Page 22 of Stone Rules

I look up from the food to see the eyes of a man who is being more than just chivalrous. More than just kind. These are the eyes of a determined man. A man with a mission.

And for the first time, I pray to God that mission is me.

Chapter Ten

I sit on my couch, arms crossed, staring at the folder on my coffee table while deliberating what to do with the information inside.

I reach out and flip the cover open. The paper on top of the pile is Peter Elliot’s. Karma took care of that piece of shit. I move his paper to the bottom of the pile.

I peruse the information of the three celebrities, my skin crawling as I recall what each of them did to me. There’s no way I could get close enough to them. But I could hit them where it would hurt the most—their livelihood. I wonder what reports of molestation would do to their lucrative careers. Surely I could get a reputable news magazine to listen to me considering who my mother was.

I decide to give it more thought. I would be putting myself in the spotlight and even if it means I’d accomplish my goal, I’m just not sure it’s worth it.

I flip to the last page in the folder. My eyes burn with fury as I read the name. Milo McClintock. I had to contain my emotions and control my rage when Ethan uttered the scumbag’s name at the restaurant.

I look at the last known address on the paper. The place Ethan warned me against. I enter it into my phone and map it out, getting a sick feeling when I see just how right Ethan was. Maybe this isn’t a good idea after all. Maybe I should just stick to the ones who aren’t so dangerous. Actors, producers, screenwriters—they are all perverts, but probably not as lethal as a drug dealer.

I lean over the couch cushion next to me and slip my hand between the cushion and the arm, retrieving my mother’s journal. I flip through it until I find what I’m looking for.

February 21, 2008

If I had known mothering was such a thankless job, I never would have agreed to do it. All I ever hear from her is what she wants to do, which is mostly hang out with those Mitchell people who own some dive diner over on Main Street.

Do you think for one minute she even considers how hard I had to work to make this life for us? Not that George helps. Hell, they even made me pay him alimony after the divorce. In what world is that fair? I starred in those movies. I supported this family while all he ever did was write crappy screenplay after crappy screenplay hoping my celebrity status would get him noticed.

Not that Charlie ever realized he was dead weight. She still thinks he will come back one day. Come back for her. Sometimes I wish he would. It would get her out of my hair for sure. But he’s never coming back. Not if he knows what’s good for him. His empty threats bored me to tears and his cowardice was laughable. That man wouldn’t know how to party if a party hit him in the balls.

Milo—he knows how to party. And he says he’ll make sure it’s worth my while if I let him party with Charlie.

I can’t wait to find out what he can get for me.

I put down the journal, trying, but failing at my attempts to not think of that awful night.

“This is Clint,” Mom says, indicating the man standing behind her in my bedroom doorway.

My stomach rolls. There is only one reason Mom brings men into my room.

“Please, Mom,” I start to protest, but she raises her hand to me, making me flinch and sink back into my bed. I should know better. I’ll probably get a fresh burn for that later, or maybe a bruise. Depends on her mood. When she is high, she tends to favor cigarettes as her form of punishment. When she’s drunk – her fists.

She leans down and whispers to me. “Listen up, Charlie. Do whatever Clint says or you’ll be out on your ass faster than you can call your little Pied Piper friend. And if you think her parents will take you in, think again; they have three kids of their own and a struggling business. Your father left because of you. Just remember you are lucky you still have me to take care of you.”

When she stands up straight, a trickle of blood escapes her nose and she pulls a blood-stained tissue from her pocket to wipe it. I’m young, but I’m not stupid. I know exactly what that means. And I’d be willing to bet Clint is helping her get it.

“I’ll just leave you two alone then,” she says, shooting Clint a look. “Just be quick about it, I need you.”

She shuts my door and before my newest nightmare begins, I hear loud music blasting from the living room.

She always plays loud music whenever she leaves them with me. Maybe that’s why I rarely listen to it myself. Books, that’s my escape. Mysteries, sci-fi, action-adventure—those are what I seek when I need to turn off my reality.

“You are a pretty one, aren’t you?” he says, taking a seat next to me on the bed.

They never sit on my bed. The chair across the room is where they always sit. My pulse shoots sky high and I think I might pass out when he reaches for me. I instinctively pull away and scoot back, hoping the wall will swallow me whole and protect me from this sick bastard.

He waves a scolding finger at me. “You wouldn’t want me to tell your mom you didn’t cooperate, would you?”

I turn my head away from him and stare at the wall, hoping the mural will protect me from him as it has all the others, but knowing this time it won’t, because this time is different.

Unable to control the storm of resentment and the explosion of hatred I feel at the thought of him, I tuck my hair under a ball cap and add two layers of sweatshirts over my t-shirt, knowing a bulky coat will only get in my way. Then I head out the door, vengeance and wrath driving my actions.

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