll be sure and send her over when she arrives,” she grumbled.

  “Thank you, Sweetheart,” I said sweetly with a hint of a smile, and watched as it had the desired effect. Her eyes glazed over, her breathing turned into more of a pant, and her cheeks filled with color.

  “Uh…yeah.” She walked away with a dazed expression. I still had the gift. Following her, I found myself smirking as I thought about the past, my eyes scanning for signs of Rayne. I hadn’t always been the chick magnet I was today, and even got my ass kicked more than I liked. Her body bounced in front of me, the clanking of dishes, and the hum of people talking around me faded slightly as I thought about the changes I’d made in my life.

  When I was in elementary school, I started wearing glasses. As a second grader with big plastic frames on his face, it became a foregone conclusion that I would be teased. Those frames may be popular now with a lot of people, but back then, it was practically a social death sentence—not that a second grader actually thought about their social life. Not only that, but I was scrawny and short. The shortest in my class, even girls were taller than me. So glasses, plus my lack of stature, made me the bullies’ favorite toy.