Part 1 (1/2)

Drop Dead, Gorgeous.

J. D. Mason.

Dedicated to those who just can't let bygones be bygones.

And So It Goes ...

The Bible teaches us to turn the other cheek-forgiveness-and to love thy neighbor. It also teaches us another lesson-an eye for an eye. At the end of Beautiful, Dirty, Rich, the first book in this series, it looked like our girl Lonnie had come to the end of the road at the hands of lover boy, Jordan Gatewood. But as I was writing that scene, something inside me struggled against letting Lonnie Adebayo go.

A voice in my head screamed, ”No! Not Lonnie! Let it be anybody else, but don't kill off Lonnie!”

I liked her, and the thought of losing her so soon, before I'd really gotten a chance to know her, left me feeling as if I was saying good-bye to someone who could've been my friend if only we'd had more time together.

Drop Dead, Gorgeous is the opportunity to do just that. It gives me a chance to know Lonnie and what makes her tick. So turn the page and let's see what she's working with.

Not the Place I'm Supposed to Be She was raw meat; a muddy puddle of her former self, but Lonnie Adebayo was alive. Her eyelids were so heavy, and Lonnie wanted more than anything to close them and to rest, but if she did that ... if she did that, she'd die. Or, she wouldn't, and he'd come back. Jordan would come back and ...

”Her blood pressure is still high,” someone said. ”You're alright, Lonnie. You're safe now.” Lonnie felt her head being stroked.

”No!” she heard herself say, as she cowered away from the person.

Her voice didn't sound like her voice. Her skin, her body-it all felt foreign to her. It wasn't a part of her. Her body wasn't her own. Not anymore.

Lonnie was surrounded by voices, and light, and sounds that came at her too quickly, too loudly. Clamoring noises, the sounds of machines, of people, all talking over one another. The light hurt her eyes. Dear G.o.d! Could someone please turn off the light? She tried to raise her arm to s.h.i.+eld her eyes from it, but the pain shot up her arm and through her neck like knives. Lonnie cried out.

”Stop it,” a woman said abruptly. ”You need to stop!”

”Who...?” Who was that woman? Perfume. It smelled ... pretty. Lonnie tried to turn her head to where she thought the voice may have come from.

”Lie still, Lonnie,” someone else said. Another woman. How did she know Lonnie's name?

Who told you my name? she wanted to ask, but when she tried, fits of coughing took her over.

”Drink,” she was told. A plastic cup was pressed to her lips, which felt like they'd been injected with novocaine. The cold water soothed her swollen throat. ”The police are on their way. You need to tell them who did this to you.”

”Who called the police?” another woman asked.

”It's protocol in occurrences of rape. A counselor's on her way too, Lonnie. Her name is Nancy. She's very nice, and she'll help you through this.” A woman with short blond hair pressed her warm hand to Lonnie's shoulder. ”Try and get some rest.”

The police. Yes. Yes, Lonnie needed to ... to tell the police what he'd done. He needed to be arrested, and to have to stand trial for this. The police were coming and Lonnie would tell them everything, every nasty, filthy detail of what he did to her, and how she begged him to stop-how she told him over and over again that he was hurting her ... killing her! The police would go after him. They'd find him, and it wouldn't matter who he was. He'd committed a crime. He'd beaten her nearly to death, and if it weren't for her ... if it weren't for the woman with the perfume- ”The police can't know,” the woman hovering over Lonnie said in a hushed tone. ”You can't tell them.”

”W-what ... the ... h.e.l.l-” Lonnie struggled to say.

Of course the police needed to know. He needed to be punished. He needed to go to jail.

”You're alive, Lonnie,” the woman whispered. The fragrance she wore wafted through her long hair, brus.h.i.+ng against Lonnie's cheek. ”Be glad you're alive and keep your mouth shut.”

Lonnie forced her head back and forth. ”No,” she managed to say again. Lonnie's vision was so blurred that all she could see were the outlines of images. ”I'm ... tellin' ... everythin'!”

”You do that and you'll be making the biggest mistake of your life,” the other woman threatened. ”You know how he is, Lonnie. You know what he'll do.”

Was this b.i.t.c.h crazy? Lonnie had been brutalized. The police were on their way, and Lonnie wouldn't let them leave until they knew exactly what Jordan Gatewood had done to her. Until he was behind bars-until the whole world knew what that b.a.s.t.a.r.d had done to her-Lonnie would be looking over her shoulder. She'd be waiting for him to walk through the door of this hospital room, or any room where she could be, expecting him to find her and to finish what he'd started. He walked out of that house believing that Lonnie never would. And she'd be d.a.m.ned if she'd let him get away with what he'd done.

”Who do you think they'll believe?” that woman continued. ”He's a Gatewood. He's the Gatewood, and ultimately, it'll be your word against his. Who do you think they'll believe? Why would a man like Jordan Gatewood put his hands on you? Why would he be bothered with a woman like you? What are they going to think, Lonnie?”

She wasn't serious. Lonnie couldn't believe what this woman was saying to her, especially now, especially when she was the one who walked into that house and found Lonnie lying there on the floor, naked and bleeding. Men had no right to put their hands on women. He had no right to put his G.o.dd.a.m.ned hands on her!

”He'll be livid when he finds out what you've done. And he'll find you, Lonnie. They'll set bail, and Jordan has the money. You know he'll pay it, and he'll know that you turned him in, and he'll know you're alive, and he'll find you. He'll know you're alive. He won't stop coming after you.”

”What-” A lump swelled in the back of Lonnie's throat. ”Why ... are you sayin' ... this?” she asked bitterly. ”Why?”

This woman had helped her. She'd practically carried Lonnie to her car, poured her into it, and gotten her to the hospital. And she'd stayed by Lonnie's side the whole time. She could've left her here, but she didn't. She had helped her, so why ... why was she saying these things?

”Because I know him. You know him. And you know that if he knows you survived, he'll come after you. You know that he won't stop until he finds you, and you know that he will kill you. Maybe not with his own hands, but you can't beat him. You can't win, Lonnie. You know this. Be smart. Think! You know what I'm saying is true, Lonnie. You know what'll happen. You know.”

Lonnie was afraid. She could not recall ever having this kind of fear before in her life, but it was here, blanketing her, and the realization took her breath away. Mental images of his fist slamming into the side of her face came rus.h.i.+ng back to her. The searing agony of him violating her from behind, not with himself, but with something- He'd thrown her across the room, and Lonnie remembered the cras.h.i.+ng sound of the table, splintering into pieces underneath her as she landed on top of it.

”... he'll know you're alive, and he'll find you. He'll find you. He won't stop coming after you.”

Jordan Gatewood wouldn't spend one moment of his life in jail. He'd call some high-powered attorney of his and have him waiting for him at the precinct before Jordan even climbed out of the back of the police car. And he'd know that it was Lonnie who had reported him. He'd know that he hadn't killed her, and he'd be free.

”You have your life,” the woman said emphatically. ”Your life, Lonnie. Take it and run before it's too late.”

The woman had been kind enough to dial the number for Lonnie, and she held the phone to Lonnie's ear. When Phillip answered, Lonnie finally broke down sobbing, relieved to hear his voice, and desperate for him to come for her.

”It's me,” she said weakly. ”Phi-ip, it's Lonnie.”

”Lonnie? What's wrong? What time is it?”

Hot streams of tears burned down the sides of her face.

”He'll know you're alive. He won't stop coming after you.”

”C-come get me?” she pleaded, praying that he would come for her and that he would hurry before Jordan somehow found out that Lonnie didn't lay dying or dead in that house and that she was here. ”Come get-”

”Where are you, sweetheart?” he demanded in that British accent of his she loved so much. ”I'm on my way, Lonnie, but you have to tell me where you are!”

The other woman pulled the phone away from Lonnie's ear.

”She's at Mount Sinai Hospital in Fort Worth. It's just off...”