“Oh, you don’t have—”
“You saved my son’s life, so yes, I do,” John cuts me off, a large hand clutching his chest.
“Well, I’m not thinking of anything right now.” I tap my foot, pretending to look nervous.
“That’s alright, Mia,” John says with a sympathetic shake of his head. “Whenever you think of something that you need, my offer will still stand.”
Good.
“Like a blank check, kind of thing?” I look up at him through half-closed eyelids, batting my eyelashes that I took time to curl this morning, knowing that I’d have an audience of enemies waiting for me. No way will they catch me on a bad hair day, no matter what hell I’m going through.
John chuckles at that but nods regardless.
“Yes, Mia, just like a blank check.” He laughs. “You’d make a fine negotiator.”
“You think so?” I laugh, hoping my mother has tuned all this out and isn’t listening. If she is, I’m in shit.
“I know so.” John winks. Good, he thinks we’re going to get along well. Grim satisfaction moves through my system. See, if I ever believed in fairytales, and wanted to star in one, I’d be one of the stepsisters, not Cinderella.
“Why thank you, Mr. Fitzgerald.”
“Please, call me John,” he rushes to correct, and I smile sweetly, glancing at my aunt, a sly look on my face.
“Maybe soon you’ll be Uncle John,” I tease with a smile, ignoring the bile rising up my throat as I say that.
I kissed both your sons. They both hate me. One of them broke me.
My aunt’s face clouds another shade with anger, but she plays the game, smiling at her fiancé, all fake, pretending to be sweet and pliable, just like the women in my family do.
“Wow, I’d love that.” John chuckles again, placing a kiss on Aunt Nicky’s head. If he notices that she’s angry, he doesn’t let it show.
Yup, I’ve got him hook, line, and sink him. It’s no wonder Aunt Nicky managed to convince him to put a ring on her finger, even though she once swore she would never wear a handcuff as small as a wedding ring.
One thing’s for sure though, I’ll be collecting on that blank check one day.
Inside, I’m smiling like an evil deviant. I look up to the second floor and catch Julian’s hard glare on me.
I send a wink his way, then grip my mother’s wheelchair and follow nurse Hayley to our new home.
For now.
17
“Okay, Mom,” I start, kneeling before her. “This is where we’re at for now.”
I grab her hands but they’re cold and trembling. I quickly stand up and grab a blanket that I notice laying on the state-of-the-art bed.
“It has a memory foam mattress to help her sleep better.” Hayley had explained the moment we entered the sick suite—that’s what I’ve decided to call it anyway. While it doesn’t look overly sterile like a hospital room, it does still resemble a clinic. Well, a private, wealthy patient admission only, kind of clinic.
“It looks like this is our new home.” I start, keeping my voice low and soft. She looks at me, but she can’t focus on my face. That hurts but I forge on anyway. “I’ll be here with you all the way.”
“It’s a beautiful, cold house.” It takes her a while to say those five words, but I grin anyway. My heart feels full, like it’s about to burst.
“It is dreary, isn’t it?” I chuckle. “They could use a little more color. Maybe even some soft, classical music to liven the place up. Don’t even get me started on those godawful drapes they have in here.”
But I’m not sure if that will heal the many fractures hidden by the splendor and elegance of this mansion. The same can be said about our house too. No amount of color or music can heal what doesn’t want to be healed.
“A little more life, my sweet baby,” she says ever so sweetly. I suck in a deep breath. She hasn’t said sweet baby is so long, it causes my chest to crack.
Tears well up in my eyes as I hold her hand in my grasp.
“Don’t cry, Mia,” she whispers softly, trying to focus her gaze on me.
“I know, I look ugly when I cry.” I laugh, looking down, feeling the tear roll down my cheek. Mom used to say that when I was around eight or nine. I’d cry over silly things and, well, the best way to shut me up was to threaten my beauty in any way. “My eyes are just sweating to moisturize my skin.”
It’s a shitty excuse, I know, but the alternative is stupid and so out of the question. I’m not going to cry when she’s the one suffering. She should be dancing, but instead she’s deteriorating right before my eyes.
Right before summer, when there’s a gentle breeze that sways with your body, lightening your gait, is the best time to dance, she used to always say, and I know she misses it with an intensity that makes her fall into depression.
When she’s like that, she keeps everything from me, even her voice. I feel so depraved, so lonely and unloved, I act out. Always tense and angry, I’m tired of it.
But right now, I have her with me.
She tries to smile but it doesn’t quite get there. Then she tries reaching up to wipe my tear, but her muscle spasms start all over again, breaking my heart. All over again.
“It’s okay, Mom. I’m alright.” I whisper, then get up, wanting desperately to change the topic. “You know, they told me they have a jacuzzi and an indoor pool. I know you miss swimming. Do you want to go?”
It’s not like we didn’t have a pool at our house. We did. A huge one.
But as the ALS progressed, worsening her health, it also worsened her spirit. One afternoon, she just stopped wanting to go outside for a little stroll in the garden, let alone swimming like she used to.
More often than not, I’d find her in the ballet studio, just sitting there, in the middle of it all, devastation written all over her beautiful face. It didn’t take me long to realize that the kind of devastation my mother was going through wasn’t the type sweet words or sympathetic understanding nods can ease or cure.
I didn’t need a doctor’s confirmation to realize that my mother was sad and depressed. You can’t really tell someone whose life light is dimming by the second to just snap out of it, because the weather’s good outside or the water feels good.
Dad tried that.
It backfired.
So, I’d just leave her alone in the room she loved the most, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably, while I silently and privately broke down not far away, until it was time for her to eat and take her medicine.
Then when the divorce was finalized, she never set foot in the studio ever again. When we drove over here, she didn’t even look behind at the house she once loved, found love, and where loved failed her.
“Nicky,” she stutters.
“I’m right here, sis.” Aunt Nicky strolls in, shooting me a ‘you’re-in-trouble’ look as she walks over to her sister and kneels by her.
For some reason, watching them talk feels like an intrusion. I’ve always felt that way about my mom and aunt. It’s like they have secrets between them that they don’t want me to know. So, I leave the room and go down the hall to the room Hayley said would be mine.
Before I can open the door, I notice another door to the left of mine. It’s almost hidden to the far left, blending in with the beige walls. My curiosity gets the better of me, and suddenly I want to find out all the secrets this house might be hiding. You never know when you might need one in your arsenal.
Looking behind me, there’s no one, so I walk toward the small door. I know I shouldn’t be snooping. This isn’t my house, and if I’m to guess, we’re not going to stay here for long. Not if I know my aunt. That woman doesn’t have a commitment, house-bound bone in her body. Soon she’ll get bored and leave and I need to be prepared for that.
I reach for the handle and twist. The door creaks just a bit but gives as it opens.
Darkness greets me but I step through the door anyway. I’ve never been afraid of the dark, I live in
the dark.
I notice a staircase in the dimness of the room and walk toward it. Without another thought or a moment of hesitation, I start going up the stairs, wanting to see where they end and why they’re hidden.
The stairs are old and a bit rickety, but they do look like they’re used quite frequently. I reach the first floor and notice a door with a neon green sticker at the back, glowing in the dim stairwell. Without a doubt, I know this must be Liam’s floor.
Not waiting, I continue up the stairs to the second-floor landing and it’s then that I hear voices.
“—clean it up.” A deep voice says. I hold my breath, stepping closer to the door. “The police will be checking.”
The police?
“Well, it’s not every day that something as exciting as a car exploding happens in Palos.”
Chills race up and down my spine as soon as I hear his voice. It’s deceptively low, a bit edgy and rough, just like when he growled his displeasure in my neck. A shiver of remembrance races up and down my spine but I shake it off, trying to listen to who he’s talking to. I assume it’s Cole.
“The thing about fucking rare events is they attract attention, dude. And we don’t need that right now.”
They’re talking about Friday night. I still have that damn remote and I still have to talk to Julian about it.
“Copy that. I’ve already got a guy on it as we speak.” Julian’s deep voice reaches me, and I swear, it gives me more than tingles down my back.
He’s like, the manliest guy I’ve ever seen. Everything about him just presses me in some way. His no-fucks given attitude irritates the fuck out of me. The way he doesn’t seem to give a damn about anything or anyone except for his brother, makes me kind of hate and admire him.
But then, the fact that he isn’t a pretentious snob like all these assholes I’ve grown up seeing in Palos Verdes makes him a thrilling species of his own making.
And something in me wants to rebel in front of him. To be wicked and cold.
I refuse to think it’s because I want him to notice me.
“Dude, we need to get out there. Can’t trust a single soul to do shit for you or it’ll come back to bite us in the ass.”
“Yeah.” A pause, then, “I have to go see Liam first.”
As I listen carefully, I think his voice sounds kind of static, with an echo, as if coming from a speaker. They’re definitely talking over the phone.
“This is fucked up, J,” Cole says, his voice deep with strain. “Have you talked to him?”
“He was asleep when I left. I’ve been home for an hour, going back out now.”
“I’ll meet you there.”
“Thanks, dude.”
“But, J, are you going to talk to him?” There’s static silence, then, “About the deal with big John and college?”
Julian made a deal with John?
“Fuck, Cole, I haven’t.” Julian’s deep voice sounds frustrated now. “Shit’s just hit the fan and I… I don’t know, man.”
“Well, you need to tell him, man.” Cole sighs. “It’s better if he hears it from you.”
“I know.”
“So, did your guy find anything at the site?”
“Yeah,” Julian says but just before he can say more, my phone rings so loud, making me jump.
Shit, shit, shit!
Panic sets in my bones. I look back to the stairs and try to calculate how long it’ll take me to get the hell out of here before he notices me. The distance and the time I have before I’m caught red handed, divided by the way the stairs are set up—yeah, the chances of me escaping are close to nothing.
Okay, shit. What should I do now? Own my snooping or be a coward?
My mother never raised me to be a coward. I own my shit, so without another thought—knowing damn well that Julian knows I’m behind the damn door—I pull my shoulders back, tuck my hair behind my ear and release the breath I was holding in.
Opening the door with all the attitude of every vixen bitch that ever existed in my family tree, I walk in only to stop short like I’ve just been electrocuted.
Julian stands there, right in front of the door, staring down at me, his face darkened with anger, his gaze hooded and so damn pissed off.
And he’s completely naked.
Holy. SHIT!
I try so damn hard to control my reaction but I’m failing. I notice his perfectly toned, defined, and ripped body, with rivulets of water dripping from his hair down to the rest of his body, evidence that he just took a shower and he doesn’t give a damn about a towel or else…
My sex clenches so tight, I almost moan and I hate the knowing look in his eyes, like he knows what I’m feeling.
My God, he’s mesmerizingly perfect, I can’t look away, not from his broad shoulders, or his cannon of arms that flex under my intense gaze. Or his slim hips and narrowed waist that I notice when I follow the rivulets of water down his thick neck, to his pecs, his amazing eight-pack that flex and it’s then that I notice the tattoo that seems to come from his back, reaching to the front. And suddenly I’m desperate to see it, almost salivating.
Something seriously messed up, hot and wild, settles in my core as I stare.
I gulp and his head angles to the sound. I look away, but for some reason, the rivulets of water running down his body have my attention, so I follow them, noticing his large muscular build—evidence of all the hours he spends training, perfecting his game—down to his navel where his…
“Oh, fuck me.”
I whisper the words as liquid fire shoots straight to my core when I notice his rock-hard erection, straining toward his navel.
After yesterday, I know he’s big but seeing him now…fuck.
He’s thick and long, with an impressive girth that renders me a mute, salivating fool, and nothing but a pile of wanton need. I want to touch him, to taste him and I want him in me, it’s insane.
“What the fuck were you doing?” Julian’s harsh voice is low, thick with anger mixed with arousal that jerks me out of my internal lust fest.
“Uhh,” I stutter, not knowing what to say. All I can do is stare, unabashed, my mouth watering, fighting an insane need to take a step closer to him, mount him, and ride him seven ways to next week like a freaking porn star.
Shit.
This is so not me. I’m not a fool when I see guys, good looking guys but when I see Julian Fitzgerald, dressed and now this…
I don’t know what he sees on my face, but his pupils dilate as he watches me, his body tense, matching the coiled tension in me. There’s a current between us that threatens to take both of us down with the force of it.
“Like what you see?”
I don’t miss the condescending way he says that or the look in his eyes as he takes me in, standing in front of him like he isn’t bothered at all by his nakedness and he doesn’t care that I can see him.
“Please, I’ve seen better.” I brush it off and that makes him even angrier.
“Get the fuck out of my room.”
Yes. He’s totally right. I’m coming across as a stalker right now. I swallow, trying to keep my eyes on his face.
“I have to talk to you about last night,” I start, my voice scratchy and thick with arousal.
“You mean the fact that you and your fucking boyfriend planted a bomb in my car to kill me?” Julian states, his voice hard, making me gasp with shock. “Yeah, orange will look good with your cuffs. Too bad you won’t be her when your dearest mommy goes.”
I gasp, my heart shattering in my chest at those words. They sting a lot, but before I can say anything, he pushes me back a step, then shuts the door in my face. The loud clicks and dials of the door locking also make me jump as the bitter realization sinks into me.
Not only did Shane set me up, but Julian is going to make sure I pay for something I didn’t do.
Orange really isn’t my fucking color!
18
It’s that devilish wink that’s sealed her fate.
For Little Minx, it’s just a matter of time.
The thing is, I don’t know where she stands or who exactly she is. Fake, yes. Mean with necessity, but a conniving player? I don’t see that in her, but I have a feeling she came with her A-game. Which means one thing for me.
I have to make sure she burns herself to the ground on a large scale, as grandiose as her entrance into my house.
There’s no way I’m going to just let her roam free in my castle, in my kingdom, living a lie about her life, her mother and every broke, shitty thing about herself.
“Well, the good news is, she’s stayed out of your way so far,” Cole chuckles, as we shoot hoops.
“It’s only been two days, jerk,” I grumble, thinking of her snooping around from Sunday then the look on her face when she was checking me out. “It won’t take long until someone leaves that house in a body bag.”
“I don’t think it’ll be her, man,” Cole says, dribbling the damn ball with a skill that brings out my competitive side. He does that shit a lot. “If I had to bet, my money would be on that girl, she’ll kill you in your damn sleep.”
“Fuck you, asshole,” I grit out but he’s fucking right. I wouldn’t put it past her to slit my throat in my sleep. Then there’s the Saturday thing. “But she might be a killer on the loose.”
“A lipstick killer?” Cole raises a brow, watching me, then in three perfectly executed twists around me, he shoots and scores.
“Yeah!!” Cheers and screams come from the bleachers as soon as Cole shoots and I almost groan in pain. I’d forgotten that we have an audience.
“Did they have to come along?” I grit out, trying my hardest not to look at Casey or her posse of popularity-loving, power hungry, nasty bitches with attachment issues, who couldn’t understand the words, ‘we’re nothing’. Or better yet, ‘I’m not your fucking boyfriend.’
Devious Kisses: A Bully Enemies -To-Lovers Romance (It's Just High School Book 1) Page 23
