“I think it’s colder here than in Antarctica. ” Maddox lets go of Jonah to buss me on the cheek. “Come on. Saved you guys the best table in the house. ”
Despite the warmth between them, nobody could be fooled into thinking Jonah and Maddox were blood brothers. Where Jonah is dark haired with haunting gray eyes, Maddox is golden from head to toe—blond wavy hair, hazel eyes, and a tan complexion that is obviously completely natural. Maddox isn’t a short man by any means, but Jonah has a couple inches on him. And their body types are different too. Jonah’s frame is powerful, aggressively masculine, but with his distinctive proportions—the broad shoulders, the incredibly narrow waist. Maddox, however, is more solid, more square, even more muscled. If they were both athletes, Jonah would be an Olympic diver, Maddox a wrestler.
Also, while Jonah dresses well, Maddox is clearly the clotheshorse of the two. The creamy silk shirt and navy blue trousers he’s wearing look like he walked straight off a designer’s runway. Combined with his unruly, longish hair, the effect could almost be feminine, were it not for the undeniable power of his build. As it is, the contrast only makes him more attractive. Several women lift their eyes to watch him walk by; at least one man does as well.
Of course, they’re probably looking at Jonah too. But I hope my hand in his sends a clear message. Sorry, this one’s taken.
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Maddox leads us to a little nook that offers a perfect view of the skyline; we’re just far enough back to glimpse the edge of the river too. As we sink down onto the welcoming curved sofa, a waitress appears with a tray of cocktails.
“Sazeracs,” Maddox says, smiling at me. “Jonah told me you were from New Orleans. Thought I’d make you feel at home. ”
Most tourists leave New Orleans believing Hurricanes are the city’s signature drink. I don’t think a local has touched one in years. Obviously Maddox knows his mixology. “Thank you. And cheers. ”
“Cheers. ” Jonah joins in the toast, takes a quick drink, then sets the glass down. “Is Elise in town already? Will she be here tonight?”
Maddox’s expression falls. It’s like watching a cloud pass in front of the sun. “She flew in a couple hours ago. But of course she can’t go out because Griffin needs her on the phone for whatever reason. ”
Jonah leans back, grimacing like a man with a headache. “In other words, she’s going to spend a few hours propping up his already enormous ego instead of seeing the people she flew halfway across the country to see. ”
“Got it in one,” Maddox says.
“Only Jonah and Rebecca are in the trust, right?” I venture. This situation is a minefield, one these men have learned to navigate over the years. I have to tread more carefully. “So Elise is coming for—moral support. ”
Maddox seems to take it for granted that I have a right to discuss this with them. How much has Jonah told him about me? “You’re right about the Marks trust. But Elise and I had a trust of our own from our mother, one that was structured more sanely, thank God. We inherited significant ownership in the Hale Hotel Group when we each turned twenty-one. No, we can’t outvote Dad’s shares. He retains control. But we can make his life a lot more difficult if we have to. It’s starting to look like we do. ”
Jonah shakes his head no. “You guys shouldn’t put yourselves on the line for me. ”
“That’s not your call to make. ” As congenial as Maddox is, there’s a vein of true strength in him, enough to match Jonah’s. If Jonah is stone, Maddox is fire. “It’s ours. And this is the lowest Dad has ever sunk. If we don’t find a way to stop him now, who knows what he’ll try next?”
There’s a moment when I think Jonah will argue, but then I see realization setting in. “You’re afraid he’ll turn on Rebecca. ”
“We can’t let that happen,” Maddox says, his voice harder, harsher, than it’s been before. “Anything else he dishes out, we can take. She can’t. ”
Why is Rebecca more vulnerable than her brothers or sister? But I sense this is the one question I can’t ask—that this secret belongs to Rebecca, and they keep it for her. Whatever it is, it’s enough to make Jonah reconsider.
He always wants to endure his pain alone, I realize. He doesn’t think about protecting himself, only protecting others.
“Give me a minute,” Jonah says, rising from the table. He heads toward the restroom, or wherever; all three of us know he simply needs a break, a chance to think, before diving back into this conversation.
And that leaves me alone with Maddox.
“So,” I begin.
“So. ” He smiles. “We’ve hit the awkward-small-talk portion of the evening. I’ll start. How did you meet Jonah?”
“He fixed a flat tire for me. ” That is completely true, and yet not the complete truth. Apparently Jonah keeps at least one secret from his brother. Thank God. “Do you remember meeting Jonah?”
“Nope. ” Maddox’s expression is fond. “In my earliest memories, I recall knowing that he and Rebecca hadn’t always been there. But I don’t actually remember life without them any more than I do without Elise. ”
“Tell me a good story. Something about Jonah as a little kid. ” That should be harmless enough. Besides, on Christmas, my mother went on and on to Jonah about how I wanted to be a baton twirler in middle school. Turnabout is fair play.
I’m expecting an anecdote about tricycles or T-ball games. Instead, Maddox’s smile fades. The warmth he exudes doesn’t cool—just the opposite. Instead I realize that his inner fire could rage out of control if he ever slipped, for even a moment. But Maddox remains steady. In control. “When I was four years old, my sister Elise and I were playing on the first floor, which was used mostly for guests. Receptions. That kind of thing. It was the part of Redgrave House the public was allowed to see. ”
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Redgrave House is more than Jonah’s childhood home. It’s also one of the oldest and grandest private homes in the city of Chicago, quietly famous in its own right. At the airport, I saw it pictured along with several other landmarks on a postcard. Of course there would have been countless charity fundraisers and society events held there. Maybe that’s one reason Jonah’s so fiercely private; he grew up in a home that was never entirely his own.
Though of course he has other reasons.
“We were roughhousing,” Maddox continues. “Chasing each other around, that kind of thing. We weren’t supposed to go downstairs alone, but I ran down the stairs, Elise came after me—and she crashed right into a table. Knocked a vase to the floor, where it shattered into a million pieces. I mean, there wasn’t a shard as big as my thumb, and I was only five. ”
“Let me guess,” I say. “Ming Dynasty?”
Maddox laughs, but the sound is hollow. “Not that priceless. Honestly, it wouldn’t have mattered if the vase were worth ten dollars or ten thousand. We’d broken one of Carter’s rules, and we couldn’t hide it. That was enough. ”
How much abuse did Carter heap on the children outside his bedroom door? I’ve never seen any scars on Jonah, but his need for violence—to be more powerful than someone else, to glory in taking dominance at the most primal level—
“We weren’t beaten often,” Maddox says, as if reading my mind. “He only struck me once or twice, ever. I’m his ‘favorite. ’”
The way he pronounces the word favorite makes it clear Maddox considers this more curse than blessing.
He continues, “It’s not violence Dad craves. It’s the humiliation of anyone and everyone who ever stood up to him. And with us kids, he always knew exactly where to strike. He knew the words to say to make you feel like you wished you’d never been born. Sometimes you’d do anything, say anything, to try to get him to stop. So when that vase fell, Elise and I knew we were in for it. And we knew it would be bad. We ran upstairs. Elise locked herself in her room, and I hid under my bed. I was that little. ” His attempt at a smile is more of a grimace. “By now you’re probably wondering where Jonah
comes into all this. ”
I’d forgotten about everything but the story Maddox was telling. This warm golden club with its soft light and sultry music—it seems more like a vision, a dream. We seem to be back in a house as grand as it was cold, its majestic exterior concealing the cruelty within. “Did Jonah come to your defense when Carter went after you?”
“No. He told our parents that he broke the vase. And he took all the punishment Dad could dish out, without flinching. ” Maddox takes a swig of his cocktail, as if it could brace him against the memory. “My father has always tried to turn us against each other. But that day, I knew I would do anything for Jonah, and that he would do anything for me. ”
“He’s good at that. Taking care of people. ”
“Yeah, he is. ” One deep breath and then Maddox asks, “When did Jonah tell you the whole truth about Dad?”
“He only told me after we’d been together a couple of months and—and I’d told him some difficult things about my life too. ” I can’t match Maddox’s fearless candor, but even this veiled allusion startles me. It’s more than I’ve ever admitted to Carmen, Geordie, or my own father. Is it that I trust Maddox so much already, or because I know his secrets so well that I feel obligated to share in return? “How did you know I’d heard the whole story? Did Jonah tell you?”
Maddox nods. “Which I couldn’t believe. I’m not sure any of us have told the entire truth about our family to anybody before. Jonah trusts almost no one. So if he trusts you, I assume you’re worth it. ”
Maybe I ought to thank him for the compliment. Instead I remember what Jonah told me, about how he and Elise fought hard to protect Maddox and Rebecca. About how their younger siblings never, ever had to go into their parents’ bedroom and witness the act of rape. “When did you know the whole truth?”
Maddox hesitates. Despite the honesty he’s shown so far, the question I’ve asked is so intensely intimate that he’d be within his rights to throw me out of this nightclub. I open my mouth to take it back and apologize, but that’s when he speaks. “It sank in slowly. Bruises on Mom’s body. Blood in places it shouldn’t have been. Hearing Jonah and Elise coming back to bed at two or three in the morning; sometimes Elise would cry the rest of the night. They wouldn’t talk about what happened. And even if Dad never dragged Rebecca and me into the bedroom, he couldn’t muffle the sounds. So there was no one moment of revelation. I remember not knowing; I remember knowing. In between was a lot of fear and doubt. ” His smile is crooked. “You know, we totally blew the awkward-small-talk thing. ”
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I laugh despite myself. “Ah, this Sazerac is perfect. Kudos to your bartender. ”
“There you go. ”
And just like that, I feel as if I’ve known Maddox my whole life. From the way he’s smiling at me, I think he feels the same.
By the time Jonah returns a few minutes later, Maddox and I are laughing. Although Jonah smiles at us, his expression is wary. “Do I want to know what’s so funny?”
“The Big Lebowski,” I explain. “Turns out we both love that movie. ”
Jonah shrugs. “Never saw it. ”
Maddox’s jaw hangs open in mock horror. “What? Oh, we have to change that, ASAP. ”
Although Jonah smiles at his brother, his dark mood remains all too visible. This night out might have brought Maddox and me closer together—but Jonah remains angry, desolate. Lost.
• • •
The rest of our evening is a blur of cocktails and anecdotes—funny ones, this time. Maddox tells me about the four children running wild at Navy Pier right after the maze was built. I volunteer the time Liz and I tried to use the least convincing fake IDs ever at Tipitina’s our junior year of high school, and got busted by a bouncer who couldn’t stop laughing. Jonah comes up with the story of the first time he ever got drunk at a party, sneaked in late at night, nearly got caught, and only escaped by hiding in Rebecca’s closet until dawn. He laughs along with us as he talks about sitting on her light-up sneakers and having them blink for hours, but the laughter never reaches his eyes. I make excuses for us fairly early. Maddox is too wise to argue. By the time we get downstairs, it’s snowing again.
“Taxi?” I ask Jonah. It’s the first word between us since we got in the elevator.
He shakes his head. “I need some fresh air. If that’s okay with you. ”
“Sure. ” Yeah, it’s cold as hell. But Jonah’s arm is around me again, providing some shelter from the chill.
We walk in silence, side by side. Only when Jonah’s body begins to feel less tense against mine do I say, “I like Maddox a lot. ”
“Most people do. He’s got—charm. Charisma. I’ve never had that. ” He says this without resentment. To him, it’s simple fact.
“Sometimes charisma is a mask. ” Anthony Whedon taught me that. “But your brother’s actually a good guy. ”
“Yeah. He is. ”
Yet hours spent with this brother he loves, enjoying drinks and laughter, haven’t been enough to restore Jonah. I hug him around his waist. “Is there anything I can do?”
Jonah doesn’t answer at first. His profile is stark against the night surrounding us; snow has begun to dust his scarf and coat again. He doesn’t look at me. “You’ve gone there once already today. ”
It’s not that I don’t know Jonah gives in to his inner darkness every time we play our games. I do too. But I hadn’t realized how much more he would crave that release during this time of confrontation.
Maybe I should have. Hadn’t I asked Jonah to brutalize me that night in New Orleans, after I’d had to deal with Anthony all day? Our demons are much the same.
“I’m ready,” I tell him. “Let’s play. ”
Fifteen
Although it’s Jonah who needs this so badly, the scenario we choose is one of my fantasies. Jonah took me hard and rough this afternoon. As much as I loved it, the aftermath still lingers in my body—carpet burn on my knees, soreness in my inner thighs where he pried them apart. So we need something less rigorous. Something I can endure, and enjoy.
“This blurs the lines,” Jonah says as we sit in the Drake’s lobby, my fourth cocktail of the night in front of me. “You’re going to be all right with it?”
“Definitely. ” I’ve gotten off on this fantasy dozens of times. “I know what I want. ”
“But you’re getting drunk. I only do what you’ve given consent for—no more, ever. And you won’t be able to tell me yes or no. ”
“I’m consenting now,” I promise. “And I’m not going to get so messed up I can’t tell you if we’re going too far. Okay?”
“Okay. ”
I’m just going to get drunk enough that I can pretend to be completely helpless, and almost believe it myself. Then Jonah will do the rest.
Why is this one of my favorite scenarios? For a long time I thought it was “less violent,” that I steered my imagination that way as a way of weaning myself off the more brutal visions that sometimes got me off. But force is force; violence is violence. Now I believe I gravitate toward this as a way of almost completely erasing not only my will, but also my consciousness. In this version of the fantasy, I am nothing but a body. Nothing but sensation. A thing to be used.
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The Sazeracs we drank at the Orchid, we nursed over a period of hours. Maddox treated us to luxury-style bar snacks too—shrimp skewers and soft cheeses that were practically a second dinner. So when we got back to the Drake, I had no more than the faintest buzz.
Now, though, I’m knocking back a double, fast. No more food. This will take me over the brink for an hour or so. Should be enough.
I tilt my head back for the last swallow, and feel my head spin. “Mmm. ” Setting the glass back down, I take a deep breath. My lips are slightly numb from the Drambuie. “There we go. ”
Jonah says nothing, though he’s watching me avidly. His caution is at war with his desire. And his desire is spiking higher and ho
tter as he watches me get a little sloppy. He could take me down, now, and he knows it. But he says, “Last chance. ”
I get to my feet, wobbling a bit as I brush my hair from my face. “Give me five minutes. ”
He nods once. I won’t see him again until he enters our room, and the game begins.
In the elevator, my face is flushed with warmth. I lean heavily against the side wall; the elderly couple riding up with me exchange a glance. Look at that drunk girl. She should be more careful. That’s what they’re probably thinking. You’re right, old guys. I should.
Not tonight.
When I reach my room, I slip off my clothes—ought to hang them up neatly, but I’m just messed up enough not to want to, and pretending to be even more messed up than I am. So I let them fall onto the chair. Take my hair down from its messy bun so that it falls across my face. The bra goes atop the clothes, and after a moment, I ditch my panties too. Those things are always in the way. Who’s to say how I sleep?
I tug on a tank top, nothing else, and flop into bed. Although I pull the edge of the sheet over my exposed ass, I don’t make any other moves. My head spins; the bed seems to float above the floor. It’s easy to imagine that I’m far drunker than I am. That I can’t even move . . .
A metallic click, and the door swings open. I’m facing away from it, so I only see a rectangle of light against the curtains, Jonah’s blurry shadow in the center, before he seals us back into darkness. As his footsteps come nearer, I close my eyes.
Jonah brushes his hand along my shoulder. I don’t react. He strokes more firmly this time, edging the strap of my tank top almost off. With a whine, I wriggle once, then go motionless again.
The illusion closes around us both: I’m helpless. Too drunk to move or fight, maybe even too drunk to say the word stop, but not completely unconscious. Just awake enough to feel it.
He pulls the sheet down. Cool air ghosts along my back, my exposed lower body. Jonah groans slightly to see me naked from the waist down—he likes that.
Two fingers trace a line of heat along my leg, from the back of my knee all the way up to the hip, where he finds the crest of my pelvic bone. Back down again, closer to the cleft of my ass—and then his touch curves in toward my cunt. His rougher skin brushes against me, just enough to get slick.