Owning Corey (32 page)

Ambrosio considers for a moment. The scene through the window behind him is so serene, so ordinary. My small town street populated by winter trees, older homes, and the occasional passing car. An odd backdrop for a drug lord who is deciding the fate of a man he considers to be his property. If it weren’t so serious, it would be laughable.

“I paid fifty thousand dollars for him. His debt plus interest, I was told.” His mouth curls at one corner in a self-satisfied smirk. “But he’s caused me nothing but trouble over the years. I think some restitution is in order.” He muses for a moment. “I’ll let him go for a hundred thousand.”

“Done. I’ll have someone bring the money.”

Corey growls and rushes Ambrosio, pushing against his chest with both palms. “You asshole, he’s just a doctor. He can’t afford that kind of money. Just stop this game and let me go.”

Ambrosio straightens his shirt where Corey has rumpled it. “You don’t even know who you’re living with, do you boy? Your doctor has a skeleton or two in his own closet, one of which left him with millions of dollars. You’re so insulting to me and my family and friends, but have you even bothered to learn about his family? Should I tell him, Ben?”

I stare at the ceiling, wondering who the hell sold me out to Ambrosio’s detective and wishing I could have told Corey about my embarrassing family history on my own terms.

Too late now.

I face Corey, whose expression betrays his apprehension. “My grandfather was a bank robber back in the 1950s. He pulled off several robberies, including one that was worth almost three million. It was a very famous case, still considered unsolved because the money was never recovered. Over the course of several years, all of his partners either got busted or killed, but he disappeared without a trace. The general consensus is that my grandfather sold out and even murdered his friends, keeping the money for himself. Only a few people know this, but most of the money was passed down to me. Of course it’s worth quite a bit more now, because of investments.”

Ambrosio laughs even harder as I finish my tale. “Now you know, Corey. Your upstanding doctor is the grandson of a double-crossing thief— and serial killer, as you so eloquently described my friend. He’s been dishonest with you about his heritage and his net worth. What else? One day you’ll learn that rich guys aren’t nice, darling. Money is dirty, and those of us who have it have dirt on our hands.”

I’m afraid to look at Corey as I pull out my cell phone and call the bank, asking to speak to the president. After I arrange it with him, I call Mike and ask him to pick up the money for me. The whole thing takes about five minutes. While we’re waiting for Mike to arrive, I rummage in the drawer of the roll top desk and come up with a booklet of carbon-copied bill of sale receipts. “Don’t mind if we make this official, do you?”

Ambrosio shrugs in a decidedly petulant manner, and I set about writing out a receipt for my first— and hopefully only— purchase of a human being. To say this is surreal would be an understatement.

Corey sits down in the blue velvet wingback chair in a shadowed corner of the office, but I still haven’t worked up enough courage to look at his face. He might hate me for this, but what other choice do I have? Surely he understands that this is necessary to give Ambrosio a sense of closure and to guard against him coming back to defend his misguided sense of honor.

When Ambrosio’s armed goon escorts Mike into the office, the silent band of tension that’s been squeezing the three of us for endless minutes is immediately broken. “Thank you so much for coming, Mike.” I surprise both him and myself by wrapping my arms around his broad shoulders and hugging him.

“No problem, Doc. I told you I’d be waiting.” He moves to squat at the foot of Corey’s chair, mumbling words of comfort, and I’m thankful he’s able to do what I can’t at the moment.

I approach Ambrosio with a mixture of trepidation and eagerness, holding out the bill of sale for him to sign. It takes a moment for him to actually do it, his eyes shifting restlessly, and I’m afraid he’s about to back out. A disturbing vignette plays out in my head of him ordering his guard to shoot me and Mike as he whisks Corey into his obscenely expensive SUV and takes him back to the sensory deprivation chamber. I shudder when I realize that Ambrosio is probably imagining a similar scenario, and we’re balancing on a tightrope between a favorable outcome and a disastrous one.

Finally, he takes the bill of sale from me and scratches out a swirled signature that’s just as arrogant as he is. Few things have ever looked as lovely to me, though, or given me as much relief. I take the paper back, give it a perusal, and present Ambrosio with the carbon copy. All three of our names are there, and I’m struck by the fact that our entire sordid story has been told so succinctly on a three-by-eight slip of paper.

After Ambrosio roars away in his SUV, I fall heavily onto the couch. The sudden abatement of stress has left my body boneless, my mind a noisy jumble. I stare up at the ceiling for a long time, hearing Mike and Corey’s voices as if from some great distance, unable to discern what they’re saying. Relief is all I can feel, all I can focus on.

I don’t go to Corey. I don’t comfort him or even speak to him, and he doesn’t come to me either. Somehow, in trying to draw us closer together, I’ve merely created a breach.

21

The house twinkles with elegance, decked out from floor to ceiling in gold and silver in honor of the New Year. Flickering faux candles adorn every surface. Tables are covered with crystal glasses, bottles of fine wine, and hors d’oeuvres of all shapes and flavors.

Preparation for the party has been hectic, including a two hour drive to Atlanta to purchase tuxedos, Beluga caviar, and Cristal champagne, none of which were available anywhere in the vicinity of Blackwood.

Corey stands in a corner surrounded by adoring females, tapping his fingers against his thigh to the beat of an understated rap song— one of his choices on the party playlist. He puts me in mind of a roguish prince in his badass midnight blue Armani tux, his unruly black hair curling seductively at his forehead and collar. Not surprisingly, he’s eschewed the bow tie, opting instead to wear the shirt slightly open at the collar. As proud as I am of my home and the decorating we did together, everything pales in his shadow.

He is both the brightest and the darkest thing in my life.

Now that the house is full of guests, I begin to worry about the noise level. Hopping over the gate I’ve temporarily installed at the bottom of the stairs, I head up to the much quieter second floor.

I push open one of the bedroom doors and slip inside. It’s dark except for the glow of the pink fairy night light, but I can clearly see the beautiful little girl sleeping in the canopy bed in the center of the room.

“She hasn’t woken up yet,” says the teenage daughter of one of the day nurses, who is sitting in a rocking chair to one side of the bed. “Such a sweet little thing. I can’t wait to babysit her while she’s awake.”

“Hope you’re not too bored up here with all of the partying going on downstairs.”

“Nah, got my e-reader.” She holds up a cell phone and smiles. “Besides, I’m not much of a partier.”

As I approach the bed, my chest tightens with an emotion I’m not yet accustomed to feeling. Tyleah’s caramel curls spill across the pillow, her lashes fluttering against her plump cheeks as she dreams. It’s hard to believe that only days ago she almost died. Remembering it, I’m awestruck by the way fate has of bringing people together.

My family.

The skepticism in my mind, masquerading as logic, argues with me.

Ridiculous.

It insists that I barely know the other two people in my makeshift family, which has only been days in the making. My heart knows the truth, though. I’m more connected to these two strangers than to any of the people I’ve known for years.

“She still sleeping?” Corey is suddenly at my shoulder, startling me and comforting me at once with his unexpected presence.

I catch the scent of my body wash on him, loving the way it combines with his body chemistry to create a unique variation of the familiar scent. It boggles my brain, gets me thinking about being wrapped up in his strong arms, skin to skin. But he hasn’t even touched me since the night we made love, just before Ambrosio rumbled into town in his tank and poisoned everything.

“She’s so peaceful,” I whisper. “It makes me happy that we’re able to keep her safe now. There are so many children in the world we can’t help, but by God we can help this one.”

“You’re great at keeping people safe.” He smiles, but it’s not the charismatic, dimpled grin I’ve come to know so well. It’s a wistful little thing that makes me sad, for him and for me.

“Could you step out into the hall for a minute, Stephanie?” I ask the sitter. She hurries out, closing the door quietly behind her.

Unable to deny my instincts, I turn and lean against Corey, wrapping my arms around his waist and burrowing my face into the side of his throat. I inhale deeply of his scent and kiss his neck with trembling lips. There’s no way I can get close enough. I want to take him into my body, to go into his, to become one with him.

He pulls away, leaving me bereft, faltering only for a beat before moving to the door. “Your guests… They’ll be wondering where you are.”

Disappointment settles like an anvil in my gut, but I refuse to allow him to see it. “Let them wonder. There’s something I want to give you before we go back to the party.”

I’m really taking a chance opening up to him like this, because for days he’s been anything but amorous. I’m getting the distinct impression he’s not attracted to me anymore, that he’s cringing every time I touch him, and it makes me feel empty and desperate inside.

If he doesn’t want me, then so be it. I can’t make him. But even if he doesn’t, I have to do this one thing for him before it’s all over.

After I usher the sitter back into Tyleah’s room, Corey follows me silently down the stairs, over the gate, and into my bedroom. We get waylaid by a couple of hyper-social nurses who have imbibed a little too much of the bubbly, but they prove easy enough to escape.

Behind my locked door, we have the privacy I’ve been craving for days. He looks apprehensive, probably thinking I’m going to try to seduce him, but that’s not why I’ve brought him here. I have something much more important to take care of.

A shirt box is hidden beneath my folded boxers in the armoire, wrapped in pale blue paper and tied with an elaborate white bow.

Corey balks when he sees it. “You already gave me so many gifts for Christmas. You bought me a whole wardrobe, for crying out loud. I feel bad accepting another gift, Ben. All I could afford to get you was that stupid tie you hated.”

“I didn’t hate it, Corey. I loved it. Besides, Christmas was mostly about Tyleah. And yeah, I wanted you to have some new clothes. You came into town with nothing but a damn duffel bag.” I sit down beside him on the bed, but not too close. “Would it make you feel better about the gifts if I said I was tired of seeing those same three outfits on you? Really, it was hideous. You were so ugly I almost threw up every time I looked at you. Buying you those clothes was a matter of self-defense.”

“Fuck you, Ben.” He’s laughing now at least, and some of the tension has left his face. “If you think I’m ugly, I’d hate to see how you act around someone you think is hot.”

“Okay, I admit it. You could wear Bermuda shorts and gold lam
é
bedroom slippers and still be the hottest guy in town. I just want you to have nice things, that’s all. Now open the box.”

He tears into the paper self-consciously, stopping every few seconds to give me an embarrassed smile. Once he’s ripped all of the paper away and broken into the box, his demeanor changes. He’s quiet for so long that I start to get nervous, wondering if maybe I’ve done the wrong thing.

He pulls the gift from the box and holds it out in front of him. It’s the bill of sale for his purchase, mounted in an expensive gilt frame.

“Maybe I should have given it to you for Christmas, but New Year’s seemed the more appropriate occasion, since it signifies a new beginning.”

Tears stream out of his eyes, splattering onto the frame, and he struggles to wipe them away. I grab the frame and set it to the side, taking him in my arms and squeezing him tightly. His body heaves with sobs, and I just hold him while he lets it all out. We sit that way for a long time, in our own little world, the sounds of the festivities outside the door barely registering.

When he’s finally calmed down enough to speak, his voice wavers. “I’ve been ashamed of myself for causing you so much trouble… Costing you so much money… I’m nothing but a liability to you, Ben. I’m a mangy stray that showed up on your doorstep—”

“Stop it. You haven’t cost me anything. I’ve been unhappy for so long I forgot that’s not how it’s supposed to be. Then you came along, and everything changed for me. The money is nothing. It’s ill-gotten anyway, and as far as I’m concerned it’s finally been put to some good use. That bastard Ambrosio is the bad guy, not you. He made you believe that you were less than a person. That he— or anyone else— could possibly own you against your will is absurd. I’m just thankful I had the kind of money it took to get rid of him.” I take his chin gently in my hand and look into his tear dampened eyes. “I didn’t buy you, Corey. You’re the only one who can own you. That’s what this gift is about. I just wanted to make sure you realize that.”