Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Mr. Lennox
It's a rainy, foggy evening; the twisted colors of neon tubes in pawn-shop windows blur through raindrops as I drive.
I like seeing unfamiliar parts of the city. More buildings for me to buy. More buildings for me to put my name on.
The buildings around here look awful, mostly abandoned. I peer out at graffiti-tagged, crumbling facades. When I see this place, I feel a pit of sadness deep inside my stomach. I also feel a sense of potential.
Where some people see rundown buildings that need to be boarded up and never thought of again, I see the opportunity to build affordable housing and lovely parks. Where people see rectangular, squat, ugly buildings, I see…
An angel.
I slam on the brakes, my car skidding to a stop.
A pale yellow light flickers from inside a building across the street as someone walks toward the door.
It's a woman — a young woman with long brown hair, waves falling softly down her back.
Her white tank top shows her bra straps peeking out.
My cock snaps up like it's attached to a spring.
Her soft, modest tits bounce with every step she takes.
Her face is just too beautiful to put into words.
Delicate but strong. Each soft feature works together in perfect harmony.
Her big green eyes seem to glow from the inside.
Her lips seem to be on the verge of speaking.
They're thick and luscious, and I can't help but imagine pulling her into my arms and feasting on them, making them raw with my absolute need for her.
I roll down my window to get a better look at this beautiful creature.
She darts across the street as a bus pulls up. She drops some change into the slot, walks to the back, and collapses into a seat. Shoulders slumped, looking down, but the fire inside her does not go out.
The neon lights of an all-night corner store illuminate her face in a light pink glow. She looks like an angel. I half-expect a glowing halo to appear over her.
An old woman pushing a shopping cart ambles down the street as the bus door closes. My angel leaps to her feet and runs to the front of the bus.
The doors open and she steps outside.
“Wait,” she shouts over her shoulder to the driver. “Don’t leave yet.”
I imagine she’s talking to me — telling me not to leave, telling me to wait for her.
I swallow thickly as an unfamiliar feeling surges through me.
I don't think I've ever wanted something so badly. So completely. So...consumingly.
She helps the old lady get onto the bus. She even escorts her to the nearest seat and says something to the guy sitting there.
This guy is a big, rough motherfucker with tattoos all over his bald head.
My fists curl around the steering wheel. A new, strange sensation flows through me like something in my soul has been unlocked. Like a dam inside me has broken.
She stares him down. He stands and moves to the back of the bus like a little puppy. She helps the old lady into the seat and stands over her like a guardian angel.
The girl looks up for a moment, as though she senses me looking at her. Her keen, guarded eyes cut a smooth line through the fog, but they never reach me. The bus lurches forward and her attention is once again on the old lady.
I turn off the ignition and step out of my car as the bus drives away.
I walk up to the building. It's in a state of total disrepair. One of the glass panes in the revolving door is cracked, and the sidewalk is uneven. There's no doorman or security guard inside.
What is this place?
It’s all women in here. I look around, trying to figure out where I am.
I stride to the back of the large open-plan office.
There must be a boss around here somewhere.
I come upon a small, windowless room buried deep in a back corner.
It smells like cigarette smoke and old perfume, reminiscent of dying roses.
A woman with severe features waves me away without looking up.
"Not today," she says. She flicks her cigarette into an ashtray. "Go complain to someone else."
"There was a girl," I say.
The woman's eyes drift up to mine.
"There are lots of girls, but you'll have to call if you want to talk to one.”
I shake my head in frustration.
“No. I'm looking for a specific girl."
She throws her pen on her desk and leans back in her chair.
"Care to describe this mystery girl? What was her voice like? Did she bore you to death?”
Boring? I’ll never have another boring day in my life.
"She was...she was just perfect."
The woman huffs out a breath and rolls her eyes.
“You’ll have to be more specific.”
"She looked…lost, in a way,” I say. "She wasn't very tall. Brown hair. Came out of this building a few moments ago.”
"You could have stopped at ‘lost,'" the woman says with a wry smirk, "I know exactly who you're talking about. Beautiful voice. Sexy. Innocent. New .”
A weird little smile stretches across her lips as she flips through a stack of files on the corner of her desk. She shuffles one of them out and drops it on the desk in front of me.
“Is that the girl you’re talking about?”
I lift the file as my veins start to pump harder.
Yes. This is the girl.
My heart clenches in my chest as I look down at her photo. Opal Harper. It fits her. It fits her perfectly. It’s gorgeous. I love it. It’s going to feel so good on my lips.
“Opal…” I whisper, touching the photo.
I was right. Her name does feel wonderful on my lips.
She is just so beautiful. There are details here that I know will knock me on my ass when I get to see them up close. The way there are strands of golden blonde hair in the dark, chocolate brown strands that frame her face.
There’s softness in her eyes — showing the benevolent nature I was lucky enough to witness, but there’s also that sharp ferocity — the thing I saw cut down that huge threatening guy.
But I’m not taking any chances with that kind of thing ever again. With me by her side, no one is going to even think about messing with her. And I’ll slash the tires on any bus she tries to board.
When I can finally tear my eyes away from her perfect image, I flip the folder open and look for a phone number. I take my phone from my pocket and dial it, my heart pounding and my temples plumping with a hint of sweat. I can’t wait to talk to her.
It doesn’t even ring. It goes straight to voicemail.
I look down at her file again. Her address is in some shitty part of town. My jaw clenches. She will not be going back there.
A possessive feeling fills my chest, so hot and intense that I’d swear I’m drowning in a pool of lava.
This same blind possessiveness is telling me to go to her apartment and identify myself as her protector.
But if I did that, what would happen? I’d probably get a face full of pepper spray or a knee to the balls. And I’d deserve it.
I don’t care about getting my ass handed to me, but I don’t want to scare her away.
I text her address to one of my guards. He’ll make sure no one messes with her.
"What is it that you do here?" I say to the woman behind the desk as I look around. It's grimy and gross. I'm already making plans to buy it so I can tear it down. "What is this place?"
She clicks her tongue and tents her fingers in front of her, tilting her head to the side.
“We provide a service.”
My blood freezes.
"What exactly is this service?" I manage to grit out through clenched teeth.
"Whatever you want it to be," she replies, plucking a business card from a stack on her desk and handing it to me. "Some men call for a simple conversation. Others want... more."
The way she says "more" makes my blood simmer.
I look down at the card and my heart stops for a moment. I understand what's going on here.
I crush the card in my hand, its sharp corners digging into my palm. There's a moment where I can't speak, can't breathe. All I can see is red. I want to destroy every man she’s spoken to.
The jealousy is a living thing now, clawing up my throat, making my vision pulse at the edges. I imagine her beautiful voice floating through the phone, into the ears of men who don’t deserve her.
"I want her," I say to the woman behind the desk.
Truer words have never been spoken.
"If you want her, you can have her,” the woman says, “Take her off my hands. Girls like her are a dime a dozen.”
Not to me.
I’ve never seen a woman as beautiful and special as her.
I own half the city, but now it all feels empty. This girl has grabbed me by the heart and shaken me right to my very soul.
“I’d like to wait here,” I say to the woman whose office I’ve invaded.
“Whatever,” she says. “I’m going out for a smoke break.”
Opal deserves better than to breathe in this stale air. She should be breathing in the scent of crystal-clear water in Seychelles. The rarified air in my private jet.
My head whips to the door when someone passes by, thinking it might be Opal. My heart deflates when it’s not her.
I’ll see her again soon. It’s going to be an agonizing wait, but it will be worth it.
Then we’re leaving together.
And she’s never, ever coming back.