Dirty Little Secret (Dirty #1) Page 11

  And at that moment, her ice-queen mother was watching me like she could read my thoughts.

  “So you’re not going to do it,” she stated with an imperious sigh.

  “Not going to what?”

  “Fuck her.”

  My temper flared. “Or what? You’re going to tell her who I am? Go right ahead. I’ll find a way to deal with the fallout. I fuck who I want, when I want. I sure as hell don’t need your permission. If I want Melissa, I’ll just take her and her tight pussy whenever I please. I’ll make her beg for it. She means nothing to me. When I leave her, I’ll drop her broken heart at your doorstep, and replace her with any other girl who crosses my path at the right moment.”

  She nodded. “Rest assured, if you follow through with that course of action, I’ll tell her. And right after, I’ll have a visit with your probation officer. And maybe pop by the college to let them know who they’re really buying paintings from.”

  “You really do your fucking homework, don’t you?” I muttered.

  “I believe in being thorough. You have things easy right now, Mr. Lane. I’m not above ruining that for you. In fact, I’m not above ruining your life altogether if that’s what it takes to keep Melissa on the straight and narrow.”

  She reached into her purse and pulled out a phone.

  I sneered. “What? You’re going to call them all now?”

  “No. As you said, I do my fucking homework. And my fucking homework told me that you would lose your temper and say something…useful. I wasn’t wrong.”

  She tapped the screen, and my own voice carried through the air, sounding tinny and angry. “I fuck who I want, when I want.”

  “Do I need to play more?” she asked. “Or should I just save it for my daughter?”

  I opened my mouth, then closed it. The bitch fucking had me, dead to rights.

  “One more thing,” Stover said.

  “What else could there possibly be?”

  “This.”

  She reached into her purse once again, and this time pulled out a small piece of paper. I took it reluctantly and unfolded it.

  “What the fuck is this?”

  “It’s exactly what it looks like,” Stover replied. “A pay off.”

  “Ten-thousand dollars?”

  “Indeed. A cashier’s check. Before you ask…It’s untraceable. You’d never be able to prove to Melissa it came from me.”

  “That’s what your daughter is worth to you? A stack of unmarked cash?”

  The woman gave me a calculating stare. “What could you possibly know about the worth of a person?”

  “Apparently, fuck all,” I replied.

  “If it makes you feel any better, I based that number on what I thought your silence was worth, not on what Melissa means to me. Though if I’d known she meant so little to you, I might’ve cut that in half. I just assumed you thought you were in love.” She laughed then, and it made my fucking skin crawl. “Do we have a deal?”

  I wanted to say no, but instead I nodded. As she walked away, my chest grew tighter, and I thought I might throw up.

  “Judge?” I called.

  She paused.

  “It’s really too bad you handed over that check so quickly. Two minutes more, and I would’ve told you your daughter already told me to go fuck myself.”

  Without turning around, she replied, “Still. You’re not going to give it back, are you?”

  I wanted to. Fuck, how I wanted to. But somehow I was sure Stover would see it as weakness.

  “No way in hell,” I said. “I’m a two-bit loser. But I’m not fucking stupid.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  Then she was gone.

  I turned to the brick wall, drew back a fist, and punched it so hard that I had an excuse for the tears that threatened to form in my fucking eyes.

  MELISSA

  It’s amazing what you can persuade yourself is true, if you put your mind to it.

  For example, after almost a week, I convinced myself that I was back to normal. I did my laundry. I ate lunch with my mom. I cozied up in the evening to watch chick flicks with Shelby. I went to Danny’s baseball game and cheered when he pitched a no-hitter. I kissed him on the lips. It didn’t quite make me cringe. I celebrated our engagement with his teammates, and toasted it with champagne. I let Danny wrap me in his game jersey and cart me around the restaurant, telling every person there we were getting married, and buying them each dessert. I was arm candy, just like I’d always been. I was cheerful and pretty and un-opinionated. I was perfect.

  Go ahead and jump on a judgment bandwagon and accuse me of being a liar and a cheater. I’d already worked my way through it. Rationalized my behavior. Cutter was an experienced manipulator and he’d taken advantage of my vulnerability. He’d as much as admitted it, and I’d just been ignoring the facts. It didn’t even matter that he didn’t know the details of my circumstances. My state of mind when he found me, covered in dirt and obviously damaged, was a red flag, and he’d picked up on it right away.

  I was a victim, no doubt about it.

  I didn’t feel like I was hiding something I’d done. I was just protecting myself from something that had been done to me.

  So when Saturday rolled around, and my fiancé – yes, I was starting to be able to stomach the term – dropped by mine and Shelby’s apartment to whisk me away for a romantic surprise, I was able to tell myself I was happy to see him.

  He gave me a once over and a light kiss as I climbed into his car.

  “You look nice,” he said.

  I beat down the voice in my head that wanted to reply, Nice? Thank you, but I was going for Goddess.

  I glanced down at my peasant-style blouse. It was cream-colored and dotted with embroidered flowers in the exact – not even a hair off - shade of my eyes. Elegant ribbons, half the size of my pinky finger, laced up the top, revealing just enough cleavage. Even though the shirt was nearly sheer, I’d forgone a camisole in favor of a lacy bra, and the cap sleeves showed off my toned upper arms. I’d paired the top with designer jeans that shimmered in the light when I walked. Even my face was perfect. I lined my eyes with the deepest navy kohl, thickest around the edges and fanning out to a smoky grey in the creases of my lids.

  And Danny thought I looked nice.

  Still…I shot him a dazzling and appreciative smile as I shrugged into my jacket.

  “Thank you,” was all I said.

  As we pulled out of the driveway, he handed me an envelope.

  “Open it,” Danny encouraged.

  I obliged, and pushed down a nagging suspicion that this would always be the case. I wouldn’t always be doing what Danny asked me to do with an indulgent smile plastered on my face, would I? Then I pushed down the idea that the suspicion bothered me.

  When I sliced my finger on the envelope and pressed a bloody fingerprint into the creamy paper as I opened it, I shoved aside a feeling of trepidation and surveyed the contents. There was nothing inside the envelope but a plastic card, smoky grey and dotted with stars. I gave it - and Danny - a puzzled frown.

  He laughed at my expression but didn’t offer an explanation. He just turned up the radio, and kept driving. It wasn’t until we pulled into an unfamiliar parking lot that he finally turned my way again.

  “Happy anniversary, babe,” Danny said.

  “Babe?”

  He never called me anything but Mel. My heart thumped, and not in a good, Barry White kind of way.

  “You didn’t think I’d forget, did you?”

  “Forget?”

  “Three years.”

  Three years.

  His words jogged loose a memory, and their significance came flooding back.

  We were at our senior Spring Fling. We’d been planning on going as a threesome, but Shelby got the flu, and Danny and I wound up on our first date. He brought a flask, full of watered down Southern Comfort, and I teased him about turning into a heathen. A few sips in, and I was tipsy. We finished off the liquor
and made fun of the other couples who cut out early to shack up in the sleazy motel around the corner.

  I pointed at a girl in a pink dress. “Too frilly for sex.”

  He pointed at her boyfriend. “Too drunk to get it up anyway.”

  “Ew, Danny!”

  “Just stating a fact.”

  Somehow, the conversation turned more serious.

  “You can’t get to know someone well enough in high school to sleep with them,” I said.

  “Well…Guys have to be careful or our peak just passes us by. If we take the time to know the girls we sleep with…”

  “Oh, c’mon,” I replied, giving him a playful slap. “You agree. I know you do. If you wanted, you could be doing half the girls in the school, and you’re sitting here with me.”

  “All right, all right. Sometimes, the right girl is worth waiting for.”

  “Three years,” I stated with eight ounces of liquid confidence on my breath.

  “What?”

  “That’s how long I’d make him wait.”

  He laughed. “Not many guys would wait around that long.”

  “Exactly,” I agreed drunkenly.

  Then he stole a kiss. I mean that literally. He took it without asking my permission, and my reaction was something damned near offended. I fought to keep from shoving him away by telling myself it was right and good and supposed to happen. I sat still, letting him explore my mouth with his tongue, waiting for the explosion of fireworks that never came. He finished, and seemed satisfied by what he’d accomplished, and I finally clued in that he had meant me. I was the girl he was waiting for.

  Shit.

  We’d been together ever since. As I met Danny’s eyes, I knew that if I checked the date, I would find out it had been exactly three years since that day.

  “You ready to get some dinner?” he asked.

  When I nodded, Danny hopped out of the car and came around to open my door. Then he reached across my lap, and I leaned back to allow him to undo my seatbelt. The closeness felt wrong. Especially when Danny pressed his chest into mine, hard. I prepared myself for an onslaught of affection, but he just gave me a squeeze, then helped me out.

  My relief was short-lived. As soon as we were checked into the hotel, Danny pulled me against him again.

  “Did I mention that I ordered room service?” he said into my neck.

  I laughed nervously as he dragged me to the elevator. Did he really think it was going to be so easy to seduce me?

  Maybe he doesn’t think it’s been easy, said a small, annoying voice in my head. Maybe he thinks he’s been really fucking patient and after three years wants more than a goodnight kiss.

  I didn’t like the voice because it made me think of Cutter and his accusation that day in his apartment. What were his exact words? Right. He’d said I was nothing more than an everyday, run-of-the-mill cock-tease.

  Danny kept his hands to himself until we were right in front our room. As he grabbed my wrists in one hand and pushed me against the wall with the other, panic set in.

  This is really happening, I thought.

  Danny’s hand rested on my thigh, uncomfortably close to my crotch, and I closed my eyes and prayed he was going to back off. Instead, his hand crept up further.

  “Danny!” I gasped, hoping he’d stop.

  But he took it as encouragement and thrust his fingers just under the waistband of my jeans, fumbling with the button. The zipper on his jacket scraped against me, and I gasped again as the metal dug through the thin cotton of blouse and into my skin.

  When the hell did he get so aggressive? I wondered.

  His lips moved up the side of my neck, soggy with enthusiasm. The button on my pants came loose. I gripped the doorframe, and silently willed him to stop on his own without noticing I didn’t return his ardor.

  At last he pulled away. My relief was short-lived once again, because he was just trying to get a better angle. And then I caught a break. As he tried to reach further into my pants, his jacket stuck to my shirt, and he had to pause to get it loose. One of the tiny flowers woven into my blouse was caught between the teeth of his zipper.

  “Dammit,” he muttered.

  If I hadn’t been so overwhelmed with relief, I might’ve laughed at his inability to work the zipper free. He was so meticulous about everything, but this he couldn’t manage. He gave a final, firm yank, and we came apart. Unfortunately, so did my shirt.

  I looked down. A large rip gaped in the front, exposing my chest.

  Thank God.

  “I have to go home and get changed,” I announced.

  “What?”

  “I can’t walk around like this.”

  Danny frowned. “We’re not going to be walking around.”

  I forced a laugh. “You want to spend the whole night in the room?”

  My fiancé sighed and slid the key card into the door.

  “Mel, I know you’re nervous. I am, too.”

  I followed him into the room. “I’m not nervous, I’m – “

  Whatever I’d been about to say stuck in my throat as I caught sight of the set up. Rose petals leading from the door to the bed. A bottle of Southern Comfort nestled between two heart-shaped pillows on the bed. Through the bathroom door, I glimpsed a huge tub, filled with bubbles and humming softly with the sound of jets below the surface. The room was exploding with romance.

  “You’re what, Mel?” Danny prodded.

  What had I been going to say?

  I couldn’t remember. I felt like I was going to puke.

  Danny didn’t notice my sickly expression. He grabbed the liquor, cracked it open, and poured two glasses. He shot back one and handed me the other. I took a tentative sip. It burned as it went down, but it warmed my stomach and took the edge of the nausea. Quickly, I sucked back the rest. Danny gave me an encouraging smile. I covered my cup as he tried to refill it, and he shrugged, then took a drink straight from the bottle.

  “Maybe you should slow down,” I suggested softly.

  His eyes were already bright. “I don’t think so.”

  In all our time together, I hadn’t ever seen him drunk. He didn’t really drink. We didn’t drink.

  “Danny –“

  He cut me off abruptly. “That day you got assaulted…Why didn’t you call the police?”

  I gulped as I floundered for an explanation.

  The truth, encouraged a small voice in my head.

  “Shelby made me take a bath,” I said instead.

  Another swig of liquor. “So you washed him off.”

  “It wasn’t like that.”

  “What was it like?”

  “It was broad daylight, Danny, what do you think it was like?” I begged him mentally to drop it.

  “The first time.”

  “What?”

  “It was broad daylight the first time it happened. But the second time you saw him, it wasn’t even dawn yet.”

  “I –“

  He put up his hand, fingers clasped tightly around the bottle, and waved it in my direction.

  “I’ve been thinking about it. Again and again. And you were pissed off, not hurt. Not scared. Not even ashamed, in a misguided way.”

  I tried again. “Danny, it –“

  “It didn’t happen,” he interrupted, and took three more sips of the Southern Comfort. “Not the way you said, anyway. And for some reason…I think you know the guy who did this to you. Who is he, Mel?”

  “Nobody.”

  Not anymore.

  “I don’t believe you. But you know what? In an hour, I’ll have wiped any trace of him from your mind, and we can go back to the way things were before. Why don’t you hop in the bath now?” he suggested with a sloppy grin that I guessed was supposed to pass for sexy. “I’ll wait.”

  I seized on the opportunity and bolted for the bathroom.

  CUTTER

  At ten in the morning, Galini had called to tell me he was switching off the ankle monitor.

  “T
he GPS will be on,” my probation officer warned. “But the alarm will be off. So be good.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  He sighed. “You think I don’t know you, Cutter, but I do. If you get into trouble –“

  “I’m a big boy, Galini. I’ve had a long time to get over the past.”

  “Alcohol.”

  “What about it?”

  “It’s a go. But take it easy.”

  “All right.”

  “Over and out.”

  I watched as the little light on my police-issue jewelry, which was green when I stayed where I was supposed to be and blinked an angry red if I went somewhere I shouldn’t, shut off completely. For the first time in almost two years, I was free. And I was using that freedom to spend time with the family I’d been avoiding for half a decade.

  Although…What I’d said to Galini was almost true. After Judge Stover’s oh-so-kind visit, the days passed in slow motion, and I had a lot of time to dwell on the past. Particularly since I needed something to help me avoid thinking about Melissa. Instead, I’d focused on my dad.

  When I was a kid, he was the man. I didn’t just love him, I wanted to be him. Tall. Dark. Handsome. All-fucking-powerful. When I was finally old enough to figure that I was a scrawny, towheaded twerp, and that my transformation plan wasn’t going to quite work out, I decided to come at it from another angle. I would prove myself in other ways.

  At the time, the only thing I excelled at was art. I explored the idea of becoming an architect, or a graphic artist, or maybe doing something in advertising. None of it was good enough for my dad. It didn’t make me any more like him. I wasn’t strong. I wasn’t heartless. I wasn’t the man. Not like he was.

  It wasn’t until I turned fifteen, grew six inches, and figured out that my talent for anything spatial transferred well to sports that he even glanced my way. When I got in my first hockey fight and broke some guy’s jaw, my dad finally sat up and took notice. In fact, he took me out and fed me my first beer, then offered me the weekend internship at his firm. If I thought it was weird that my putting someone else in the hospital is what brought us closer, I don’t remember it. I just did my damnedest to follow in his footsteps.