Vicious Love (Barrington Heights #1) (8 page)

“You’re late,” my dad reprimanded me.

I ignored him and took a seat in the middle, between my parents but still two away from each of them. Damn the dining room being right next to the stairwell that led to my room.

“What am I late for?” I asked.

“Dinner. Agatha made a delicious filet mignon.”

Agatha had disappeared, clearly trying to avoid the impending battle between my father and me.

“I’m sorry that I’m late. I didn’t realize I was expected home for dinner today.” My apology was sincere, but not because I had been late. Agatha’s cooking as amazing, and she made a perfect filet mignon.

“Your apology is worthless.” His gray, emotionless eyes were upon me as he got up from his seat. “I pay Agatha with my hard-earned money, and I expect you to be here when she cooks for us.” He was standing next to me now.

“Oh, my bad,” I said as I rose to meet him. “I must’ve been confused about that because I clearly remember you telling me to not bother coming back home since I’m worthless.”

I could feel his rage extending to me as we faced each other eye-to-eye. We were both the same height and roughly the same build. If it came down to a fight, it would be hard to determine a winner.

“How dare you disrespect me!” he hissed. “I raised you, and I demand that you respect me. I am your father.”

At this point, we were almost nose to nose.

“You didn’t raise shit,” I spit back.

Instead of trying to hit me this time, he turned away and headed back to his plate. Once there, he sat down and took a sip of his wine.

“You’re right. I didn’t raise you. I don’t waste my time with disappointments. I raised your sister.” His eyes shot to me.

I had to respond quickly, but my throat was blocked and I couldn’t get a word out.

“What? No response? How typical.” He flashed a gruesome smirk and continued as I kept choking on my anger. “Your sister never would have disrespected me like this, and she never did. I’m glad I didn’t make a bet on you two because I would’ve lost. The wrong child died.”

My mother got to her feet and began screaming at him as I walked away to my room.

No matter how much I hated him, how much I wished he would die, I couldn’t help but feel as if he were correct. The wrong child had died. Jenny had had so much to give to the world. She’d been a 4.6 GPA student who’d taken all AP classes in high school, and she was going to attend to Harvard Business School. She volunteered every weekend and never participated in the ‘family business.’

My father never participated either, but that’s because he was a coward rather than a good person. Jenny was the perfect human being who had sacrificed herself for her family. Mr. Nugent had had enough evidence on our family to send everyone to prison for a lifetime, but she’d met his demands for a year straight until she had finally had enough. Jenny was perfect, and now, my parents were stuck with me. I was far from perfect. I was a goddamn psychopath who controlled a fucking mob. I was far from the ideal child.

Agatha stopped me at the top of the stairs, and she had tears in her eyes. My father hadn’t raised me, but neither had my mother. Agatha was the one who’d raised me while my parents had focused on Jenny and disregarded my existence.

I put my hand on her cheek and wiped her tears away. She hugged me, and I whispered into her ear, “It’s okay. There’s no need to cry. I can take whatever is thrown at me because I am strong.”

Agatha looked up at me and gave me a kiss on the cheek. “Remember, Chris, you are a diamond in the rough.” She’d told me those words every night before I fell asleep when I was younger.

We walked to my room and then she left. Agatha understood my desire to be alone and respected it.

Before leaving though, she turned to me and said, “You are strong, Chris. But remember, there’s only so much a person can handle alone.” With that, she went back downstairs.

“And I’ll know how much I can handle when I’m dead,” I whispered to myself as I went into my room.

While taking off my clothes, getting ready to finally go to sleep, I noticed the letter in my back pocket. The one from Claire. It was folded up into a little square with the folds, flaps, or whatever across the middle on one side, and on the other was my name scribbled down in perfect handwriting. I opened it, and written down was her address, some emotional shit, and then a P.S. asking me to call her. Instead of calling her, I threw the letter onto my desk and went to sleep.

chapter 12

jennet

Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday passed quickly, and I didn’t have a single incident with Christopher. In fact, we hardly spoke except for deciding that he would come in on Tuesday.

chapter 13

chris

Saturday and Sunday passed without a single call from anyone. Well, there were a couple of calls from Claire and Christine, but I didn’t pick up. I was focusing on business and business alone. Everything else was irrelevant.

I woke up early and actually went to school this morning. Without contact with the outside world, I felt lost, and I desperately wanted to know what had been going on. What everyone had been up to.

I didn’t have a first hour, but neither did Audrey, so I picked her up from her place and we went out for breakfast. I took her to one of my fronts, George’s. It might have been a front, but it has a delicious breakfast menu.

“So, why didn’t you answer my texts this weekend?” Audrey looked concerned.

She always seemed to be concerned about me. An innocent type of concern, a type of concern that demonstrated care and compassion. But that was Audrey. Caring and compassionate. A little rebellious at times, and sure, an absolute emotional wreck, but she cared.

“Work. I was dealing with work,” I answered.

I never had gotten over Audrey, and it didn’t help that we were best of friends now. I never had known how to talk to her. She made me nervous because she could be so honest with me, which was why I never fully knew what to say. She was fully aware of what I did. She’d even volunteered to work for me a couple of times. I always denied her though. Audrey could never do what I did; she was too innocent of heart.

“I see. You’re not going to tell me, are you?” Audrey knew full well that I wouldn’t tell her. That would make her an accessory to any crimes I discussed, and there were quite a few of them to be discussed. “I know you won’t tell me, but I feel obligated to try. It’s a friend thing.” Her smile still made me feel new every time I saw it. I’d grown past our whole romance stage, and she had grown past it before I had. Now, all that was left was the pure essence of contradiction: love without being lovers.

“You know me, a whole Mr. Brightside thing going on.” I laughed, and so did she.

“Well, Mr. Brightside, it seems that Miss Teacher Lady has a crush on you.” Is she talking about Miss Beaumont?

“Who?” My heart began to race. How would she know such a thing?

“Oh, please, Christopher.” She used my full first name—she was actually serious. “You know exactly who I’m talking about. French, long legs, red lips, and emerald eyes. She makes me wet just thinking about her, so she obviously makes you hot.” Audrey laughed and winked, but I hardly noticed. My mind was running on overdrive.

I hadn’t spoken to Miss Beaumont since Tuesday, even though I had a class with her, which meant that I hadn’t had a chance to analyze my situation with her because I’d been so busy with work, but if she was interested in me, then that’s perfect. However, it’s illegal and she’s engaged, but I believed that I might be feeling something for her and it’d clearly been overwhelming my senses, but I was so busy with work—A.K.A. crime. I had to find out for sure though, which left me one option: find out what Audrey knew.

“What are you talking about?” I had to take this slow and steady, make sure I got everything.

“Miss Beaumont, you idiot!” That was unnecessary. Audrey knew that I understood who she’d been talking about. However, I was talking to Audrey.

“I know that, but how do you know?” Okay, mistake corrected.

“She’s trying to get to know you through me.” Audrey had always been incredibly perceptive. She had even noticed things about me that I choose not to share. “She never asks directly about you, but she has clearly picked up on us being best friends. She also tries to do the same thing with Devin, but you know Devin.”

How interesting. I was ecstatic, of course, and my heart was pounding, but I couldn’t help but feel taken aback. I had no clue why I felt this way, but I did.

“That’s new.” I didn’t have enough time to say anything else. My phone went off and I had to pick it up. I was getting a call from a blocked number. “Hello?” I answered. No response. I tried again. “Hello?”

Nothing. Audrey looked worried, and I quickly surveyed my surroundings to see if anyone was here on their phone, but no one was. I called over our waiter and paid the bill. I also asked him to grab George for me and bring him out here.

“Go to the restroom and wait there until you hear three knocks on the restroom door, do you understand?”

Audrey nodded her head yes. As she walked away, George came out of the kitchen. He noticed that Audrey was moving quickly and picked up on that something was going on. I showed him the phone—it was still on—and motioned for him to call Tim. I put the phone back to my ear.

“Hello, Mr. Wells,” came from the other end.

“Who is this?” I asked, trying to keep my voice calm. It’s a talent I had—staying calm in hostile situations.

“That’s not of any concern. What is of concern, however, is that the people I work for want you dead. Consider this a courtesy call, out of respect for your grandfather. And sister.” With that, the other end closed, and I was left speechless.

George came back with a phone and handed it to me.

“Tim?” I asked the person on the other end.

“Yeah, boss?” Tim replied.

“There’s a hit out for me. Look into it.” I hung up, handed the phone back to George, and headed for the ladies’ restroom. Once at the door, I knocked three times and Audrey came out, looking frightened.

“Is everything okay?” she muttered, trying to get words out through her fear.

“Yes,” I replied calmly, “but I’m not driving you to school. George here will call a buddy of mine who will take you. That buddy will also be looking after you for a little while, so make sure to get his number.”

“What’s going on?” she asked, choking back impending tears.

“I’m just taking extra precautionary measures. You’ll be okay. Just trust me.” I held her shoulders and looked into her eyes.

She just nodded and gave me a hug. “Be safe,” she whispered.

“No promises.” I winked and turned for the door. Before exiting, however, I turned back to George and walked up to his shoulder so Audrey couldn’t hear me speak. “Get me a gun,” I whispered into his ear.

He went into the back, and I followed.

“Look, kid, if you get caught with this, there will be consequences, even for you. You’re going to school. They can’t find this on you.” George looked concerned, and I had never seen him look that way before. George was the one who’d run the family with me after Grandpa died, and then I took over. I was fourteen and needed help—George was there to help.

“George, I won’t get caught. It’s for protection.”

He looked me in the eyes, waited a second, and then handed me a Glock 17. “What’s going on, kid? You’ve never asked me for a gun before.” His voice was frail, genuinely afraid for me.

“That call was a courtesy,” I responded.

“A courtesy for what?” he asked.

“For the contract on my head,” I spoke calmly, without hesitation or fear.

George just stared at me and put a hand on my shoulder. “Over my dead body,” he muttered before pushing me out the door, past Audrey, who could only look at me.

Once outside, I surveyed my surroundings from behind a concrete pillar. No signs of scopes in the windows around me or on the rooftops. I decided that, if I was going to die, I was not going to die by slowly walking and being afraid. I took a step out from behind the pillar and strode over to my car. Then I opened the door, put key in the ignition, and hesitated before turning it.

“No explosion. That’s good,” I muttered to myself as I pulled out of the lot.

Once on the main road, I sped away towards Barrington High School. It was probably the safest place to be. I put the gun in the hidden compartment underneath my seat, but then I decided against that, took it back out, and placed it in my lap just in case something happened at a red light. Nothing happened though. I peacefully got to school.

I parked, put the gun in the compartment under my seat, and quickly walked into school. I still had twenty minutes until second block began, so I headed to the library. Barrington High might have been a miserable place full of miserable people, but one good thing about it was its library. With so many donors, including my father, it stayed fully stocked with the newest and oldest books. It was an immense room, too—octagon in shape with bookshelves on the outskirts and tables and computers in the middle. The library was in the very middle of the school, almost directly behind the grand stairwell.

I opened the door to the library and walked in. Then I pretended to sign in at the counter, smiled at the student assistant behind the desk, and, immediately went over to the poetry section. Poetry is, in my opinion, the truest form of self-expression. With poetry, one creates a scene, a plot, characters, and an entire story in a minimal amount of space. Poetry is the most efficient art because there’s no hiding with poetry. There are no guitar solos, no meanings of different shades of blue, and no lighting scenarios. Only the author and their words. Only print.

My hand was going over the spines of different works as I read their titles. I was aimlessly searching for something that I did not know how to find. I didn’t even know what it was I was searching for, only that my hand was leading the way. And it did for a short while until it came in contact with another hand. A beautiful hand. A hand of elegance and grace. A slender hand belonging to a woman of perfection.

I glanced up to apologize and came into contact with the most marvelous eyes I had ever seen. Emerald eyes that sparkled without the sun. I was looking into the eyes of beauty, and I do believe I almost fainted. Almost. I caught myself though, and I managed to give out a cool response although my body was in flames.

“My apologies, I didn’t—” It was only after I began speaking that I recognized whose eyes those were. They belonged to Miss Beaumont. I hadn’t noticed that it was her, and now I was quite embarrassed. However, her cheeks flushed with the red of a rose, and her eyes dashed away. “Good morning, Miss Beaumont.”

“Good morning, Christopher,” she softly hummed, nearly songlike.

Now that I couldn’t look into her eyes, I diverted my gaze to her lips. My efforts to look away were futile because I was entranced. I had zero control over my body, my thoughts. I could only gaze at her lips longingly, desperately, hungrily. My only desire was to reach out and kiss her, to take her into my arms at that moment, but I managed to restrain myself. I didn’t know how, but I fought back every urge I had.

“And how are you on this fine morning?”
Chris, seriously? That’s what I can say?

“Fine,” she shyly said, backing away. “I really must be going, I have to set up for my first hour. Have a nice day, Christopher.” She almost ran away from me, and my knees almost buckled.
She feels the need to run away from me.
Pain, severe pain, shot into my very soul. Or what was left of my very soul.  

“Tomorrow is Tuesday,” I told myself. “She has to stay with me on Tuesday.” My smile was near childlike. Hell, it was childlike. I felt like I’d just seen my first crush ever as warmth swept over my body. Butterflies were in my stomach, and my throat seemed to close. It made it hard to talk, but I managed to get around all that. I felt relieved that I had even survived such an encounter, even though I had no clue why. I was anxious for my next encounter. Nervous, too.

“Hello, handsome,” came from behind me, and I turned to see who it was. Standing in front of me was Heather Marks.

“Heather,” I murmured.

“What? Not excited to see me?” Heather Marks was, by far, the most stunning eighteen-year-old I had ever seen in my life. She had long and flowing charcoal-black hair that naturally curled at the bottom. Her ocean-blue eyes could pierce any man’s soul. With an hourglass figure, she had long legs that would knock out anyone. Honestly, she probably could turn any girl lesbian—that was how stunning she was. Unfortunately, her personality went perfectly with her looks; she’s a bitch.

“You read me like a book.” I smirked.

“You know I prefer magazines. Anyway, why so flustered?”

I must’ve still been blushing from my encounter with Miss Beaumont. I just hoped that Heather hadn’t caught me with her. She might have been a bitch, but Heather was extremely intelligent, which makes her dangerous. Combine looks, intelligence, and mercilessness and you get Heather.

“You’re not high, are you? Or is it because I’m talking to you?” She gave me a smile that matched my own.
Damn, she’s good.

“Excuse me, Heather, but it’s harder to talk to you in person.”

Her brow wrinkled in confusion. “And why’s that?” she asked.

I leaned in close enough that my face was brushing the side of hers and put my lips right next to her ear. Once I had her leaning against me, I whispered, “Because it’s hard to talk when someone takes your breath away,” and began to walk away as she recovered from my pure awesomeness.