Page 10 of Lust

“I know.” I shrug, then stare at him for a minute, unflinching.

He finally looks away.

“What time should we leave tomorrow for your parents’ house?” I inhale the cranberry scent of the candle, breathing a deep, calming breath. Not thinking about the gun in my closet. Not wishing I had the guts to just use it on him.

“Whatever time I fucking feel like.” He turns and limps out of the room. He’s probably already too drunk to drive, but my give a shit wore out years ago. Let him get arrested. Let him crash and rid me of my misery. I only hope he doesn’t hurt someone else in the process.

I listen for the obnoxious growl of Brent’s truck starting up and hear it fade off down the street. The air around me seems suddenly warmer, full of oxygen. I inhale the scent of cranberries again. Time for a little self-care. Grabbing the candle, I make my way to the bathroom and turn on the tap in the bath, letting the water scald my hand as I test the temperature.

Ironic how the feeling of pain, when desired, can even be pleasurable, but when it comes from an abusive brute, it sears itself indelibly into one’s memory. I empty a half-full bag of lavender Epsom salts into the steaming water, inhaling the delicate smells that waft toward me on tendrils of steam.

Dinner will be a bar of chocolate while relaxing in a hot tub of bliss and reading my newest romance novel. My life may not be perfect, but who says I can’t enjoy myself every now and then?

Aaron

It’s past eleven in the evening when I finally set down a pile of bags and bundles on the counter in my suite and flip open a notepad.

To do:

1. Get cameras

2. Install cameras

3. Daily gifts for Ruby

4. Watch Ruby enjoy gifts

5. Enjoy watching Ruby enjoy gifts

The thought of it all makes me want to enjoy myself right now. My dick throbs. All I can think about is burying myself in her while gazing into her brilliant blue eyes, fucking her like that until she comes all over my cock, and then flipping her over and ravaging her senseless.

No. Focus. Save that energy for Ruby.

Gritting my teeth, I open my computer and scroll through the list of surveillance equipment we plan to test at Arrow, then pick up the phone.

“I need these tonight,” I tell my assistant. “Just get them to my hotel.” He’ll have to fly up from our San Diego office, but he’ll take the company jet.

I know I won’t be getting any sleep, so I don’t even try. Instead, it’s time to do some research. For years I’ve searched for Ruby Alvarado and found only the fact that she had signed with Canzonetta Records. A few years later, when she seemed poised for stardom, her burgeoning music career disappeared when Canzonetta went under. But their website simply ceased to exist with no explanation. And she disappeared, too.

Today, though, I search for Ruby Michelson and Canzonetta. And there it is: she testified in court. Against the owners.

According to the article, the brothers who founded Canzonetta, Riccardo and Patrizio Fioravante, lured young girls to the United States with promises of recording contracts, then trafficked them. And my queen helped bust up the whole damn thing at the expense of her career.

My teeth grate. During those years, I hadn’t search for Ruby. I’d been blissfully building a life for us, waiting to court her until I’d proven myself, completely unaware that she was about to vanish for fifteen years. Why wasn’t this situation all over the news? Sure, it was a small company, but still. Something about the way this story was so deeply buried raises questions I don’t know how to answer.

Fueled by a rage that fills my veins, I unpack my purchases and spread them across the black leather sectional sofa in the living area of my suite. The first thing I open is a large calendar. Two gray kittens playing with a ball of red yarn against a white backdrop form the tender holiday image on the December page. Great contrast to my fiery mood. I pull a Mont Blanc pen out of my briefcase and scroll through my phone for some good concentration music. Glenn Gould playing Bach. Perfect.

As harmony gradually returns to my blood, I write ‘Ruby earrings’ in the square for November twenty-ninth. Looks like Santa’s coming early this year! Then I skip all the way down to the twenty-fifth of December. I know what I have planned for that day, so I write it in, even though I haven’t found it yet.

By the time my assistant arrives with the equipment, lines and curves of careful cursive fill in the other squares on the calendar. Naughty gifts, nice gifts. Sweet gifts, spicy gifts. Gifts that make you want to sing and gifts that make you want to… do other things. All I know is, Ruby’s going to be smelling wonderful and feeling soft and looking tasty by the time my New Year’s Eve deadline rolls around.

I meet my assistant in the lobby, where he hands me a leather briefcase, gives a quick salute, then turns and vanishes back out into the night. He knows me far too well to ask any questions.

Without bothering to return to my room, I signal the valet to bring me my car. The route to Ruby’s house already feels as familiar as my favorite hoodie. I park a few doors down in front of a dark house. Brent’s truck is missing. Out with the boys, no doubt. Reminding myself that I still have to look him up on Arrow, I get out of the convertible, close the door silently, and walk slowly toward Ruby’s driveway.

Her SUV is only a few steps past the edge of the sidewalk. I can see the spot I’ll use for the tracker, an area on the frame of the car in the rear passenger side wheel well. One foot steps onto her driveway, then the other. I’m inches from her car when a light comes on in the driveway and I’m suddenly completely illuminated. Lunging for the SUV, I slap the tracker into the place, sprint back to the sidewalk, then walk casually toward my car, praying the light was simply on a motion sensor.

Just as I’m about to get back into my car, a noise behind me makes me freeze. Turning very slowly, I see through the branches of a thick crepe myrtle that Ruby’s porch light has come on. I crouch down and look between the lower branches of the tree. Ruby stands on her front porch, blonde hair gleaming in the yellow glow of the porch light. And she’s holding a gun.

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