Dirty Ugly Toy (27 page)

“I should ask you the same. You’re with that monster.” My voice is even but sad.

She frowns and tears well in her green eyes that oddly match mine. “I agreed to this.”

I think about my wedding. Gorgeous white dress. Eleven bridesmaids. Thousands of dollars spent on a plantation-style outdoor wedding. I agreed too. I vowed to love that man with everything I had.

But I broke my agreement the second he couldn’t uphold his part of the deal.

“Well, just because you agreed to something, doesn’t mean it’s too late to get out of it,” I tell her softly.

She approaches me and the fluorescent light in the bathroom does nothing to hide the bruises all over her. He’s most definitely been using her as a punching bag.

“What did you agree to exactly anyway? I’m assuming you signed up to be a toy, right?”

Cherry nods and chews on her bottom lip. She seems young to me. Too young to be with the almost forty-year-old man. “I agreed to let him call me Jessica. Um, I agreed to let him be my dom for the weekend, even though I’m not really sure what that entails. I agreed to a high level of pain, per his additional requests.” A shudder runs through her. Her voice is small, weak. Almost child-like. “Let’s see, I uh, I dyed my hair to match the color swatch I was sent. I only did it because I needed the money. He’s listed in a group of the Black Luxers which is in the highest paying quadrant.”

I frown at her but let her continue.

“Anyway, I know it’s weird—obviously you get it since you’re a toy too—but what he offered to pay is enough to pay my entire first year’s college tuition. My mom is a single parent working two jobs already and can’t afford to send me to the college I want to attend. I figured one weekend would take the stress off of both of us where school’s concerned.”

Taking her hand, I rub the top of it. It’s cold and clammy. I wish I had someone to help me back then. Some person who would have known what to do when it came to Jimmy. Jude always wanted to help but he would have just ended up in prison for trying to kill him. With Jimmy, you have to be smart.

“Are you on something?” I recognize the glazed look in her eyes.

Her cheeks blaze in embarrassment. “Yeah, but I don’t know what. He said it would help with the pain.”

“Cherry, what’s your real name?”

“Cheryl Martin.”

“And how old are you?”

I see fear flash in her eyes but I smile kindly at her. We’re the same. She understands that, I can feel it.

“Promise you won’t tell him or the owner guy you’re with?”

I nod.

“I just turned seventeen a couple of months ago. I graduate from high school this spring.”

My eyes widen. “Did you use a fake ID?”

She shakes her head. “Nobody ever asked for an ID. I told James how old I am. It seemed to please him even more. I just have to make it to Sunday night.”

I huff and try not to lose my cool. Think, Jessica, think. “Baby, I’m sorry but that man is a monster. With men like him, you won’t last long.”

She’s teary eyed but nods. I recognize the frustrated and helpless look. I’d seen it one too many times in the mirror.

“Listen, how much is tuition at your college?”

“Around twelve grand a semester.”

Reaching for her, I tug her to me and hug her. “If you leave, right now, I’ll wire you the entire four years’ worth of tuition next month. I have a lump sum coming to me and I’ll have the means to do it. If you stay, one thing will lead to another and you’ll get sucked up into some nasty shit. Probably end up dead. I can’t bear to watch that man hurt another soul.”

She pulls away and tears stream down her face. “I don’t understand. Why would you do that for me?”

I swallow. “Because I’m you. Ten years from now. Trust me, I’m good for the money. Jot down your address and phone number and I’ll make sure it’s done. I wish someone had looked after me long ago when I let a rich politician woo me out of my virginity and my life.”

“Wow, I feel like this is a dream. You mean, I can just leave now? Like, I don’t have to let him hurt me anymore?”

With a smile, I watch with satisfaction as she scribbles down her information on the back of a receipt from her purse. “Yes, Cheryl. You’ll be safe. I’ll get you out of here and tell James you went back up to the room because you weren’t feeling well. If he tries to get up, I’ll distract him. Come on.”

I go to turn but before I do, she throws her hands around my neck and hugs me to her. I freeze for a moment, taken off guard by her affection. But when I hear her muffled “thank you,” I hug her back, squeeze her actually, pleased that out of so many wrong decisions I’ve made from the time I was standing where Cheryl is, I finally made a right one.

I stuff her information down into my bra and then grab her hand. Together, we slip out of the bathroom quietly.

The drunk bastard has now taken to harassing Glenna on the other side of him with his easy charm and handsome smile. Her relaxed posture as she leans her cleavage toward the asshole in order to bask in his fucking chocolate covered horror tells me that she can’t sense the monster in the chair next to her. Poor Glenna believes, like Brax, he’s a catch. A sexy, powerful, rich man who’s an All-Star in the sack.
More like a baseball bat wielding All-Star . . .

I sigh knowing that as soon as I sit back down next to Brax, she’ll be given a reprieve and might even become jealous to lose his attentions. The jerk will once again have his sights set on the one he lives to torment. She is merely an intermission. I’m the whole damn, epic production.

Me.

Jessica Dixon.

His fucking wife.

“Everything okay, Bunny?” Brax’s voice is tight with anxiety which only deepens the cut inside my chest. When this is all over, I’ll miss him. All of his moods. All of his flaws.

“Yes,” I assure him and lean in for a kiss that he’s clearly hungry for.

His possessive mouth finds mine and his fingers slide into my hair, holding me in place as if he’s afraid I’ll flee at any moment.

“Where’s Cherry?” Jimmy’s voice is a nasty snarl that has Brax breaking our kiss to jerk his gaze to him.

“Oh,” I tell him with a wave of my hand as if it’s no big deal. “She wasn’t feeling well. I told her to go on up to the hotel room and that I’d let you know.” The lie easily flies past my lips but when Brax slides his hand over my thigh, I know he senses my deception.

Jimmy glares at me. The hate in his eyes sickens me. I’ve seen the look one too many times right before he would hit me with the back of his knuckles or shove me into a wall. I bet those knuckles are itching to do that very thing right now. He enjoys watching me cower under his evilness. And
usually
I do.

But something about having Brax’s pulsating power beside me gives me strength. I fuel the feelings with hate about what he’s done to me. This woman beater won’t win this round. The table grows silent and I fidget under Jimmy’s gaze but I refuse to look away. I may not be able to say anything to Brax, but I’ll get my digs in where I can. With a tiny smirk, I wink at the man.

“You stupid bitch.” His words are quiet, almost inaudible.

“Excuse the fuck out of me?” Brax’s voice is nothing but a violent hiss. His body ripples with fury beside me.

Jimmy becomes enraged, ignoring the impending storm that is Brax, and springs from his chair quick enough to cause it to knock over. Braxton and Jamal both jump from their seats; Jamal in a defensive move and Braxton in one that’s offensive.

“You stupid goddamned bitch! You sent my toy away without
my
permission?! Who the
fuck
do you think you are?!”

Brax doesn’t hesitate.

He doesn’t ask questions.

He charges at Jimmy with all the fury I wish I could unleash. With a crunch, Brax hits Jimmy with a powerful fist that lands square in his nose. The pop of his nose breaking is a sick sound yet I find myself smiling. I want Brax to break him. All of him. Every fucking part of him. Just like he broke me.

Another crack of Brax’s fist against Jimmy’s face. Time has slowed and I thank God for allowing me to enjoy how Braxton hurts him. What seems like minutes is only a matter of seconds before Jamal pulls Brax away. His hand is bloodied and when he turns back to regard me, his face is contorted into that of a beast.

Furious.

Psychotic.

Murderous.

And I love it.

Confusion paints his features at seeing my smile. My smile grows wider with every step he takes toward me. He doesn’t understand why I’m happy he beat down Jimmy and he’ll never know for sure but with my smile I tell him what my mouth can’t say.

The link that connects us thrums with understanding.

“Come on, Bunny,” he says with a demanding growl as he helps me to my feet. “I’m worked up and need to fuck what’s mine.”

His warm hand envelops mine and he all but drags me away from the scene he’s left Jamal to deal with. We don’t speak but with sporadic squeezes of my hand, I let him know how much I appreciate what he’s done for me—something my father should have done a long time ago.

As we ride the elevator, I think back to the first time Jimmy got rough with me. My parents had him over for dinner and all was going well until Dad offered him some whiskey. I’d actually met Jimmy in the first place through my dad when I was still in high school. With my dad being an influential judge in Atlanta, the two had met at a political charity event and hit it off. He’d brought that man home to meet me with every intention of pairing me with James Dixon, the man who had potential to do something great for this country. Dad wanted on that coattail and using his daughter as bait seemed an ideal solution.

“Have you decided on a date yet? Everyone keeps asking me. Is that rock on your finger blinding you from looking at a fucking calendar?”

I’m startled by his harsh tone and rush over to him. Mom had already gone to check on the peach cobbler she made while Dad pretended not to notice our exchange.

“Jimmy, what’s wrong? We talked about this. I was waiting to see what my college workload was before we set anything in stone. I’m still waiting on them to post the available classes for the spring semester.”

He’s angry and I don’t understand why. This isn’t anything new to him.

“I asked you to be my wife six months ago, Peach, and here you are still dragging your feet. If you don’t want to marry me then say so,” he says in a harsh whisper.

Tears well in my eyes and I reach for him to comfort him. He’s clearly angry and it doesn’t make sense. I yelp when he digs his fingers into my bicep and drags me to him.

“Jimmy,” I murmur, “you’re hurting me.”

His eyes darken and he grips me harder. “And you’re hurting me.”

My eyes dart to my father and we hold each other’s stare before he looks away to sip on his whiskey. The betrayal knifes through me. Am I the one in the wrong here?

“Jimmy . . .”

“April fourth. That’s when we’re getting married.”

He releases the punishing grip he had on me and stalks back over toward my father leaving me a shuddering mess. What just happened?

As the memory fades, the bitterness remains. My father watched with uninterested eyes as his future son-in-law abused his only daughter. Although it started as verbal and emotional, the signs were clear as day. Yet he did nothing. He had a chance to stop something from snowballing into what it later became. I was young and naïve. I’d eventually followed my father and overlooked Jimmy’s unusual behavior, chalking it up to the whiskey.

Jimmy loved me.

It was a one-time thing.

He’d never hurt me.

My naivety is almost laughable. Almost. However, there’s nothing laughable about losing your unborn child because your husband was a psychopath.

Nothing funny at all.