Forever Distraction (Distraction #3) (8 page)

Righting myself
, I scanned the room until I spotted Smith Two. “Will you see me to my room?” I asked as I moved down the hall like I had a rocket attached to my ass. Smith Two confidently moved to the chocolate chaise lounge chair next to my bed and took a seat. “Do you mind sleeping in here?” He lifted his head sharply, I slumped into my bed and pull the covers up. I stared at him in the moonlight; he had edgy features, but something happened when he relaxed…he looked
vulnerable
. There was something so familiar about him, and I realized he reminded me of Jason. The depth in his gray eyes told me he carried pain.

“Where is Smith?” I
was surprised to hear my own voice, but the silence between us was daunting, and I liked Smith Two’s husky toned voice, because again, it reminded me of Jason.

“He went home a couple days ago. He’ll be back tomorrow. Marcus,” I raised my brows in question
, and he clarified, “the other,
other
Smith, he’s sleeping. We watch you in shifts.” The corner of his mouth tipped up in a gentle way when he finished.

“Oh.” I gave him a kind smile back. “I
’m glad you’re here.” He simply nodded his buzzed head once in understanding, and I closed my eyes.

****

Another team of people were there in the morning when I was awakened. I dragged my feet to the shower and was mauled when I got out. I wondered briefly about the lady who was in charge of putting my stockings on.
What an awful job.
I closed my eyes, letting them prepare me for my day. Today, I sported a grey pencil skirt with a black silk blouse. They could have been actual colors, but all I saw was black, white, and varying colors of gray, just like my mood.

Tommy was in the dining room sitting at the large
rectangular table. He appeared lonely, like he had been waiting for hours…days…years even. I glanced around the gray walls of the room, checking out the nearest exits. I found Smith Two standing military style right next to the closest one, with a huge, knowing smile.
What an ass
.

“
Your main bodyguard is going to meet you there, so I expect you to be good this morning,” Tommy proclaimed. I shuddered at the repulsive way he tried to control me.
Could I blame him?
He saw me as a thing, and not a warm-blooded, thinking human. “Bryant  wants you to go to work with him today. So I made sure you were ready. Let me look at you.” The whole conversation seemed very awkward, and who says ‘let me look at you’?

I closed my eyes as a cold chill filled me all the way to my core. His
father said it on many occasions, and I felt instantly nauseated. I stood completely still as he walked around my body, inspecting me like I was for sale. I had to remind myself this was little Tommy, not his father. I opened my eyes slowly when I felt his body lean into mine, and took a large step back. “Tommy, I am not going to marry you,” I reminded him as I glanced at Smith Two, silently asking him to save me.

“
Okay, pretty thing.” He paused for longer than a reasonable time, but I refused to look at him. I didn’t give a shit if he thought I was weak and needed to be controlled. It was important for him to know when the fantasy stopped. “I’ll take you to work then.” His voice was short and sharp, his movements quick. The rush of air around me gave me shivers. “I had the cook make you breakfast, but I’ll have her make it to go.” He removed himself from the room and I could suddenly breathe again; oxygen never felt so good. The team of women appeared again out of nowhere, and I was dressed like a doll prepared for the cold outside climate.

When
Tommy reentered the room, I was once again suffocating. He grabbed my hand and offered me a kind smile, so I took it. He didn’t appear to be mad anymore, and it eased my growing anxiety. He showed me out of the penthouse down to his car, but the Smiths moved in behind him, not allowing me to get into the two-seated sports car. It made me laugh. The constant battle over control was amusing, like tug-o-war without the physical pulling. Without words, Smith Three guided me to another waiting car that was black or dark gray; I couldn’t really tell.

I got in
, but not before I heard Tommy threatening both Smiths that they would very soon lose their jobs. I watched as Tommy’s face contorted into his demon father’s, and then he used his index finger to poke Smith Three in the chest, something even I wouldn’t do. Smith Three was as tall as Tommy, but all thick muscle, and he always appeared ready to fight. His black, baldhead shined brightly from the lights in the garage; it was almost blinding. His smug grin dared Tommy to bring it. Tommy finished his tirade and straightened his cuff links on his jacket before hopping into his Porsche and blasting out of the parking lot.
What, no goodbye?
I smiled to myself at my joke, when I heard my phone go off in my tiny purse.

Tommy:
Goodbye, I’ll see you for dinner. I already have reservations.

I glanced at my phone
, freaking amazed he had my number. I blinked as the car started to move and my cell chimed again.

Tommy:
Text me back, Kat. I need to know you got it.

I stared at the phone
for a long moment before glancing over at Smith Two. His calm demeanor helped me relax, and I leaned further into the seat. My phone chimed again and I scanned it, noticing other texts from Heather, Brian, and one from a number I hadn’t memorized yet. Out of pure curiosity, I opened it up.

Unknown number:
I have proof your father’s a murderer.

I
lacked the ability to care about my father’s drama, whatever it was, good or bad. The next text caught my attention, interest piqued.

Unknown number:
I know what he did to you. I have video of the fucker.

I
considered the text for a moment before I replied.

Katarina:
Who is this? Why do you care?

I pressed send
, and the response was immediate. My phone kept ringing throughout my texting and I silenced it, growing increasingly frustrated with Tommy.

Unknown number:
Meet me at the coffee shop by the Slater building.

I waited for more
, but that was it. I was hesitant about what I was doing. What if it was a set up? What if someone was cornering me? I peeked over at my thick-muscled bodyguard and laughed. It brought a nice smile to my face. I welcomed the challenge; besides, Smith Two looked a little bored.
What the heck…I could use a little exercise.
I texted back.

Katarina:
Now?

And again
, the response was instant.

Unknown caller:
I am already waiting.

Jason

I slept downstairs on an air mattress
. It was the only way I could get any sleep at all. She was never in that room, so nothing reminded me of her. I was a zombie for the next few days, working as much as I could, sending my dad home early and staying at work longer than I normally did. I went to the gym and then home to sleep; that was my new routine. I avoided home at all cost, knowing it was a constant reminder of what used to be a happy place, now felt more like solitary confinement. Thursday, I got a call from Alex; he wanted to meet me for drinks.

I showed up at
the sports bar and ordered a beer. He was there before the waitress brought my drink. He sat next to me and ordered something stronger, and I felt my mouth water just from hearing his drink order. “Make that two.” I grunted, and it came out unintelligible, but the waitress scribbled something down and vanished.

Alex leaned
back on his stool and eyed me suspiciously. I took a long pull from my beer, attempting to smother the flame of anger starting to spread. “I haven’t seen you in a while. How’s everything?” His continual accusatory stare made me feel like I was being interrogated.

“What did you want to talk about
, Alex?”

He broke out in a
loud, booming laugh. I studied him, and for whatever reason, his laugh made me laugh. “Cut to the
fucking
chase, huh? I actually miss my friend. Remember when we used to hang out every night, have a drink, laugh? Shit, we even shared women. I fucking saved your ass a couple weeks ago, and now, because you’re going through some sort of an ugly phase in your life, you’re going to treat me like shit? Well, fuck you back.”

The waitress brought our drinks
, and I watched Alex swallow some of his as I picked up mine just to smell it. He began talking while I savored the smell of my whiskey. “Someone came to the club asking about you.” He set his drink down and took on his uncomfortable, judgey stare. I stared at him over the glass I was currently
not
drinking from. “They were curious about Katie as well. He was a goon, definitely hired by someone. I didn’t talk, but he was offering a lot of money for anyone willing to give him any information. I was just giving you a heads up. People were talking about what Bettina did to Katie and your reaction for weeks. Were you aware that the information about Bettina drugging her got out?” He took another long drink and finished with a drawn-out inhale, savoring the flavor. I watched him and my mouth started to drool, but I covered my envy by tipping my beer bottle and swigging the fizzy drink.

“Thanks for the news, but Kat
arina’s gone, and I don’t give a shit about Bettina,” I declared. He picked up my cocktail glass filled with the whiskey and began drinking it right in front of me.
Asshole.
My eyes followed the amber liquid quickly disappearing from the short glass to his mouth, and I licked my lips and then looked away. We moved to a table and ordered hamburgers. Alex began with his storytelling, and soon I was laughing. He told me in so many words that I looked like hell, but never let me wallow in my pity, telling me over and over not to be a pussy, the whiny kind of pussy that always looked disappointed.

He snatched my phone
, giving me numbers to women who liked being dominated. Then, he patted my back and told me to get back on the horse…or some shit. His words mixing with my beer somehow made sense. He gave me three numbers and didn’t put names next to them, instead labeling them with blonde, brunette, and redhead.

An agonizing week went by
, a week filled with cyber stalking…cyber frickin’ stalking. Katarina had already moved on. I saw pictures of her with another man, a Thomas Holtin; he looked like an arrogant ass-wipe. A couple pictures showed her fleeing from her bodyguard, the message under the pictures “poor little rich girl”. Agony was the best way to describe what I felt. She was elegant and polished, and the sight of her was achingly torturous, but I couldn’t help myself. I became more isolated, leaving work and hiding out at home. I couldn’t stand my own skin. The gym was a good outlet, but it was never enough. I fucking hated people, including myself. I called one of the girls Alex put in my phone under ‘Blonde’ at lunch, and she agreed to meet me at my house for dinner.

I set
up the guestroom upstairs as my new playroom. I attached the straps to the bed and set my tools and toys on the floor right next to the bed. I was ready, and the idea of tying a woman to my bed sounded more appealing than ever.

She introduced herself as Sadie
, and sauntered into my house in red heels and a dress that was more like an ace bandage rolled over her luscious sweet spots. Sadie had a body that could light a teenage boy on fire. She turned after she entered, her heels clicked on the hardwood floor. She started to talk about my house, and I decided I hated her voice.

“No more talking
,” I said, my authority rising to the surface. A bright red blush rushed to the skin of her cheeks and she shut up. “I want this to work.” Her brown eyes met mine and she nodded slowly. “No shoes in the house.” She slipped her shoes off and left them in the center of the room, irritation consuming me. I ran my hands through my hair and then gripped her upper arm, taking her upstairs to my new playroom. The rest was fluid motion; she did what I asked or told her to do, and I repaid her with multiple touches to her sensitive parts.

The straps were secure
d and the blindfold in place within seconds. It was easy—sex, fucking, touching—all of it easy. I rewarded her with an orgasm after the first round of foreplay, yelling at her to fucking come on my hand and she did. It was my new thing, verbal, on-command orgasms. Sadie would be a fine addition to my house. She came like a champ. I played more, treating her body like the sexual object it was, keeping her floating in the cloud right before the climax. I liked to keep her there; it showed the control I was lacking for days…weeks. My cock enjoyed the sights and sounds of my new plaything, and he was ready to play his part in this interviewing process.
Fuck…fuck…fuck.
I searched the room; I remembered everything…everything except my shield. How was I supposed to save the day without my shield? She must have sensed me stepping away. Her loud moans of complaint echoed around me, frickin’ best sound of my day.

“I need a condom
, sweetness. I’ll be right back,” I said through my heavy breathing as I left the room and headed down the hall to my bedroom. I staggered to the nightstand, searching for a condom. It was time for me to forget the past and focus on the now. I fumbled with the handle of the drawer, my mind swirling with reasons why I needed to get the hell out of this room. My hand shook when I finally jerked the drawer open, and the contents scattered everywhere. The small drawer flung off its hinges and turned over in my hand.

Irritation consumed me
, and I tossed the empty drawer over the bed to the other side of the room. I fell to my knees, gathering all the scattered condoms and putting them in a small pile. I thought about just taking a couple condoms and heading back to the room down the hall, a room with a pretty little blonde waiting for my arrival, but something told me to clean up my mess. I am sure it was my mind attempting to keep the bedroom a shrine, a place that was perfect from the outside.

My hand swept under the bed along the short carpet and hit a hard object. I maneuvered the object out from under the bed and held it in my hand. I sighed at the sight I held before me. It was Kat
arina’s Bible, the one her grandfather had before he died. I took it with me when I went with my brothers-in-law on a retreat weeks ago, but I assumed she took it back when she left. I sat with my back to the bed and the bible in my lap as I flipped through it. I wasn’t looking for anything; I had already read the majority of the side notes her grandfather left. The Book fanned out in front of me and stopped at the last page. Stuffed into the binding was a yellow piece of binder paper. I pulled it out and slowly opened it, my mind telling me to stop, knowing only pain could come from this, knowing I was in the middle of sex with ‘strange’.

The paper had handwritten scribbles all over it
; it was Katarina’s handwriting.

What is love?

Charity is the strongest kind of love.

Faith is the action of love.

Trust and patience, more actions of love…

The note continued
as she noted all the Bible verses, along with each topic. Some arrows were drawn if the words intermixed. My eyes blurred, and I flipped the page over and focused on her last line.

Love is freedom…God is love.

It was written clearly away from all the scribbles, like she was reminding herself, reminding herself what love was. My heart ached, the phantom pains of being stabbed directly in the chest over and over breaking me down. The paper brought me back to the dark place I was in the day she left, her words on the paper giving me a beat down. Tears formed in the corners of my eyes, and I didn’t have the power like I had in the past to shove them down. So I cried and I cried, silent tears pouring from my eyes, and I was helpless. When I finished, I folded the paper neatly in the same way it had been folded in the past, and stuffed it back into the binding of the book. I closed the book and set it gently on my nightstand. I rubbed my eyes and stood up. I tossed the condoms on the floor and dragged my ass to the bedroom down the hall.

I d
idn’t know her name, but she was still tied up on the bed. Of course she would still be there; where would she escape to? I moved to the bed, releasing her arms first, and then her legs. She removed her blindfold and repeatedly blinked her eyes before speaking. “Are we done?”

I eyed this tiny
, pretty, sweet thing and hated myself. I looked away, trying for the courage to tell her I was done, not just with her, but with everyone. “You should leave.” I heard her get up and fish around the room, searching for her clothing, and then she vanished. I stayed sitting on the edge of the bed for what seemed like hours, a tear or two falling from my eyes.

Where do I go from here?

I decided my best chance to see her again was to visit her brother, Brian. I had tracked all the information about Katarina over the last week and found a few pictures on her, none of them with her family. It was as if Katarina didn’t exist before a week ago. I noticed a few photos with Thomas Holtin—one with Thomas holding her hand, another of the two dancing, and the rest were posed shots. My mind went crazy thinking about what else he was holding. I could see the adoration for her in his eyes, but Katarina’s face was proper and polished; like a statue, her smile was fixed, painted on. The caption below the picture read,
Newly Found Billionaire Katarina Covington with Childhood Sweetheart Thomas Holtin, Internet Millionaire
. Thomas was twenty-four, and with my research, I found out his parents were doctors, like hers. He found his way into the computer and internet business, and made his first million by the age of twenty, and has continued doubling his gross every year since. He was a frickin’ lucky bastard. I hated him immediately.

Alex called me during my research
, and when I told him I was headed to Los Angeles, he asked if he could go with me. There was a gentlemen’s club there, a sister club of Strikers, and the next couple weekends guaranteed to bring out the biggest crowds, due to Halloween. He avoided conversation regarding the blonde, and so did I, but I knew that was the real reason for his phone call. We spent all of Thursday night in the car driving. My plan was to sit outside Slater Enterprise until Brian got there, and then ask him to help me reach Katarina. It was a long shot, but I couldn’t go another day not doing anything.

I parked in the garage just after five in the morning
. I paced in front of the entrance until after six, and I noticed a black Ferrari pull into the garage and followed it. He parked and grabbed a briefcase, and I suddenly had a case of stage fright. My palms grew sweaty and my stomach twisted into knots.

“Brian
?” I tried not to sneak up behind him as he walked toward the elevator, and when he looked back, I held my hands up to show him I wasn’t a threat. His head jerked up as I walked toward him. He looked identical to her; it was obvious he was her brother. “I just want to walk with you; that’s all.” He didn’t talk, just pushed some buttons on his phone he took out of his pants pocket.
Fuck
. I knew he was calling for help.

“It’s about your sister
. I just want to talk with her. She left and I didn’t get to say a proper goodbye. You can be there the whole time. I just need ten minutes.” When I almost reached him, he picked up his pace toward the building.
Just like his sister, fleeing from me.
I glanced up to see three security guards coming straight for me. In desperation, I searched my brain for something personal about her.

I yelled
, “She calls your name when she’s having nightmares. Well, it’s ‘Bri’ she calls for, and I am assuming it’s you. She tells you it’s cold and dark where she’s at, and she cradles her knees while she rocks herself.” My feet froze, but I continued to yell, “Her anxiety around closets tells me that’s the dark, cold space she’s dreaming about. The only way to get her to stop the rocking and the shivering is to sing to her.”