Dirty Ugly Toy Read online

  “And if I don’t agree?” The old me would have never challenged him. But the new me is slightly stronger.

  “I’ll make your life a living hell.”

  His face is red and furious, his hair messy. I watch him, with perfected practice, as he smooths his hair into place. As he tucks his Polo shirt back into his slacks. With the back of his hand, he wipes a bead of sweat off his brow. To any onlooker, he’s a handsome, successful, wealthy man.

  To me, he’s evil personified.

  He stole so much from me.

  I won’t let him steal Braxton.

  As I rise to my feet, I have a harder time recovering than him. Every part of me aches from his abuse. “How will you explain this?”

  He shrugs his shoulders and smirks. “You weren’t wearing your lanyard. Those are the rules, baby. But you better make sure you let him know it was some other asshole and not me. I will find out, Jessica.”

  I exhale in relief when he disappears into the elevators. Everything in me screams to take the next elevator down and tell Brax everything. I know Brax would hurt him. Ruin him even. At least I’d like to hope he would.

  But I also know Jimmy all too well.

  He’s fucking psychotic.

  Jimmy would make it his life’s mission to rip apart my Braxton. And people like Christine and Cartier would be collateral damage. The very idea of Brax losing his beautiful home and sitting in a cold, dark cell has me sick again to my stomach.

  But the thought of Jimmy and his wickedness at our Georgian home is too much. I can never go back there. Going back means certain death. He’s tried to kill me before and I don’t put it past him to do it again.

  I’ll never go back there.

  When my time is up, I’ll take Brax’s money and leave. I won’t let Jimmy ruin him but I also won’t go back to that monster. This is the only way.

  Tears fall bitterly down my cheeks. I knew Braxton and I were too good to be true. Someone always yanks the proverbial rug out from under my feet.

  Every damn time.

  The man taunts her. Calls her names. Pushes her around. And I promised I wouldn’t come out of the closet—that I’d just close my eyes and take a nap until Mama was done working.

  But I can’t.

  She’s my mom and watching some man hurt her is making me crazy.

  I’m twelve and big for my age. I am pretty sure I can take him.

  “Fucked up whore. You can’t even get my dick hard.” The man sneers and backhands my mama across the face.

  Rage explodes through me and I’m flying out of the closet before I can stop myself. Mama is naked on her hands and knees sobbing. The stupid woman-beater, also naked, gapes at me in shock as I charge him. With one of my metal stars I’d cut from a soda can in my grip, I slash at his face with it. He lets out a grunt and ducks out of the way. His kick to my ribs sucks the breath out of me and I crash into the wall. I’m back on my feet in a second and charging back at him. This time, my fist connects with his face.

  I’ve never punched anyone before but the popping sound it makes satisfies me. I want to do it over and over until he’s a bloody pulp. Then, I’ll get my mama out of here away from this crazy person.

  I’m about to hit the guy again when out of nowhere his fist slams into my jaw. The world goes black around me and I hit the ground with a thud. My mama’s safety is the last worry on my mind before I fade into oblivion.

  “Braxton Kennedy?” A voice thunders from behind me, jerking me from my memories of the past. The sourness of my thoughts still leaves a bitter aftertaste on my tongue. That next morning, I’d awoken to my mother’s moans as she rode the asshole’s cock who beat the shit out of me. I had never felt so betrayed as I did that day.

  “James Dixon,” I say to the man I recognize from his emails. “Glad to finally meet you in the flesh. You ready to get your ass kicked out on the green, Mr. President?”

  He chuckles but the humor is a façade. He’s pissed about something and not doing a very good job of hiding it. “I can assure you, I play the game much better than you.”

  His words settle over me like a cold fog. The threat in them doesn’t feel like friendly banter about golf. It’s something altogether different. It raises my hackles.

  “We’ll see, buddy.”

  He walks past me outside where Dubois is loading our luggage onto a cart to lug upstairs. I’m glad he’s staying to keep an eye on Jess. That girl has trouble written all over her and it drives me insane knowing she’ll be in this big city without me. Not that I fear she’d leave me or anything. The opposite actually. I’m afraid someone will take what’s mine.

  The valet pulls up in a brand new, Audi R8 Coupe convertible. It’s black and silver and really making me want to trade in one of my cars back home for one.

  “You have to let me drive, man,” James says and then whistles. “Damn, this car is hot.”

  I roll my eyes at him, but climb into the passenger seat. When he gets in and lowers the top, I glance over at him. He’s like a little kid in the fucking candy store.

  “Guess they don’t have cars this nice back east. What do presidential hopefuls drive anyway? Station wagons?” He may be a well-to-do politician but he doesn’t make a fraction of what I make from my business ventures.

  “I drive a beamer back home, asshole.” His words are meant in jest but I notice the irritated edge to them.

  Soon, we’re cruising through Vegas without a care in the world. But that’s not true. I’ve checked my phone a hundred times since we left making sure that Dubois hasn’t tried to call or message. For some reason, I’m about to have a goddamned anxiety attack at having to leave Jessica by herself.

  I miss my Bunny.

  James drones on about his campaign bullshit and I nod as if I’m paying attention. I’ll be glad when this is over so I can get back to her. She seemed crestfallen when I informed her this wasn’t going to be a romantic weekend. It spurred something inside of me to make sure that changed. I will figure out a way to make this weekend special for her.

  “So the staff tells me you have a toy. I mean, obviously you would being owner and all. What’s she look like? How is she in bed? Does she suck cock like a champ? Does she scream like the whore she is when you beat her into submission or does she quietly beg for more? Curious minds want to know.”

  His words jerk me from my thoughts of her and I turn to glare at him. I don’t like his shitty attitude.

  “Bunny is fine. What toy did you get for this weekend?” I grit out, evading all of his other stupid-ass, nosy questions.

  “Bunny. How cute.” He flicks me a satisfied gaze. “Let’s just say that Cherry, the sweet little young brunette toy I ordered, is incapacitated. I fucked her up earlier. You’ll meet her at the dinner party.”

  I never really know what the members do with their toys but something tells me this guy is brutal with his. But his Black membership keeps me from knowing the details. If he violated the terms of their agreement though, I would know about it. And since I haven’t received any memos from management, I suppose he isn’t being too much of a prick.

  “I’m not going to the dinner party. Bunny wants me to wine and dine her.”

  His knuckles grip the steering wheel and he shoots me an annoyed glance. “Thought she was your toy. Sounds like she’s toying with you. Who’s the boss again? For a minute there it sounded like she had your balls in her purse.”

  I fist my hands and grind my teeth together. If he weren’t driving this expensive-ass car, I’d have already punched the fucker in the nose.

  But, I don’t like for others to see my weaknesses and like a bloody damn hound, I believe this power hungry punk would be sniffing around like he’s on a hunt for the kill. So, I say what he needs to hear to keep him off my ass.

  “Fine, we’ll be there. Cherry and Bunny will get along well I’m sure.”

  He seems satisfied by my answer. “I hope Cherry can make it. She was feeling a little under the weather earlier. Gue
ss choking on a cock’ll do that to you though.”

  I nod as if I agree but I don’t. Right now, I’m wondering how I ever agreed to play golf with this stupid fuck. Was I just like him at one time? Has Jessica changed me?

  “Have you heard from Trevor?” I question Dubois as I chug down a bottle of water. I’m still hot as fuck from our intense golf game. James was drinking and it affected his game. He ended up beating the shit out of the golf cart with an expensive club. I didn’t stop his stupid ass. I let him do it and secretly hoped some onlooker got him on video. A video like that would really help his presidential campaign—take a nosedive, that is.

  Dubois is on his laptop at the small table in the room adjacent to the master in the penthouse suite. I’d come in here first before going to Jess. He looks up from his screen and his lips press into a firm line.

  “Sir, Glenna and Jamal haven’t seen or heard from him. He’s totally gone off the grid. But, without your constant funnel of money he’d been taking, I don’t think he can do much or go far. Give me some time and I’ll find out where he is.”

  Dubois seems more on edge and I scowl at him. “What’s wrong?”

  His eyes widen in surprise. I’ve known the man for nearly two decades. I know when something bothers him. Just like he’s been weird about Bunny, he’s being fucking weird now too.

  “She told me not to call you but . . .”

  Rage explodes from within as a million horrible things flip through my mind. “But what? What the fuck is going on?”

  I’m already stalking out of the room toward the master bathroom with Dubois hot on my heels. “Sir, something happened. I can assure you, I’m on it. I’ll figure out what it was and . . .”

  The knob is locked and I slam my fist against the door. “Jessica! Let me in!”

  Dubois is nervously chattering behind me but all it takes is a furious glare at him to shut him up. He wisely leaves the room.

  “Jessica!”

  I’m about to kick in the goddamned door when the lock clicks and the door swings open. My rage simmers a bit to see Bunny looking like a fucking knockout. She’s done her makeup dark, around her eyes but not in a whorish way—more like a runway model kind of way. A tight, short black, sleeveless dress hugs her gorgeous curves and she wears black stilettoes that make her much taller. Her dark hair has been straightened and hangs around her face in front of her shoulders.

  “Jesus,” I hiss out. “You look fucking amazing, woman.”

  Her pouty lips draw up into a forced smile and I clear the lust-filled thoughts from my head to focus on what’s wrong. They’re both acting so damn strange.

  “What happened?” My demand is a low growl.

  “Um, I,” she whispers, “didn’t have the lanyard on.”

  The wobble in her voice—filled with pure terror—infuriates me. If someone touched one single strand of hair on her head, I’ll kill them.

  “What happened?”

  “They, uh, thought I was free game. Roughed me up a bit.”

  My vision goes black with rage. I storm from the bathroom and sling a lamp from a desk along the way. It crashes somewhere in the room but I don’t stop to inspect the damage. With fisted hands, I charge to where Dubois paces in the other room. I shove him the moment I see him and he hits the floor hard. “Why the fuck did you not call me?” I roar. “Who the fuck hurt my woman?”

  Dubois babbles on about shit. He’ll search the surveillance tapes. Shit like that. I don’t give a goddamn what he’s talking about.

  “Brax.”

  Her voice is soft and when her arms slide around me from behind to hug me, I calm the inner storm that is raging inside. “He should have called me. I’ve been playing fucking golf while someone hurt you! Where? What did they do to you?”

  Turning in her arms, I devour her features. She’s managed to hide a bruise on her cheek and around her eye with heavy makeup. And now that I’m looking at her, I can see her neck is dotted with makeup covered bruises. More bruises that she didn’t cover up are around her upper arm.

  I will murder whoever did this to her with my bare fucking hands.

  “Who? What did he look like? Did he have a toy with him?”

  She stands on her toes and kisses my lips. Her soft touch calms me more. “Some guy with blond hair. He was just playing with me until he saw the gold lanyard in my hands. Then he ran off. I’m fine. I promise. Let’s just forget about it, Brax. I begged Dubois not to call you so please don’t punish him.”

  I flick my gaze over my shoulder to see Dubois dusting himself off. He’s back in his seat and tapping away on his computer. We’ve come to blows before, he and I. And despite being pissed at him, I know he has my best interest at heart. He’ll find the motherfucker who did this. The determination in his eyes tells me so.

  “What floor did this happen on?”

  She chews on her lip and debates on whether or not to tell me. “Um, in the elevator.”

  I groan. There aren’t cameras on the elevator or on the Black or penthouse floors for the discretion of our members. Had it happened anywhere else, I’d already know which fucker did this to her and have killed him.

  “Brax, I promise. I’m fine. It was my fault.” Her smile is almost convincing. But it’s so practiced that it scares me. She’s done this before—convinced people with a charming, easy smile.

  I’m not fucking convinced.

  This was not her fault.

  And I’ll make it my mission to find out who did it so I can ruin them.

  With Jessica’s hand threaded in mine, we exit the elevator and walk toward the private dining room. Tonight, I asked Jamal and Glenna to join us and told them to bring their toys as well—one of the perks to their jobs. Dubois has decided to stay back to research what happened while we go to dinner. I’m on edge and don’t want to deal with James but it’s inevitable.

  “Brax, buddy!” James’ voice barks out as we enter the dark, swanky dining room. He stands from the table and strides over to us. “This must be Bunny.”

  His leering eyes are all over her and I want to stand in front of her to shield her from his stare. Her hand grows cold in mine and I know he intimidates her for some reason.

  “Bunny, this is James. James, my toy.”

  He reaches for her hand to shake and when she reluctantly offers it, he draws her into a friendly hug. The asshole has been drinking and clearly doesn’t know he’s crossing the line at the moment. She cries out when he hugs her which has me jerking her back away from him.

  “Hands off my toy.” My voice is a low, threatening growl.

  “Woah, man, I didn’t mean to hurt her. I barely touched her. Are you okay, little peach?” he questions in faux concern.

  Something about the way his eyes seem to lazily caress her skin makes me fucking crazy.

  “No, uh,” she stammers. “I’m a little sore from working out. You couldn’t have known that.”

  She’s playing the part. Hiding the beating she took earlier from some blond dipshit. If James didn’t have dark brown hair, I’d have already killed him just because.

  “I see,” he says, a proud smile stretching over his lips. “Glad to see you work out. Toys should be in great shape for their masters. You and Brax should come to Georgia sometime. The peaches there are fucking juicy and delicious.”

  She clutches onto my hand as if she’s frightened of him and I want to punch him in the nose.

  “Okay, James. That’s enough. Let’s see your toy.”

  He laughs and only stumbles slightly before making his way back over to the round table where everyone sits. All of the toys don their black lanyards and Jess proudly wears her gold one. I don’t care if she’s on my arm all night, that lanyard isn’t leaving her neck again until we’re on the airplane back to Seattle.

  We take our seats and James slides an arm around the tiny brunette. Her eyes are dilated and she seems lost. I know the look. Bunny had the same far-off look when she was fucked up on heroin. It would seem Ja
mes likes them this way. Cherry’s lip is swollen and her neck is a mixture of bruises and hickeys.

  Dinner is awkward. Jamal and Glenna are both on their best behavior after the Trevor fiasco. Both fear me as if at any minute I’ll crawl over the table and beat the shit out of them too. They’re safe though because as the night wanes on, the only asshole I want to kill is James.

  Bunny of course dazzles everyone with her knowledge of current events and maintains her place as an equal whereas the other toys seem lost and confused. She’s different. Always was. And now I’m proud of that fact.

  “So,” James slurs and nearly knocks over Cherry’s wine glass. “Tell them what you like me to do, Cher-bear.”

  He must squeeze her thigh under the table because she yelps and for a brief moment fear flashes across her dull eyes when she glances my way. Bunny, clearly uncomfortable with the exchange, stiffens from beside me.

  “I like when he hurts me.” Cherry’s response is robotic in nature.

  “Excuse me,” Bunny says suddenly as she stands, earning a nasty glare from James. “I need to visit the ladies room.”

  “Me too,” Cherry blurts out.

  James yanks Cherry back down into her seat. “Sit down, bitch. Piss on the floor for all I care.”

  Bunny doesn’t waste any time in hauling ass out of the dining room.

  “James, man. Let the toy go to the bathroom.” I tell him, a firm, non-negotiating tone in my voice. He may be a paying customer but I don’t like his attitude. At the end of the day, I call the shots around here.

  He grunts and with an annoyed, clipped nod grants her permission to which Cherry flies out of her seat to get away from him. I study him as he watches her much like a lion would gaze upon the gazelle he’s about to kill. It makes me want to choke him. I’ve gone from looking forward to meeting this client to ready to kill him all in the course of one day.