I, Porn Star (I #1) (35 page)

I use the only
bargaining chip I have. “Eight hundred thousand dollars. It’s yours if you let
me go and promise never to go after Petra.”

Earl snorts.
“She’s lying.”

Clayton eyes me.
“What’s to stop me from taking the money and going after her anyway?”

I force myself to
remain calm. “I’ll give you half of it now. Then a hundred thousand every nine
months for the next thirty-six months.”

He smiles.
“You’re a clever little thing, aren’t you? You think I won’t go after her once
she turns eighteen?”

“Think about it.
You make half a million from
all
the girls combined in a year—yes,
I’ve seen the books. I’m offering you eight hundred thousand for one girl.”

“What about you
burning down my
family home
? You expect me to just forget about that?
And Ridge?”

“The insurance
will take care of The Villa. As for Ridge, you’ve already had the coroner rule
his death an accident. Use the money to mourn him.”

He rushes forward
and seizes my chin in his hands. “You have it all figured out, haven’t you?” he
seethes. “I should teach you an unforgettable lesson. Fortunately, for you,
incest isn’t my thing.”

I don’t answer.
Fury blazes in his eyes. He’s on the edge. All I can do is count on cold hard
cash saving my life. And Petra’s.

“Where’s the
money?”

I shake my head.
“I’m not telling you. Not until we have a deal.”

He stares down at
me for an age. Then he hands the warrant to Earl. “You and I are going to get
this money. Earl will sit on this for two hours. If we’re not back by then,
he’ll happily put the wheels in motion, won’t you, Earl?”

Earl takes the
warrant and stuffs it in his pocket. “With pleasure.”

My hands and feet
are untied. I stagger to my feet, then stumble as blood rushes back into
deprived areas of my body. At some point my boots were taken off, so I follow
Clayton out of the basement in my soiled socks.

“Can I have my
shoes back?”

He shrugs. “I
have no clue where they are. Besides, if no shoes will keep you in line, I’m
all for it.”

We reach the top
of the stairs and I look around. If anyone lives here, they’ve long since given
up on any need to keep the place tidy. There’s a soiled, ripped futon sofa
shoved up against one wall, actual holes in the carpet, beer bottles and pizza
boxes discarded everywhere, and the fridge door is hanging on one screw.

Before I can ask
who lives here, a rake-thin man emerges from the single bedroom. His eyes are
bloodshot and track marks trail down both gangly arms.

Clayton passes
him a hundred-dollar note, which he pounces on with rabid glee. “Remember what
we talked about. Keep an eye on things and you’ll get another one of those.”

The junkie nods.
When he cracks open the bedroom door and dives back in, I see my shoes tucked
against the door.

I have a fair
idea how much they cost, and what the resale value means to an addict. I’m not
prepared to die over shoes, so I follow Clayton out. Two of his henchmen are
guarding the hallway, another two the stairwell.

We head up dark
stairs, across a series of hallways, then down ten flights of stairs in a weird
relay formation. When I spot the black van sitting on the curb, I don’t know
whether to be frightened or relieved. One way or the other, this is about to be
over.

We step out into
light rain and my feet are wet and cold in seconds.

Clay is about to
shove me into the back of the van when sirens rip through the air. He drags me
against his body, and starts fumbling for his belt.

I take advantage
of his distraction and bite down hard on the arm restraining my shoulder.

“
Fucking bitch!”

The moment his
grip loosens, I break free and run. I only get two blocks before I hear another
siren behind me.

“FBI. Stop!”

I stop
immediately, thrust my hands into the air.

Heart hammering,
teeth clenched, I wait.

“Are you Elyse
Gilbert?”

I tentatively
turn my head. “Y…yes?”

One male and one
female officer approach. “Was Clayton Getty holding you against your will?”

“Yes. Where am
I?” I ask.

“You’re in the
Bronx. Put your hands down, Miss. We will be taking you in for questioning, but
you’re not under arrest.”

“I’m not?”

The female
officer who approaches, shakes her head. “Are you all right?”

I stop and think
about the answer. Everything inside me shakes. “No. I’m not.”

She nods, and her
assessing gaze lingers on the bruise on my temple. “Well, let’s see about
reversing that, shall we? The ambulance is here. We’ll get you some medical
attention.” She beckons me closer.

My numb feet move
toward her.

“Oh, and your
lawyers are here.”

“My
lawyers
?”

The male officer
thumbs a black limo idling on the curb. “Yeah, they insisted on being here, and
since they were instrumental in giving us the phone number we used to track and
find you, we obliged their request…”

His words fade
away as the back door opens and a sharp-suited black guy I’ve never seen before
steps out. Closely behind him, Fionnella steps out.

Then the door on
the farthest side opens.

Quinn steps out. Rushes
round to where the other two are standing.

Across the
street, rabid silver blue eyes spear into me. His hair is spiky, his unshaven
face holding a million more shadows. In his eyes I read remorse, fear,
determination.

He starts to cross
the street toward me. “Elyse…thank God you’re okay.” His gravel-rough voice is
grittier. Bleaker than I’ve ever heard it.

I don’t want to
hear it now.

“
No!”
I take a step back.

He keeps coming.

Everything I saw on
the laptop in the basement rushes back. I stagger back until my shoulder bumps
hard into an iron railing. Both FBI officers halt, their gazes swinging between
me and Quinn.

Q.

Whoever the fuck
he’s decided to be today.

“Elyse, baby.
Please, let me explain—”

“Stay away from
me!”

The female
officer’s hands fly out towards Quinn in a halting gesture.

The male officer
frowns. “Miss Gilbert—”

 
“Officers, I don’t want those people
anywhere near me,” I yell shakily.

Quinn’s eyes
flare in alarm. One hand spikes through his hair. “God, please! I need…please,
don’t do this…Elyse.”

The sound of my
name on his lips freaks me out harder.

“
No!”
Hysteria ravages my voice, but I’m
past caring. “I don’t care if you have to arrest me, but please keep Quinn
Blackwood away from me!”

40

AFTER PARTY

Three
months later

I stand at the
fence, coffee in hand, and watch horse and rider canter in a perfect circle.
It’s far too early on a Sunday morning to be inhaling horse manure, but the
opportunity to spend time with Petra is a godsend. An impossibility I never
dreamed would come true.

My baby sister
laughs as her mare throws her head. I find myself laughing too. How can I not? Her
laugher is the most beautiful sound in the world.

Doris and Paul
join me at the fence. I smile at my sister’s adoptive parents and we watch her
in silence for a few minutes.

“She’s a natural,
isn’t she?” Doris’s voice radiates pure maternal pride.

I nod. “She sure
is.” I look over at her. “Thank you.”

The older woman
squeezes my arm. “Thank you for all you did to protect her. At least now that
man is behind bars, we can all rest a little easier.”

That man.

Clayton Getty.

The road to his
incarceration wasn’t easy. He had too many officials in his back pocket and
tried to call in favors far and wide, stalling for as long as possible the
FBI’s attempts to bring multiple charges.

Eventually, it
was his own deputy who proved instrumental in putting him away.

Turns out, the
FBI had their eye on what was going on in Getty Falls for a while. Sadly, none
of the cops were willing to stand up to Clayton. Not until Deputy Rick Daniels
stepped into Clay’s shoes and decided he never wanted to take them off.

Daniels convinced
a few key people to come forward with the promise of immunity from prosecution.
After that, Clay’s corrupt empire started to tumble. He’s now behind bars for
fraud, prostitution, racketeering and kidnapping. There were a few dozen minor
charges thrown in too, but suffice it to say, he won’t be breathing free air
for at least thirty years, which is fine by me.

For myself, the
FBI decided not to press charges after I confessed to what happened at The
Villa. As it turned out, Ridge Mathews wasn’t the golden boy Clay made him out
to be. He was dishonorably discharged from the army for raping an underage girl
in Iraq. And with Clay having already documented his death as accidental, the
authorities were happy to let the matter rest in return for my testimony.

Now that the
danger is behind me, I know I have to come to terms with killing a man.

Being here, in
Vancouver, with Petra, helps me a little in thinking I did the wrong thing for
the right reasons.

Petra waves from
across the field. I smile and wave back, and my soul settles a little bit. She
canters over with Winnie, her favorite mare, the newest gift to arrive at the
farm.

“Are you sure I
can’t tempt you into riding with me?” Her light green eyes blaze with
enthusiasm and happiness.

I wrinkle my nose
in mock horror. “Uh, no. After falling off three times last week, I need a
huge
ego boost, and several layers of
padding before I’m tempted to try again.”

She laughs and
trots off again.

“Breakfast in
half an hour,” Paul shouts after her.

As they discuss
what to have for breakfast, the phone in my pocket buzzes.

My heart wobbles,
but I make no move to reach for it.

I know who it is.
I also know it’s time to change my number. Again.

Four times in
three months. Each time, it takes about a week before he discovers the new
number. I probably shouldn’t bother.

Maybe it’s a game
we’re playing.

Maybe this is
destined to be my life.

When the buzzing
continues, Doris glances over at me. “Everything okay?”

I nod.

She doesn’t push.

We drift into the
warm, sunny kitchen for breakfast, then I head upstairs to take a shower. In my
room, I sit on my bed and take out the phone.

Fifteen texts
from Quinn, the first one dated five days ago, two days after I got my latest
phone. The texts aren’t requests for communication or pleas to be heard.
They’re bite-size letters, detailing his life, past and present.

Sometimes he
calls me Lucky. Sometimes Elly. Other times Elyse. I guess I’m all those to
him. He never calls me Firecracker. Maybe that time is over for him.

Regardless of how
he addresses me, the information is inexhaustible. At first I didn’t want to
read them.

What he did was
unforgivable. I don’t care that I was partly responsible for my epic downfall,
Quinn and Q manipulated me with the cunning and talent of Machiavelli.

I can never trust
him. And I can’t entertain the idea of being with someone I don’t trust.

The phone buzzes
again. I glance at the screen and read the latest message.

6 July:
Elyse,

Delilah
was charged today. Yesterday Maxwell was formally charged with manslaughter. The
DA is ecstatic. She doesn’t have to wait for Maxwell and Delilah to divorce
before compelling her to testify against my father. Delilah also finally
confessed to lacing Mama’s anti-depression pills with Benzo over a six-month
period when she was Mama’s assistant. Those were the pills Mama took that day.
The day my life changed forever. I should feel vindicated. Triumphant. Avenged.
I feel nothing. I don’t even hurt anymore. But my cracks keep growing. But it’s
fine. I’m fine. I’m fine.

Quinn.

I hate myself for
the lurching of my heart. Just as I hate myself for scrolling through, reading
his other texts…

3 July:
Elly,

I
wanted you to see me. You saw me. A part of me wishes you would forgive what
you saw. A part of me hopes you never forgive. He destroyed her just to gain
more power and money. The Blackwood billions and the thirty billion inheritance
from her family clearly weren’t enough. How greedy can one man be? He called me
from jail last week, asked to see me. I went because I needed to tell him why.
Needed to not leave him with a sense of righteousness that he’s free of guilt
in all this. I sat across from him. And I told him my plan all along was to
humiliate him in the worst possible way. Make him want to kill himself like he
made her kill herself. If that didn’t succeed I was going to kill him myself.
But…Elyse…when it came down to it, I couldn’t kill him. I was a coward. That’s
why he’s still alive. He’s breathing and she’s not. That kills me, Elyse. But I
take solace in one thing. I’ve destroyed the one thing he loves. The Blackwood
name. No one will ever speak of it with pride or awe again. That too was my
plan. It was the right thing to do. FOR THE GREATER FUCKING GOOD.

Quinn

2 July:
Lucky,

I
wanted to be a movie director. Did I tell you that? No, I don’t think I did.
That camera…the one… it was my first, a gift from Mama. Anyway, I guess in some
way I got to direct the movie of my life. Given another chance I would change
one cast member. You didn’t deserve your role. I knew it long before your love
touched me for one blissful second. I play that moment in my mind over and
over. If I could have one thing in this miserable life, it would be to freeze
that moment in time. Forever. Forgive me.

Quinn

1 July:
Lucky,

I saw
an ad today. For waffles. I thought of you. Just thought you should know.
Forgive me. Forgive me.

Quinn

28
June: Elly

I hope
you’ll accept the horse for Petra. I hear she loves horses, that she’s a
talented rider. In another life I would’ve loved to meet her. Get to know her.
But this is my life. I accept it. Don’t send the mare back. Let her enjoy it.
Please. Forgive me.

Quinn.

26
June: Elyse,

It’s
Mama’s birthday today. She would’ve been forty-nine. Mrs. Harper, our housekeeper,
would’ve baked her a cake with pink frosting and daffodil flowers. Mama
would’ve wrinkled her nose, laughed and said she wasn’t eight years old. But
she would’ve secretly loved it. I miss her. I miss you. I miss you.

Quinn

20
June: Elly,

Found
out today that Maxwell might never face charges for what he did. I don’t know
what to do with that. I hurt everywhere. I haven’t hurt like this in…forever.
He killed her. He killed her. I tried to save her. I tried to save her. I
tried. So hard. She told me to let her go. Why would she do that? Why would she
want to leave me? It hurts, Elly. So damn much.

Quinn

15
June: Lucky

I never
told you my age. I’m twenty-eight.

Quinn

30
April: Elly,

Charges
were brought against Dr. Nathanson today. She’s lost her license. Jail is too
good for her for abandoning Mama, the woman supposed to be her best friend,
when she knew what Maxwell was doing to her. Like me, she could’ve saved her.
My efforts came too late. But she
chose
not to. For her own selfish reasons, she condoned Mama’s suffering. I
hope she rots in hell.

Quinn

I drop the phone
on the bed, lie back and swipe at the tears dripping down my face. I should be
done with these damn tears. Done with Quinn. I should throw my phone away and
not buy another one. After all, if I don’t have a phone, he can’t contact me.
The thought spears me with anguish so ravaging, I jerk into fetal position. I’m
not sure how long I lie there, calling myself a thousand kinds of fool.

The distant rumbling
of a vehicle sends me to the window.

The farmhouse is
remote for a reason. As is the clear
No Trespass
sign half a mile down
the dirt road. I don’t need to look down the driveway to know Paul will already
be meeting the car, his shotgun tucked into the crook of his arm. He scared the
living shit out of a bunch of joyriders who took the wrong turn onto his
property last week.

Although, looking
at the sleek black SUV approaching, I have a feeling these aren’t joy riders.

The driver slows
when he spots Paul. When Paul cautiously beckons, the vehicle rolls forward.
The passenger side window winds down and a conversation takes place. Paul nods
once and looks up to my bedroom window.

A tingling seizes
my nape as the door opens.

Fionnella steps
out.

I bolt out of the
room and charge down the stairs. Paul and Fionnella are on the porch by the
time I wrench open the front door.

“You’re not
welcome here, Fionnella.” I switch glances to Paul. “She’s not welcome!”

He nods. “I told
her that. She wanted to hear it from you.”

I turn back to
Fionnella. “You’re not—”

“Five minutes,
Lucky.” She holds out her hands. “That’s all I’m asking for.”

 
I’m shaking my head before she’s halfway
through the sentence. “No.”

She sighs. “I have
something from him, for you.” She reaches into her pocket, pulls out an
envelope and holds it out to me.

“I don’t want it,
whatever it is. He already manipulated me into keeping the horse. That’s it, I
don’t want anything else from him.”

Fionnella glances
at Paul who’s still hovering. Whatever she signals him, he casts me a
supportive look, but retreats back into the house. Through the window, I see
Petra and Doris staring at me. I try a reassuring smile, but I’m sure it misses
the mark.

“It’s the money
you’re owed, Lucky. You earned it. Don’t refuse it because of stubborn pride.”

Humiliation
reddens my face. “Thanks for the reminder.” I snatch the envelope out of her
hands and rip it open. My jaw drops at the sum written on the check.

“Is this some
sort of joke?”

She shakes her
head. “The two hundred thousand is the remainder of what you agreed. The five
million is for reparations.”

“Well, tell him
to take his reparations, and shove it.”
 

Fionnella’s mouth
tightens. “Lucky—”

“My name is Elyse.
So what else does he want? Please don’t insult me by implying you flew all the
way here just to deliver this.” I slap the envelope on the porch bannister.

“He wants to see
you. But he can’t, not with that restraining order you have against him.” Her
mouth twists. “A little much if you ask me.”

“I didn’t. I
don’t want the money.”

She doesn’t
respond. Her chin juts forward, her eyes contemplative as they rest on me. “I
told him you wouldn’t take it.”

“And he sent it
anyway. Of course.”