The walk back to my building is invigorating. I bound up the steps to my apartment buoyed by my excitement. I’ll text Knox the usual message: The birdie got out of her cage again. I won’t even have to cook or order in tonight. We’ll dine on each other.
I love having a day off in the middle of the week!
Turning the key in the lock, I immediately notice the lock is loose. It’s unlocked.
I take a step back. I’ve lived with my father long enough and watched enough movies to know that you don’t enter your home in cases like these. I glance around the short corridor at the other two doors on this floor.
My heart is jackhammering against my chest. But through the thrumming of my pulse, I can hear movement inside my apartment. The door swings inward suddenly and I nearly jump out of my skin.
7
August is wearing a puzzled expression. As if he wasn’t expecting me.
“You asshole. You nearly gave me a heart attack.” He chuckles as I shove my way past him. “What the hell are you doing in my apartment? I thought you gave me all the copies you had of my house key.”
“Your landlady let me in.” He shuts the door and follows me into the kitchen. “I brought you something.”
“August, you have to leave. You shouldn’t be here.”
I grab a glass from the cupboard and fill it up with water from the tap. He watches silently as I guzzle half the glass. I slam the cup down on the counter and glare at him. He’s not leaving.
“What did you bring me?”
He smiles and I feel a slight pang of longing in my chest. Apparently, the last four months of my relationship were a sham. I was furious about this initially. But I still find myself missing the lazy Sundays in my apartment. Him complaining about his blog partners while I indulged in hours of bad reality TV.
He grabs a cream-colored box tied with a black ribbon off the breakfast bar. Then he sets the box down on the counter next to me. He looks so pleased with himself.
“Open it,” he says as he picks up the new cat figurine Lita gave me and smirks.
“What is it? A severed head?”
“Just open the box.”
I untie the ribbon and lift the lid. It’s the red scarf I saw in Vogue magazine last month. On one of those lazy Sundays. I didn’t even mention it to August. He must have seen me admiring it while I was reading. Typical August to notice me coveting a scarf.
“It’s vintage Hermes,” he says, pulling the scarf out of the box and laying the cat figurine on top of the cushiony tissue paper. “It will look stunning with that vintage sheath dress you bought a couple of months ago. Very Jackie O.”
I shake my head as he drapes the scarf over my neck. “You shouldn’t have bought me this. I can’t accept gifts from you anymore, August.”
“Why? There’s nothing wrong with a simple gift between friends.”
He’s still holding each end of the scarf. The way his eyes keep shifting to my lips is making me nervous.
I remove the scarf from around my neck and push it into his chest. “Take it back.”
“Becky, it’s just a scarf. It’s not a ring.”
I march around him and make my way to the dresser near the foot of the bed in my studio apartment. “Just leave.”
“Fine. I’ll take it back.”
He follows after me and I turn on my heel before I reach the dresser. “What do you want? Are you trying to get me back or something? What is this?”
“I want to fucking apologize, okay!”
August has never raised his voice at me. He’s always so agreeable. Even when we did disagree, we never really fought. He believes in talking things out calmly. So this outburst is both shocking and exciting.
“You already apologized.”
“Not properly.” He wiggles his fingers as if he’s itching to hit something. “I messed up. I know. But it was only once.”
“August, I don’t want to know how many times you’ve cheated on me.”
“You’re not being fair. Just hear me out.”
“I’m not being fair? I’m not being fair? Was it fair for you to fuck someone behind my back?”
“I never fucked her!” His green eyes are desperate with a need for me to hear him out. “Yes, I took her to my apartment, but I never had sex with her. As soon as she left, Knox showed up and threatened me.”
“And I’m supposed to believe that you never fucked her because…?”
“Because it’s true!” He grabs both my arms and the look in his eyes frightens me. “He threatened to have my uncle killed. He helped my uncle escape the country last year, a few months after we started dating. My Uncle Stewart was about to go to prison for fifteen years for securities fraud. Knox is the only one who knows where my uncle is. We get occasional encrypted video messages from him, but they’re all routed through Knox Security so they’re untraceable.”
He lets go of my arms and grabs my face so I can look him in the eye as he continues. “This is the guy you’re sleeping with. He’s fucking diabolical, Becky. You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”
My stomach twists at the thought of how August and I must look right now; his hands cradling my face at the foot of my bed. If Knox walked in at this moment, he’d probably kill us both.
“You have to leave. Now!”
I push him away and march toward the kitchen. He follows closely behind me. I grab the scarf and the box off the kitchen counter. Then I shove it into his gut.
Opening the front door wide, I sweep my hand toward the exit. “Thank you for the gift, August, but I can’t accept it. Please don’t come back unless you’re invited.”
He narrows his eyes at me as he passes over the threshold. “You’ve changed. The Becky I knew would never get involved in something like this.”
“That’s because I’m not the Becky you knew. I never was. I was pretending. I’m Rebecca. Rebecca Veneto. Goodbye, August.”
He reaches into the box and hands me the cat figurine. “Tell Lita I said hi.”
8
Lita is such a lightweight. She drinks maybe four times a year. At weddings or on New Year’s Eve she’ll have one glass of champagne and declare herself “warm.”
But guilt is a powerful emotion. I’m going to guilt Lita into having drink number two tonight. I need to know just how much she knows about Knox and August.
Knox’s vendetta looks very much like an impressionist painting viewed up close. I need Lita to fill in some of the missing details. Or help me take a step back so I can make some sense of it. If that’s possible.
I pick up Lita at her apartment in Chelsea then we head to The Park, a restaurant-slash-dance club featuring indoor trees and shrubs. After yesterday’s excursion to Central Park ended in a bad run-in with August, I figured I’d better cancel out that experience with a trip to a classic hangout.
Lita and I used to go to The Park almost every weekend before I met August. It will be nice to spend some time with my best friend in our old stomping ground. And Knox is busy tonight. Probably off planning something “diabolical.” I know his goons are watching me, but we’re just here for a drink. I’m not worried.
I pull Lita past the indoor trees that glow with twinkling lights. She protests as I drag her up the stairs, past a display of a dozen or so glowing lanterns. I’m taking her to the second floor bar and dance floor.
“I don’t want to dance tonight,” she pouts. “I’m hungry! I want some chicken wings.”
“We’ll get some chicken wings tomorrow. I’ll take you out to brunch for a hangover cure.”
“Oh, nuh-uh!” She shakes her head adamantly as I pull her through the dense Saturday-night crowd toward the bar. “You have lost your mind if you think you’re getting me drunk.”
“Please just have one drink with me?” I plead while trying to find a place to squeeze in at the bar.
“I’m going to the restroom. Stay right here. I’ll be right back.”
Lita wouldn’t ditch me, would she?
I turn back to the bar and try to squeeze into a tiny space between a young guy who’s wearing some yummy cologne and a blonde who’s using her assets to try to get the bartender’s attention. The guy scoots back a little so I can squeeze in next to him and I smile at him to acknowledge his kindness. He’s actually kind of hot. Or maybe it’s just really hot in here.
“I’ve been waiting here for thirty minutes,” he shouts a few inches away from my ear. “He’s finally getting our drinks. What are you drinking?”
I should decline. I don’t want to give this guy the wrong idea. There is no doubt in my mind that I belong to Knox. But how? As a fuck buddy? As a co-conspirator? Or is it something more? Is what we have … love?
We certainly haven’t made any verbal commitments to each other. There’s no harm in letting someone buy me a drink. Actually, there’s no harm in letting this guy buy Lita a drink. Once he sees Lita, he’ll be much more interested in her.
“Two Long Island Iced Teas,” I reply and he responds with a tiny nod. He’s got this.
The bartender returns with three beers — I’m assuming the other two are for his friends — and he spouts off my drink order.
“I’m Alex. What’s your name?” he asks, turning around.
He raises his hand to get his buddies’ attention. Across a writhing sea of dancers about ten bodies deep, two guys acknowledge his gesture and make their way toward us.
“My name is Lita!”
Alex and I turn toward the sound of Lita’s voice. Her lips are pursed and her head is cocked. She does not look pleased.
I hand her the drink. “Look what Alex bought you. Isn’t that so nice of him?” I turn to Alex and he’s mesmerized with Lita’s supermodel looks. “Alex, this is my friend Lita. She’s celebrating a promotion today and she needs a little encouragement. She doesn’t drink often.”
Alex smiles, revealing a mouthful of straight, white teeth. Perfect. Lita insists that guys with gnarly teeth always have bad breath and don’t know how to kiss. I nudge Alex’s shoulder to break his trance.
“Oh, yeah. Hi, Lita. Very nice to meet you.”
He offers Lita his hand to shake and she rolls her eyes. She squeezes in next to me at the bar so that I’m between her and Alex.
“I’m hungry.”
“I can get you something to eat,” Alex offers, shouting over me as if I don’t exist.
His two friends arrive and Lita and I are introduced to Hugo and Barry. Neither or these two are Lita’s type, but I would expect her to at least be friendly to Alex. After a few awkward moments of silence and ignored questions, Alex gives up on Lita and asks if I want to dance.
Lita hasn’t taken a sip of her drink yet. I don’t blame her really. This has got to be the strongest Long Island Iced Tea I’ve ever had. And I’ve had many. I only took two sips of mine before I abandoned it on the sticky bar.
“Sure,” I reply, then I turn to Lita. “Just one dance then we can go downstairs and eat, okay? Come on.”
“I’ll just wait here.” She winks at me as Alex and I set off. She knows she’s being a pain in the ass, but she’s happy she’ll be getting her way soon.
The thumping beat of the song rattles my chest. Soon, the music and the smell of sweat and Alex’s dance skills have me swaying and writhing along to the beat. I miss dancing. I’m not much of a club person. But dancing brings out a whole other side of me. That primal instinct embedded in my DNA; a part of me that once enjoyed dancing around a fire outside a cave.
Alex puts his hands on my hips and I press my back into his chest. Our bodies move together in time with the rhythm of the music. I slide down, shaking my butt as I go, then I slide back up. The guy dancing next to us smiles at me as he watches us grinding against each other.
Then suddenly I feel something prodding my backside. He has an erection. I spin away from him and that when I see Knox standing at the bar with Lita. Watching me.
Time stops as the club disintegrates. All I can hear is the frantic thrum of my heartbeat. All I can see are those blue eyes glaring at me from across the room.
Alex grabs my arm as I try to leave. “Sorry. You just got me a little hot.”
I shake his hand off me and head for the bar. Knox whispers something in Lita’s ear then heads for the stairs. I shove my way through the crowd, my body shaking with adrenaline. Lita looks worried as I approach her.
“What the fuck was that?” I shout at her. “Why did he leave? What did he tell you?”
“He just said to tell you he’d be outside.”
I race toward the stairs and through the various rooms until I finally land outside on the sidewalk on 10th Avenue. I glance up and down the street, then I see the black SUV. It’s parked in front of the pizzeria on the corner.
The driver steps out as I get closer, to open the door for me. I stare at the open car door nervous about what awaits me inside. I just have to remember to stand my ground. I did nothing wrong.
I take the driver’s hand and he helps me step up into the backseat of the SUV. Then he promptly closes the door behind me. Knox’s gaze roams over my body from head to toe. As though he’s trying to gauge whether I’ve been tainted by Alex’s touch.
“We were just dan—”
“Shh!” He turns toward the driver, who’s just pulling away from the curb. “Take us home.”
“I don’t want to go home! I want to talk about this.”
He glares at me, his chest heaving. Then he shakes his head as he turns his attention to the crowds on 10th Avenue.
“We’re not going to your apartment. We’re going to mine.”
9
The drive to Knox’s place is eerily quiet. I keep my eyes on him the whole ride there, but he only looks at me occasionally. I can’t decide if he looks disappointed or if he’s silently calculating his revenge inside that dark mind of his.
Finally, we reach his gorgeous pre-war townhouse with a white stone facade and enormous black front door. I would have expected something a bit darker for Knox. But this definitely suits him. It’s almost palatial. Fit for a king.
“Wait here,” Knox says, grabbing my wrist before I can reach for the door handle.
His skin on mine takes my breath away. It’s been less than two days since I last saw him. Yet it feels like this is the first time he’s touched me in weeks.
I nod and he lets go of my wrist as he exits the vehicle. The front door opens as he climbs the steps and he disappears inside. The door closes behind him and we wait, the driver and I, in silence.
When the door opens again, Knox’s jacket and tie are gone. He opens the car door for me and extends his hand to help me out. My stomach flutters at this simple gesture. Maybe he’s not upset with me or maybe he’s just buttering me up to punish me when we get inside. Either way, I’m thrilled with anticipation.
He closes the door behind me and leads me up the steps into his home. It’s as extravagant as I imagined it would be. This is a level of opulence he never would have achieved if he’d stayed in Bensonhurst doing small time gigs for my father.
The chandelier hanging from the twenty-foot ceiling is dazzling. The creamy white wallpaper with the barely noticeable taupe pinstripes. The custom woodwork, the curved staircase, and the dark furnishings all strike a perfect balance or glamor and permanence. Glitz and comfort.
“This is gorgeous.”
He gazes at the abstract painting above the mantle for a moment, then he turns to me. “Come with me.”
I follow him toward the staircase, but he passes right by it. He pushes a bookshelf on the wall beneath the stairs. A soft click sounds and the shelf hisses as is opens towards us. My mouth goes dry when I see another staircase that descends into total darkness.
He flips a switch on the wall and the wooden staircase is revealed to lead down to a well-lit corridor. “Are you afraid?”
I look up at him and there’s a slight twinkle in his eye. The possibility that I might be afraid pleases him.
I shake my head. “No.”
He smiles at this reply. “Good. Let’s keep going.”
We descend the stairs and head down the corridor until we reach the second to last room on the left. He pushes the door open a little and flips a light switch inside. Then he throws the door open all the way so I can see inside.
“If I had known you enjoy dancing so much, I would have brought you here sooner.”
The room is the size of a large bedroom. Plush loveseats line three walls. And in the center of the room are two stripper poles extending from the tile floor to the ceiling. The flashing lights bounce off the walls and the intermittently spaced mirrors.
“You want me to dance for you?” I ask.
He closes the door and nods to a door across the corridor. “You’re going to dance for me. But not yet. First, you need to be taught a lesson about freedom. It seems you didn’t learn this lesson the last time I tried to teach you.”
He opens the door and my jaw drops. In the center of the room is a glossy black table about two feet wide and six feet long. The table is topped with a white vinyl cushion. It looks almost like a fancy doctor’s examination table. But the items on the walls tell me Knox is not about to give me a medical exam.
Various chains, whips, ropes, and leather restraints hang from walls. The light glints off the chains and the buckles on the restraints. My entire body floods with a pulsating fear, making the lights dance in front of my eyes.
“Are you afraid now?”
I turn to him, grabbing his arm for support. That’s when I notice his sleeves are rolled up. He’s ready to go to work.
“I know you’d never hurt me.”
“Define hurt.” He flashes me that devious half-smile and my knees weaken. “Take off your clothes and lie down, Rebecca.”
He unzips the back of my dress in one swift motion and a gust of longing sweeps through me. I try not to let him see how my fingers tremble as I pull off my dress. But I know he can see it. He’s feeding off of it.