Authors: K.M. Thompson
By K.M. Thompson
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This book is a work of fictions. Names, characters, establishments, organizations and incidents are either product of the author’s imagination or are used factiously to give a sense of authenticity. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, event, or locals is entirely coincidental.
All that I am or ever hope to be is because of you.
For all the special, little things you do,
For all the words that sometimes go unspoken,
I need to say I love you, Mum, I do.
I love you for the way you stop and listen,
And for your unconditional support throughout the years,
For teaching me the meaning of compassion,
And sharing in my triumphs and my tears.
And, if at times, I may have seemed ungrateful,
I want to say, I truly hope you see,
That nothing you have done has been forgotten,
I love you mum, you mean the world to me.
, Caleb, keep going.”
“You’re so beautiful when you’re so wanton,” I say to the gorgeous woman under me, lying across the backseat of the limo.
“That’s it, right there,” she breathes heavily.
“Molly, wait for me,” I demand as I feel her tighten around my dick.
“I can’t. I’m sorry,” she pleads with me for forgiveness as she lets herself orgasm, which pushes me over the edge making me spill my load in her.
Once I recover from my orgasm, I prop myself up on my elbow. “You should really learn the meaning of delayed gratification,” I tell her.
“Oh come on, Caleb. How was I expected to hold back when you’re so fucking good? And that Irish accent, its enough to make any woman come without you even touching her.” she asks and looks at me with those beautiful ice-blue eyes. The very same eyes that have glazed over from copious amounts of alcohol and sex. Those same ones that tell me exactly what she’s about to say, before she even knows she’s going to.
“Don’t,” I say, sharper than intended causing her to lower her eyes. “You’re drunk. You’ll only regret it.”
“I can’t help it. I’m sorry, Caleb,” she replies, looking directly into my eyes. “I love you.”
“No, you don’t,” I insist as I remove myself from between her legs.
“Yes, I do,” she demands like a petulant child.
“You don’t even know what love is.” I shake my head.
“I’m nineteen, Caleb. I’m not a child, I know what I’m saying,” she snarls. “You’re the one who doesn’t know what love is.”
“Exactly and I’m twenty-eight, Molly.” I try to reason with her.
“Maybe it’s because you’re just emotionally crippled,” she replies. “What happened to you that made you so depressive?”
“I’ve told you before and I’ll tell you again, my business is none of yours,” I answer and step out of the car. I walk around to the driver’s door and get back in. I wish I’d never pulled over. I should have just taken her straight home from the party. I start the ignition and lower the privacy screen. “Get dressed, we have to go.”
There’s no reply so I turn around to look at her. I catch her sexy ass climbing out of the car and then slamming the door shut. For crying out loud, I don’t need this tonight. I turn off the ignition and get back out of the car, searching up and down the alley for her. I catch a glimpse of her to the right and take off after her. As I hit the sidewalk, I spot her turn a corner into another alley and hurry to catch up with her.
“Molly!” I yell when I notice the black transit van speeding in her direction. “Shit!”
My heart is racing and everything narrows down to a single thought: getting to Molly before the van does. As I turn the corner, I see two men jump out of the van and grab her.
“Help me!” she screams. She turns my way and spots me running toward her. “Caleb, help me!”
“Molly!” I pick up the speed and sprint as fast as my legs will allow, but I’m just too far away. They manage to manhandle her kicking and screaming into the back of the van and speed off.
I stop and take a second to get my bearings, trying to figure out the quickest route back to the car. I grab my cell and call for backup.
“Slate,” my brother answers on the first ring.
“Grayson, Molly has been taken,” I quickly inform him.
“What the hell, Caleb. What happened?”
“Long story. I need back up and I need you to run a search on a black transit van.”
“Delta, alpha, zero, nine, one, nine,” I recite from memory.
“I’ll run it. You follow them,” he orders.
“I can’t,” I concede quietly. “We weren’t near the car at the time.”
“Caleb, it’s after midnight. Why weren’t you in the car?”
“Long story?” I say, but it comes out more like a question.
“Well you better have that long story simplified quickly. Mr. and Mrs. Vitale are going to want to know how you let this happen.” That’s when I realize it’s going to be a really long night.
The following twenty-four hours were filled with a lot of questions, to which I had no answer—well, no answer Molly’s parents would want to hear. We searched through the night, followed every lead we could. The trace on the van was another dead end because the plates were stolen. Suffice to say we had hit a brick wall. Mr. Vitale is convinced I fucked up and he’s right. I was her bodyguard—I was supposed to be protecting her. Then we got the call.
“Hello?” Mr. Vitale answers, his voice shaking. He says nothing else, just drops the phone and walks away. I watch as Mrs. Vitale sinks to the floor, filling the room with a tremendous cry of grief. I know then that Molly is dead.
“Caleb, I know you’re there,” my brother’s voice comes from the answering machine. “Pick up the phone, the cops are on the way to your house.”
This grabs my attention and I snatch up the handset. “What? Why?” I shout disbelievingly.
“Molly’s autopsy report came back. They found semen in her,” he explains and I have a feeling I know where this is going next. “DNA tests confirm it’s yours.”
“Shit!” I yell, more to myself than anyone else. How could I have been so stupid? “Shit! Fuck! Damnit!”
“You need to calm down,” Grayson says firmly. “Did you have sex with her?”
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I continue chanting. “Yes, Grayson, we had sex. We had a lot of sex.”
“The fact that this wasn’t mentioned beforehand doesn’t bode well for you. You know that, don’t you?”
“Call Davis, tell him to meet me at the station,” I reply, referring to the attorney who is head of our legal department moments before the doorbell rings. “That’s probably the cops now, tell Davis to be quick.”
I say goodbye to Grayson and go to answer the door, opening it to find two men in front of it.
“Mr. Slate?” the older of the two asks. I nod and let him continue, “I’m Captain Patterson and this is Detective Truman, we’re from the Washington D.C. Metropolitan Police Department. We need you to come down to the station. There has been a development in the case of Molly Vitale and we need to ask you a few questions.”
“Sure. I’ll just get my keys and I’ll meet you there.” I smile and go to close the door when the detective’s foot comes out and stops it.
“I’m sorry Mr. Slate, I’m going to have to ask you to come with us,” the captain insists.
It takes twenty-five minutes to get from my house in the Palisades to the police station and by the time we arrive, I still don’t have any idea what I’m going to say.
“If you would like to take a seat Mr. Slate, someone will be with you shortly,” the detective tells me. “Would you like a drink?”
“No, thank you. My lawyer will be here shortly. I won’t answer any questions until he is present,” I say, before they try to begin the interview without my attorney.
“Your attorney’s name, please?”
“Mike Davis,” I reply and the detective leaves.
The interview went on for over an hour, with accusation after accusation being thrown at me. Davis advised me not to answer most of their questions. I did as I was told and was released without any charges.
“You got lucky, Caleb,” Grayson scolds me. You’d seriously think he was the older brother. “By hiding the fact that you were sleeping together, you’ve made yourself look guilty.”
This gets my back up. “Unlike you, who hides the facts so you’re not found guilty? How is Evangeline, does she know what you did yet?” I argue and I instantly regret it as his features begin to shadow.
“Screw you, Cal,” he replies and storms toward the door.
“I’m sorry, that was uncalled for,” I try to backtrack.
“Yes, it fucking was,” he snarls and slams the door behind him. At some point in my life, I’ll learn to keep my fucking mouth shut.
After three weeks of investigation, questions and search warrants, the case was dropped. It turns out Mr. Vitale was hiding a few facts of his own, which he conveniently forgot to mention. So when the doorbell chimes, I’m surprised to find who’s on the other side.
“Vitale, what can I help you with?” I ask, blocking the doorway but this doesn’t stop him barging past me.
“This is your fault. You were supposed to be protecting her,” he slurs. The smell of whisky coming from him, confirms he’s drunk. “You fucked my daughter in more ways than one.”
“Mr. Vitale, I’m going to have to ask you to leave or I’ll have to call the police,” I try to reason with him.
“You’d love that, wouldn’t you? Your father would be disgusted with you. You’re a disgrace to your family name.”
“You’re drunk. If you wish to talk, you can arrange a meeting with me when you’re sober.”
“You work for me. You will talk now!” he shouts.
“Then you killed my daughter.”
“No, you did that Mr. Vitale,” I reply, giving in to the urge to rip him a new one. As it turns out, Vitale had something his boss wanted and he was racking up a hefty bill by not handing it over. Unfortunately we haven’t figured out what it was yet—he’s keeping that secret closely guarded. Instead of just paying the interest on a missed payment, which came with a death threat to his family, he allowed pride to get in the way and paid out twice as much on bodyguards and security protection.
“Get out of my house,” I cut him off. “If you ever show your face here again, I won’t hesitate to call the police.”
“I’ll be watching you, Slate, and one day, I’ll be there to take away the one person you love more than life itself,” he threatens—the stupid, drunken fool.
“To love someone requires a heart Mr. Vitale, something I don’t posses.” I frown and then allow my lip to curl up into a snarl. “Something you and I have in common or else you would have done everything in your power to protect Molly, not your pride.”
I watch as his expression turns from anger to hatred in the blink of an eye. “I’ll be watching you,” he finishes before holding his head high and walking out the door.
As I close it, I think about what it is that has my hackles rising. His threat didn’t bother me—I can take him on any day. I think what bothered me is that should I ever find love, will I be looking over my shoulder all the time wondering if he’s waiting in the shadows, ready to take it away from me?