Page 7 of The Associate

I am twenty-eight now. I can survive on my own, but my father still snatched me from our apartment, still makes me live with him, where he can keep me under his thumb.

I still work, much to my father’s disgust. I don’thaveto work, but I’m not about to take any of his dirty money, so I still have my part-time job at Gravel and Grit, the dive bar on the outskirts of town. It’s usually full of frat boys, girls just wanting to get laid and the occasional day drunk that continues drinking into the night.

There’s one thing, though: my father’s second-in-command shows up at that bar on occasion, so I try to avoid working late nights. It’s not that I don’t want to be around him; I just don’t want him to figure out who I am. At least not yet.

When I am not there working, I am at college studying or cooped up in my room because my father doesn’t trust the men he lives with. Sometimes I wonder if my own father doesn’t want to look at me because he always tells me that I remind him of Mum and I have a feeling that he resents her for leaving.

He controls all aspects of my life. He hates that I work because he can’t keep an eye on me, but he also doesn’t trust his men to keep an eye on me either. He’s scared away all of my friends so that he can have more control over me. The one friend I do have is an old drunk at the bar. Gary is a sweet old man and is usually there when I arrive at work. He always starts drinking early in the day, as soon as the bar opens at noon. His excuse is, “It’s five o’clock somewhere,” while downing one beer with another full one in his hand.

A soft bark sounds from my room. After I dry my hair and wrap a towel around myself, I open the ensuite door to my room. “It’s okay girl, I’ll let you out in a moment.” For a doberman, Mia panics a lot when I’m not near her. She never leaves my side and the only time I lock her in the crate is when I am out of the mansion or in the shower. The rest of the time she is with me, at the foot of my bed or on the floor next to my desk while I study. She is as calming for me as I am for her. And God knows I need to stay calm while I am locked up in this room.

Mia is also the last thing I have left of my mother. She was given to me as a twenty-third birthday present; my mother told me that she wants me to be protected at all times.

I walk over to my closet and pull out a black, pleated skirt with a low-cut, white tank top. I add a leather bomber jacket and my black Timberland heels. The less clothing you wore at the bar, the better the tips were.

I release Mia from her crate, and she launches herself onto my bed, her head tilted, looking at me.

“Oh, come on girl.” I rub the top of her head. “You know better than anyone that I can’t be cooped up in this house twenty-four-seven.”

She huffs out a breath of air and puts her head down on her paws. “Yeah, I know, girl. We will get out of here one day. It’s only a matter of when.”

I pull my hair back into a messy pony before grabbing my helmet off my desk. It’s two in the afternoon and my shift starts at three. I am always early to work.

Mum taught me that, if you want to get ahead in life, you have to make your own path, and working at the bar is only the start of my plan. The next step is to get closer to Mason, my father’s second. The only way I am going to be free of Sal is to take him out myself, but I need help; I need someone close to him.

I place my hand on the door handle to my room, listening for any steps in the hall. Everyone is usually out of the mansion or in meetings when I leave for work, but Frederick, my father’s butler, has a special exit for me, close enough to my room that I can sneak out without anyone detecting me. It’s a short passage and it leads directly to my personal garage.

Glancing back at Mia, I point down to her crate. She licks her lips and huffs at me before jumping off the bed and sitting in her crate.

“Just make sure you finish the job.” It’s my father’s voice, calling out to someone. I quickly secure the door to Mia’s crate. “I don’t need that piece of shit still walking around this town.” A door slams.

The clicking of dress shoes hitting the tiled floor moving past my door has me frozen in place. I wait for it to pass, taking deep breaths to calm myself and stop my heart from beating out of my chest. Some of the men in this place scare the shit out of me and I don’t want to open the door to anything bad.

As the sound moves further away, I crack open my door slightly to see who it is. The slight squeak of the hinges causes him to turn around and, for a moment, it feels like he’s staring right at me. I am hidden in the shadows of the room, so I’m ninety percent sure he can’t see me. He blinks slowly and a threatening smile crosses his features.

Mason Hawthorne, my childhood crush and now an assassin for my father. Is he still the kind and caring boy that I grew up with?

I know by the yelling echoing down the hallway that my father is unhappy, but why would he be unhappy with Mason? I’m certain that he is the golden boy, the son my father never had, and that he does everything he is told to.

I have never heard my father yell this much before. Even though his mental state has been on the decline before, I am certain it is diminishing at a more rapid rate. He has even called me Marie a few times when he’s come to talk to me.

He doesn’t come into my room often anymore.

My bedroom is on the first level, which is the same level as my father’s office and sits adjacent to his bedroom. I hate that I am so close to him; this mansion is big enough for him to give me my own wing. He claims he just wants to keep an eye on me and make sure no one here tries to hurt me, but I know he just wants to control me.

I wait for the footsteps to fade away before quickly leaving my room and running to the access door only used by the staff. The staff do all they can to make it more appealing to walk through all the time but it still has that damp feeling to it.

I nod at the cleaners and cooks as I head towards the garage. They are all preparing for dinner, but I am never allowed to eat with anyone else, even my father. His rules are never to be seen around the house, which is also why, if I want to go anywhere, I have to sneak out. The bonus is that I’m not recognisable to anyone else in the mansion. The staff just knows me as Viv and none of the men in this house know I am even here.

That is how I like it.

I only have two vehicles in my garage. My Ducati and my Corvette Stingray. Daddy dearest never skimps on the cost of the vehicles. The Ducati sits over in the back corner. I have a Phantom Purple vinyl wrap on it with matte black accents.

Sliding my helmet onto my head, I walk over to the bike. Grabbing my riding gloves off the seat, I slide them on my hands before throwing my leg over the bike and putting up the kickstand. I flick the kill switch and hit the ignition. The bike roars to life. I press the button on my keys that lifts the garage door. I know the gates to the mansion will be open already, so I hit the accelerator, speeding down the driveway and out of the gates.

Sitting on top of the steel horse is a feeling of its own. Two-hundred-and-forty horsepower between my legs.

With the speed that I am travelling, it doesn’t take me long to get to the bar. There is something about racing through the streets, weaving in and out of traffic on my bike, that gives me a sense of freedom.

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