Leaning down, he gives me a soft kiss on my lips that has me wanting to throw up all over him. “Let’s go.”
“Upstairs?” Entertaining someone always means them coming down here. I haven’t been upstairs since I was forced down here.
“Shut the fuck up. What part of not speaking a single word are you not understanding?”
I follow him upstairs and I’m met with bright lights. My head pounds and I immediately feel dizzy. I haven’t eaten in hours, and I’m in desperate need of the drugs to calm me down.
I follow Weston to the living room of the home I have lived in since I was a little girl, and when I look around, I’m shocked at what I see. All the family portraits have been removed, and in their place are cheap looking paintings. I glance at the shelves and see all my mom’s knickknacks are gone. It’s like he wiped everything of my mom and me from this home.
A myriad of emotions hit me all at once. Anger. Grief. Sadness. Confusion. This was my mother’s home. My home. It was our home before it was his, yet he has taken it over and has eliminated any proof that we ever existed. A man who supposedly at one time loved my mother has destroyed any evidence she was ever alive. Who is this man? How did he manage to fool everyone around him?
“Get her cleaned up,” Weston whispers to Derek angrily. Derek grabs me by my arm and pulls me into the guest bathroom. The picture frames that used to sit on the sink are gone as is the toothbrush holder I made for my mom when I took art in middle school.
“Jump in the shower and rinse off. Make sure you shave. Do it quickly.”
Once I’m done showering and shaving, I step out and dry off, waiting for further instruction. My body is shaking and my head and heart feel like they’re going to explode. Derek notices and sighs. “You need to chill out, Aria. Weston isn’t going to give you anything until after you’re done. Be a good girl and he’ll probably give you more.”
Chill out? Seriously? I didn’t even want this shit! They did this to me. They came into the basement and day after day drugged me to calm me down. Every time I screamed and cried and begged for them to stop and let me out, they shoved pills down my throat or gave me a bump of coke. They did this to me. They made me this way and now I’m supposed to chill out?
I don’t bother arguing. It’s no use. I just need to do as they say. I need to get this over with so I’ll get my drugs and be allowed to go back to my room. My room. The fact that I’m calling the basement my room sickens me. It’s a reminder that I’ve officially lost hope. That I’ve accepted I’ll most likely spend the rest of my life in that basement.
Derek guides me to the library where there are several men sitting around in the oversized reading chairs my mom and I picked out. They’re drinking liquor and smoking cigars, stinking up our once perfect reading room. I remember the nights I used to curl up with my book and read while my mom wrote. She was a mystery romance author and would write for hours. Sometimes she would stop and read me her scenes and ask for my opinion. I shake the memory off because now is not the time to remember. When I remember, I feel, and when I feel, I hurt, and hurting right now isn’t going to do me a bit of good.
Taking a closer look, there are four men all over fifty years old. I recognize two of them from the dinners my mom and Weston used to throw. I know for a fact one of them is married with kids, and this knowledge puts the final nail in my coffin. These men have reputations to protect. There isn’t a single man in this room who would risk his reputation in order to save me.
“Aria, I think Mr. Nelson would like some attention.” Weston points to the fat, slimy-looking man sitting in my favorite reading chair. The man smiles at me, causing me to throw up a little in my mouth.
All the men sit around the room discussing next year’s election, the poll numbers, and the campaign donations, like a young woman isn’t servicing a man three times her age. My hands continue to shake, still needing something to take the edge off. As my brain tries to find its escape, I hear a door swing open.
“What are you doing here?” Weston’s voice sounds different—nervous, shaken. The man forcing himself on me pushes me away while the entire room goes quiet. I hit the floor flat on my butt before turning around to see who’s entered.
When I look up, the most beautiful man lock eyes with me. From head to toe, he is the epitome of perfection. Messy chestnut brown hair that looks like he’s been running his fingers through it all day, soft brown eyes like milk chocolate that’s been warmed up. He’s in a three-piece suit, which hugs every inch of his body perfectly. It looks like it was designed just for him. He’s tall, well over six feet. But what catches my attention is his smile. It’s probably capable of being sweet, but it’s not. It’s filled with contempt with a bit of humor like he’s in on some private joke nobody else is privy to. He towers over Weston, exuding power and confidence. He’s sure of himself and of his place in this world. I remember when I had that same feeling, knowing the world was at my fingertips. When I had a bright future.
Normally Weston is the one in control, but right now he’s scared. He’s cracking his neck like he used to do when my mom would catch him in a lie and he wasn’t sure how to get himself out of it. His uninjured hand is opening and closing into a fist, but he’s not towering like he usually is, instead he’s cowering. Whoever this man is holds more power than Weston.
Then it hits me. I need to speak up, try to save myself. If it doesn’t work, I’ll be in a world of hurt, but what if it does work? Before I can say something, the man speaks. His eyes leaving mine.
“I heard you were holding an investment meeting tonight, so I figured I would drop by and check on my money. Your time is almost up.”
“Weston, I think it would be best if we go.” The man who just had his nasty hands on me is now trying to run.
“I think you all should stay. I would imagine what I have to say will interest you. Mr. Nelson, is it?” Mystery man smiles sardonically at the guy who pushed me to the ground, causing him to shut up and frown, and it sends chills straight up my spine. “I could be wrong, but I believe you have invested with Mr. Hightower. Am I right?”
“Well, yes you are. I did.”
“Giovanni, there’s no need to involve these men. Let’s speak in private.” Weston’s voice is shaky. He’s freaking the fuck out, and it kind of makes me smile a little on the inside.
The man Weston just called Giovanni quirks one brow up and tilts his head just slightly to the left, silently shutting Weston up. If I weren’t scared of the repercussions, and without any clothes on, I would stand and cheer him on.
“Are you aware that Mr. Hightower owes me a significant amount of money?”
“Weston, is this true?” One of the other men speaks up.
“Gentleman, I can explain.”
“You absolutely can explain, Mr. Hightower, right after you show me the progress you’ve made on getting me my money. I hope you aren’t planning to wait until the last second to obtain that amount of money.” Giovanni never raises his voice. The way he speaks you’d think he was placing a to-go order at a restaurant, yet his voice is strong and assertive. Every emotion is made known without even needing to yell. This man means business.