The Barter System Companion: Volume One Read online

  “Okay. I’ll give you a chance to…settle in. Maybe I could visit in a couple of days?”

  “Sure. Yeah. Bye, Izzy.” Setting her carefully away from him, he walked around her and stood in front of his mother. “Mom…”

  “Hush.” It was all she said before grabbing him in a crushing hug. He couldn’t control the shakes but he hugged her back anyway.

  Without letting him go, she turned for the stairs. “Let’s get you to your room. All that matters is you’re back with us. Where you belong.”

  Unable to meet her eyes, he whispered, “I don’t belong anywhere.”

  “You’re wrong, son. I’ll prove it to you. Come on.”

  For the next week, his body purged the last of the drugs from his system. He didn’t remember much. When he was finally able to function without the nurse hired to watch over him, he avoided his family.

  Walking the grounds of his childhood home, he tried to ignore the craving. He raked his hands through his hair and found a seat in the rose garden.

  He thought he was dreaming when he heard her voice. “There you are. I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Hope said you were in the gardens. I-I hoped you’d be up to some company today. Are you feeling better?”

  Without looking at her, he said roughly, “I’m addicted to heroin, Izzy. No, I don’t guess I’m much better.”

  She lowered to the bench beside him. “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Do you have heroin? Then, no. Not much you can do.” Jerking his head to the side, he murmured, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

  She smiled and it changed her features from pretty to spectacular. “It’s okay. I understand.” Reaching out, she took his hand. “I’ve thought about you every day. I w-worried you’d never come back. I dreamed you died.”

  The silence drew out. Finally, he exhaled sharply. “I did. The person you knew is long dead, Izzy.”

  “Don’t say that…”

  “If you don’t see the truth, you’re lying to yourself. Never lie to yourself, Izzy.”

  “Since I was fourteen, I’ve been in love with you.”

  “Don’t…”

  “There was never anyone else for me. I didn’t want anyone else. I waited for you. I knew you’d come back.”

  “I didn’t come back for you. Don’t think I did.” He knew the words were cruel but he needed to make her see the man he was. “I came back because I ran out of money to get high. It was only a matter of time before I ended up in jail.”

  “None of that matters to me. I love you anyway.” She reached for his hand again and he snatched it away.

  “Stop talking about love. It’s never going to fucking happen, Izzy!”

  She shrugged one shoulder as tears coursed over her cheeks. “Maybe not for you. For me, it’s already too late. I’ll leave you alone.” Standing, she turned toward the house and added in a broken voice, “If you change your mind, I guess you know where to find me.”

  He watched her walk away while he screamed inside his mind. He wasn’t worthy of her love. The filth he carried inside him could never be allowed to taint her.

  * * *

  Never, as it turns out, is a very long time.

  The greatest loss of his adult life resulted in hurting a woman whose only sin was loving a selfish, broken man. He took Izzy in his arms knowing from the first contact of her skin against his that he’d leave her in shambles.

  He touched her anyway.

  One night of greed, costs be damned, set in motion a chain of events that would haunt him for almost two decades.

  It was nothing new. He’d been haunted since he was ten years old. Adding another ghost to the growing list of mistakes and endless regrets seemed insignificant at the time.

  She gave him her heart and he crushed it, breaking his own beyond repair in the process. He destroyed her.

  In return, she actively worked to destroy him.

  Even the smallest seeds of sin find purchase in a fertile field. As the years passed, his own transgressions grew into mighty oaks. A mental forest he could walk within to examine the consequences of his poor judgment and lapses in restraint.

  No matter who he held, no matter the women who slept in his bed, it was her midnight blue eyes that haunted him without end, without mercy.

  The person who was his greatest weakness allowed herself to be used as a weapon.

  His only love. His greatest enemy.

  Their sins continued to grow.

  Portrait

  New York City - February 2004

  Adele Murphy flitted from one table to the next, smiling and laughing with the men and women who’d turned out to support her favorite charity for children.

  Shania watched her mom hustle from one end of the room to the other. As she passed for the dozenth time, she again bent to kiss her daughter’s cheek.

  “Doing alright?”

  “Of course, Mom.”

  “You’re good to help me with these things. I know you have a million things to do.”

  “Nope. I did some cartoons of the kids.” Flipping through her book, she removed three pieces of paper.

  “An angel. That’s what you are.”

  “Hardly. Go be amazing and I’ll help you after.” Another smacking kiss on her face and she was off.

  A lovely older woman lowered into a chair beside her with a warm smile. “You must be Shania!”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I’m Genevieve Bishop. Your mother raves about you. Aren’t you lovely?”

  “She raves about you, too. When she learned you were personally attending, I thought she’d pass out from happiness. Thank you for that.”

  “I’m honored to be here. I write a mean check but that woman goes until everyone around her drops.”

  “She doesn’t mess around when it comes to making Christmas dinner, taking me on learning vacations, or this charity.”

  “Her dedication shows.” She smoothed her hand over her skirt. “I love that you’re so close. One doesn’t see much of that these days.”

  Finding her mom’s busy form across the venue, she smiled. “It’s always been the two of us. It’s not popular to say but she’s my best friend. The most patient mom you can imagine.”

  “She did a wonderful job with you, dear.”

  Wrinkling her nose, Shania shook her head. “I drive her crazy sometimes. I have the worst attention span. Like I said, she’s super patient. I got so lucky.”

  “I imagine your mother would say the same.” Mrs. Bishop folded her hands in her lap. “I’d love to have you both to our home for dinner.”

  “That’s kind of you. I know Mom would be honored.” Shania felt the overwhelming need to sketch and gestured at her book. “Do you mind?”

  She blushed prettily. “I’m old as Methuselah, dear...”

  “No. You’re timeless.”

  They chatted as Shania sketched when across the room, a man entered. Mrs. Bishop transformed from lovely to stunning in a single expression.

  He didn’t look at anyone else or stop to talk to them. Simply walked straight to her side where he bent to kiss her cheek and whisper at her ear.

  As he pulled back, he smiled. “My Genny. How pretty you look today. Prettier than yesterday...though I didn’t think it was possible.”

  “Flatterer.”

  He planted a chaste kiss on her lips. “Every word is true.”

  Shania captured the moment as quickly as she could on a new page. She’d never seen two people look at each other in such a way.

  Mr. Bishop took a seat beside his wife and kissed her again before turning to smile brightly in her direction.

  “Spencer Bishop.”

  “Shania Murphy, sir. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  He nudged his wife. “I love young people with old manners.” Nodding at her book, he asked, “You’re an artist?”

  “I…yes, sir.” She chuckled. “It still feels a little funny to claim it.” She turned her pad toward them.r />
  The elderly man with striking features stared at the sketch for a long moment before raising his gaze to hers. “Spectacular.”

  “If I may, I’d like to send you the painting I make from this. In thanks for all Mrs. Bishop does for the children of New York.” She turned the pad around and lost herself for a few minutes adding details she didn’t want to forget.

  They sat in silence until she lifted her face again. “I apologize! How rude of me.”

  “Not at all, dear. I find your talent captivating.” To her husband, she murmured, “I thought we’d have Shania and her mother for dinner, darling.”

  Mr. Bishop didn’t look away from her face as he replied, “I think that’s a wonderful idea.” He smiled gently. “We’ll invite our grandson to join us.”

  Adele appeared beside her before she could respond. “Mr. Bishop! What an unexpected honor!” She shook his hand and lowered herself to a seat next to Shania. Dabbing her eyes of sudden tears, she added in a whisper, “Forgive me.”

  The appearance of both Bishops would drastically improve the donations received from the other guests. They rarely attended daytime events together.

  Mrs. Bishop shook her head. “There’s nothing to forgive. Your dedication to these little ones is clear as day.” Sitting back, she took her husband’s hand. “We were just chatting with Shania. You did a fine job raising such a charming and talented young woman.”

  Adele smoothed her hair. “She made it easy.” Her eyes landed on Shania’s sketch. “Honey, that’s beautiful!”

  “Thanks. I had inspiration.”

  “Ms. Murphy, we were saying we’d love for you both to join us for dinner.”

  “Oh my. How kind of you.”

  “I’ll send you the details next week.”

  Shania sighed. “I’ll have the painting done but it won’t be ready for framing. It has to cure.”

  “Bring nothing but yourselves.”

  The fundraiser carried on for another hour and they walked the Bishops to the exit, thanking them profusely.

  When they were gone, Adele pressed her hand to her stomach. “I’m not sure I should have lifted that box. I think I pulled a muscle.”

  Grinning at her mother, Shania quipped, “That’s because you think you’re the Hulk when you’re no bigger than a fairy.”

  Tweaking the end of her nose, Adele shot back, “Disrespectful.”

  Laughing together, they wrapped up the festivities and headed home to their narrow brownstone.

  The next morning, Adele remained in bed with a heating pad and ibuprofen.

  By the third day of pain, Shania started to worry her mother gave herself a hernia with the heavy lifting and scheduled an appointment with the doctor.

  The Murphy women never made it to dinner with the Bishops.

  A few weeks later, she traced her fingertips over the custom frame of her completed portrait of Mr. and Mrs. Bishop.

  The couple’s love glowed from the canvas.

  Slipping it into the padded box, she murmured, “Maybe one day.”

  Expectations

  Seattle - August 2004

  Her death destroyed a part of him.

  Here he sat, after her funeral, unsure of what the fuck he was supposed to do now. He hadn’t known – hadn’t noticed – how distraught she’d gotten since finding out she was pregnant.

  He knew he had difficulty connecting to others on an emotional level. He knew there were times business and money were all that mattered.

  It was horrifying to know she’d struggled right before his eyes and he’d been too wrapped up in his own shit to notice.

  Worse to know in the deepest part of himself that he’d never loved her. He hadn’t known her well enough to even like her.

  She was “acceptable” with the right pedigree so he married her. She was like everyone else in his orbit – there to play a part, fulfill their obligations, and require as little interaction with him as possible.

  Their marriage was nothing more than a contract.

  He was a cold bastard. Never had it been clearer than this moment. Burying the woman who’d been his wife, the future mother of his child, who he’d not even known as a human being.

  Searching his mind, he couldn’t recall her favorite color, what kind of music she enjoyed, or if she’d even felt anything for him in return.

  Her tastes were expensive but he hadn’t tracked them. During parties and events, she glowed with good humor – in her natural element and more at ease than the rare moments when they found themselves alone together.

  Mistakes were made. He saw it now.

  It was clear a man like him should never shackle another person to his life who didn’t understand who he was, how he was. It was the definition of reckless.

  Part of him was angry at her weakness, her refusal to go to someone – even her own family – and ask for help. He wondered, not for the first time, if there was anything he could’ve done to prevent it.

  He knew he wouldn’t like the answers.

  Right now, this minute, he had to get up and mingle with the mourners filling several rooms of the home his grandfather built, his father expanded, that he would inherit. At the moment, he felt nothing for any of it.

  His bodyguard stood just inside the door, never far from him.

  Elijah asked quietly, “Are you ready?”

  “No. The reputation I had before is nothing to the one I’ll now possess.” He gave a humorless laugh. “Even at her memorial, it’s about me and what I’ll have to endure. I’m sure my soul is a black void.”

  “Your soul – like the souls of most – is many shades of gray. Neither good nor evil, simply human and working with the hand you’ve been given. Whatever your mistakes, her choice ended your ability to correct them. Dragging yourself over broken glass is counterproductive.” He crossed his hands at his back. “As for your reputation…fuck them all.”

  He stood, straightened his suit, and inhaled deeply. Then Harper Delkin nodded and did what was expected of him.

  Embrace the Wild

  Published Book

  Los Angeles - September 2004

  They traded phone numbers when they were in rehab together. It felt like a million years passed since their time there.

  Before the world learned her name…and forgot his.

  On the fourth night in her own version of hell, he saved her from being raped by another patient. He subdued the man with two well-placed strikes and led her to the nurse’s station.

  She trusted him immediately.

  He stayed by her side while she spoke to the police and offered his own statement without emotion.

  In the weeks that followed, he became her unspoken protector. He didn’t touch her. She never felt sick at the way he looked at her. She felt a kinship to him.

  He saw past her outer shell as she saw past his.

  The day she was to be released, he walked her to the front and handed her a piece of paper with his phone number on it. Beneath the number was a single word and she understood what it meant.

  He’d chosen his new identity.

  “If you need me, call me. No conditions, Galina.”

  Staring into his silver-gray eyes for a long moment, she swiped the tears that slipped over her cheeks and nodded.

  Carefully, she hugged him, giving him time to reject it as she often rejected such affection. He returned the embrace gently, barely touching, and she was grateful.

  They smelled of the utilitarian soaps, shampoos, and detergents of the facility. Their clothes were simple sweats, their shoes had no laces.

  His tall body was too thin. At twenty-eight, he was detoxing from another raging battle with heroin. A fight that appeared after the loss of his beloved mother. He ended nearly a year of sobriety with a binge that almost destroyed him.

  Her tall body was too thin. At eighteen, she neared six feet and weighed less than one hundred pounds. Her mother believed her eating disorder to be a positive thing for her acting and modeling c
areer. Food became her enemy.

  Their demons were written on their bodies, on their souls, and she wondered if they’d survive them.

  At her ear, he murmured, “You’re strong. Fight. If you get to a point when you can’t fight anymore, run and save yourself.”

  Releasing him, she stepped back and nodded. Glancing at the paper he’d given her, she smiled. “Hollow. I like it.” Meeting the eyes of a man she would forever liken to a fallen angel, she added softly, “Perhaps I can find another name.”

  He winked and for a moment, she glimpsed the man buried deep inside. The one who still believed in hope. Their hauntings were another trait they shared.

  “Whenever you want a new name…let me know.”

  “I will.” She looked around the large lobby of the main building. “You’ll be alright?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will you call me if you need me?”

  “Yes.” She knew it was a lie.

  “I’ll miss h-having someone to talk to about books.”

  “I’ll miss the way you curse in Russian when you’re pissed.”

  She chuckled. Her father’s driver appeared behind her and she jumped. The way her friend met the man’s eyes made her own widen. Jessup picked up her duffle and returned to the exit.

  “Do you know him?”

  “Yes.”

  Looking over her shoulder and back to him again, she asked quietly, “Can I trust him?”

  “Yes.”

  Blinking, she inhaled deeply and said, “Thank you, Hollow. For everything.”

  “You’re welcome, Galina.”

  With a final smile, she turned and walked nervously to the door. Her insides felt like they might shake apart.

  “Ready, miss?” Jessup inquired.

  She spared one more glance at the black-haired, silver-eyed guardian who kept her safe while she tried to regain control of her mind and body.

  Pressing her hand to her stomach, she nodded. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  * * *

  Two years later, she saw her fallen angel at a function thrown by her father. He pretended not to know her and Galina understood. Her savior in rehab barely existed by then.