Portrait of Gray: Baxter Family Saga, #2

By Palessa

In the ultimate game of Russian Roulette, can Grayson Baxter pull the trigger to save his own life?

Grayson Baxter teetered on the edge of a knife that now cut him to the quick. There he sat with the only friend he had ever known dying before his eyes. In the haze of dusk, he was alone and forcibly sobered toface the reality: it could have been him.

Looking over at the phone, he wondered what to do. Should he call the police, who would swoop and swarm without mercy? Would he call his father who threatened to shut him away from everything just so he could save the Baxter family name?

As darkness loomed, Grayson knew his time was running out. The ghosts were rising. It would take him crawling on his hands and knees to save his own life. No matter whom he called he could never have fathomed how much  more tragic his life would become.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Palessa
• Release date: Feb 1, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524253554

Palessa

Palessa is the author of the Baxter Family Saga series as well as other stories. Her very first published book (aka author's trial by fire) is the interracial romance Unchained Hearts (Baxter Family Saga Book 1) . This crazy soap opera in a book is two love stories in one that opens the door to the life, love, tragedy, and legacy of the Baxters, a powerful, influential South Florida family. Jamaica-born, Miami-raised, Palessa currently lives and writes in the mountains of western Jamaica. In between working on a few other books and marketing projects, she farms, markets, and guffaws at her doggies and chickens and pigs (coming soon). Check out her blog, AuthorPalessa.com to see what she may be up to these days.

Book preview

Continue the Baxter Family Saga with book 2

Grayson Baxter, first born of Julian and Joan, has always been the prodigal of the Baxter clan. He has also been heavily into drugs since he was a teenager. As his brother Cass enters a new phase in his life and is headed towards taking over the family business, Grayson’s drug use worsens. When he attempts to break away from the family that hates him, something goes terribly wrong. After tragedy strikes and with the help of a unique rehab facility, Grayson gets his life back. He discovers and pursues his desire to become a therapist and fall in love with Bindi Gail. Just as they start a life together, one fateful decision tears them apart. Through life’s twists and turns he finds his way from lost to found and learns to love again, Grayson’s journey to survive and realize his path as a Baxter makes his redemption more satisfying.

Table of Contents

Prologue

The One True Heir

Russian Roulette

Bindi, Bindi, Burning Bright

Veritas

Love of the Lost

Ties That Bind

Epilogue

Excerpt: Story of Us

Excerpt: Tobey Fine

Excerpt: Eyubea Girls

Other books from Palessa

Baxter Family Saga Trilogy:

Growing Wild Series:

Sacked & Tackled Series:

About Palessa

Connect with Palessa

Free Reads:

Podcast interviews:

Prologue

DRIVING FROM THE AIRPORT, Grayson took a deep breath. Alone. For three whole weeks. Some men relished time away from their wives convincing themselves that the longer she’s away, the more they’d play. In his case, he’d bury himself in work and miss her every minute she was gone.

As he made the turn onto the highway, his phone rang.

A picture of Cass flashed on the screen of his smartphone that was mounted on his dash. He quickly pressed Answer

Why the hell are you calling me at ten o’clock at night, Grayson chided. Wait, did Kyle give birth? Are we uncles?

Cass chuckled. Relax, not yet. Brandon says they have some time yet even though she’s going crazy.

All part of the process that I remember too well.

Listen, I got a call from Jillian a few minutes ago.

You mean about—

Yeah. She says she needs to meet with us day after tomorrow.

I can make it work.

The phone was silent for a moment before Grayson asked the question that was sitting between them.

Cass, do we want to do this? Digging up ghosts...

You’re the shrink, Gray. If you’re concerned, you can imagine how I feel. But I need to know if she’s alive. Whatever else we find out, we’ll deal with it but—

I hear you. Let me know what time and I’ll move some things around.

After they signed off, Grayson let the silence of the night envelope him. It had been years since he’d even given in to the questions he had about his place in the family. When Cass had told him about putting Jillian to work on finding out more about Joan’s diaries, he knew the possibility was there. But that was a few months ago It was no secret that both Julian and Joan knew more than they said, blurting out pieces of secrets in between coarse words and accusations but the answers Jillian found, those were definite.

The long straight away and the rhythm of the passing streetlights lulled him into a memory that was more like a haze than a dream. He had danced on the edge of a knife, taunting life to take him on. It did and he was within a hair’s breath of becoming another spoiled rich kid tragedy bent on showing everyone else that he wound up destroying himself.

But the gods took pity on him and offered the prodigal son a second chance.

The One True Heir

FLORIDA, 197—

Grayson’s eyes fluttered open. The bright yellow ceiling light blinded him, so he put his hand over his eyes to shield them. The room didn’t look familiar. It had that dingy motel look and feel—grey walls, musty dank smell.

Where the fuck am I? Grayson thought as he struggled to rise up on his elbows in the bed. That was when he heard her moan. Her light brown hair was long and limp. Her ample breasts with dark pink areolas were exposed proudly as her chest gently rose and fell. Her shirt was bunched around her rib cage and looked partially ripped. Below that she was completely naked. Grayson couldn’t remember who she was or what he was doing here. His own shirt was open, some of the buttons missing. His pants were...somewhere and his dick was flaccid, covered in a plastic condom. Grayson dropped back heavily on the pillow, his head still swimming. His bedmate stirred, and then turned to toward him, still fast asleep.

Grayson Baxter was at a loss to explain anything except that he vaguely remembered having sex with her—there were blurry memories of her breasts bobbing up and down. So he had sex with...whatever her name was, in this room. He wasn’t sure of much else. Correction. He was sure he was about to leave. Grayson slowly got up. He steadied himself, buttoned whatever he could of his shirt and grabbed his pants that were in pile in the corner. He pulled off the condom and then tossed it in the direction of the wicker bin next to the bed. Pulling on his pants, he slowly walked to the door and made a silent exit. On the other side of the door, he breathed a sigh and began navigating his way through the corridors, following the bright red exit signs. He knew he was getting close to the outside because the air wasn’t as stale, but it was still.

The night was oppressively muggy and the streets seemed bare and slick with rain. Running his hand through his thick black hair, he looked up and down the street for a yellow cab. Grayson checked his pockets and found his wallet, to his relief. The last thing he wanted was to have to go back to that room. Taking it out, a small baggy with some off-white crystals fell out. He barely remembered taking a hit of this with someone. Was it her? He asked himself, having no luck pulling more of that memory to the forefront. Either way, his body still held hints of that familiar mellowness that came from a good soft landing and he knew he’d definitely have to get some more of this stuff from Jerry. A yellow cab roughly rounded the corner. He held out his hand and it stopped with a jerk. Grayson got in and the cabbie looked at him in the rear view.

Gables, he mumbled, clearing his throat. Blue Road and Battersea Way.

The cabbie nodded, but Grayson didn’t see it as he leaned his head against the window. The alternating dark and light of the night was hypnotic, and in moments, he nodded off. He could have sworn his eyes were only closed for a few minutes, but in reality it was a good thirty minutes before he reached his destination. When the cabbie gave him the fare, Grayson balked.

Buddy, you were all the way in North Miami Beach.

Right. Grayson took out what looked like a twenty, but was actually a fifty, and handed it over. Getting out of the cab he’d heard something about change but was so focused on putting one foot in front of the other that it didn’t register.

Home sweet home. He thought sardonically. He hunted his pants for the key to the back door that went straight to the kitchen. As a teen, he used to sneak in through there because everybody’s rooms were far away enough that he could easily go undetected. After a night of reefers he and some friends-of-the-moment would raid the fridge. Milly, the family’s live-in housekeeper, nearly had a fit when she came in and saw the kitchen tossed and turned. She always cleaned it up and his parents were none the wiser. Gently closing the door behind him and chuckling to himself, Grayson silently wobbled up the stairs to his room, stripped, and just climbed into bed on top of the covers.

It was nearly noon when he was sober enough to get up. The Florida sun was particularly blinding as beams peeked through the curtains, and a thin film of sweat covered his body. He rolled over and opened his nightstand drawer, pulling out a burnt blunt and some matches. Some weed helped with the appetite, so he didn’t waste away like other users. Tossing his legs over the side of the bed, he slowly got up and walked into his private bathroom.

He looked in the mirror at his dark mane and bright blue eyes for no more than a second. Grayson was never one to look at himself in the mirror for long. At the age of twenty-four he was already too scared, knowing that the abyss behind his eyes was always staring back. He’d managed to live a relatively useless life and had no desire to stop that endeavor. He was the eldest child of Julian Baxter, head of Baxter Chemicals, and his elitist socialite wife, Joan. Together they were the crème de la crème of Gables society, residents of their own prison-like two-story manor that intimidated the right people and impressed the wrong ones. His younger brother, Cass, was the up-and-comer, and Quinn, his thirteen-year-old sister, was the mouse of the family, hiding in the library or in her room, forgotten by the rest. She was the lucky one, he thought. Everyone had their place, their role to play in this damned family.

Just then, he heard his door open and saw the profile of someone he’d never seen before. She was young, with a stately mane of thick black hair framing her face and a body he was sure was built in all the right places.

Hello, brown sugar, Grayson growled as he stepped out of his bathroom and leaned against the door jamb. Who are you?

She looked at him from head to toe, her face immutable as she replied, I’m Virgilia. I was hired to help Milly.

Grayson heard her speak and couldn’t really believe that this woman before him was some maid. She looked more than that. One thing was for sure, she was definitely a looker.

Like what you see? Grayson moved closer to her, smiling wickedly. He’d never thought of himself as particularly handsome, but he was more than aware of the effect he had on women of all colors, shapes, and sizes. Saying nothing, she turned from him. Virgilia’s cool response and her steady demeanor led Grayson to conclude that she was one of those prudish cucumber types. He watched her hips sway as she left and nodded his head.

After taking a hit of weed, Grayson showered, shaved and hopped downstairs to the kitchen. He yanked the fridge open and surveyed the landscape. One thing about the weed, it hit him quicker than most and when he was hungry, he was ravenous. Pulling out a plastic tub, he opened it and inhaled deeply. Milly’s famous Cajun chicken salad. He tossed the container on the counter, then pulled out bread, milk, and a wrapped package of thick, fresh steaks, and eggs. He was no chef, but managed to handle himself pretty well when he needed to. Grabbing a wide pan, he loaded it with butter, turned on the fire and waited for it to melt before cracking a few eggs and adding one of the steaks. The pan began to spit, but soon all of the contents calmed down. Grayson slathered some chicken salad on bread, then chomped on it. He couldn’t recall the last time he ate, but he swore nothing had ever tasted so good. Putting the glass jug of milk to his lips, Grayson guzzled nearly half of its contents before continuing his assault on the sandwich.

Hearing the commotion, Milly walked into the kitchen and gasped. Mr. Grayson! You’re home.

Grayson nodded, his mouth full of food.

We were so worried about you. Your mother nearly called the police.

Belching unapologetically, he replied, Why? I was only gone overnight with some friends.

Milly looked at him and turned her attention to the food on the fire. She walked over to the stove and took over the cooking, flipping the eggs and steak. You’ve been gone since Tuesday afternoon and now it’s Thursday.

Nearly choking on his sandwich, he muttered, No shit! Grayson made a mental note that he definitely had to get some more of that stuff. Milly plated the food and handed it to Grayson, who hurriedly took the last bite of his sandwich before practically inhaling the fried eggs.

Just then, his mother, Joan, walked in.

Grayson! she exclaimed, hand on the base of her throat. Where have you been? Joan sounded more annoyed than worried. You could have called! Your father was about to call Chief Tarton. Even in the privacy of home, Joan Baxter never passed up the opportunity to drop the names of the influential friends, especially those in the law enforcement.

With a derisive snort, he replied, Didn’t mean to worry the old man. Grayson seriously doubted that Julian even knew he existed, much less that he was out for two days. Joan was the one to always say and do the right thing for all involved.

Joan looked at Grayson’s plate and at the counter. Is that Julian’s steak?

Yes, Miss Joan, Milly responded timidly.

I was hungry, Grayson volunteered. I started frying them up. Tell the old man he can bill me. With that, he grabbed his plate and left the kitchen. Egg shells, opened bread, half-drunk milk, all of his mess left behind.

Clean this up, Milly, commanded Joan as she looked around and sighed. And have that new girl, Virgilia, pick up the new steaks. She should be good for something.

Milly nodded. Joan and Milly got along because Milly understood the proper order of things, but this new girl was a different story. She had a sense of entitlement and pride. Joan grew up with barely a spoon in her mouth, silver or otherwise. With a few strategic moves, she maneuvered her way into the life she had now. She did what she was supposed to do—got married, had children, did all that was expected of a woman of her position. That was a part of their deal. The children had nannies, the family had maids and she let them handle the dirty bits while she went about her business, which left little time for runny noses and dirty diapers. That’s what the help was for.

The next few days went by in much the same fashion. Grayson would hang out by the pool, then disappear for a few days with some friends. He’d spy the new girl, Virgilia, every once in a while, try to tease her, but she wouldn’t bite. She was a tough customer; one that would just as soon light him afire as pay him any attention. He soon gave up the attempt.

Grayson’s need to get away reached its apex when he learned that his younger brother Cass was coming home. Cass was the scion, the pride of Julian, the one slated to take over Baxter Chemicals when the time was right. As a child he remembered how Julian would talk to or even about Cass. It was like he never had a son until Newton Cassius Baxter was born. That was when they broke the mold, he bitterly joked to himself.

Upon realizing that he was the prodigal, Grayson began his role in earnest, taking his first sip of his father’s scotch. He was fourteen and wanted to know more about that brown liquid his father sipped and swirled. He wanted to do it just like he did. When Julian was out, he went into his office and poured it in one of the crystal glasses. It smelled spicy and somewhat pleasant. It couldn’t taste that bad, he’d thought and drunk it down. Grayson nearly choked. It made his mouth numb and burned his throat, but he was determined to be a man about it. Forcing his body to recover, he wiped the tears from his eyes and poured another. This time, he sipped it and let it go down in smaller doses. It didn’t taste as bad the second time, or the third, and pretty soon he was pouring himself another drink and laughing at imaginary jokes.

At Riverside Everglades—a private school—he and his friend Jerry would share joints. It was the sixties and while love was becoming more free, drugs were definitely a more favorite pastime, especially for those who could afford it. Weed was