Promise and Punishment, page 3
“Threatening an officer?” He finally spoke, almost as if he forgot the authority he held. “Believe whatever you want, but don’t think for a second that you’re anything but a horrible person. That girl out there, she doesn’t know you, she doesn’t care for you. How could she? Tell her who you are, then you’ll really know what she thinks of you.” Sergeant Fields’s cheeks rose with gratification, finally succeeding in making me avert my eyes. I looked down at my hand, at the black rose and ink that reminded me how scared I was about admitting my past.
“That’s enough.” A sturdy female voice appeared casually by the steel door. “My client has already requested a lawyer, you know better than to be here, Mr. Fields.” Sergeant Fields sighed as Lina Castillo entered the room. Her normally black, wavy hair was pinned back, probably to tame the unkempt frizz of an overnight flight; yet somehow, her dark eyes and red lips seemed fresh, as if she got the best sleep of her life. She was, in fact, a greater actor than I could ever be.
“You have your fucking work cut out for you,” Fields snipped.
“Your charges won’t hold up.” She diverted her attention to her phone, “I already read the police report, and we can agree on one thing. There’s certainly some reckless endangerment here.”
“Good, you can join him at the arraignment. The judge is ready to notify him on the charges.”
“Careful,” she smirked. “You’re in over your head.”
“Hardly. I’m good at my job, just as good as you are at bullshitting.” Fields began to pull his paperwork out, but Lina raised a finger.
“The reckless endangerment is not with my client, it’s with the city of New York. I drove by the abandoned building: the one being demolished to make way for a state-funded institution. There’s just one problem… it’s in direct violation of local law.”
“Bullshit.” Fields crossed his arms.
“Bullshit is right, just like these charges. All construction zones must be in compliance of local safety regulations, which requires a fence of eight feet minimum in height to be placed on the inside edge of a walkway.” She glanced over at me, before looking back at Fields, giving a shit-eating grin that cost me over eight-hundred dollars an hour. “You could imagine my disappointment at the city when I drove by and no such fence existed.” She frowned, “So unsafe…”
“You’re a bitch,” Fields sneered, slamming his folder shut.
“That’s me alright, and unless you want the commissioner to know that their sergeant is the reason for a colossal fucking lawsuit, I suggest you drop the charges,” she smiled again. “Now tuck your tail between your legs and go home and kiss your wife. Tell her how your career as an inadequate leader was saved by a bitch.”
Fields said nothing, and, in reality, what was there to say? He walked past her, slamming the door, his otherwise noticeable height almost minuscule compared to Lina’s poise.
“He’s afraid of you,” I said, my first real greeting to her.
“He should be. Also, I should charge you double for how good I am,” she unplugged the security camera, avoiding any recordings.
“It would be worth every penny,” I replied as she made her way over, sitting in the chair where Sergeant Fields just sat, remaining unusually quiet. A silent Lina was a concerning Lina, and considering what I sent her back to California to do, it had me slightly on edge. “How was L.A.?”
She leaned forward, fiddling with the coffee cup on the table. “Challenging. But I think Miguel got the message.”
I hated that she even said his name.
“Suing him isn’t enough… the man has nothing,” I sat back into my chair as Lina pulled a lighter out from her suit jacket. She didn’t smoke but always carried one for me. I still held the cigarette in my lips, and thank god Gemma wasn’t here, because the flint wheel sounded particularly sharp as I rolled my thumb for a flame.
“Suing is all we have. It’s all I’m legally able to do.”
“It may not be good enough, especially if he’s eager to talk.”
“All this attention from The Pierre Hotel has him motivated. He seemed pretty upset, but also very vague.”
“What did he tell you?” I inhaled a full drag of my cigarette, enjoying it like it was my last, though I knew it wasn’t.
“Nothing, which gave me little leverage. Alex, between you and him, I’m in the dark…” she shrugged.
Her mention of the dark was evoking. Again, I thought of Gemma, of our time at The Met, of her vulnerabilities. I’d pluck those insecurities out from her like dirty thorns, reminding her she wasn’t some burdened rock, but instead, my piedra preciosa, my precious gemstone.
I once said it was in the dark where I found her, but sometimes I wondered if what happened was actually something far crueler. Did I find her, or did I drag her into it? I accepted her, but could she do the same for me? I wasn’t sure if Gemma and I could survive the truth; both from The Pierre Hotel and the past I tried to hide in California.
“I’ll have to make the message clearer to Miguel…” I decided out loud.
“I’m a good lawyer, so you know that I’m here to tell you to be on your best fucking behavior,” she advised sharply.
My impulsive track record had made her equal parts rich as it did stressed.
“I always play nice,” I responded, hiding the need to snarl, to get on a plane and go to L.A. and get rid of Miguel myself.
“Alex…” Lina said. “As your legal counsel, I’m here to remind you that anything you share with me is confidential. Attorney client privilege is something I don’t take lightly. Now, I’m going to be straight with you. No bullshit. No fucking around.” She hesitated, “Is there anything you want to tell me about your past? Anything I need to know or be prepared for?”
Yes. I wanted to say, but no was all anyone would ever get.
“My past is pretty.” I grinned unconvincingly, but she accepted it with the roll of her eyes.
“If you say so. You’re set to leave now,” she motioned with her hand. “Just stay out of the way of the other attorney’s business. Tonight was a fucking headache.”
“What other attorney?” I blew out a final puff of smoke, dropping the cigarette into Sergeant Fields coffee cup.
“Please, save the act,” she sighed. “The attorney defending the husband and family that is suing you because of The Pierre Hotel?”
I cocked my head, I wanted to laugh because of how alarmed she appeared to be. “Who exactly? I’m in the dark…” I repeated her words, lost to who she was talking about.
“Your friend out there? Gemma?” she asked, assuring her name. “She’s roommates with our opposing counsel, and I don't say that lightly.” At first I cared little about what she said, focused on the fact that Gemma was out there waiting for me. I couldn’t imagine how she felt, how little sleep she had, or how much she worried. It made me sick; it made me think of the person who caused this to happen.
“The boy?” I asked to clarify. The supposed best friend that Gemma clung onto, the man who landed me in jail.
“He is definitely not a boy…” Lina shook her head, “He’s a man, and a big fucking problem of one too. If there ever was a threat to this case, it’s him and his reputation. The guy wins, Alex, probably charges more than I ever could.” She propped open the door, allowing the morning sun to seep into the sterile blue light of the room where I was held. “That pretty girl out there is waiting for you, but she’s probably about to go back home to the biggest lawyer that New York has ever seen.”
“What’s his name?” I massaged the knuckle of my hand, tracing the tattoo once more.
“Parker…” she stopped me from leaving, “Parker Ellis Jones…”
I repeated his name to myself, remembering every word Gemma ever said of him. I was in his house, I was in his closet with Gemma in my hands, twisting the band of her panties along my fingers unbeknownst to him.
I smiled and reconsidered a previous thought.
In my lifetime, I had already broken seven different types of bones. Four ribs, one toe, and two in my hand from a punch to the face of a man I hardly cared to talk about: Miguel out in L.A.
Now… I wondered what it would be like to break an eighth.
Chapter 2
Gemma
As much as I wanted a hot green tea, the thought of displacing the sweet cherry taste I’d absorbed from Alejandro’s lips was a discouraging idea. It was bold: masculine like tobacco tended to be, but light enough to lie across my tongue. He kissed me hours ago in a moment that felt so monumental it bordered on catastrophic. The feeling I earned, the feeling I’d been holding onto since I entered this building, wasn’t caused by the staggering height from where we first kissed, but instead, from the fact that I’d allowed myself to be vulnerable.
Alejandro showed me what it was like to be him, to feel the contradicting and maddening sense that formed the man I still barely knew. He was both freed and shackled, floating and sinking, desperate to show me how badly I was needed, how I, the poor girl from Bushwick, gave him hope again.
Everything he did had purpose; therefore, he saw purpose within me. From the flowers on my dresses, to the way I crossed my legs, and stroked my neck. There was no hiding from his narrow attention, and if I had any chance of knowing this man, then I’d have to be as observant as him, because before Alejandro was arrested, before our night tumbled into a spiraling disaster, he requested, or rather demanded, a response to a non-question I was unprepared for: tell me you belong to me.
And while I briefly fell asleep in the lobby of this old police station, while I dreamed of him, I answered his request in a million different ways: yes, of course, take me! Each answer was better than the last, each more desperate and excited, but marked with an ugly asterisk of inevitable concerns. He wasn’t from New York; he wasn’t a clean-cut version of safety and predictability. He was possibly the very bad boy that my own mother would love to have, and that made me incredibly nervous.
“Here you go, hun.” A receptionist who kept me company all night brought over the very same green tea I contemplated on even drinking. “It’s very hot, so be careful. We have no more sugar, and I can’t imagine creamer tasting nice for this type of tea.”
“Thank you,” I unintentionally croaked; my throat dry from the lack of sleep. The sun was already rising, reminding me how long I’d truly been waiting. “Do you have any idea when he’ll be released?” I asked, possibly for the fortieth time.
“His lawyer arrived while you were asleep. I’m certain it won’t be long now. Meanwhile, are you sure you don’t want to make a call?” She asked again, even though she talked to Parker earlier on the phone to confirm I was safe. That was more information than he even deserved.
The nerve he had on reporting me as a missing person, of the absolute trouble he caused, drove me insane. I wanted to scream in his face, to actually push him. I felt humiliated, but also completely conflicted with the meaning of his intentions.
“I don’t have anyone I want to call. Thank you for the tea, though.” I politely refused, burning my tongue as I took a sip.
The taste was overwhelmingly bland, missing the honey Parker always remembered to add; four equal drops stirred in. And while a part of me did miss Parker, the other part felt less than thrilled to see him—actually more like completely and totally upset.
There was no doubt in my mind that he hated Alejandro, but how he felt about me was the most devastating mystery that circled my entire life.
I still didn't understand why he reported me missing and figured this could have been solved with a simple call, or so I thought. It wasn’t till I arrived at the precinct that I realized I hadn’t even brought my phone. It was most likely back at home, still on the couch from when Parker sat dangerously close, brushing his arm against mine. I wondered if he knew Alejandro broke into his house by now and hid in my closet. Or was that still my dirty secret?
I stretched my legs and made my way to a vending machine, my stomach aching as I looked over the small candy bars and prepackaged pastries that sat in coiled metal claws, unprepared for my own shocking reflection. My mascara was totally smeared at the edges from yawning, and my skirt was much shorter than I cared for it to be anymore. I certainly looked the part, as if I were a party girl, or more so, Alejandro’s girl.
“Do you mind?” A bald and flustered man brushed me aside, grimacing as he made his way towards the vending machine. Every bit of him was pink but his knuckles, their blood drained as he dug his hand into his pocket, cupping a ball of loose change.
“It’s all yours…” I stepped aside, watching as he fed the machine.
“That fucking prick…” he darted his eyes between a bag of M&M’s and a Honey Bun, pouring his aggression into each punch of the keypad. “Why are you dressed like that?” He turned in my direction, side-eyeing his Honey Bun as it dispensed.
“Like what?” I tugged at my skirt, already feeling self-conscious.
“It’s… just a lot.”
“It was for a night out. Not that I need to explain that to you, but I’m sure you can imagine I wasn’t expecting to be here.”
“No one ever is. Still, the way you dress says a lot about you.” He bent over for his breakfast, splitting open the pastry, taking a quick bite. “But the two don’t match.”
“Match?” I crossed my arms, tugging my leather jacket close to my chest.
“Your face and that skirt.” He shook his head, “It’s wrong, all wrong.”
“It’s not. There’s nothing wrong with what I’m wearing.”
“Of course there is. I’m not trying to be an asshole, I’m just making an observation. It’s your face… it’s too innocent, but that outfit… it’s…” he shrugged, deciding a delicate choice of words. “I don’t know, a little hectic. You don’t seem like the wild type is what I’m saying.”
“And what type do I seem like exactly?” I grew more irritated, exhausted, hungry, and mad at his declaration of my innocent face. Innocence felt like an agitating word, ever since Claire used it as a way to describe its absence in Parker’s character, as if he couldn’t be trusted around me. I hated acknowledging anything she said.
The man chewed through his mustache, eyeing my growling stomach. “Are you hungry?” he asked, not answering my question.
I didn’t answer his.
He sighed, scooping out another handful of quarters, sticking them into the machine. “I didn’t mean to insinuate anything. I’m a father. I just worry about girls like you around guys like him.”
“Like who?” I snipped, watching as he pressed the buttons to free a package of white, powered donuts.
“Guys like Alex Rivers,” he struggled, bending over once again, handing it to me, “he’s just no good.”
“You don’t know him,” I glanced down at the donuts, quietly opening them up.
“Honey, I’ve been on the force for over thirty years. I know the type.”
“Maybe, but not from my perspective,” I said rather confidently, drained from having my experiences belittled by others.
“And how long have you had to form that perspective?” he asked, causing me to go quiet. It had been almost two months since I’d met Alejandro, and was that enough time to be so sure?
“Long enough,” I settled.
“I hope so for your sake. I got a daughter your age, and I can’t imagine her around a guy like him. His scene, his lifestyle. It’s not… safe, especially those parties…” he chewed.
“Parties?” I asked, but knew all too well what he meant.
The Pierre.
This was another warning just like Parker’s. I still wasn’t sure what I was missing; Alejandro was the pinnacle of protection; he saw me when others didn’t and held me tighter than anyone had before. To hear this constant and repeated warning felt tiresome, or more so, deafening. I stared back at my reflection, and at my skirt, lingering on Claire’s previous warnings about men like Alex. I refused to believe I was anything like her, misguided by a man who was attempting to steal my heart.
“Yes… parties. I can’t see another girl like you, an angel from Belmont Hills, fall into trouble,” he said, clearing his throat.
“Belmont Hills?” I frowned, unsure of what he meant, or who he was talking about. He got quiet as he realized the figures standing by his side.
All the exhaustion I felt, the crick in my neck and bones, the discomfort of a cold night in a stale, bright room instantly disappeared as I suddenly saw the darkest angel.
“Hey there, good girl…” The melodic and staggering charm of Alejandro rolled across the room, warming me hotter than the boiled tea in my hand. I blushed, reddened by his greeting, almost as if it were the first time all over again.
“Alejandro?” I whimpered with surprise, but was hushed by the comfort of his body as I threw myself into his arms. My god, the heady lure of cherries seeped out from his gold, glowing skin. All I saw was him, his dark ink tatted everywhere, darker than his brows or chocolate eyes. He wrapped himself around me, our position feeling permanent as if carved into stone. I buried my head in his chest, digging myself closer into his body as I fought the urge to cry, cherishing the moment, an embrace that was instantly met with the tilt of my chin. Before he said anything else, he kissed me. Hard. His lips pressed into mine so securely, so definitively, that I questioned if I was even awake.
“Sorry I kept you waiting. Are you ok?” He leaned his head against mine.
“Better…” I laughed more awake, but also eager to fall asleep in his arms.
“Better is good, but not good enough. I’m taking you back home with me,” he dared, teasing the almost eternal rest of his bed. I imagined it was the size of a pool with soft sheets and cool pillows for our hot bodies.
“That’ll have to wait.” A woman in a sharp, black suit gazed at her phone, before shooting a tempered look at the man who bought me donuts. “Sergeant Fields…” she sighed, annoyed as if she just overhead the things he was saying. “I trust you’re leaving my client alone? And more importantly, keeping your mouth shut?”
