Lie With Me (Stonewall Investigations Miami Book 2)

by Max Walker

  “I’ve been waiting for the perfect moment to use this shirt.”

  “Tonight’s the night,” I said, grabbing my keys, my cock still painfully hard. I had to adjust myself so that the waistband of my briefs held me down. “Let’s get loud, baby.”

  “Let’s get loud,” Oliver said, coming up behind me and slapping my ass.

  Outside, the night was cool and calm. My street was a quiet one, with families lining either side of me, their living room lights all on and their TVs showing through the cracks in the blinds. Palm trees stretched up to the starry sky. The excitement for tonight didn’t ebb (thankfully my cock did calm down, though). Oliver danced the entire way into Miami Beach to every J.Lo hit under the sun.

  I danced, too, joining in at every red light, feeling like a silly kid and not giving a flying fuck about it, not caring about who we stopped next to or how many stares we got from other drivers.

  “All right,” I said, pulling up to a towering building just a few streets away from the beach. The arena where the concert would be was in Downtown, which wasn’t far at all from where we were. There was still a good hour before showtime, so now was a good a time as any to do this. “You can hang out in the car for this. I’ll be back down in a bit.”

  “Wait, wait, what’s going on?” Oliver lowered the music as I pulled into a temporary parking spot.

  “I didn’t want to dampen anything about tonight, but I was able to get some information on that Mario Reyes twat.”

  Oliver’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Oh whoa. Wait, is he here? He’s not here, right?” Oliver started looking around the car, and I could tell that his mind was slamming on the gas pedal. It was exactly what I wanted to avoid tonight. I had to pull him back.

  “No, no, don’t worry, Olly. He’s not here. Fox introduced me to a hacker who lives here. Anya. I found Mario’s online account, but I couldn’t get a lock on where he is now. Anya called me right before you got home and said she was able to find the information I needed.”

  Oliver’s stress levels were rocketing, I could see it. I put a hand on his and looked straight into his eyes, hoping I could serve as some kind of anchoring point before he was carried off by the sudden panic.

  “Everything’s okay, Olly. That’s why I’m meeting her at her place. It’s safe. I know it’s not being watched. Whoever is threatening you to keep off the trail doesn’t know who they’re dealing with. I’m going to find them, way before they ever have a chance of hurting you again. Trust me on that. Okay?”

  That seemed to have landed. Oliver nodded and swallowed.

  “I’m going up with you.”

  The words didn’t surprise me. This was as much Oliver’s battle as it was mine.

  “You sure? You can hang out here. I don’t think I’ll be long.”

  As much as I wanted Oliver by my side at all times, I thought maybe now would be a good time for him to stay in the car.

  “No, I want to go.” There was determination in the twitch of his jaw.

  I would have preferred him to stay only because this was important and I feared bringing too much emotion could blur things. I didn’t want Oliver seeing something and reacting out of raw emotion. It risked throwing more chaos into an already chaotic and dangerous situation.

  “All right, let’s head up, then.” I wasn’t about to fight him on it. If he wanted to come up, he could come up. Before we could get out of the car, I grabbed Oliver and kissed him again. “I mean it, okay? I won’t let anyone hurt you. This will all be over soon.”

  “I really hope so.”

  “It will.”

  With spirits back on the rise, we got out and entered the building’s lobby, checking in with the front desk and getting walked over to the elevator bays, where we were keyed in and allowed up to the penthouse. Oliver looked at me with wide eyes as the golden-railed elevator carried us smoothly up thirty-three floors. The doors dinged open and dropped us off into a beautifully decorated foyer, with touches of gold and marble that popped against the white walls and designer furniture.

  Anya was waiting for us, a can of Heineken in her hands. She looked relaxed in a pair of black sweats and a loose-fitting college T-shirt, a friendly smile on her face.

  “Hey, boys. Either of you want some beer?”

  20 Oliver Brightly

  Part of me couldn’t believe I was inside a penthouse belonging to the coolest freakin’ hacker I’ve ever laid my eyes on.

  Not that I’d laid my eyes on many hackers in the first place, but still, Anya was definitely the coolest, I could tell from the jump.

  She had a laid-back energy to her and instantly welcomed us into her home, but underneath that calm was an intelligence and sharpness that buzzed like electricity. I was simultaneously relaxed and on edge, even though she was doing everything to make us comfortable. I had accepted the beer and was drinking it as she led us to her hub, a wall of computers that glowed with different images on every screen. Behind the fortress of silicone were floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out onto the beach, which was currently twinkling up at us with all kinds of colored lights.

  “Make yourselves at home,” Anya said, motioning to a comfortable-looking light blue couch just to the side of her computers. As she got set up and was pulling up whatever nuggets of information she had found, she was talking to us about the concert we were headed to, and how she used to love listening to J.Lo as a kid. The conversation, as it often does when I’m around, turned to favorite pop divas, and the mood relaxed. I almost forgot the reason for us being here in the first place.

  “And Pink,” Beckham offered. “I loved Pink. I remember buying her first record. Bought every one since.”

  “Oh, I knew that about you,” Anya said. “You have that confident ‘fuck you I listen to Pink and can potentially do aerial tricks’ aura about you.”

  I laughed. “Thought you were going to say you looked through his search history.”

  “That too, but, well—” She put a hand out like Vanna White, framing her computers. “—that’s a given.”

  I paused for a second before both Anya and Beckham started to laugh. I joined in, a little relieved she was joking. Not that I had anything to hide, even if she wasn’t joking.

  Well, there was that one time I googled… nah, forget it. That was on my browser’s privacy mode. No way could she have found that.

  Right?… Right?

  “All right, let’s dig into this,” Anya said, cracking her knuckles. She drank from her Adventure Time mug, foam from the beer sticking to her upper lip before she wiped it off.

  The weight of the moment was settling back onto my chest, reminding me of the exact reason why we were here.

  This could be it. Anya may have found something that pointed to the two thugs involved in this. We may have the answer to who those two monsters were. The ones who’d stolen a light from this world, one that so badly needed any light it could get. Derrick was a spotlight, his soul as bright as the sun. And he was taken in the blink of an eye. In the explosion of a star.

  I began feeling excited about the prospects of putting this all behind me.

  “Okay, so, check this out.” Anya pointed at one of the screens. Both Beckham and I stood from our seats on the couch and flanked Anya, beers still in hand. I followed her finger, reading the screen.

  “This is a text exchange from Mario with a burner phone. I couldn’t track down any information about who owned the burner phone, but you can tell that the two weren’t exactly chatting about the newest season of Stranger Things.”

  I shook my head. “No, definitely not.”

  The screen had an image of a text chat magnified so that it took up the entire space. It was a short exchange, but it was pretty telling of the type of person Mario was.

  BURNER PHONE: Yo, you up? I’ve got something I need help with.

  MARIO: Yeah I’m up. Where you at?

  BURNER PHONE: By Lake Ellis. Got into some heat. Need to handle the mess.

  MARIO:
I’ll be there in fifteen. J lay low.

  The exchange had happened a year ago, the first text being sent at three thirty in the morning. Not much good happens at that time, especially not by a sketchy-ass lake that was infamous for having dead bodies float up to the surface on an otherwise peaceful day.

  Anya dragged her finger across the screen. The last line was highlighted in bright yellow, following the trail her finger had dragged.

  “That line interests me the most.”

  “And why’s that, Anya?” Beckham cocked his head, smiling. I had a feeling that line interested him just the same.

  “Mario slipped some info in there. I don’t think that random J is a typo.”

  “I don’t think so either. It’s a bread crumb. I take it you have the rest of the trail?”

  “I do,” Anya said, tilting her head and smirking. She turned back to her computers and focused on the center screen. There, she pulled up a detailed satellite view of Miami. She tapped on a flashing red dot and the camera zoomed forward, stopping in front of a four-story apartment building, its beige paint chipping across the front. A mom and her two kids walked hand in hand across the front of the building, the little boy trying desperately to open up a toy, using his teeth to tear at the corner of the box in his hand.

  “Wait a second, is this live?” I asked, only now realizing what I was looking at.

  “I’ve got access to this street camera, so yeah, you’ve got a live feed right now. And this place here, that’s Mario’s place. He lives on the fourth floor. Apartment 410.”

  “Holy Glittertits, Anya, you’re really good.”

  Anya dropped her head back and let out a loud laugh. “Glittertits. I like that. I like that a lot.”

  “Thanks, I just made it up. You inspired me.”

  She shook her head before pointing at Beckham, smile wide on her face. “You better not fuck this up. I like this guy.”

  “Yeah, I do, too,” Beckham shot back, pulling me into his side and kissing the top of my head. I could feel my cheeks flush bright red.

  “Too sweet. I’m going to barf. I love it.” Anya turned to the computer. “I’ve been keeping an eye on the place, but no one suspect has walked in or out. I did see Mario leave like an hour ago.”

  “I’ll be giving him a visit tomorrow, then.”

  “What?” I turned to Beckham. “You’re going to confront him? Already?”

  Beckham looked a little taken aback by my sudden questions. “I just want to ask some preliminary questions. Get him sweating, if he did in fact have something to do with the murder. I’ve been doing this a while, Oliver. I know how I can get someone to crack. If we’re lucky, I think we can have this ended by tomorrow night.”

  Now I was sweating. I expected to have more time, just so I could process this all, and so that Beckham would have an undeniable case against Mario. “With the threats… Beck, I’m just nervous.”

  “I know, and I knew this would happen. It’s why I wanted you to stay in the car.”

  “Okay, but I don’t think I needed to stay in the car like some kid. I’m glad you brought me up here, I’m just worried, that’s all.” I felt a flare of defensiveness light up inside me. I absolutely dreaded conflict, most of all with the man who held my heart in the palm of his hand, but the pressure of the situation and fear of the future was getting to me.

  Beckham pulled back. “I didn’t mean it like that, Olly. I’m just saying.”

  “I know how you meant it.” I waved it off, feeling a little dumb for dictating what Beckham should or shouldn’t do. He was right—this was his job. I had to trust that he knew what the next best step was.

  “What did I say about fucking this up?” Anya asked, throwing a pointed stare at Beckham, who shrunk visibly underneath her gaze.

  It got a laugh out of me. I grabbed Beckham’s hand and fell into his side. “He’s biologically incapable of fucking things up.”

  “Mhmm,” Anya said. “You haven’t tried his cooking, then, have you?”

  Beckham laughed this time. The small slice of tension vanished as quickly as it had appeared. I blamed it on the stress of this case and the threat that had rocked my world. It was enough to have me consider calling it all off altogether, but I stopped myself short every time. This case had to go on, and it had to be solved. Not only for myself, but for Derrick.

  And with Anya’s help, it looked like we were that much closer to a solution.

  The music pounded through my body. The rhythm was infectious as we danced along to the beat, the stage only a few feet away from us. We were up close and personal with the goddess herself, who managed to pull off dance moves I didn’t think were even possible. J.Lo was defying gravity and putting on a show I would never forget. Her sequined white-and-gold outfit was catching all the light and throwing it back to the audience, keeping her the center of attention no matter where she went on stage.

  At one point, I shimmied my hips a little too hard and ended up shimmying right in front of Beckham. Instead of returning to his side, I stayed there, moving my hips, finding the beat and sticking to it. Beckham put his hands on my hips and moved with me, dancing to the music.

  I felt so alive.

  I ground my ass back on him, and the crowd around us slowly but surely disappeared. All I could focus on was the mind-blowing show in front of me and the heart-melting man behind me. Nothing else mattered. All my stress floated away. All my fears were nowhere to be found.

  “Wooo!” I shouted as J.Lo waved and looked directly at me, wearing a golden sequin bodysuit that fit her like a glove, undoubtedly sucking a little piece of my soul from me.

  A piece I’d happily give to her, just for the record.

  The massive screens behind her displayed hypnotizing visuals of flowers. The next song she started to sing was a slower one, but Beckham didn’t let go of my hips. We swayed slowly to the beautiful melody, feeling almost as if she were serenading us personally.

  As Beckham moved behind me, I felt something against me, something hardening. Something growing bigger and bigger.

  Before the song was over, Beckham was fully hard and pressing up against my ass.

  I didn’t miss a beat. I rocked my hips back and forth, dipping and pushing back as the song perfectly transitioned into a booty-twerking anthem. It was the perfect cover for me to push back on Beckham and get him even harder. At one point, I got so into it that I dropped my hands to the floor and started really showing him all my twerking skills.

  I could feel his thick cock throb. If I stepped away from him, I knew that the bulge would probably even grab J.Lo’s attention.

  I didn’t step away. I didn’t want to. I kept swaying my hips, loving how he felt against me. It was making me hard, just thinking about how badly I wanted him against me, without all these dumb clothes between us.

  Forget about being against me. I want him inside me.

  The thought consumed me. It created a pronounced emptiness inside me that yearned to be filled, and Beckham had exactly what I wanted it to be filled with.

  By the time the concert was over, I might as well have been pregnant.

  By the time we got to Beckham’s place, I knew I wanted to get pregnant.

  We didn’t even make it inside the front door before our bodies were pulled together again like magnets. The kiss was as loud and as memorable as the concert. He pushed me up against the wall, taking my breath away, his hard body pressed against mine, his tongue parting my lips and claiming every inch of my mouth. His hand dropped from my lower back and grabbed on my ass, squeezing and kneading, pushing me harder onto him.

  “Oh fuck,” I said, breathless as the kiss broke. The streetlamp nearby cast an orange glow on the scene, but Beckham’s golden-green eyes seemed to have a light source of their own.

  “Let’s get inside,” Beckham growled. He unlocked the door and walked in, his ass looking like a full-course meal in his jeans.

  I didn’t waste any time. The second the door was closed, I was
already taking off Beckham’s shirt. He stood there shirtless, with his jeans hanging low on his hips, a tuft of dark hair visible, making my mouth water. I took a moment to admire him. I let my eyes trace over his body, taking in every little inch, admiring how good he looked half-naked. He wasn’t ripped or anything like that, which I loved. He had a powerful chest and big arms that felt so good wrapped around me. His nipples were hard, and his jeans looked like they were about to rip apart.

  He was the man of my dreams. No doubt about it.

  I stepped forward, put my hands on his hips, feeling his warmth against my palms. I let my hands glide slowly up and down, over his nipples, through the soft silver chest hair, feeling the beat of his heart. Slowly, softly, I leaned up and kissed his neck. I kept kissing, slow and sensual, memorizing him with my lips, kissing the trace of his jaw, the rise of his shoulder, the slope of his chest. I kissed downward, following his treasure trail. Beckham let out a small moan as I kissed the tuft of hair that had my mouth watering.

  I went down to my knees, holding on to Beckham’s legs for balance. I put myself eye level with Beckham’s bulge. It throbbed through the dark jeans. I looked up, smiling as our eyes locked. His fingers threaded through my hair as I leaned forward, rubbing the side of my face on him. I did the same with the other side of my face. Beckham opened his legs a little wider, his fingers holding on a little tighter. I continued to rub, loving the feeling of my man towering over me while I pressed my face between his legs.

  “God damn, Oliver. You’re going to make me come without even taking my clothes off.”

  “Oh really?” I smiled and reached around, grabbing Beckham’s ass in my hands and pulling him even harder onto my face. If he wanted to suffocate me with his crotch in that moment, I honestly would have died as one happy motherfucker.

  The jeans had to be torn off, though. I stood on legs that already shook with anticipation. Before I could take off the last of Beckham’s clothes, he pulled me in for another kiss. Both of us were rock hard. I made sure he felt how hard I was, thrusting my hips forward.