The Rush (The Siren Series)

CHAPTER Four



“Ivy, is that you?” My mother called from her bedroom.

“Yes,” I called back wondering if she was expecting someone else. I walked over to the windows that looked out at the busy downtown street and watched Chase pull back into traffic. I half wondered what had taken him so long to leave. I lived with my mom in a trendy midtown loft and because of the busy one way streets, Chase couldn’t park and walk me to the door like he had originally planned.

That was fine with me. We weren’t on a date; he was just taking me home from school. Although I wondered if my nonchalance about the whole thing hurt his good-boy ego. The stress of that thought had me glancing at the cherry wood upright piano that sat three feet to my left, pleading with me to play it. To take out my nervous energy on the ivory keys and unforgiving demands of Tchaikovsky.

“How was your first day back?” My mother asked as she walked out of her bedroom. She looked stunning in a short black cocktail dress and six inch stilettos. She was fastening a diamond chandelier earring with two well-manicured hands and perfected the concept of elegance.

“It sucked,” I sighed and then turned my back on her.

I walked over to our immaculate eat-in kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water out of the stainless steel fridge. I noticed a note on the counter from the cleaning lady and had to grip the counter to keep from rolling my eyes. I hated everything about this apartment, about our clothes, about our possessions…. about our lifestyle.

It was honestly disgusting.

“Ivy, ladies don’t say ‘sucked,’” my mother chastised.

“I apologize,” I mumbled. I forced myself to turn around and face her. It took a huge effort on my part and an even greater effort to look in her forest green eyes without cowering. I was her spitting image, it was our strong genes that kind of took over any mixing of DNA and molded us into replicas of each other. One day if I had a daughter of my own she would be just another carbon copy of me. Good thing I would never, ever, ever have children. That was so not in my life plan.

“So, tell me about your first day back,” my mother asked with way too much enthusiasm.

“Why are you so dressed up?” I deflected. We were supposed to have dinner together tonight. I wouldn’t be all that upset about the loss of mother-daughter bonding time but I was terrified for whatever man had to put up with my mother for the rest of the evening.

And possibly through the morning.

“Oh, right,” my mother sighed looking down at her ensemble as if she just realized how dressed up she was. Her eyes darted around the room never quite reaching my face. “Uh, Nix is in town. He has some sort of business thing tonight and we’re going to dinner first.”

My fingers found the edge of the granite counter again and I instinctively dug in, gripping it tightly until the pads of my fingers started to tingle with numbness. I concentrated on my breathing, steadying my ragged breaths and forcing myself to remain calm. I had to remain aloof; I needed to keep the perfect disguise of cool indifference. I couldn’t let her see my fear, or my anxiety, or any of the other hundreds of emotions spinning like a self-destructive tornado inside me.

“Are you meeting him somewhere or is he coming here?” I ground out, barely keeping the bite of anger out of my tone.

“He’s coming here,” my mother said slowly. She was watching me carefully, her eyes sweeping the length of me, waiting for me to fall apart again.

But I would never fall apart again.

I learned my lesson the first time. I couldn’t be real anymore. I couldn’t show anything beyond the plastic casing I wrapped myself tightly in or they would know; they would see something immediately.

And I would have to pay.

Eighteen. Trust fund. Two years. Breathe. Just breathe.

“He wants to see you,” my mother continued. Her smiled tightened just a fraction into a practiced ease that meant that she felt the volatility of the moment as acutely as I did.

“Good,” I breathed carelessly. “I want to see him too.”

My stomach started twisting in the aftereffects of my lies. I felt lightheaded and dangerously close to trembling. I could not let her see me struggle for calm. She had to believe I was relaxed, or at least as resigned to the situation as she told me I had to be.

“Good,” she smiled wider, her expression becoming natural once again.

The twisting got worse until bile was rising in the back of my throat. I turned my back on her, my fingers instantly finding the counter again and digging in until the edge cut into my skin and I could have winced from pain.

“Why don’t you change then, he shouldn’t see you so…. disheveled,” she remarked callously. “What did you do? Spill on yourself today? I saw a boy drop you off earlier, I’m surprised he took any interest while you looked like that.”

I held in my gasp of indignation. It was just my shirt, my dark shirt that barely showed any signs of stains, that was ruined. Something in the room was slowly sucking out all of the oxygen leaving me lightheaded and disoriented.

I gasped for breath.

I needed to hold it together.

I couldn’t lose it.

Not again.

“I spilled coffee,” I explained in my practiced patience. “I’ll go change. When will he be here?”

“Soon, sweetie. Why don’t you wear that new red dress I bought you?” she suggested.

I paused for a moment near tears. “I don’t have to go with you, do I? I’m just really tired from school today and I have a lot to catch up on from the quarter that I’ve missed so far.”

“Oh, no, you’re not going with us. I just know Nix would appreciate it if you put some effort into yourself when you’re around him,” she explained like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

She was my mother. My mother. Why was this Ok to her? Why couldn’t she see how wrong this was?

A million different responses flashed in my head, all of them intending to get me into trouble. “You’re right,” is what I said instead. “I’ll go change now.”

“Ivy,” she stopped me before I could get to the sanctuary of my bedroom. I turned to acknowledge her and faked a yawn, just in case she noticed the glassiness to my now tear filled eyes. “I’m glad you’re home, sweetheart. I missed you.”

“I’m glad to be home too, mom,” I answered, avoiding any accolade that had to do with her.

She rewarded me with her most charming smile, the one that would get millionaires to sign their wills with her as the sole beneficiary and make ordinary men melt into whimpering piles of stupidity. I mimicked the smile, knowing I looked like the mirror image of her and that it would on some level, drive her crazy.

The buzzer sounding near the door drew both of our attention. She waved me off to go get ready while she answered the door. I fled to my bedroom, not even waiting around to find out who was there.

I knew who it was.

Nix.

A shudder slithered down my spine; I felt it all the way to my toes and fingertips. I stopped from choking on the disgusted nausea that had wrapped around my stomach in a heavy blanket of warning and reminded myself that they were leaving.

This interaction would only last a minute, maybe a few minutes and then I would have the entire evening to myself. I would finally get to be alone and have precious moments to breathe.

I could do this.

I heard the door open outside of my room and the deep tones of a melodic male voice greet my mother. The voice had goose bumps rising quickly all over my skin in more forewarning. I shook my head out in a desperate attempt to get out of the fearful fog I had conjured around me.

I walked over to my closet and stared into the depths of cluttered clothing packed in tightly together. There was no way I was putting on the paper napkin my mother considered a dress. I needed something in between mega-slut and carelessly cute.

I threw myself into finding a perfect outfit. It wasn’t something I enjoyed doing, but after years of studying the art of dressing to impress, it was something I could do almost blindfolded. I picked through my massive closet that took up an entire wall of my large bedroom, tossing several pieces on my four poster queen-sized bed.

When I was satisfied with a few different options I laid them out carefully on my robin’s egg colored down comforter and decided from there. I went through the checklist before I came to my conclusion: spray tan, check; shaved legs, check; pedicure, check; tattoo concealer…. probably needed a touch up.

I settled on a pair of mostly white with black pinstripes shorts and a silky black cami: sexy but casual. I pulled my wavy reddish-gold hair into a side ponytail, letting the length of it hang over my shoulder and expose my neck. Then I reached into the deepest depths of my closet, into a mostly empty Louboutin shoe box where I retrieved my tattoo concealer. I applied it on the inside of my right wrist and then on my ribs, underneath my cami just in case.

I shivered again at what “just in case” could imply.

I looked myself over in my mirror, deciding that everything was in place and then returned the concealer to its hiding place. I practiced breathing with several deep breaths in and out and then turned to face my doorway. I could hear them out there, laughing and talking. They were so at ease with each other, with their whole lives.

It was insane.

They were insane.

And I was insane for putting up with this whole bullshit life.

I opened my door quietly, hoping they wouldn’t immediately notice me, but I was an idiot for holding out any kind of optimism. Their eyes fell on me at the exact same time and I had to stop breathing completely to keep from cringing as they both eyed me hungrily. My mother’s gaze was deranged pride and satisfaction and Nix looked me over with a ravenous desire he didn’t even try to conceal or downplay.

“Hi, Nix,” I greeted casually, leaning my hip against the doorway.

“Hi, Ivy,” his perfect lips spread into a gorgeous smile that even I couldn’t be totally unaffected by. But it was part of his charm, part of what made him who he was and even if physically I couldn’t stop myself from being attracted to his sexy-as-sin mouth, I could at least mentally remind myself of the price it came with. “Happy to be home?”

“Of course,” I shrugged one shoulder and then walked over to the couch just for something to do.

“Ava, why don’t you go check the account we were just talking about,” Nix addressed my mother. She paused for a moment too long, as if waiting for a better reason to leave the room. “We’ll leave as soon as you’re finished.” Nix turned his reassuring smile on my mother and lifted his dark eyebrows expectantly.

“Of course,” she agreed, obeying him. There had never been any doubt in my mind that she wouldn’t do exactly as she was told. She lived a complete subservient life, in the utter will and command of Nix. The same life I was supposed to embrace and walk willingly into as well.

Not happening.

Eighteen. Eighteen. Eighteen. Eighteen.

Once she was gone, Nix walked over to the couch. I fought the defensive surge to pull my knees to my chest, knowing it would give away the physical signs of needing to protect myself and crossed my legs instead. Nix let his dark eyes float over my exposed limbs appreciatively; he cleared his throat letting his gaze linger way too long on my thighs. I resisted the urge to fidget when his eyes moved to my hands. He couldn’t see the tattoo; I had checked it out enough to know that it was perfectly hidden. Still there was a part of me that believed he could see through anything.

He was just a man. Nothing more. Nothing more than a man.

Ok, maybe something more.

“How was your first day back?” he asked, his deep, gravelly voice caressed each word and floated in the air around me like music. He looked god-like in his immaculately tailored navy blue suit, with starched white oxford and red charcoal tie. His tan skin was the exact color of caramel and because I was crazy I stopped to notice how delicious his large hands looked hanging casually at his sides.

“Same as it always is,” I answered, not fooled at all by the cocoon of safety he was trying to wrap me in.

He was not safe. He was not anything but absolutely dangerous.

He sat down on the chic, mustard colored coffee table in front of me and rested his elbows on his knees so that he could lean forward and meet my eyes at an even level. He let his fingers trail up my bare calf before he reached for one of my hands and took it gently in his. I couldn’t hide the goose bumps that covered my skin, all I could do was hope that he thought they were good goose bumps and not the result of the paralyzing fear pumping desperately inside of me.

“Ivy, I am happy you’re home,” he admitted. He ducked his head as if with sincerity before looking up at me through his thick, black eyelashes. It was a practiced move, a move meant to make any girl puddle at his every word. I was not fooled, but I had to be somewhat sneaky about it. “I was so worried about you. You can’t do that to me again, alright? I need to know that you will be Ok, here. If you don’t think this is a good environment for you, or if you feel even a little bit like you could relapse I need you to tell me.”

“Thank you, Nix,” I answered in a barely controlled voice. “But, I’m fine, really. I’m happy to be home with my mom again. She needs me.”

He sat there pensively for a few moments, drinking in my answer. His eyes darkened suddenly and I couldn’t stop myself from wondering if it was from lust or anger. I hoped anger, but flipping a coin would have given me more insight than trying to read his expression.

“But what about what I need?” Nix asked playfully. His full lips tipped up into a smile and small creases appeared near his eyes, making it seem like he was a regularly happy person, that a smile was part of his constant facial expressions.

I swallowed quickly, my throat working overtime to keep from puking. I buried whatever thoughts sounded like What about what I need?

“Nix, I’m only sixteen,” I chastised playfully. Where was my mother?

“Now, now, that’s not what I meant,” he backtracked when we both knew that was exactly what he meant. But I wasn’t his property. Not yet. “I only meant that I’m very concerned about your well-being. I understand that your mother can’t leave Omaha, but you aren’t under the same obligations. I need to know that you’re safe, that you’re well taken care of and that you’re protected.”

“I am,” I assured him.

“I know that you think you are, but let’s not forget what happened just six months ago. I could have lost you Ivy. Do you know what that has done to me?” His expression seemed so sincere and if I were a weaker woman I would have melted in the intensity of his feelings for me. It didn’t matter how old he really was, he looked like he was maybe mid-thirties.

“I can’t apologize enough for my stupidity,” I threw myself into this moment as a character in a tragic play. I had to convince Nix, my mother…. I had to convince everyone. And I would do whatever it took to get out of here. If Nix took me to live with him, I would never see freedom, never see my trust fund. I had to push through the fear and vile hatred coiling inside of me and just pretend. I scooted to the edge of the couch and slipped my other hand in his. I rubbed my thumb nail across the inside of his wrist slowly and gently, a move that usually got me anything I wanted with men. “I was confused and not thinking right. I won’t ever let that happen again…. I won’t ever behave like that again.” I shrugged one of my shoulders, hopefully drawing attention to the curve of my neck and collarbone and then used his own trick against him by looking up through my lashes.

“Promise me, Ivy,” Nix whispered through a thick voice. “Promise me you won’t ever get like that again and if you even think you might be slipping you’ll come to me immediately.”

“I promise,” I responded with enough sincerity that even I almost believed I was telling the truth.

“Mmmm, good girl,” Nix murmured, his gaze settling on my lips. He leaned forward and I sucked in a quiet gasp, preparing for his touch. One of his hands lifted to cup my chin and he tilted my mouth upwards to meet his sensual lips. He kissed me lightly, gently, his lips never opening but lingering a little longer than I could stand.

When my thumb slipped out of nervousness and grazed over his wrist one more time he groaned against me. His hand gripped my neck firmer and even though he pulled away instead of deepening the kiss I knew it took all of his will power.

“You’re exquisite,” he whispered. “And if I didn’t love your mother as much as I do, I would demand you come live with me right now.”

Well, at least I could thank my mother for something.

He laughed gruffly as if he were trying to gain his composure and then stood up and moved away from me. I bit down on my bottom lip to keep from saying anything that would get me into trouble and slid back into the deep recesses of the couch.

My mother came out of her bedroom wearing a designer coat over her designer dress and a beaded clutch in hand. She gave me an excited smile after glancing at Nix as if I had just won some kind of championship game.

I broke out in a cold sweat.

“I’ll be in town for a while,” Nix told me, his eyes still smoldering. “Do you already have a date for this weekend or will I be able to take you out one night?”

“I, uh, I,” I stammered, loathing the idea of a night out with him. “I met a guy today; he gave me a ride home from school. We don’t have anything set up, but I’m positive he’ll ask me out this weekend.”

“Good,” Nix murmured and I could see the confliction in his eyes. He was happy there was a boy but disappointed all the same. “Maybe Sunday, then?”

“Maybe,” I answered noncommittally. “Will you be back tonight?” I turned to my mom.

She looked to Nix for the answer, he shook his head negatively. “I guess not,” she giggled. “Will you be Ok?”

“I’ll be fine, have a great time,” I gushed, so ready for them to be gone.

“Alright, bye sweetheart,” my mom walked over and kissed me on the forehead.

“Goodbye, Ivy,” Nix’s eyes swept over me appreciatively one more time and then he winked at me.

I waved from the couch and then held my breath until they door clicked shut behind them. As soon as they were gone I leapt from the couch and rushed to the bathroom. I barely made it to the toilet before I started vomiting up every single thing I ate today, which wasn’t all that much. I shuddered even against the violent heaving as I emptied my stomach.

When I was finished I sunk to the floor, leaning my back against the bathroom wall.

Two years might as well have been an eternity. If I had to put up with too much more of this I would never make it. I would crumble…. shatter….. I would explode into the million broken pieces I already felt like composed me. I was already wrecked. Completely fragmented and I wasn’t foolish enough to believe that freedom would fix me.

But it would let me breathe.

And that’s all I needed. I just needed to breathe.