1. Emerson
Emerson
South America was one of my least favorite parts of the world. Or maybe it was the company. Jefferson Baldwin ranked in the top five most disgusting men I’d ever met. And that was saying something. I’d met a lot of repulsive people over the last eight years.
“We’re here, darling.” Jefferson’s smooth, cultured voice drew my attention to him.
It was showtime.
“Oh, Jefferson, it’s beautiful,” I gushed.
The swank hotel the town car had stopped in front of was beautiful.
Then it should’ve been considering the outrageous price tag.
The eclectic villas bordered a tropical rain forest on one side with views of the Caribbean Sea from every room.
The clear, crystal waters were otherworldly.
Not that I’d spend any time exploring the miles of sandy beaches. I was here on business, not vacation.
“Welcome back to Venezuela, my dear,” he crooned on, as if we were on a lover’s getaway.
In his mind I supposed we were. Lovers without the sex.
When I’d first met Jefferson, I didn’t think he’d take the bait, the na?ve, innocent virgin act I’d played.
To my grateful surprise he did. I was willing to do anything to get close to the man, if that meant I had to sleep with him, I would’ve.
Thankfully I’d been able to convince him I was a virgin.
Clean. Untouched. Waiting until marriage to give myself to my one and only.
What could I say? I was a really good actress .
“It’s as beautiful as I remember it.” Always playing the part of the love-sick girlfriend, I leaned into him and placed a chaste kiss on his lips. “You spoil me.”
It was becoming harder and harder not to gag every time I touched the vile man. The need to bathe in bleach and scrub my mouth with alcohol wipes was a real thing.
I knew where his hands and mouth had been; even after he started “courting” me he still had women on the side. Women who provided all of the things I was unwilling to. Thank God. It made my role easier. All Jefferson wanted was a classy, sophisticated, beautiful woman on his arm to show off.
I could do that. I could do just about anything, but I really wanted to avoid having to have sex with him.
Jefferson Baldwin was a means to an end.
And the end was drawing near. I almost had what I needed from him, then I’d move on to my next mark.
It was a balancing act making sure the men I picked weren’t too closely related.
The business of buying and selling women was incestuous, making my job harder to find men that wouldn’t mingle with the last man I’d been with.
That was if I allowed them to live when I was done with them.
Almost done.
Jefferson smiled, his eyes lighting up; he loved when I acknowledged his wealth. When I blathered on about the expensive jewelry he bought me, the clothes, the places we traveled. He was generous with his gifts; money was not in short supply for him.
“Come on, dear, we have just enough time for you to rest before tonight’s event.”
The car door was opened and a young man offered me his hand. Despite the oppressive heat of the tropics the valet was dressed in an immaculate suit.
“Thank you,” I murmured in gratitude and took his hand so he could help me out of the car.
Jefferson followed, tipping the valet. I dutifully waited for Jefferson to wrap his arm around my waist so he could walk me through the lobby.
Arm candy, that’s what I was.
Another man met us near the corridor that would once again lead us outside.
I walked silently, keeping my features blank, while the two men spoke in Spanish.
I pretended my attention was on the palms, orchids, and other tropical shrubbery that lined the pathway.
Jefferson never asked and I didn’t offer that I was fluent in the language.
The concierge was explaining the room had been set up according to Jefferson’s specifications and the new dress he’d purchased for me would be delivered to the villa in less than an hour.
The conversation continued and smoothly they’d transitioned into Portuguese, Jefferson’s native tongue.
He didn’t think I knew he was born Jefferson Garcia and he’d grown up in the poorest of poor slums of Brazil.
He’d changed his last name when his mother had moved them out of the area after his father had informed on a local gang and was killed.
The Garcia name was tainted, marked for death.
They were known as snitches and the only chance of survival was to flee.
I didn’t know Portuguese, so I’d lost the conversation. In the years I’d been on my crusade I’d tried my best to pick up as many languages as I could, the important words anyway. Words I wish I never had to know.
The concierge opened the door, and ever the gentleman, Jefferson offered for me to precede him.
Or maybe it wasn’t gentlemanly and he wanted me to go first in case we were met with a barrage of gunfire and he’d use me as a human shield.
That was more likely the case. One could not call a man who perpetrated the worst acts of violence against women a gentleman.
If I thought too hard about what he did, I’d cut his throat in his sleep. Not yet. I still needed more.
The conversation slipped back into Spanish and the other man informed Jefferson his dogs would be taken care of until tonight’s fight.
Bile rose and in a harsh gulp I swallowed it down.
Jefferson kept me away from all of his business dealings except the fights.
He needed me on his arm while he conducted business, betting on his dogs or his roosters. I’d even seen him bet on bulls.
The level of cruelty was so disturbing I had nightmares about it.
Almost there .
“Emerson, dear, why don’t you go clean up and rest. I have some business to attend to.” I was being dismissed. Jefferson often formed his demands in a form of a question, but he wasn’t asking.
“That sounds wonderful. Thank you.”
My heels clacked on the marble floor as I made my way to the master suite.
The villa was huge, more than what two people would need, however, Jefferson didn’t believe in economy.
Everything he did was over the top and grandiose.
On my way, I passed two bedrooms that would go unused, both with views of the sea, and walked into the master, closing the door behind me .
Relieved to be alone I kicked off the stupid forty-five-hundred-dollar pair of Blixa alligator Manolo Blahnik pumps Jefferson had insisted I wear. He always had to keep up the pretense of wealthy businessman even while on his private jet.
In the last eight months, I’d accumulated a shoe collection worth the cost of a modest home. After I was done with Jefferson most of them would be sold to finance my crusade. Some I would keep because I had to play the part of well-to-do, innocent socialite.
I stripped out of the silk pants and blouse and uncaringly tossed the expensive material on the bathroom floor. I didn’t need to worry about the clothing getting dirty. There wasn’t a speck of dust or dirt to be found and it would be laundered and pressed before I could miss it.
The gluttony was sickening. No one needed to be pampered the way Jefferson demanded. His lifestyle was so far from my modest upbringing it was laughable. Growing up I hadn’t owned a fifty-dollar pair of shoes, let alone a pair that cost more than my first car did.
I stepped under the warm spray of the shower and in a moment of weakness, something I didn’t allow myself very often, I cried. I mourned the life I was supposed to have, the life I’d never get back. All that I’d lost and willingly given up.
Once upon a time, I’d been happy—blissfully happy—then a single act of brutality tore him from my life but not from my heart. I had nothing, but the sweetest memories—that most of the time felt like torture.
I wear him on my skin, the only man I’ll ever love. The one man I never thought I’d see again. But I had, in a cantina in Mexico. He looked better than I’d remembered. And when he looked over at me with so much hatred in his stare it pulverized what was left of my heart.
Thaddeus Bench .
My one and only.
I finished my shower watching the water swirl around the drain before it disappeared, taking the last of my hopes and dreams of ever being normal with it.