Chapter 5
Psycho
Gemma
THE SUN HAS set and candles light the room.
I lean back in the tub and attempt to relax, but no matter how much I try, I can’t shut out the cries. They’re always there—in the back of my mind, over my shoulder, behind my closed lids. Echoing and driving me crazy—they’re the same cries I hear during the day and the same cries that keep me awake at night.
It’s late. I stayed at work too long. I walk into the small jewelry store my father owns with all its empty cases and go up the flight of stairs that leads to our family’s home.
The place has become a repair shop over the years because he no longer purchases jewels. He was hoping my brother or I would take it over but neither of us ever wanted to. Still, he hung on to hope.
As soon as I open the door, I know something is wrong. The furniture is out of place, and everything has been thrown from the hard surfaces and broken on the floor.
“Mama, Papa,” I call out in panic.
I hear whimpering. I try to run in the direction, but a man’s grip pinches my upper arm and whirls me around to face him. He’s wearing a ski mask.
I freeze in place.
I hear my mother screaming and my father shouting.
I try to run, but a blow to the head knocks me to my knees and then the room goes black.
Fingers press into my shoulders and my eyes snap open. The blue stone from his ring sparkles in the room, nearly blinding me.
What are meant to be soft caresses knead into my skin. To me, the sensation is more like tiny pinpricks reminding me that my heart is two fists pounding inside my ribcage waiting for the day to break free.
I close my eyes once more as if I could pretend he’s not here.
“Relax, you feel stressed,” he murmurs in my ear. “There’s no need to be.”
“That feels good,” I sigh, trying to make him believe I’m enjoying his pampering. I never wanted to be an actress, but somehow, I became one.
Good thing I once had a thing for the dramatic.
“I have good news,” he tells me.
Good news is never good. “Oh really, what?” I ask, over my shoulder.
His fingers kneed my skin a little deeper. “I’m going to promote one of the members of the security team from my office to be your new personal bodyguard.”
Bodyguard.
No.
No.
No.
My bottom lip trembles without permission. Sure, he’s been telling me for weeks he’s going to assign someone to watch over me, but I was hoping things would get better and that day would never come. Now that it has, my stomach somersaults and then pinwheels in revolt. The thought of my movements being restricted any further sickens me.
I slide a little further down the tub and keep my voice low as I speak. “Enrique, I really appreciate your concern but it’s not necessary. I’ll be fine.”
His caresses turn slightly rougher. “Gemma, you’re my precious jewel. You know I’ve been receiving threats, and I can’t ignore them any longer. I’m doing this because your safety is very important to me.”
I can’t help but wonder if he’s doing this so he can babysit me. “I know that,” I whisper.
His hands slip down my shoulders, and his fingertips circle my breasts, barely grazing my nipples.
Startled, I try not to gasp as my stomach riles. His touches have been more provocative, his kisses seem to linger a little longer, and I fear he thinks I’m almost ready.
That I’m pure enough.
Pure enough to fuck.
Or perhaps he’s tinkering with the idea of shedding the almighty façade that not fucking me is remaining loyal to his wife.
“Mr. Cruz,” I say, “It’s just I hate to be a burden on you.” I switch to Mr. Cruz whenever I want to remind him I know he’s in charge.
It keeps him placated.
He kisses my head. “You could never be a burden.”
I sit up and look over my shoulder at him, and then give him a nod of acceptance. “Whatever you think is best.”
He grins at me. “Good. That’s settled then. Now, get out of the tub so I can appreciate your beauty before I have to go home.”
The stack of fluffy white towels is behind him. Everything in this shrine I live in is white. He thinks it will make me purer, make what he wants to do to me purer.
He really is insane.
The thought of having to fuck him makes me want to gag. I was hoping I’d get what I wanted from him before that time came, but I’m not so sure of that anymore. This security threat has him really freaked and irrationality might get the better of him.
His misplaced morals doctrined by The Powers of the Higher Mind could fall to the wayside.
I stand in the tub without shielding myself. He doesn’t like his view obstructed. To him I’m the Michelangelo’s “Creation of Adam”, and nothing but seeing it all will do.
After gazing at me, he holds open a towel. I step out of the spacious tub and fold into it. He pats me dry, softly tending to my breasts, but is especially careful not to touch anything below my waist. No, my pussy is just for looking.
When he’s finished, he steps back to lean against the counter. In the mirror, I can see him cross his arms and cock his head to the side. After staring at my backside for the longest time, he orders, “Turn around.”
I do. I rarely challenge him, and for something as menial as this, I never would. He wants to see my naked body, have at it.
I’ll see his naked soul in hell.
A smile slowly spreads across his lips. “You went and had the Brazilian done. Thank you for that.”
He booked it, arranged it, paid for it, for goodness sake, but I play along. “I know you like it,” I purr while I stand completely still and naked before him. I’m a statue, and my mind goes void of any thoughts.
His smile broadens. “Touch yourself there, angel. Run your fingers over that slick pink flesh and open your treasure for me to see.”
I do as he tells me. Masturbation is what keeps me sane. Whether alone or in front of him makes no difference. It grounds me because it makes me remember I can feel.
“That’s it. A little wider.” His voice is gruff.
I oblige. This is for me, not him—he simply doesn’t know it. Just like he doesn’t know how often I masturbate. I’m not supposed to touch myself when I’m alone. It’s impure. My jewel is for him, and him alone. For him to decide when he thinks I need the pleasure.
“Oh, Gemma, so beautiful. So beautiful.”
I often wonder if he comes in his pants because he never pulls his dick out, no matter how hard he gets. He’s so disciplined, it’s scary. Me, I’m not disciplined at all. I press a finger inside myself and my lips form a perfect O. Tingles erupt at my nerve endings, and I want to get lost in the feeling. Fuck myself senseless. Forget why I’m here and what I have to do to make this crazy man happy. Forget everything and just chase the feeling of leaving this world behind, if only for a short while.
He clears his throat. “That’s enough, Gemma.”
I don’t stop. I want this. I need this.
“Gemma!”
This time his angered tone gains my attention. It’s not that I’m afraid of him. I don’t care what he does to me. It’s just, I need him to want me, so I stop.
“I don’t have time to take things any further right now.”
Frustration tears through me. I want to come. I want to come so badly I can taste it. And when my fingers stop, a part of me dies. It’s a feeling I can’t hide.
“Don’t worry, angel. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. You should dress now,” he prompts. “In whatever you like,” he adds.
I feel myself come back to life. I know what that means. “You won’t be back tonight or tomorrow either?” I ask.
“I already told you, Penelope and I are taking the boys to Mexico for Thanksgiving, so I won’t see you until Monday.”
Oh, I hadn’t forgotten.
Filled with so much happiness I can barely contain myself, I reach for my silk robe. Still, for his benefit, I frown. I almost want to clap my hands together for my performance. I can’t believe how good I am at this. “It’s just, I’ll miss you.”
He takes a step closer. I’m Starry Night. Flawless. And he’s appreciating his unrestricted view. “Yes, I know.”
I force a tear from my eyes.
He stares, looks, watches as I slide the robe over my shoulders but allow it to hang open. My body is my weapon, and I use it whenever I can.
Soon though, he blinks back to reality and then grabs for the silk sash of my robe, pulling it tight around my body. “I really must be going.”
The tie is a little too tight, but I leave it alone.
“Gemma,” he says, touching my cheek, “I almost forgot, until I can brief your new security detail on my requirements, I don’t want you leaving the condo.”
My jaw drops and I momentarily forget my character. “Until Monday?” I balk.
The fine fabric of his suit rubs against the extravagant silk of my robe. “Yes, it’s just a weekend. Don’t fret. And not to worry, I’ve made certain you have everything you need until then.”
My hatred flares. I turn on my feet to storm from the bathroom, knowing objecting isn’t the best way to remain on track.
Still, this is unacceptable.
I’ve been his object of desire for almost a year. At first, I didn’t understand him. But I do now, and I know nothing I say will change his mind.
Nothing.
Not offering to suck him dry or fuck him hard or lick him from head to toe.
Nothing.
You see, I know this because I know him. After over two years of coincidental meetings at the museum, I finally gave in to his advances.
Of course, I did, but only after learning the things I did. Married or not, I knew being his was the only way to move forward and even the score.
Once I conceded though, I thought I would be his mistress, thought he wanted sex. That fucking him wild would be my way in.
Yet, when I came on to him, he reprimanded me. Correcting me for my actions, he told me he couldn’t be unfaithful to his wife until the time was right. Until I was pure enough that our treacherous act wouldn’t taint his sacramental marriage.
His precious marriage.
I didn’t understand it then. I still don’t, but I also don’t care. All I know is once I agreed to his terms, I became his.
In fact, I’m more than grateful for his oddity. My skin doesn’t have to crawl while he hovers over me and drives his dick into my pussy, my mouth, my asshole.
Instead of being his mistress, I’m his possession . . . a piece of art like those in his private collection—to be seen but rarely touched. To be looked at. Admired. Gazed at. I am a bird in a gilded cage. His cage. A woman in a glass box. His glass box.
The sound of his fine leather shoes echoes on the floor as he follows me into the bedroom. “Oh, and Gemma, now that we have that piece of business out of the way, I have a favor to ask of you.”
Favor.
That’s laughable.
A favor means he has a task I must perform. Stand naked in the sunlight. Turn. Bend. Touch my toes. Arch my back. Step into the moonlight in a white gown. Wear a black teddy. Show him my come face. Lie on the bed and fuck myself with my fingers, a vibrator, or whatever toy he’s found that interests him. Push a plug into my ass and tell him how it feels while I use a dildo in my pussy. His fetishes border X-rated pornography, but he covers them in silk and lace to make them appear more innocent.
He’s never crude or rude about it. The expensive devices are always gifts wrapped with big red bows. And like them, I must remain elegant.
Yes, his favors are endless and his demands bottomless. Kinky. He might be curious, but he’s not willing to do any of it himself. Still, his favors aren’t really favors, they’re sugarcoated demands.
I bet he fucks Penelope missionary-style, on the rare occasion his wife allows him inside her golden pussy. I asked about his sex life once and got in trouble.
His punishments, unlike his favors, are true punishments. Although they are rare, I actually prefer the pain to being his own personal porn star. When, on the odd occasion, I can’t take his demands, and rebel, I’m immediately ordered to bare myself and lay across his lap so he can spank me. Sometimes I come. He doesn’t know it though. And I’ll never tell him. He also gives me the silent treatment as a form of punishment, and guess what, I like that too.
I turn around near the large bed and force another smile. “Anything.”
Stalking in my direction, his eyes are hard as he speaks. This isn’t about my body. He’s in business mode. This is unusual. “I’d like you to meet with an art broker on Monday to arrange for the purchase of the unsold pieces of Andrés Baisden’s collection.”
I loosen my robe so I can breathe. “As far as I know, they aren’t for sale.”
He’s up on me and he tugs my robe free, letting me know he’s in charge. “Everything’s for sale, Gemma. You of all people know this. Find out what it will take and arrange it. I want them.”
His comment is rude. “You didn’t buy me.” I want to shout it from the rooftop. But I don’t. I can’t.
Right now, I’ve never wanted to cover my naked body more. To snatch away from him what he thinks is his. What he thinks he bought. But doing that will only irritate him.
Yes, of course he thinks everything has a price tag.
He thinks my price was a promise for a ticket to a position I really want, money to pay for my brother, my father, for things I could never afford in my lifetime, a beautiful place to live, and of course, him—the most powerful man in San Diego.
He’s never been more wrong.
He doesn’t know it yet, but he will.
“Of course.” The inflection in my voice threatens to inch a little too high, so I say nothing more.
“Good,” he condones with a nod of his head and then circles me like the inanimate object he views me as. “Be ready Monday morning at nine. I’ll have your new security guard here to meet you and he’ll take you.”
“Where?”
“He’ll have the address.”
Stunned by this announcement, I jerk my head over my shoulder. “What about the museum? Isaac will be expecting me at work.”
He’s back in front of me. He skims a finger up the center of my chest and then stops at my chin. “Yes, about that. Starting immediately, you’ll be taking a leave of absence. I’ve already notified him.”
Rage flares like an inferno in my soul. “Enrique, you know how much I love my job.”
“Yes, and it will be there for you when the time is right for you to return.”
I drop my gaze. “What if Isaac won’t take me back?”
His laugh is dark. “Gemma, he’ll do whatever I ask. But to put your mind at ease, I’ve informed him your skills are needed full-time to help Penelope prepare for the benefit. I told him your assistance is vital to its success.”
It’s not like I haven’t already had to drop everything whenever he needs me. Now it seems I’m to be at his wife’s disposal night and day, as well. “Is that true?” I ask.
He gives me a slow nod. “Yes. Penelope is at a breaking point and has asked for your help.”
“My help?” I find that hard to believe.
He nods. “She can’t take anything else on right now. The extra security is stressing her out. She wants to unload more of the benefit duties onto you. Isaac completely understood and was more than accommodating, even offering use of your office as the temporary benefit headquarters.”
The Benefit—for The Powers of the Higher Mind is now an annual event that has taken on a life of its own.
The Benefit—an occurrence that has made art the new black in this town.
The Benefit—a duty I once loved and now loathe.
Yes, I imagine Isaac was more than agreeable. After all, Enrique is the major benefactor for the museum.
But Penelope—Enrique’s wife—wanting my help doesn’t make sense. She’s a cold-hearted snob who looks at me like the unwanted piece of gum stuck to the bottom of her red Louboutin sole.
So why does she want me around even more?
There has to be a reason.
Does she know about us?
No, she can’t.
Enrique has been way too careful.
Gutted, I stare at him, wishing tiny arrows could shoot from my pupils and land right in his black, beating heart.
I want to argue and scream at him, beg him to not take my job from me. But I don’t.
I want to tell him what a bitch his wife is to me. But talking about his wife is taboo, so I don’t.
There’s a line I know better than to cross. It’s a thin line that makes me disposable. And disposable isn’t part of the plan. Indispensable is what I need.
So instead of throwing a tantrum, I suck in a breath knowing my job is the only thing I have left that means anything to me, besides my revenge, and I can’t risk losing either.
He slides his palms down my breasts. “Gemma, do you understand your priorities?”
I nod, wishing I could make my nipples go hard to give him the illusion I want him, but even the cold of the room can’t stir them. “I do,” I feign arousal in the tone of my voice, instead.
He takes a step back. “Just to be clear, I want that collection, and you will secure it for me.”
I look up. In a small voice I answer, “Yes. I will do the best I can.”
He nods. “I know you will.”
This venture is something I’m unsure of. He’s never asked me to get involved in his affairs.
This is new.
He doesn’t think I pay attention to what he’s doing, but I do—very close attention. I listen. I ask. I snoop.
I figured him out a long time ago.
Discovered he keeps all his treasures in his office at home where he can look at them whenever he wants. I’m fairly certain he’d keep me there too, if he could.
Sending me out to do what he would normally take care of with a phone call tells me he’s even more paranoid than usual. I won’t lie. I’m partly to blame for this. Still, I haven’t done enough to make him resort to sending someone to do his bidding.
I’m not sure what else is going on. What if someone succeeds in taking him down? Killing him first? The very thought scares the living daylights out of me.
If he ceases to exist, so does my chance at vengeance.
Uncertain just how real the threats are, I decide I must move fast.
I have to get back the mind he took from my father, the soul he robbed from my brother, and the beating heart he ripped from my mother’s chest.
To do that, I must first take back the pink diamond he stole from me!