Savior (An Impossible Novel) Read online

  I hated the sound of my false name on his tongue far more than was prudent.

  But it didn’t matter. Even if he was sincere, I couldn’t allow myself to become involved. I had to think of Greg; I didn’t have the time to commit to anyone else. Besides, judging by his apartment and his suit, Clayton was clearly successful. And he was honorable. He deserved someone better than me.

  I couldn’t summon up the words to refuse, but I forced myself to shake my head. Clayton’s frown deepened, and he reached for my purse.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, puzzled.

  He didn’t answer as he pulled out my phone. I was embarrassed by its age and beaten-up appearance. It screamed poor. No doubt Clayton had a fancy iPhone. And I wished I had one too as he started fiddling with the buttons. What I wouldn’t give for a locking passcode in that moment. Did the man have no sense of boundaries?

  Satisfied, he slipped my phone back into my purse.

  “You have my number now. Call me.” His voice was stern; he clearly wasn’t going to take “no” for an answer.

  “Okay,” I lied. I would have said anything at that point in order to escape him and those damn entrancing eyes.

  It took a great deal of willpower to step away from him. Although I told myself it was a mercy he had released me, I felt a twinge of regret that he didn’t pick me up, throw me down on his bed, and ravage me.

  “Aren’t you going to put on your shoes?” He asked. “There’s no need to be quiet now that you’re not sneaking out.”

  I flushed at his words. As much as I wanted to leave, it would look stupid if I walked out barefoot now. I bent down to lace up my strappy black fuck-me heels, carrying out my task as quickly as possible. My cheeks flamed hotter as I could practically feel his eyes burning into me, staring at my ass. Not looking at him, I straightened and gave him an awkward wave.

  “Bye,” I mumbled as I half-ran for the door.

  In the elevator, I found myself bouncing on the balls of my feet as it seemed to descend the ten floors to the lobby at a snail’s pace. I was careful not to look at the porter when I exited the building; my clothes screamed “walk of shame”. To my great relief, I was able to hail a taxi in less than two minutes. I couldn’t really afford a cab, but there was no way I was going to take the bus in this outfit. Although I usually brushed off commuters’ judgmental looks with my head held high, oozing nonchalance, I just couldn’t face it today. Clayton had really shaken me up and thrown me off my game.

  I shoved him from my mind and focused on thoughts of Greg as I was driven to my shabby apartment in Brooklyn, steeling myself to face the condition I might find him in when I got home.

  It was almost painful to hand over my credit card to pay the cab fare. I doubted I would meet the next minimum payment with the added expense.

  Don’t think about that now.

  I would just have to beg to pick up extra shifts at work in order to make up for it. If my boss would let me. Cheryl was the haughty bitch who owned Ivory, the ritzy bridal boutique where I worked. Of course, she had a fancy degree from the Fashion Institute of Technology, paid for by her rich parents. It didn’t matter to her that I was the best damn seamstress at her shop; I didn’t have the piece of paper to prove I was good enough to be promoted. Cheryl acted like I was lucky she even hired me. Hell, I wasn’t even allowed in the front of the shop. As though I would scare off the wealthy customers with my obvious white-trashiness.

  So much for the American Dream, I thought bitterly. Anyone who thought there was opportunity for upward mobility in this city was seriously deluded. I would never be considered a person of value, would never make more than minimum wage, and I just had to accept that. Grudgingly.

  Okay, so maybe I had a chip on my shoulder. But sometimes I couldn’t help resenting the shitty hand life had dealt me. Then I would just get pissed at myself for being sulky. So I sought my escape in partying and fucking, preferring to ignore my problems rather than dwell on them. Sure, bottling things up led to the occasional emotional explosion, but I always tried to aim it at someone who deserved a good verbal smack-down.

  But not Greg. Never Greg. Even though he was probably the most deserving person I knew. He shared my painful past, and that was what had driven him to the drugs. If I took out my frustrations on him, it would only make things worse. Besides, I had always been fiercely protective of him, doing my best to shelter him from my mother’s nastiness and shield him from her string of lovers, some of whom had been abusive. She had always blamed us for our father walking out on her. I had only been five years old, and Greg was just a baby. But somehow, in her mind, it was our fault he had left. If only we hadn’t been such disappointments, he would have stayed.

  The rational part of me said that wasn’t true. But that shit leaves scars and can become a self-fulfilling prophesy. Now Greg was an unemployed nineteen-year-old junkie, and at twenty-four I was an irresponsible underachiever who was barely scraping by for the both of us.

  I couldn’t deny we were a pair of fuck-ups. But we were going to survive. I would make sure of that.

  Taking a deep breath to brace myself for what I might find waiting for me, I unlocked the door to our crappy little studio apartment. The “kitchen” was nothing but a sink with a couple of cabinets underneath it, and the ancient mini-fridge barely worked. Greg and I each had our own twin bed pushed against opposite walls, and there was a tiny bathroom with the barest necessities. It was the only place where we could go to have any sort of privacy, and the water ran ice cold about half of the time. But it was the best I could afford. Besides, it’s not like it was much worse than the hellhole we grew up in, so we didn’t know anything different. At least our apartment was tidy. I had spent days scrubbing off the grime when we had first moved in, and I had repainted the walls a cheery pale yellow. It wasn’t much, but I did my best to make it livable. I was even secretly a little proud of it.

  My eyes did a once-over of the small space, searching for Greg. He was lying on his bed, utterly still. Not for the first time, terror shot through my gut as I feared the worst, and I rushed over to him. The relief that flooded me when I saw he was breathing nearly drove me to my knees. If he had overdosed while I had been off having my brains fucked out…

  He was okay. That was all that mattered. The question was: had he used again while I was gone? I walked to the bathroom as quietly as I could, not wanting to wake him as I checked my hiding place. Careful to make as little noise as possible, I lifted the loose tile on the bathroom floor and heaved out a sigh when I found the drugs right where I had left them. Greg must still be sleeping off the effects of his high from the night before. Sliding the tile back in place, I prayed I would make it another day without him discovering where I had hidden it. I hated that I had to leave him to go to work; there was always the very real possibility that I would return home to find the apartment overturned and Greg in a crazed rage as he tore through everything he could get his hands on looking for his stash.

  But I didn’t have a choice. It was either leave him or let both of us starve. There were no friends or family I could call to help watch over him. We only had our mother, and she would do more damage than good. I had lots of friends, but they only knew me as the carefree party girl. Hanging out with me was supposed to be fun, not depressing as hell. I didn’t want anyone to know what my life was really like. Besides, if anyone found out about Greg, they might go to the cops. I couldn’t risk that.

  I checked on him one more time before I mechanically got ready for work. It was a small blessing that the water was hot. The warmth of it on my skin as I washed away the evidence of my night with Clayton made me want to linger, the soreness between my legs a delicious reminder of our night of passion. But I resisted the urge to touch myself. It was a long commute to work, and I didn’t have time for such luxuries. Maybe later.

  Nope. That’s a bad idea.

  What I should do was go out at the first opportunity and find another man to fuck away the memorie
s of Clayton. It was disturbing how unhappy the thought made me. Maybe I should call him…

  I rolled my eyes at myself. Finding someone different to screw was definitely at the top of my priority list. Maybe I would go to Decadence, my favorite BDSM club. I had a feeling it would take a true Dominant to knock Clayton out of my mind. Maybe the infamous Master S would be there. I’d wanted to snag him for years. He was definitely one of the hottest, most experienced Doms on the scene, and the fact that he always wore a black mask that hid the upper half of his face only made him even more intriguing. Yes, he would definitely be my next target.

  I turned my mind from sex to my workday, practicing my saccharine smile that I always plastered on as I endured Cheryl’s condescension. I might hate the bitch, but I needed this job. Having the prestigious boutique on my résumé might even get me a higher-paying job somewhere else one day.

  A girl can dream.

  As I rode the bus to the shop, I kept my mind occupied by sketching my own designs in my journal. Occasionally, I glanced around to make sure no one was looking at my work; I had never shared my designs with anyone, and I intended to keep it that way. It wasn’t like they would ever come to anything, but I couldn’t help indulging in the practice. Nothing calmed me like sketching, creating. And I could definitely use something to calm me down today.

  I found myself drawing furiously on the commute back home that evening. The dress that flowed out onto the paper was all hard lines and sharp angles. The product of my anger had a harsh beauty to it.

  I had heard Cheryl talking shit about me in the break room at lunchtime, and Lisa – my supposed friend at work – hadn’t come to my defense. She didn’t spew the same vitriol as our boss, but her “Mmmhmms” and soft sounds of agreement had cut me more deeply than Cheryl’s words ever had. I guess it was my own fault. I never should have invited Lisa out for drinks after work. Apparently my habit of over-sharing after one too many lemon drop shots had damned me in her eyes. The prude.

  I was definitely going to Decadence as soon as possible. The BDSM crowd was the least judgmental group of people I had ever encountered. I supposed we were all on the fringes of society in that respect, so we all had uncommonness in common. It tended to foster an accepting atmosphere.

  But my mood only darkened further when I got back to my apartment.

  “What the fuck, Greg?!” I shouted as I slammed the door behind me.

  My brother was sprawled out on his bed with his eyes half-closed, a euphoric expression on his face. The apartment was destroyed; he had been searching for his stash in my absence. But what alarmed me most was the trail of dried blood that ran from the corner of his mouth down his chin. There was an angry purple bruise on his jaw and a needle in his arm.

  “What happened?” I demanded, advancing on him. He just gave me a lazy smile. I grabbed his shoulders and shook him hard. “Who did this to you?”

  He didn’t answer me; he was too far gone. “God damn it, Greg!” My voice broke as tears threatened. I blinked them back. Breaking down now wouldn’t do either of us any good.

  I glanced in the direction of the bathroom. The tile was still as I had left it. Fear spiked through me, and I shook him again.

  “Where did you get the drugs, Greg?” I demanded. There was no way he could have afforded them. In fact, I wasn’t sure how he had been supporting his habit for the last several weeks. I had stopped keeping cash in the apartment. But this was the first time I had ever come home and found him injured. Had someone been in our apartment? Did they know where we lived? The thought made my gut twist. I didn’t want to have to move, but that was what I would do if I had to. Maybe it was time to take Greg to rehab. It was one thing to see him destroying himself with his addiction, but knowing that someone out there would physically hurt him was far more terrifying. At least I could keep him alive when it came to the drugs. Maybe I should think about buying a gun.

  A knock at the door made me jump. I pursed my lips, hardly daring to breathe. Maybe if I was quiet whoever it was would decide no one was home and leave.

  The second knock was sharper and more insistent.

  “Greg Baker? Open up.”

  Shit. Someone was here for my brother. What the hell had he gotten himself into? I walked to the door on shaky legs and pressed my eye to the peephole in order to get a look at my enemy. All of the wind was knocked out of me when I saw who was on the other side.

  What the fuck? How did he find me? Had he followed me here? And how in the hell did he know about Greg?

  “I don’t know what you’re trying to pull, Clayton, but I want you to leave,” I called out angrily so he could hear me through the door. “Are you stalking me or something? Get out of here now or I’ll call the police.”

  To my great satisfaction, he took a step back, his jaw hanging open in shock. Good. I had scared him.

  “Mary?” He asked hesitantly.

  “Do you know this woman, Clayton?” The feminine voice drew my gaze away from Clayton, and I noticed the short, dark-skinned woman with a mass of curly black hair standing behind him for the first time.

  Clayton didn’t answer her, but his shocked expression was replaced with one of determination as his jaw tightened. “Open the door, Mary,” he said sternly.

  “I’m giving you three seconds to get out of here, or I’m calling the police,” I threatened.

  The woman made an exasperated sound and shouldered her way in front of Clayton. She pulled a wallet out of her pocket, and she unfolded it so I could see the official-looking credentials inside.

  “I’m Agent Silverman with the FBI. And this is Agent Vaughn.” Her tone was acerbic as she glared at Clayton.

  No way.

  “I don’t believe you. I don’t know what this is, but you both need to leave. Now.”

  “If you don’t open the door, we will use force to enter, ma’am. We have a warrant,” the woman said tersely.

  I bit my lip, unsure. They said they were here to talk to Greg. What if they were lying? What if they were here to hurt him?

  But what if they were telling the truth? How much deeper shit would he be in if they had to force their way in? Greg was clearly high out of his mind, and he would be in trouble for sure if they saw him like that. Maybe it was time to get him into rehab. Maybe I could beg Clayton to get him clean rather than throwing him in jail.

  It didn’t seem like I had a choice.

  My fingers trembled as I slid back the lock and opened the door. Even though Clayton had already figured out who I was, his eyes still widened slightly as though he couldn’t quite believe I was standing before him. To be honest, I couldn’t believe it either. What were the chances he would end up here? Had he known who I was? Had he been following me before I had approached him at the bar?

  But he had just called me Mary, not Rose. He couldn’t possibly know who I really was. This was just the most fucked-up coincidence of my life. I should have known that a Fancypants like Clayton wouldn’t have been in my neighborhood without a good reason. He might not have targeted me intentionally, but the reason I had met him was because he was in the area looking for my brother.

  The woman – Agent Silverman – pushed against the door insistently, forcing me aside so they could enter. When she saw Greg, her eyes filled with pity. And a hint of disgust. My hands curled to fists as rage washed over me.

  “What do you want?” I snapped.

  Agent Silverman spared me a cursory glance before turning her attention back on my brother.

  “Mr. Baker,” she addressed him loudly. “Can you understand me?”

  Greg didn’t respond. She pulled out her cell phone and dialed.

  “I need a bus here,” she said, her tone cursory. “The perp needs medical attention before we can bring him in.”

  Perp? Bring him in?

  Oh no. That wasn’t going to happen. I wouldn’t let it. I turned to Clayton, desperate. I wasn’t above begging.

  “Clayton, please. He just needs help. My brother
is a good person.” He had to listen. He had to believe me.

  Clayton looked distinctly uncomfortable. “He’s involved with bad people, Mary. I’m sorry, but we’re going to have to arrest him.” He stepped forward to brush past me. He was going for Greg. They were going to take him from me.

  The fury I so often suppressed came bubbling up. “No!” I shrieked. “I’m not letting you take him!”

  Hardly aware of what I was doing, I drew my hand back and cracked it across his cheek. He didn’t even flinch. I had a moment to register that his eyes had narrowed angrily, and the next thing I knew my body was pressed up against the wall, my arm twisted behind my back as he trapped me in place.

  “Mary Baker,” he half-growled in my ear, “you are under arrest for assaulting a federal agent. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, one will be provided for you. Do you understand your rights?”

  Cool metal encircled my wrists as the cuffs clicked closed around them. In other circumstances, this would have been pretty hot. But this wasn’t kinky role-play. Right now I was pissed off beyond belief, and I jerked against his hold on me. Which of course accomplished nothing.

  “Do you understand your rights?” He demanded again.

  “Oh, I understand,” I hissed. “I understand that you’re a heartless jackass. And my name is Rose, asshole.”

  I felt him stiffen behind me, and his grip tightened incrementally. He said nothing as he stepped away from me, but he didn’t release my arm.

  “You good here, Sharon?” He asked his partner.

  “Yeah,” she nodded. “Medics should be here any minute.”

  Clayton returned her nod jerkily. He didn’t look at me as he ushered me out of the apartment and down the three flights of stairs to the street. He helped me into the back of a black sedan. Like a criminal.

  Occasionally, he shot me a glare through the rearview mirror. I returned it, seething in silence.