Do Re Mi Read online

  Table of Contents

  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

  Epilogue

  Do Re Mi

  A.D. Herrick

  This book is a work of fiction. Any similarities to any person, place or theory is in no way intended or to be inferred as fact or reference.

  The work is the singular property of the Author, and may not be reproduced in whole or in part without permission, unless as part of a Review, Interview or Public push of the work and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Contains adult situations. 17+ only

  Cover Design by A. D. Herrick

  Copyright ©2018 Herrick

  ISBN-13:

  All rights reserved

  Contents

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1 ~

  Chapter 2 ~

  Chapter 3 ~

  Chapter 4 ~

  Chapter 5 ~

  Chapter 6 ~

  Chapter 7 ~

  Chapter 8 ~

  Chapter 9 ~

  Chapter 10 ~

  Chapter 11 ~

  Chapter 12 ~

  Chapter 13 ~

  Chapter 14 ~

  Chapter 15 ~

  Chapter 16 ~

  About The Authors

  Chapter One

  Lenny

  The state of the apartment as I walked in should have surprised me - only it didn’t.

  Empty liquor bottles littered the floor. Their bright colors peppering the plush white carpet like tinted glass marbles mingling with the sea of bold red solo cups which lay haphazardly strewn about.

  Random pieces of clothes were thrown around carelessly throughout the large open space living area, as though their owners were in a hurry to shrug them off.

  A heavy cupped hot pink bra caught my eye as it hung from the ornate sconce over the gas log fireplace - its undoubted silicone enhanced owner long forgotten.

  It looked as though an F5 tornado had blown through the set of a porn flick and left its spoils strewn about the room, lace panties and men’s briefs joined the fray. The room resembled the absolute pandemonium of the evening before.

  The air reeked of old sex and locker room, causing the hairs in my nose curled upon contact. There was no amount of bleach strong enough to cure me of the disgust at seeing my sanctuary regarded as a brothel.

  Kicking my way through the remains of last night’s bash I pulled my phone out of my pocket. What does it say about a person when they have a cleaning service on speed dial?

  This was not the first mess I’ve come home to and it wouldn’t be the last. Of that I was sure. The thought alone settled in my stomach like a lead weight. Scrubbing my hand across my face I mentally prepared myself for any unexpected surprises.

  Punching in the number to the cleaning service I blew out a long breath as I surveyed the damage to the room, giving it one last long look as I scrubbed my hand through my hair. My lip twitched in disgust.

  The shrill ringing of the phone in my ear did nothing for my patience as I waited for someone to pick up on the other end of the line.

  There was a point in time in which coming home to find my apartment trashed would have set me off.

  A point in which anger would consume me, blinding me with rage.

  Glancing around the shambles of my apartment, I felt nothing but shame.

  How did my life come to this?

  At what point in one's life does it become commonplace to come home to everything they’ve ever worked for demolished, carelessly destroyed for no reason other than the perpetrator felt like having some fun?

  Over the past four years, the only true surprise I ever experienced was when I didn’t come home to the absolute chaos and destruction of everything I worked so hard for.

  Everything I sacrificed for.

  Flickers of rage threatened to consume me, sending tingles down my spine at the thought.

  My sacrifices.

  My grip on the phone tightened.

  My knuckles pulsing white.

  Inhaling carefully through flared nostrils, I willed away the rage.

  I would not react.

  Blowing out a long slow breath I focused on my breathing. With each inhale I pushed down the fury coiling in the pit of my stomach.

  Gently I began to edge away from the bitterness, nipping at my heels. Bottling up my emotions. Burying them deep inside where they belonged. Stuffing everything into that imaginary black box inside of me labeled HATE.

  I learned years ago that any reaction I gave would be misconstrued. Every word out of my mouth would be mangled, twisted until it was unrecognizable.

  Focus was key.

  Calm was paramount.

  Hidden reminders of my mistakes lay meticulously placed throughout the apartment. Carefully tucked away to avoid exposure. Thankfully coming out unscathed from the rager that had taken place.

  They were constant intimations of what I was working so hard for.

  Mementos reminding me of my purpose.

  What I had given up.

  Even if only momentarily.

  They kept me grounded, sane, and in control.

  Reminding myself of my mistakes wouldn’t make the mess of my life go away.

  It didn’t lessen the pain.

  But it gave me hope.

  I was almost free.

  That thought alone went through me like Zen. I felt the tightly coiled tension inside me release, the relief was instantaneous.

  As I made my way toward my bedroom at the rear of the apartment I made arrangements for the apartment to be cleaned. Yasmine, the woman on the phone, assured me she would have a crew out within the hour.

  At least there was an upside to having piles of cash sitting in the bank. I wouldn’t have to clean the place myself. I don’t think I would have made it five minutes before giving up and setting the building ablaze.

  The flash of pale flesh caught my eye from the bedroom door. I watched with a hint of amusement as a naked man dashed across the room, diving into the walk-in closet. Why he felt the need to hide was anyone’s guess.

  With a raised brow I paused and assessed the scene before me.

  In the bedroom Angela sat, nude, like a queen holding court, her back pressed against the gilded headboard. Her long lean legs sprawled out before her. Spiraling waves of long blonde curls flowed around her like a halo, cresting the bare tops of her breasts. A lit cigarette hung precariously from her ruby red lips as her cool gray eyes roamed hungrily over my body.

  She screamed red hot sex. It emanated from her pores, a heady concoction of arousal and lust.

  Her effects were lost on me.

  I felt nothing.

  I at least understood why the man dove nude into the closet. I wouldn’t have wanted to get caught dead with the likes of her, either. Had I been in his shoes I would have taken the window. There is nothing like plummeting sixteen stories to your death to rid yourself of the likes of Angela Howard.

  “You’re home early.” Sh
e inhaled sharply on the thin cigarette pressed between her lips. The bright red ember at the tip glowed brightly like a beacon.

  With a slight lift of the shoulder, I shrugged, not bothering to reply. What does one say to the bane of their existence? Slinging my bag onto the end of the bed I ignored her.

  I disregarded the tangles sheets that were knotted at the end of the bed. There was no mistaking what had occurred during my absence. I immediately felt remorse for the naked man. I don’t think a shot of penicillin would cure him of the disease of the woman before me.

  “You should have called. I would have had the place spruced up for you.” There was no denying the titter of amusement in her voice. All of this was just a game to her. A game I refused to play.

  My eyes flashed up to meet hers, holding her gaze for their briefest of moments, before returning to the task at hand. A smug satisfied grin plastered on her lips. I fought the sneer twitching at my own.

  There was no way I believed a word that spewed from between her lips. Had she known I was coming home I would have seen more than one man dive into the closet. This was a well-rehearsed act; the same song and dance that had been played on repeat for the past four years.

  Ignoring the weight of her glare, I continued to unpack my bag.

  “Is this what we have come to? You are acting like a mute?” Irritation hung heavy in her voice upon receiving no reaction from me.

  Once upon a time, I would have taken the bait she so happily dangled before me. I would have run with it. I would have raged angrily and engaged in a visceral argument with her about the state of the apartment, about the fact that she was supposed to be my girlfriend and yet she had no qualms dragging another man into our bed.

  That time had come and past. I quit letting her rile me up years ago. Much to her demise, I grew a backbone. I refused to let her win. Her hold on me was coming to an end.

  I knew it.

  She knew it.

  There was nothing she could do to escape it.

  I refused to give her ammunition to use against me. I refused to allow her any power over me.

  I turned, taking a stack of freshly pressed undershirts to the large mahogany dresser against the wall, ignoring her.

  I caught a flash of movement out of the corner of my eye. I ducked just in time to catch sight of an object sailing over my left shoulder before hitting the wall with a thud. Glass shattered around me, raining down along the chest of drawers and onto the carpet. I fought the urge to flinch away. I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

  “Have you nothing to say?” She raged as more items sailed across the room, smashing against the wall in front of me. I stood like a statue, refusing to cower.

  “What would you like me to say, Angela?” I asked calmly as I placed the now glass laden stack of clothing on top of the dresser.

  “Anything. Do you not care anymore?” She continued to rage on as more items sailed past.

  I almost laughed out loud.

  Almost.

  The truth was I never cared. I knew it and deep down she knew it as well. Only she refused to see it.

  “I have nothing to say, Angela.” I held my voice steady. It took everything I had in me to remain passive - unaffected.

  I had a five-year contract, a contract that was almost finished. I had to hold on just a little longer.

  Closing my eyes I inhaled deeply, drawing every ounce of strength I could muster.

  I shoved my hands in my pockets, willing them to remain steady as I focused on the pounding of my heart, the blood pulsing in my ears. I could already feel a migraine blooming. I wasn’t even home five minutes and it’s started.

  Leaning against the glass-laden dresser I crossed my legs casually in front of me, my posture a mask of indifference as I faced her.

  My eyes raked across her, assessing, waiting. She stood, naked as the day she was born, across the room, her hair flowing wildly around her. I watched as her chest heaved with every ragged breath she took. Her perfect teardrop breasts rising and falling with each inhale and exhale, nostrils flaring.

  Her eyes were molten lava, hatred boiled within her. Anger flashed through her story gray gaze. Her arm was drawn back as she white-knuckled a thick clear glass vase.

  “I’m done. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t make you love me.” Her voice resigning as the fight left her. The gale force winds in her sails left her deflated.

  The vase she had been holding fell to the ground, shattering the silence that hung after her words. Her shoulders rising and falling with each labored breath.

  I stared at her, unblinking. My brain scrambling to process her words.

  “Did you hear me? I said I’m done. You’re free.” She screamed throwing her hands in the air as if to emphasize her point, her shoulders slumped forward in defeat.

  I remained still. Terrified she would take back her words. Fear clenched my chest, spreading through my veins like ice water. Fear that this was all a sick joke.

  “You don’t believe me?” she laughed maniacally as if reading my thoughts. She stalked across the room toward the nightstand in long purposeful strides.

  Wrenching her phone off the docking station I watched as she pounded furiously at the screen.

  With the speaker on, the phone rang, filling the silence of the room.

  “Hello?” My heart began to beat erratically in recognition of the voice on the other end of the line.

  “Daddy, I don’t want this anymore. I don’t want him.” Angela cried out in an agonizing wail. White hot tears threaded down her surgically enhanced cheeks.

  “What’s the matter, Darling? Did he do something to you?” The voice on the phone demanded, the beginnings of rage rumbling in his chest.

  Angela’s eyes met mine silently taunting me. I watched the cogs turn in her mind. I watch as she calculated her options, weighing the outcome of her response. My eyes narrowed in response, a silent challenge.

  “No, daddy. I just don’t want him anymore. He’s old news. His career is in the tank. There’s no use beating a dead horse” Her words were meant to maim me. Had they come from anyone else’s lips, they may have. But this was Angels and she was a cold-hearted bitch. Her words meant nothing to me. Nothing.

  Angela’s eyes never left mine as she spoke. Smug arrogance brought her top lip up in a sneer of disgust.

  I watched as the broken woman suddenly transformed back into the spawn of Satan I had grown accustomed to over the past few years.

  I wouldn’t have been surprised if horned had sprouted out of the top of her head.

  “Fine, fine. His contract is about up anyway.” The voice sighed in relief, resigned to keep his daughter Happy.

  “Come on home, Darling. We’ll figure this all out.” Without another word, Angela ended the call.

  Waves of emotion flashed through her eyes, anger, rage, regret, disappointment. I didn’t react. I stood there, on the other side of the room. Watching. Waiting. My heart hammering in my chest.

  I refused to take joy in this moment. Nothing was set in ink. As fast as she had terminated the contract she could easily reinstate it. All it would take was one phone call.

  One simple call to Daddy and I would continue to be tethered to her until our five years were up.

  I wasn’t naïve. I knew I wasn’t getting out of this so easily. I knew Angela, she always had a plan. She was the queen of twisted games. I only hoped I would be far enough away from her before she made her next move.

  I refused to relax, to enjoy the moment. I refused to breathe in a sigh of relief until I had the shredded contract in my hands.

  Chapter Two

  Makayla

  “Thursday night tacos,” Lisa shouted excitedly as she broke out into a dance routine, shaking her hips as she pumped her arm out in front of her mimicking the cabbage patch. The light-weight material of her pink floral sundress shimmied with each thrust of her hips.

  I should have been embarrassed by her outburst- I wasn’t. Like any reasonab
le best friend would do, I joined her.

  Laughing together we ignored the outlandish stares of the other patrons in the supermarket as we waited in the checkout line at the local Food Lion.

  Things were always like this with Lisa, easy, crazy, and so much fun. She was my better half. My crazy half. The cream to my Oreo.

  Every Thursday Lisa and I got together for a girls night. Tonight was no different. With both of our busy schedules, Thursday nights were the only time we had to get together.

  We had everything needed to make tonight a girl’s night to remember, margarita mix, chips and salsa, and the ingredients for tacos. It had been a tradition for as long as I could remember.

  “Oh, my Gawd. Do you see this, Makayla?” Shooting quick a glance over my shoulder I saw Lisa with a magazine in hand. With a chuckle I shook my head, returning to the task of loading the conveyor belt with groceries.

  Lisa had always been fascinated with the celebrity gossip mags whereas I preferred not to read them. There was no doubt she would be filling the evening telling me all about the latest Hollywood scandal as we sipped margaritas while painting our nails.

  Who needed to read the rags when I could get all my entertainment from my best friend, complete with sound effects and dramatic gestures?

  Lisa’s loud gasp caught my attention.

  I giggled lightly shaking my head in mock shame. “What is it this time? Did one of the Kardashians get new butt implants?” I knew she wouldn’t be able to hold the gossip in. That gasp meant only one thing, she was just dying to share the latest bit of juicy chatter of Tinsel town.

  “Read this.” She replied sternly thrusting a magazine into my face. The cover was so close my eyes nearly crossed. With a quick roll of my eyes, I grabbed the edge of the magazine and pushed it back from my face, the image on the cover finally coming into focus.

  It was one of the weekly tabloid rags, featuring all of Hollywood’s gossip and possible Bigfoot sightings. The kind that always seemed to find their way to the checkout counters in every grocery store across America. The outrageous headlines touting proof of alien babies and wolf children.