I frown, a wisp of something flickering in my brain, like an erratic synapse that is firing out of order, catching my attention all the same. I reach for it, dig for it, but it is like the faded memory of a dream: gone. I move, back to the Crystal Palace, retracing the route, my finger sliding slowly across the glass, my mind open, waiting for that escaped wisp of thought. Street and city names float through my head as my fingers move, until my index finger comes to a slow, shuddering stop on Nathan’s house.
There. I feel it again. That wisp of thought. I still, trying not to pounce too aggressively on it, trying to let it wander into the light unafraid. Unease grows in me, the thought growing legs and arms and starting a hesitant crawl through my mind. I picture Nathan, stepping into the dimly lit dump that is the Palace. Rick’s excited announcement that I was wanted in VIP. Nathan walking into the Palace. My eyes flit from his house, over two healthy cities and one small town, over a hundred and fifty miles, and land on the Crystal Palace. Twenty miles on the other side of the small town. My eyes move in the opposite direction, calculating the cities and towns within that circumference from Nathan’s house. At least six. Containing at least ten strip clubs. Ten strip clubs that were closer than the rundown establishment that he, Drew, and Mark walked into.
So why the Palace? And why, five minutes after stepping foot inside, did he ask for me?
CHAPTER 14
Word: 6 letters
Clue: _______ and thank you
Confinement. It doesn’t necessarily require a limited space. Confinement can be a mind fuck of restraint, a person stopped in every direction of action until they stand still in a room, afraid to move. Confinement can do strange things to a person.
Maybe that is what caused the snap. Maybe it was the two of us, both in prisons of Nathan, both desperately wanting a way out, wanting the freedom that is being withheld. I know why I am captive, my father laying three defenseless hours away. But what holds Drew? Why does he stay? Why does he live in this house, follow Nathan’s rules, and assist in my prison?
Confinement can drive a sane person insane. I have seen a chink in Drew’s armor. He is human, he can err, and he can make mistakes. He made a mistake in touching me, in giving a drowning, lonely girl hope. Hope and an opening.
I stare out the window of the limo, my legs demurely crossed, like I have been taught, my hands clasping my crocodile clutch. I am trying to avoid looking forward to the front of the car, where I know Drew’s eyes will be. Watching me. The car rides have become a source of stress for me, constant worry present that Nathan will want to be serviced. Tonight, at least, I am safe. We have spent all evening with Raul, a foreign investor who Nathan is courting. I don’t know much except that Nathan has gone above and beyond with this man, our dinner stretching over three hours, the men already spending all day together at the casinos. They are drunk, their speech carrying a hint of slur, their ties loosened and spirits boisterous. Nathan sits back, and I suddenly feel his arm around my shoulders. I turn slightly to him, giving him what he wants, a loving smile, full of adoration. It is a smile I have perfected, and one he loves.
“Did you know that Raul wanted me to find him a whore?” He enunciates the words clearly, the slur masked by his precise pronunciation. I stiffen slightly under his arm, narrowing my eyes slightly at him as I blush appropriately, slapping his knee.
“Nathan!” I chastise him, shooting him a look that is properly offended.
“It’s true,” he murmurs, bending his head to plant a soft kiss on my neck. “But I told him there is no need to waste money on a whore. Not when my wife is such an excellent fuck.”
My world closes around his words, my eyes catching his, the look in his eyes unmistakable. I beg him with my own, my mouth moving, light-hearted words coming out. “What? Nathan — stop. You’re embarrassing me in front of our guest!”
We fight while smiling, his eyes demanding while mine beg. This is something I can’t do. Fucking me in front of the staff is one thing. Offering me to a stranger something else. He tilts his head, amusement mixing with the authority in his eyes. His mouth curls, a grin stretching over it before he speaks. “Come on, honey. Show him what an amazing blow job you give.”
I gasp, laughing a bit as I turn back to the window. “Next time, I’m cutting you off at the third tequila shot.” I pray for solace, for him to laugh and move on, silence coming from Raul’s side of the car.
“You’re being rude, Jenny. We’ve had a long night and he needs a release. Show him how an American woman can take a cock.” There is an edge to his words, a warning in them, and I close my eyes at his voice.
I can’t do it. I just can’t. Of everything I have sold at this point in time — my dignity, my life, my past — this is one step I cannot take. I can feel Drew’s eyes, piercing into me, pulling into my soul and judging me. I want to meet his eyes. I want to tell him that I will not do this; he doesn’t need to worry. I will refuse and leave this car untainted.
Then I feel the seat shift, feel my husband’s lips against my ear. “Do it, Candy. I’m not going to ask again. We have an arrangement, not a romance. Refuse and I will stop supporting your father.”
My father. Nathan, in this despicable situation, brings up my father, brings his clean soul into this dirty world. Nathan knows my weakness. Knows which button to push to bring me to my knees. In this situation, literally. I turn with a coy smile, facing Raul and moving to the floor, my hands reaching out and my smile widening, my eyes catching Drew’s, begging him to understand.
CHAPTER 15
I am a boat out on a deep blue ocean. Some days are calm, some days the sun comes out and I bask in it, lazily swaying from side to side in perfect harmony with the waves. But sometimes there is a storm, dark and mighty in its strength, and I list, side to side, the waves tossing me about in a sadistic show of their strength. Those times I worry about my structure, the walls and bolts that hold me together. I wonder if I am built strong enough, if I will survive this storm, if I am truly seaworthy. So far, I have weathered all of the storms, making it to the next sunny day. Today is a sunny day. But I can feel the storm. I can feel the waters churning, the breeze blowing, and I know. I know it’s only a question of when the next storm will come.
I am a boat out on a deep blue ocean. And there is no one for miles, no one to rescue me.
Diary entry — from the journal of Jennifer Kinsey-Dumont
My hand hesitates on the receiver. Making this call is a direct violation of The Agreement. The consequence: my father’s well-being, the destruction of this life, however fake it is. I close my eyes and breathe. Then I pick up the phone and dial the number.
“Crystal Palace.”
Rick was always a smirker. It was something I grew to despise — his smirk. He would smirk at us when delivering bad news, smirk at patrons who had drank too much and had gotten sloppy, and smirk as his hand would travel over our bodies like we were his personal property. I can hear his smirk through the phone, his casual greeting vibrating through the receiver.
I grip the plastic tightly, reminding myself that I am no longer Candance Tapers, the pawn of this man, dependent on him for floor placement and wages. “Hi Rick.”
There is silence in response. I can’t hear a smirk in the silence, but it is probably there. Probably twisting the skin on his fat face as he tries to place the voice.
“Candy?” His voice catches me off guard, the tone one I have never heard from him. It is shaky. Nervous. Scared.
“Yeah, Rick, it’s me. It’s been a long time.” Not that long. Only two months — two months that have changed me in ways that I’m not sure are good or bad. But his shakiness gives me strength, validates my reason for calling. I feel a swell of nostalgia at his voice, which is ridiculous, considering I spent the majority of my nights cursing the man’s existence.
“Candy, I … it’s good to hear your voice. I didn’t think I’d ever hear from you again.” I called him the day I signed the agreement, giving him my t
en-minute notice. He hadn’t asked any questions, hadn’t put any of the girls on, had cut the conversation short — with a brevity that had, outlandishly enough, hurt my feelings. I didn’t expect a gold watch or a tearful response, just enough time to complete a sentence without being cut off.
“I have to ask you something. It might be hard for you to remember, but the first time Nathan came into the club — ”
“I can’t talk about that, Candy.” His voice dropped to a whisper.
“What?”
“There’s nothing for me to tell you anyway. I don’t know anything about them — didn’t even know a name ‘til you just said it. I didn’t ask, and they didn’t tell. So I can’t help you anyway.”
I dig my fingers into the counter, holding a finger up to the receptionist, who looks pointedly at the clock.
“All I want to know is if he asked for me, or if you suggested me. That first visit … when you brought me into VIP.”
There is a shuffle of static and suddenly Rick’s whisper is loud, as if he is cupping his hand around the receiver. “Candy, they came here for you. They knew everything about you before they even walked in the door.”
Click.
Silence.
I look at the phone, and realize that he has hung up.
For more of Nathan and Candace’s story, look for the third installment of The Dumont Diaries:
TILL DEATH
Available August 24, 2013
He watches me — watches as my husband makes me submit, makes me do things that, even in their depravity, bring me pleasure. He knows what I like and how I like it. But while Nathan dominates my body, Drew is interested more in my soul.
I can only bend so far before I break. Drew is my crack, my weak point around which everything else splinters. Even as more secrets are unveiled and all of the signs point to danger, I roll farther into this world — into this highbrow life, into both of their beds.
But to what end? At this point, I don’t know what’s in more danger: my heart or my life. For these men, these two men who I am pushed and pulled between? They seem to be much more interested in my death than they ever were my life.
Alessandra Torre, To Hold
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