by Whitley Cox
He shook his head. “Unless she did it over the phone or through an email. She has a restraining order against him. The guy has a temper. He, uh … ” Shit, was it his place to tell Liam what Todd did to Eva? That he raped his own wife?
No. Probably not.
“He just has a temper, from what she’s said. He doesn’t take no for an answer. He is competitive, demanding, easily offended and a narcissist. Eva also called him a psychopath, though he’s never been properly diagnosed.”
“Most psychopaths aren’t,” Liam muttered. “Though I’d bet you my fucking house, my car, and my right nut that I’ve worked with close to a hundred of them. More of them walk among us than we think. They’re just not all ax-wielding murders.”
“What do you suggest we do then? If I tell him, he’ll fire the company, and then I’ll be fired and then probably run down in the streets by an unmarked car. If she tells him, he might hurt her or take the kids.”
“Does she have a lawyer?”
He nodded. “Yeah, apparently her lawyer was awesome. Got her full custody of her kids and a pretty decent divorce settlement. He also has to pay child support and alimony, which he tried to fight.”
“Fucking scum.”
“That’s insulting to scum.”
“Well, if you want my help, let me know. I can draft something up or work with her lawyer and the two of us can draft something up. We could send it to his lawyer. Do this all the legal way. Or as legal as we can. Don’t you have a contract with him for work? He can’t just fire Dynamic Creative, can he? I mean, I’m not a contract lawyer, but … ”
“Like I said, he’s a man who doesn’t acknowledge the word no. If he wants to break the contract, he’ll find a way.” He scratched his beard. “There’s an escape clause in his contract, too. I’ll have to relook at it to see what constitutes evoking it.”
“Escape clause? Who has an escape clause?” A hand landed hard on Scott’s shoulder and squeezed. Liam’s eyes flashed up behind him, his brows forming a ridge.
Holy fuck.
Scott spun around in his seat to find none other than the devil they spoke of—Todd Fucking Fletcher.
“Hey there, Scott. How’s it going?” Todd was all smiles in a black pinstripe suit that made him look like some kind of mob boss. He certainly looked demonic, the way his dark brows winged up at the corners and his hair was all slicked back high and hard with gel. His pale blue eyes pierced Scott. The man had no soul—it was clear now. Todd lifted one brow when Scott failed to reply, his gaze drifting over to Liam. He extended a hand. “Todd Fletcher.”
“Liam Dixon,” Liam replied, taking Todd’s hand warily, his eyes flicking to Scott’s quickly but then back up to Todd’s, a forced smile tugging on his lips just in time.
“Oh, brothers?”
Scott nodded. “Yeah.”
Todd’s grin widened, then recognition dawned on his face. “Not the Liam Dixon of Wallace, Dixon and Travers?”
“The very same,” Liam said, releasing Todd’s hand and then taking a swig from his beer.
Scott’s temperature was approaching inferno. His blood was magma, his skin on fire, his palms hot, sweaty and itchy as his hands bunched beneath the table, desperate to make contact with Todd’s face.
This man had ruined Eva. He’d cheated on her. He’d raped her. He’d bullied her and demoralized her until she was a shadow of who she’d once been. Scott’s fists through his face would be a drop in the bucket of what he truly deserved.
Murmurs behind them all and more men in suits smelling of cologne and money filtered out onto the restaurant patio. Todd acknowledged them as they wandered past. “Well, I won’t keep you gentlemen. Nice to meet you, Liam. Scott, I’ll see you tomorrow, hey, bud?”
Scott’s jaw ached, he was gnashing his molars so hard. “Yes, meeting at eleven. See you then.”
Then the fuckface took his leave of them and went to join his cronies, who all looked just as smarmy, slimy and psychopathic as him.
“Speak of the fucking devil.” Liam coughed into his beer, tipping it up again and draining it. “Jesus fucking Christ.”
“You got that right,” Scott murmured. He stared down at his sandwich. Goddamn it. Now he’d lost his fucking appetite. He snagged the waitress’s gaze as she passed. “Can I get this to go?”
She nodded and said she’d be right back with a to-go box.
“So that’s the piece of shit there, huh?” Liam asked, still seeming to have his own appetite and diving into his sandwich.
“The steaming pile fresh from the dog’s ass,” Scott confirmed.
“Well, let me do some digging,” Liam said, shoving his food into his cheek so he could continue to talk. “I’ve got a PI friend who owes me a favor. I’ll see what he can dig up on this suit-wearing turd. We might be able to leverage your relationship if the man’s hands are sticky.”
Scott’s interest piqued, and his stomach rumbled. He dipped a fry into his aioli before popping it into his mouth. “Really?”
Liam shrugged. “A man like that”—he shook his head—“no way he’s clean. The question is: just how dirty is he?”
14
It was Friday night, and Eva bounced on pins and needles as she slipped out of the front seat of her van in her sweaty gym clothes and headed up the walkway to her front door. She had an hour to shower, shave, primp and preen before she was expected over at Scott’s for dinner … and more.
She’d dropped the boys off with Celeste before heading to the gym, and her sister was going to keep them overnight. Todd’s parents had asked for the boys Saturday morning, so they would pick Kellen and Lucas up from Celeste’s and then bring them back to Eva’s later in the afternoon.
She had not only all night to herself (and Scott) but also all day tomorrow.
Were things finally beginning to look up?
Don’t get too carried away just yet. You can do a happy dance but no party hats or streamers. Your ex is still messing up your life. Now he’s your new boyfriend’s VIP client.
The nearly too-hot-to-bear water sluiced over her naked skin as she stood beneath the shower and washed herself. Even though the bruises were long gone, the memories were still clear as day. When she washed her legs, she could still remember the dark blue and green marks on her inner thighs and her hips from Todd’s vicious demands. The purple “cuffs” around her wrists from where he’d restrained her so tightly with his own hands, she didn’t think she’d ever break free.
But even those were bearable, were mere specks of shame and abuse compared to the bite marks he left along her collarbone, shoulders and across her breasts.
From the moment he banged on her bedroom door to the minute he left her lying there in the bed, naked, crying and drenched in sweat and semen, she had feared for her life.
Sex with Todd had never been earth-shattering. He’d been a selfish lover from day one. But it had never been painful or violent. That night had been. Everything he did to her hurt. He was rough and mean, harsh and aggressive. He took from her, and then he left.
She’d lain in that bed trembling for a good twenty minutes, fearing that he might return and do it again. Thankfully, though, Todd had never been more than a one-trick pony, and he’d also been drunk. He’d most likely just gone to bed and passed out. It had taken every bit of energy she had left—which wasn’t much, having just tried to fight off her husband—and she dragged herself to the shower. Then she put on heavy sweats and a big hoodie, and she began to plan her escape. It wasn’t until three days later, when Todd was away for business, that she and the boys finally got away. She’d been forced to live and face her rapist for three days until then, unable to sleep out of dread he might burst into her room again. After all, her door didn’t have a lock on it. She couldn’t even barricade herself, in case one of the boys needed her. So she lay awake every night for three nights, praying he stayed in his own wing of the house.
At first, she wasn’t sure he even remembered, because he never said a word about it. Never
mentioned anything, never asked her how she was. He ignored her for the first two days, then on the third, when her sleeve slipped up her arm and the bruises around her wrist were exposed, he commented.
She’d flinched when he came up behind her and grabbed her wrist, her whole body going rigid from his touch. Unfortunately, that just made it all worse, and the rage that glimmered back at her in his pale, soulless eyes was a look that still haunted her dreams.
“You seem to forget your place, Mrs. Fletcher,” Todd began. “You are my property. Bought and paid for.” He ran his thumb over the diamonds that sparkled on her ring finger. “You are my wife and therefore obligated to perform your wifely duties. Refusing me is not an option, understand?”
All she was able to do was tremble. Tears burned at the back of her eyes, and her throat tightened to the point of excruciating pain.
“I’ve been pretty understanding and kind, letting you rebuff me for as long as you have, forced to find my pleasures elsewhere. But you’ve grown complacent, forgetting your place. Which is beneath me.”
He was right up in her face now, his breath hot and smelling strongly of coffee. “Was the other night fun for you?”
Still trembling, she shook her head.
He released her wrists and gripped her by the shoulders, shaking her until her teeth rattled. “Answer ME!”
“N-no.” Tears spilled down her cheeks now, into her mouth and down the crease of her nose.
He released her and shrugged. “Then don’t fight me next time. You did that to yourself, you know. Every one of your bruises, your aches and your pains are your fault. Not mine. You made me do that. You made me assert myself. You made me remind you of your place, of who you are. You’re mine, Eva. You are my wife. My property and I will do as I see fit with what is mine. Understand?”
She swallowed, her chin quivering so hard she thought she might chip a tooth.
The grip of his fingers tightened around her biceps, and he shook her again. “Understand?”
“Y-yes,” she whispered, now blubbering.
He released her, reached behind her for one of the grapes she’d just washed and popped it into his mouth. “Good. I’m glad we’re on the same page.” He bent down, pecked her on the cheek and stepped away. “I’m going to go pack. My plane leaves early tomorrow.” Then he was gone.
Eva’s knees knocked and her body shivered despite the heat of the shower as the memories flooded her. Tears mixed with the water, hot and salty.
“I can’t let you win,” she whispered. “I can’t let you take any more from me.”
Resolve settled in her belly, warm and sure. She couldn’t allow Todd Fletcher to affect any more of her life, any more of the people she cared about. He had to go.
Now she just had to figure out a way to get rid of him.
Murder was out of the question. She looked awful in orange.
A hit man? No, she didn’t know any hit men, and somehow that shit always made its way back to the source. She also wasn’t rolling in dough—not after buying her house—so she probably couldn’t afford a hit man.
She finished rinsing out her hair, wiped away the last of the tears and took a deep, fortifying breath. The memories of Todd would always be there, but if all her time in therapy had taught her anything, it was that the last thing Todd deserved after everything he’d done to her was a place in her mind. She needed to shrink him down to virtually nothing, put him in a tiny black box and shove him to the deepest, darkest recesses of her subconscious. The man did not deserve to be considered, remembered or thought about—ever.
But before she did that, she needed to figure out a way to really get rid of him. Either ship him off to prison forever, push him into a bottomless crevasse, or dig up something so dirty on him she could blackmail him from here to kingdom come to stay away from her, her children and everyone else she loved and cared about.
Shutting off the water, she said out loud to no one in particular, “I need a PI.”
Forty-five minutes and four wardrobe changes later, Eva was smoothing down the front of her turquoise, flowy, boho, knee-length skirt and adjusting the off-the-shoulder sleeves of her white eyelet top. She’d decided to go with fun, flirty and just a little bit cheeky with her outfit. Show off her svelte shoulders and trim waist with the cinched elastic rusching below her breasts. When she’d sent a picture of herself to Celeste with her final outfit, her sister had texted back Hot Mama!
Not that her sister’s opinion didn’t matter, but she wasn’t trying to seduce her. Even though she thought she looked pretty damn doable, if she did say so herself.
She kept her hair loose around her shoulders after a quick blow dry, allowing the natural wave to take over and the layers to gently frame her face.
A little bit of bronzer, blush and some tinted lip balm and she was out the door.
She was about to lift her hand up to Scott’s door when the realization hit her. She was arriving empty-handed.
That wasn’t right.
Shit.
If her mother had taught her anything, it was that you never, ever arrived to someone’s house for dinner empty-handed. You brought something to contribute to the meal, alcohol or a host gift.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
As if she had pockets or a spare bottle of prosecco stuffed under her skirt, her gaze flew around the porch and her body. She glanced into her purse and brought out her wallet. Was cash a tacky host gift?
Yes. Yes, it was.
Shit.
She was down the steps and halfway across the driveway when Scott’s door opened behind her. “Running away again?”
She skidded in her tracks, tripping on her cork wedges and needing to fling herself onto the hood of his truck to keep from bailing onto the asphalt.
With flames in her cheeks from the embarrassment, she righted herself using the hood of the truck and turned to face him, once again smoothing the front of her skirt down and adjusting the shoulders of her top. She cleared her throat, thankful that he couldn’t glean how hard her heart hammered inside her chest. “No, not at all. I was just … I forgot something is all.” She pointed at her house as if his host gift was simply sitting on her kitchen table forgotten. It was not.
She didn’t even have a dusty bottle of wine in her liquor cabinet that she could pass off. She had zilch. Zip. Nada. A big ol’ goose egg.
“If it’s condoms, I’ve got plenty.” His grin soaked her panties.
Now it wasn’t just her cheeks that were warm, it was her whole damn body. She swallowed. “No, it wasn’t that. Um … ” Realizing she was defeated, she hung her head. “I’m showing up empty-handed. I don’t have any food, wine or a gift for you.”
A heavy clomp, clomp on the porch steps competed with the lawn mower a few yards down, but she still couldn’t bring herself to lift her gaze, that was until big, sexy man feet came into view on the pavement and his heat and scent lassoed around her.
A knuckle tucked under her chin as gentle as could be, and he tilted her head up until all she could see in front of her was Scott.
His lips were pursed as if he were trying to withhold a grin. “You’re adorable, you know that?”
Rolling her eyes, she pulled away, glancing back down at his feet. “Don’t make fun. This night is really important. I stood you up on our last date—which was also our first real date—so this do-over is really important. It’s special, and I … I should have brought you flowers or something.”
His knuckle was back beneath her chin. His other hand sought out hers, and he brought the inside of her wrist to his lips. “Eva, listen to me. All I want is you. I have everything else. Food? Check. Wine? Check. Flowers?” His smile grew wry. “Why don’t you step inside and find out?”
He released her chin and entwined their hands, leading her up the path back toward his house. A ripple of delight coursed through her. She’d always had a soft spot for the traditional gestures like candy, flowers and having the door held open for her—you know, chivalry
. Even though she prided herself on being independent and no longer requiring a guy in her life, her belly still did silly little somersaults when a man showed her his gentlemanly side.
“Be with a man who always walks along the curb,” her father had drilled into her and her sister since they were pre-teens. She hadn’t walked along the road with Scott yet, but a part of her suspected he was definitely the type to make sure a woman never got splashed when a car drove through a big puddle.
He dropped her hand and brought his fingers to the small of her back, the heat of his palm searing right through the white cotton of her shirt and making sweat spring out from beneath her breasts. “Promise me you won’t overthink tonight,” he said, holding the door open for her. “We’ve already slept together. We’ve already eaten together. Don’t think of this as our first date, if that makes it easier. Think of this as our … ” He wrinkled his crooked nose at the same time he reclaimed her hand and led her down the hall toward his kitchen. “Think of this as an anniversary dinner. Because technically it’s been two months since that night at the bar. And I don’t know about you, but I’d like to keep that night, that date as our official they became a couple date.” He made air quotes with his free hand.
“You’re considering that drunken night in the hotel—”
“Uh-uh, you weren’t drunk, remember? I don’t fuck drunk chicks. At least not the first time I fuck them. Now if you decide to get a little tipsy tonight and climb up my body like it’s a jungle gym, I can’t say I’ll be as much of a gentleman as I was on our first date.”
She snickered, the smile he pulled from her easing all her previous anxiety. It was hard not to relax and be herself around Scott. He just made it so easy.
They entered the kitchen, and she was immediately greeted by an enormous bouquet of spring flowers sitting on the counter in a vase.
“Zara at Flowers on 5th did up the arrangement for me. She’s the best. I hope you like them.” Unease flitted across his features, hanging in his eyes.
She reached for the vase, releasing his hand, and brought one of the flowers to her nose. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”
