Dirty Ugly Toy (31 page)

I flip on the light and take in the sight before me. The idiot lies naked and sprawled out in the middle of the bed. A plump whore—probably one he’s captured judging from the red, raw markings on her wrists and ankles—is curled up on the foot of the bed, a needle hanging out of her arm.

Rage explodes inside of me.

The whore with her nearly black hair practically worshipping the man before her sickens me. And even though she looks nothing like my mother, I’m assaulted by the memories of my childhood. This was the scene every fucking day until she died and freed me from her selfish clutches. Every single day from as early on as I could remember until almost fifteen years of age, I had been following around the woman who was supposed to love me.

This woman doesn’t deserve rehabilitation. My mother never got it. Instead, my mother died in the only world I knew her from.

“The girl?” Dubois whispers from beside me, startling me from thoughts of my mother.

“Yeah, take her to a facility. Give them the money—I don’t care what it costs. Come back and get me when you’re finished,” I hiss and take the tire iron away from him. “I can handle this dickhead on my own.”

With a quick nod, Dubois makes it over to the whore and gently removes the needle from her arm. He might seem wiry and gentlemanlike to most, but I’ve seen this fucker fight on numerous occasions. Dubois possess probably as much strength as me. He doesn’t have the rage though that fuels my fists but he’s a tougher one than many. So, very easily, he scoops the heavy woman into his arms as if she weighs nothing. Once he’s gone, I turn back to the man responsible for ruining a normal woman. For turning her into a toy—my toy. She didn’t deserve this life but once again the men in the world took what wasn’t theirs. Like my real father did with Mom the moment he left her and her infant son without a dime.

I tap the end of the tire iron into my open palm as I make my way to the side of the bed. A bowl full of half-eaten noodles wafts its salty scent over me causing my stomach to roil in disgust. As a child, I wouldn’t have thought twice about eating that shit. When my mom would be busy with her johns who would allow her into their living space, I’d sneak out and raid their pantries. Most times, the idiots were nearly as poor as us and I’d end up eating an old slice of pizza from the counter or something stinky and questionable from the refrigerator.

But now that I’m filthy fucking rich?

I eat whatever I goddamn please. Including assholes like this for lunch.

“Wake up, Corgy,” I spit out in a hate-filled voice.

He stirs and slowly blinks his eyes open. Confusion sets in but he’s still somewhat high from the heroin I’m sure he shared with the whore. “W-Who the hell are you? Where’s Darlene?”

I sneer at him. “I’m your worst fucking nightmare, asshole. And this,” I say as I sling the tire iron and connect with his front teeth, sending several flying out all over the dirty pillows, “is for Jessica.”

He grunts, blood pouring from his mouth, and clumsily scrambles to get away.

But I’m quicker.

I’m always quicker.

I crack the metal down onto his spine and he rolls off the bed with a thud onto the hard floor. Not breaking my furious stride, I storm over to the other side to see him on all fours spitting out blood.

“And this,” I slam the weapon over the back of his skull, “is for my mother.”

The popping sound is his head cracking open. Blood soon pools quickly around his crumpled body and I smile. I’ve never been so satisfied in my life. In one quick moment, I feel like I’ve avenged the only two women I’ve ever cared about.

The realization hits, crashing on top of me like an imploding building.

I care about Jessica.

A fucking lot.

Toy or not, she’s burrowed her way inside of my black, rotten heart, and planted a tiny seed that’s beginning to grow.

The man is nice to Mama. They still do her work stuff in his bedroom but he also cooks us hot meals and he lets me watch movies on his big television in the front room. We’ve been staying here for over a week in his apartment while Mama works, and I’m starting to like it here. It’s warm and comfortable. He even gave me a big, soft blanket to cuddle up in and always smiles at me as if I’m a welcomed guest.

“Goodbye, Richard,” Mama hisses as she stomps out of his bedroom.

He’s not far behind her, buttoning his fancy white shirt along the way. Richard isn’t gross and dirty like the other men. He told me he doesn’t normally live in New York—that he’s on business from Los Angeles.

“Please, Vicky, come back with me. I could make you and Braxton so happy.” His voice is wobbly and sad. It makes me feel sick inside.

She turns and glares at him. “Did you forget? I’m a whore? I don’t exactly fit in with your socialite friends.”

He grabs her wrist and tugs her to him. “I don’t have socialite friends, baby. I may work in LA but I’m not some rich snob like you think I am. I’m a normal guy who cares about a normal girl and her normal teenage kid.”

The hug he pulls her into is gentle and it squeezes my heart. I’m no longer interested in the television but am instead fixated on the way Richard strokes my mom’s hair like she’s his pet. I like it more than I’d ever admit out loud. She seems so relaxed in his arms. I want him to pet her forever.

“I don’t know,” Mama chokes out. “What if you grow tired of us? I can’t handle what it would do to Braxxy. He’s so naïve and young for his age. It would crush him.”

I swallow and worry that I’m the reason Richard won’t want us. I’ve tried to stay out of their hair and not bother them. I’m well-behaved compared to most fourteen-year-old boys, I’m sure.

Richard slips his hands to Mama’s cheeks and tilts her head up like in the movies to kiss her on the mouth. I should look away but I’m captivated by the emotion that’s thick in the room.

He wants her.

He wants both of us.

I swallow the thick ball of excitement.

Could we really move with Richard across the United States to Los Angeles? Would I have a bedroom? Would he buy me stuff like socks? Would he cook for us every night?

Richard breaks his kiss and stares down at her. “Baby, let me show you. There’s a great rehab facility and—”

Mama pushes him away from her abruptly. The sadness on his face guts me. I feel as though I’m watching a wreck through a window and there’s no way to stop it.

“I’m not one of your projects, Richard! You can’t just clean me up and fix me! I’m not fixable!”

She starts stuffing her belongings into her purse as she cries real tears—tears Mama never lets fall. It scares the crap out of me because I have no clue what’s going on.

Richard strides over to her and pulls her back to him. “Jesus, woman. Stop being so crazy. I don’t want to make you do anything you don’t want to do. I. Just. Want. You.”

Once again she melts into his arms and this time he pulls her back into his room. I watch the television but listen to them. Normally, when she works, she moans and says stuff like, “harder!” or “faster!” or anything to that degree but always with the same, flat, bored tone.

But now . . .

Now, she cries out his name over and over as if it’s a chant.

Richard. Oh, God. Richard. Oh, God. Richard.

And her name is on his lips too.

Vicky. I need you. Vicky. Come back with me.

About an hour later, Richard emerges with a happy smile on his face. He’s dressed in his suit and tie making him look the handsomest of any man she’s ever been with. I want to be just like Richard when I’m older. He strides over to me and ruffles my hair.

“I’m going to make a home with you and your mother,” he vows in a serious tone that I believe. “You’re a good kid, Brax. You take care of her like nobody else can. It’s time for me to take care of the both of you. I promise, life will get better from here on out.”

I nod, my own tears of joy welling in my eyes.

“Your mom is a tough cookie and doesn’t like handouts. It’ll be hell convincing her that I love her but I’ll do what it takes. She’s different—good different—and I’m going to help her get well. She’ll never have to work another day in her life.”

My heart soars at his words. Mama’s always sick and works way too hard.

“Here,” he says and hands me a card, “look after her today while I go to my meeting. It shouldn’t last more than a couple of hours. When I come back, be prepared to fly across the country. I’m looking forward to this, kiddo.”

He winks at me as he walks away.

I stare down at the crisp card. His name, Richard J. Kennedy, is neatly typed on the front along with his LA address and phone number. The extension sticks out to me. 1982.

“Wait!”

He stops and turns to find me charging for him. I hug him and inhale his scent. His smell is clean and what a successful man should smell like. I like his scent. And even though I’ve been using his shower and soap for the past week and a half, it doesn’t smell the way it does on him.

“Thank you, Richard. Mama deserves a better life than this.”

He pets my hair like he did Mama’s and tears well in my eyes. I wish he would pet me forever too.

“Well, son, I think you’re only partially correct there. You both deserve a better life than this. I promise you, things will get better. I’m going to make sure of it.”

I stare out the window of the plane, deep in my thoughts. The trip back to Seattle is a long one and I’m craving to see Bunny again. I’d called Cartier a couple of times to check on her during the week we were gone and he said she was fine. It took everything in me not to have him put her on the phone but I knew better. If he had, I’d have jumped the plane a lot sooner which simply wasn’t an option. I had shit to deal with, including fucking up Corgy, and I didn’t need her interrupting that.

The popping of his skull was on repeat in my head. It soothes me when the anger comes. It reminds me that people like my mother and Bunny are meant to be protected from the assholes of the world.

I drift off for the rest of the trip until we’re taxiing on the runway back in Washington. I’m rubbing the sleep from my eyes as I tug my phone from my breast pocket to check and see if I’ve missed anything.

Twelve missed calls.

Los Angeles area code.

Shit!

I dial the number back and a woman answers the phone. “Mr. Kennedy?”

“Yes. Who the hell are you? Is my dad okay?” The choked sound of my voice startles me.

She sighs sadly on the other line causing my belly to drop. Not him too. Please, God, no. “My name is Dr. Acker. And actually, he’s not okay . . .”

I clench my eyes shut and run my fingers through my hair. “Is he dead?”

A rush of shocked breath crackles the line on the other end. “Heavens no. Thank goodness. Your father suffered a small heart attack last night. I’ve been trying to get ahold of you. He’s okay but he’ll need to be under constant care.”

“I’ll have it set up. He’ll have the finest nurses at his side.” I mean every word. That man won’t struggle one bit if I have anything to do with it.

The line goes quiet. “Actually, Mr. Kennedy, I think it would be best if he could come stay with you for a bit. You know he doesn’t have any other family. You’re his only son and it seems like he’d heal faster if he were around you.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. My father has been my entire world since I was fourteen years old. If it weren’t for him, I would not have received a proper education or been groomed to become the businessman I am today. I owe him everything.

But can I let my dad into my world?

Let him near the filth that still infects my mind to this day?

He’d feel like a failure.

He would be disappointed in me.

A wave of nausea clenches my stomach into a fist. “I could come visit him for a week or two.”

She exhales loudly in frustration. “Mr. Kennedy, do you love your father?”

Tears sting my tired eyes and I bite my fist to keep from crying. “Of course I do. What sort of stupid goddamned question is that?”