Commandments

By D.A. Maddox

Garrett Rusk is a billionaire with a big problem: his past. At twenty-five, the heir to Rusk Real Estate Enterprises wants nothing more than a chance to atone for mistakes he made while still a student at college—mistakes that not only continue to rattle his conscience, but also cost him the love of his life.

Fortunately for him, there’s a brand-new business opening up in the city of Las Fornis: Clean Conscience Incorporated, where anyone with money can apply for absolution, and where a very special doctor awaits with a unique treatment, tailor made just for him.

Garrett has chosen this particular therapy because his lost love, Allie McAdams, runs the business. Now a paying customer in desperate need of redemption, Garrett hopes that by surrendering himself to Allie’s mercy and judgement, he might save himself—and perhaps even salvage the love they once had.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Evernight Publishing
• Release date: Apr 7, 2020
• ISBN: 9780369501578

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Published by EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ® at Smashwords

www.evernightpublishing.com

Copyright© 2020 D.A. Maddox

ISBN: 978-0-3695-0157-8

Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

Editor: Devin Govaere

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

DEDICATION

To Melissa, wherever you are.

COMMANDMENTS

D.A. Maddox

Copyright © 2020

Mrs. Dormer poked her head through the open door. Doctor McAdams on line one, Mr. Rusk.

Garrett nodded, his back turned to her. Her face was a reflective shadow in the office window. He almost couldn’t see the over-application of makeup, the age lines about her lips. Tara, his father had always called her. She was twenty years Garrett’s senior. She ought to call him by his first name, just as she’d done all through his childhood. Thank you, Mrs. Dormer, he said, looking down over the city. In the morning light, it looked sleepy, almost normal. That would change after the sun went down.

Mr. Rusk, she said, and somewhere in her deep, mature voice, Garrett detected the faintest familiar hint of gentle reproach. "You really should get used to calling me Tara. I work for you, now."

Garrett closed his eyes. Made himself say it. Thank you, Tara.

And felt another small part of himself die. He turned to her but still didn’t look at her.

Line one, Mr. Rusk, she repeated. Then, with more admonishment, She said she wouldn’t wait.

Line one flashed. Tara closed the door, leaving him alone.

Garrett went to the desk—formerly his father’s, now his. There was nothing plastic or paper anywhere on it. The surface was glass, the body polished ebony. The built-in computer, including the speaker function, was all touch screen. He tapped the icon. Garrett Rusk, he said.

Hello, Garrett.

The voice filled the room, soft and educated and replete with assurance. Garrett considered filtering it through an earpiece—but there was no need. The walls were soundproof.

Is this Doctor McAdams?

But the question was unnecessary. He knew it was her.

It is, she said. You’ve left me on hold for two and a half minutes, Garrett. Like you, I prefer to set appointments through my secretary. My time is valuable, as I’m sure you understand.

I do, he said. I … apologize.

That’s all right, Garrett.

I’ll compensate you for your time.

That won’t be necessary. You’ve already placed a sizeable deposit, well beyond my standard fee. I am concerned for you, Garrett.

Garrett rubbed his temples. I’m okay, he said. I don’t know. It’s just…

You’re hurting. Tell me what troubles you, Garrett. Tell me in one word.

One word? That was impossible.

Say it. You already know what it is.

Garrett shook his head for the benefit of no one. No. I’m sorry, Doctor McAdams. I really don’t know.

A sigh—deep and knowing and patient even over the speaker. I’m glad you got in touch with me, Garrett, she then said. You need help. I believe I can help you.

Garrett’s flesh prickled. Twelve hours ago, this had all seemed a whim. Now, it was becoming real, and there was no longer anyone who could stop him from committing himself.

How soon do you wish to see me?

Garrett looked down over himself. This morning, he wore a dark navy, two-piece silk sharkskin suit with twin-stitched buttonholes and a double-vented back. A matching Bulgari tie. Platinum cufflinks and debossed leather brogues. Even his belt was silver-embossed black leather. All of this was for the meeting with Artie Blatch, who wanted to absorb the majority share in the local football team.

Garrett was dressed for work, not therapy.

We do not dress to impress, his father liked to say. We dress to intimidate.

I—I was thinking … Thursday or Friday, if you have—?

It was Monday. He’d have time to think, to reconsider if need be.

I have time right now, Garrett. Do you?

That took him aback. Now? There was no way. He’d only started considering this option last night, after he’d first seen the ad.

I, uh … have a ten-thirty that I can’t really back out of—

Back out of it.

His father might do that, if only to make old Artie sweat, but he would never do it because he had been told to do so. Certainly, Barnabas Rusk had never needed therapy in his life.

Garrett checked his watch. It was nine o’clock. There was no way he’d make it back in time.

You’re overdue, Garrett, she said. I can tell. This will not wait.

****

The stretch car made a slow left at 23rd and West End. Almost there, he thought. Do you really want to do this?

The answer, Garrett thought, was probably no. But he had to. Among the people who could afford her, Doctor McAdams was the most sought-after therapist of her kind in town, and he needed help. He needed direction, confidence, peace of mind—all of the things that his father, the proverbial master of his own universe, had failed to pass on to his son.

Also, not that it mattered much, but Garrett had already dropped a considerable amount of money. For $2,500 an hour—for a professional only two years in the field—she had to be good. But the thought brought him no comfort. It made him uneasy, even saddened him a little. And yet he’d paid four sessions in advance. Just the interest in one of his secondary bank accounts would cover that in less than a day, but money was still money.

Through the window to his right, the buildings of Las Fornis seemed to roll past him, as though the city moved and not the car. He could hardly feel the motion of the limo at all. From the inside, it was quiet enough for him to listen to his own breathing.

Strip clubs, brothels, television studios—every one of them closed at this hour. It was all decidedly upscale, none of it seedy from the outside. It was his first drive through this particular part of town, his first time looking upon these establishments in person, and yet many of them were counted among his assets.

The city was his playground. Literally. He owned nearly half of it.

Oh, and there was the Office of Employment, and it was actually open. Outside the front door, he could make out the end of a queue—mostly young people. Men and women probably his own age. They were beautiful, hopeful. Destitute. Desperate.

At twenty-two, the day