The Auction (Club Indulgence Duet, #1)(52)

I sit down at the piano but don't play it. I'm lost in my thoughts when he comes into the room, freshly showered, wearing a suit. A new wave of anxiety fills me. I blurt out, "Why are you dressed up?"

"I'm going to work. Don't wait up," he states, moving toward the door.

I get off the bench and follow him. I grab the back of his arm. "Riggs, what does that mean?"

He shrugs me off him and doesn't look back, answering, "Just what I said."

"Riggs!"

He freezes, still not looking at me. "Work on your music, Blakely."

I step in front of him and slide my palms on his cheeks, which twitch under my touch. "Don't leave like this."

He grabs my hands and holds them away from his face. "Review the contract, pet. From now on, consider every second playtime since you want to get technical."

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.

He steps to the side of me and says, "Keep your phone on in case I need to get ahold of you." He walks out the door, gets in his Porsche, and opens the gate. He pulls out, and the wood closes once more.

I shut the front door, more perplexed than ever.

And I've always been more of a loner. I normally can get lost in my music, but all day, the loneliness only grows, taking me by surprise. When darkness sets in, he's still not home.

I try calling, but he never answers. I pace until I can't anymore. I try calling again, but it goes to his voicemail.

I text.

Me: When will you be home?





I never get an answer.

Around eight o'clock, I open a bottle of red wine, fill a glass, and take both to the deck. The sound of waves crashing against the shoreline is louder than normal. Goose bumps pop out on my skin from the cold wind, but I don't go inside for extra clothes, letting the wine heat my insides.

I finish my glass and refill it, tug my knees to my chest, and start humming one of my songs. The gust of wind blows harder, and I shiver.

More time passes, but Riggs never shows up. I'm a few sips shy from finishing the bottle when Riggs's voice tears me out of my thoughts.

He booms, "What are you doing?"

Another blast of wind roars across the deck, and the bottle of wine falls and rolls across it.

Riggs lunges, grabs it, and scowls. "Having fun?"

"Oops." I giggle, finding his angry face humorous.

"What's so entertaining?" he seethes.

"You," I state, then finish the wine in my glass.

He studies me, the wind gusts again, blowing his hair to one side, and everything about it makes me laugh harder.

It only irritates him. He snarls, "Want to expand on that?"

"Not really," I say, then put my feet on the ground. I try to get up, but my balance is bad, and I slip.

Riggs grabs me.

"Sorry." I giggle again, pressing my palm against his chest. I add, "You have nice pecs."

His eyes narrow. "You're drunk."

"Nope!"

"Yes, you are," he insists, his voice full of disgust.

I tilt my head, grinning at him. "Prove it."

His jaw twitches. He slides his arm around my waist and leads me inside.

"I can walk," I cry out.

He stays silent, putting the wine bottle on the counter as we pass it, and leads me down the hallway.

"You passed the bedroom," I point out.

He doesn't respond, continuing to move me down the hall.

I lean closer, wiggling my eyebrows. "Let me guess, you have a playroom here too?"

More silence ensues as we get closer to the last door.

I slur, "Are you going to bend me over and do what you did to your girlfriend? I'm sure you loved sticking your fingers up her."

He opens the door to another bedroom.

"Where're the toys?" I tease.

He takes me to the bathroom, turns on the shower, and pushes me into it.

Cold water hits me. "Riggs!" I scream.

His blues turn to flames. He fumes, "You want to act like your drunk mother, do it somewhere else!" He spins, steps out of the bathroom, and slams the door.

I step out of the shower and grab a towel, my teeth already chattering. I open the bathroom door and try to follow him, but the bedroom door won't open.

"Riggs!" I shout, slamming my fists on the door.

But it's useless. Just like the entire day, he never answers. And once again, I'm all alone, with no one to decipher any of my confusion, frustration, or pain. Only this time, I'm confined to the bedroom suite, intoxicated, and wondering if he's ever going to let me out.





16





Riggs

Ten Days Later





"Mom!" I cry out.

Her fear-filled, drugged-up eyes dart over to me. She barely gets out, "Go!"

A man I've never seen before keeps his grip on her throat, pinning her to the wall, and turns his head. He narrows his dark eyes on me, and a sinister smile overpowers his expression. He taunts, "You want to play too?"

"Mom," I say again.

The man laughs, squeezing my mother's throat so hard, her face begins to turn purple.

Something snaps in me. I can't turn around and hide like I normally do. I lunge at him, slamming my fists on his back and screaming, "Get off her!"