The Moth and the Flame (When Rivals Play Book 2)

by B. B. Reid

  Tearing my gaze away from Wren’s was harder than ripping off a Band-Aid, but he left me no choice when he looked away, and I could have sworn I saw a flash of guilt in his blue eyes. Eric, the freckle-faced redhead who worked the counter, stood over us anxiously waiting for a response. Neither of us had even noticed him approaching. Frankly, I was surprised he’d seen our fall given his red eyes and the heavy smell of weed clinging to his uniform. I was pretty sure he’d even ratted me out to Wren a couple of times in exchange for a few ounces.

  “We’re good, man,” Wren supplied.

  I said nothing as I carefully lifted off my best friend and busied myself brushing the invisible dust off my body to avoid eye contact.

  Wren was quicker than he should have been to regain his feet, and I realized why when he snatched his vibrating phone from his pocket and answered with a clipped, “Harlan.”

  I watched the light flicker and then fade from his eyes as he listened to whatever the caller was saying. “I’m a little busy. Can’t it wait?” I inched closer in time to hear a lot of yelling and swearing. Wren’s nostrils flared, and I knew there would be steam coming from them if possible. “Fine. Give me an hour.”

  Not again. My quaking heart crumbled at my feet. I just got him back.

  I nearly dislocated my shoulder squeezing into that top this morning, and it looked like all my efforts to gain his attention had been for nothing. As if hearing my thoughts, his gaze found mine.

  “Make that two.”

  I smirked despite my frustrations. At least Wren was smart enough to know that I wasn’t going to let him run away that easy.

  Wren ended the call in the middle of the caller’s tirade and grabbed my hand before pulling me to him and pressing me to his side. His head dipped, and he said, “Congratulations on becoming a senior,” so quietly and solemnly that had I not been intently focused on his lips, I wouldn’t have known what he said.

  “I might not be since you made me leave, and I probably won’t be allowed back.”

  He paused as if only now remembering the conditions of my advancements before saying, “I’ll take care of it.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Of course you will.”

  He buried his face in my shoulder, and I felt his lips move along my collar bone. “Not now, Lou. Please not now,” he pleaded.

  “What’s wrong?” I cried, feeling my gut twist painfully. Something was eating him, and if he couldn’t tell me, his best friend…I tried not to think of the horrifying possibilities.

  “Nothing.”

  “You mean something?” With his arm around my waist, he squeezed me tighter. It was a warning and an effective one. I could feel myself giving in but not giving up. When it came to Wren Harlan, that was just something I couldn’t do. “One of these times, they’re going to split you apart until you shatter, and I’m afraid…” I took a deep breath and willed my emotions away. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to piece you back together again.”

  He lifted his head and quirked a brow. “I’m not easily corrupted, remember?”

  “Yes, but you’re already broken.” He frowned, clearly insulted, so I pressed my hand against his chest right where his wavering heartbeat was. “There’s a rift here. It’s tiny, thin, and almost impossible to find.” I let my hand fall to my side and sighed. “Unless you know where to look.”

  And everyone knew how quickly one tiny crack could splinter and become a gaping hole. Would I even be enough to fill it? We only had each other, after all.

  Exiled was a taboo subject between us—almost as taboo as the idea of us ever being more than just friends—so in typical Wren fashion, he shut down. Stepping back, the muscle in his jaw ticked as his arm fell away. “Noted.”

  “Are you mad?” I prodded with a curl of my lip.

  “No.”

  I might have believed him if he hadn’t looked away defiantly.

  “You sure? You seem a little salty to me.”

  His hand shot out, gripped my chin, and pulled me in until I was swimming once more in his ocean without a boat, a paddle, or an ounce of hope. “Drop it.”

  “Make me.”

  His flaming gaze dropped to my lips, and I quickly tucked them in wondering if he was thinking what I thought he was thinking.

  No. It couldn’t be.

  Although…

  Wren had been attracted to me once before. Was it too far of a stretch to believe he could be again? Did I want that? I couldn’t be sure of what I wanted, but I knew what I didn’t want, which was the ruin of our friendship. I would never allow myself to survive without Wren. Call me weak, but Wren was the only one I was willing to be this vulnerable for, and I still haven’t forgiven him for making me feel this way.

  “Trust me,” he said, his voice thick with something I couldn’t put my finger on, “you don’t want that as much as you think you do.”

  “You don’t have a clue what I’m thinking,” I sassed.

  “Oh, yes, I do.”

  I propped my hands on my hips and huffed. “Why are you so sure?”

  His voice dropped an octave when he said, “Because maybe I’m thinking it, too.” Pushing me away, he skated for the exit.

  My mouth hung open even as I told myself I was reading into things. Wren wasn’t bold or reckless. He was careful and calculating. He’d never make such an admission out of the blue like that.

  When he peeked over his shoulder and smirked, I growled, knowing that he had been screwing with me.

  “You’re an asshole!” I screamed the moment I caught up to him.

  He was busy shoving on his shoes when he smiled. “I give as good as I get, Lou. Remember that.” He winked and once again, it felt like a come-on, but this time, I knew better.

  “All right, you won this round, but when you go to prison, don’t be surprised if I don’t visit you. I’ll be too busy having the last laugh.”

  He peeked at me over his shoulder. “You’re pouting,” he gleefully observed.

  “Am not.”

  “Are too.”

  “I. Am. Not.”

  He stopped tying his laces to trace my lips, which were indeed poking out. His voice was softer and full of wonder when he spoke again. “Are too.”

  My lips fell open in a gasp, but he had already turned away as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t just threatened to turn my world upside down. “Stop doing that!”

  “Doing what?”

  “Flirting! It’s against the rules.”

  He looked at me with a frown that seemed genuine. “Whose rules, Lou?” He waited for my response, and the sounds that emerged from my throat resembled a stalled car that wouldn’t start. When he flashed that smug, satisfied smile, I knew he’d gotten me again.

  I wisely chose to ignore him this time and traded the skates for my sneakers. I still had an attitude by the time he dropped me off home, but he didn’t seem to mind when he kissed my cheek before telling me to behave. The Impala roared as it sped away, and I smiled as I watched from the sidewalk. He and I both knew there wasn’t a chance of that.

  I WATCHED LOU THROUGH THE rearview mirror as I drove away and wondered what she’d do next to provoke me. I gritted my teeth as anticipation flowed through me like an electric current. I felt alive knowing that I had something to look forward to. It took me longer than I liked to remember why I came running in the first place.

  That damn T-shirt had to go.

  Lou’s breasts had grown at least two cup sizes, and before today’s stunt, I had been blissfully unaware. I could barely keep my mind or my eyes off them, forgetting for brief moments that they were attached to my best friend. My onus.

  The reminder was usually enough to sober me. At least until I saw her again. It wasn’t unheard of to be attracted to a friend, but when the stakes were this high, I’d have to be a fool to do something about it.

  And cruel.

  And if I had my way, which I intended to, Lou would never know why.

  We were connected to the very las
t stitch. Letting Lou go would be like severing a limb. She belonged with me.

  An hour later, I found myself in a hotel room sitting across from Jacobo Jiménez—the infamous cocaine supplier that Fox so hungrily coveted. Right now, it was more of a face-off since we’d not only kidnapped him for this impromptu meeting but we’d also been indirectly stealing from him all these years by stealing from Thirteen. Jiménez was younger than I expected, having accomplished as much as he had. His reputation certainly preceded him. Jacobo Jiménez was not only cunning and ruthless but also a shrewd businessman. And Fox was salivating at the jowls for a chance to do business with him. So far, we’d been getting by on the scraps we’d managed to commandeer from Thirteen, but that was no longer enough for Fox.

  “My brothers tell me you’re ready to negotiate.”

  “They did a good job assuring me I had no choice,” he returned in a thick Colombian accent.

  I looked him over ensuring that he remained unharmed. Fox would have had us all killed for ruining his deal if Jiménez had been hurt. We’d treated him better than any captive, stashing him inside this lavish hotel suite in the middle of Manhattan for the past week. It took a week of reconnaissance during one of his rare visits to the States before we snatched him from his town car out in Miami. It had been a long two weeks since my mind never left New York and Louchana Valentine. I knew she’d be pissed about my absence, but she also knew I didn’t have a choice. In a better world…well…let’s just say a lot would be different.

  “So let’s talk.”

  “As impressive as you’ve proven to be,” he drawled, “you’re a little beneath the pay grade to converse with me.”

  Shane shifted irritably while I took the insult on the chin and relaxed against the cushioned armchair. We were positioned catty-corner to the pale blue tufted couch Jiménez sat on as if he were actually in control, and maybe he was. There was a reason he’d climbed so high in a world so low. Shane continued to stir in the chair next to me, not looking the least bit hospitable. Even though he ranked higher than me, his people skills were nonexistent, so we both agreed I’d do the talking. The terms and what we were willing to offer were predetermined, anyway. The only thing left was Jiménez’s cooperation.

  There was only one way he was walking out of this room alive, so one way or another, he wouldn’t be supplying Thirteen anymore.

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to make do.”

  “In doing so,” Jiménez responded casually, “I’ll have to assume your boss thinks he’s too good to speak with me. That doesn’t bode well for whatever deal he’s pursuing.”

  “Did you meet with Father?” I shot back, referring to Thirteen’s leader. I already knew he hadn’t. Very few have seen his face, but no one knew his name. Growing up, I’d heard the men whisper their speculations about our founders’ past affiliation. Whenever a new Father ascended, he shed his identity—most likely by faking his death—and became what anyone would rightly assume to be a myth. After all, how the hell could anyone remain this invisible?

  While Fox lived in exile, he at least had the luxury of showing his face to his men every blue moon. Usually to reinforce his authority when the men grew skeptical.

  “Ah, there’s the fire I could sense burning under all that cool control.”

  I ignored Shane’s disapproving glare and leaned forward. “No more games, Jiménez. Will you supply us or not?”

  “I will,” he said, and I could feel every man in the room relax. “Under one condition.”

  “Which is?”

  “I’m bound by a noncompete clause with Thirteen.” I held his gaze, waiting for the punchline. “Before we can do business, I require the contract to be broken.”

  “Let me guess…you want Father dead?”

  “Is that a problem?”

  “Not at all,” I assured with ease even as my stomach turned. I had a mean poker face perfected over the years in this world. I’d learned from the best, and the best turned out to be a gifted liar.

  “Then we have a deal.” Jiménez stood and held out his hand, but I just stared at it, not caring if I appeared rude.

  “You’ve been Thirteen’s connect for over a decade. One would think a relationship that exclusive would be harder to sever.”

  “It would have been…if Father hadn’t been demanding lower and lower prices to recoup the losses his enemy—that’s you—caused. I’ve been losing money for years, so I think I need to reevaluate my loyalties rather than my profit margin. Satisfied?”

  I stood and forced myself to shake his hand, ignoring the crawling sensation creeping under my skin. “For now.”

  Then again, it wasn’t really up to me. No way should we trust this guy, but Fox would always have the final say.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Lou’s sharp whisper could have cut me in half.

  I stood in the middle of her bedroom ready to do the same to that godforsaken shirt she’d been wearing earlier. After the meeting with Jiménez, I had made a beeline back to Lou. This afternoon hadn’t been nearly enough to make up for the time I spent away. Lou was the fix I needed to dull the rest of the world and feel alive again.

  “I’m making sure you don’t lose your senses again.” I gripped the hem in both fists and started to rip it down the goddamn middle when she shrieked.

  “You can’t! My pa—they bought me that shirt!”

  I paused seeing the frantic desperation painting Lou’s face. These were one of the rare moments Lou wasn’t pretending not to care about anyone other than herself. I often wondered if she was like that before she became an orphan.

  “If I catch you wearing this again, I won’t give a fuck if the Virgin Mary sewed it by hand. We clear?”

  She nodded eagerly, her eyes glistening. I felt like a monster, but I refused to give in. I allowed Lou to have her way too much as it was. I offered her the shirt, and she snatched it from me with a glare that should have had me lying dead.

  “A wise choice,” she said once the shirt was safe from me. “I would have keyed your car.”

  “I believe you.”

  “Good,” she replied tartly.

  I watched through narrowed eyes as she carelessly tossed the shirt on top of the dresser she barely used. Lou was a slob, but it worked for her. She seemed to know where everything was.

  “Mr. and Mrs. H home yet?”

  She whirled around and faced me with her arms crossed. “Mr. and Mrs. H?” she mocked with a tilt of her head. “You know they can’t stand you, right?”

  I shrugged. It didn’t matter to me just as long as they continued to cooperate. “I’m sure whatever the reason is, you’re to blame.”

  “I’m an innocent, impressionable young lady, and you’re the hot, mysterious bad boy who’s corrupting me.”

  Not surprised in the least, I snorted. The Hendersons likely suspected that whenever Lou ran away from home, it was to be with me. That was only mostly true. Sometimes, she ran away to get my attention if only to assure herself that I was still alive though she would never admit to it. Lou knew I’d always go hunting. And even though she never said it, I knew Lou also ran away whenever she was beginning to feel content. She didn’t want to let her guard down only to be abandoned again. Regret knotted in my throat, making it hard to breathe.

  Remorse was an even harder pill to swallow.

  “Like I said,” I retorted after shaking off the useless feelings, knowing I couldn’t change her past…or mine, “I’m sure you’re to blame.”

  She blinked those big sparkling blues at me in disbelief. “For being innocent?”

  “For convincing them that you are,” I replied although it wasn’t entirely fair. Despite the scars hardening her heart, Lou’s soul remained unblemished.

  “Trust me,” she scoffed. “It’s the last thing I want anyone to think. I might as well put a ‘kick me’ sign on my back.”

  I lifted a brow. “You’re worried about not looking cool?”

  “Why, of course,” she
replied good-naturedly. “I have a rep to protect.” I watched her plop down on her bed and lean back on her elbows with a smile. I knew she was full of shit. Lou never cared what anyone thought of her. She was happy to let people judge her as long as their assumptions kept them far away from her.

  No, Lou was worried about being vulnerable.

  “Get up,” I ordered her.

  “Why? I’m comfortable.”

  Of course, she then flipped onto her stomach, giving me an unobstructed view of her pert little ass in those tiny white shorts. They molded to her hips and thighs so well they might as well have been white cotton panties—the crest for virgins, a symbol understood by any red-blooded male, no matter what language he spoke.

  I looked in time to see her peeking at me over her shoulder, and my cock went rogue, stirring in my jeans at the sight of that coquettish smile.

  Jesus, fuck. I felt sweat beading around my hairline. Did she have any fucking clue how inviting she looked?

  “I need to shower.” And thanks to Lou, it would have to be a cold one.

  She frowned, and I saw genuine confusion etched all over her soft features. “And you need me to…what? Wash your back?”

  I palmed my face, letting my hand slowly slide down. How could I even for a second think this girl wasn’t innocent? She had no idea what that kind of offer sounded like to a man with a hard dick and blue balls.

  If she got in that shower with me—if she touched me at all—I’d forget the fact that she was my best friend, underage, and a virgin. I’d push her against the wall and pound the shit out of her until the tile broke and the water turned to ice.

  And even then, I might not stop.

  “If the Hendersons come home, it’s wise if they think you’re the one showering.”

  Her mouth formed a perfect O as color filled her cheeks. “You want me to come with you?”

  “That would be wise.”

  “Wise?” she echoed. “I’m not so sure about that.” She seemed to think it over before whining, “Can’t you just shower when you go home?”

  “What’s the big deal, Lou? I’m not asking you to jump in with me.”