Great Exploitations: Sin in San Fran

  GREAT EXPLOITATIONS (Sin in San Fran)

  Copyright © 2014

  Nicole Williams

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events of persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical without express permission from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.

  Cover Design by Sarah Hansen of Okay Creations

  Editing by Cassie Cox

  Formatting by JT Formatting

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  The Beginning

  The Meet (Take Two)

  The Sheets

  The Sweet (Finally)

  REVENGE. IF I didn’t realize some of it soon, I was afraid I would be overwhelmed by it. I was already possessed by it, so there was no place further to go than to be crippled under the weight of it.

  For the first time in years, more than one person’s name was on that revenge list. The name that had dominated my list wasn’t even in the number one spot anymore. No, the number one spot was held by the devil himself, also known as Rob Tucker.

  After beating me unconscious, he’d visited me at the hospital every day, his arms overflowing with elaborate flower arrangements or boxes of hand-dipped chocolate truffles. Yesterday, he’d brought me a sapphire bracelet. I guess he wanted his gift to match the color of my bruises.

  He always showed up with a wide smile and warm eyes, stroking my hair as if I was more pet than person. He discussed the extravagant weekend trips we could take together once I was healed up. After the first day he’d visited, Rob hadn’t mentioned what he’d done to me—beat and kick the shit out of me—and the only thing more disturbing than that was the way I’d catch him scanning my bruises as if he was proud. It was sick. The whole damn thing.

  Yet there I was, still deep in the Errand I should have abandoned the instant I woke up in the hospital. But I didn’t quit. More like I couldn’t quit. I’d apparently rather risk death than quit something I’d fully committed to, and I’d rather die a hundred gruesome deaths than let a snake like Mr. Tucker get away with what he’d done.

  I was contemplating how quickly and succinctly I could close the Tucker Errand—although pouring a vat of hot oil on him was almost as appealing—when my door opened and in slipped my faithful and punctual daily visitor. The other daily visitor. My face lit up when Henry Callahan meandered in with his messy hair and easy smile.

  “You’re looking a million times better today,” Henry said before kissing my forehead.

  His kiss held the comfort of a parental kiss but the heat of a lover’s. My hands twitched to pull him back before he sat in the chair beside my bed. Whether the drugs they were pumping into me were messing with my head, or Rob Tucker had knocked some wiring loose, or I’d woken up in an alternate reality, my confusion about Henry had increased two-fold. Or three-fold. Or whatever-the-hell-fold it was that left me unable to tell up from down.

  “And you’re still a bad liar,” I replied as I sat up.

  I’d only been in the hospital for four days, but we’d developed a ritual of going for a walk together. The first day he’d had to push me in a wheelchair, but on the second day, I was too stubborn to let him do it again. So we’d been walking together—slowly—to the hospital courtyard ever since.

  “I’ll take being a bad liar as a compliment.” Henry grabbed my hands and helped me up before finding my slippers.

  “You take everything as a compliment.”

  He grinned at me as he slid my second slipper into place. “Life’s a lot easier to wade through when I live in a state of delusion.”

  “That’s the secret?” I shrugged into my robe. “I thought the secret was sustaining on a Prozac cocktail.”

  “When all else fails, that’ll do the trick, too.”

  Henry wove his arm through mine as we made our slow journey to the hall. When we passed it, I glared at the wheelchair tucked into a corner. Walking a few halls might take me twenty minutes, but I hadn’t gotten as far as I had by taking the easy road. Henry was patient and never mentioned the wheelchair. He knew me too well for that.

  “I’ve been thinking, Eve . . .”

  I took in a breath and steeled myself. As much as I enjoyed his visits, I didn’t enjoy our conversations. At least most of them. The ones centering around what had happened to put me in this sterile environment in the first place most of all.

  “Tomorrow I’ve got a board meeting, which means I actually have to be at work. No more playing hooky unless I want to get fired from my own company.”

  “Get to the point, Henry. Enough trying to ease me into it. I’m a big girl—I can take it.” I nudged him as we crept down the hall at a snail’s pace.

  “Now that you’re stable, why don’t you fly back with me? We’ll get you set up with some in-home care and rehab. There’s nothing they can do for you here that you can’t get back in San Francisco, in the comfort of your own home.”

  I’d probably spent as much time in the hospital as I had in my condo in California. It was a far cry from comforting or home. “Thank you, really, but the thought of sitting in a cramped airplane for five hours makes me want to projectile vomit.”

  “And thank you for that vivid picture,” Henry teased with a shudder. “But I wasn’t suggesting that I’d pack you in a commercial jetliner. We’d take my private jet, of course.”

  “Private jet, eh? Aren’t we the big boy now,” I teased right back. “But really, Henry, there are starving children in the world. I don’t think I could live with myself if I took a private jet across the country when those thousands, if not tens of thousands, of dollars could be better used elsewhere. Like for food. For the starving kids.”

  Henry let out a sigh. “Yet what you fail to realize is that yes, I might have to spend a large amount of money on my mode of transportation so I can get where I need to go, when I need to go, in order to keep my business healthy and strong. In turn, my business allows me to donate an obscene amount of money to starving children.”

  I pretended to ignore him, but I didn’t miss the wide grin he shot my way.

  “You can check out the company’s balance sheet if you’re so concerned with how much money we give to charities around the world,” he continued, “but I can assure you it’s in the neighborhood of a thousand times more than I spend on personal transportation each year.”

  I knew with certainty that money wasn’t on the top ten list of reasons why Henry started Callahan Industries. If I doubted it, I just had to look at his choice of attire: a faded old band shirt, a pair of worn-in jeans, and a pair of casual sneakers. Henry was probably the only billionaire in the world who would be caught dead in an outfit that could have been pulled from a second-hand store.

  “It’s a weak excuse, Callahan, but I’ll let it slide,” I replied with a smirk.

  “So you’ll take the jet home with me?” His voice rose a note.

  “That’s a nega—”

  “Come on, Eve. It’s big, private, and it has a bed. What more could you ask for?”

  I tried to keep a straight face as we waited for the elevator. We’d made it there a minute faster than yesterday. Score. “A bed? What kind of indecent proposal are you making?”

  I’d mucked my way through enough Errands to know when I was close to getting a Target “nailed.” Henry wasn’t there yet, but that didn’t mean I would pass up giving him a reason to think about climbing into bed with
me. A bed on a private jet included.

  “The only proposal I’m making is offering a friend who can barely move without grimacing the use of a soft, comfy bed for a five-hour cross-country flight. If that’s indecent, then so be it.” Henry punched the first floor button and glanced at me.

  “That’s indecent if I’ve ever heard of it,” I said under my breath.

  “I’m loving this fun game of back and forth, but really, Eve, will you come? I hate the idea of leaving you here after what happened, and it’s not like you have any family or friends around to keep a close eye on you.”

  My eyes narrowed at the shiny elevator doors. “How do you know that? You haven’t seen me in years. What makes you think I don’t have friends or family here, or in any city for that matter?” My tone wasn’t quite biting, but it was pretty damn close. Too close. I was supposed to be seducing the man, not alienating him.

  Henry was silent the rest of the ride down. When the doors opened, he sighed. “You’re right. I don’t know if you’ve got anyone here.” He wrapped his arm around my shoulders as we made our way out of the elevator. “But if you do have someone here, or a million someones, they can’t be very good friends. I haven’t seen a single one here checking on you.”

  Why the hell couldn’t he just back off and leave it alone? Why did he have to question everything? Why—why—did Henry Callahan still get under my skin when he shouldn’t get under or around or through anything of mine anymore?

  “Changing the subject,” I said, giving him a warning look.

  “And what if I don’t want to change the subject?”

  I resisted the urge to shove him—mainly because I was still too weak to execute a proper shove. “And what if you don’t want me to bolt away from you this instant?”

  “Bolt? I don’t think you’re in bolting shape.”

  Just when I thought I couldn’t get any more exasperated . . . “Could you do me a favor and just drop the subject? Please? I appreciate the offer, but I can’t come home with you—on a private jet or not—quite yet. I’m not ready.” I still have to dish out a little payback to a son of a bitch.

  “Sure, I’ll drop the subject,” Henry answered. “Once you tell me why.”

  The sliding doors opened, and we stepped into the courtyard. The fresh air and sunshine assaulted me, and I got too caught up in basking in them to let my irritation with Henry grow. “I have to stay because I haven’t finished what I came here for yet.”

  “And you came here to finish what?”

  “I could tell you . . . but I’d have to—”

  “Kill me?” he guessed.

  I shrugged. “Or cut off your tongue so you couldn’t speak and your hands so you couldn’t write.”

  Henry smiled as we made our way to our bench in the center of the courtyard. “Good thing I’ve been practicing typing with my toes then. You know a tech guy like me needs to have a back-up plan.”

  “Fine, I’d have to cut off your toes as well,” I said with an eye roll.

  “Then it’s just as good a thing Callahan Industries has been working on an artificial intelligence that can decipher thoughts. You know, because a tech guy needs more than just one back-up plan.”

  “Oh my god. Enough already,” I groaned, elbowing him.

  After helping me maneuver my stiff, bruised body onto the bench, he sat beside me. “So nothing I can say, do, bargain with, or bribe you with will get you to fly back with me tonight?”

  I closed my eyes and inclined my face toward the sky. The sun and fresh air were just as healing as the therapy and meds they were doling out inside the hospital walls. “There’s absolutely nothing. I started something here, and I’m going to finish it.”

  “Yeah, when you say cryptic things like that, I’m not convinced you’ll be okay if I leave you by yourself.”

  “You of all people should know I can take care of myself. I was good at it back when we were together, and I’ve only gotten better in the years since.” I soaked in a bit more sunshine before opening my eyes.

  “You’ve always been good at taking care of yourself, that’s for sure.” Henry nudged me, looking not quite, but almost, sad.

  “I had to be. The first half of our time together, I was checking over my shoulder for some hit man to take me out, and the second half I was waiting for your mom’s hands to reach for my neck,” I said dryly.

  “My mom just takes a while to warm up to people. Her only son’s girlfriends especially.”

  I huffed. “As long as you and I were together, your mom never warmed up half a degree to me. In fact, I’m positive she went from icy to frigid when it came to her feelings for me.”

  Mrs. Callahan had had no qualms about making sure I knew I wasn’t welcome in her home, her life, or most importantly, her son’s life. That was part of the reason Henry and I rarely visited his home, a.k.a. the Callahan Estate. The other part was because even Henry didn’t like spending much time with his family. They considered themselves the social elite in a time when hierarchies were vanishing. In other words? They were a bunch of elitist bastards—Henry’s term, not mine.

  “My mom doesn’t like anyone really. Herself most of all. It wasn’t anything personal that she didn’t come around to you.” Henry studied the ground as he wrung his hands in his lap. That meant he wasn’t telling the truth. At least not all of it.

  “Oh, please. You’re telling me your mom wouldn’t have cracked a once-in-a-lifetime smile and flipped a cartwheel if you went for that smiling, ponytail bobbing, sweater-set wearing girl you grew up next to on Mansion Row?”

  Henry’s eyebrows came together. “I don’t know who you’re talking about or what you’re talking about, but it sounds crazy, so I’m going to dismiss it to that corner of my brain.”

  “Denial. The first signs of—”

  “Besides, Eve, it wouldn’t have mattered if my mom ever warmed up to you. I don’t let her or anyone else make those kinds of decisions for me. I choose who I want to be with.”

  Bite your tongue. Don’t say it. Stuff it back into that bitchy cave inside. “Yeah. I remember walking in on you and your choice.”

  And damn it.

  Clasping his hands together, Henry leaned forward and sighed. “I’d really like the opportunity to tell you my side of the story one day.”

  I regretted what I’d said, but not as much as I regretted what he said. I didn’t want to know his side of the story because I knew there would be no explanation that could soften me to what had happened. I didn’t want to know the details of who she was or how they’d met or how they’d stumbled into bed together because it would be like living that night all over again. As much as I wanted to believe I’d moved on from the pain of that night—getting revenge was another matter—I hadn’t. Pain was shredding me just talking about the subject. What would hearing Henry’s account of it feel like? I never wanted to find out.

  “I know you would,” I answered.

  He glanced at me. “But you don’t want to hear it.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t.”

  “Maybe one day though?” His tone was hopeful, but his expression wasn’t.

  “Probably not.”

  The dark circles under Henry’s eyes went a shade darker. “If you ever change your mind . . .”

  “You’ll be the first person I’ll inform,” I said, resting my hand on his leg. I probably would have left it there longer if his eyes hadn’t lingered on my hand or if I hadn’t felt heat radiating up my arm.

  He studied the spot on his leg I’d just touched. “Will you also promise me that I’ll be the first person you’ll inform when your memories of who put you in here come back?”

  “I promise.”

  I could never tell Henry what had happened, who had done it, or why it had. The main reason I could never explain was because Henry was a Target. The other reason I couldn’t tell him was because I didn’t doubt he’d confront Rob Tucker himself. That was a bloody mess I wanted to save both Henry and myself
from. Even if I had wanted to tell Henry the truth, I couldn’t have. We Eves took a vow of secrecy because an underground operation loses its usefulness if the entire world finds out about it.

  “I take it from your continued silence that you still don’t remember anything that happened that night?” Henry lifted a brow and waited.

  “You’d be correct,” I said, keeping my eyes locked on his.

  I knew he was looking for a reason to call me out. He was waiting for me to deflect my gaze, or bite my lip, or change the subject because then he’d have one more piece of evidence that I was lying. Of course, he was right. I was lying. I remembered every last thing about the night Rob Tucker had turned me into a black-and-blue piece of tenderized flesh. Henry knew I was lying, but that didn’t mean I would tell him anything. It was better to continue lying because there was no way the conclusions he would arrive at would be even a tenth as elaborate as the truth.

  “Come on, Eve. This is me you’re talking to.” He leaned in closer. “You can trust me with whatever it is you’re hiding.”

  “Two things,” I said, lifting my index finger. “One, how come you’re so convinced I’m hiding something? You don’t know me anymore, Henry—what I’m hiding or not hiding couldn’t be so glaringly obvious. And two”—I lifted another finger—“no, I can’t trust you. Not anymore, anyway. You had my trust once, but you lost it all in one night, so don’t ask me to trust you when you’ve done nothing to earn it back.”

  Henry’s expression fractured for one moment. His eyes never left mine, though. In fact, I’m not sure he even blinked. “You’re wrong, Eve.”

  “About what?”

  “About everything,” he answered. “If you’d drop your defenses for ten minutes and see a situation from another person’s point of view, you might discover you don’t have the market cornered on omniscient.”

  The first emotion that flashed through me was anger. How dare he call me out after what he’d done? The next thing I felt was something of a eureka moment. As much as it killed me to admit it, Henry was right. I rarely, if ever, came out from behind my walls to evaluate a situation from another person’s perspective. I didn’t do the whole “walk in another person’s shoes” thing very well.