Lauren's POV
The man taunts her. Calls her names. Pushes her around. And I promised I wouldn't come out of the closet—that I'd just close my eyes and take a nap until Mama was done working.
But I can't.
She's my mom and watching some man hurt her is making me crazy.
I'm twelve and big for my age. I am pretty sure I can take him.
"Fucked up whore. You can't even get my dick hard." The man sneers and backhands my mama across the face.
Rage explodes through me and I'm flying out of the closet before I can stop myself. Mama is naked on her hands and knees sobbing. The stupid woman-beater, also naked, gapes at me in shock as I charge him. With one of my metal stars I'd cut from a soda can in my grip, I slash at his face with it. He lets out a grunt and ducks out of the way. His kick to my ribs sucks the breath out of me and I crash into the wall. I'm back on my feet in a second and charging back at him. This time, my fist connects with his face. I've never punched anyone before but the popping sound it makes satisfies me. I want to do it over and over until he's a bloody pulp. Then, I'll get my mama out of here away from this crazy person. I'm about to hit the guy again when out of nowhere his fist slams into my jaw. The world goes black around me and I hit the ground with a thud. My mama's safety is the last worry on my mind before I fade into oblivion.
"Lauren Jauregui?"
A voice thunders from behind me, jerking me from my memories of the past. The sourness of my thoughts still leaves a bitter aftertaste on my tongue. That next morning, I'd awoken to my mother's moans as she rode the asshole's cock who beat the shit out of me. I had never felt so betrayed as I did that day.
"James Dixon," I say to the man I recognize from his emails. "Glad to finally meet you in the flesh. You ready to get your ass kicked out on the green, Mr. President?"
He chuckles but the humor is a façade. He's pissed about something and not doing a very good job of hiding it.
"I can assure you, I play the game much better than you."
His words settle over me like a cold fog. The threat in them doesn't feel like friendly banter about golf. It's something altogether different. It raises my hackles.
"We'll see, buddy."
He walks past me outside where Dubois is loading our luggage onto a cart to lug upstairs. I'm glad he's staying to keep an eye on Camz. That girl has trouble written all over her and it drives me insane knowing she'll be in this big city without me. Not that I fear she'd leave me or anything. The opposite actually. I'm afraid someone will take what's mine.
The valet pulls up in a brand new, Audi R8 Coupe convertible. It's black and silver and really making me want to trade in one of my cars back home for one.
"You have to let me drive, man," James says and then whistles. "Damn, this car is hot."
I roll my eyes at him, but climb into the passenger seat. When he gets in and lowers the top, I glance over at him. He's like a little kid in the fucking candy store.
"Guess they don't have cars this nice back east. What do presidential hopefuls drive anyway? Station wagons?"
He may be a well-to-do politician but he doesn't make a fraction of what I make from my business ventures.
"I drive a beamer back home, asshole." His words are meant in jest but I notice the irritated edge to them.
Soon, we're cruising through Vegas without a care in the world. But that's not true. I've checked my phone a hundred times since we left making sure that Dubois hasn't tried to call or message. For some reason, I'm about to have a goddamned anxiety attack at having to leave Camila by herself.
I miss my Bunny.
James drones on about his campaign bullshit and I nod as if I'm paying attention. I'll be glad when this is over so I can get back to her. She seemed crestfallen when I informed her this wasn't going to be a romantic weekend. It spurred something inside of me to make sure that changed. I will figure out a way to make this weekend special for her.
"So the staff tells me you have a toy. I mean, obviously you would being owner and all. What's she look like? How is she in bed? Does she suck cock like a champ? Does she scream like the whore she is when you beat her into submission or does she quietly beg for more? Curious minds want to know."
His words jerk me from my thoughts of her and I turn to glare at him. I don't like his shitty attitude.
"Bunny is fine. What toy did you get for this weekend?" I grit out, evading all of his other stupid-ass, nosy questions.
"Bunny. How cute." He flicks me a satisfied gaze. "Let's just say that Cherry, the sweet little young brunette toy I ordered, is incapacitated. I fucked her up earlier. You'll meet her at the dinner party."
I never really know what the members do with their toys but something tells me this guy is brutal with his. But his Black membership keeps me from knowing the details. If he violated the terms of their agreement though, I would know about it. And since I haven't received any memos from management, I suppose he isn't being too much of a prick.
"I'm not going to the dinner party. Bunny wants me to wine and dine her."
His knuckles grip the steering wheel and he shoots me an annoyed glance.
"Thought she was your toy. Sounds like she's toying with you. Who's the boss again? For a minute there it sounded like she had your balls in her purse."
I fist my hands and grind my teeth together. If he weren't driving this expensive-ass car, I'd have already punched the fucker in the nose.
But, I don't like for others to see my weaknesses and like a bloody damn hound, I believe this power hungry punk would be sniffing around like he's on a hunt for the kill. So, I say what he needs to hear to keep him off my ass.
"Fine, we'll be there. Cherry and Bunny will get along well I'm sure."
He seems satisfied by my answer.
"I hope Cherry can make it. She was feeling a little under the weather earlier. Guess choking on a cock'll do that to you though."
I nod as if I agree but I don't. Right now, I'm wondering how I ever agreed to play golf with this stupid fuck. Was I just like him at one time? Has Camila changed me?
