Hoax Husband: A Hero Club Novel

by Candice Wright

  I hurry to the subway, thankfully knowing the route well. Having a car is a luxury I can’t afford just yet. Besides, parking a car outside my old building would have just been asking for it to get stolen. I’m surprised it wasn’t stolen that first night he visited me

  I find the platform I’m after, happy to see I only have a five-minute wait, and hop on when the train pulls in. The journey itself is uneventful. Seeing crying babies, tired parents, and the commuters traveling home from work with their heads buried in their laptops is all the norm for me, and I take comfort in its familiarity.

  It's quiet when I get to my old building. Usually, the dealers don't come out until it starts to get dark unless it's the summer. I walk up the stairs two at a time before heading into my apartment. It feels odd being back even though I only left a few hours ago. Perhaps it’s because it never truly felt like home here.

  Suddenly, I’m looking at this place with fresh eyes. Yes, it’s clean and tidy, and I’ve made it as cozy as I could on a shoestring budget, but there is only so much you can do to a dilapidated apartment.

  I pull off my jacket and decide to box up what I want while I’m here. This will save having people paw through my things tomorrow. Luckily, I flat packed the boxes I used to move in and slid them under the bed for when I left, knowing this was only going to be my home temporarily.

  My art supplies go in first. I make sure everything is carefully wrapped and protected in towels and sheets before labeling the box as fragile. Everything else kind of gets tossed in haphazardly. I slip a large sketch pad and pack of pencils into my bag, knowing I won’t be able to carry much else, and move the packed boxes near the door. There, perfect. Locking up, I head outside, surprised to find it dark now. Jesus, how long was I packing?

  I jog across the parking lot, ignoring the group of teenagers hanging on the corner whistling at me, and keep going until I make it back to the subway.

  Sucking in a much-needed lungful of air, I work on getting my breathing under control as the train pulls in. I need to start working out more, but it's hard when you're allergic to exercise.

  Picking a seat near the doors because I’m too tired to move much farther, I pull out my phone to check the time and curse. Hopefully, Asher is still at the office. I didn't even think to leave him a note, not realizing I was going to be gone so long, and I don't have his number to call him.

  Oh well, nothing I can do about it now. I pull my pad and pencils from my bag and begin to sketch, losing myself for a little while as I draw. It isn’t until the train stops that I realize I’ve drawn a comic strip featuring a hero with indigo-colored eyes. Slamming the pad closed with a groan, I shove it back into my bag and hurry out the door before it closes.

  It's just after nine when I make it back to the imposing building that is now my new home. Crossing over the road, I head to the apartment complex with my arms wrapped around myself to ward off the chill. The temperatures have drastically dropped since I left, the unseasonably warm afternoon giving way to a cold evening, and judging from the gathering storm clouds, rain is on its way. I had grabbed my denim jacket and pulled it on over my sweater before I left, but it isn’t nearly thick enough to offer me any protection from the elements.

  I pull open the door to the foyer and groan with delight when the warmth washes over me.

  “Can I help you?” I look up at the sound of an unfamiliar voice and see a tall Asian man in the same navy-blue uniform Sam wore earlier standing behind the reception desk.

  “Hi, I’m Linda…Asher’s…erm…wife. I left earlier before getting a keycard—”

  “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” he tells me with a scowl, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “No, wait, I’m sorry. I know it sounds far-fetched—”

  “If you don’t leave of your own accord, I’ll have security remove you before calling the police.”

  “I swear it's the truth. I don’t even need to go upstairs. I can just wait down here.” He picks up the phone on the desk beside him and dials, watching me while he waits for someone to answer.

  His eyes rove over my body, from the tattoos poking out from the low dip of my sweater and back up to my rainbow-colored hair. I wrap my arms tighter around myself when his lip curls in disgust, clearly finding me lacking. As he barks into the phone for security, I stand frozen on the spot, trying to decide what to do just as the heavens open outside.

  He hangs up and leans over the desk. His stance is a lot more hostile than mine. Two minutes later, two burly guys dressed in uniforms similar to the asshole over there appear, only they have a nightstick on one side of their pants and a gun at their waists.

  How is it I felt safer an hour ago leaving a drug den than I do now standing in a multimillion-dollar complex?

  “Problem, Russ?” the portly one of the two asks the asshole behind the desk, who jumps in before I can even open my mouth to explain.

  “This…” He waves a hand over me as if he can’t quite find a word offensive enough to describe me. “Woman refuses to leave. She is trying to pretend she is the owner's wife,” he snaps.

  “It's true. Look I only moved in today, this is all a horrible misunderstanding.”

  “Miss, do you have any documentation on you confirming this?” the thinner guard asks.

  I shake my head with a sigh. No, that would make things too simple. “I don’t have anything on me, but if you would just call him—”

  “Oh sure, that will be fun. Let's just call up the big boss man and ask him an idiotic question like did you secretly get married and not tell anyone? Ridiculous.” Russ snorts, making the skinnier of the two security guards look at him with contempt before turning back to me.

  “Maybe you should give him a call yourself,” he says softly.

  I shake my head, my shoulders slumping in defeat, knowing I’m making this look even worse. “I…I don’t know his number,” I admit, sounding like an idiot.

  “Right,” he answers, drawing out the word.

  “He’s at work right now, but he said he wouldn’t be gone long. If you just let me sit over there in that chair, I swear I’ll be quiet and stay out of your way.”

  The two security guys exchange glances before the rotund one looks as if he’s about to speak, only Russ the asshole interrupts him.

  “No. I want her out of here. I’m not risking my job for some wannabe stalker,” he snaps.

  “Call his company, honey, and tell him you’re here,” the skinny guy says softly, ignoring Russ. I get the distinct impression he doesn’t like him any more than I do.

  “I can’t call him. I don’t even know where he works. I…forget it. This isn’t worth it.” I pull my jacket tightly over my breasts and lift the collar to cover the back of my neck.

  “When he gets back and asks where I am, I’ll let you explain it to him,” I tell Russ with a shake of my head as I walk back over to the glass door and pull it open. It's raining heavily now, the cold wind whipping the icy droplets into my face.

  I turn to face Russ and find him still glaring at me.

  “I wonder how many rich bitches walk in here and lift their noses at you. I bet they don’t even know your name, Russ, snubbing you and your silly menial job the second their designer shoes hit the marbled floor. I bet you hate each and every one of them for judging you, and yet that is exactly what you just did to me. Shame on you.” I let the full weight of my disappointment fill my words before stepping into the freezing rain, slamming the door closed behind me.

  Fifteen

  Asher

  I pull into the underground parking garage and climb out, hurrying over to the elevator. With the rain falling outside in sheets, I’m thankful I can access the lobby from here, or I’d be soaked through to the bone.

  I had only planned on popping into work for a couple of hours at most, but like always, things came up that apparently only I could deal with, meaning my few hours turned into a few more. Before I knew it, it was dark out and a sto
rm had begun to rage.

  I’d tried to call the apartment earlier to apologize, but Linda never answered, likely pissed at me all over again. I can’t even say I blame her. I dropped her off and disappeared for hours. She’ll probably think this is how the next three months will go and cut her losses.

  Shit. I’m going to have to curb my workaholic tendencies with her in the picture. There is no other way around it.

  The lobby is brightly lit when the elevator door slides open, infusing the place with a warm glow. An elderly couple—the Moores—from the first floor, talk animatedly about something to Russ, the night doorman. Not having the time to stand there talking about inconsequential shit with them, I make a beeline for the elevators on the opposite side of this one and head upstairs before anyone spots me.

  A glance at my watch shows it's almost ten o'clock. “Fuck,” I gripe to myself, knowing she’s going to be rightfully pissed. I have a feeling any headway I made will now be for nothing.

  When the doors slide open, I hurry down the corridor and fumble for a moment as I let myself into the apartment. I pause with the door open, and when a shoe doesn’t nail me in the head, I relax and close the door behind me. The lights are off, but the blinds are all open, illuminating the room enough that I don’t trip and break my neck.

  My heart begins to pulse when I don’t find her, knowing that means she must already be in bed. My cock throbs at the thought of all her colorful hair splayed out on the pillow, watching me with those big blue eyes of hers as I drive my dick inside her.

  I don’t know if I’m relieved or disappointed when I find the bedroom empty too. The bed is still made from this morning. With a frown, I check the other rooms. Coming up empty, my agitation rapidly grows. Where the fuck is she?

  Tearing open the closet door, I suck in a relieved breath when I see the clothes she brought with her hung up beside mine, and a pair of her shoes are sitting on the floor beneath them.

  So, she hasn’t left me, that’s something, but it doesn’t tell me where the fuck she is.

  Storming out of the apartment and back downstairs, I find Russ at his desk, alone this time, listening to the soft sounds of jazz music.

  He startles when I bark his name, looking up at me with wide eyes.

  “Mr. Sloan. I didn’t know you were back. What can I help you with, sir?”

  “You can tell me where the fuck my wife is for a start,” I snap and watch with growing wariness as his tan skin bleaches white.

  “Wife?” he questions in a whispered voice.

  “Did I stutter? Yes, my wife. Who, might I add, is not upstairs. Did she tell you where she was going?”

  He stares at me open-mouthed, without answering me until I finally snap and bellow his name.

  “Where is my wife?” I grit out for the last time.

  He lifts a shaky hand and points to the glass doors where the rain is still falling fast outside.

  “I…I didn’t know you got married. You didn’t tell us,” he stutters.

  “I wasn’t aware that I had to inform you,” I growl, two seconds away from firing him.

  “I…she said she was your wife, but I didn’t believe her. She didn’t look like she would be the kind of woman you would marry,” he protests. I fume at his words, reaching over the counter and grabbing him by his collar.

  “WHAT DID YOU DO?” I roar in his face.

  “I…I sent her away,” he admits.

  I shove him away from me and pick up the phone on the desk, pressing one for security.

  Two guards arrive a few minutes later. One tall and thin, who looks at Russ with disdain. The other is shorter by nearly a foot and thicker around the middle, the polyester shirt of his uniform stretching to its limits to confine the beer belly within.

  “I want him gone. One of you go with him to collect any belongings he has here and then escort him off the premises.”

  “What? You can’t do that! It was an honest mistake. You didn’t tell us you were married!” Russ shouts at me indignantly.

  “And you could have confirmed that for yourself by calling me, or even Sam,” I point out, my voice lethal.

  “I asked her to call you, but she didn’t know your number or even where you worked!” he counters, incensed.

  Inwardly I wince, knowing he’s right, but that shouldn’t have stopped him from calling. My numbers are on file for emergencies.

  “And as much as it pisses me off, I would have happily conceded that I’m a fucking terrible husband. You could have called, but you didn’t. I can even understand that, but the fact that you’re a prejudiced prick is not something I’m willing to overlook.”

  “How dare you,” he snaps, affronted.

  “I dare because if I’m right in my assumption, you took one look at her tattoos and hair and made up your mind about what kind of person she is.”

  “I did no such thing—”

  “You did,” a soft voice says, making the security guards and me spin around.

  We all stand frozen for a moment. My brain quickly catalogs the way she’s wrapping her arms tightly around herself in a protective stance. The way her hair and clothes are saturated and plastered to her skin and finally the split lip and what looks like the beginning of a black eye.

  “What the fuck?” I’m across the room and ready to catch her as she sways on her feet.

  “I…I got mugged,” she whispers, her chattering teeth making it difficult to understand.

  “Fuck, you’re freezing.” I swing her up into my arms and hiss as the cold seeps through my shirt.

  “I’m taking her upstairs. Get him out of here.” I ignore anything else they may say, my only concern for the woman shaking in my arms.

  “I’m all right, Asher, just cold,” she mumbles, burrowing closer into my chest as I take us up to the apartment as quickly as I can.

  “I know. I’ll get you warmed up. Just hold on to me, okay?” I urge, knowing the first thing I need to do is get her in the shower.

  I carry her straight through to the bathroom and gently lower her onto the toilet seat before turning on the water, letting it heat as I carefully pull her to her feet.

  “I need to get you out of these clothes and into the shower. I swear I’ll be the perfect gentleman,” I promise, making her snort as I peel the wet jacket from her arms and toss it in the sink behind her.

  “You’ve…seen me naked before. I’m pretty sure you w-were underwhelmed,” she stutters drolly, lifting her arms as I pull her sweater and tank top over her head in one go.

  I drink in the vision of the goddess standing before me in all her colorful glory, my dick rock hard at the sight of all her exposed skin.

  “Your body has the number one spot on my spank bank reel. There is nothing unforgettable about you. I was an idiot who couldn’t handle his drink—that's on me and not a reflection on you. It took a while for my faculties to return to me.”

  “Why didn’t you try to find me when you first remembered we were married?” she quietly asks, her teeth chattering as I bend and pull her pants down her legs. I keep my eyes on hers to stop myself from leaning forward and swiping my tongue over the cotton-covered mound of her pussy.

  I suck in a sharp breath as I process her words, realizing I’ve fucked up again. She thinks I regained my missing memories of her a year ago when the alcohol left my system. I might remember fleeting parts, like her ink and how tight her pussy is, but anything beyond that is still a blur.

  Even when Baxter tracked down a photo of her for me, I didn’t recognize her. Although, in my defense, the wild hair colors are new. With everything so up in the air, I can’t tell her I only really remembered her pussy and had no clue about the marriage until Baxter told me.

  Then I’d have to tell her the real reason for tracking her down.

  Kneeling here now, looking up into her eyes and seeing the vulnerability she usually keeps so well hidden, I decide to withhold the truth for now. Nothing good will come from hurting her unnecessarily. No good
can come from telling her the truth now, besides, what I wanted then and what I want now are not the same.

  Before, all I cared about was Peterson's resort.

  Now I find myself caring about a woman who threatens to bring this house of cards I’ve built crashing down around me.

  And I have no one to blame but myself.

  Sixteen

  Linda

  “I’m an idiot. Marriage was never on the radar for me. I’ve seen it go wrong time and time again, so what was the point?” he admits.

  Seeing him on his knees with his hands on my hips is making it difficult to focus on his words as the heat of his fingertips seeps into my cold skin.

  “And now you want to welcome me into your life when you know nothing about me?” I ask, still confused about why he wants this as much as he says he does. Even more confusing is that I want it too.

  “That’s what the three months are about. We get to learn all about each other, a crash course in marriage if you like, but I would just like to point out that I like what I know so far.”

  Lord, this man makes it hard to keep myself guarded around him.

  Pulling off his shoes and socks, he stands and scoops me into his arms before stepping into the shower, fully clothed. He holds me tightly as the warm water cascades over us. The heated water against my cold skin feels like a dozen tiny pins stabbing me.

  I whimper and turn into him, burying my face in the crook of his neck, forgetting everything for a moment as the water finally begins to thaw me. He doesn’t put me down, just grips me tight as we stand in silence under the unrelenting spray until I feel a hundred times better than before.

  “You can put me down now, I’m good, I promise,” I tell him with my lips against his ear, smiling when I feel him shiver.