Silent No More

by N. E. Henderson

  SILENT

  NO

  MORE

  A NOVEL

  by

  N. E. HENDERSON

  Copyright © 2013 Nancy Henderson

  Self Publishing

  authornehenderson@gmail.com

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, character, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used as fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Disclaimer: The material in the book is indented for adult readers only, age 18+. This novel contains graphic sexual content, graphic violence, and harsh language.

  Editor: Becky Johnson, Hot Tree Editing

  http://www.hottreeedits.com

  Email: contact@hottreeedits.com

  Cover Designer: Stephanie White

  http://www.stephscoverdesign.com

  Email: stephscoverdesign@gmail.com

  First edition: December 2013

  ISBN: 10: 0-9912444-1-9

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9912444-1-6

  Dedication

  To my son, Michael. This book is my first, just as you are my first and only child. You are the greatest joy in my life. As I’m typing this and thinking about you I am tearing up. Yes I am a female and we do that. You are the coolest person in this world to me. Never forget that. You make me laugh like no one else can. It is a privilege to be your mom. I love you so much.

  PROLOGUE

  “What the fuck does the bastard want now?” I huff out, glaring down at the name displayed on my cell phone. If I never have to speak to him again, it’ll be too soon. Jerking my right hand off the steering wheel, I reach over, turning the volume down on the stereo that’s blasting Avenged Sevenfold’s "Nightmare" through the speakers.

  My Father.

  The person I hate most in the world. If God existed, the motherfucker’s life would have ended by now. But that hasn’t happened, and I don’t see it happening any time soon. I’m the type of guy that prays for his dad to get a brain-fucking hemorrhage that will take him straight to Hell, where he belongs.

  “Yeah?” I greet the fuck as I turn into the underground parking garage at Lockhart Publishing in my silver Audi R8.

  Way to ruin my day, Dad!

  “Nicholas, is that any way to answer your phone? You’re the CEO of a company for Christ’s sake. The least you could do is act like a professional.” Two companies to be exact, but what the Hell does being a CEO have to do with professionalism when the person on the other end of the line is the sorry excuse I get to call father? The man should know by now, I’m going to do and act any damn way I want. I’ve never been the “do as you’re told” type, so why start now?

  “I wasn’t aware this was a professional call.” My tone is sarcastic, but I don’t give a shit. The dick-fuck knows I hate him. Nothing is ever going to change that. We will never drink a beer together. We will never have a strong father/son bond. Hell, the only bond we do have is blood. The simple fact that his blood runs through my veins and that it will forever link us disturbs me.

  “Son, let’s not argue today. I called for a specific reason, so I won’t keep you any longer than necessary.” I can tell by his clipped tone he doesn’t want to be on the phone with me any more than I do with him.

  “Fine, then please tell me what you want so I can get back to work.” I breathe out in annoyance.

  My father was a well-known Defense Attorney in LA when I was growing up. He made a living getting criminals out of jail for many years and now he’s a prominent judge. There is some real fucked-up irony in that. The man should be locked up for the shit he has done to my mother over the years. Why the woman stays married to him is beyond me. It’s not like she needs his money. In fact, my father has benefited from her inheritance more than she has.

  Rotten bastard.

  “As you know, Thursday is Thanksgiving, and your mother would like you and your sister present for lunch.” He knows I’ll do anything for my mom. I think I proved that to him a long time ago. “Do you think you can do this for her?” he adds. He knows I’m going to say yes.

  “What time?” I ask on a sigh as I open my car door, stepping out into the dark, musky air under my building. To my annoyance, I slam the door harder than I intend. Fuck! Why do I let this man get under my skin so easily? Just the sound of his voice tends to set me off.

  “Noon,” he responds. A few hours in the company of my father is sure to piss me right the fuck off along with adding additional renovations to my house for my handyman to fix. Not that I can’t fix the damage I create myself, but why go through all that trouble when I can hire someone to do it for me? I’m sure the guy already thinks I’m a raging alcoholic who comes home and punches holes in walls for fun. I’m not, of course, or at least I’m not yet. If he knew all the damage was the result of my frustration with my father, he would understand.

  Yeah, so I have anger issues.

  “Okay, but if you want Nikki there, then perhaps you should call your daughter yourself.” I make my way to the elevator pressing the “up” button. As I wait, I check the time on my Rolex. It’s 1:14pm. I have plenty of time before my meeting with Teresa. Why I ever made that woman Vice President of my company, I’m still not sure. She’s great at business and a brilliant editor, but damn, I wish she would stop trying to get into my pants every time we are alone. Now that she’s my VP, I see her more often than I like. It’s not like she isn’t attractive, because she is, with blonde hair, big tits, and a tiny waist, but I don’t sleep with people who work for me. And well…she annoys the fuck out of me, plus she is too bitchy. It’s a big fucking turn off!

  The sound of my father’s voice brings me back to our conversation. I really need to wrap this up. The longer I speak to him, the longer I’ll be at Knocked Out tonight, kicking the shit out of my best friend’s ass.

  Jase is one of the few people who knows about my relationship with my father and why I hate the man. He and I share a common hatred for our fathers. Everyone that works for my father thinks he’s an outstanding judge and wonderful family man.

  What a crock of shit!

  “Nicolette is being her usual immature and childish self. It would be easier for all of us if you ask her to come. She listens to you, Nicholas.” He sounds annoyed with his last statement and I silently laugh. My sister isn’t immature or childish. She would just rather ignore his calls than deal with the man. She hates the heartless bastard as much as I do.

  Any man, who lays a hand on a woman with the sole intension of hurting her isn’t much of a man at all in my book. That’s the kind of fucked-up shit my father loves to do to women. We watched him physically and mentally abuse our mother for years. The day I turned twenty-one, I made sure my father never laid a hand on my mother again. That’s not to say he’s stopped hurting women because he hasn’t. Now, he has a mistress to abuse. He doesn’t know I know about her, but I do. Surely my mother has to know too.

  As the elevator door opens, Matt, my senior editor and good friend, is exiting. I pin him with my signature icy stare. I can tell by the look that crosses his face he knows I’m in one of my moods, so he wisely says nothing and passes me quickly. These moods only happen when I have to communicate with the man on the other end of my phone.

  “Nicholas,” he stresses, "just call your sister for me. I don’t have
time for Nicolette right now. I’m walking into court as we speak.” He has never had time for Nikki or me for that matter. Not that I care. I stopped caring about my father before I learned to write my own God damn name.

  “Sure, Dad!” I force out through clenched teeth. “I’ll handle it. We’ll be there on Thursday at noon. Is there anything else? I have a meeting to get to.” I’m not totally lying. I do have a meeting to attend, but it’s not for another hour.

  “No, there isn’t. I’ll see you then.” He ends the call, not bothering to say goodbye. This is nothing unusual. He thinks everyone around him is there is serve him.

  I enter the elevator and I press number eleven. As I ride up, I send Nikki a quick text letting her know the plans for Thanksgiving. This is sure to brighten her day as much as it has mine. My sister is the female version of myself. But perhaps Nikki controls her anger a little more than I do.

  As I move my hand to store my phone in the breast pocket of my jacket, I hear the alert telling me I have a text message. I look down; it’s my sister’s reply.

  FUCK!

  The corners of my mouth turn up as I shove the phone back inside my jacket just as the elevator reaches my destination. My smile fades; I’m not looking forward to the rest of my day. Dealing with Teresa is one thing, but after dealing with Judge James ‘Asshole’ Lewis, I’m sure I’ll take out my anger on her at some point today.

  As I exit the elevator, something, or rather someone, catches my eye. She is standing at my receptionist, Rachel’s desk, with her back facing me. The legs catch my attention first. They are toned and her skin is fair. Her body turns a fraction as my eyes travel up, seeing a side profile. She is slender, but not at all skinny. My eyes continue its path up her body.

  Fuck me, Sunday!

  My eyes land on her hair. It’s a stunning shade of red. Darker than strawberry-blonde, but lighter than auburn. It’s shiny and bright; unique and exotic like a rare pet. Damn, did I just compare a woman to a pet? That’s a new one even for you, Lockhart.

  I can’t see the color of her eyes from where I’m standing, but that mouth…those pink fucking lips are made for sucking cock. I allow my eyes to drop. She’s wearing a navy dress and it’s a little on the short side to be considered business attire, but it looks good on her body.

  Fuck!

  Get a hold of yourself, Lockhart. You’re at work, man.

  My eyes glide back up her body, back up to those fucking beautiful drapes that fall down her back. She looks like an angel…an angel I’d like to tie down and fuck.

  But God damn, that hair is making my dick hard!

  ONE

  Six Month Later

  It’s a cool evening in early May. The sun has begun to set over the Pacific Ocean causing the sky’s orange streaks to stretch around the city of Los Angeles. I’m driving down Pacific Avenue in my black 911 Carrera 4S with the windows rolled down, listening to my iPod blaring in the background through the car speakers.

  Well…not really. That may be construed as somewhat of a lie. There is music playing, but I haven’t the slightest idea what song is coming through the speakers. I couldn’t even tell you which song played before the one that is currently screaming words at me. My brain is consumed with too many other thoughts right now.

  Music usually helps me relax and it always puts me in a better mood, but I can’t concentrate on it now, nor am I even paying close attention to the road. I probably shouldn’t be driving in my current state of shock, but it’s a little late for that realization now. I’ve been driving through the city for hours.

  I’m a photographer with a gallery in the West Hollywood Gateway shopping center. It’s a gallery rather than a studio because I don’t shoot any photographs on site. Really, it’s just a place to display my work. Plus, I have to have an office. I don’t think I’m the type of person who can work from a home office. Too many distractions and I would go crazy staying in my tiny apartment all damn day.

  My work consists mostly of things such as buildings and outdoor scenery. I don’t photograph people. I will occasionally photograph pets at the animal shelter I volunteer at.

  I’m friendly and I have close friends, but I’m not what you would call a ‘people’ person. I haven’t always been like that. But now I prefer space away from too many people, and when I’m taking photographs, I especially need to be alone. It’s when all the built-up tension inside me releases and I feel at peace.

  Most people think I’m this way because I’m an only child and because I grew up without a dad. I had one of course, but he died when I was two. I don’t even remember the man. I wish I did, but I don’t. I even wish I missed him, but you can’t miss something you never knew. At least, I can’t. The only thing I have that’s a reminder of him sits in a bank account mostly unused.

  I’m currently working on my second collection of photos that will be published in book format. At the age of twenty-six, I already have one book published. Sights of the City of Angels by me…Shannon Taylor; it’s not a novel by any means. It’s photographs with my thoughts underneath each picture describing places as I see them. It’s a pretty good coffee-table book if I say so myself. A conversation book if you will.

  Photos are art to me. They are real moments captured in time. Photos don’t lie and photos don’t hold secrets. Photos are real, true, and above all, honest.

  My current collection captures photographs of places in the city of San Diego. It’s going to be called Sights of the city of Saint Didacus. That is “if” the publishing company doesn’t change the name. The collection is almost complete and due at 9:00am on Friday at Lockhart Publishing. I have a meeting with Teresa Matthews, to turn in my portfolio.

  I finished taking the photos back in late February and all rounds of editing were completed last month, but my struggle has been with the arrangements of photographs so it tells the story of the city perfectly…the way I see it and the way I want others to see it. I’ve changed the layout at least twenty times, and I’m still not satisfied. Just six short hours ago seems almost like a lifetime ago.

  “Ughhh…I’m getting nowhere with any of this.” I flipped my portfolio closed in frustration. Taking my hairband off my wrist, I pulled my hair out of my face. I’d had enough and decided that I may as well start the following day with a pair of fresh eyes. I glanced up at the clock hanging on the wall in my office and groaned. The clock read 11:31am. I’d only been working for four hours, but I could no longer focus on my work.

  All I wanted to do was go home and crawl in bed with Luke for at least a few hours before he had to be at work. Luke, my fiancé, a third year resident in the ER at Huntington Memorial Hospital, and I had been together since our junior year in college, about five years. We got engaged nine months earlier, but for the last six months, we seemed more like roommates than a couple.

  I couldn’t blame Luke. The hospital assigned him nights and I worked mostly during the day. We hadn’t had a lot of quality time together, which had been weighing on my mind a lot. Hell, we probably hadn’t had sex in at least four…maybe even five months. For all I know, it could be longer. My sex life may as well be nonexistent. If I was honest with myself, it wasn’t like I was missing much. Luke is what I called a “wham bam, thank you, ma’am” kind of man. I had never called him this to his face or to any of my friends. Basically, I got more stimulation from my vibrator than my boyfriend. Perhaps there was something wrong with me, but I hadn’t exactly found out what “all the excitement is about” when it comes to intercourse. It was just so much work to get to those few seconds of bliss. Sometimes, I never even made it there.

  I decided an afternoon surprise was just the type of thing we needed in our relationship.

  Locking the door behind me, I double-checked that I’d done it right. Normally, Jenny would lock up at five, but she was off today. Jenny, my personal assistant, ran the gallery daily, except Wednesdays and Sundays.

  Jenny kept me on task. If it weren’t for her, I wouldn’t get anythin
g accomplished. She kept me organized and made sure all my bills were paid; even my non-business ones. I wouldn’t get through one day with anything completed if I didn’t have her, which was probably why I was leaving in the middle of the day in the first place.

  The drive to my apartment took only twenty minutes from work before I arrived at the front door to our apartment in Glendale. While smiling to myself, I inserted the key, making sure I was as quiet as a mouse, hoping this would be a good surprise for him.

  The door opened and my mouth fell open. I was stone-faced, my smile replaced with shock.

  WHAT THE FUCK?

  In our living room, Luke stood with his back facing the front door. His pants were around his ankles and he was missing a shirt. His thick, dark hair was ruffled on top of his head. A pair of tan legs were wrapped firmly around his hips. My eyes drifted to her hands resting on each side of his shoulders. Her nails digging into the skin underneath them, I could hear her breathy pants as he slammed her into the wall. Neither of them noticed the front door open with me standing in the entryway.

  You would think my first thought would be to yell or scream, but no. The first thing that popped into my head was that he had never “done” me in this manner. Interesting, I note as my anger began to filter in.

  I stood there for what felt like several minutes not saying anything; just watching, witnessing the scene play out in front of me as reality hit hard. I couldn’t have stood there more than fifteen seconds max. My fiancé was cheating on me. And in OUR apartment!

  Our apartment? Really?

  “You fucking bastard.” I wanted to yell the words at him, but it came out weak. Both bodies froze in place. I couldn’t see the woman’s face yet, although, I could see straight strands of long raven hair.

  “Oh fuck!” was the first thing that came out of Luke’s mouth as he dropped the woman’s legs to the floor. His voice was laced with panic, as it should be. He turned slowly, facing me and my fierce pale green eyes met his scared emerald ones.