Dirty Ugly Toy (34 page)

“My company won’t be under the microscope. Stop worrying,” I tell her with a grumble.

She lets out a deep breath. “What if Jim, er, James gets mad at you for hitting him? Didn’t he say he was a politician? Someone like that could make your life hell. He could find a way to put you in prison.”

Her nose turns pink and she appears to be fighting back tears. A small quiver of her bottom lip tells me that she’s close though. It pleases me that she seems to care so much.

I scowl at her. “That asshole isn’t shit to me—all fucking bark and no bite.”

She winces at my words so I soften them.

I bring my hands up to cup her face. “Bunny, I’m not going to prison. I’m not ashamed of my company or afraid I’ll get hauled off to jail. However, I can understand your point about retiring. I am getting older and tired. But, I won’t let some asshole scare me into selling before I’m ready.”

Defeated, she nods. Her fingers raise to my cheek and she strokes me with them. It’s gentle and it soothes my bitter soul.

“Now,” I sigh, not wanting to tell her the next part. “I do want to keep from discussing it when my dad gets here.”

Her eyes widen and they dance with questions. Neither of us have opened up much about our families and this feels huge to me. Our relationship is evolving from a normal master and his toy situation. She’s becoming my solace. My friend. My lover. My confidant. My escape.

“I got a call on the way here. He had a heart attack. His doctor doesn’t want him living on his own. He’s getting old and she thinks he’d do better around family.” I swallow, hoping the wobble in my voice doesn’t give away my vulnerability.

Here, locked in my warm sanctuary, I feel free of my past, present and future. Down here, with her, things are on pause. A pause with her equals an eternity of happiness.

“I’m so excited to meet him,” she gushes with a genuine smile on her face that makes my chest puff a little in pride. “Do you think he’ll like me? I mean, does he know about your ‘toy’ fetish?”

“Dad will love you—that much I can guarantee. He’s never met a stranger, I don’t think,” I tell her with a hint of adoration for him in my voice. “But, listen Jess, he doesn’t know a lot about my life. I go to his house for Christmas every year and we meet out in LA anytime I have a meeting there. He stays busy with his rotary club and orchid society, but he’s never been here. My dad is one of those people who sees the good in everyone—even street trash like me.”

Her eyes widen in shock and I immediately realize my slip up. Before I can distract her, my curious Bunny, fires off more questions.

“Braxton Kennedy, you are the most refined, exquisite, over the top man I’ve ever met—certainly not street trash. That would be me, handsome. Were you one of those rags to riches stories? What about your mum? Where is she?”

At the mention of my mother, my world spins around me. The warmth I try so hard to blanket myself with is ripped away as chilling memories haunt me. My heart is still hollow, bitter, and aching from her loss.

I think of anything to drive away memories, especially of those at the end, and I imagine the sound of Corgy’s skull popping over and over again—each one overlapping the last until it sounds like popcorn exploding inside my head.

But I can’t get her out of my mind.

Mama’s sad, sick eyes gut me.

I blink and blink and blink to rid myself of it but it won’t fucking go away.

“M-M-Mr. Kennedy,” I cry into the phone. The card he gave me is wrinkly from my handling it so much and it is no longer the crisp and clean like him but instead dirty and dingy like me.

“Braxxy?! Jesus Christ! I came back from my meeting last month and you guys were gone. Where the hell are you now? I looked all over that damn city for you two!”

I’d remembered so well. Mama had dragged us out of his fancy apartment not even thirty minutes after he went to his meeting. She’d said Richard deserved better than her. I was sad for leaving his warm home and him, but deep down, I was glad Mama didn’t think
I
deserved more than her.

A choked sob escapes me and I fight for breath. I can’t do this. I can’t do this without her. “Mr. Kennedy . . .”

The line grows quiet on the other end and for a moment, I feel as though I’m all alone on this godforsaken planet. “Call me Richard. Where are you?”

“Chinatown in an apartment. They’re both . . .” I can’t say it.

“Shit!”

Neither of us speak but I can hear him slinging stuff around. Finally, after a few minutes, with us both trying to hide our tears from the other, he speaks again.

“Brax, I’m coming for you. I can get a flight out of LAX tonight and be there by morning. Can you stay put? Can you wait for me, son?”

My soul rejoices at hearing him assure me he’s headed my way. I feel so lost and the idea of him finding me is enough to keep going. “Yeah, I can do that.”

He asks for the address and after I locate it on an envelope on a stack of bills, I give it to him.

“Richard?” I question. “Will you hurry? There’s no food here and I’m hungry.”

His voice is full of emotion. “Mark my words, son. You will never go hungry again for as long as I live. You’re my boy now.”

I don’t want to hang up because his voice is comforting and strong. I want to latch onto it and never let go. I’d never known my “sonofabitch” father as my mom called him, but Richard was the closest thing to one I had ever experienced in my fourteen years of life. Even the old man down at the shelter who taught me how to read when I was younger hadn’t filled that role.

“I need to book a flight so I can leave,” he says reluctantly, his words mirroring my own.

I nod but the tears roll out because I don’t want him to leave me, yet I want him to come to me. My eyes skim over to my mother and her customer lying in his bed. Their bodies were cold and stiff when I touched them. Evidence of the cause of their death was strewn all around in the way of needles, baggies of rocks, and dirty spoons.

My mama was so sick.

And now she’s not sick anymore.

“Why’d she leave me?”

He sighs but his voice is firm. “Braxton, she couldn’t help herself. She was someone who’d gotten on the wrong path and couldn’t ever find her way back. People like your mother deserve more than the cards they were dealt. Sometimes they need someone strong and capable to show them the way. Your mother is free of her illness and addictions now. One day you’ll see her again, son—in another life where she’s pure and healthy. Don’t ever question her love for you. Because despite the problems she juggled daily in that foggy head of hers, one thing was always clear. Her love for you.”

His words calm me and I kneel beside her body. I press a kiss to her cold flesh and swallow. “I don’t want to be alone.”

“Braxton Kennedy,” he says in a firm, authoritative voice. I jerk to hearing my first name mixed with his last name. My mama said we didn’t have last names. Last names were for when you belonged to someone who took care of you and we took care of ourselves. “You will never be alone. You have my word, son.”

After we hang up, I find a blanket and drag it up over my naked mother. Crawling in next to her under it, I hug her stiffened body and kiss her on the forehead.

“Mama,” I whisper, my voice brave. “Richard is going to take care of me now. You don’t have to work ever again.”

“Braxton. Talk to me.” Sobs drag me from my memories and I’m thankful to see Bunny beneath me. Only she’s crying too. Not just tears rolling out but full on sobbing. In an instant, I inventory my surroundings.

Her legs are around my waist and her palms are on my cheeks cradling my face. I’m balls deep inside of her and don’t remember how I got here. I expect to see fear in her eyes. Hate. Something other than an emotion that steals my soul straight from my fucking body.

“Jessica,” I grunt and attempt to pull out of her, “Jesus, what the fuck?”

She lifts her head and kisses my lips in a reassuring way. Her body wriggles beneath me to urge me on. My heart skips a beat and my world is once again on pause.

With her.

Only with her.

I dive my tongue into her mouth and kiss her in a way I hope conveys how much she consumes me. With every thrust into her tight heat, I let her own me in a way nobody ever has.

“Shh,” she murmurs into my mouth. “I have you now.”

My desire for her increases tenfold at the sound of those words. Words I said to her all those weeks ago in my office, when I revealed my most cruel and sadistic side to her. When her body tightens around my cock, I grunt out my release. I’m not sure if she even got off but I’m so lost in her—her scent, her taste, her voice, her everything—that I don’t let it ruin the moment. She seems perfectly content stroking my back and kissing my lips as if her mouth has the power to heal me.

And right now, with my life on pause, she fixes every single goddamned part of me.

I don’t detach myself from her and instead just stare at her. Her now serene face is glistening with her tears and her pink nose is so fucking cute. How’d she bewitch me so easily?

“So, what happened between you and your mum?” she questions in a soft, sweet tone.

“I hate her.”

The venom I try to fuel my words with falls flat. Even I know that’s a lie.

She frowns, marring her perfect face. “For some reason, I have a hard time believing that.”

I shrug and pull out of her, rolling onto my back. She curls up beside me and gently fingers my chest.

“Tell me about her, Brax.”

A dark chuckle escapes me. “There’s nothing to tell. She was a drug addicted whore who could barely care for her son. Not much to say on the matter.”

Her sharp intake of breath steals more of my soul. She regards me with a look of confusion, the hurt written all over her face, ruining her pretty features. “Like me?” she asks with a slight quiver to her voice. “Do you hate me if I’m like her?”

I think of when Bunny first fell into my car. Her makeup was shitty. She was dirty as hell and stank. And she was practically crawling with diseases. I’d chosen her, just like I choose them all, because she was like my mother so long ago. But unlike back then, I now have control over my situation. Fixing those whores and breathing their life back into them, even if only for six months, is soothing to the shredded being within me. I can make things right for them like I couldn’t ever do with Mama.

But Jessica?

She’s so fucking different.

This woman started out just like the rest but then she wormed her way into my heart. I knew she was unlike the rest. Her life had taken a shitty turn but she was every bit as lost and vulnerable as I was when I was a kid. Every time she’s cold, I sense the pure devastation of the reminders of her homeless past. Each time she’s handed a meal by Christine, she appreciates it as if it might be her last. And every time we touch, she seems to drink in my praise and affections, much like a neglected child or puppy would.

Jessica reminds me of me.

We share the same sentiments. They link us together.

Sure, the other homeless whores, they had the same issues. But they all seemed to suffer from mental anguish like that of my mother. Even when I tried to fix them, I always knew they’d never remain pristine and restored—that they’d always revert back. It was in their DNA.

My Bunny’s a survivor though.

With each passing day, I can see her strength and resolve returning. The determined glint in her eyes to overcome her past overshadows everything she does. When I see Jessica, I’m looking in a mirror.

“Jessica Kennedy, I could never hate you,” I whisper and kiss the top of her head. “You actually scare the shit out of me because you’re the furthest thing from hate in my eyes, baby.”

Last names are for when you belong to someone who takes care of you.

I expect her to tense up or question my nonsensical talk. To argue about her last name being Rabbit or revealing her real last name. Instead, she snuggles up against me.

“I wish we could pause this moment,” she says, her soft breath tickling my chest.