4
“How are you doing, sweetie?”
How am I doing, Mom? Well, I’m currently standing in the back storage room of my crappy coffee shop job, unable to sit down because of the enormous bruises on my ass from my second job fucking a rich man for money the other night. And all of this money I’m struggling to earn needs to go straight to your good-for-nothing asshole of a new husband.
But I can’t tell her all of that. Of course not. None of this is her fault. Well, aside from her having terrible taste in men. But she didn’t know what my stepfather was really like–even I didn’t realize how truly evil a person he was, and I already disliked him.
So I suck in a deep breath, force a smile, and hope I sound convincing when I reply, “Great!”
“You sure? You sound a bit tired…”
Damn her and her Mom-senses. I rub my temples. “It’s just been a bit hectic at the shop the last couple of days. Late nights restocking, and all that.”
“Hmm.” I can hear the disapproval in her voice. She thinks I have this job by choice. That I quit my job with her husband just because I “needed a change of scenery.” And she’s made it more than crystal clear how little she thinks of me working in a coffee shop after having a pretty decent, high-responsibility office job. “Well, I hope they’re paying you overtime for that evening work,” she says finally, in the most conciliatory voice she can manage.
You have no idea, I think. “Of course,” I say aloud. Then I clear my throat. Shift topics to the real reason I called. “How are you doing, by the way? Everything okay?”
“Oh, you know, the usual. Steve has been working late the last week too,” she adds, and I’m glad this isn’t a FaceTime call, so she can’t see me flinch when she mentions his name. “Other than that, nothing new. Betsy across the street planted a new row of hydrangeas last week. She asked me to help her with that. It was nice to get into the earth. Although, heaven help me, her soil is a mess…”
I zone out for a moment as Mom goes into garden-nerd mode. She’s always been big into landscaping, a hobby I never quite understood. But hey, it keeps her happy, so good for her. When she trails off into another story, though, I clear my throat again. “But, you’re feeling well?” I ask, unable to help myself.
I’m not sure what I think he’d actually do. Slap her? Poison her food? It’s crazy, and yet, after everything that’s happened in the last month, it’s not at all out of the question. I grip the phone tightly as I wait for her response.
Mom only laughs, though. “Of course I am. What’s wrong, Corbella? Is there something you’re not telling me?”
Mom-senses see all. Dammit. I rest my forehead against the wall of the storage room and close my eyes. Try to picture her standing here beside me, instead of on the other side of the phone. I could go and visit her, of course, but it would be difficult to arrange without having to see him too. And the next time I see him, I know I need to have a payment strategy sorted out. So I just shake my head against the wall, feeling it press against my scalp. “Nothing, Mom. I’m just tired, sorry. Thought maybe there’s been a flu going around town or something.”
“Hmm.” There’s that disapproval again. “I haven’t heard about anything. Has Diana been sick too?” Her voice brightens a little here. She’s always loved Diana.
I heave a sigh. I need to cut this off, before she probes any farther. I’ve gotten as much detail as I’m likely to get out of Mom over the phone now. All I can do is stick to the plan. Keep working, keep paying off this debt. “She’s fine. But speaking of, I can hear her calling for me. Gotta go help out front.”
“Okay sweetie. Take care of yourself. If you feel sick, just let me know. It’s probably just a cold, but if it gets worse…”
“I’ll be fine, Mom. Promise.” I swallow hard against a sudden lump in my throat. Fight back a rush of tears. “You too, though. If you feel off or anything… Let me know.”
I know she’s confused. I’m being about as transparent as cellophane–she must know I’m worried. But she lets me off the hook this time. “Will do, sweetie. Have a good day at work.”
“Thanks, Mom. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
Her voice echoes in my ears long after I hang up the phone. Love you too. I have to hold onto that. The reason that I’m going through all of this. Jumping through these crazy hoops.
I turn to leave the storage room, wiping my eyes on the back of my sleeves as I go. Then I stop dead in the doorway, because there’s an arm barring my passage, right across my chest.
Diana steps around the side of the storage room, eyes narrowed.
“Hey, Di,” I greet her, in a way-too-chipper voice. My eyes are still glistening with unshed tears, and I’m pretty sure my face is red and blotchy to boot.
“What’s going on?” She doesn’t waste any time.
“What do you mean?” I ask, with a far too large smile plastered to my face.
“What are you doing back here? Who were you talking to?”
“Oh, just Mom. I hadn’t caught up in a while, wanted to check in and see how she was doing.”
But Diana isn’t listening to me. Her eyes have gone straight to my wrists. My wrists which, despite the couple of days that have passed since my session with Gio, and the thick bracelets I’m wearing over them, still show evidence of our night. Before I can react, she grabs my wrist and pushes the bracelet up my arm, exposing my bruises fully. You can see the line where the leather dug in on each side, and bruises around those circles where I tugged against the restraints.
My face flushes with heat. Great. I was trying to keep Gio and our rendezvous quiet, but Diana was already nosing around about my “secret boyfriend.” Now the secret is out.
But to my surprise, Diana looks angry when she looks up at me again. “Who did this to you?”
I blink, thrown off. It takes me a few seconds to understand. “What do you mean?”
“These are really bad bruises, Cor.” Diana frowns, dropping that arm and grabbing my other wrist to compare them. “What happened? Did someone hurt you?”
“What?” I can’t help it. I laugh. Then she scowls at me, and I immediately regret it. “No, Di. Nobody hurt me.”
She lifts one disbelieving eyebrow. “Nobody made you do anything you didn’t want to do?”
“Trust me, I definitely wanted to do it,” I assure her. Even though I blush even worse saying it.
Because as intense as my last night with Gio was, I don’t feel hurt. Not at all. The bruises on my ass, my wrist, even some bite marks along the small of my back… Those don’t feel like injuries. They feel like mementoes. Keepsakes from a night full of fond—if dirty as hell—memories.
Diana sighs and releases my wrists. “Okay. As long as you’re sure.”
Only then–only when she doesn’t press me for details or immediately demand to know who my mystery hookup with the kinky rope-play was, do I look more closely at her. Notice the deep frown-lines across her forehead, and the tense way she’s pursing her lips.
Something else is going on.
“What’s wrong, Di? What happened?”
She grimaces. Clearly it’s news she doesn’t want to deliver.
“Please tell me,” I say, reaching up to catch her shoulders with both hands. I lean down to catch her eye, force her to meet my gaze.
She lets out a heavy sigh. “There were some guys out front. Real bruiser types. They asked for Corbella.”
My stomach clenches. It feels like my heart is sinking through the floorboards. And yet, somehow, I manage to stay on my feet.
This can’t be him. Not yet. It’s hardly been a month–he knows I can’t pay yet.
“What did they want?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “I told them to piss off. Said you don’t work here anymore. But they’re lingering. I saw them on the security cameras just now, when I checked to see if they left yet. They’re just standing around the service entrance, like they’re waiting for someone to come out.”
I square my shoulders. Time to face the music. I can’t let those guys hang out here all day, in case they go after someone totally innocent instead of me. Someone like Diana, who I’m sure my stepdad already knows I’m living with.
“I’ll talk to them,” I say, moving to step past her.
Diana catches my arm, squeezes my bicep so tightly it hurts. “Not alone you won’t,” she counters.
The last thing I want is for Diana to witness this. Or, worse, get involved. But I recognize that fierce protective glare in her eye, and I know there’ll be no convincing her to wait calmly and quietly inside the store while I deal with these goons. So I bow my head to the inevitable and grab my purse from the shelf nearby.
“All right. Together, then.”
She’s still watching me like a hawk. Once this is all said and done, I know she’ll demand some kind of explanation. I’m just not sure what, if any, I can offer her at this point. The truth is almost too strange to sound believable, and yet, after everything Diana has been through with me, I am sure she’d stick by me.
When it comes down to it, it’s really just about my pride. I trust Diana with my life–I’d trust her with the secret of what I’m dealing with too. But the part of me that still considers myself a good, upstanding girl, doesn’t want to admit to my best friend of years exactly how far I’ve fallen.
Then again, what choice do I have.
I step out the front of the store and immediately stop dead. Standing just one store front away are two enormous walls of muscle, guys who look like they'd be more at home manning the doors of nightclubs in the sketchy part of town than they do on this sunny, shop-lined street.
But they aren't the ones giving me pause.
It's the man behind them, staring at me– through me–with an expression that would turn any sane person's blood to ice. A man I used to respect and look up to, until I learned exactly how few morals he had. Exactly how little he cared about anyone beside himself. He'd throw his own wife under a bus if it earned him a fatter paycheck.
I know that better than anyone now. Since I'm her daughter.
"Corbella." His voice is deep, gravely. I used to find it comforting how strong he seemed. I used to trust that he'd always take care of my mother, no matter what life threw at her, because he was such a confident, charismatic guy.
Appearances can be deceiving.
"Anthony."
Behind me, Diana rests her hand on my shoulder and squeezes gently. I'd almost forgotten she was with me, and much as I didn't want her to witness this, I can't deny that it's a comfort to know she's here now. That I'm not facing this storm alone.
She's met Anthony before, of course. She was my platonic date to Mom's wedding a couple years ago, and back when I still worked for Anthony, she'd visit me in the office sometimes, bringing me coffee or snacks. I told her we had a falling out when he fired me, but I avoided going into the specifics. She guessed it was bad, and promised she had my back no matter what. But I doubt she guessed it was quite this bad.
"You're late, Corbella." His eyes are still fixed on me, drilling holes into my skull.
"We never agreed on a timeframe," I counter, lifting my chin. Which is technically true. He really only said Pay me back immediately–or else.
"This is not a business negotiation. You sabotaged my company. You owe me the damages incurred, or I'll be forced to take it from you by other means." All the while, he doesn't break eye contact, doesn't let his resolve waver. His face is a perfect poker-blank, and yet, I can still read between the lines.
Do this or your mother pays the price.
I shift in place, reaching for my purse, and the two thugs react almost before I can flinch. One of them grabs my bag from my shoulder, while the other shoves me hard against the brick wall of the coffee shop. The whole world turns blurred at the edges, surreal. How can they be doing this in broad daylight, on the perfectly safe street where I work?
And yet, when I glance up the road in both directions, I realize for the first time just how abandoned this stretch of road is at this time of day. The middle of the day, when the coffee shop is slow, the lunch crowd gone and the after-work crowd not yet rolling in.