He took another drink. “Not parents—fakers!”
Plopping down next to the box, Kip stared at the ceiling. The first few months after arriving in Hot Springs, he was grateful for their company. His mother doted on him as though he had a cold rather than a broken heart. Like a fool, he thought life might be giving him a break when Reed Mason offered him a spot at Chapman Construction as the on-staff electrician.
Eager to prove himself, he cut back on the amount of alcohol he drank. He threw himself into the job, thinking if he could save enough money to buy a place, keep a steady job and maintain near-sobriety, Kathy would move back with Grayson and they could be a family again.
The car accident changed everything.
The death of his parents knocked the hope out of his mind. Distraught, grieving and lonely, he begged Kathy to take him back. He needed to be with his wife and son. She refused every plea, telling him until he showed real, solid progress, the answer was no.
Kip snorted. “But you’re ready now, aren’t you, Kath? Money’s on the line. How fast attitudes change when the smell of cash is in the air.”
As the bourbon worked its magic, Kip pushed past the cluster-fuck of emotions inside his mind and opened the first box. The urge to find something that might reveal why Shawn and Tiffany Hale bought a baby on what Kip assumed was the black market guided his shaky fingers.
The faint scent of his mother’s perfume wafted out. “I’m sorry, Mom, Dad, about what I said before. You two were my parents. You provided me a good life. I don’t understand why you never told me I was adopted! I wouldn’t have loved you any less. I promise!”
Kip took another swig, letting the bourbon burn away the lump of tears in his throat.
Reaching inside, he picked up a manila folder with the initials “B&B” written on the label in his mother’s handwriting. He jumped when his phone vibrated in his pocket, dropping the folder.
Groaning, he almost didn’t answer Kathy’s call, afraid she might pick up the slur in his words. His wife had been acting weird ever since he brought Grayson back home.
Knowing she would continue to call until reaching him, plus afraid she might change her mind about the divorce, he answered. “Hey, baby.”
“Hey yourself, big boy. I’m getting ready for work, so I thought I’d call and check on you before leaving. I’m sure today was difficult.”
“It was, but I made it. Thanks. Is Grayson there? I want to say goodnight.”
Kathy sighed. “No. He’s at a birthday party for one of his friends. Are you sure you’re okay, baby? You sound sad, no, drunk.”
Kip’s heart thumped. On instinct, he sat straighter. “I told you I quit drinking. I’m…going through boxes of my parents’ stuff…it brought back a lot of childhood memories.”
“Oh, my big baby’s crying and I’m not there to make it better.”
Though thoroughly buzzed, Kip heard the heavy sarcasm in Kathy’s voice. He had to convince her he was sober. “Yeah, I’m a mess. I miss you and Grayson. You two are all I have left and yet aren’t here. Going to the funeral today reminded me how alone I am.”
“Hang on a little longer, baby. I promise things will get better. I’ll leave the sitter a note to have Grayson call you before bed. Okay?”
Kip wiped the tears from his cheek. “Okay.”
“Gotta finish getting ready for tonight. Go watch a movie or something. I’ll call tomorrow. Luv ya!”
The line went dead before Kip had a chance to say goodbye.
He took several more pulls from the bottle.
“Why, Kath? Why does it have to be this way? Your way? This house is all mine—free and clear! You wouldn’t have to work! Can’t we leave all this other stuff? I don’t care about money. Or revenge. Life’s too short for that shit! I don’t like the thought of working with Reed, but I could do it for a while until finding another job! We could be a family again. Fuck! Why am I talking to the walls instead of you? Why is my life so screwed-up?”
Deciding he didn’t want to delve into his parents’ secrets, Kip scooped up the folder. A business card fell out. The name caught his attention. Picking it up, he stared at it for several minutes then flipped open the folder, scanning the pages of numerous tax returns.
And a faded copy of his birth record.
His booze-soaked brain attempted to comprehend why in the world his parents had Richard Benton’s business card, and the date they died written on the bottom under “appointment time.”
Snatching up the birth record, Kip backed away from the boxes as though dangerous and headed inside. Pacing around the living room, he continued to drink until only a few drops remained.
“It can’t be a coincidence! Is this why Richard showed up at Sam’s? Does he know the truth and is blackmailing her? Do the Chapmans know about me? Oh, my God!”
Stumbling through the house while searching for his truck keys, Kip cussed a blue streak the entire time. He couldn’t shake the image of fucking Suzy at the park, or Sam’s smiling face while talking with Grayson.
“What is wrong with you people?”
Unable to find the keys, Kip dropped the empty bottle, retrieved another from the cabinet, and then left the house on foot, determined to force Samantha to tell him the truth. Was this some big conspiracy? Did they kill his parents on their way home from meeting with Richard Benton?
“If you’re behind all this, Sam, I’m gonna kill you. Fuck the money. Fuck Kathy. Fuck it all. I want the truth.”
“SON, YOU OKAY? Wake up and talk to me.”
Kip groaned.
Bradford bent over, putting his arms underneath Kip’s shoulder blades. The memories of numerous, similar interactions with Kip’s father, Shawn, hit him. Shawn Hale had been a raging alcoholic. “Whew! Had a little bit too much tonight, hey son? Please tell me you didn’t get behind the wheel and drive over here?”
Head lolling against the wall, Kip mumbled, “Walked…where’s…my…sister? Must…pay…owes me.”
Scanning the parking lot, noting it was empty, Bradford blew out a huff of air instead of chuckling. The boy was three sheets to the wind and then some because he didn’t have a sister, or any family left in Arkansas. He didn’t envy the hangover awaiting him tomorrow.
“This is Sam Chapman’s place. If you tell me your address, I’ll drive you home, pour you into the shower, and fix you some stout coffee.”
Kip coughed while attempting to smile. He raised the hand holding the paper, waving it like a flag. “Sam…sister…big secret. Kathy’s…planning.”
“What did you say?”
“Maria’s my mom. She’s…dead. Overdosed. Funeral...Caroline…grandma.”
Bradford’s eyes widened from shock. “Whoa, what else are you on, Kip, besides booze? You’re out there. Maybe I should call an ambulance? Did you mix substances?”
Kip opened his bloodshot eyes, blinking twice at the stranger in front of him. “No. Bourbon only. Call Sam. Find out…why…Richard Benton’s in…on secret.”
Bradford’s internal alarm bell went off at the mention of Richard—and Maria.
“Kip? Wake up. Tell me what you mean.”
Kip was out cold.
Stepping off the porch to call Charmee, Bradford’s phone rang. “Hey, baby.”
“We heard it all on Sam’s phone.”
“Then you know Kip’s drunker than Cooter Brown.” Bradford hoped his voice sounded natural. “He’s not making any sense at all. I think he’s mixed some things that don’t need to comingle in his system. I’m considering taking him to the hospital.”
“No, don’t. He’s telling the truth. We’re on our way. In fact, we’re pulling up now.”
Spinning around as headlights filled the parking area, Bradford’s jaw dropped open, shocked by Charmee’s words. “What in the world?”
Sam, Suzy, Resa and Charmee exited the SUV. Bradford disconnected the call, staring at the foursome as they approached the porch.
Meeting them halfway, Bradford sensed a
nger surging from Charmee before reaching her side. “What the hell is going on?”
Gritting her teeth, Charmee forced the vile words to leave her lips. “I believe Mr. Hale is Big Sam’s bastard child, conceived with Maria Santos Ramirez, but won’t know for sure until he’s sober enough to question.”
Gaze darting over at Sam and Suzy, who both looked angry too, Bradford knew it was going to be a long night.
A very long night.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Thursday, December 1, 2016
SITTING IN A corner booth sipping watered-down beer, chair thumping underneath him in time with the dance music, Richard let the hint of a smile appear. The small club was packed full of an interesting mix of male and female patrons; quite different in appearance since the last time he sat enjoying a show.
Most of the women in the crowd dressed seductively to compete for the attention of their men busy ogling the performers. A smattering looked as though they came for the same reason as the men—to drool over scantily-clad women bumping and grinding on a phallic pole, wishing they could take the place of the metal.
A few men wore slacks and ties, yet most of them looked like blue collared workers in jeans and t-shirts, some sporting baseball caps full of stupid slogans or the insignias of various sports teams.
Richard wore the same neutral ensemble to blend in, adding a pair of sleek sunglasses, brown leather jacket and cheap loafers. He picked out a John Deere baseball cap to cover his dark hair.
Richard was a frequent guest at numerous strip clubs for years all over several southern states. Considering his eclectic and voracious tastes in the bedroom, strip clubs were the perfect spot to scout for partners rather than the back alleys or escort services. He got to see the merchandise up front; study the eyes to see how dead the souls of the owners were; whether the girl was on drugs—which was a definite no in his playbook—plus, for a few dollars, get a sneak peek in the back room of what the whore would do for cash.
During his days at Ole Miss, back when the club was known as The Pussy-Purr Parade, he was a regular. Defiling the skanks after paying them allowed him to satiate the hunger growling below the surface by releasing his dark, dangerous side, which in turn, provided the ability to maintain a normal appearance and mindset at school, and in front of his girlfriend, Nicole Hammonds.
Everything changed one night in December during his last year of law school. The night he caught the oh-so-prim-and-proper Nicole, who blushed when looking at his crotch, wrapped around a pole as though an extension of her body.
Like the sign out front had said, Naughty Nikki put on one hell of a show.
The disastrous confrontation later nearly cost him his college career. He waited, hidden in the dark by her dorm room until she pulled into the parking lot.
He never let her get out of the car.
After reclaiming what was his, humiliating her into submission, he removed his belt and disciplined her thoroughly, warning Naughty Nikki if she ever crossed him or told a soul about their little session, he would enjoy killing her—slowly. Anger overrode common sense, causing him to focus on her betrayal and whorish ways while walking back to his car.
He never noticed her roommate across the quad.
Word got around campus, making its way to the dean of students. Unwilling to tarnish the school’s reputation, the university opted to handle the incident internally. Nikki left school and he never heard from her again.
After graduation, he tried to find her, going all the way to her sister’s house in Missouri. He lied, telling her he was an old friend from high school passing through on his way to Chicago and wanted to say hello.
The mousy-looking wench cried as she retold the story of Nicole’s tragic car accident weeks before. He put on his best sad face, offering fake condolences for the loss, asking where Nicole rested so he could go place some flowers.
After the woman gave him directions to Eternal Slumber Acres, he left, assuming it was a lie concocted to keep her safe from him. To his surprise and great relief, he found Nikki’s grave.
Instead of placing flowers near the headstone, he spit on the dirt, thankful her lips were forever silenced regarding his deeds.
A devious smirk crossed his lips while remembering the day his parents arrived from Arkansas to plead his case to remain in school. There was only one person in the world Richard feared—his violent father and Ole Miss alum, Kendrick Benton—and the look on his face upon arriving for the meeting with the dean made Richard shake in his boots as old, childhood fears roared back.
Taking another sip of beer, Richard suppressed a laugh. While his father and pathetic, doormat mother met with Dean Simmons, Richard slipped out to the parking lot and underneath his parents’ vehicle, making a few alterations to the brake lines.
Problem solved.
Freedom earned.
Bank account full.
The decision to end the lives of his parents had been a turning point for Richard, making him a very wealthy man, freeing him, and his mother, from feeling the weight of Kendrick’s fists on their bodies ever again.
Glancing around, Richard took a deep breath, unwilling to let the memories of days longs since past darken his mood. Back during college, the club had been a cesspool. The difference with Kathy’s club was it attempted to pass itself off as intimate, upscale locale. The sluts slinging drinks and showing off their goodies onstage weren’t working the crowd of gawking men for private shows in the back. They did lap dances only—no happy endings.
“Whores with morals. What an interesting concept.” Richard eyed the blonde with the fine ass writhe on the floor, humping the air as though it took the form of a giant dick pounding inside her willing hole.
The visit to the club was the last item on the checklist to complete before returning to work from his vacation. Chuckling while watching the blonde bend in unnatural ways as the men surrounding the stage whistled and tossed cash, he contemplated the real vacation he had planned for Samantha once she was back under his control.
They needed a long, extended trip somewhere exotic, remote, and off-the-grid, which is why he originally considered Tahiti. He nixed the idea since passports would be necessary—and traceable.
Instead, he opted to use one of the numerous sham companies he set up several years prior. He purchased a three-bedroom cabin high up in the Appalachian mountain range where inhibitions could run free with minimal intrusions from other travelers or hospitality staff members.
He needed privacy, and plenty of time, to correct Sam’s errant behavior, which is why he planned on selling his share of the firm to Conrad Baxter.
Sam’s punishment would be harsh, requiring the solitary space where no one would hear her scream or see the bruises.
Thinking about the marks his hands would inflict on her soft flesh made him hard.
Richard knew he had issues with women—and like the song said—he wanted a lady in the house but a nasty freak in the bed. He grew up with that model, and his father never let him forget the man ruled the roost. The thought pattern was ingrained into his memories, pounded in by Kendrick’s fists.
Forced to watch the domination of his mother from an early age, Richard grew to hate the woman who gave him life. He despised how weak she was; how she never fought back. No grit. No self-preservation. No remorse or worry about how the humiliating displays would scar her only child.
For life.
Richard hated women and used them only to satisfy his dark desires. He never had the urge to marry, have children, be committed or open his heart up to any woman. They lied, like Nikki, pretending to be sweet, naïve, yet the second attention was diverted from them, they acted like feral alley cats.
He never tainted the pristine work pool of female employees eager to wrap their legs around him while professing their undying love. Instead, Richard maintained his integrity, putting on the mask of a professional, hiding the monster inside him, only releasing it on the whores he paid to defile.
&nbs
p; His perception about women changed the minute Samantha Marie Chapman walked into the firm for an interview.
Strong, determined, smart and classy, he admired her intellect and straight-forward approach with clients. Though not showgirl gorgeous, Samantha was attractive. Everything about her was real. No silicone-inflated body parts, no fake hair, makeup always understated and professional.
For the first time in his life, Richard Benton, Esquire, admired a woman—considered her almost an equal—and he detested the feeling because it was foreign.
Frightening.
Sam’s tough façade cracked the minute her father’s health took a nosedive. She became vulnerable. She was a daddy’s girl, through and through.
When he spotted her crying outside in the parking deck one day, mascara running, nose red, showing weakness, his perception of her changed.
The admiration vanished.
The mighty eagle plunged from the sky, wings tattered and torn.
Richard made the decision to swoop in and repair her broken wings to his liking. He never laid a hand on her until she had the audacity to question his authority, forcing him to correct the unwanted behavior.
When she attempted to involve the police, he stepped up the training.
Things started to unravel when he found out about the abortion and the loss of the two other babies. It took all the inner strength he possessed to maintain his composure when she looked him straight in the eye while in the hospital bed and lied.
He knew it would take stronger measures to break her will, which is what he did the night he spent with her and Resa.
To his surprise, instead of molding Sam into a pliable mate, she outwitted him, turning the tables, deliberately provoking him into a state of unmitigated fury. The night she invited him over was a blur, rational thought wiped away by red, hot rage.
After recovering from her injuries, she strolled into his office with the leverage, smiling while making him watch the entire recording on his own laptop.
Fatal Agreements Page 19