DISCOVERY (Esquire Black Duet Book 1)

by Hayley Faiman

  “That stacked as fuck chick from McDonald’s office?” he asks as his mouth drops open in surprise.

  My smirk stays firmly planted on my lips, even though I kind of want to punch him in the face for commenting on her body, my body.

  He lets out a low whistle, then talks before I get the chance to hit him.

  “You fucker. She’s hot as shit.”

  “I know.”

  I watch as something comes over him and he gives me a wry smile. “Tell me something,” he murmurs.

  He leans forward as if he wants to keep this conversation a secret. Though I’m not sure who from since we’re the only ones in here.

  “Those tits? Are they real?”

  The anger floods my veins instantly, like a shock to my system, and there’s no way that I can control my outburst, even if I tried. My control is fucking nonexistent.

  “You talk about my woman like that again, and I’ll pound your fucking ass into the floor,” I shout.

  I snap my lips closed, unbelieving that I called her my woman. He smiles slowly, holding his hands up in surrender.

  “Sorry, brother, fuck. Just curious.” He winks before he stands.

  He turns and walks away, I watch him go and sink down in my chair.

  What the fuck did I just say?

  I declared her as mine, my woman, not just for some fucker that has a hard-on for her, but to my friend.

  Shit.

  This woman has me by the balls.

  Chapter Twelve

  BROOKLYN

  Tired.

  No—exhausted is what I am.

  I drag my ass up my walkway, tiredly shove my key into my door and unlock the stupid thing.

  I need sleep. I need to rejuvenate from this weekend. I’ve never felt old, not really, until this exact moment. I’m only twenty-six, no way should I feel this way.

  Once I’m inside, I glance at my phone and let out a sigh. No missed called, no text messages, no new emails. Nothing. He hasn’t contacted me.

  I try not to read too much into it. Maybe he’s just as tired as I am. We did spend two full days together, and I know that I’m exhausted.

  Lucas is at least ten years older than me. Plus, his position as a partner is much more intense than mine.

  I’m sure he was swamped today. But a text message would at least be nice.

  Doubt climbs up the inside of my throat, choking me. He’s shoved me to the side. Why do I have to be attracted to the absolute worst men?

  Then, because I’m that pathetic, I wonder how he’s holding up.

  Letting out a breath, I lock my door behind me. I don’t even bother going to the kitchen for food. All I want to do is strip my sweaty yoga clothes off, soak in a hot bath, and then fall asleep.

  I check my phone one last time as I finish climbing the stairs, like a fool, wondering if maybe in the last thirty seconds I’ve possibly missed a notification.

  I haven’t.

  I really, really, want this to be about more than just a few hookups. Although, I’m probably wishing on a dying dream when it comes to him.

  If he ignores me completely, it won’t be a hard decision to stay away from him. I won’t be made a fool of by reaching out to him.

  We’ll just quietly end, and I’ll have but a few memories of the orgasms he gave me and a nice briefcase to show for it.

  Grabbing the hem of my shirt, I start to lift it up and over my head, when something on my bathroom mirror catches my eye.

  I freeze, my shirt halfway over my torso. There are words, written in black marker, and my eyes scan it as I stand completely frozen.

  Time’s almost up, cunt. Tick-Tock.

  I don’t scream. I want to, but I don’t. My voice is gone, my throat dry. Slowly, I back out of my bathroom and reach for my phone off my dresser.

  All of my strong independent woman shit goes completely out of the window. So do all of the thoughts I once had about not using Lucas as my knight in white shining armor.

  I look for his name and thankfully my shaky fingers find it quickly.

  “Black,” his voice states harshly.

  I wonder if he even realizes it’s me. Then I wonder why I care if he realizes it’s me or not.

  “Lucas,” I say through my trembling lips.

  My voice sounds frightened, even in my own ears. I hate how weak I sound.

  “Where are you, kitten?” he demands.

  I whimper before I speak. “I’m home, Lucas, there’s a note,” I say through a sob. Slowly, I sink to my ass, resting my back against my dresser.

  “Stay where you are. I’m ten minutes out,” he barks before he ends the call.

  All of the doubt I felt just seconds ago, it completely vanishes. Lucas is coming to me. He’s coming right now, dropping whatever he was doing, and I can’t wait.

  I need to feel safe, in his arms, with his scent and strength surrounding me, I feel exactly that—safe.

  How I thought that I could just walk away from him, I don’t know.

  How I thought I would be fine if I never heard from him again, if I just used that bag and went on my merry way, I’ll never know.

  I need him too badly, and that is downright terrifying.

  I stay planted exactly where I am, unable to move as I stare at the words on the mirror, my head turned to the side.

  Tick-Tock.

  What the fuck?

  Why is someone after me?

  What did I do to deserve this kind of mental harassment? Who did I hurt to make them lash out at me like this?

  My eyes well with tears, and I can’t hold them back a second longer, no matter how hard I try. My shoulders start to shake as tears stream down my cheeks.

  A pounding on my door causes my entire body to jolt, and then I hear Lucas call out from the other side. Standing, my feet know exactly what to do, and they carry me downstairs, taking me closer to him.

  Wrenching open the door, I throw caution to the wind and launch myself into his arms.

  He scoops me up, holding me against his chest, his hand strokes my hair for just a moment.

  His lips brush the top of my head before he demands that I show him.

  Closing my eyes, I inhale deeply, then let out my breath with a heavy exhale before I take a step back out of his arms.

  Wrapping my hand around his, I tug him up the stairs behind me.

  I refuse to go back in the bathroom, watching him walk past me, his hand leaving mine.

  Seconds later, he’s in front of me, fury raging in his eyes. “Do you have that detective’s number?” he demands.

  I nod jerkily and he slips my phone from my hand as he scrolls through my contacts and presses a button.

  He states what’s happened and places his hand on his hip before he turns to me, his green eyes dark and angry.

  Sucking in a breath, I bite the inside of my cheek at his expression. He is full of raw energy, raw anger, and he’s looking right at me.

  I want to run to him and throw myself in his arms again. I don’t. I stay planted exactly where I am, afraid to move even an inch.

  “I knew I shouldn’t have let you come back here, alone. They’re on their way. Change out of those before they get here?” he grunts, dipping his chin to my yoga pants.

  “What? Why?”

  His eyes darken, they’re almost black and they glitter. “Kitten, that fucking Detective Warner already has a hard-on for you, and you’re standing here in a sports bra and pants so goddamn tight I can make out every fucking curve of your body. Cover it the fuck up.”

  “Lucas,” I hiss.

  He takes a step closer to me, his hand wrapping around the back of my neck as his lips press against mine hard and fast.

  “You’re mine while we’re doing this, Brooklyn. I have fucking rules, and one of those rules is nobody that’s got a chubby for my woman sees her practically naked.”

  My eyes widen at his words. I’m not practically naked, but I did come from yoga and I’m appropriately dressed.
r />   I almost argue with him, my eyes narrow as I look into his still almost black gaze.

  His fingers tense around the back of my neck as he presses his lips together, watching and waiting.

  Deciding I’m too frazzled to argue, I jerk out of his grasp on a sigh and walk over to my closet.

  Grabbing ahold of an oversized shirt that I only wear when I feel like shit, I tug it off of my hanger. Slipping it over my head, I pull it down over my body so it falls, covering me from chest to ass.

  “Better?” I ask.

  He grunts as the doorbell rings, and I know that’s the end of this discussion. Lucas turns from me and begins to head down the stairs.

  Not wishing to be up here with the creepy message a second longer, I follow behind him. Before he opens the door, he turns around to face me.

  “You wear that shit to the gym again, without me at your side, we’re going to have fucking problems,” he states.

  I open my mouth to reply, but he doesn’t let me say anything else as he decides to yank the door open.

  Snapping my lips closed, I narrow my eyes at his back. Lucas steps to the side and both Detectives Anderson and Warner on my front porch, watching us.

  LUCAS

  Warner’s eyes shift from mine to Brooklyn’s. There’s something working behind them, but I don’t give a fuck what it is, I won’t fucking stand for it.

  I allow the officers to walk inside, even if I want to tell Warner to fucking kick rocks.

  Detective Anderson immediately clears his throat and asks where the message is.

  “It’s on my bathroom mirror,” Brooklyn murmurs from my side.

  Wrapping my hand around her waist, I tug her closer. Making it clear to Warner where she belongs, but also attempting to give her a bit of support.

  “She received a threatening call Friday night. They mentioned something she was doing, as if they were watching her from somewhere.”

  “What did they say?” Warner asks, his eyes flicking from mine to Brooklyn’s.

  I grind my jaw together, not wanting to say anything, but then I smirk. It will be hilarious seeing his reaction to the words that fucker said to her.

  A little proudly, I tell him, “They said they hoped she had fun during her fuckathon.”

  Brooklyn gasps and tries to pull away from me, I don’t let her, keeping my grip firm. I never told her what the voice on the other line said. I just told her to pack her shit.

  Both detectives clear their throats, but I don’t look to Anderson, not when Warner is looking at me like he’d give his left nut to pull out his gun and end me right now.

  Bring it the fuck on, Detective.

  “How about I show you the message in the bathroom?” Brooklyn asks, interrupting our stare down.

  Anderson lifts his chin. Reluctantly, I release her waist and watch as she starts to make her way up the stairs. Anderson follows behind her, then Warner, which I’m sure is so he can watch her ass as she climbs the stairs.

  I don’t go with them. My spot at the bottom of the staircase gives me the view of Warner, without having to be right next to his ass.

  I can’t wait to shove his nose in more shit, it’s comical watching his raw responses to everything.

  She shows them the mirror, and I hear their cameras snapping pictures.

  They explain to her, again, that there isn’t much they can do. All of which I hear from my place at the bottom of the stairs.

  A few minutes later they file down the staircase and Brooklyn walks straight to my side, causing my lips to tip in a grin.

  Warner frowns at the sight, which only causes me to smile a little bigger.

  “Do you have a girlfriend, parents, you can stay with?” Warner asks her.

  Brooklyn opens her mouth, but I don’t let her speak. “She’ll be staying with me,” I state.

  Her body locks tightly next to mine, but I choose to ignore that. I feel her eyes on me, burning into the side of my face, but I can’t turn away from Warner, the prick. I feel too goddamn victorious right now. I win, I always win.

  I’m sure I broke some kind of chick rule when I didn’t contact her at all today, but she’ll live. She’s just going to have to understand that I can’t be that to her.

  I’m not the call and text kind of guy.

  I’m the fucking kind of guy. Not that it matters anymore since she’ll be at my place. She’ll have no choice but to get it from me from now on.

  I wait for them to leave, they reassure her that she can call anytime anything happens and eventually they’ll catch the person. I hold back my snort.

  Yeah, they’ll catch the guy, after he fucking assaults her, or worse. That shit is not happening—not on my watch.

  “I need to take a shower and go to bed,” Brooklyn murmurs.

  Locking her door, I turn to face her before I wrap her in my arms and pull her body against mine.

  I don’t know why I’m holding her right now. Warner is gone, and yet, I want her in my arms anyway.

  “I’ll clean up that mirror and we’ll go to bed,” I murmur, brushing my lips across the top of her head.

  “Lucas,” she sighs, sounding annoyed.

  Shaking my head, I dip my chin, lifting my hand and cupping her cheek. “From now on, you’re not alone. Either I stay with you, or you’re at my place—but, kitten, this shit is getting out of control.”

  I watch as her eyes fill with tears, and it makes me supremely uncomfortable. I’ll protect her until this is over, I’ll hold her, and I’ll fuck her, but I will not deal with crying. Not unless it’s my hand landing on her ass that’s caused her tears.

  “No tears,” I grunt.

  She reaches up and wraps her small hand around the side of my neck before lifting on her toes. Her lips brush mine once, then twice.

  “You don’t have to, but thank you, baby,” she breathes.

  I swear to Christ, it goes straight to my cock. She makes me want to be a better man, she makes me want to change.

  Too bad I’m too far gone, too fucking old to change. For her I would have, had I met her ten years ago, I would have bowed down to her.

  Without replying, I ask her for window cleaner and paper towels.

  She must know I’m not going to discuss the sleeping arrangements anymore, as she scurries into the kitchen and comes back with both items.

  Telling her to wait for a few minutes, I jog up the stairs and into her bathroom.

  That fucking message stares me straight in the face, and it pisses me off. I want to break her fucking mirror, but I don’t.

  Instead, I spray it down with the cleaner and watch as the words melt and slide together.

  Brooklyn doesn’t deserve this torture. Whoever is doing this needs to be stopped, permanently. Enough is enough.

  “Is it gone?” her soft voice rings.

  I turn around to see her standing at the entrance of the bathroom, her back to me.

  I take in her body, needing to be inside of her, it’s been almost twenty-four hours, and yet, it feels like it’s been a lifetime.

  I shouldn’t be turned on, especially while still holding the cleaner and rag in my hand, I shouldn’t, but I am.

  “Yeah,” I mumble.

  I finish wiping down the mirror, erasing the words from the glass. Even still, they’re fucking etched in my brain. I don’t know that I’ll ever forget them, or the way she looked when I arrived tonight.

  It bothers the fuck out of me, and that feeling, it makes me uneasy. I’ve never felt this way about a woman in my life.

  Little, amber-eyed Brooklyn has me all kinds of twisted. I don’t move as she strips out of her tight workout clothes and starts the water in her shower.

  Her gaze avoids the mirror as she keeps her eyes focused on the tile flooring.

  “Are you going to just watch me?” she asks, finally turning her head to look over her shoulder at me.

  My eyes skirt down to her round ass, and I can’t help but imagine it red from my hand again. It was so
fucking pretty. Breathtaking really. Just like the rest of her.

  “Lucas?”

  Lifting my eyes to hers, I give her a cocky smirk, trying to cover up and hide my train of thought.

  I wonder if she can see right through me—curious if she knows that she’s starting to burrow herself into me, into my bones, down to my goddamn marrow.

  “Yeah, I’m going to watch,” I chuckle.

  Brooklyn laughs, though the sound is strained, as she steps into the shower. The steam rises, and I do watch her, but I’m not seeing her.

  My mind wanders.

  For whatever fucked up reason, I think about what kind of mother and wife she’s going to make some other man.

  He’ll be some fuck who lives in suburbia, and she’ll probably end up driving a goddamn minivan.

  Then I think about two boys and a girl who have her smile, her eyes, and her laugh. Minivan and carpool lane aside, that guy, he’s going to be one lucky fuck.

  I almost wish that it could be me.

  I wish that I could be that man for her.

  “Baby?” Brooklyn calls out.

  She’s suddenly right in front of me. I don’t know how she already finished her shower, or when she wrapped herself in a towel but here she is.

  Tipping my chin down, I take her in. Her face is pink from the warm water and clean of makeup.

  Her dark hair is wet and hanging down her back, her bangs are slicked away from her forehead, she’s so fucking pretty.

  Yeah, that minivan driving fucker is going to be lucky as shit to have this woman at his side for the rest of his life.

  If I were a better man, I would try everything in my power to be that man for her. If I weren’t some asshole, if I knew I wouldn’t completely destroy her.

  If I thought that I could be monogamous, good and clean for her.

  Distracting myself from my own thoughts, I wrap my hand around her waist and pull her closer before my lips touch hers.

  “How about I fuck your shitty day away, kitten?”

  I hear her breath hitch, and then she laughs softly against my mouth. “Sounds perfect,” she breathes.

  Picking her up, I carry her toward the bed. Tonight, I feel like she needs gentle. It’s been a rough as shit day. I’ll fuck her hard later, but for now, I’m going to keep it on the softer side.