Chapter 18 #2
Turning the television off, I snuck into Emerson’s office.
I tugged on the drawers, discovering he kept them all locked but the middle one.
Finding a ballpoint pen, I snagged a notebook from deep in the drawer.
It was old, with pages torn from it and otherwise empty.
Passing through the main room, I pushed the sliding glass doors open and stepped onto the deck.
A guard stood at the end of the deck; another made his rounds below on the far right side of the house.
“Ah, this is where he has you guys hiding. I knew he wouldn’t leave me alone.” Even if he had widened the cage bars, it was still a cage.
He only nodded, then canvassed the area, his eyes hidden by his sunglasses.
The sun was fantastic on my skin, but I knew to stay on the shaded edge of the deck.
Scooting the table over some, I sat and tucked my legs under me, pulling the cute skirt I was wearing down to cover my thighs.
I stared at the blank page. It had been too long since I’d sketched.
My years between graduating and starting grad school had given me a taste of how brutal the art scene was.
I’d scraped by until I’d given up and started taking odd jobs through the years.
My uncle had hated it, trying over and over to give me money, but I had left the account he established for me untouched.
I needed to figure myself out on my own.
He had done so much for me, and now it was my turn.
But his offer two years ago to pay for an apartment and grad school, an offer he’d given multiple times, and I had turned down just as many, was too tempting this last time.
By then, the lead in my pencils had gone dull and my desire to draw had lost its luster.
The first lines of the horizon marred the paper, the pen scratching uncomfortably in my hand.
But then they continued, taking form until I had duplicated the view before me on the page.
I sat back, flexing my fingers, and stared at the sketch.
When was the last time I’d sat quietly? Given my head the space to allow creativity to spark?
Too long. For so many years, drawing, like reading, had been my escape and then it had been a reminder, and I’d left it behind.
Lifting my eyes to the ocean, the waves crashing against the shore, I realized this was the first time my mind had been quiet.
Calm and at peace. I could have blamed it on the meds, but I had taken them for years and still the noise, the constant thoughts, continued to come.
Flipping the page, I let my pen lead the way, forms taking shape until I had filled a quarter of the book with sketches.
The shade had receded, the sun too harsh, so I rose and stretched, leaving the notebook and pen with every intention of returning later, once the sun shifted again.
My stomach rumbled, and I realized I hadn’t eaten lunch, only snacks.
I trudged into the kitchen, finding one of Emerson’s men there, grabbing water.
“So, you guys are human,” I joked.
He squinted in confusion, and I motioned to the water.
“I never see you guys do anything but stand around and look scary.”
He shrugged. “It wouldn’t be good for us to look anything but threatening.”
“Wow, and you talk. I thought Breaker and Pack were the only ones who still had their tongues.”
“Only the rookies lose their tongues.”
“Did you just make a joke?” I asked, pushing past him to grab some lunchmeat from the fridge, which could have fit three of my fridges in it.
“Don’t let the boss know that.” He gave me a wink, and I wasn’t sure how to take it. This guy was not typical of the men who worked for Emerson, but at least he wasn’t the creepy guy.
“Secret’s safe with me,” I said, pulling some turkey out. After rummaging through the condiments, I found something resembling mayonnaise but fancied up with some healthy shit that I usually avoided at all costs. “Who puts avocado in mayo?” I grumbled.
“Guys like Cade Slaughter.”
My head jerked toward him. Slaughter? That was the last name Emerson used?
But it was the candor this guy had that caused the reaction.
There was something off about him, but I couldn’t put my finger on it other than he seemed to be flirting with me, and I knew that was off-limits because even his boss had difficulty allowing himself to do it.
This guy was asking for a beating if he continued.
As strange as his behavior seemed, it was still nice to talk to someone.
I’d been alone all day and with no idea when Emerson would return, this was a pleasant reprieve.
“Where is your boss, anyway?” I asked, curious if his men knew.
“Last I heard, he was at the club.”
My gut twisted, my hand squeezing the bottle too hard so that a giant mound of mayonnaise-like substance flooded my bread.
“Shit,” I mumbled, placing the bottle on the counter and wiping the extra goo from my bread.
It shouldn’t have bothered me that he was at the club, but I suspected what went on there behind private doors.
What he’d done for years with women he met there.
Maybe last night had been nothing. Maybe I was just another notch in his belt, another conquest.
“Having trouble?” the guy asked.
“Seems like it.” Yeah, I let my guard down and started falling for your boss. Like a fool, I slept with him and fell for the nicknames. But otherwise, I’m good.
I wanted to scream at myself for letting Emerson in and thinking this might be something different. For him, it hadn’t been. I rubbed my cheek, hating how used I now felt.
Maybe his being at the club was nothing more than work. Maybe I was looking for an excuse to make what we’d done into something trivial. To keep a distance there when he was doing nothing wrong.
But he had left so early, with no good morning, no morning kiss. It was more likely that he’d played me. Used and discarded me like every woman he took. Like every man I slept with. Damned karma.
“So do you have a name, or should I call you water guy?” I took a bite of my sandwich and turned to him.
“Chad.”
“No fancy mob name?”
He smiled, another unusual occurrence, and shook his head. “Nothing fancy.”
“Well, Chad. No one has talked to me all day and your boss left me stranded.” And fucked over. “Since you seem to be the only outlier in this dysfunctional group, sit and talk to me.”
He didn’t hesitate, which again seemed odd.
Maybe he had a death wish or maybe he enjoyed the pain Emerson would dole out on him if he discovered him slacking on the job.
I might have had some regret for asking him, knowing what Emerson might do to him, but I was so peeved at Emerson and the idea that he was currently screwing some random woman at his club that I didn’t care.
Chad ended up being a chatterbox. I thought I was talkative.
He could have run circles around me. We sat in the kitchen, talking about everything from sports to art to sneakers.
The man had an opinion on everything. I was mid-laugh at his story about running into the net and stumbling over it headfirst while playing tennis when I heard a gruff, “Having fun?”
I swiveled to find Emerson, his arms crossed, his eyes so dark I could barely tell they were blue. His eyes swept to me, then to Chad, before they narrowed. Chad was standing now, his face blank, but I could see the fear there.
“We were just talking,” I said, picking at the label on my water bottle. “It was harmless. He was keeping me company while you were at the club.” I made sure to emphasize the word club.
“How sweet.” That voice was low and gravely.
The sound I imagined came from a demon. Or a man possessed.
He strolled through the kitchen and grabbed a knife from the counter.
Chad now had his back to me, his hand resting on the island where we’d been sitting.
With moves so fast they were hard to follow, Emerson punched him and plunged the knife into his hand.
I scrambled from my chair as Emerson grabbed him by the throat.
“You’re new to my team, so let me make this clear.
You now have one strike against you. It’s more than most get.
One more fuck up and I will cut your hand off and choke you with it.
You ever leave your post again, you ever open your mouth while on duty, you ever so much as look at her, and I will make sure your death is slow and miserable. Understood?”
“Yes, boss.”
Emerson yanked the knife from his hand, and I tried not to scream at the blood. “Get the fuck out of my sight.”
Chad scrambled away, but as he got close to the door, Emerson threw the knife. Its track came so close to Chad that it sliced the tip of his ear. “Go find Pack and tell him you're on outside rotations from now on. The next time you even look at her, I’ll rip your eyes from their sockets.”
I swallowed back my fear, telling myself this was the monster he had warned me about, telling me I should be afraid of him. My eyes flashed to meet his. Cold and steeled.
“We were just talking,” I said. “It’s more than I can say about you.” Why had I added that? God, he already looked feral. I didn’t want to provoke him.
He stalked over to me. “What the fuck does that mean?”
His towering presence made my knees shake, but I wasn’t about to let him see that. “Did you enjoy your time at the club?” What was I doing? Antagonizing the devil. I had to have lost my mind.
Eyes narrowing, his hand grasped my neck, and he shoved me across the room into the wall. The hold on my neck was more gentle than I would have expected, forceful, but not enough to leave marks. It was the thud of my spine against the wall that rattled my teeth and sent the air from my lungs.
“What are you suggesting, Ava?” His blue orbs were piercing, his question a snarl.