Silent No More

SILENT
NO
MORE

A NOVEL

by

N. E. HENDERSON

Copyright
© 2013 Nancy Henderson
Self Publishing
[email protected]

ALL
RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and
Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this
material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted
in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying,
recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express
written permission from the author / publisher.

This
book is a work of fiction. Names, character, places, and incidents are the
product of the author’s imagination or are used as fictitiously. Any
resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is
coincidental.

Disclaimer: The material in the book is indented for adult readers only,
age 18+. This novel contains graphic sexual content, graphic violence, and
harsh language.

Editor: Becky Johnson, Hot Tree Editing
http://www.hottreeedits.com
Email:
[email protected]

Cover Designer: Stephanie White
http://www.stephscoverdesign.com
Email:
[email protected]

First edition: December 2013

ISBN:
10:
0-9912444-1-9
ISBN-13:
978-0-9912444-1-6

Dedication

To my son,
Michael
.
This book is my first, just as you are my first
and only child. You are the greatest joy in my life. As I’m typing this and
thinking about you I am tearing up. Yes I am a female and we do that. You are
the coolest person in this world to me. Never forget that. You make me laugh
like no one else can. It is a privilege to be your mom. I love you so much.

“What the fuck does the bastard want now?” I huff
out, glaring down at the name displayed on my cell phone. If I never have to
speak to him again, it’ll be too soon. Jerking my right hand off the steering
wheel, I reach over, turning the volume down on the stereo that’s blasting
Avenged Sevenfold’s
"
Nightmare
"
through the speakers.

My Father.

The person I hate most in the world. If God
existed, the motherfucker’s life would have ended by now. But that hasn’t
happened, and I don’t see it happening any time soon. I’m the type of guy that
prays for his dad to get a brain-fucking hemorrhage that will take him straight
to Hell, where he belongs.

“Yeah?” I greet the fuck as I turn into the
underground parking garage at Lockhart Publishing in my silver Audi R8. 

Way to ruin my day, Dad!

“Nicholas, is that any way to answer your phone?
You’re the CEO of a company for Christ’s sake. The least you could do is act
like a professional.” Two companies to be exact, but what the Hell does being a
CEO have to do with professionalism when the person on the other end of the
line is the sorry excuse I get to call father? The man should know by now, I’m
going to do and act any damn way I want. I’ve never been the “do as you’re told”
type, so why start now?

“I wasn’t aware this was a professional call.” My
tone is sarcastic, but I don’t give a shit. The dick-fuck knows I hate him.
Nothing is ever going to change that. We will never drink a beer together. We
will never have a strong father/son bond. Hell, the only bond we do have is
blood. The simple fact that his blood runs through my veins and that it will
forever link us disturbs me.

“Son, let’s not argue today. I called for a
specific reason, so I won’t keep you any longer than necessary.” I can tell by
his clipped tone he doesn’t want to be on the phone with me any more than I do
with him.

“Fine, then please tell me what you want so I can
get back to work.” I breathe out in annoyance.

My father was a well-known Defense Attorney in LA
when I was growing up. He made a living getting criminals out of jail for many
years and now he’s a prominent judge. There is some real fucked-up irony in
that. The man should be locked up for the shit he has done to my mother over
the years. Why the woman stays married to him is beyond me. It’s not like she
needs his money. In fact, my father has benefited from her inheritance more
than she has.

Rotten bastard.

“As you know, Thursday is Thanksgiving, and your
mother would like you and your sister present for lunch.” He knows I’ll do
anything for my mom. I think I proved that to him a long time ago. “Do you
think you can do this for her?” he adds. He knows I’m going to say yes.

“What time?” I ask on a sigh as I open my car
door, stepping out into the dark, musky air under my building. To my annoyance,
I slam the door harder than I intend. Fuck! Why do I let this man get under my
skin so easily? Just the sound of his voice tends to set me off.

“Noon,” he responds. A few hours in the company of
my father is sure to piss me right the fuck off along with adding additional
renovations to my house for my handyman to fix. Not that I can’t fix the damage
I create myself, but why go through all that trouble when I can hire someone to
do it for me? I’m sure the guy already thinks I’m a raging alcoholic who comes
home and punches holes in walls for fun. I’m not, of course, or at least I’m
not yet. If he knew all the damage was the result of my frustration with my
father, he would understand.

Yeah, so I have anger issues.

“Okay, but if you want Nikki there, then perhaps
you should call your daughter yourself.” I make my way to the elevator pressing
the “up” button. As I wait, I check the time on my Rolex. It’s 1:14pm. I have
plenty of time before my meeting with Teresa. Why I ever made that woman Vice
President of my company, I’m still not sure. She’s great at business and a
brilliant editor, but damn, I wish she would stop trying to get into my pants
every time we are alone. Now that she’s my VP, I see her more often than I
like. It’s not like she isn’t attractive, because she is, with blonde hair, big
tits, and a tiny waist, but I don’t sleep with people who work for me. And
well…she annoys the fuck out of me, plus she is too bitchy. It’s a big fucking
turn off!

The sound of my father’s voice brings me back to
our conversation. I really need to wrap this up. The longer I speak to him, the
longer I’ll be at
Knocked Out
tonight, kicking the shit out of my best friend’s ass.

Jase is one of the few people who knows about my
relationship with my father and why I hate the man. He and I share a common
hatred for our fathers. Everyone that works for my father thinks he’s an
outstanding judge and wonderful family man. 

What a crock of shit!

“Nicolette is being her usual immature and
childish self. It would be easier for all of us if you ask her to come. She
listens to you, Nicholas.” He sounds annoyed with his last statement and I
silently laugh. My sister isn’t immature or childish. She would just rather
ignore his calls than deal with the man. She hates the heartless bastard as
much as I do.

Any man, who lays a hand on a woman with the sole
intension of hurting her isn’t much of a man at all in my book. That’s the kind
of fucked-up shit my father loves to do to women. We watched him physically and
mentally abuse our mother for years. The day I turned twenty-one, I made sure
my father never laid a hand on my mother again. That’s not to say he’s stopped
hurting women because he hasn’t. Now, he has a mistress to abuse. He doesn’t
know I know about her, but I do. Surely my mother has to know too.

As the elevator door opens, Matt, my senior editor
and good friend, is exiting. I pin him with my signature icy stare. I can tell by
the look that crosses his face he knows I’m in one of my moods, so he wisely
says nothing and passes me quickly. These moods only happen when I have to
communicate with the man on the other end of my phone.

“Nicholas,” he stresses, "just call your
sister for me. I don’t have time for Nicolette right now. I’m walking into
court as we speak.” He has never had time for Nikki or me for that matter. Not
that I care. I stopped caring about my father before I learned to write my own God
damn name.

“Sure,
Dad
!”
I force out through clenched teeth. “I’ll handle it. We’ll be there on Thursday
at noon. Is there anything else? I have a meeting to get to.” I’m not totally
lying. I do have a meeting to attend, but it’s not for another hour.

“No, there isn’t. I’ll see you then.” He ends the
call, not bothering to say goodbye. This is nothing unusual. He thinks everyone
around him is there is serve him.

I enter the elevator and I press number eleven. As
I ride up, I send Nikki a quick text letting her know the plans for Thanksgiving.
This is sure to brighten her day as much as it has mine. My sister is the
female version of myself. But perhaps Nikki controls her anger a little more
than I do.

As I move my hand to store my phone in the breast
pocket of my jacket, I hear the alert telling me I have a text message. I look
down; it’s my sister’s reply.

FUCK! 

The corners of my mouth turn up as I shove the
phone back inside my jacket just as the elevator reaches my destination. My
smile fades; I’m not looking forward to the rest of my day. Dealing with Teresa
is one thing, but after dealing with Judge James ‘Asshole’ Lewis, I’m sure I’ll
take out my anger on her at some point today.

As I exit the elevator, something, or rather
someone, catches my eye. She is standing at my receptionist, Rachel’s desk,
with her back facing me. The legs catch my attention first. They are toned and her
skin is fair. Her body turns a fraction as my eyes travel up, seeing a side
profile. She is slender, but not at all skinny. My eyes continue its path up
her body.

Fuck me, Sunday!

My eyes land on her hair. It’s a stunning shade of
red. Darker than strawberry-blonde, but lighter than auburn. It’s shiny and bright;
unique and exotic like a rare pet. Damn, did I just compare a woman to a pet?
That’s
a new one even for you, Lockhart.

I can’t see the color of her eyes from where I’m
standing, but that mouth…those pink fucking lips are made for sucking cock. I
allow my eyes to drop. She’s wearing a navy dress and it’s a little on the
short side to be considered business attire, but it looks good on her body.

Fuck!

Get a hold of yourself, Lockhart. You’re at work,
man.

My eyes glide back up her body, back up to those
fucking beautiful drapes that fall down her back. She looks like an angel…an
angel I’d like to tie down and fuck.

But God damn, that hair is making my dick hard!

It’s a cool evening in early May. The sun has
begun to set over the Pacific Ocean causing the sky’s orange streaks to stretch
around the city of Los Angeles. I’m driving down Pacific Avenue in my black 911
Carrera 4S with the windows rolled down, listening to my iPod blaring in the
background through the car speakers.

Well…not really. That may be construed as somewhat
of a lie. There is music playing, but I haven’t the slightest idea what song is
coming through the speakers. I couldn’t even tell you which song played before
the one that is currently screaming words at me. My brain is consumed with too
many other thoughts right now. 

Music usually helps me relax and it always puts me
in a better mood, but I can’t concentrate on it now, nor am I even paying close
attention to the road. I probably shouldn’t be driving in my current state of
shock, but it’s a little late for that realization now. I’ve been driving
through the city for hours.

I’m a photographer with
a gallery in the West Hollywood Gateway shopping center. It’s a gallery rather
than a studio because I don’t shoot any photographs on site. Really, it’s just
a place to display my work. Plus, I have to have an office. I don’t think I’m the
type of person who can work from a home office. Too many distractions and I
would go crazy staying in my tiny apartment all damn day.

My work consists mostly
of things such as buildings and outdoor scenery. I don’t photograph people. I
will occasionally photograph pets at the animal shelter I volunteer at.

I’m friendly and I have
close friends, but I’m not what you would call a ‘people’ person. I haven’t
always been like that. But now I prefer space away from too many people, and
when I’m taking photographs, I especially need to be alone. It’s when all the
built-up tension inside me releases and I feel at peace.

Most people think I’m this
way because I’m an only child and because I grew up without a dad. I had one of
course, but he died when I was two. I don’t even remember the man. I wish I
did, but I don’t. I even wish I missed him, but you can’t miss something you
never knew. At least, I can’t. The only thing I have that’s a reminder of him
sits in a bank account mostly unused.

I’m currently working
on my second collection of photos that will be published in book format. At the
age of twenty-six, I already have one book published.
Sights of
the City of Angels
by me…Shannon Taylor; it’s not a novel by any means. It’s photographs
with my thoughts underneath each picture describing places as I see them. It’s
a pretty good coffee-table book if I say so myself. A conversation book if you
will.

Photos are art to me.
They are real moments captured in time. Photos don’t lie and photos don’t hold
secrets. Photos are real, true, and above all, honest.

My current collection
captures photographs of places in the city of San Diego. It’s going to be
called
Sights of the city of Saint Didacus
. That is “if” the publishing company
doesn’t change the name. The collection is almost complete and due at 9:00am on
Friday at Lockhart Publishing. I have a meeting with Teresa Matthews, to turn
in my portfolio.

I finished taking the
photos back in late February and all rounds of editing were completed last
month, but my struggle has been with the arrangements of photographs so it
tells the story of the city perfectly…the way I see it and the way I want
others to see it. I’ve changed the layout at least twenty times, and I’m still
not satisfied. Just six short hours ago seems almost like a lifetime ago.

“Ughhh…I’m getting nowhere with any of this.” I
flipped my portfolio closed in frustration. Taking my hairband off my wrist, I
pulled my hair out of my face. I’d had enough and decided that I may as well
start the following day with a pair of fresh eyes. I glanced up at the clock
hanging on the wall in my office and groaned. The clock read 11:31am. I’d only
been working for four hours, but I could no longer focus on my work.

All I wanted to do was go home and crawl in bed
with Luke for at least a few hours before he had to be at work. Luke, my fiancé,
a third year resident in the ER at Huntington Memorial Hospital, and I had been
together since our junior year in college, about five years. We got engaged
nine months earlier, but for the last six months, we seemed more like roommates
than a couple. 

I couldn’t blame Luke. The hospital assigned him
nights and I worked mostly during the day. We hadn’t had a lot of quality time together,
which had been weighing on my mind a lot. Hell, we probably hadn’t had sex in
at least four…maybe even five months. For all I know, it could be longer. My
sex life may as well be nonexistent. If I was honest with myself, it wasn’t
like I was missing much. Luke is what I called a “wham bam, thank you, ma’am”
kind of man. I had never called him this to his face or to any of my friends.
Basically, I got more stimulation from my vibrator than my boyfriend. Perhaps
there was something wrong with me, but I hadn’t exactly found out what “all the
excitement is about” when it comes to intercourse. It was just so much work to
get to those few seconds of bliss. Sometimes, I never even made it there.

I decided an afternoon surprise was just the type
of thing we needed in our relationship.

Locking the door behind me, I double-checked that
I’d done it right. Normally, Jenny would lock up at five, but she was off today.
Jenny, my personal assistant, ran the gallery daily, except Wednesdays and
Sundays. 

 
Jenny
kept me on task. If it weren’t for her, I wouldn’t get anything accomplished.
She kept me organized and made sure all my bills were paid; even my
non-business ones. I wouldn’t get through one day with anything completed if I
didn’t have her, which was probably why I was leaving in the middle of the day
in the first place.

The drive to my apartment took only twenty minutes
from work before I arrived at the front door to our apartment in Glendale.
While smiling to myself, I inserted the key, making sure I was as quiet as a
mouse, hoping this would be a good surprise for him.

The door opened and my mouth fell open. I was
stone-faced, my smile replaced with shock. 

WHAT THE FUCK?

In our living room, Luke stood with his back
facing the front door. His pants were around his ankles and he was missing a
shirt. His thick, dark hair was ruffled on top of his head. A pair of tan legs were
wrapped firmly around his hips. My eyes drifted to her hands resting on each
side of his shoulders. Her nails digging into the skin underneath them, I could
hear her breathy pants as he slammed her into the wall. Neither of them noticed
the front door open with me standing in the entryway.

You would think my first thought would be to yell
or scream, but no. The first thing that popped into my head was that he had
never “done” me in this manner. Interesting, I note as my anger began to filter
in.  

I stood there for what felt like several minutes
not saying anything; just watching, witnessing the scene play out in front of
me as reality hit hard. I couldn’t have stood there more than fifteen seconds
max.
My fiancé was cheating on
me. And in OUR apartment!

Our apartment? Really?

“You fucking bastard.” I wanted to yell the words
at him, but it came out weak. Both bodies froze in place. I couldn’t see the
woman’s face yet, although, I could see straight strands of long raven hair.

“Oh fuck!” was the first thing that came out of
Luke’s mouth as he dropped the woman’s legs to the floor. His voice was laced
with panic, as it should be. He turned slowly, facing me and my fierce pale
green eyes met his scared emerald ones.

My gaze cut over to the woman who had covered her
mouth with a hand. My heart broke in that moment. Standing naked in my living
room was my best friend, Allison. Her sky blue eyes were wide with shock. It
couldn’t be real. This had to be a sick joke, but it wasn’t. It was real all
right.

“You bitch!”

It was all I could say as tears immediately sprung
to my eyes. I turned my back on them, jerking my keys out of the door and raced
the short distance back to my car. As I slowed my pace, I noticed Allison’s red
metallic BMW Z4 convertible parked out front. The one I passed on the way in.
How did I not notice it? I was in her car at least twice a week! I slid into my
Porsche while in a daze. I raced out of the parking a little faster than I
should have, tears spilling from my eyes.

I’m forced back to the present when I hear my
iPhone ring for the hundredth time since I left my apartment. That’s a bit of
an exaggeration, but you get the picture. I ignore the display as I have every
time it has rung since leaving home. Grabbing it, I flip the silent switch on
and toss it over into my shotgun seat. It will still vibrate, but I won’t have
to listen to the annoying ringing sound.

Glancing at the clock on the dash it reads 6:48pm.
I puff out a breath of air knowing it’s time to find a place to crash for the
night. My body aches and I have a piercing migraine above my eyes. I know I can
call my friends, Katelyn and Stacy and stay at their place, but sleeping on
their couch does not appeal to me. I need a comfy bed to crawl into so I can
forget about today. I’m not ready to talk about what happened, and I know if I
go there, that’s exactly what will happen. If I say it aloud, it will make it
more real. My best friend betrayed me.

Backstabbing bitch!

I see
The
Cove
ahead on the right, about a quarter of a mile up the road just as “
Burn
” by Papa Roach starts to play
through my speakers. I decide in a nanosecond that is exactly where I need to
be. It is, after all, one of my weekly hangouts for one reason or the other.
Not the hotel, but the amenities it offers such as a luxury spa, bars, and
restaurants. 

I love
The
Cove
. 

Allison and I get pedicures at Serenity,
The Cove’s
spa, once a month. Well,
not anymore...that whore will have to find someone else to have a spa day
with. 

God...did I really just think that? I can’t
believe I just called my best…ex-best friend a whore, and actually
meant
it. But you know what? That kind
of felt good. I’ve never been the type of person to call people petty cruel
names, but now, I finally understand why people do it.

I whip into the parking lot, pulling up to the
valet. A young guy saunters over to my car door, opening it for me. Taking his
hand, I swing my left leg out of my car, allowing him to pull me up. He’s
stronger than he looks. He can’t be more than eighteen, but like any teenager
his age, he gives me a once over with his pale blue eyes. Any other time this
might make me smile or even laugh, but not today. Sliding around him, I mumble
a thank you as he sinks into the driver’s seat of my car. He’s pulling away as
I make my way inside.

I’m amazed every time I enter this place. Words
don’t do justice to the grand entrance. It’s modern and sleek. I love everything
about this hotel. The aroma is something I’ve never smelled elsewhere. It’s
inviting and rich, yet warm. I walk up to the receptionist’s desk. The cutest
blonde girl I’ve ever seen greets me. Maybe she is new. I don’t remember seeing
her before; then again, I don’t usually check-in for a room when I come here. Her
face is plastered with a wide smile. It’s not the fake smile I get by most
people in the customer service industry. She genuinely looks happy to help me.

After checking in, I toss the key card into my
purse, but don’t go up to my room; instead I head straight for the main hotel
bar. This hotel has three bars and two restaurants. The main bar is called
Quaint
and it’s just that. It is
charming, dark and quiet, just the place to drown my sorrows, a place to be
alone.

Getting drunk has never been my idea of fun, and
definitely not something I do regularly. Don’t get me wrong, I love a beer and
a glass of wine or even the bubbly, but I hate that feeling of no control. In
fact, I’ve only been drunk once in my life, right after I graduated college and
I swore I’d never do it again.  

Of course, when I made that vow, I never imagined I
would have caught the two most important people in my life screwing...each
other. God, I’ve given that fuck-face five damn years of my life. Why the hell
would he do this to me…to us?

How could Ally, of all people, do this? We
have…had been best friends since the first day of junior high, over fourteen
years ago. We both decided to attend the same college so we wouldn’t be apart.
We have always been inseparable. She’s like the sister I never had. Apparently,
I’m the only one that felt that way. 

Fucking bitch!

The bartender approaches me as I take a seat at
one of the empty bar stools near the end of the bar on the right side. I go for
a smile, but I know it doesn’t reach my eyes. I don’t know if I’ll ever smile
again. Yeah, you could say I’m a bit depressed right now. If that is in fact
what this empty, lonely, angry feeling is. I’m not clinical, so I can’t exactly
go diagnosing myself.