Translucent (29 page)

The morning routine is the same—it never changes. For the two years and nine months we’ve been married, there have only been a handful of days it’s been different, and that’s because Ish didn’t come home the night before. I make his breakfast—alternating between the three he likes—while he showers and gets dressed. He then eats the breakfast while watching the morning news, and I stand off to the side waiting to fetch anything else he may need.

That day, I made fried carne de sol with sautéed onions and cucas—a banana sponge cake—on the side. I should’ve known when he dropped a forkful of carne on his shirt it was going to be a bad day. Before I could even get a new one out of the closet, a loud banging on the door echoed through the house. Ish, already pissed off, got up to see who was interrupting his breakfast. I wasn’t ever allowed to answer the door.

I heard the voice of a female; I couldn’t hear what she was saying, but she sounded panicked and angry. The next thing I knew, Ish was dragging her into the kitchen by her hair, and the first thing I noticed was her large, pregnant belly.

“Do you recognize this slut, Princesa?” he demanded.

Trembling with fear, I looked into the face of the young girl who was sobbing hysterically. I recognized her immediately. She was a girl Ish had brought home one night and fucked in front of me before making me clean her of his seed. I remembered her, because I thought then how young she appeared—maybe fourteen or fifteen—and it had disgusted me even more than usual.

“I asked you a question, Bryleigh!” he shouted. “Fucking answer me!”

I nodded, hoping the truth would be the best route. “Yes, Ish, you brought her here one night,” I answered softly.

“Did I ask you to clean her out so she wouldn’t have my baby?”

“Yes,” I reply, hanging my head, so scared of where this was leading.

“Well, you obviously didn’t do your job, because this little bitch is claiming she has my baby inside of her.” He tugs on her hair and pushes her into my face without letting go, forcing me to stare at her horror-stricken brown eyes. “You know what happens when you disappoint me, and now this poor, young girl and some bastard child will pay the price…all because you couldn’t do one of the few fucking things I ask of you. Now, go get me my knife—the wide one.”

I stood there in an act of defiance. I couldn’t allow him to do it.

“Bryleigh, so help me God, if you don’t get my knife right fucking now, I’ll kill your mom the minute I leave here.”

He knew with that promise I’d move. And I did.

I brought him the knife as he somehow bound and gagged the girl. Then, in the middle of our kitchen, he lifted the blade up to her round belly and said, “I’m not even sure this baby is mine, but as a bastard myself, I swore I’d never place the same curse on another, so this is what must be done.”

With painstaking calmness, he drove the knife into the girl’s belly, then withdrew it from her abdomen, and slit her throat. Laying the bloody weapon on the kitchen table, he looked over at me and said, “Princesa, learn from this, and don’t ever let it happen again. Clean this mess up and I’ll send someone for her body. I have to change for work; I’m going to be late.”

That night, when he returned home, I ensured it never happened again.

“Blake! Blake! Are you okay?” I hear a male voice in the far-off distance, pulling me from the haze. “Blake, talk to me!”

“Madden? Is that you?” I croak. “Madden?”

“No, it’s not Madden,” I hear him say. “It’s Greg. Who’s Madden?”

F
RIDAY
. F
UCKING
FINALLY
. The last three days without seeing Blake have been incredibly long and lonely in bed, but thankfully, I’ve had more than enough work to keep me busy from early morning to late evening each day. Christening my desk with her sweet ass on Tuesday evening was not only unexpected, but hot as hell, and I still can’t look at several spots on the wooden surface without a sneaky smile creeping across my face.

I get to see her tonight, and I plan on doing very naughty things to that sexy body and sweet mouth, but first, I need to pack up my shit and get out of the office. After saying goodbye to Caroline, I power off my computer and straighten up the papers on my desk, readying everything for Monday morning. I open the drawer to put away my pens and letter opener, and the picture of her I keep in there smiles up at me, fueling the desire to get my hands on her.

After turning off the lights, I make my way to the elevator bank and step into the first available one that opens. Just before the doors close, I hear a voice calling for me to hold it open, so I shoot my arm out to trigger the motion sensor, causing the doors to reopen. Emerson steps aboard with me, a sly smile twisting her lips, and I groan internally.

“Thank you, Madden,” she acknowledges my kind gesture, along with a tip of her head.

“Of course,” I reply politely, praying she doesn’t try to talk to me during the trek down.

“Are you excited for you party on Sunday?”

I shrug my shoulders. “As excited as a man my age gets for birthdays, I suppose. I’m not quite sure Mom knows she doesn’t have to throw me superhero-themed parties anymore. “

She throws her head back with a fake laugh. “Your mom does enjoy the party planning, doesn’t she?”

“Always has.”

“Will you be bringing your new
friend,
Blake? That’s her name, right?” The sound of Blake’s name rolling off her tongue makes my blood boil, and I try hard to keep my cool. I fail.

“Yes,
Blake
is coming on Sunday,” I mutter through gritted teeth, “and you know her name, so don’t act stupid.”

“Well, I wasn’t sure, because I tried to do a little background check on her—and all the people over at JDT Graphics working on the video game project,” she adds the last part in a lame attempt to make her prying necessary, “but I couldn’t find any information on her. It’s almost like Blake Martin didn’t exist until a few months ago, when she moved to California and got a job there—no degree information, no work history, nothing. I’m not sure she’s actually qualified to be working on a project of this magnitude.”

I don’t even turn my head to face her, partly because I’m afraid if I see her, I’ll really lose my shit. Instead, I lay it out for her in a cold, calculated voice. “Emerson, I’m going to tell you this one time, and one time only…stop researching Blake, stop talking about her, and best yet, stop having any thoughts about her. As far as work goes, she’s more than competent for the project, and as far as every other fucking thing in life, she belongs to me, I belong to her, and that is the end of the goddamn story. I swear to you, you better not say one rude or ugly thing to her on Sunday, or any other time. I will make your life a living hell if you test me on this.”

The elevator doors open and I storm out without waiting for a response. I’m not sure what the fuck I was ever thinking getting involved with that kind of crazy—she’s no different than the other money and status hungry whores.

Thirty minutes later, I’ve calmed down somewhat and am perusing the flower selection at the local grocery store. Sarah is cooking dinner for Blake and me, but I wanted to bring her a fresh floral arrangement and a special bottle of wine to show her how much I’ve missed having her at my house with me. After staring at more shades of roses than I ever knew existed, I finally choose a couple dozen of what the florist assistant tells me are called “impact” roses. Whatever they are, I like the way the outer petals are dark pink and how the shade gradually blends to the inner petals, which are a bright yellow. They remind me of her – a dark protective outer shell concealing a bright, colorful center.

As I’m walking back to the wine section of the store, my cell phone rings, and as I pull it from my pocket, I see it’s Blake. I assume she’s calling to let me know she’s on her way to my house.

“Hey, beautiful,” I answer, the exhilaration of seeing her soon sweeping through me.

“Umm…hi, is this Madden?” a foreign male voice responds.

I stop walking dead in my tracks.
What in the fuck?
“Yes, this is Madden. Who is this?”

“This is Greg. I’m a friend of Blake’s,” he says shakily. Then he begins to ramble, jumbled information pouring out of his mouth. “She was here at Tony’s bar with Jae and they were leaving…I-I don’t know what happened. I came outside to get my phone I left in my car, and I found her passed out in the parking lot. I got her to kind of wake up, and the only thing she’ll say is ‘Madden’, so I scrolled through her phone and found your number.”

Her friend, Greg? WTF?
“Where are you again?” I shout into the phone, forgetting about the wine and darting out of the store, flowers still clutched in my hand—unpaid for.

“Tony’s on Magnolia in Burbank. We’re in the parking lot across the street.”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes,” I bark as I climb into my car, tossing the arrangement in the backseat. “Is she hurt? Is she breathing? Can she talk?”

“Sh-she doesn’t appear to be hurt, except her hands are a little skinned up, and yes, her breathing seems normal. She’s barely conscious, so I don’t think she can talk on the phone. She just keeps saying your name over and over.”

The last thing on my mind is the speed limit or the stolen flowers in the back of my car, and gratefully, I make it there without drawing any attention from the police. Pulling into the parking lot like a bat out of hell, I immediately see her car and park as close to it as possible. I leap from my car and rush to where she’s draped across this strange guy’s lap. The caveman protector in me sweeps her from his arms and cuddles her close to my chest.

“It’s okay, Blake; I’m here. It’s Madden, and I’m right here. Everything’s gonna be okay,” I whisper soothingly to her, stroking her hair with my free hand.

Her grasp around my neck tightens as the words sink in and she realizes it’s me who has her. “Madden, you came,” she mumbles groggily. “I had a…one of those—”

“Shhh, no need to explain anything. I’ve got you now.”

The guy stands there staring at us, apparently waiting for answers of what’s going on. “I’ve got it from here, man. Thanks for calling me,” I say to him, hoping he gets the hint to leave us alone.

“Is she going to be okay? What happened?”

It’s none of his fucking business what happened, and I want to tell him exactly that, but I remember if it wasn’t for him finding her, she might still be laid out on the ground. “She gets these dizzy spells from time to time. She’ll be okay after she eats and rests.”

“Okay, good. Well, she has my number; please tell her to let me know how she’s doing. I’ll worry about her. She’s a sweet girl.”

My control snaps. “I told you she’ll be fine; there’s no need for you to worry or for her to call you,” I growl, “and she’s
my
sweet girl.” I sound like a prehistoric, possessive asshole, and I don’t give a fuck.

I carry her to my car and gently set her on the passenger seat, opting to leave her car there for the night. If it gets towed, I’ll pay to get it out. Shit, I’ll buy her a new fucking car at this point; I just need to get her to my home. I call Sarah en route, giving her a heads up of the condition I’m bringing Blake in, and God love her, she doesn’t ever ask any questions; she simply does whatever is necessary to help us. It’s evident how fond they are of each other. I think the couple of days I went to work and left them alone, they bonded a bit.

Sarah is waiting for me at the backdoor as I hold Blake’s lethargic body close to me and walk across the driveway. Towels are spread out on my bed when I get upstairs, and I lay her down to do a full assessment of her condition. After scrutinizing every inch of her in great detail, it appears the guy was right—no injuries except for some minor scraping of the skin across her palms.

Slowly, she begins to gather herself back into full consciousness, obviously confused of her whereabouts when she first opens her eyes. I hover over her so she can focus on my face and know she’s safe and secure.

“Hi there, Blake,” I say in a soft voice. “You’re at my house, sweet girl.”

Shakily, she lifts her head up and glances around the room before locking her gaze on mine. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers as her bottom lip begins to wobble uncontrollably.

“No, no, please don’t say that,” I soothe her. Lifting my hand up to her face, I tenderly cup her cheek. “It’s okay. I’m glad you’re not hurt, and now you’re here with me. Everything’s going to be all right.”

She leans her face into my touch, resting against my palm. “Everything has been going so well. I hadn’t had one in almost two weeks, and I really thought things were changing…that I was breaking free from them.”

“Slow and steady, sweet girl,” I remind her. “You’ve been doing great. Whatever it is, it isn’t going to disappear overnight.” So badly I want to ask her what
it
is; it’s driving me damn near insane not knowing so much about her past and whatever terrible things she can’t completely let go of, but I promised her I wouldn’t push her, and I’m not going to lose her trust now.