How to Kill Your Boss (20 page)

When I was ten, I’d walked in on mom and dad having a heated conversation. I’d been sleeping but had gone downstairs for a drink. Mom’s face was red. I remembered because she had pale, flawless skin, and I’d never seen it so flush and blotchy before. Her hands had twisted the sides of dad’s shirt. “How long have you been seeing her?” Mom’s voice had trembled, like she’d been on the verge of tears.

Dad had combed his fingers through Mom’s hair. His voice had trembled, too. “It doesn’t matter, it’s over. But the boy needs me. I can’t abandon him”

“You’ve put us at risk, Antonio. Especially Tatum. How could you?” Then she’d pressed her forehead into his chest and started to cry. I’d slunk back up the stairs and hid under my covers. I hadn’t understood what they’d been talking about. When I’d woken the next morning, they had laughed and talked and kissed each other goodbye. I remembered thinking that maybe I’d just had a bad dream.

“You’re the boy.” The words barely made it through the clog of emotion stuck in my throat. “You’re the boy he was talking about.”

Streams of salty liquid poured down the sides of my face, catching in my ears. I no longer fought to contain them.

Franklin didn’t ease his hold on my wrists. He only stared with sad longing. “I loved your dad. I owe him my life.”

“He’s the man you told me about? Your mom’s boyfriend?”

Franklin nodded.

“You’re hurting me.” I wiggled my fingers. Franklin let go and sat back on his heels.

“I swore on my life I’d protect you. On his death bed, his sole concern was you.”

Jealous rage churned through me. I should’ve been by Dad’s side when he died. I was his flesh and blood. “Death bed? You were with him?”

“Yes.”

“I hate you.” I sobbed and punched at his chest. “Do you hear me?”

Franklin sighed. He leaned forward, rubbed a hand up my belly and let it rest below my breasts. “Don’t say that, baby. You don’t hate me.”

Oh, no. He was not going to sugar-coat this conversation with sex. I raised to my elbows and tried to scoot away. My brain and body were not on the same page. Instead of fleeing, like any sane person would do, my body flushed and I shuddered for a reason that had nothing to do with temperature.

He nudged a knee between my legs, prompting them to spread. The cursed traitors opened, allowing him a nice cozy spot to nestle. He positioned himself between my thighs, then brushed away my tears with the pad of his thumb.

I focused on the scratches and bruises marring his perfect face, and reminded myself that I was furious. “You’re lying to me.” I dug my heels into the carpet and pushed away.

He crawled right back over me. “No, I’m not.”

“I hate you. This is wrong. Let me go.”

“I’ll die before letting you go.”

“Why? Why are you doing this?” I asked, balling my fist. I wanted to strike him again.

“To protect you and…” Franklin paused. His gaze darted from my face, to my breasts, my throat, then he swallowed hard and found my eyes again. “Because I love you. I’ve loved you my whole fucking life.”

How could those three simple words both disintegrate and make me feel indestructible all in the same breath? Everything about this was wrong. “Don’t say that, please.”

“You want the truth? That picture in your back pocket? The woman is my mom. I was ten the first time I saw you. Tony pushed you on a swing at the park. He didn’t know I was there, watching. You saw me, though. You looked right at me and smiled. God, the way your hair blew in the wind, you looked like an angel.”

“Stop talking.” I couldn’t breathe. His words squeezed my heart like a vise.

“No,” he continued. “In grade school there was a boy, a few years older than you. Always dirty, clothes too small, hair too long. Always had a black eye or a cut lip. All the kids stayed away from him.”

I knew that boy. The floor spun beneath me, the only thing holding me steady were the set of piercing eyes hovering above.

“Do you remember?”

I nodded. “He always looked so sad.”

“He wasn’t sad. He was angry. All the kids were afraid of him, except for one. A brave little spitfire with golden pigtails and bright blue eyes.”

Oh God, what was he saying?

“You asked me if I wanted to play. I said no—”

“I don’t play with girls, I protect them.” I finished his sentence. My voice weakened under the weight of memories washing over me. Franklin was that boy who always got kicked out of school for fighting, who one day didn’t come back and became a faded memory, like so many others.

I reached up to cup his scruffy jaw. “That was you?”

“You were the only girl who ever spoke a kind word to me.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I wanted to tell you that I knew your dad. I wanted to play. I wanted to push you on the swing….” His voice broke and he dropped his head between his arms.

How did I not recognize him? Then again, I was young and I never saw that broken boy after he left our school.

Franklin lifted his head. A new fire burned in his eyes. “Nothing can make me stop loving you. I didn’t stop when your dad threatened to beat the shit out of me for stealing your pictures from his wallet. Not when he caught me spying on you and did beat the shit out of me. I loved you through middle school, high school, my shitty sham of a marriage. You didn’t know I existed and it killed me. I hated that I couldn’t touch you, hold you, bury myself in you….”

He dropped his lips to mine and pressed his hips against my pelvis. My back arched and I moaned, savoring the pressure between my legs, his heat.

He kissed my chin, my jaw, then nuzzled my neck. “I’ve stayed away from you for too long.” His fingers dug deep into my hips. He spread my legs wider and rubbed harder against me. “I want every inch of your flesh to belong to me. I want you consumed, mind, body, and spirit with want for me, for us.” He pressed his forehead to my temple and whispered, “I’m going to spend the rest of my goddamned life making you crave me the way I’ve craved you.”

* * * *

I woke naked, sweaty, and sprawled like a drunk skank on top of Franklin. My head bobbed with the rise and fall of his chest. His heart pulsed a seductive rhythm under my ear. I pressed my nose to his skin and inhaled as much of his scent as my lungs would hold. Sweat, sex and cologne—what a potent combination.

My body ached, especially between my legs. We hadn’t made love. We’d fucked. Rough, angry,
I’m gonna pound you until I feel bette
r sex. He‘d known what I’d needed. He knew me. I’d matched his pace and ferocity, unleashing my anger and hurt with every thrust and grind, and had, much to my chagrin, started to feel better.

I pushed up from him and the hard floor and went in search of the bathroom. I found it down the hall and had never been happier to see a toilet. I relieved myself and then cranked the shower to just below scalding. It was stocked with expensive soap and shampoo, and I took my time, washing and shaving away the grime from the last twenty-four hours. The steamy water relaxed my sore muscles so I sat and let it rush over my head and back.

Could everything he’d said about Dad be true? Had my whole life been a lie? My father had always been such an overwhelming presence in my life. How could he have possibly carried off such a charade? What about Mom? Did she know? Who was Antonio Wood?

I ruminated until the water ran cold. When I stepped out of the shower, a plush robe hung on the hook right outside the door. The gesture, although sweet, only put a small dent in the cast iron shield protecting my bruised heart. Franklin had so much explaining to do.

His husky voice greeted me from the bottom of the open stairwell. “Hey, Killer.” He stood, propped against the banister with no shirt and baggy sweats that hung low on his waist. Even bloodied and bruised, the man was a sight to behold.

The uncertainty in his smile was almost a comfort. This was hard for him, too. Good. That made me feel better.

“Want some coffee?”

Caffeine. Damn, the guy knew how to get to me. I nodded and made my way down to him. “Thanks for the bathrobe.” I wrapped it tight around my body and tightened the belt. When I reached the last step, Franklin pulled me into his arms and squeezed hard. Although I didn’t have it in me to reciprocate, I let him hold me.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, his tone gruffer than usual. “Was I too rough on you?”

I mumbled “no” against his chest. He dropped his arms and I followed him to the massive, sprawling kitchen. He filled two mugs, added cream to mine and led me to the living area. The moon shone bright through the floor-to-ceiling window and I could see an outline of trees in the distance.

“Where are we?” I asked after I cozied into the corner of the overstuffed sofa.

He sat next to me and handed me a cup. I curled my fingers around the mug and savored its warmth against my cheek.

“We’re an hour outside of Seattle. That’s all I can tell you.”

I rolled my eyes and cut to the chase. Didn’t have the patience for small talk. “Talk to me about the wall of photos.”

Franklin slunk into the couch, laid his head back and closed his eyes. “Are you sure you want to hear this?” he asked, like he was giving me one last chance to change my mind before diving headfirst into a pool of horse manure.

“I need to hear the truth. Like you said to me, no more lies.”

He rolled his head my direction and stared at me long and hard before continuing. “You were my mark.”

“Mark,” I repeated, because I couldn’t have heard him right. “Like target?”

“Yes. Tony was training me, only I didn’t know it at the time. We used you as a mark. It was his way of having an extra pair of eyes on you and keeping me out of trouble.”

Could things get any more ridiculous? My cheeks heated and I fought the urge to assault him again. “Do you know how absurd that sounds?”

“I was a fucked-up kid. Tony assumed responsibility for me because he….” Franklin’s eyes glazed, and he drew a sharp breath as if recalling a painful moment. “My mom was ill. Couldn’t take care of me. Your dad stepped in. I’d be dead or in prison if it weren’t for him.”

I shook my head in disbelief. “That doesn’t explain the wall.”

Franklin set his coffee down, roughed his hands over his face and sighed in exasperation. “Every day after school, Tony gave me an assignment that involved you. He made it a game. I’d have to follow you home from school and not be seen. I’d have to gather intel about what you did during the day, about your friends. He gave me a camera to take pictures, said it would help me stay focused on my target. I know it’s fucked up. But I was a kid and I would’ve done anything to make your father proud.”

“You grew up. You got married. Moved on. Why are they still hanging on your wall?”

He scratched his head and lowered his gaze to the soft beige carpet. “I never moved on. Like I said, I’ve loved you since the day I watched Tony push you on the swing. He recruited me the day I graduated high school. I fucking loved it. More than I should have. I could’ve easily lost myself in that world. You kept me grounded. When I struggled to navigate the hell surrounding me, I’d concentrate on you until my mind settled. You kept me sane in a world of chaos. I needed that wall. I needed you. Your face helped me sleep at night. It still does.”

I didn’t know what to say. I stared, searching his eyes for signs of crazy. Because that’s what this was—crazy—and I was loony for considering any of this to be truth.

“Why were you with my father when he died? I was told it was a heart attack. He was found in his car a few blocks from home.”

Franklin’s body tensed. “It wasn’t a heart attack.”

Oh, God. Did I want details? My imagination tortured me enough. “Just tell me it wasn’t you.”

“No.” He shook his head and released an agitated breath.

“Who then?”

Franklin shifted uncomfortably next to me. “Your father took down several leaders of a human trafficking cartel in Venezuela. He got his hands on a list of clients. There are powerful people here in the States that would lose more than their fortunes if that list were made public. The Salazar Cartel will do anything to make sure their clients remain anonymous.”

“What happened to the list?” I asked, knowing he wouldn’t tell me.

“I don’t know.”

“But now they’re after me? Because they think he’s alive?”

“The cartel is after the list. Threatening you would force him out of hiding.”

“He’s not hiding, right? He’s dead. Because if he were….” I choked back a sob. Daddy couldn’t have done that to me and Mom. That would’ve been unforgivable.

Franklin pried my mug from my fingers and set it next to his on the ornate side table. He lifted me into his lap and cradled me. “Tony died in my arms, baby. He wasn’t alone. He didn’t suffer. I held him until the end. He cried for you, made me promise to keep you safe, and died with his head against my chest just like this.”

I wanted the truth and I got it. Trouble was, I wasn’t emotionally ready for it. As tough as I pretended to be, I couldn’t handle the God-awful reality I’d fallen into. I slid off Franklin’s lap, went to bed, and mourned for Dad again.

The evening hours tick-tocked by with the speed of an elderly snail. I stared at the ceiling, out the window, then tried to close my eyes. Sleep refused to grant me a reprieve from the shit-storm of a day I’d had.

It wasn’t because the cushy little rug of a life I’d lived had been yanked from under my feet. Truth was, I lay naked in a plush bed, writhing with need, while Franklin was downstairs, a million miles away.

Sick and twisted as it was, I ached. The gnawing throb and pulse under the surface of my skin was my body craving, anticipating his touch, the flavor of his lips, the intoxicating scent of him.

I had just cause to be repulsed by the man. He’d confessed murder as a career choice, for crying out loud. He’d admitted to stalking me most of my life. If what he said were true, much of the blame for his Tatum hobby would fall on my father.

The Antonio Wood I knew would never have taken an impressionable young boy and lead him down such a dark path. However, I could understand Franklin’s need to please my father, his desire to follow in Dad’s footsteps. My dad had that effect on people, Wallace Cruse a prime example. Why, then, would he put a child in danger, when my whole life he’d been nothing but my great protector?