Solace (Devastation Trilogy Book 2) Page 7

  Then…she was there. Casey came flying into the apartment not long after. They’d got me off the floor and onto the couch, and she made a beeline for me, asking them questions in that practiced lawyer tone she has, even as she wrapped her arms around me and I started crying again.

  They exchanged a look.

  “Ma’am,” the male deputy said, “the boy is a minor. We’re going to need to—”

  “Leave him right where he is, with me,” she said. “I have a power of attorney for his mother that gives me custody of him. I’ll file for emancipated minor status for him. Meanwhile, consider him in my care.”

  I remember that tone well. It was one I’d heard hints of before that day, and one I’ve heard the full force of directed at myself and others plenty of times since.

  Ma’am.

  I closed my eyes and sobbed, feeling more than a little guilty that relief over her presence was hitting me pretty hard, and…

  Something else that, at the time, I couldn’t identify and didn’t even try.

  But she held me as I cried, even as she obtained the information from the officers that she’d need.

  Once we were alone, she let me curl up on the couch, my head in her lap. “What am I going to do?” I’d never felt more alone.

  “It’s okay,” she told me as she stroked my hair. “You’re not alone. You’ve got me. You’ve always got me, boy.” She gently rubbed my scalp, a soothing gesture that helped disengage my brain. “You can always lean on me.”

  The rest of that horrible day is, thankfully, just a murky blur. Casey shepherded me through everything. She took me to ID Mom’s body, but she left me in the waiting room until she could look first. Only then did she lead me into the small room.

  I’d shot up several inches since Casey walked into our lives, and I now stood taller than her, even when she wore heels. Still, with Casey’s arm around me, I looked through a small window.

  Mom lay on a gurney, a sheet pulled up to her neck. “I want to see her,” I said, sniffling. “Up close.”

  Casey looked to the tech who was there with us, and the woman shook her head.

  Casey turned to me and cupped my face in her hands. “That’s not a good idea, sweetie,” she gently said. “She wouldn’t want you to remember her like that.”

  “What am I going to do?” I asked as I started crying again.

  She pulled me in for a hug and rubbed my scalp. “It’s okay, boy. I’ve got you, and I’m not going anywhere. I’ll help you through it.”

  * * * *

  “Need help?”

  I look up to see Casey smirking at me from behind her desk.

  “No, ma’am.” As I stretch, I groan where I sit on her office floor. “I’m just exhausted.”

  She leans back in her chair. “Why don’t you take a break for the night? Finish them on Monday?”

  “Because I still have about five hundred of these things to do.” In an effort to save George Forrester’s re-election campaign some money, we went with mailing labels, instead of printing the addresses directly on the fliers.

  And an eighteen-year-old campaign volunteer is the perfect way to apply the stickers to the fliers.

  “I’m giving you permission to take a break, boy.”

  “Thanks.” I slump back and stare at the boxes of labeled fliers ready to mail. I don’t mind when she calls me boy. It’s Casey’s favorite nickname for me, and she’s the only one who calls me that. It feels…

  I don’t know how to explain it. Like I belong to someone.

  She’s literally my only family, even though I don’t see her as a parental figure, or even as an older sister.

  My secret nighttime fantasies are ample proof of that.

  After Mom died, Casey kept me living in the apartment. Apparently, Mom had a life insurance policy I didn’t know about, plus Casey filed a lawsuit against the driver’s insurance. It really was a legitimate accident. The driver felt anguished that they couldn’t stop or avoid Mom on the icy street. She’d slipped and fallen while crossing, and…

  Yeah. Nothing more sinister than Mother Nature at play.

  Casey filed the emancipated minor status paperwork for me, but she also talked to the apartment manager and personally guaranteed my behavior, and that the rent would get paid. Casey opened a joint bank account for me with her, so she could keep tabs on me until I turned eighteen, and I didn’t mind that at all.

  She helped me get my driver’s license, and I started driving Mom’s car when I had to work for Casey.

  Once I graduated from high school and started college, I got rid of the apartment because I lived in the dorm. And when I wasn’t there, I rented a room from Casey, like I am right now.

  I’d made it through my first year of college with straight As. I’m in summer break now, following the end of that semester, but still studying like a motherfucker ahead of the fall semester. I’m also living at Casey’s until school starts again in a few weeks.

  Mom and Emma would be proud of me, I hope. I choke up on the maximum credit hours they’ll let me take every semester. I might be able to graduate a year early, at this rate.

  Meanwhile, I spend nights and weekends studying, or earning cash working at the law firm doing things like filing, or researching case law for Casey for her pro bono cases.

  Because I’m damn good at that already, the research part.

  Sometimes, she assigns me to work with a clerk or attorney who can’t speak Spanish, so I can interpret for them. She also has me learning election laws, campaign finance rules, all of that. She wasn’t kidding when she said she wanted me to become an elections wunderkind. I can probably interpret polling data better than the average wonk, because for some reason the numbers make perfect sense to me when I study them, like pictures in my head, even though I sucked at math in high school.

  Anyway, I’ll end up attending law school with far more practical, real-world experience than any of my classmates, unless they’re already working paralegals. I’ve attended depositions, court hearings, and trials with Casey, when my class schedule allows it. I’m really learning a lot. She took me shopping and helped me pick out a couple of suits and ties, so I’d have appropriate office and courtroom wear. I’m wearing a suit and tie today, even though it’s a Friday, and even though, as an intern, I could get away with khakis and a button-up.

  But I want to look the part, live the part. It’s the only way to get what I want, even though I still feel like a faker. I don’t have to work to earn money, as long as I’m not stupidly buying stuff I don’t need, because what’s not covered by my scholarships I can pay through my savings. I don’t waste my money, though. I’m still driving Mom’s car, because it’s paid for. The most luxurious thing I’ve purchased for myself are the suits, and two pairs of dress shoes to go with them, and Casey told me I can deduct them from my income taxes as a work expense, so that’s a plus.

  I’ve watched George Forrester at work, too. He crushes it, especially in depositions and at trials. Super nice guy usually, but you can see the lawyer mask slip into place when it’s go-time. Casey also has that mode. All the attorneys in their firm have that mode, but George and Casey seem especially driven. Casey is brilliantly cutthroat, at times. Compared to them, I wonder if I’ll ever appear that confident, that self-assured.

  I know it’s something I’ll need to work on. You have to have that mask if you want to be a successful attorney.

  And I will be a successful attorney, even if I secretly feel like a faker. Never let them see me sweat.

  Because not only is my drive to succeed fueled by my desire to make a life for myself, and to honor my mother and sister’s memory, it’s also fueled by one very simple motivator.

  Revenge.

  Chapter Eight

  Now

  With George seated at the table, and after finally getting myself under control, I need to locate Casey. I don’t know if she knew the motherfucker would be here tonight or not, although I have my suspicions.

&nbs
p; I finally locate her out on the lanai and talking with one of the reporters.

  Positioning myself behind the reporter so I’m in Casey’s field of vision, I jam my hands into the pockets of my slacks so no one can see I’ve got them balled into fists while I stare at Casey and wait.

  I must have had a look on my face, because she catches my gaze and one eyebrow arches oh, so slightly before she makes her excuses with the reporter.

  As she follows me, I’ve already turned and am heading around the side of the house, where I can talk to her alone and unobserved.

  “Did you get something to eat yet?” she asks when I stop and face her.

  I fight to keep my voice down. “That motherfucker is here!”

  She holds up a finger to silence me and looks around, verifying we’re alone, then back to me. “Who?” she mouths.

  I jam my fists into my pockets again, well aware of the first lesson she ever taught me. “Him,” I whisper, keeping my gaze down. “Junior,” I mouth.

  Her eyebrow arches once more. That’s our codename for him.

  I await her reply. It’s all I can do, because otherwise I’ll be tempted to destroy my career, my freedom, and take George’s campaign down with me in the process by attacking and killing the guy in front of over a hundred witnesses.

  It’s a potential one-stop shop of disaster and destruction.

  “Where?” she asks.

  This is where I need every ounce of control I’ve got, every lesson she’s ever literally beaten into me. I take a deep breath and let it out, forcing myself to keep my voice low. “Seated directly across the table from George.”

  She slowly nods.

  I have to ask it. “Did you know?”

  She holds a finger to her lips—be quiet.

  I take another deep breath.

  “He was on the preliminary list the host sent me,” she acknowledges. “I have not seen the final donation records yet, and I didn’t know he was one of tonight’s whales.”

  That revelation stuns me. “Why didn’t you tell me he’d be here?”

  “Because I didn’t want to upset you. I didn’t know for sure he’d be here tonight, which is why I gave you that warning before I left George’s. We knew this was an eventuality. Crossing paths. Sort of the plan, wasn’t it? Access?”

  I struggle to stay calm.

  She studies me. “Breathe, boy.”

  I…do.

  “Do you trust me?” Her gaze bores into mine now.

  I nod.

  She hooks an arm through mine and walks with me toward the lanai. “Let’s get some food in us, Dec. It’s going to be a long evening.”

  * * * *

  Despite the perfectly prepared chicken piccata, I have to force myself to choke it down. I hate that the fucker is anywhere close to George, much less seated across the table from him. After we eat, with me constantly keeping an eye on Junior, Casey orders me to stay at the back of the large formal dining room that’s really more of a ballroom.

  Then she begins to make the rounds, all practiced, professional smiles and with the perfect thing to say to everyone she talks to. Her path angles toward George’s table but she does it so nonchalantly, and takes her time talking to people along the way, that it’s not noticeable what she’s doing.

  Except to me.

  If George knew what the fucker had done, he’d likely be going after the asshole himself.

  But…

  I know damn well we can’t let so much as a hint of this reach George. Hell, I still haven’t told him much about myself. He has no idea how Emma died, or my heritage. I hate that he doesn’t know much about me, but he cannot know. Not now.

  We have to protect him, because I know she’s absolutely right.

  This was the plan.

  We need access to the man, and the best way to do that was to create a political target he couldn’t refuse, to tempt him out into the open and get him to donate to George’s campaign. To court our candidate the way rich assholes like him have always courted candidates in their attempt to garner political favors.

  Unfortunately, with us in the middle of the campaign, I know Casey’s promise to me will have to wait. Our priority is George and his election. This is bigger than us and our revenge.

  Plus, there is just too damn much attention on us right now. We’re too visible because of our proximity to George, and because of our jobs.

  I want revenge, but I am not an idiot. The only good thing about this development is I’m no longer thinking about my cock. It’s wilted inside the chastity cage.

  Once Casey reaches George’s table, she speaks to everyone there, making sure they know who she is. She pauses by George, a hand resting on his shoulder as he’s apparently telling everyone about her. I can guess this from the way he fondly looks up at her and pats her hand on his shoulder.

  It kills me Junior is staring at Casey, appraising her like he would a high-priced breeding cow. I know the fucker is single, apparently giving up marriage after divorce number three fourteen years ago.

  After a few minutes, Casey excuses herself and continues on her rounds, working her way back to where I’m standing and watching this all play out. George is still holding court at his table when Casey returns to me and motions for me to follow.

  I do, of course.

  We slip outside again. It’s full dark now, and we’re alone.

  Casey looks me in the eyes and takes my hands in hers and squeezes. “Patience, boy.”

  In my mind I’ll forever suffer from that last sight I had of Emma, of her lying on the floor of our living room, in a pool of blood and with her eyes wide open and staring sightlessly at me where I stood in the doorway.

  Screaming.

  I can’t rid myself of it. It’s burned into my fucking memory.

  How much more damn patience am I supposed to have? I’ve been patient for fifteen fucking years. Justice denied my sister, and to my mother, by default.

  Over the years, Casey and I have researched. A lot.

  I’ve identified at least five more people, in addition to the ones Casey already knew about, who died under suspicious circumstances. Even if their deaths, at the time, weren’t ruled as such.

  Suicides when the people had everything to live for and no reason to kill themselves, but they had talked about a recent family discovery.

  Or people who had approached the Ronald family and claimed they were a relative.

  She obviously realizes I’m not convinced. “I need you to trust me. To not move on this without guidance and permission from me.”

  So much she can’t say, and I know it.

  Doesn’t make me feel any better.

  But I have no other choice. I blow out a long breath. “Okay. Yes, Ma’am.”

  It’s not fair that fucker is sitting here stuffing his face and Emma is dead.

  All because a greedy sonofabitch is a greedy sonofabitch.

  Not because he’s deserving of life. Not because he worked hard to earn his position and money.

  He built his success on the backs and blood of others, and on the perverse desires of his father.

  Fucker doesn’t deserve any of it.

  If it takes me the rest of my life, I will see him face retribution for his actions, and those of his father.

  * * * *

  My rage finally eases a little when Junior ends up leaving early in the evening after George gets up from the table and starts making the rounds again.

  I move into position to shadow him once more, forcing my attention onto my job.

  Then at one point he catches my eye and winks, and my cock suddenly wants to deprive my brain of all the oxygen in my body.

  I guess if I can’t have revenge tonight, I can take solace in George’s attentions and the distraction I provide to him. Let his personal fury silence my own demons, for a while.

  He’s arguably the most powerful man in our state right now. Working for him, and working as an attorney, has provided me with countless contacts in a va
riety of fields.

  People of quality, and people who…aren’t.

  I can’t hire out my revenge, though. That’s the fastest way to mire myself in life-destroying legal battles, or extortion schemes.

  There are options. I can shoot, because Casey helped me learn how and helped me get my concealed carry permit. As an attorney, I was able to claim I needed one. I can’t take one to work with me, but I have access to firearms and own one.

  I’m trying not to let my mind spin out fantasies of setting up a meeting and claiming self-defense when I “revealed” to Junior what his father had done over the years.

  Or a quiet meeting somewhere, off the books, and just fucking strangling him with my bare hands. I’m thirty years younger than him. I can take him.

  Meanwhile, I’ve heard rumors I’m still trying to substantiate, that Junior’s nut didn’t fall far from our father’s tree. That there are at least five or six little secrets of his own floating around out there.

  Unlike his father, he’s smart enough to do his dirty deeds in states far from Tennessee. He bribes his targets outright, gets their signatures on affidavits stating that they’re using birth control and he’s not responsible for any resulting children.

  It’s a little after ten when George and I depart. Casey remains behind, though, to chat some more, networking and catching any whiff of information that might drift her way. She’s like a living sponge, innocuous and filtering every bit of water that comes her way while grasping the things that are nourishing and worthy.

  George makes me load into the SUV first, his hand cupping the back of my neck and derailing my thoughts. We’re no sooner belted in and underway when George grabs my right hand, pulls it across the seat, and presses it against the front of his slacks.

  His cock feels like iron. Even in the dim light, his blue eyes burn into mine with the intensity of a star.

  Inside its restraint, my cock roars to life again, and I gladly turn my mind to that and away from thoughts that could destroy everything I’ve worked so hard to build in my life.