Bang
Copyright © 2014 by E. K. Blair
Cover Design by E.K. Blair
Editing by Lisa Christman, Adept Edits
Interior design by Angela McLaurin, Fictional Formats
Photography by Erik Schottstaedt
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owner.
All rights reserved.
preface
chapter one
chapter two
chapter three
chapter four
chapter five
chapter six
chapter seven
chapter eight
chapter nine
chapter ten
chapter eleven
chapter twelve
chapter thirteen
chapter fourteen
chapter fifteen
chapter sixteen
chapter seventeen
chapter eighteen
chapter nineteen
chapter twenty
chapter twenty-one
chapter twenty-two
chapter twenty-three
chapter twenty-four
chapter twenty-five
chapter twenty-six
chapter twenty-seven
chapter twenty-eight
chapter twenty-nine
chapter thirty
chapter thirty-one
chapter thirty-two
chapter thirty-three
chapter thirty-four
chapter thirty-five
chapter thirty-six
from the author
acknowledgements
For Cathy
Because life is not a fairytale, but we all need that one person who keeps the dream alive.
You are that person for me.
“I’m afraid I can’t explain myself. Because I am not myself, you see?”
-Lewis Carroll
THEY SAY WHEN you take revenge against another you lose your innocence. But I’m not innocent. I haven’t been for a very long time. My innocence was stolen from me. Taken was the life I was supposed to have. The soul I was born with. The ruby heart embedded in a life full of hopes and dreams. Gone. Vanished. I never even had a choice. I mourn that life. Mourn the what-ifs. But I’m done. I’m ready to take back what was always meant to be mine. Vengeance is what I seek to reclaim what was viciously ripped from me. So now? Now I plot. Now I take control. Now I don my crown of hatred.
“HONEY, ARE YOU almost ready?” my husband’s voice calls from the other room.
I look at my reflection in the mirror as I slide in my pearl earring, whispering to myself, “Yes.”
Straightening my posture and smoothing the slick fabric of my dress, I run my fingers through my long, red hair. A blanket of carmine. Loose waves falling over my bare shoulders. The coolness of the midnight blue silk that clings to the slight curves of my small frame. The stoic good wife. My husband, the beacon of my admiration, or so it seems.
“Stunning.”
My eyes shift in the mirror to Bennett as he strolls into my closet and towards the island dresser where I stand. He drags my hair to the side, exposing my neck for his lips to land.
“Mmm,” I hum at his touch before turning in his arms to adjust his black bowtie.
His eyes are pinned on me as I focus on his neck, and when I flick my attention up, he gives me a soft smile. I return it. He’s striking with his strong bone structure, square jaw, and chestnut hair with the faint flecks of silver. A sign of his thirty-four years and his influential status. A mogul. Owner of the world’s largest steel company. He is power. And I the recipient.
“Baldwin is ready with the car,” he says before kissing my forehead.
I grab my purse and Bennett helps me with my coat before we take the elevator down. As we walk through the lobby of The Legacy, my home for the past three years, Bennett keeps his hand on the crest of my back, guiding me out into the night’s bite of winter.
“Mr. Vanderwal,” Baldwin, our driver and good friend to my husband for years, greets with a nod before turning his attention to me, “Mrs.”
“Good evening,” I say as I slip my hand in his, and he helps me into the back seat of the Land Rover.
Bennett slides in after me and takes my hand in his lap when Baldwin shuts the door and then hops in the front seat. ‘Metamorphosis’ by Glass, Bennett’s favorite, swallows the silence and fills the car. Lifting my free hand up, I place it on the ice-cold window, feeling the dampness and chill as it seeps into my skin.
“I love the snow,” I murmur, more to myself than to my husband, but he responds anyway.
“You say that every winter.”
Turning to look at him and then down at our linked hands, I release a soft hum before he shifts and says, “So Richard said he stopped by this hotel the other day and mentioned that it would be a good location to hold our New Year’s Eve party this year.”
“What’s the name?”
“Lotus.”
“Interesting,” I note before asking, “This is McKinnon’s new hotel, right?”
“His son’s, actually. I’ve yet to meet him.”
“Hmm.”
Giving my hand a light squeeze, he questions, “What’s that look for?”
“McKinnon can be, well . . .”
“An ass?”
I smile and agree, “Yes. I just never knew he had any children, that’s all.”
Driving through the Saturday evening traffic in the loop of Chicago, we finally pull up to the newly built boutique hotel that will cater to the city’s elite. We tend to find ourselves at a monotonous number of events such as this. With Bennett’s status, not only in this city, but worldwide, his presence is of an accord that is sought after for publicity and other reasons. But Bennett has found himself in several business dealings with Calum McKinnon over the years, so tonight’s event wasn’t one that we could skip out on.
When Baldwin opens the door and helps me down, I right myself and adjust my long dress before being led through the glass doors and inside the lobby of Lotus. While Bennett leaves my side to check our coats, I take in the decorum of guests and bite the inside of my cheek. I know I’m with the wealthiest man here, but my nerves tend to stain my gut, wondering if these people can see right through me.
I’m greeted with a glass of champagne and the eyes of a few women that serve on some of the charity boards that I sit on.
“You ready, honey?”
My husband wraps his arm around my hip and guides us over to the first of many interactions we will have. I gloss on my smile, raise my chin, and play the part. The part I have played since I met Bennett.
He’s a loving husband, always has been. Firm in his business, but so very gentle with me, as if I’m breakable. Maybe I used to be, but not anymore. I’m as strong as they come. Weakness derives from the soul. Most everyone has one, which gives a woman like me leverage. Leverage to play people to my liking, and so I do.