Dirty Ugly Toy (32 page)

Her silence only makes things worse.

“Can he fly?” I ask finally.

“Yes, in another four or five days I can give him clearance,” she says, her voice much lighter. “This will be for the best. He’s a good man and he needs to be around his son.”

I nod and swallow. Despite wanting to shield him from my life, I know I’d do anything for him. Even if that means bringing him into my disappointing world—a world he created for me—a world I then molded to my own dark needs. If it weren’t for him, I’d be nothing.

“Then it’s done, Dr. Acker. I’ll be there by the end of the week.”

I
stare at the basket and dread fills my being. It wasn’t like I didn’t know he knew where I’d be but receiving the basket solidified that fact. Christine gushed when she answered the door earlier and brought it to me. Of course she’d assumed that it was from Brax. I knew better. Braxton didn’t even want to speak to me over the phone while in London, much less send me a gift. Besides, this gift screamed Jimmy from the second I laid eyes on it. A large, over the top basket, had been filled with Georgia peaches, jams, jellies, a cookbook, and even some peach flavored candies.

After Christine ran off to start some laundry, I opened the card.

Remember our conversation, little peach.

There was no signature but I didn’t need one to know it was him. It was a threat. A simple reminder that he would, in fact, be coming back for me eventually. I fan myself with the card and sigh. It wouldn’t be difficult to just leave. Christine stays busy with the housework while Cartier orders shit online all day in the salon. They don’t watch my every move
and I’ve been given the code to go outside.

Where will I go?

How will I get there?

I frown because I haven’t a penny to my name, no IDs, and no transportation. While Brax has been gone this week, I’ve been browsing on the computer looking for a place I could run off to and start a new life. Not the UK—I’m so over
that
life. And certainly not out east. Jimmy would find me in a heartbeat. I considered Nebraska or Kansas or some other semi-obscure state to get lost in. And until Jimmy’s gift arrived, I’d only been entertaining the idea of leaving.

Now, it’s becoming inevitable.

I fold the card in half and set it on the table. The scent of the peaches—Jimmy’s favorite—seems to saturate the air around me. My stomach churns and spasms. And yet . . . I’m still here. Staring at it.

My other option would be to ask Brax to release me, even if that means going unpaid. But something tells me he won’t let go of his precious toy that easily. I can only sit in his massive house, watching time tick by quickly, as I wait for the expiration date on my stay to come about. When it does, I’ll take the money and run. Hopefully, I’ll miss Jimmy before he tries to swoop in and collect me.

“You know,” Christine chirps as she reenters the room, “with Mr. Kennedy on his way back, I could take a few of those peaches he sent and make a cobbler.”

He’s coming back? Today?

The thought of eating cobbler with peaches that Jimmy, not Brax, sent sends me over the edge. I stand from the table and rush past her. “I’m allergic to peaches,” I lie breathily. “I’m going to be sick.”

I make it into the guest bathroom and head straight for the sink. Quickly, I splash cold water on my face and attempt to keep from throwing up. Lifting my eyes, I focus on the woman I am. The bruises Jimmy gave me last week are long gone. My eyes aren’t dull but instead a fierce, calculating jade color. White skin pales with each passing second as I stare at myself. I’ve thrown my hair into a messy bun that matches my sloppy look of yoga pants and a sweatshirt.

“Oh, Jessica, I’m so sorry,” Christine says from behind me. “I had no idea you were allergic. I’ll dispose of them and we’ll tell Mr. Kennedy I’ve put them away. I’m going to make some chicken noodle soup too since you’re a little green around the gills.”

I nod and absently wave my thanks to her. After she leaves, I remember Glenna’s pills from before and open the cabinet. My hands are shaky so when I retrieve them from between the two towels, they rattle.

These could certainly help wash the lingering thoughts of Jimmy away. But it would also cloud my mind and eventually they’d run out. I need to be clearheaded. If I have any hope of surviving this mess.

Carefully, I push them back where they belong and return to the mirror. The color has returned to my cheeks and I attempt a smile. It feels fake and unnatural on my lips. There was a time I could coast along and pretend—Jimmy taught me how to do that. But now? Now I don’t feel like pretending.

I don’t want to be Jimmy’s punching bag.

I don’t want to be Corgy’s fuck slave.

I don’t want to be Brax’s toy.

I just want to be Jessica. Grace’s mom. A woman with a chance to start over.

Tears spill down my cheeks at the mere thought of her. My heart clenches in my chest and I curse God for the millionth time for taking her from me.

“You know we’re not poor, Peach. I could have hired someone to paint the nursery. Besides, didn’t the doctor tell you not to be climbing any ladders?” Jimmy’s deceptively sweet voice questions from the doorway from behind me. His words, though warm, send icy fear trickling down my spine.

His chilling presence washes over me and I scramble off the ladder before he decides to help me. I never want his help. His help usually means a slap to the face or push into a wall. So on a ladder, his help could be dangerous. I’ve been walking on eggshells doing whatever I can to please him so he’ll lay off me. I’d just planned to leave him when I found out I was pregnant with his child. Now, I have to be more careful knowing there are two of us to protect instead of one and that means taking steps to save so I can slip away from him with our child.

“Oh, um, yeah. I just wanted to do it myself. You know it gets boring around here while you’re gone,” I tell him sweetly. And even though I love the color and the décor I’ve outfitted her room with, I know it’s only something to pass my time. When I imagine holding my angel, I don’t see it in this hell hole. I see it someplace safe—someplace far away from Jimmy and his sick head.

I drop the lilac-colored paint covered brush I’d been using to cut in around the ceiling into the pan and smile at him.

Today he seems to be in a fairly good mood. I hope he stays that way.

“You’ve really let yourself go with this pregnancy,” he says with furrowed brows as I tentatively make my way to him. “I hope you lose some of that fat from your ass once you push out our kid.”

His verbal remarks don’t sting. I’ve grown used to them. It’s the physical ones I hate.

“I can renew my gym membership,” I say and slide my hands up his chest. “They have a day care there.”

He stiffens when I kiss his lips.

“So all those assholes can eye fuck you while your ass jiggles on the treadmill? Fuck that, Peach. I’ll buy you whatever you need for the house.”

I swallow and nod. “Sure, babe. I’ll do whatever you want.”

His eyes darken and he flashes me a wicked grin—a grin that once upon a time I had fallen in love with. At that time, though, I never realized the evil that danced behind that smile.

“Well, I want you to drop to your knees and suck my cock. Daddy’s had a long day.”

I refrain from cringing and instead drop before him. Once I have his length in my mouth, I rub my belly.

Only a few more months of playing nice, baby girl, and then we’re out of here.

A long overdue and genuine smile tugs at my lips as I pleasure my bastard husband. Only a few more months . . .

The purple room upstairs is a constant reminder of her and it nauseates me. I’m half tempted to ask Brax if I can repaint it. I glance back at my reflection and it makes me cry harder. The woman looking back at me is scared and vulnerable. Pills from the cabinet beckon to me and I’m reminded of a similar situation when Trevor was in here with me.

Why is it that only the darkest and most evil men cross my path?

I splash more water on my face when my stomach flops again. My brain is a mess today and I can hardly cope with it, hence the upset stomach. With shaking hands I rub at my eyes. I’m tired of this life. For a long time, I’ve played a game for someone else. It’s high time I start playing for me.

Some things need to change right away. Using drugs as a crutch is one of them. With haste, I yank open the cabinet and retrieve the pills. I twist open the bottle and dump them into the toilet. As much as it scares me to handle life without them, it’s necessary. I toss the empty container in the trash and flush the toilet, watching with a smile as a part of my past is swept away. This time, when I look in the mirror, I can be proud of the woman staring back at me. I close my eyes and allow myself a moment to revel in the sensation.

Warm hands encircle my waist and for a moment, I think it’s Cartier. But
his
smell envelops me and I shiver. My heart speeds up to the much quicker pace it’s used to whenever he’s around.

Brax.

“Has anyone ever told you how amazing you are? I’d been waiting to see what you’d do with those pills. You passed my test.” I can sense the pride in his voice.

I reopen my eyes and am shocked to see the same, sad, exhausted look on his own face. For a moment, it makes me forget my problems and wonder about his.

“You’re back.” My voice is hoarse and quiet.

He buries his face into my hair and inhales. “I am. Jesus, I missed your smell.”

His words cause my belly to flutter with butterflies instead of rumble with sickness. Sometimes, this complicated man is just what my soul craves. I shudder and squash that thought immediately.

“How was London?”

He groans and pulls away. “Terrible. How was it here?”

“Terrible,” I mimic.

Turning in his arms, I notice he’s wearing one of his signature suits but the arrogance that usually paints his pretty face is lacking. We both stare at each other and inspect what we’ve missed. And we both have. Despite my attempts to ignore thoughts about how Brax makes me feel alive and happy, I know I can’t. Because he does make me happy—even when he’s being difficult and confusing. He’s only been here a few minutes and I’m already drunk on his essence.