AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Chapter 27
After Jane left, I turned back to the harbor, not quite ready to go back in. I leaned over the railing, looking down over the clamor of restaurant patrons and the twinkle of the water beyond them. The night air was cool, but not uncomfortable, especially after the heat of the party. I breathed in, enjoying the briny air.
"You look lonely out here by yourself."
I turned around to find Julius Trout popping his white-blond head through the curtains. I smiled politely. I didn't want company, and certainly not his, but I also didn't want to offend Brandon's biggest donor.
He was the kind of man who had entitlement engrained in every cell of his body: the way he walked, the way he stuck out his lower lip as he perused people like cattle, and brushed his hands over his custom-made suit, fawning over himself with ever touch. His sense of himself was clearly inflated, and substantiated only by his multi-billion-dollar empire.
Trout came to stand next to me at the balcony, and we both looked out at the harbor in silence as he pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and proceeded to light up. My nose twitched, irritated by the way the ash covered the breeze.
"When I was a kid, my family used to live just over there," he said, making smoke scribble through the night as he gestured toward East Boston. "My father owned a housing complex. Used to be all Irish back then; now it's filled with all those other types."
I kept facing the harbor, not wanting to show my distaste for Trout's racism. I had met his kind before––the "good old boys" who couldn't stand a changing, more diverse world. There were a lot of them in Boston.
He smiled at me with a mouth full of capped teeth, and not for the first time that night, I stifled a cringe.
"Bran's a lucky man," he said as he looked me over openly.
I clenched my drink and tried to maintain my placid smile, hoping I didn't look too much like serial killer. It wasn't the first time tonight that I had heard Brandon referred to by his shortened name. It hadn't escaped me that the only people who ever called Brandon "Bran" were people in this ridiculous, money-drenched world, with the exception of Ray. I wondered if that was something Miranda had adopted from his foster father––a word she thought signified fondness, when, considering Ray, it was likely more associated with his thirst for his charge's potential.
"I can see what he sees in you," Trout continued, his gaze prodding over me. "Even if he was out of his mind choosing that ring. A girl like you should have the biggest rock his money could buy, not these pebbles. A diamond for diamond."
Trout took a long drag of his cigarette, wrapping his thick lips around the tube in a way that strongly made him look like the fish he was named for. His other hand crept down the railing. Like I was somehow divorced from my own body, I watched as he gently stroked his thumb up and down my forearm.
"You know, I just gave Bran's campaign a hundred thousand dollars," he said before taking another pull of his cigarette. "Not a lot of men can do that."
"They certainly can't," I said as I was finally able to make limbs obey my thoughts. I pulled my hand away carefully and gave Trout a thin smile before tipping down the rest of my drink. Shit. Wrong move, I thought as the alcohol immediately flew to my head. I really hadn't eaten enough tonight.
"I know Brandon really appreciates it," I tried again.
"Does he?"
Trout took one last drag on his cigarette, then tossed it carelessly to the ground. He stomped it out with his shoe, then kicked it through the rungs in the railing to the patio below. There was no obvious reason for kicking a cigarette butt down to where people were eating other than he just could. It took everything I had not to say anything.
But before I could take another tack, Trout took a step toward me, then another. I found myself being backed up to the railing, caught in the looming shadow of his jowly, leering figure. What the fuck is happening? is all I could think. Over and over again.
"You're very beautiful," he said as he reached out to trace a finger around my jaw. I shuddered. "And the truth is, I've never been very good about stopping myself with beautiful women."
As if he'd just confessed a mild weakness for chocolate instead of a penchant for sexual assault, Trout shrugged. Suddenly terrified, I looked over his shoulder. All I could see was Messina. Trout's thick lips were Messina's thick lips, and his slimy touch echoed Messina's. My limbs froze and my skin crawled. It was like I couldn't move.
Breathe, I could hear my therapist saying to me. But how?
"I should really get back to the party," I said, finally finding my voice.
But as I tried to shift out of his way, his hand clamped around my wrist like a vise.
"Just a moment, Skylar," he said. "What a beautiful name, really. We were just getting to know each other."
"Mr. Trout––"
"Julius, please."
"Mr. Trout," I said again as I tried to tug my hand away, to no avail. "I really should be getting back––"
I couldn't even finish my sentence before I was pushed up against the wall, and a long, slimy tongue was being shoved down my throat in spite of the way I banged my fists on his shoulders.
"What the fuck!"
