Romance: He Done Her Wrong (Cuddlesack Queens #2)

by Morris Fenris

  Scattered details from her memory were beginning to return, piece by piece. That day as traumatic and explosive as a tsunami, when a demoniac sociopath had burst into her life in an attempt to destroy all that was held dear.

  “Oh!” With a gasp, Olivia struggled upright, with no success. The bed and its appurtenances held her captive. “The baby!” she remembered, her eyes filling with weak tears.

  “Fine, sweetheart. Just fine.” Jeff’s grin began bravely enough, then wobbled off. “Have you possibly forgotten your fourteen hours of labor?”

  “Labor? But, then—you mean—I already…gave birth—?”

  “Sure did. And we are the parents of a beautiful little girl, thanks to you. Looks just like her mom, too. Well. She’s got my ears.”

  More tears. “Oh. And I—missed—all that…”

  Jeff managed to pull out another half-grin and strove for a touch of humor to lighten the moment. “Didn’t miss it, honey. You were swearin’ at me, and all the nurses, like some sailor out on a drunken hoot. Man. I couldn’t believe you even knew words like that! But you got settled, and you pulled through all that pain, pushed that child of ours into the world, and then went out cold.”

  “A girl,” whispered Olivia, still trying to take it in. “She’s—okay?”

  His strong fingers curled around hers, and tightened. “A tad underweight, bein’ that she showed up about three weeks early. But she’s got a set of lungs on her as hefty as her mom’s. Doctor says she’ll be fine.”

  “Francesca Rose. Our—daughter…” Dreamily Olivia laid her free hand flat over her middle, now greatly decreased in size, and malleable, though still quite tender. “Franny.” For a full minute she simply let the words wash over her, feeling comforted and complete. Then her eyes widened with renewed shock. “Nicky?”

  “Right as rain. Worried about you, of course, as we all have been. But I called Julia, and she was delighted to take him and Bruno in for a couple of days. Her boys and ours are in seventh heaven, believe me.”

  “You?” The gaze of her greenish-gold eyes, still dimmed by her ordeal, wandered over her husband’s lined face as if to memorize every feature.

  Chuckling a little, he shifted position in the less than easy straight backed chair. “Well, once I got my heart started again, and was able to take a breath without fainting, I’ve been good to go. And you, Liv?”

  “Right—as rain,” she repeated his phrase. Right as rain, now that the safety of all her chicks had been accounted for. “Tell me—”

  “What happened? Other than scarin’ the liver outa me, you mean?”

  Cool and collected during an emergency, as a principal should be, Mrs. Lawson had hastened inside to her office, after that terrifying confrontation, to deal with every detail, one at a time. Her first call had been made to the police; her second, to Jeff, who had flung himself into his car and raced to the school. On the way he had flouted every law about cell phone use while driving in order to telephone Julia for help.

  By the time he had collected Nick with his belongings from school, gone home for the boy’s change of clothes and necessities, rescued poor Bruno from his exile in the back yard, and transported both to turn over into Julia’s willing hands, a Sergeant Bailey from the Westhalen PD had called him with a report about the car crash.

  “My God,” breathed Jeff now, curving one palm very gently along his wife’s unmarred cheek, “I almost lost you. I almost—lost—you…”

  Olivia was already in labor when the emergency technicians had pulled her bloody form from the wreckage at Old Stone Bridge. Weeping incoherently, struggling against the determined hands of those men trying to help her, she was strapped onto a gurney, loaded inside the ambulance, and rushed to the hospital for care.

  “They got you cleaned up and into a gown right away,” Jeff said tenderly. His fingers twined through the loose curls of her reddish hair, darkened now by perspiration. “You had ’em all goin’ like crazy, honey. A coupla people did whatever needed to be done for the baby comin’, and a coupla others were busy with this—this awful cut across your cheekbone.”

  No point in mentioning now how worried her emergency doctor had been, about the possibility of permanent damage to her teeth, the structure of her bones, her head. A mild concussion still hadn’t been ruled out.

  “Your face…your poor, sweet face…”

  “Annajane hit me with—with her gun.”

  For a moment he closed his eyes, imagining the horror his wife had lived through, and endured, and survived, calling forth all the courage she could muster. Then, with a small shudder, he managed to go on. “We’re okay now, Liv. We’re all of us okay, and we’ll never—never have to worry about this again.”

  “But—Annajane…” Deep striations of pallor shadowed in areas not already bruised and bloodied.

  “Never again. She’s dead.”

  A vast blinding weight seemed suddenly to lift from Olivia’s chest, and she drew her first breath free of fear in a long, long time. “Dead.”

  “Yes. She was pretty wracked up from the steering wheel, according to the paramedics. An awful lot of physical damage. Still alive when they finally were able to pull her free, but she died on the way to the hospital. Just as well, I guess. She was a tortured, bitter, crazy woman.”

  “And—and Roger—?”

  “Dunno.” Jeff’s thumb was rubbing lightly back and forth over the wedding ring on her hand, as if to be reassured of her presence. “Guess the police have probably already notified him.”

  “He—Roger—Roger was the one who—who vandalized your house.”

  Jeff blinked. “Did he, by God. How d’ you know that, honey?”

  “She told me. When she—she broke in, at—at home…”

  “Well, if that doesn’t beat all. Hmmph. Guess the cops will have a few other things to talk to him about, then, other than his wife. I’ll have to give Sergeant Bailey a jingle. Hell, by now I’m on first-name basis with all our local gendarmes!”

  Olivia, exhausted by much more than any woman should ever have to withstand, was slowly, helplessly sliding back into natural slumber.

  “Jesus, what a bunch of lunatics,” Jeff mused, almost to himself. “AJ’s dad was the one who sent that threatening letter to us. Roger told me that. Maybe those two can share a jail cell.”

  “As long as—it’s far, far away from us,” Olivia mumbled.

  Once her little family was again securely stowed beneath her own roof, she could contemplate the joy of ordinary, everyday life. The delight of dull routine. Perhaps, at some point, she might even fill her husband in on those horrific few hours she had been forced to spend in the company of a sociopath. Once the worst of the nightmares had passed, and she could be sure no more were waiting in the wings.

  “And you, sweetheart? You’re the heroine of the house, y’know. How are you feeling?”

  “Me?” She smiled sleepily. “Everyone—is fine. We have a new—family member. I think—I think, Jeff, darling, I’m ready for a new hat.”

  The End

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  Bonus Story: Leap of Faith

  Chapter 1

  The hall literally sparkled; it was something from a fairy tale. Cameras flashed, gowns glittered, and an excited buzz of people filled the room. The place was filled with high-profile personalities, the kind who liked to show off their wealth by strutting around in the latest fashions and talking about the new properties they’d purchased the last time they’d travelled around the world.

  Seraphina Claire just happened to be one of the photographers at the party. She stalked the room, picking up on the emotions and discreetly snapping the mo
ments. She got a shot of the hottest, “It” couple who seemed to be standing apart from the entire room, lost in their own sweet world of romance. A pang went through her as Max Winters leaned down and whispered something in his girlfriend Ima Georges’ ear that earned him a dazzling smile. What she would give to have sweet intimacy like that with someone.

  Click. Click. These were the photos worth seeing. The real stuff. Not the act they put on for the cameras. Turning away, she scanned the crowd for more worthy shots. Click. Click. She caught a daughter-mother moment.

  “Get any good shots?” the bartender asked when she took a break to rest her aching feet.

  “A few,” she replied, sipping her soda water.

  “Scandal worthy?”

  She threw him an irritated look. People tended to assume that since she was a photojournalist working mainly with celebrities, she was trying to get the dirt rather than show the good side. She loved her job especially because she could see the normalcy behind the rich façade and capture it perfectly.

  Seraphina’s eyes flitted from one couple to another, and the pang returned. Finishing the last of her drink, she grabbed her gear and headed towards the door. Someone had mentioned that a fortune-teller was present at the event. Maybe someone who saw into the future had more insight into her life and could shed some light on her desired happy ending.

  The crowd laughed good-naturedly as the host of the evening made another attempt at a joke. Cole St. John grimaced as he glanced around. He was bored out of his mind. To him this was yet another dreary society function requiring the wearing of the monkey suit and it was suffocating him. The place was cold, the people were lifeless and the niceties were nothing more than a pretense. He hated the very atmosphere of the place.

  He tried to avoid such parties as much as possible and preferred to be doing something more daring with his time. But recently his life had lost its usual vigor and that terrified him. Nothing seemed to excite him anymore. He had not even reached his mid-thirties but already felt tired. How was he going to survive when he reached the age of fifty or so, and completely bored out of his mind from living a rather dull life?

  “You poor thing,” cooed a tall, willowy model standing in front of Cole.

  He ignored her, unsure of what she was talking about and wondered how the gathering would react if he did something outrageous just then. Something outrageous had to be done to bring the slumbering party to life. Maybe if he drank the entire bar and then stripped to his underwear he could get this crowd moving.

  The model felt neglected and suddenly slid a bejeweled hand over his shoulder and squeezed, startling him to attention. It was just an attempt to cop a feel.

  “It must have been awful for you,” she repeated again.

  What must have? His eyebrows drew into a frown and he just said, “It wasn’t that bad.”

  It was her turn to frown at him and he wondered what topic they had been on. He quickly changed the subject and flashed his famous showroom smile at the woman who had introduced herself as Mila. “Would you like a drink?” He extricated his arm from her talon grip and motioned to a server.

  “Are you trying to get me drunk?” She let out a high-pitched giggle as she accepted the glass.

  Cole winced inwardly at the sound. “Of course not. Why would I do that now?”

  “Oh, you have full freedom to get me drunk. Just make sure I remember every moment afterwards,” she laughed and threw him a wink.

  Bold, he thought. He had been waiting for her to make the move for the past ten minutes. She had cornered him just as he left the men’s room after contemplating sneaking out the window like a frazzled bride who’d gotten cold feet and couldn’t face the crowds. The model had almost shyly introduced herself and then had babbled on about a rival at the party while he had supposedly lent a sympathetic ear. Now she was finally opening up about her true intentions.

  “Drunk or not, you will remember every single moment,” he flirted back, roving his eyes appreciatively over her form. She was good-looking and he was bored. He did not see why he could not have a little fun.

  Mila straightened her back, thrusting her breasts out and flashing him a naughty smile. “Before we move on to other plans, I saw a Fortune Teller’s booth just nearby. We definitely have to visit.”

  She had to be kidding him, Cole thought, cringing inside. Yet before he could utter a word of protest, he found himself dragged outside and towards the booth. Neon multicolored lights decorated the sign reading “Zelda, the Psychic” and below was a poster of tarot cards.

  “Really?”

  “Don’t be a skeptic. It’s fun, you’ll see!” She started to drag him inside when a harsh voice stopped them right outside the door.

  “Stop! Do not take a step forward.”

  Mila frowned. “Why?”

  “The woman behind you,” the voice from inside the booth continued. “She and the young man can step inside together. Leave the other outside.”

  Cole turned to see who the crazy woman was talking about and his eyes collided with that of a startled doe, or so he thought at first glance. Woman, he thought as he blinked again surprised to find her standing right behind him. His eyes remained arrested on her face, the soft pretty features drawing him in.

  Mila huffed loudly, drawing away his attention. “What does she mean?”

  “I’m sorry. I was almost stepping on your toes. You kind of just appeared… I didn’t mean to startle you,” the young woman said nervously. “You can go first. I will wait my turn.”

  Her soft, husky voice sent shivers up Cole’s spine. He assessed her quickly from head to toe. She was not that young, probably closer to his own age. She looked like she’d just left the office in her formal suit and slacks. All she needed was a briefcase to complete the image of a businesswoman. He wondered briefly if she ran in his circles and how he had missed her if that was the case.

  “You don’t have to tell us to go first,” Mila snapped at her, eying her with a critical eye. “We were here first, so we are going first.”

  “Seeker of light and the bored skeptic, please step inside,” the psychic invited again. “Leave the foul mouth outside.”

  Cole had to stop the hint of smile from showing on his face as the brown-haired woman clapped a hand to her mouth to stifle her laughter at the psychic’s choice of words for Mila. Relinquishing his hand from the model’s tight grip, he turned towards the stranger.

  “I think we better go in and see what she wants,” he said, gesturing towards the doorway. He was not sure why those words came out of his mouth but something akin to curiosity had come over him. He felt a prickle of excitement on his skin. He had not felt that in a long time.

  Both Mila and the other woman looked startled. While Mila’s face took on a furious expression, the strange woman’s face transformed into a pretty smile.

  “Certainly,” she said softly, stepping inside the booth. She turned around to see if he had followed her in and the smile widened just a bit more.

  Leaving Mila sputtering in rage outside, Cole stepped inside the dimly-lit booth, following the woman almost on her heels. He caught a whiff of her scent and almost groaned as discomfort suddenly grew in his southern region. Maybe the night was about to get interesting after all!

  “Welcome,” said the woman seated behind the crystal orb. Colored smoke rose from around her, giving the room a wholly mysterious feel. “Please sit.”

  They each drew a rickety chair out and sat down gingerly. While Cole looked on impatiently, the formally dressed woman’s face showed nothing but pure curiosity and excitement. He did not care about the psychic. He wanted to know more about the woman next to him.

  “St. John. Claire. I felt a burst of energy when your paths crossed. Light, beautiful energy,” the woman behind the orb said, dropping her voice as though she was telling them a secret.

  So Claire was his neighbor’s last name. He scanned his brain trying to recollect if he
knew any Claire from his associations and came up blank, which was good. Shifting his focus from her to the charlatan in front of him, the spoken words registered.

  “Really?” Miss Claire asked eagerly.

  “I’m sure you did,” Cole intoned at the same time.

  “You.” Lifting a bony finger, she pointed in his direction. “You think it’s a sham what I have here.”

  Cole snorted and then heard his neighbor gasp, possibly in shock which took him by surprise. To him she did not look the type to believe in fortune tellers but looks were often deceiving. He grimaced inwardly, feeling a bit of his excitement recede. He was not sure about a woman who believed in things like these. Unless this was a set-up and she was a friend of the supposed psychic’s, Cole had to assume that the woman was a believer.

  “Oh, c’mon? Are you seriously going to tell me you believe in all this crap?” The words came out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

  Seraphina stared in disbelief at the rude man sitting beside her. She had been deep in thought when she had nearly stepped on his toes. She had been about to apologize when he had turned around, causing her to almost gasp. It was Cole St. John, the billionaire entrepreneur. And he was even more handsome up close. She knew of him mostly from the society magazines. Until that evening, she had never gotten the opportunity to be within touching distance of him or otherwise, having never run into him at functions she was assigned to.

  As she silently judged him, her mantra suddenly hit her in the head. Don’t judge until you know the whole story. After all, it was her job to see beneath the façade and she was not doing that so well right then. Maybe he was feeling bad-tempered because he had been hanging out with Mila, The Foul Mouth. It was not her first time bumping into the model who had been attached to his arm just seconds ago, so she knew the bitchiness was not a cover but an innate thing. She smiled apologetically at the psychic and turned the same smiling face towards him.

  “It’s not crap. Just because you don’t believe in some things, doesn’t mean others should follow your lead.”