GREED (The Seven Deadly Series) Page 5

  His neck turned beet red.

  “Shut the fuck up, Spencer!”

  My fists clenched tighter and my chest met his. “Make me, you lousy piece of shit!” I yelled in his face.

  Bridge stood and pulled me away. “I’m keeping it, Dad,” she said, charging past me toward the stairs.

  Mom stood with her hands over her mouth, unable to speak.

  “Stay right there!” Dad yelled, and she, like I, was powerless to disobey. “Come here,” he said more steadily.

  She descended into the sunken living again and stood beside me once more, this time trembling.

  “I—” she began.

  “Shut up.” Her mouth shut tightly. “You forget,” he said, with frighteningly quiet intensity, “I have a lot of political pull in this city. I’ve got a handful of doctors sitting in my back pocket right this minute. So, I’m only going to say this once. You will take care of this of your own volition and immediately, or I will have you deemed of unsound mind and get one of my judges to approve any medical procedures I see fit. Now, think about this for a moment, Bridget. Imagine how difficult I could make your life if I had this kind of power over you.”

  My heart pounded in my chest. “You wouldn’t,” I said, scared by him for the first time in a very long time.

  “Wouldn’t I?” he asked me and only me, a devilish smirk across his face. And, of course, I knew he would. “I consider it your job to make sure she goes through with this,” he told me.

  He walked out of the room, never looking at Bridge or my mom again.

  “Bridge,” I said softly, edging toward her.

  Her eyes became glassy. “No,” she whispered. Tears spilled over. “No,” she said again.

  “Bridge,” I said, reaching for her, “we have to.”

  My mom wrapped her arms around her, and I wrapped my own around both of them.

  Bridge and I talked all night and I finally convinced her that going in was the best thing because either way, dad would make sure it was done. Going in voluntarily would at least save her the punishment of my dad controlling every aspect of her life for the rest of her life. He would do it too, just to punish her. I didn’t trust the man before, but I never thought him capable of the threat against Bridge until I saw the expression in his eyes. He showed me how truly heartless he was, how he was willing to take down his own daughter to achieve what he wanted and any miniscule feeling I had left for him was snuffed out the second he proclaimed it.

  She agreed that her friends and classmates would desert her, judge, and mock her as well. She didn’t think she’d be able to weather their torment. She remembered a classmate of hers getting knocked up and the hell she was put through. She decided she wouldn’t go through that.

  The next morning was cold and bleak, as the sun had yet to rise. The early morning noises felt overgrown and ominous, leftovers from an unusually black night. I opened the car door for Bridge, the chill in the air seeped deeply into my bones, the weight of our decision, of what we had to do, heavy on our hearts. The sadness emanating from her made me hesitate opening my own door. I would have given anything not to sit inside the car with her. Maybe it was the fact that I knew I was forcing her to do something she didn’t want to do. Maybe sitting next to her was a reminder of that. Either way, I was a selfish asshole and I knew it.

  The chill in the air made me shiver. I got in, started the engine and blasted the heat. Bridge had curled up into herself, the leather creaking beneath her, a little ball of a girl, her long blonde hair in a messy bun on her head, not a stitch of makeup on her face and her eyes red from crying the entire night.

  “It’s okay, Bridge,” I assured her, pulling out onto the long drive that led from the house to the main street.

  She curled up tighter, resting her head against the freezing window, staring out into the dark morning. Six in the morning and we felt so alone on the road, only the occasional city truck or passerby would grace us with a roar as they crawled past us, their tailpipes puffing into the frosty air. It was a farce that California was seventy year round. In the winter, we occasionally got fifty- or sixty-degree temperatures, which doesn’t seem that low, but when the sun is vacant, it feels like it could snow and the cold bites your fingers with stiffness. That morning it felt like my entire body was numb with that same stiffness.

  My stomach ached and my mouth went dry when we pulled into the clinic’s parking lot, a seemingly opaque haze fell in a fog over its surface. I pulled into a space near the front and got out, wrapping my jacket tighter around my chest and walking to Bridge’s door. When I opened it for her, she just sat there. I had to lean in and unbuckle her belt.

  “Come on, Bridge,” I said softly, her dazed eyes stared ahead of her into nothing. Her expression gave away that she saw the same.

  I grabbed her upper arm gently and guided her out of the car. She leaned into me and I locked it with my key fob.

  When I opened the door to the clinic, it appeared, for lack of a better word, used. The chairs were old, fading and peeling their pleather cushions. The walls were, at one time, white but had dulled and stained yellow. The ceiling was missing a few fiberglass tiles; some were present but cracked or missing large chunks where protruding wires fell at strange angles. The floor was a checkerboard pattern of light blue and white vinyl tiles. A bronze trash can from the seventies rested near the door beside a low fiberboard table full of magazines whose subject matter contradicted the very purpose of the clinic itself. The chairs lined the walls, and there was a row of two seats in the center.

  There were four people already in the waiting room, a couple who sat against the wall nearest the door and two girls around the same age on the opposite end of the room from them. I sat Bridge in a chair toward the center, facing the couple, and approached the window. An older woman in her fifties slid back the glass partition.

  “Yeah?” she asked, smacking her gum.

  “Uh, we had an appointment today at seven a.m.”

  “Name?” she asked, picking up a clipboard.

  “Bridget Blackwell.”

  She checked a list then grabbed yet another clipboard and handed it over. The pen was attached to the top with a chain. “Yeah, fill this out. We’ll call you.”

  She pushed the partition closed without a second glance and I sat next to Bridge.

  “I’m sorry we couldn’t do this at a hospital, Bridge,” I told her. “The whole point of this is to be discreet so people don’t find out.” She nodded. “You need time to recover before school starts too.”

  “I know, Spencer,” her worn voice told me.

  I looked at her then noticed the guy in front of us. He was laughing at something on his phone while his poor girlfriend looked terrified, her arms pressed tightly against her abdomen. He looked up at me and smirked, gesturing with his head toward his girl before rolling his eyes, an attempt at camaraderie. When I didn’t bite, he went back to his phone with a picture of a naked girl on the cover, and obnoxiously laughed at whatever text he’d gotten. All he made me want to do was kick his ass and tell the girl to run as fast as she could.

  I began filling out the paperwork while Bridge sat bent into herself on the chair. Halfway through the tedious process, I looked over again to check on her and looking at her hair triggered something. For some reason, I was bombarded with memories of when she was little. She had this ridiculously curly hair, and it was always wild about her face, regardless how hard my mom tried to contain it. She’d put it up in some sort of clip but sure enough, five minutes later, it was a blonde halo around her face.

  I remembered her being four or five, her melodious little squeaky voice with a lisp inviting everyone she could within a five-mile radius, stranger or not, to her ballet recital. She wore her leotard, ballet flats and tutu every single day for two weeks, practicing every opportunity she could, dancing to imaginary music throughout the whole house. I thought she was so goofy in the head but, and I’d never had said it out loud, especially at the time, I tho
ught she was adorable.

  I remembered summers when I felt too cool to stay at home. I’d leave around ten in the morning, head out to the pool to say goodbye to my mom. Bridge would’ve already been swimming two hours by then, a two-toned, thin, little nothing of a kid constantly yelling out for us to watch her make the same dive over and over again. Her lisp gone by then but her falsetto “please, Spence” got me every time. “Fine, Bridge,” I’d tell her. She’d dive in and come up; her eyes round with anticipation. “Amazing, Bridge!” my mom and I would always say, clapping.

  I remembered skinned knees, birthday parties, school plays. I remembered when boys first started noticing her and that protective part of me warning off every one of my friends. I remembered the first time she came to the Holes. I marched her off to my car and drug her ass home. She was furious at me, yelling the entire way, but I’d be damned before she attended one of those things. Never mind the fact I went to them every weekend. But then I went off to college and there was nothing I could do to stop her. And then there was this. This awful, shitty thing my dad was doing to her...I was doing to her.

  “Shit,” I said under my breath, crumpling up the paper I was filling out then throwing the freaking clipboard onto the seat next to me.

  “What’s wrong?” Bridge asked.

  “Let’s go,” I said, standing up.

  “What-what do you mean?” she asked, confused.

  “I mean, let’s get the fuck out of here.”

  “No, we stay.”

  “No, we go. You don’t want to do this anyway.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Dad will—”

  “Dad won’t do shit,” I told her.

  “How’re you gonna stop him?”

  “I just am, okay? Let’s go.”

  She stood up hesitantly. “What’s your plan?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, “but I’ll figure it out.”

  I walked to the door but stopped when I noticed the young girl and her douche boyfriend. I dug into my back pocket and pulled out my wallet, grabbing every bit of cash I had.

  “Seven hundred fifty dollars,” I told the girl, “all yours if you leave this dickhead right now, go home and tell your folks. I can even give you a ride home if you want.”

  “I’ll take it,” she said without hesitation, standing.

  “Wait a minute!” the jackass said, moving to stand himself.

  I glared at him. “Sit your ass down,” I ordered in my most fierce voice.

  The guy backed down.

  “Need a ride?”

  She looked over at Bridge and Bridge nodded. “Yes, please.”

  When we reached the car, her eyes widened.

  “Where’d you get a car like that?”

  “My dad bought it for me,” I told her, cringing at how obnoxious that sounded.

  “Damn, he buy one for you too?” she asked Bridge. “You’re brother and sister, right?”

  “Yeah,” Bridge admitted, buckling herself in.

  “You guys look exactly alike.”

  Bridge and I smiled at each other.

  The girl’s name was Valerie; she was a junior in high school and had only been dating the guy at the clinic for three months. He told her he’d loved her, told her he would “take care of her,” that if she got rid of the baby, he would marry her later. I told her he was lying and an asshole. She asked how I knew that, and I told her, “I’m a guy, Valerie.” She took that as explanation enough, or maybe I’d confirmed what she already knew.

  Valerie’s house was tiny and in a bad neighborhood but was clean with a decent car in the drive. Her parents obviously didn’t have a lot of money, but from what I could tell, they worked hard for what they did have.

  When we pulled in front, her dad was leaving for work, I assumed. I got out of my side of the car and pulled back my seat to let her out.

  “Valerie?” her dad asked, hesitation in his voice. “Who’s this?”

  “Just a friend,” she said. “Can you come in for a second?”

  “I’m late for work already.”

  “Please, it’s important,” she said.

  “Fine,” he said, heading back up their wood porch.

  Valerie began to follow.

  “Wait!” Bridge got out of the car and ran up to Valerie, throwing her arms around her. “Don’t be afraid,” she whispered. Valerie let a tear slip and nodded her head before climbing the steps herself.

  We both got back into the car and drove a little bit in silence before Bridge started to break down. She faced the window, but I could see her pained expression through the reflection.

  “We pretend we got rid of it,” I said.

  “Okay,” she said, her hand going to her belly.

  “I have an idea, but I need some time.”

  “Fine.”

  I knew I only had a few days before my dad figured out that Bridge was still pregnant, and I had an idea of what I needed to do, but I was looking for the perfect opportunity to do it.

  Christmas Eve morning, two days after we left the clinic, I woke early, throwing on a t-shirt because it felt a little chilly. Our house was pretty much floor-to-ceiling windows, and the floors were stone. In other words, it didn’t matter how much money you had, it was damn near impossible to warm the place.

  I dialed August, my roommate back at Brown. Ladies, hands over ears. This is how dudes talk and I apologize.

  “What’s up, fucker,” he answered. Told ya.

  “Hey, asshole. What are you up to?”

  “Oh, you know, a little of this, little of that. This is named Ashley, that is named Farrah.”

  I laughed. “You’re a sick bastard.”

  “I learned from the best, douche.”

  “I taught you much, young Jedi, but I never taught you that. Guess I’m just a higher breed of human.”

  “I’m gonna take an axe to that fucking pedestal, nuckfut.”

  “Still couldn’t knock me down to your level.” I laughed before turning serious. “Listen, uh, I’m sort of in a jam out here. Think you could do me a favor?”

  “Yeah, whatever you need, dude,” he added, all joking aside.

  When I got off the phone with August, I padded over to Bridge’s room and knocked on her door.

  “Come in,” she grumbled.

  I opened the door and found her hunched over a trash can.

  “Yeah, we’re not going to be able to hide this for long,” I said, shutting the door behind me.

  “Shut up,” she complained uncharacteristically.

  “Why don’t you keep crackers by your bed?” I asked, repeating something I’d overheard somewhere.

  I noticed her face looked pale and her eyes were watery. I wanted to kick the ass who did this to her.

  “I do, but nothing works. Nothing. I mean, nothing works. All eating crackers gives me is something more substantial to throw up. God,” she groaned, “I wish I’d never let this happen.”

  “Dude, it’s pointless now. What’s done is done.”

  “Thank you, Spence,” she bit sarcastically.

  I hid a smirk.

  “What’s the plan? Send me off to our cousin’s? Pretend my nonexistent husband died in the war?”

  “Funny, but not too far off.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I mean, we have to hide, Bridge.”

  “Maybe I can, like, take a semester off, have the baby here, give it up or something.”

  “He’ll never go for that. He’d never risk being exposed.”

  “Well, maybe-maybe we—” she began, the backs of her hands against her cheeks.

  “We can’t anything other than leave L.A.”

  “I can’t,” she answered desperately. She stood, then realized she could barely stay upright so she slumped at the edge of her bed. “I can’t leave L.A. All my friends are here, school. What about Mom?”

  “Mama’s afraid of Dad, Bridge. She’ll only stop us.”

  “Maybe she’d come with us,” she ad
ded wildly, wringing her hands.

  “She won’t. She’ll try to stop us and you know it.”

  Bridge’s hands pushed her hair out of her face. “I can’t do this without Mama, Spence.”

  “Yes, you can. I’ll be there.”

  “It’s not the same,” she said honestly.

  My heart broke for her a little. “I know, Bridge, and I’m sorry for that, but this is what we have to work with.”

  “What are we going to do about money? Where are we going to go?”

  “I’ve got some money,” I hedged. “August is helping us with the rest.”

  “August knows?”

  “Yeah, I had to tell him.”

  She huffed, reminding me of the teenager she was and making me cringe a little. “Fine.”

  “Okay,” I said, stretching across the carpet that laid at the foot of her bed. My feet hung over a few feet but I didn’t care. I tucked my hands behind my head. “Okay,” I repeated, trying to remember everything August and I talked about. “August’s grandparents own a remote cattle ranch in Montana. He’s going to talk to them and let us know if we can hide out there, at least until you turn eighteen and Dad can’t touch us.”

  “Dad can find us anywhere. This seems pointless,” she said, hanging her head in her hands.

  “Not this time, trust me.” She didn’t believe me, but she wasn’t going to argue. “You know how Dad always yells at us about how he doesn’t want the liability if we ever got drunk and killed someone driving?”

  “Asshole,” she said under her breath.

  “Well, Mom told me he put our cars in our names to release that liability.”

  “No way,” Bridge said, her eyes widened as she caught on.

  “I know exactly where he put the titles in his office.”

  “He’ll know you’ve been in there.”

  “So what? We’ll be long gone before then.”

  “So we sell the cars and live off that money.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Well, that and I’ve got some money saved up.”

  “How much?” she asked, crashing back down on the bed, her legs still hanging off the end.