Insidious Page 22

  Again with the jerky driving. This time, we pulled onto the shoulder of 95 as gravel and rocks pummeled the underbody of the SUV, as we came to an abrupt stop. My body flung forward only to be pulled back by the restraint of the seatbelt.

  “Nothing is sudden,” his voice was uncharacteristically animated. “Maybe you are just a dumb cunt. Maybe I overestimated—”

  Interrupting, my gray eyes glared as I spoke over him. “I’m the dumb cunt?! You don’t fucking speak in complete sentences. How about you start? How about you actually tell me more about this mysterious underground of Harrington Spas and Suites? And you tell me who would know or have known of me before I married Stewart?” I took a deep breath, crossed my arms over my chest, looked toward the windshield, and huffed. “I have more questions, but I’d like to start with those.”

  Travis reached for my chin. His warm touch burned my skin. My neck immediately stiffened and I pulled away. “Do not fucking touch me!” I growled as my cadence slowed and tone deepened. “Ever. No matter what you’ve witnessed, or what you know, I’m still your employer. You’d be good to remember that.”

  His hand came back and opened wide. I braced myself for a repeat of the slap I’d received years earlier; instead, what I saw was the universal sign of surrender. “Now that’s the bitch I know.” His sincerity came through as his tone morphed into one I couldn’t remember ever hearing. “What you said before… about sudden—nothing is sudden. My job has been to protect you since before the day I picked you up at that highfalutin’ academy. I told you that I was at the warehouse to protect you. It isn’t sudden. It didn’t just happen. Again, you’ve been in danger even before you were married.” He pounded the steering wheel. “Again, you’ve been a fucking bitch about it. Keeping track of you without the help of your goddamned phone has been a royal pain in my ass. Thankfully, Dr. Conway’s car has a GPS tracker; otherwise, who knows what could have happened this morning.” His dark eyes bore through me. “Get it through that pretty little head of yours. None of this is fucking sudden!”

  I shook my head. “Then why didn’t I know?”

  “Mr. Harrington took care of everything. He made sure with his deals that you would remain safe, as long as he—”

  “Shared me?” I interrupted.

  Travis nodded. “That was part of it. There’s more, but it’s a lot to swallow at one time.” His eyebrow twitched, and his lips snaked into a grin. “But you can probably handle it.”

  I fucking hated this man!

  “Tell me who: who knew of me before I married Stewart. Who first mentioned me to Randall?”

  Travis looked toward me, eyeing my seatbelt, and put the SUV back into drive. As we eased onto the interstate, he said, “Tell me who just fucked you.”

  “I asked you a question first.”

  “You did, but I need to know if you trust me.”

  I shifted slightly in the seat and remembered Brody’s words: I’m with you. It’s my come inside of you. “Do you know who I was with?”

  His dark eyes once again focused on the road, as he confirmed, “Yes, Mrs. Harrington, I’ll know if you’re lying to me.”

  I considered my answer while Travis made his way through the growing morning traffic. As we approached the apartment and I watched the scenery, I realized that I’d never sat in the passenger seat of this SUV. I’d always ridden in the backseat.

  When I didn’t respond, Travis nodded. “Very well. Did you talk to Dr. Conway?”

  “I did.” My head snapped to the left. “Who was it? Who came to her apartment?” I considered the description. “Was it Parker?”

  “No.”

  Dark hair with gray, tall… who? “Are you going to tell me?” I asked.

  Travis shrugged his massive shoulders. “I’m waiting for my answer, Mrs. Harrington.”

  THE FUNERAL PASSED by in a blur. Though I appeared the mourning widow, in actuality I was listening, dissecting, and inhaling everyone around me. As I scanned the large crowd that overfilled the church, I wondered if the people Travis knew, the ones he believed were threatening me, were among the mourners. Were Stewart’s friends in attendance? Could they be wearing a mask of compassion, when in actuality they had other plans: plans that involved an extension on my personal hell?

  My mother, Marcus, and Lyle were seated directly behind Val and me during the service. I hadn’t spoken to her since before Stewart’s death, though her sufficiently red eyes and blotchy face made for the perfect distraught mother-in-law. Why was I even surprised? I was sure she welcomed the chance to be seen at such a high-profile occasion, even if it did mean being seen in less than perfect condition. Marilyn nodded sympathetically as Val and I took our seats. My unsmiling-bitch-face worked as well as my smiling one.

  During the service I wondered about Brody. Was he there as he’d promised? As I’d left the motel this morning, he was getting into the shower. Had he seen Travis with me outside the motel room? I hadn’t heard from him since I left. Perhaps he didn’t know that my bodyguard had practically accosted me. But then again, was it accosting when Travis claimed to be concerned about my best interests? Was it even possible that he had been protecting me all of these years? Or Stewart?

  I refused to entertain the idea. Given my situation and the same opportunity, I’d do what I did. I’d place those pellets in his chair again. As I worried about the idea that my contract could go to anyone else, I wished I still had the pellets; however, from what I knew, their half-life had been exceeded. That meant they were no longer potent enough for therapeutic treatment. Of course, my use wasn’t therapeutic. All I could hope was that the chair was still radioactive. Perhaps if anyone else spent enough time there, they too would suffer Stewart’s fate.

  After the service, Val led me by the elbow as we made our way out of the church and into the finally cooler autumn air. Thankfully, I’d been too lost in my own thoughts to listen to the eulogy. Instead of concentrating on Stewart Harrington’s stellar qualities, my mind was filled with questions.

  Brody and I had only scratched the surface of the papers Parker wanted me to sign. They weren’t a request to bequeath my contract to Parker. It was a rephrasing of the original contract, one that gave Parker Craven dictatorial power over my activities described as payment in exchange for Stewart’s withholdings. Those debts were poorly defined, making repayment seem unattainable.

  In essence, his new contract pulled me back into the role I’d played for too long with no hope of getting out. What neither Brody nor I could surmise from the new documents, was what I was supposed to reap? As I glanced into Val’s steel-gray eyes, I knew what I’d gained from the original contract. I’d lost my body and soul, but I’d secured my sister’s future, and together we’d helped thousands of people with more to come. Could any of that—Val, her work, the clinics—be at stake?

  “Victoria, dear,” Marilyn Sound sighed, as she quickened her pace to walk beside me. I glanced first toward Val, who remained stoic. It was then that my gaze fell on Travis. I saw his first hint of humor as his brows arched and forehead furrowed. He’d just asked me an unspoken question, yet I heard it as plain as if he’d said it out loud: Mrs. Harrington, would you like me to escort Mrs. Sound away?

  The slight grin that came to my lips was instantly misinterpreted by my mother as she reached her arm around my shoulder. “My dear, I know what it’s like to lose a husband. I’m here for you. I want you to know that.”

  As we approached the limousine to ride to the cemetery, I fought the urge to tell her exactly what I thought about her timing. Though Stewart wasn’t being buried, the cemetery had vaults made of thick marble specially designed for urns. When my gaze met that of Travis, I ever so slightly nodded. Instead of speaking my mind, I whispered near her ear, careful to avoid the multitude of listeners who mingled nearby. “I believe there’s another car for you. Allow Travis to help you find it.”

  “But, dear, I need to speak—”

  I didn’t hear any more as Val and I moved into
the car and Travis directed my mother away. Once the door was closed and we were alone, the cool, dark interior allowed me to remove my sunglasses.

  “She probably wanted—” Val began.

  “She hasn’t been able to talk with me in two weeks,” I interrupted. “She wants money, money for Marcus’ second semester tuition. The thing that she doesn’t realize is that I’ve already paid it. I’m sure she’s worried they’ll contact her and put her on the spot.”

  Val shrugged. “She might want to offer you her support.”

  “She might,” I conceded halfheartedly. “They say there’s a first time for everything.”

  Just then, through the glass panel, I saw the passenger side door open and Travis get into the limousine. Exhaling, I leaned back against the soft leather seat, closed my eyes, and sighed.

  “I’d be glad to prescribe something for you. Probably not too strong, but you could use a good night’s sleep.”

  Remembering Brody, I said, “I had a good night’s sleep last night. I just want this to be over.”

  She patted my hand. “It’s almost over.”

  I didn’t respond, because I wasn’t sure. Was it almost over? The car began to move. It didn’t take long as we meandered toward the cemetery for me to miss Travis’ heavier accelerator foot. I figured, if he and the driver would switch places, we could have Stewart safely behind marble in half the time.

  Should I feel guilty about Stewart’s death or the way he suffered?

  I imagined him as I’d seen him hundreds of times over the past nine years. I imagined him sitting in that chair: his smug expression of pleasure and control when he’d finally allow me to remove the blindfold and headphones. From the very beginning, I knew that when he told me to take them off, my focus was supposed to be on him.

  Rising from the chair, he walked toward me, his blue eyes glowing as he sat on the edge of the bed. “Tori, my Tori…” he cooed as the pad of his thumb wiped away my smeared mascara. “No tears. You’re fantastic. Our friend was extremely satisfied.”

  I never knew what to say to that kind of praise. Good? Yippee? Or be honest. I don’t fucking care. I hated every second of it. There just wasn’t an appropriate response.

  His hand dipped down to my sex: his fingers stroking my swollen lips and circling my clit. “You’re so fucking beautiful when you come. You should’ve seen how aroused our friend was as you put on your little pre-show. He got hard before he ever touched you.”

  I closed my eyes. The blindfold was a blessing. I didn’t want to see that. I didn’t want to be any part of it.

  “Look at me.”

  With shame and hatred simmering in my chest, I opened my eyes.

  “I’ve told you before to never be ashamed of your body’s reaction.”

  Stewart’s hands roamed my naked body, stopping to caress my tender nipples. When he did, I involuntarily flinched. His mouth immediately covered one and then the other. Gently his lips and tongue stroked and sucked. Against my will, my nubs grew hard.

  His breathing quickened. “Oh, fuck! You’re so responsive.” His blue eyes questioned. “Are your tits sore?”

  “Yes.” My voice cracked. It was the first word I’d uttered in over two hours.

  “I’m sorry, darling. Our friend left the clamps on longer than either of us realized. He was just so preoccupied with other parts of you, like that fuckable pussy.” His large hands palmed each breast. “Let me make them feel better. Lie back on the bed. I’ll make you feel better.”

  I didn’t want to lie back. I wanted to shower and leave. But that wasn’t Stewart’s plan. He enjoyed round two as much as round one. Despite his tender voice and concerned manner, I knew my place. As long as we were still at the warehouse, I had a role to play. I was his whore.

  The word I’d said—yes—was only allowed because he asked me a direct question. If he hadn’t, no matter how painful my nipples were or how upset I was, I wasn’t allowed to speak. At home I could make advances or reach out to touch my husband. I could run my fingers across his broad chest or over his shoulders. I could wrap my legs around him as he pounded his cock deep into my core. At home, or when traveling, I could get out of bed and go to the bathroom to pee or clean myself. Not here.

  Here, I waited for instruction.

  Lying back as I’d been told, I left my arms at my side and prayed he’d let them stay there.

  “That’s my girl. Now hold on to the bars.”

  Obediently, I reached up, the ache in my shoulders replacing the soreness of my nipples.

  “Hold on tight, my darling. Don’t close your eyes. I want you to see me, your husband. That’s what makes us so much more special than you and our friends. My Tori, we have our connection. Your gray eyes say so much more than your words. I want to see every emotion in those eyes.”

  He reached for the nipple clamps and held them above my head. My eyes widened. What the fuck? That wasn’t going to make them feel better.

  “Don’t do that,” Stewart reprimanded. “You don’t ever need to look at me with fear. I’m not going to put these back on, not today.” He sucked each nipple. “I’ll admit, once I realized the clamps hadn’t been removed, I wanted to see your eyes as he took them off. I wanted to know exactly what you were feeling. I miss that with your eyes covered. I miss seeing your thoughts.”

  If he only fucking knew my thoughts.

  Though he tenderly caressed my breasts, the soreness of my nipples rippled through me. I clenched my teeth to keep from crying out.

  “That must feel invigorating, as the blood rushes back and your nipples fill.”

  Invigorating? It hurt like hell. That was why my mascara was smeared. I could stop the tears from the humiliation—I’d learned to do that. However, sometimes stopping the tears from physical pain wasn’t possible.

  The bed shifted as Stewart stood. “I’m so proud of you, baby. This was an important friend and he wants to visit again. You don’t know how happy that makes me. We want to keep our friends happy, don’t we?”

  Was this a time he wanted an answer? Because if he did, my answer was fuck no! His friends can find their fucking happy place somewhere else.

  As Stewart removed his clothes, he said, “I’m over dressed for my gorgeous wife. I mean look at you. Your pussy is still hungry. I love watching you come. You’re going to do it again, and this time when you do, you’re going to scream my fucking name. Will you do that for me, Tori? Will you scream your husband’s name?”

  I fucking hate you! “Yes, Stewart, I’ll scream your name.”

  He held his hard cock in both hands. Getting back on the bed, he kneeled near my face and ran one hand up and down the length. “Oh, darling, I’m going to fuck that wet pussy until you do just that, until you scream my name, but I’m not coming inside of you, not this time. I’m going to fucking come on those sexy tits of yours. Then I’m going to watch as you rub my come around those nipples.” He leaned closer, nuzzling his nose against my neck. “See, baby, I promised I’d make them feel better. There’s nothing like some of your husband’s come to cure all your pain. Isn’t that right?” He smeared the glistening fluid from the head of his cock over my lips. “Lick your lips, Tori, let me see that tongue.”

  I did as he said. His unique, salty flavor helped me forget the taste of his special friend. I hated this, yet I wanted more—more to take away the friend. Stewart had done this to me, made me this way. I hated him, but somehow needed him.

  “Oh, fuck,” he continued, “now I can’t decide if I want to fuck your mouth or your pussy. So many choices.” Again, he teased my lips. “Open wide, I’m going to start with your pretty little lips. You did a good job with our friend. Every time you swallow, I get hard.”

  He knelt over my face and reached above me on the headboard. I opened my mouth and moved my chin upward, to accommodate his length.

  “So fucking good.” He moved in and out; his familiar scent loosened my muscles and involuntarily caused my body to react. Wanting this over
, I sucked harder.

  “Baby, not so greedy. You don’t want to make me come yet. That pussy of yours wants a turn.”

  “Vik?”

  I opened my eyes and turned toward my sister. “What?”

  “I was talking and you were totally zoned out.”

  “I’m sorry. I have a lot on my mind.”

  No, I didn’t fucking feel bad that Stewart was dead or that he suffered. I didn’t give a damn what Travis said. Stewart deserved every minute of pain and agony. When the fucking door closes on this vault, I will secretly rejoice. And if there were people who thought they could get me back in that position, well, they didn’t know the real Victoria Harrington.

  The real Victoria Harrington was not a whore. As I looked down at my black dress, black nylons, black shoes, and black purse, I straightened my shoulders and felt the weight of the large brimmed black hat. No, I was a fucking widow—a black widow—I wouldn’t go back without a fight.

  Unconsciously, the corner of my lip rose. As it did, I caught Travis’ eyes in the rearview mirror. Did he know? He seemed to know so much. Did he know I was a killer?

  “Vik? Hello?”

  I looked toward my sister and sighed. “Val, I’m fine, really.”

  “You’re not fine. You’re overwrought. I’m coming home with you. I don’t have to be back to the hospital until tomorrow evening. I’m staying. I’m also getting you a script for Ambien, the kind that not only helps you fall asleep but stay asleep.”

  I shook my head. I didn’t want that. I wanted to talk to Parker. I needed to know why he possibly thought I’d sign those papers. “I don’t need a babysitter,” I huffed and tilted my head toward the front of the car. “I already have one and don’t forget Lisa and Kristina. I think the position is well covered.” I reached for her hand and squeezed. “I’d love to spend time with you, but I just want to go home and get away from all of these people.” The car turned into the cemetery and toward the columbarium.