Twisted Passion

Windfall

Disclaimer: This story and all its characters and situations are completely original and I’m not making any money from this.

Author’s Note: This chapter is especially dedicated to kylee whose reviews and praise encouraged me to write more. Thank you!

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Claire put the tray of beer glasses she was holding on the bar and watched as Frank put them in the dishwasher.

“Could you do me a favour and clean a few tables over there?” Frank asked when he was done. He pointed to the places where his richest customer had left money. It was going to be hard not to spoil the pleasant surprise that she would find. His newest waitress looked a little frazzled and needed a good cheering up. Perhaps when she saw how much she made in tips on those tables would bring a smile to her face.

When she was done, Claire came back to the bar with the bills in her hand. “I don’t get it, Frank. All of those tables have twenties as tips, but the orders were for wine coolers or pop. What gives?” She narrowed her eyes at Frank’s inability to suppress his lips from twitching. She glanced toward the door and saw her aunt coming towards them. “Hey, Auntie, what are you doing here?”

“I figured I’d see how you were getting along on your first night. And also to make sure that Frank wouldn’t let you walk home alone.” The older woman gave the bar’s owner a stern glance.

“I would never do that,” Frank said, a hurt look on his face. “Your family is my family… No matter what, I’ll always make sure she gets home safe and sound.” He glanced uneasily at Claire. He remembered now, with a huge pang of guilt, the sharpness of his words to her earlier. Would she say something to her aunt? He breathed easier when he saw her shake her head slightly—what happened between them would stay between them. Claire was no tattletale.

“That’s good to hear,” Trudy said, giving him a peck on the cheek. Her glance drifted to the bar and saw the eighty dollars. “You made that much in tips?”

“Not exactly. Nathan Williams-Taylor left it for Claire,” Frank answered.

Both Trudy and her niece raised their eyebrows and gave him an incredulous look.

“Why the hell would he do that?” Claire asked.

Frank shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe he felt bad about making Jessie quit and this is his way of making up for being an asshole that night.”

Claire snorted. To her, Frank’s explanation seemed highly unlikely, because as far as she could tell, Nathan Williams-Taylor wasn’t the kind of man who gave a damn about anyone but himself. He had been cruel to Jessie when she was trying her best. It didn’t bother him one bit that he’d made her cry. All he cared about was that she hadn’t heated his damn brandy to his exact specifications.

Fuck that bastard!

Her first instinct had been to return it to Frank and be done with it. However, she knew that if she wanted the Percs, she would have to give Jose what he wanted. Unconsciously, she shuddered. Getting fucked up the ass for drugs was nothing new to her.

But which was worse—the pain of withdrawal or the pain of a ten-minute butt fuck? It was a hard call to make. Better not make a hasty decision that she would regret later, she told herself. I need time to think about this.

She remembered that she had oh-so-conveniently bumped into Taylor after making her arrangement with Jose. Had he been in the shadows when she went outside to meet him? Had he overheard? She shook her head, unwilling to believe that he’d followed her outside but she had to look at the evidence: the amount of money and the timing were too perfect, too coincidental. He must have been spying on her. There was no other explanation.

None at all.

If the money had come from anyone else, she would have pocketed the windfall and been grateful that she didn’t have to put out. But the money didn’t come from just anyone: it came from him. An asshole of the highest degree. An asshole who thought he could buy anything and anyone by throwing a lot of money around.

Her spine stiffened as innate stubbornness took over. He won’t buy me, she thought. No matter what it takes, I’ll find the money another way. I'll use my tips and buy the pills when I can afford them and ration them out until I get my first pay.

But that was far easier said than done. The demons of addiction still controlled her, holding her hard in its unrelenting iron grip. The symptoms of withdrawal had ebbed somewhat during the last month, but her mind and body still craved the Percocet every fucking day.

Aware of Frank and Trudy’s eyes upon her, Claire excused herself. “I’m just going to say goodbye to Kari. She’s leaving soon and I have to find out when she wants to see that movie.”

“Of course, Claire. Go see your friends.” Her aunt’s tone was cheerful.

Claire turned away, her face burning with shame. She hated lying to her aunt but she couldn’t think of anything else.

Kari and Jose were waiting for her.

“I got the money, but my aunt might need some of it, I don’t know yet. Can you hang onto the stuff for a day or two?”

“No prob,” the young man answered. An idea came to him and he looked at her sharply. “You tryin’ to get clean?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“Good luck, mija, but if you change your mind, you know where to find me.” He strode away, secure that he could expect a call from her soon. According to Kari, Claire Brady had been through some serious shit with her stepbrother and in Jose’s experience, abuse victims only had one outlet for escape and forgetfulness: drugs.

He had to admit that he was disappointed at not receiving his payment that night. However, until the day she couldn’t deal with the shame or the memories anymore, he would just have to wait. She would come to him, begging for the drugs. They all did.

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“I’ve been clean for a month,” Claire whispered in the velvety darkness of her bedroom, the bills sliding sensuously through her fingers like the caress of a lover. Eighty dollars and her pride were the only things that stood in the way of a good night’s sleep.

“And I can stay clean too,” she said firmly, all the more vehemently because every fibre of her body cried out that she was lying. Her shoulders slumped. “Who the hell am I trying to kid? Every little sound in the night and I’m jumpy as a cat.”

Even though the noise that woke her up tonight only meant that her aunt was on her way to the bathroom, Claire was still afraid. Afraid of the past and the memories that came with it.

Claire knew all too well what it meant to wake up in the dead of night, her body covered in the cold sweat of dread and terror at the sound of a squeaky floorboard outside her bedroom. A squeaky floorboard that betrayed the presence of someone who wanted to possess her body while everyone else in the house slept, blissfully unaware of what was happening in the room down the hall.

Dreading and cringing away from the feel of hard hands on her body, pawing at her budding breasts before her ankles were grabbed and spread apart, rough fingers burying themselves in the hair that was just starting to grow between her legs. Until that awful night when the touches became bolder, the breathing against her tear-stained cheek became heavier and the sheets became soiled with the blood of her shattered innocence.

It was impossible to forget what had happened. And without the drugs, it was impossible to relax.

Claire curled up into a tight ball and muffled her cries of helplessness and shame by burying her face in her comforter. But tears would not cure all her ills, for after the tears subsided, came rage.

She pushed up the right sleeve of the flannel shirt she wore and clenched her left hand into a tight fist. She punched herself in the lower and upper arm, her anger making her blows stronger as she took out her frustration on her own body. Only until the pain became too much did Claire finally stop.

It’s better than cutting myself, she reasoned, because cutting leaves scars and I already have enough of those. Bruises could be always be brushed off as accidental: I fell. I wasn’t watching where I was going. I am just clumsy. Claire could not count how many excuses she had had to come up with if anyone asked awkward questions.

Cuts, on the other hand, were a different matter and required some sort of explanation as well as a thought toward cleaning them up…and she did not intend to cause her aunt any further trouble—it was enough that she had opened her heart, house, and home to her niece without hesitation. So far, she had no asked any questions about her sudden appearance in the middle of the night and Claire was grateful for the breathing space.

Although her arm ached, her mind was finally at rest. As she waited for sleep to claim her, she resolved to throw the money back in Taylor’s arrogant face the first chance she could. But she had to be careful how she handled the situation because there was something about that man that was way, way off. She could not forget the coldness that emanated from his creepy ice-blue eyes when he looked her over the night she saw him for the first time.

A flash of revelation flooded through her as she continued to remember every detail of their meeting… and the sinister and cruel expression she saw in his eyes.

It was as if he wanted to smack me across the face because I stood up to him. God knows I’ve seen the dark side of too many psychos like him not to know that he would have enjoyed it too, laughing at the pain of another person.

One thing I know for sure: beneath the fancy suit, smooth manners and fake smile, that man is seriously fucked up.

A shudder at the thought of meeting him again shook her body and Claire burrowed deeper into the covers. She grumbled to herself about not having another way of forgetfulness—her aunt didn’t have anything, not even booze in her house.

But Claire knew where to get it.

She was working in a bar, after all. But she would have to be careful how she did it—even though Frank Wheeler had sharp eyes, he couldn’t watch everything.

The hope of getting some liquid comfort was relaxing and she drifted toward restful slumber, confident that tonight she would sleep easily for the first time in over a month.