The Arrangement Duet Box Set Read online

  I give up trying to figure out his motives and get ready for bed. Unfortunately sleep doesn’t find me easily, and I’m in the pool by three thirty, desperately trying to swim the memories of the nightmare away. I keep looking for Nicholas, expecting to see him by the pool like he was the other morning, but he never appears. Part of me is disappointed but part of me is also relieved: I’m not sure what I would say to him if he were here this morning.

  Since I won’t be seeing Nicholas again until the charity dinner on Saturday, I figure I have two days to figure out if I should say something to him or just forget that it happened or wait for him to bring it up. Vowing not to think about the kiss again today, I spend the morning doing laundry and getting ready for my shopping trip with Cara.

  Knock Knock

  “Are you ready, Kenzie?” It took weeks, but I’ve finally convinced Hunter to stop calling me Ms. Rose.

  “All ready,” I confirm. “Are we picking up Cara?”

  “We’re meeting her at Neiman’s; Ben is picking her up.”

  When we arrive at the department store, Cara is there waiting for us and immediately engulfs me in a huge hug when she sees me approaching. I’m surprised that Nicholas has arranged for us to have a private dressing room for the entire day along with a personal shopper. Cara doesn’t bat an eye at the arrangements, so I assume this is pretty typical for her when she goes shopping for events like this.

  “Kenzie, you have to try this on!” Cara holds up what can only be described as gaudy… I desperately try to come up with the words to tell her that there is no way in hell I would be wearing that to the dinner on Saturday night without hurting her feelings.

  “Oh my God! You should see the look on your face!”

  “I thought you were serious!” I join her in laughing.

  “I hate trying on dresses, so I like to mix it up and try on silly ones. It helps pass the time and makes the trip more enjoyable.”

  “Ah, makes sense. In that case, you should try on this,” I hold up a neon pink beaded dress that looks like something out of the 50’s.

  Over the next hour, we have managed to hand the personal shopper dozens of dresses to be hung up for us in the dressing area. The room is a large room with two areas closed off with curtains to provide privacy while we change. The entire room is reserved for us, so as Cara and I try on outfits, we take turns modeling them. I’m trying on the third dress when I hear my phone buzzing with a text. Cara apparently decided to send Nicholas and me pictures of the dresses we have tried on so far.

  Sorry for the texts while you’re at work. I hadn’t realized Cara was going to send you the pictures –Kenzie

  Up until now, I haven’t had Nicholas’s cell phone number, so I hope he doesn’t mind me texting him. I’m sure he is swamped at work and the last thing he needs or wants is to receive texts from Cara as we play dress up. When he doesn’t respond, I stick the phone back in my purse and continue on with our modeling show.

  A couple of hours later, Cara and I have both found dresses for the charity dinner on Saturday. As Nicholas predicted, Cara doesn’t bat an eye when I hand the personal shopper his credit card as a payment for my dress. Hunter arranges the delivery of the dresses while Cara and I discuss lunch plans. We settle on a small bistro a few blocks from the department store, but the minute we step out of the dressing room, we are blinded by the flashes of cameras.

  “Right this way, ladies.” Hunter leads us through the crowd while Ben follows closely behind.

  “Where’s Nicholas Parker?”

  “Is he aware that you two are out shopping?”

  “What event are you shopping for?”

  “Mackenzie, what do you say to the rumors that Nicholas Parker can’t keep a woman happy?”

  “Cara, why do you think all the women in your brother’s life run away from him? Is he hiding something?”

  “Why don’t you all just leave my brother alone? It’s none of your business what he does with his personal life!” Cara exclaims just before we split up to head toward our cars.

  Thankfully, only a few minutes later, I’m safe inside the SUV, although a couple reporters continue to snap pictures of the car. Honestly, I don’t understand what the big deal is: I went shopping with Nicholas’ sister—this is news? With everything else going on in the world, reporters decide they need to focus on what we bought for a charity dinner?

  Lunch another time? – Cara

  Definitely –Kenzie

  “How did they know where we were, Hunter?”

  “We suspect one of the employees tipped off the press after recognizing you. We are trying to determine who notified the press so it can be addressed.”

  I shake my head in disbelief; while I worked as a personal shopper, I never would have dreamed of calling the press if a client was there. Granted, I never worked with anyone I think the press would care about, but still, I wouldn’t have invaded someone’s privacy like that. When we reach The Accord, I’m once again thankful for the security in the building as we pull into the private underground parking garage that can only be accessed by a key card.

  If the paparazzi were following us, they wouldn’t have been able to make it into the garage. This week has forced me to realize that I need to accept Nicholas’s offer to stay here through the duration of our arrangement. I realize I could never afford to live in an apartment with this level of security, which means I would be dealing with the press on my own every time I left my apartment or tried to come home.

  I change into a pair of comfy yoga pants and a fitted T-shirt when I get back, and curl up on the loveseat with a book. Unfortunately, the lack of sleep from the previous night catches up with me and I soon fall asleep. I must have slept for a couple of hours because when I wake up the room has darkened, since l didn’t leave any lights on. I grab my phone to check the time and realize I have a text message from Nicholas.

  I need to talk to you. Are you free tonight? –Nicholas

  Yes, I’m free. Home now. –Kenzie

  Do you want to come to my apartment? – Nicholas

  Or, if you would rather, I can reserve a private room somewhere? – Nicholas

  No, I’ll come up. –Kenzie

  I know why he offered the private room, but at this point, it’s not necessary. I spent the weekend at his apartment and then we spent an entire day on his boat in the middle of nowhere. I no longer have any worries about spending time alone with him. Plus, I know we’re not truly alone in his apartment since both Julie and Carter live there. I quickly use the bathroom, throw my hair into a messy bun, and slip on a pair of shoes before setting the alarm to head upstairs.

  “Good evening, Ms. Rose,” Carter startles me as soon as I open my door.

  “Oh! I wasn’t expecting you, Carter.”

  “The security codes have been changed since you last used them; the one you had is no longer active,” he explains.

  “Oh.”

  A few minutes later, the elevator doors open to Nicholas’s expansive foyer.

  “Mr. Parker is in his office.” Carter ushers me down the hallway to Nicholas’s office.

  “Mr. Parker, Ms. Rose has arrived,” Carter announces.

  “Thank you, please come in, Kenzie.” Nicholas gestures for me to sit in the chair across from his desk. I’m immediately reminded of the last time I was in here. If Nicholas tries to give me money again, I swear I’m going to scream. I really hope he doesn’t think he needs to pay me for today—

  “Kenzie… we need to talk.”

  “Okay…” Well, this wasn’t what I was expecting, and Nicholas’s uneasiness is alarming.

  “I…. I….” He runs his hands through his hair and takes a deep breath before continuing. “I think we need to end our contract with Bridget.”

  Want more of Kenzie and Nicholas’s story?

  On Her Terms will be available November 2018!

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  Other books by Madison Quinn

  The Arrangement Duet

  On His Terms

  On Her Terms

  Dark Water Security Series

  Luke

  Garrett

  Alec (coming summer 2019)

  Sneak Peek

  Luke

  Dark Water Security Series

  Chapter 1

  Luke

  “What the fuck, boy?!?! Again?” he screams as he shoves me down the dingy hall toward the basement door. “You fucking lost me a lot of money tonight. It’s like you didn’t even try!”

  Because I didn’t try—I’m fucking done. The bruises, the cuts, the broken bones, they all eventually heal, but nothing else changes. When he first brought me to the fights, I stupidly believed his promise: if I brought in enough money, he would let me go. Since then, though, I’ve come to the realization that he’s never going to let me go. Why bother trying? I don’t give a shit how much money I make him or he loses because of me.

  “You’re going to be fucking sorry for what you did tonight,” he hisses as his heavy foot lands on the back of my knee sending me to the floor and my head into the heavy basement door. The room goes black for a moment before I blink it away, knowing that if I lose consciousness again it’ll be much worse. “Just remember, whatever happens tonight is your fucking fault. If you just did what you needed to do, it wouldn’t have happened.”

  I should probably be scared, but I’m so fucking tired of being scared. Part of me is giving up—I know that. I’ve tried escaping but he always finds me before I can get out of this shitty house. I’ve tried playing by his rules: winning the fights like he said, but nothing happened. I’ve lived through all of his punishments so far: each time he’s whipped me with the belt to the point where I’m bleeding, when he’s brought his friends over and let them use me, when he injected me with something that kept me awake for more than two straight days–and so much more, but I survived. What if I’m tired of surviving?

  “Get down to your fucking hole, boy,” he growls and opens the basement door.

  He wouldn’t dare kick me down those steps—the hard concrete floor at the bottom would likely kill me. Though as I stand here looking down into the darkness, not for the first time, I wonder if I threw myself down the steps, would I land with enough force to put me out of my misery?

  “Get down the steps, you’ve lost food for the next two days,” he hisses. “Remember what I said. Whatever happens tonight is your fault, boy–your fault.”

  Just as my feet hit the first step the door slams behind me and I hear the multiple locks engage. Part of me is relieved as I slowly make my way down the dark steps, counting them as I go. The sixth step on the way down has a hole in it; if you step in the center your foot will get stuck. Unfortunately, I learned the hard way when it sent me flying face first onto the steps above me. I split my lip open, sprained my wrist, and added more bruises to my face that night. Since then, I’ve learned to count the steps to make sure it doesn’t happen again.

  The basement has been my… I don’t even know what to call it. My bedroom? My home? My respite? At first, it was my hell; it was cold, pitch dark, damp and the fucking scariest thing I had ever seen. Considering I was homeless and squatting in abandoned buildings after my last foster father beat the shit out of me, that says a lot. I thought I knew what hell was before. I thought living on the street would have been better than with someone who beat the shit out of me regularly.

  What the fuck did I know?

  This became my hell for those first few… days? Weeks? Months? Fuck if I know how long it was, but, eventually, the daily whippings stopped. Eventually, he gave me more than a few sips of water to drink and dry bread thrown on the dirty floor. Eventually, he told me that if I did as he said, he would stop. What he needed was simple: for me to work out in his gym, learn to fight, and then win him lots of money by fighting other boys.

  If it meant he would stop whipping me until I bled, I’d do it. Foolishly, I thought that if he took me out of the house I would have a chance to escape. The first time I tried to escape was the first time I learned what his punishments were really about. After that, I didn’t try when he took me to the fighting ring. Instead, I tried to please him—I tried to win him the money he said would buy my freedom.

  After that, he stopped coming down here. That’s when this place became my respite. He gives me food and water by leaving it on the top step. He allows me upstairs once a day, for an hour, to work out in his gym, only because he needs me in shape for the next fight. Otherwise, this dark, damp, dingy basement is where I can be alone.

  There’s a toilet in the corner and a filthy twin mattress on the floor where I sleep every night. No blankets or pillows, but at least it’s better than the hard floor I slept on the first few nights. After my first fight for him, my reward was a fully stocked first aid kit, though it was void of any medications or anything that could be taken to end my misery. Yup, I checked.

  I strip out of my shorts and underwear on my way over to the shower, though I use that term loosely. A showerhead hangs from a pipe attached to a stone wall in the corner of the room; a drain lies a few feet from it. That’s the shower: no door, no curtain, hell it doesn’t even have walls surrounding it. But it’s clean, and lukewarm water allows me to wash away the blood from tonight’s fight. I could have easily taken that kid; I was bigger and stronger than him. Like he said, I didn’t try though. What’s the fucking point? Whether I win or lose, nothing changes.

  I wash my shorts by hand before turning off the water and hang them on the sink to dry. I don’t have any other clothes, and if these get ruined, he’ll punish me before giving me a new pair. So, I wash them each night, letting them dry when I sleep in my underwear. Tomorrow afternoon, I’ll switch and wash those as well. I collapse on the bed, the exhaustion hitting me the moment my head lands on the mattress.

  “Wakey wakey boy!”

  The bite of a belt wakes me from a dead sleep. I scream out in pain—jumping from the bed and away from the source of the pain. I immediately start to panic, wondering what the hell he’s going to do now; he hasn’t come down here in ages. Even when he’s punished me, he just yelled for me to come upstairs. I learned very early on not to make him come downstairs, or my punishment would be worse. Yet, he’s down here now.

  When he flicks a light on, it takes my eyes a few seconds to adjust, and then my stomach drops even further. Hanging from one of the old, large pipes in the ceiling is a young, nearly naked girl who looks like she’s either been knocked out or drugged. In all the time I’ve been here, he’s never brought anyone downstairs; hell, he’s never had another kid in the house before that I know of.

  “I want you to meet your new roommate.” I hear the belt cut through the air before I even have a chance to realize what he’s done.

  Her scream pierces through the room. I swallow back the vomit that threatens to come up, knowing exactly what she’s feeling right now. I close my eyes just as the next one hits her back.

  “No, you watch.” He cracks the whip against my thigh forcing me to open my eyes. “It’s your fault she’s here.”

  “I didn’t do anything!” I cry out.

  “Exactly, you didn’t fucking do anything tonight, and that caused me to lose even more money. On our way home tonight I realized what the issue was—you have no reason to fight. So, I came up with the perfect solution: meet your new motivation. Let’s see how you feel about someone else taking your punishments for you.”

  She screams out when the belt comes down again on her bare flesh.

  “Stop, please, stop,” I sob not able to watch it
any longer.

  “I thought she might be exactly what you need,” even his voice is sinister. “You lose, she pays. You argue with me, don’t do what I want, she pays. Remember all the ways I broke you when you first came here? I’ll do it all to her, only now I’ll make you watch, each and every time. My friends may have taken a liking to you, but I think they’d like her almost as much.”

  “No!” she cries out just as he yanks her head back by pulling on her hair.

  He steps behind her, rubbing himself against her battered body as she hangs from the pipe. Her eyes are squeezed shut and she has tears running down her face. I need to do something, but I don’t know what to do. I can’t take him—god knows I’ve tried—but each time, he manages to pull out his knife before I get close enough. If he pulls the knife on me now, I won’t be able to help her.

  “Are you going to win the next fight?”

  “Yes,” I don’t even consider another option.

  “Maybe I should give you a little more motivation?” His hand goes between him and the girl. I hear his zipper go down, and it makes my stomach sink even further at the realization of what he intends to do.

  “I’ll win, I swear I’ll win,” I vow. “You don’t need to hurt her anymore.”

  “It seems your new roommate has a soft spot for you already,” he hisses in her ear.

  Reaching around her, he grabs her breast forcefully, twisting it enough to make me cringe. She sobs and tries to arch away from him, but he’s got her bound so tightly, that getting away is impossible. He’s a fucking pro at knots—he tied me like that once and left me for hours. No matter what I did, I couldn’t get out of it.