Hooker (37 page)

‘This way, Mrs Weston,’ the bailiff says as I approach him.

I see M’s head swing around from where she’s sitting with her lawyer. I’m momentarily taken aback by her appearance. She’s no longer the immaculately dressed woman I once knew. Her hair isn’t meticulously styled like it used to be, and her face is bare. What really shocks me is the horrid prison green overalls she’s dressed in. They’re very unflattering. Karma’s a bitch.

Her eyes narrow as soon as they meet mine. I swear if looks could kill I’d drop dead on the spot. Nice try. Her days of instilling fear in me are over. She can no longer hurt me, where she’s going.

‘Bitch,’ she mumbles as I pass.

Looking her square in the eyes, I plaster a pleasant smile on my face and reply. ‘It takes one to know one.’ I refuse to let her intimidate me.

Her mouth gapes at my brazenness and I see her lawyer place his hand on her arm, stopping her before she reacts further.

I walk across the room with all the confidence I can muster. I feel liberated already. Once I’ve taken the stand, the bailiff makes me hold the bible up in front of me. ‘Do you
swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth so help you god?’ he asks.

‘I do.’

After I give my evidence, I’m not allowed to enter the courtroom again and the trial drags on for five tedious days. I sit in a small room just off the corridor and wait. Thankfully, Brock fills me in on all the comings and goings each day.

The biggest shock of all comes on the last day of the trial, when Rocco takes the stand. Not only does he give his account of all the murders, he identifies the male remains and the reason behind his death.

Brock tells me everything Rocco said. Apparently M wasn’t responsible for the man’s death, but was present on the day it happened. The victim’s name was Robert Sanderson. He was one of M’s many lovers, and the first body to go into the dam. The kicker was he was shot by Maxwell Weston. ‘He’s still fucking with me from the grave,’ Brock murmurs. ‘I never thought he was capable of murder. I guess he was more ruthless than I thought.’

Going on what Rocco said, around twenty years ago, M and Maxwell were apparently having an affair. One day, Maxwell walked in on M and Robert in a compromising position, and shot him in a fit of jealousy.

‘You double-crossing dog,’ was apparently what M had screamed across the courtroom when Rocco said this. She never once tried to deny his claims. I can tell by his body language that it was heart-wrenching for Brock to hear this about his father, but it also explained a lot. Brock went on to tell that Maxwell had given M one million dollars only days after the murder had taken place and had gone on to spend millions more on M’s escorts. This may also explain
Maxwell’s involvement in my kidnapping: Brock and I think he was bribed into taking part. M was no stranger to bribery; she thrived on it and always used it to get what she wanted.

M’s lawyers successfully appealed to have the ninth murder charge downgraded to an accessory to murder, but fat lot of good that did her. She was found guilty of the other eight deaths as well as a string of other offences, and sentenced to life imprisonment without the possibility of parole.

It’s gratifying to see her finally get her just deserts, but it will never bring back the lives she’s taken, or undo all the damage she caused over the years.

Nevertheless, Rupert and I agree the past is now the past, and that’s exactly where it is going to stay. M can no longer harm another soul, and we take solace in that, making a pact to never mention her again.

She’s dead to us
.

*

It’s a few minutes before midnight on Christmas Eve, and I’m so excited I can’t sleep. We have the whole family staying at the house with us. Elaine, Joshua and Theo, my brother, Tate, and of course Rupert, who’s still living with us. Brock’s huge home was once empty, and it’s now bursting with life.

This will be the first Christmas I’m surrounded by people I love, and who love me back. We have a beautifully decorated tree that’s bursting with presents. I’m really looking forward to tomorrow. I have a huge feast planned.

‘Brock, are you awake?’ I say, nudging him.

‘I
am now,’ he groans, rolling onto his side to face me. ‘Is everything all right?’

‘I can’t sleep. Can I give you one of your presents now? I don’t want to give it to you in front of the others.’

Opening one eye, he studies me for a few seconds. ‘I sincerely hope you wouldn’t give me one of your magnificent blowjobs in front of our family.’

I can’t help but laugh as I playfully slap his arm. ‘It’s not a blowjob.’ Rolling over, I turn on the bedside lamp before reaching into the drawer to retrieve the long thin box. ‘Open it,’ I say, passing it to him.

Sighing, he squints as he sits up. Unwrapping the ribbon, he removes the lid. I’m pretty sure he’s going to like what’s inside, but the butterflies churn in my stomach nevertheless.

‘What the—’ His wide eyes meet mine.

‘It’s a—’

‘I know what it is,’ he says. ‘One of those stick things—a pregnancy test.’ Of course he knows. We’ve been trying to fall pregnant for months now. He’s sat with me on the side of the bed numerous times waiting and hoping. This time I did it without him. I hated to see the look of disappointment on his face every time we got a negative result.

‘Have a look at the lines.’

I see a smile form on his lips. ‘You’re pregnant.’

‘Yes. We’re going to be parents.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes. I got confirmation this afternoon from the doctor.’

Tossing the stick aside, he pulls me into his arms. ‘I’m going to be a father,’ he whispers.

‘Merry Christmas, Brock.’

‘Merry Christmas, sweetheart.’

‘I
love you so much,’ he says as he lays me back into the mattress and covers my body with his. I see tears glisten his eyes.

‘I love you more.’

‘Not possible, sweetheart,’ he says before his lips meet mine.

*

It’s funny how one person can change everything. Change you. How one fleeting moment in time has the ability to redirect your path in life. To give your future meaning and hope. How something as simple as love can heal even the most damaged heart.

That’s exactly what one man has done for me. My saviour. My knight in shining armour—Brock Weston. He may not have ridden in on his beautiful white stallion like I hoped, but that’s insignificant. He came, he conquered, and he did everything I dreamt he would.

He saved me
.

He gave me a taste of how good life could be when we first met in New York, but even that doesn’t compare to how rich my life is now. As hard as things were for me growing up, I’d do it all again in a heartbeat if I knew I’d end up exactly where I am today. I take back everything I said at the beginning of my story. I’m not cursed at all. I’m lucky, I’m blessed, I’m wanted, and I’m
loved
.

Also
by Australia’s favourite new romance writer, J.L. Perry

My name is Jaxson Albright. To my friends I’m known as Jax. I’m the disgraced son of well-known politician Malcom Albright. You could say I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth. I was supposed to follow in my father’s footsteps and move into politics. My whole childhood was spent being groomed for this role, but that wasn’t what I wanted. I had other plans.

To my family’s disgust, I’m inked, I’m pierced and I own and run a tattoo parlour in Newtown, in Sydney. I fit in here. I can be the man I was destined to be, the man my family are ashamed of. The son they regret having.

I
wouldn’t be where I am today if it wasn’t for my saviour, Candice. My pink-haired angel. We grew up in the same circle, but like me, she’s an outcast. She refused to conform to society’s ways. She’s the only one who stuck by me and not only encouraged, but supported my dream.

I love her. No, correction—I’m in love with her. I have been for as long as I can remember. She has no idea how I feel. It’s a battle I struggle with daily. I’ve kept my secret all these years because I couldn’t risk losing her. That’s a chance I’m not prepared to take, because she’s my best friend; my only real family.

I’ve spent the last few years pounding random hot chicks, trying to mask these feeling I have. But it doesn’t help—I can’t get her out of my head. She still owns my heart.

How do you get over the girl you know you can never have? And how do you live without the one person on this earth who was made for you?

She’s my soulmate.

The
Past …

JAX

‘Where do you think you’re going?’ my father snaps as I walk down the main staircase, heading for the front door.

‘Out.’ I’m nineteen and a legal adult. I don’t have to tell him jackshit.

‘Not dressed like that you aren’t.’

Here we go a-fuckin-gain. Is this man ever going to let up? I’ve lived my entire life doing what he’s asked. I’m tired. I can’t be the person he wants me to be anymore, I just can’t. I’m not cut out to be a politician. That shit may be running through his veins, but it sure as hell ain’t running though mine.

I scoop up my skateboard from beside the front door, tucking it under my arm. Out of the corner of my eye I see him storming towards me. I know exactly what he’s going to do, he’s done it a million times in the past. And that shit is getting old.

‘Get that fucking thing off your head!’ he screams, reaching for my baseball cap.

I manoeuvre my head to the right and then back to the left, avoiding his attempts to snatch it.

There’s
a murderous glare in his eyes as he tries one last time. ‘You’re an Albright, not some common thug. I won’t have my son walking the streets dressed like that.’

‘It’s just a hat. Get the fuck over it.’ I’ve never spoken to him like that before, I’ve always managed to bite my tongue. When I reach for the door handle, he roughly latches onto my arm, tugging me backwards.

I think the fact my father’s long awaited plan is finally coming to a head is the reason for my bad attitude. In two days, I’ll be heading to university. Of course he’s making me study politics, which is the last thing I want to do. I feel trapped in a world I hate, far removed from the person I want to be. The only plus is I’ll be getting out of this godforsaken town and away from him—away from my whole family. My mother and brother aren’t much better. Sometimes I swear I’m adopted. How can we have the same blood in our veins, yet be nothing alike?

‘You’re an adult now, when are you going to start acting like one?’ he sneers, tightening his grip on my arm.

‘One day … maybe,’ I retort, pulling my arm away.

‘I’m not finished with you, boy.’

Ignoring him, I make a hasty retreat out the door and down the front steps. I drop my skateboard onto the concrete before placing my foot on it. He may not be finished with me, but I’m sure as hell finished with him.