smaller room down the hall so I wouldn’t see the
endless parade of women coming and going. It’s not like it was a big secret.
I picked a fight about it, but Calvin
choked me to the point that I almost passed out. I decided it wasn’t worth
dying for, but it still pisses me off.
After some knockdown, drag out fights
(and make no mistake, I lost them all when they turned physical), we settled
into a routine. He fucked, drank, and spent my money while I worked to keep
the resort running. Sounds fair, right?
He didn’t talk to me, and I didn’t talk
to him. That’s why it surprised the hell out of me when he sent Rico down to
the tiki bar on the beach with a message that he wanted to see me at the house.
~***~
In hindsight, I should’ve known
something was up. As I walked the smooth path through the jungle back to the
house, I noticed there was a huge yacht docked at the marina.
We get some big yachts here, but not
like this one. Massive, like a floating hotel. It was big and white, with
golden hardware gleaming in the sun. It took up a whole side of one of the
marina docks. It must’ve been at least six stories, if you compared it to a
building.
It would probably surprise you to know
that despite living on an island resort, I don’t know a whole lot about boats.
That’s because it scares the shit out of me to go out in one on open water. I
don’t do it unless I absolutely have to. Being out on the ocean with no land
in sight stirs some primal fear in me. I lock up and can’t breathe. Makes me a
little crazy. I’ll keep my feet planted on solid terra firma, thank you very
much. There’s nothing out there that I need to see bad enough that I would ever
willingly get on a boat.
Our mansion sits on ten acres of lush
tropical vegetation surrounded by a very high, white iron fence topped with
barbed wire. Calling it a fence will give you the wrong impression. The house
is protected like a military base, with armed guards carrying AR-15s and
everything.
One of our guests tried to scale the
enclosure once. He was almost to the house when they caught him. He had all
kinds of nasty things on him: rope, duct tape, and some kind of drug that
knocks you senseless. He was after my mom, who was positively,
absofuckinglutely gorgeous. Dad sort of went white when they told him. The
barbed wire went up the next day. The armed guards were in place the day
after.
I punched in the code, and the gate swung
open. It was about a half-mile of macadam walkway to the house. Under other
circumstances, I would’ve taken my time for a face-to-face with Calvin. It was
so unlike him to ask to see me though, that I hurried. Wish I would’ve known
then what I know now.
I won’t bore you with the details of the
mansion, though I know they want you to include description so you can picture
it in your mind. Let’s just say the house was larger than life, from the huge
wrap-around porch with its fluted white marble pillars to the double, mahogany
doors with gold hardware in the front. The house was a cream color, with dark
brown hurricane shutters and lots of what they call ‘gingerbread’. I loved our
house.
Calvin was sitting in my dad’s study
with his feet up on the massive dark red mahogany desk. My father would’ve
punched him in the face if he’d seen him do that.
I’m going to stop here, and give you a
little description of what I had on that day. I hate when they do that
in books, because it’s not really relevant to the story (most of the time), and
it sort of stops the flow of things. I’m going to do it because I think it’s
important that you understand that I didn’t leave Tiago with much on in the way
of clothing. And I wish I had.
I also want to tell you because my brain
can’t seem to lose any of the minute details of those moments leading up to the
start of my ‘little problem’, and it makes me feel better to comb over them.
They were the last
endless parade of women coming and going. It’s not like it was a big secret.
I picked a fight about it, but Calvin
choked me to the point that I almost passed out. I decided it wasn’t worth
dying for, but it still pisses me off.
After some knockdown, drag out fights
(and make no mistake, I lost them all when they turned physical), we settled
into a routine. He fucked, drank, and spent my money while I worked to keep
the resort running. Sounds fair, right?
He didn’t talk to me, and I didn’t talk
to him. That’s why it surprised the hell out of me when he sent Rico down to
the tiki bar on the beach with a message that he wanted to see me at the house.
~***~
In hindsight, I should’ve known
something was up. As I walked the smooth path through the jungle back to the
house, I noticed there was a huge yacht docked at the marina.
We get some big yachts here, but not
like this one. Massive, like a floating hotel. It was big and white, with
golden hardware gleaming in the sun. It took up a whole side of one of the
marina docks. It must’ve been at least six stories, if you compared it to a
building.
It would probably surprise you to know
that despite living on an island resort, I don’t know a whole lot about boats.
That’s because it scares the shit out of me to go out in one on open water. I
don’t do it unless I absolutely have to. Being out on the ocean with no land
in sight stirs some primal fear in me. I lock up and can’t breathe. Makes me a
little crazy. I’ll keep my feet planted on solid terra firma, thank you very
much. There’s nothing out there that I need to see bad enough that I would ever
willingly get on a boat.
Our mansion sits on ten acres of lush
tropical vegetation surrounded by a very high, white iron fence topped with
barbed wire. Calling it a fence will give you the wrong impression. The house
is protected like a military base, with armed guards carrying AR-15s and
everything.
One of our guests tried to scale the
enclosure once. He was almost to the house when they caught him. He had all
kinds of nasty things on him: rope, duct tape, and some kind of drug that
knocks you senseless. He was after my mom, who was positively,
absofuckinglutely gorgeous. Dad sort of went white when they told him. The
barbed wire went up the next day. The armed guards were in place the day
after.
I punched in the code, and the gate swung
open. It was about a half-mile of macadam walkway to the house. Under other
circumstances, I would’ve taken my time for a face-to-face with Calvin. It was
so unlike him to ask to see me though, that I hurried. Wish I would’ve known
then what I know now.
I won’t bore you with the details of the
mansion, though I know they want you to include description so you can picture
it in your mind. Let’s just say the house was larger than life, from the huge
wrap-around porch with its fluted white marble pillars to the double, mahogany
doors with gold hardware in the front. The house was a cream color, with dark
brown hurricane shutters and lots of what they call ‘gingerbread’. I loved our
house.
Calvin was sitting in my dad’s study
with his feet up on the massive dark red mahogany desk. My father would’ve
punched him in the face if he’d seen him do that.
I’m going to stop here, and give you a
little description of what I had on that day. I hate when they do that
in books, because it’s not really relevant to the story (most of the time), and
it sort of stops the flow of things. I’m going to do it because I think it’s
important that you understand that I didn’t leave Tiago with much on in the way
of clothing. And I wish I had.
I also want to tell you because my brain
can’t seem to lose any of the minute details of those moments leading up to the
start of my ‘little problem’, and it makes me feel better to comb over them.
They were the last
Similar Books
