J.J
Rock fucking bottom or something like that. It’s been a week since Whitley boarded that plane. I’ll never forget the smile that covered her face as she waved goodbye. She’s sent pictures via text and tried to FaceTime with me a few times. I ignored every single one of them. It hurts too much.
Whitley is a gorgeous and vibrant woman, so much different than the girl I saved on the streets years ago. She was shattered, cold, and scared for her life, running from the foster system a month shy of her eighteenth birthday. Now she is a strong, confident, and determined twenty-six-year-old ready to conquer the world and live out her dreams.
I was in her shoes at one point in my life. I refused to turn a blind eye, knowing how painful it was because once upon a time I was there until my mom stumbled across the right guy.
Preston Charles saved us. Gave us so much more than we could ever have dreamed about. He taught me how to treat people and to always help out. He just forgot to warn me about the evils of money and power before he died in a plane crash, my mother at his side and my best friend’s dad as the pilot.
“Another, Mr. York?”
I peer up from the clear tumbler littered with ice cubes into the face of the stunning bartender. She’s a knock out, tits and all. I jerk my chin indicating yes. Stella, as her name badge reads, is a clever one, not engaging in small meaningless talk, and goes about pouring another whiskey for me. Jack Daniels and ice—it’s all I drink. The ice cubes are similar to my frosty exterior and the Jack matches the turmoil brewing inside me.
I glance over my shoulder to see none other than Robert and his wife, Gracie, walking by hand in hand. He shoots daggers my way. The man isn’t a member of my fan club, but he’s also no longer indebted to me either. Win-win for me the way I view it. I don’t miss the longing look Gracie sends. I oblige her with a wink and a devilish smirk and turn back to the bar.
The whiskey is placed in front of me ready for consumption. Perfection. I’ll drink away these feelings causing havoc on my insides. I’ll never be able to explain it. Hell, can’t even reason it in my own head. Whitley was never truly mine. We love each other and always will, but not the true love a husband and wife would share. She is my family. Family I fucked, and that’s the stopping point where I always quit and bottle the shit up because it’s too fucked up to sort out.
I open my phone and pull up the last picture she sent me. Her glowing blonde hair flows in the breeze, and her contagious smile shines back at me. I can’t help but smile. She’s made it. Landed a job at an art museum all on her own.
“Soar, baby girl, soar,” I whisper to myself and then tuck the phone in my pocket. The memories and loss are too much to face. It shreds and gnaws at old wounds I’m not ready to face. Everyone I love leaves. Mom, Charles, and Whitley.
“J.J.” An elbow knocks into my bicep, causing some of the amber liquid to slosh in the glass. “How the hell are ya, king?”
Jordan Vincentino. Arrogant prick who thinks he’s going to march all over my territory using my resources. Dumbass has another think coming. You never screw around with a man’s pride, money, and oil. It’s Texas law. Unwritten, yet gospel. He has his eyes set on a piece of land I’m about to seal the deal on, not to mention he’s been stealing water out of my well. The motherfucker doesn’t realize I have eyes and ears everywhere, so him going behind my back and trying to undercut didn’t impress me at all. Smug asshole doesn’t know it yet, but he’s going to owe me thousands and learn a harsh lesson along the way.
Like I said, you don’t screw around with another man’s property, and he’s been leeching off Big Enterprise. I’ll hand it to him. He was a sly bastard about doing it, but it’s tick-tock until the hammer rains hell down on him.
“Good.” I jerk my chin.
This ass doesn’t get the clue I want to be left alone. No, he saddles right up to the bar, not even leaving a bar stool between us. I twist the silver Rolex on my wrist. The gesture always calms me. It was my college graduation gift from Charles. My most prized possession out of the billions of dollars’ worth of everything I own.
“House wine and a water.” He orders his drinks with no nicety about it.
“And for you, ma’am?” the bartender asks.
I lean forward to see a stunning blonde next to Jordan, piercing eyes the color of rich, dark honey and long, wavy hair. She worries her bottom lip but doesn’t have a chance to respond.
“Water. She’s on a diet.” Jordan flashes a smile at the bartender then leans over to me. “Damn woman would be as big as a house if I didn’t monitor everything.”
I can’t pull my gaze from her. Jordan’s words are pissing me the hell off. If anything, the woman is thin, frail, and needs a damn bacon cheeseburger with a side of T-bone steak.
I don’t respond to the dickhead’s comment, instead choosing to throw back my drink and glance over at the woman. I can spot it a mile away. She’s scared. My silence does nothing to shut Jordan up.
“This is my wife, Navy.” He gestures to her.
I may be playing with fire and gasoline right here but can’t resist it. I extend my hand toward her. Leaning far enough forward, Jordan is roadblocked out of the conversation.
“Nice to meet you, Navy. I’m J.J. York.”
She gifts me with a slight nod and hesitates briefly before extending her hand. The black sleeve covering her arm rides up a bit. Her wrists are bony, and then I see it. I barely register it before I see every single hue of red. Bruises ring on her wrist and trail up her arm. She follows my line of vision and pulls back before we shake.
“Jesus, woman, you went mute on me?” Jordan nudges her.
“Nice, nice to meet you,” she stumbles out, terrified.
“God, I swear, Navy.” His voice lowers, but I can still hear him. “Shape up now. There will be consequences at home.”
“Jordan, your wife is beautiful. Navy, have a drink on me.” I place my hands on my chest. “I insist.”
It happens right before my eyes. A guarded and well-perfected mask shields her features.
“Thank you, Mr.…I didn’t catch your last name.” She pauses, waiting for an answer.
“J.J. You can call me J.J.” I slap Jordan’s back harder than acceptable. “Jordan and I are good buddies here.”
“Well, thank you, J.J.” She acts as if she’s deciding on what to order. “A vodka tonic, please.”
And it’s all a part of her act. Low-calorie drink. The pleasantries. The bruises painting her skin are the reason for her act and mask. I order her drink and watch her enjoy it. I can see the moment the vodka relaxes her. Jordan’s voice is a muted annoyance in the distance. I can’t tell you if he’s talking about his dick size or Elmo from Sesame Street.
Navy is yanked up from her chair. It’s then I realize Jordan has spotted someone else in the bar.
“Nice talking to you.” He throws down two one-hundred-dollar bills.
No way in hell I’m indulging him the same regard. I shrug, following Navy’s retreating back as she fights to keep up with Jordan. She stumbles in her designer high heels. To anyone else, it would look like a loving husband guiding his wife over to the restaurant portion of Whiskey Spiff and Grill.
Not me. I notice how white his knuckles are as he tightens his hands and the slight jerks and yanks on her arm. Navy peers over her shoulder, scanning the bar until her gaze lands on me. Her thick, golden blonde curls cascade over her shoulder. She mouths two words: “Thank you.”
I nod and smile. An ache begins to press down on my chest. Without thought, I run my palm over it. Navy is a Whitley coupled with the younger version of myself. Her hell is far worse. She’s cloaked in designer clothes and accessories, is associated with money, and lives in a fine mansion. She shines on the outside but is struggling and dying on the inside.
Jordan helps her into a chair, but not without one extra squeeze to her upper bicep. I sit and study them as they settle in. Navy goes through two tall glasses of water and picks at a salad that appears to have no dressing or toppings. It’s a plate of cut-up lettuce while her husband cuts into a juicy piece of prime rib.
My blood boils. Rage simmers. Navy is a twig. The woman has height, nice long legs, and a gorgeous torso, but could easily use twenty-plus pounds to fill her frame.
Jordan reaches over and grabs Navy’s fork, placing it next to his plate. He shoots her a sideways stare, warning her. Navy clasps her hands together and places them in her lap.
This will be the last night Navy lives in fear. I’ve just stepped up the long-awaited appointment with Jordan Vincentino. I’ll be at his work site bright and early. He won’t even see it coming. The man is going to be left with more bruises and wounds than he’s ever left on his wife.
I pull my phone from my suit jacket and dial the one man who always has my back, Kemp.
“Boss.” His one-word answer.
“Step up the Vincentino problem.”
“Already been working around the clock getting closer.”
“Sunrise his place and be ready.”
“That’s like seven hours, if that.”
“Like I said, be ready.” I end the call without saying goodbye.