Cruel Beloved

“He told me. He told me, Father.” She turns to look at me. Her green eyes big and red. “You had a child with another woman?” Her eyes don’t leave mine. “Do you know you caused a man to kill himself?” she questions, then she pulls the cell away from her ear and hangs up.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, you aren’t. You got what you wanted. Me to hate my father. Congratulations, it worked. Now take me home, so I never have to see either of you again.” Carla goes to step off and I step in front her, my body blocking hers.

“Don’t do this.”

“Do what,” she says angrily. “Hate you?” She leans in closer to me. “Too late. Now I despise you.”

I reach up and touch her face. “You don’t, you’re just angry.”

She pushes my hand away like it’s burning her. “Don’t fucking touch me. The contract is done, is it not?”

I nod, and she sighs.

“Good. I don’t want to see you ever again. Take your fucking bar back and get out of my life.” She turns to start walking. Cars fly by us on the busy road as the rain becomes heavier.

“Get in the car, Carla, before you get hurt.”

“Carla…” she mimics. “Great! Now I’m Carla.”

“Rich girl.”

She flips me off as she keeps walking. Following her, I step up behind her and grab her wrist. She pulls to get free.

“Get in the damn car and I won’t bother you again.”

“You promise?”

I feel defeated, but I tell her the truth. “I promise.”

Carla turns, walking back to the car.

I’m not sure what I did was the right thing. I wanted vengeance for my father, on a man who didn’t take into consideration anyone’s feelings but his own. He ruined my family and destroyed my father in the process. My father died of a broken heart.

I was hoping to never be the same way.

But as I watch her get in the car, I realize my mistake.

I didn’t expect her.

Carla Whiskey.

32

Carla

Lies, everything is built on lies. I’m so angry it’s best I keep my mouth shut and not say a word as he drives. Every time I look in his direction, he’s gripping the wheel so hard I’m afraid it will break. When he comes to a stop out front of his house, I straighten up.

“This isn’t my home.”

“It is, read the paperwork, Carla.”

I turn to face him, and he doesn’t even look my way. It’s probably for the better that he doesn’t. I get out, slam the door, and fast walk to the door. I don’t even want to walk into this place. I want to go far away from everything that represents Corton Whiskey.

Turning around, I watch as his car drives off, leaving me standing out front. I never thought this would be where my life would take me. I had dreams. And none of this was included. I feel almost ripped off. How is this fair?

Walking in, I shut the door behind me and head to the bedroom. Picking up the paperwork from the floor, I start to read it over.

He’s ended the contract.

Like Aubrey said, all deals are off, and in the folder I will find the only copy of the evidence regarding that night. I reach for it and snap the disk in half, then again into smaller pieces. Somehow, that gives me some gratification, but it’s small and doesn’t last for long.

The contract has ended, but he’s also left the deeds to this house, which is now in my name, and the bar. But I don’t want either.

Pushing away the paperwork like it’s burning me, I walk straight out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. Picking up a bottle of vodka, I open it. His house, or should I say my house, is stocked full of booze.

Before I can drink the first sip, the doorbell rings. I know it’s not him, so I wonder if I should even open it. It rings again, then there’s constant banging on the door. Gripping the bottle in one hand I walk over, pulling it open. My father’s standing there, a look of worry and anger written all over his face. He goes to speak, and before I can hear a word that leaves his lying mouth, I shut the door in his face.

“Carla,” he yells, and just as I go to walk away the front door opens.

Shit! Why didn’t I lock it?

Father steps into the doorway, so I can’t close it. “You shut the door in my face?” he asks, clearly angry.

“You deserve that and a whole lot more,” I spit back at him, taking another drink from my vodka bottle.

“This is what’s become of you?” He nods to the bottle in hand. “You drink now?”

“I’ve always drunk. But you’ve never stopped for one minute to take notice of me,” I say with an eye roll. “Oh, that’s right… I was never marrying the right man or looking the part you desperately wanted me to play.”