Baumgartner Generations: Henry, page 18
part #5 of The Baumgartners Series
Henry held his breath under the bed, watching the wheels of the tape turning, sealing Dean’s fate.
“Come on, Libby, let me go.” Dean wasn’t pleading anymore. Maybe the fear had receded some, or maybe he really felt he was getting somewhere with his bribe. Who could turn down money, after all? “Ten thousand dollars. Think about it.”
“Twenty,” Libby said quietly.
Under the bed, Henry’s eyes widened.
“Fine,” Dean agreed. “Just let me go.”
“Fifty,” she countered.
Henry blinked. Was she serious? Was she really contemplating—?
Dean didn’t answer for a minute, and then he said, “Okay, okay…”
“Quarter million.” Libby’s voice was flat, emotionless. Ruthless. She had him beat, and clearly Dean knew it.
After a brief, defeated silence, he said, “Okay. Whatever you want.”
Henry watched as Libby stood, walking toward Dean’s bed. She stood there for a while, long enough to make Henry squirm. He was sure Dean was, too.
“You didn’t even acknowledge what you did to Elaine.” Her voice was so low he almost couldn’t hear her at all. “You don’t even care.”
“Oh come on!” Dean exclaimed, sounding really angry now, and even a little…self-righteous. “We both know she was drunk and she fucking wanted it. She was more than ready to top Henry off—why not me?”
Dean suddenly howled in pain.
Henry winced, his breath caught. What in the hell had she done to him?
“You couldn’t pay me enough to let you go, you motherfucker,” she growled and Dean screamed in pain again. “I hope they do kill you!”
Then Libby was bending low, peeking under the bed, urging Henry from underneath. He slid out as quietly as he could, taking the tape recorder with him. Dean was writhing in pain on the bed in his boxers, still blindfolded, hands over his head, the handcuffs looped between one of the wooden posts.
“Libby!” Dean yelled as she headed toward the door, gathering shoes and coats and pulling Henry in that direction too. “Don’t you leave me like this! Don’t you fucking dare!”
They closed and locked the door. It might afford Dean a little protection, if Marcus’s boys did show up—and at the very least, it would keep anyone from unhandcuffing him for a while, even if they did hear him yelling for help. Maybe even long enough for the cops to arrive.
It wasn’t until they were outside in the snow that Henry asked, “What did you do to him to make him scream like that?”
She shrugged, giving him a lopsided grin. “Apparently it’s true what they say about men’s testicles being sensitive.”
“Ouch.” He winced. He didn’t even want to think about it. He touched the tip of her nose, where a snowflake had landed and was melting. “Okay, Erin Brockovich, now what happens?”
“Now we take this information to the paper.” She took the tape recorder from his hand, tucking it into her jacket pocket and she showed him the notebook she’d taken from Dean’s backpack. It detailed not only the players involved, but beyond that there was a whole list of bets and an entire record of the ‘charitable donations’ people had made to the Literacy Tutoring Foundation that Dean had funneled elsewhere.
“The university paper?” Henry asked.
She set her mouth in a grim line. “No, the real one.”
Henry grabbed her hand as she turned to go, pulling her back into the circle of his arms and kissing her breathless.
When she broke the kiss, her eyelids fluttering open, snowflakes caught in her red lashes, she whispered, “I lied.”
“About what?” He couldn’t even imagine.
“I don’t like you.” She pressed her cheek to his chest, his heart thudding there under her listening ear, and he knew Toni had been right. He’d known all along who his soulmate was.
“Could have fooled me.” He kissed the top of her head.
“I don’t like you,” she repeated, her words muffled against his jacket, confessing, “I love you.”
He didn’t say anything—couldn’t speak—words had completely failed him. His whole life, they had failed him. They meant nothing, spoken or written. Like or love? It didn’t matter how they were spelled. It was the feeling behind them that mattered.
No words, he just held her, the world turning white around them.
Epilogue
Henry nuzzled Libby’s neck, not paying attention at all to the news report everyone else was glued to on Bel’s widescreen TV. It wasn’t just big news on campus—it was big news everywhere.
“News out of Ann Arbor today—Dean Mosher, son of University of Michigan Board of Regents director Stephen Mosher, was arrested Friday on charges of racketeering, fraud and embezzlement…”
“Serves him right,” Elaine said under her breath, but it was loud enough for Henry to hear her on the other side of Libby.
“Unreal.” Bel sat at his desk, shaking his head in disbelief.
The newscaster, a pretty blonde in a navy suit, went on, “Mosher senior paid back the missing funds to the Literacy Tutor Foundation charity himself and has resigned from the LTF board.”
“In other related news, reports of widespread gambling on-campus at the University of Michigan have focused on Fraternity Alpha Pi Alpha and members of the fraternity leadership are under investigation for racketeering.”
Elaine hopped off the bed and went to the window, gazing out. “Snowing again.”
“Cold, too,” Bel chimed in. “Nearly froze my balls off walking back from the library.”
Henry snorted. “What were you doing in the library?”
“Not making out with the redheaded librarian,” Bel replied with a waggle of his eyebrows. “Unfortunately.”
Henry put his arm protectively over Libby’s shoulders. “She’s not the librarian anymore.”
On the TV, the news was switching segments, the anchors talking back and forth.
The blonde turned to talk to the sportscaster. “Even in all that snow, University of Michigan won Saturday’s game against EMU, didn’t they?”
“No surprise there, Heather.” The sportscaster flashed a smile. His tie was awful. “They haven’t had a winning season since ninety-five. But good news for Michigan fans, even though Dean Mosher was one of U of M’s rising stars, the current word from the NCAA is that there is no investigation planned for the football program...”
Henry perked up at that news. The game had been won, so at least the guys who had been pressured or bribed by Dean to throw the game were off the hook.
“Hey, I gotta get to work.” Libby leaned over and kissed Henry’s cheek. “I left my shoes in your room.”
“Got your magnifying glass and your reporter’s hat, cubby?” Henry stood and held his hand out to help her up. The local paper that broke the story had given her a job, nothing major, just a copywriter position, but it was something—and today was her first day.
“You coming?” Libby called over her shoulder to Elaine.
“I’m gonna stay here a while.” Elaine stood talking to Bel, waving her roommate out.
Henry slowed as he neared his dorm room door. It was ajar. His heart leapt in his chest as he glanced back at Libby. Dean? Dean’s stuff had been boxed and moved out already—he’d heard Dean’s mom did it, but he hadn’t seen her. He’d just come home to half the room empty. But Dean’s family had connections. Had Dean sent someone after him? Or maybe Marcus’s guys had gotten wind of who had turned them in?
He pushed Libby back into the hall, slowly opening the door to reveal a guy with a suitcase and a duffel bag standing there studying the room. Henry breathed a sigh of relief—he’d almost forgotten the call he’d received just that morning from the housing department.
“Hey, you must be my new roommate.” Henry gave the kid his hand and the guy shook it. “I’m Henry Baumgartner.”
“John Hill.”
The guy seemed normal enough. Nerdy, maybe. But that was no crime.
“So do you, uh… play football?” Henry plopped down on his bed as Libby started putting on her tennis shoes.
“No.” John lifted his suitcase onto the bed.
“Into gambling?” Henry inquired.
John gave him a funny look. “No.”
“Got any buildings named after you?” Libby stood and held her own hand out. “I’m Olivia Stowe. Libby. I’m Henry’s girlfriend.”
“Nice to meet you.” John smiled, pushing his glasses up on his nose.
Henry frowned. “Are you into redheads?”
John glanced between the two of them, bemused. “I don’t have anything against them.”
“I gotta go.” Libby leaned over and gave Henry a kiss. He pulled her onto his lap and kissed her properly.
“Good luck,” he whispered into her flushed ear. “Call me later.”
“She’s cute,” John remarked as Libby closed the door behind her.
“Don’t get any ideas.” Henry’s eyes narrowed as he watched his new roommate begin to unpack. Then he brightened. “As a matter of fact—here—if you ever get any ideas about my girlfriend and I’m not around…”
Henry reached under the bed.
ABOUT SELENA KITT
Selena Kitt is a bestselling and award-winning author of erotic fiction. She is one of the highest selling erotic writers in the business. With half a million ebooks sold in 2011 alone, she is the cream-at-the-top of erotica!
Her writing embodies everything from the spicy to the scandalous, but watch out-this kitty also has sharp claws and her stories often include intriguing edges and twists that take readers to new, thought-provoking depths.
When she’s not pawing away at her keyboard, Selena runs an innovative publishing company (www.excessica.com) and in her spare time, she devotes herself to her family—a husband and four children—and her growing organic garden. She also loves bellydancing and photography.
Her books EcoErotica (2009), The Real Mother Goose (2010) and Heidi and the Kaiser (2011) were all Epic Award Finalists. Her only gay male romance, Second Chance, won the Epic Award in Erotica in 2011. Her story, Connections, was one of the runners-up for the 2006 Rauxa Prize, given annually to an erotic short story of “exceptional literary quality,” out of over 1,000 nominees, where awards are judged by a select jury and all entries are read “blind” (without author’s name available.)
She can be reached on her website at www.selenakitt.com
If you enjoyed BAUMGARTNER GENERATIONS: HENRY,
you might also enjoy:
BAUMGARTNER GENERATIONS: JANIE
By Selena Kitt
The Baumgartner series continues, this time exploring Janie’s world as she moves to New York to try to make it as a writer, all the while serving as part-time lover in a polyamorous relationship with Veronica and TJ and full-time nanny to their daughter, Beth. Janie’s life is already incredibly full when she—literally—runs into an agent one morning who sees great potential in her—and not just as a writer. As Janie’s relationship with Josh blooms and her career takes off, Ronnie’s happy surprise turns into a problem that even a vacation in a mountain cabin with the Baumgartners can’t fix, throwing everyone’s life off-kilter. Janie, especially, is spread thin, trying to please everyone while keeping Josh from finding out the true nature of her relationship with her benefactors. She knows she has to tell him eventually, but fear holds her back. Will she lose him? Will she be forced to make an impossible choice? Or will she, perhaps, find that the capacity for the human heart to love is, indeed, endless?
Excerpt From BAUMGARTNER GENERATIONS: JANIE
I woke up hung over and I had no idea where in the hell I was. My first clue was a pair of black panties I had wrapped around my wrist. I vaguely remembered having them stuffed into my mouth at one point, and then—had they been used to tie me to the bed post?
I rolled to my back from my belly with a groan. Oh my god, I was sore! My pussy was sore, my arms were sore, my thighs actually trembled when I tried to move...
What in the hell was I doing last night?
Then Catherine sighed and shifted in her sleep, pulling the covers up, and it all came back. Well, most of it anyway. I admired the smooth curve of her spine, her hair spilling over her shoulders like a river of fire, and felt faint. I didn't even want to think about what I'd done or said the night before. I had to get my stuff and get the hell out of there. TJ and Ronnie were going to be worried sick. They'd probably called a million times already. Where was my phone?
I found my panties and shoes on the floor and remembered my dress was in the living room. I slipped my panties on and carried my shoes, easing open the bedroom door as quietly as I could. Behind me, Catherine sighed and rolled again, but then she was quiet. The door clicked shut behind me and I crept down the hall, past half a dozen closed doors—how many rooms do they have in this apartment?—past the private penthouse elevator, looking for the living room.
The blinds were still open wide and I blinked at the brightness of the morning, my head throbbing. I'd obviously had way more to drink the night before than I’d realized. Shading my eyes and groping my way around the couch, I returned to the scene of the crime, hunting around the coffee table and in front of the door wall for my things. Problem was, they were nowhere to be found.
I stood there for a moment, lost in foggy thought, trying to recall. Had I gotten up in the middle of the night to get my clothes? I didn't think so, but I was pretty hung over. I couldn't be sure. Maybe—
"Are you looking for these?"
I probably would have screamed if my throat and mouth hadn't already been so filled with cotton.
"Who are you?" I squeaked, my arms snapping quickly closed to cover my breasts, my shoes still in hand, but I knew it was too late. And I knew, in an instant, who he was. Of course. It was Catherine's husband. If nothing else, I would have recognized him by the vanity wedding photo over the fireplace—the dark, curly hair and smiling eyes were a giveaway, although he was a few years older in person. And there he was, standing there looking scruffy and disheveled like he'd just woken up, too, wearing a navy colored robe belted at the waist and holding my clothes out in one hand like a waiter.
"I'm Josh." He took two steps forward, putting my folded dress and my purse on the coffee table and taking a step back to turn around. "Go ahead. I won't look."
"Thanks," I croaked. It was a little late for the whole not-looking thing, but I grabbed my dress and pulled it quickly over my head, wishing now that it was made of more material.
"I think you have some messages." He turned to say this over his shoulder, still keeping his eyes averted. "Your phone's been beeping."
I unzipped my purse and checked. Twelve messages—ten texts and two voice mails. Of course, the voice mails were Ronnie and TJ, respectively, the first asking where I was, the second asking if I was okay. The texts were all Lil. I flipped my phone closed—I'd read them later.
"Thanks," I said again, clearing my throat. "I'm dressed now. You can turn around."
He did, giving my outfit a once-over. "It looks much better on. So what's your name?"
I smoothed my hair. "I'm sorry. I'm Jane. Janie."
"Well, Jane-Janie... it's nice to meet you." He held out his hand. I took a few barefoot steps toward him to shake it. What else could I do?
Never mind that it happened to be the hand which had been buried up to the wrist in his wife's cunt the night before... Thinking about that made me want to pass out.
"It just Janie."
"Want some coffee, Just-Janie?" He nodded behind him toward the kitchen. So that's where he'd been when I thought I was sneaking by, I realized. "It's fresh."
I shook my head. "No, I should...I need to get home."
"I'll get you a car." He walked over to the wall, reaching for a button on the intercom.
"No!" I caught up with him just in time, covering his hand with mine. He looked at me in surprise, eyebrows raised. I moved my hand as if I’d been burned. "I mean...I can take the subway."
"In that?" He blinked at me. "I couldn't live myself knowing I let you out of here to ride the subway wearing that."
"I wore it last night," I protested.
Oh crap. I'd also worn a wrap I'd checked at the door and had forgotten to retrieve when Catherine and I left 1 Oak in such a hurry the night before.
"Which is, I'm sure, one of the myriad of reasons Catherine decided to bring you home." He smiled as he began to unbelt his robe. I took a wary step back, my eyes widening, and he shook his head, shrugging the robe off his shoulders. He was wearing blue and gray striped pajama pants underneath. "Here. Put this on. Let's get you some coffee to help your head and I'll call you a car to take you home, okay?"
SELENA KITT’S OTHER WORKS
NOVELS
A Baumgartner Reunion
Babysitting the Baumgartners
Baumgartner Generations: Henry
Baumgartner Generations: Janie
Bluebeard’s Wife
Falling Down
Foreign Exchange
Heidi and the Kaiser
Letters to the Baumgartners
Naughty Bits (Revised)
Plaid Skirt Confessions
The Baumgartners Plus One
The Real Mother Goose
The Song of Orpheus
The Surrender of Persephone
The Sybian Club
Under Mr. Nolan’s Bed (Revised)
Unfolding
NOVELLAS
Blind Date
Escaping Fate
Taken
ANTHOLOGIES
Back to the Garden (Revised)
Confessions
EcoErotica
Quickies
Shivers
Tickled Pink
SHORT STORIES
A Baumgartner Christmas
A Different Angle
A Modern Wicked Fairy Tale: Alice
A Modern Wicked Fairy Tale: Beauty
A Modern Wicked Fairy Tale: Briar Rose
A Modern Wicked Fairy Tale: Goldilocks
A Modern Wicked Fairy Tale: Gretel
A Modern Wicked Fairy Tale: Rapunzel
