Her Reckless Rockstar by Gena Snow

Chapter 20

 

Avery

 

 

 

I’ve been hiding in this motel for three days already. I watch social media closely for new developments on Tristan’s page. He posts comments every day, begging me to come back. He tells me how much he loves me and what I’ve done in the past doesn’t matter to him.

Their virtual show is another success. I’m glad, even though it hurts to know I can’t be with him to share the joy at the moment.

I can’t stand thinking how humiliated he’d be if my shameful pictures were associated with him.

I’m watching TV, but my mind isn’t on the show at all.

When my phone chimes, I check the number. I’ve blocked Tristan’s number, but there’s a chance he’ll use different phones, so I don’t answer unknown numbers either.

I’ve been getting his messages sent from different phones.

I cry whenever I see them, but I don’t answer them.

This one must be from him too. “Baby, I know about the photos. If you think they’ll make me love you less, you don’t know me at all. I’ll do everything I can to protect you from the perv. I’ll make sure he doesn’t do what he threatens you to.”

No! Tears roll down my cheeks right away. I can’t believe the sick old man sent Tristan the photos. Shame and regret once again suffocate me like a thick blanket, and I sob. He knows. He knows. He knows. Oh my God. I’m a slut, a whore, just like his fans think I am. I don’t deserve him!

After I took those photos, I was so ashamed I wanted to die. But after a while, I got over the shame, and I gained a new understanding of my power. I know I have the asset.

In the restaurants that I worked, I dressed sexily, making sure I showed my curves. I wore tight shirts or pants or skirts, always leaving the top buttons of my shirts undone and showing my cleavages whenever I could to get more tips. The shame never went away, but I also felt powerful. I had what men wanted. I teased them and flirted with them for their money.

I never went out with the customers, not even once. I knew where to draw the line. I told myself I was only an actress who played the role of a slutty girl to make money. After work, I was an innocent girl. In school, I never wore those clothes so I could forget the shameful role I played. Although I knew many guys from school and sometimes went out with them in groups, I've never had a date. Many of them were interested in me, and I liked some of them, too. But there was a shadow inside me, and I was afraid that once they knew what I did, they wouldn’t like me as much.

When Tristan showed up in the bar, I didn’t take him seriously even though I liked him. I flirted with him as I did with all male customers. But I couldn’t deny the attraction I had for him. I had never felt that way toward anyone else, and I surprised myself with what I did with him that day after party… Our make-out meant a lot to me. It meant I finally grew out of my past shadow and I was free of the fear that chained me. Thus, when he took pictures of me, I freaked out and lost it. I thought he was no different from any other guy who lusted for my body only and it hurt more than ever because I liked him. But what he did for me later proved to me he respected me as a person. And I was the luckiest woman on earth.

But now. My past catches up with me. I’m sure I’m no longer his angel, and I’ve lost him.

Maybe we aren’t meant to be together, after all.

If we weren’t drunk in Vegas, there would have been little chance he would propose to me, not to mention me agreeing to it. But fate is a capricious goddess, and she plays jokes on us all the time.

During the weeks I spent with him, I found out so much about him that his fans didn’t know. He’s loving, caring, and vulnerable, not the nonchalant, cool, bad-boy image he builds to please his fans.

He’s so protective of me. Only eight years older but he feels like the dad I lost.

Remembering how he helped my brother Jamie always warms my heart.

The more I know him, the more I love him, and the surer I know we can’t be together.

We’re in different leagues. We might have passionate moments, but they won’t last. They won’t sustain the long and trying challenges we will face, and they won’t repair the damage…

Already, disasters befall us. For years I thought the mistake I made would be buried in my past, but I was wrong. Your mistakes will always be part of you and come back to haunt you once in a while.

No, no, no. I can’t let Tristan pay the price. I have to stop him.

I dial Harper’s number. It’s her break between school and work.

“Hi Ave, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I am.” I try to sound cheerful, not wanting her to worry. “Listen. Have you spoken to Tristan?”

“Yes,” she says, sounding distressed. “He came to speak to me in school. The scum sent him the photo and wants a hundred thousand dollars from him.”

I gasp. “A hundred thousand?” I probably should be flattered that my photo is worth so much, but all I feel is anger. “Did you tell him not to pay?”

“I did, but he wouldn’t listen. He wants to protect you, Avery. He loves you.”

“I know,” I say with a lump in my throat. “But I can’t let it happen. Did he tell you when he’ll pay?”

“I don’t know. He hasn’t told me that.”

I think quickly, racking my brain for a solution. Damn. I’ve done all I could think of. I posted public announcements to break up with Tristan, but he doesn’t give up on me. This stubborn man is driving me nuts.

What should I do? Although reluctant, I hear a voice telling me the right thing to do would be to contact the police. Since I already broke up with Tristan, even if my shameful secret is revealed to the public, it wouldn’t hurt him much.

But I don’t have any evidence of Bob blackmailing me and from what Harper told me, Tristan didn’t want the police to involve because he wanted to protect my reputation.

Suddenly I got an idea. I can still report him for coercing me into stripping for him. It counts as child molestation or sexual crime against minors, right? I had the thought before, but I didn’t because I didn’t want the police to find out my mom neglected us. Now, I have nothing to be afraid of.

I sit up, cheered by the idea, but only for a second. I realize I don’t have any evidence for that either. It’s been many years, and I don’t have any of those photos. No one would believe me without any evidence.

I need to get hold of those photo files. They must be on Bob’s phone.

I sit on the bed for a long time after the realization, reluctant to take action. I don’t ever want to see the evil man again, let alone going into his house.

I don’t move until my phone chimes again, with another message from Tristan, showing an emoji of flowers and hearts.

I wipe my tears and dial Bob’s number. The creep picks up the phone right away. “Bob,” I say, “I’ll do what you say, and I’ll do it tonight. But you have to promise me you won’t bother Tristan Alton ever again.”

He pauses for a second and speaks, “Of course, sweetheart. I don’t care for the money. You know that. I’d much rather see you. What time will you be here?”

I glance at the clock. “About ten-thirty?” Harper should be in bed by then. I don’t want her to see me going into Bob’s house.

“Perfect!”

 

My hands shake when I put on my makeup. What happened years ago flashes in my mind constantly and makes me sick. Am I really going to the lion’s den to sacrifice myself? This is insane. What would the man do to me? Bob never touched me, but the way he leered at me gave me many nightmares and left a permanent scar on my mind.

 

OMG. I can’t do it. I need to call Tristan and beg him just stay out of it. I will tell him I’ve met someone else.

But it won’t be useful. The man is stubborn and smart. He’ll know what I’m up and continue to behave gallantly toward me.

It might even expedite his action. I can’t let him suffer because of my stupidity.

I make up my mind and put on a revealing dress just in case. Harper has some prescription sleeping pills and I’ve crushed a tablet into powder and wrapped it in a piece of paper. I check to make sure the little packet is tucked safely in my purse.

I go over my plan in my head. I’ll suggest we have a drink first, and then I’ll slip the drug into his when he isn’t looking. It should knock him out for the night. Once he’s drugged, I’ll locate the photos on his phone and text them to myself.

I arrive at Bob’s house at ten-forty.

He opens the door before I even press the doorbell, obviously he has been waiting.

I take a deep breath to keep calm. “Hi Bob.”

“Hello, Avery.” He rakes my body with his small, mousy eyes,  a strand of hair fall onto his face. Despite his bald top, he’s got lots of hair around his head. And it makes him even creepier.

He grabs my hand and pulls me into his house. “You’re late. I thought you changed your mind.”

His eyes give me goosebumps but I try hard not to shiver.

“I haven’t,” I say.

“Very well,” he says and gestures me to sit down on a couch.

He sits down next to me. “You look stunning, honey.”

He fixes his eyes on my chest, as most of the male customers in the bar do. I’m used to it, but not tonight. I want to throw up.

I start to shake, and he asks. “Are you nervous?” he holds my hand and rubs it.

“Yes,” I say. “May I have a drink?”

“Of course,” he says. “Good idea. What would you like?”

“Some alcohol might help.”

He goes to a cabinet right away and takes out a bottle of whiskey. “Will it do?”

“Yes, just a bit,” I say. “Why don’t you have some, too? And we can talk while drinking.”

“Good idea,” he says and takes out two glasses from a cabinet.

He brings the drinks and sits down next to me.

“Can I have some snacks, too? I haven’t eaten dinner,” I say to him. “Do you have any crackers or cheese?”

“Of course,” he says. “I’ll be right back. And I’ll turn on some music, too.”

As soon as he disappears into the kitchen, I open my purse and fish out the packet. I empty the content into his drink. I spill some on the table because of my shaky hands, but I brush it onto the floor.

Bob returns with a plate of crackers and cheese. His ancient boom box is playing some 70s Rock on high volume. I pretend to be hungry, although I feel so sick I can hardy swallow anything.

When I eat, the sick man’s eyes never leave me. The only thing that keeps me from freaking out is the fact he’s taking sips from his drink.

“You’re so beautiful, Avery,” he says. “God. I’m so happy you’re here once again.”

He reaches to touch my face, but I dodge his hand. “No touching. Remember the rules?”

“Come on, cookie,” he says with a sneer as he sits back down. “We’re not in a nightclub. This is my house. I can do whatever I want.”

Fear grips me. What the hell does he mean?

I narrow my eyes at him. “You’re going to keep your hands off me, understand? Otherwise, I’ll scream. Harper knows I’m here.” It’s a lie, of course. I didn’t tell Harper.

He puts up both hands. “Okay, cookie. No problem. Hurry up and strip already!”

Shit. I don’t want to do it if I can put it off. His eyelids look heavy and he slurs. I’ll just have to buy myself some time.

“Okay, I’ll start soon. Give me just a minute. Let me finish these yummy crackers,” I say and pop another piece into my mouth.

Bob curses and grabs my arm. He’s going to pull me to him when he suddenly yawns and drops his hand. I take a second to realize the drug is taking effect. I glance at his glass. He’s only drunk half of it. Apparently, the drug is more potent than I thought.

I swallow the cracker. “Bob. Are you okay?”

Hearing no answer, I quickly look for his phone. It doesn’t take me long to find it in his pocket. Luckily, it’s an old Samsung that doesn’t require a passcode. I easily locate his message app and tap it open. I search for the text he sent Tristan with my photo attached but can’t find it. In fact, he hasn’t texted anyone in the last year.

Damn. He must’ve sent it using a different phone or deleted the message. Or he might’ve emailed it.

I open the mail app, but it’s completely empty. The man doesn’t use the app at all.

Shit. I go on to open the photo app. There are a lot of photos going way back to years ago. It’ll take forever to find them. Seeing Bob is snoring soundly, I check the albums one by one.  It took me at least ten minutes, but I found nothing.

What the hell?

There’s only one more possibility. He could’ve emailed the photo to Tristan, and the photo files might be on his computer.

I know where his computer is. It’s in his basement and I dread going in there. Many of my nightmares take place here.

I go down to the basement and flick the light on. It looks exactly the same as I remember. There’s a couch right there in the center of the room and I can see my teenage self posing on it.

Butterflies swarm my stomach and I want to vomit.

And then I force myself to look away and walk toward the desk a few feet away, where his computer is.

The screen saver is on, and it’s showing my photos!

Although I’m humiliated, I also rejoice because I know the files must be here.

It doesn’t take me long this time to find the folder named after me—my God. I can’t believe it. There’re so many! My impulse is to delete all of them, but I control my urge.  Tears blur my eyes as I quickly open his mail app and type my own email address in the receiver.

One file is probably enough, but I decide to include more just in case. I’m attaching the third photo when I hear Bob’s voice behind me. “What the hell are you doing?”

I click the send button before as he lunges at me. “You little bitch!”

He looks menacing, but I’m not afraid anymore. “You old perv! You’re going to jail!”

“The hell I am!” he says as he grabs both of my arms and forces them to my back.

“Let me go! Help!” I scream and knee his balls hard.

He howls and pushes me toward the couch. He presses me down with one hand and freeing his belt with another. “Not until I fuck your brains out,” he says as he ties my wrists.

“They’ll find you,” I say, still trying to kick him. “Harper will find you. Tristan will find you.”

“No, you aren’t going to leave here alive, Avery,” he says as he sits on my legs. “Do you think I’m that stupid? I won’t go to jail. You’re going to stay there in my basement until I’ve had enough of you. And then you’ll disappear. I’ll make sure you don’t get to the police.”

He takes off his shirt and shows his bony, pale torso, and I want to throw up.

“I’ve waited for this long enough, little bitch,” he says and comes toward me.

Just then, I hear glass shattering upstairs and the basement door being flung open. “Let her go, you sick bastard!” says a man’s rumbling voice.

I gasp. “Tristan!”