Chapter 11
Gatsby
“The party this weekend went quite well, sir. We had over three hundred in attendance, and Jules is quite good at preparing enough food for your guests without going over. I’m impressed,” my house manager, Terrance, rattled. I had little interest in the parties. They were just part of the plan.
I stepped to the tall window and looked out. Terrance continued his list, singing my praises, despite me doing nothing besides hiring the proper people to do things.
It was Monday morning. The fog was rolling across the lake, creeping slowly onto the shore. As I stared, my mind wandering, a figure came from the fog.
Neal Lovelace.
I had one of my employees look into them before they purchased the cabin beside mine. It was pure luck. I couldn’t write a better story. Daisy’s cousin, appearing at the perfect time.
They didn’t know that, of course. I made sure to keep my identity hidden from them as they made the purchase. I’d purchased the cabin when I purchased my mansion. It had been used by my staff while my house was being renovated. They stayed overnight while they were being trained and their families moved. But once they had homes to go back to each evening, the cabin became empty again, and I had no use for it. I put it up for sale and I began to vet the interested parties. Neal came at the right time.
They made their way back to their home. Their hair was as stiff as their legs dragging along the dirt path.
Must be hungover.
“Terrance, has my neighbor attended a party yet?” I asked, and he cleared his throat, looking down.
“No, sir. From what the staff has said, they have been spending time across the lake. They have a relative they visit.”
A relative , I snickered. There were only two members of my staff that knew my full plans. Terrance was not one of them. It was better off that way.
“Let’s see about getting them an invitation, then.”
“An invitation, sir?”
“Yes.” I went to my desk and reached for my laptop. “Something physical. Emerald green and gold. Thick paper. I want to put our best foot forward with this.” I opened my computer and began typing my instructions, then quickly printed off what I wanted and handed it to him.
“Deliver it this evening.”
“How many of these would you like me to have made, sir?”
“One.”
“One?” Terrance raised a skeptical eyebrow.
“One. Neal is a special case.”
Terrance looked uneasy, but he knew better than to protest. I paid him too well for him to do anything other than say, “Yes, sir.”
As he was leaving, another member of my staff came in, my assistant, Dewayne. He was one of two privvy to everything. Him and Jules.
“Your mail, sir.” He placed the assortment of envelopes on my desk and turned to go.
“Hold on, Dewayne.” I put up a hand and quickly scanned the stack. One in particular piqued my interest, and I opened it, scanning the contents of the letter. I looked up, my focus on the wall as I took in what I’d read. I returned to the paper and reread the letter.
“What is it, sir?”
“A ballet company wants to perform at my opera house.”
“Another one? I can send the form rejection.” He leaned across to take the letter, but I pulled back.
“No, this one has my interest.” I set the letter down and reached into my desk, retrieving my stationary and a pen. Quickly, I scrawled a reply.
“What are you telling them?”
A slow grin crawled across my face as I continued writing.
“I actually know this particular company; I was hoping to hear from them.” I finished my note and offered it to him, unfolded, allowing him to read it. Dewayne was nosey, but he wasn’t a gossip. It made for a fun dynamic. His brown eyes took in the words.
“You’re actually going to consider them?”
I linked my hands together like a satisfied CEO, having taken more basic human rights from my underlings.
“Maybe, if they follow my instructions.”
He clicked his tongue. “Send their Prima Ballerina. Do we know this Prima Ballerina?” He cocked an eyebrow and one side of his mouth lifted into a smirk. There we go. He was putting the pieces together .
I stood and went around my desk, patting him on the back.
“I’ve never been good at hiding my true interests. Go ahead and send my reply. I am curious to see how it’s received.”
Dewayne folded the letter into thirds and nodded. “You got it, sir. I’ll let you know if we hear anything.”
I thanked him, and together, we exited my office. I checked the time and swiftly went to my private quarters to change into more relaxed clothes. I took the expensive suit off, tossing it in a laundry basket, and pulling on jeans and a relaxed shirt. I traded in my thousand-dollar dress shoes for my green Converse.
I used to wear high-tops as a kid. When I’d been released from prison, they handed me the clothes I was arrested in, which included a worn pair of black high-tops. They had rips in the canvas and drawings on the rubber I’d done when I’d first purchased them. That day, I laced them up and went to a store to pick up a new pair, this time emerald green. I still kept the old ones though. I tossed them up in my closet for another time. Today, I wore the green pair.
Grabbing my jacket, I zipped it up halfway and eyed myself in the mirror. I tussled my hair some. I wasn’t a fan of the slicked back look, but I had to play the part. I needed to fit in with my new peers.
Wouldn’t want them to realize I wasn’t like them.
Taking a deep breath, I left my bedroom and went down the hall to my private workroom. I used my keys to unlock the door. Stepping inside, I flicked the lights on and locked the door behind me.
The scream came only after a short groan as my newest client woke up. He tugged on the leather restraints on his ankles, wrists, and hips, waist, and chest. The metal clinked together, but he didn’t move from the chair .
“Where the hell am I? What is this?”
I tilted my head. I looked around my bare, tattoo studio. Only the necessary equipment was in here, making it feel sterile, almost clinical.
“Good afternoon, Will.”
“How do you know my name? How did I get here?”
Choosing not to answer, I strode across the room to my tall, mint-colored metal cabinet. I began removing my equipment after unlocking it. All the while, he screamed, demanding answers.
His screams for release fell upon deaf ears. I almost wanted to tell him that straining his voice was pointless, as this room, and many rooms in this house, were soundproof. The only person hearing him was me, and frankly, I didn’t give a shit.
I moved with the pace of a man with nowhere to go and nothing to do. This was all I had on my to-do for today, and I was going to savor every minute I had with Will. I went through the motions of preparing my work station. I poured ink, lined up needles, cotton balls, and my bottles of sterile alcohol.
“Do you have any tattoos, Will?”
“Tattoos? Of course not. That’s low class. I see you have them.” His eyes darted nervously to the exposed pieces of my skin with ink on them and then my work table. He took note of everything on it and swallowed. “What is this, exactly?”
His tone was softer. I smirked. He was shifting from anger to bargaining.
“I have money. Lots of it. It’s gotten me out of many things. It can get you out of trouble, too. What do you want? How much?”
I found my remote and pushed the buttons to turn my TV on. I flicked through to get to my music, turning on my favorite playlist.
Three Days Grace began to play, and I grabbed my stool, wheeling it over to where my newest client lay waiting. I washed my hands, gloved up, and settled in.
“Ready? Might want to stay still. Normally, I’d use a stencil, but I don’t think that’s necessary today.”
“Stencil? What are you planning on doing?” He lifted his head and looked down his body. He was in a full suit, everything but his hands and head were covered. He swallowed again as I reached for my tattoo machine, loading the needle.
Again, I chose to ignore his questions. I pressed on his forehead with my gloved hand, pushing him back onto the leather chair. He resisted at first, but he was just another middle-aged, pudgy fucker. He wasn’t as strong as his money and power made him out to be. Here, he was at my mercy.
And I had none for a rapist like him.
Beads of sweat dotted his forehead, and I wiped them away before bringing the machine to his flesh.
“Do you know who I am? People are looking for me,” he warned.
“I know. That’s why you’re here. We found you.”