Red Velvet Vengeance

by Addison Moore

  Naomi gives me an address and says to be there at seven sharp.

  Dutch bounds back to the car with me as I pull out my own phone and shoot a quick text to Everett.

  You up for an adventure in Fallbrook tonight?

  He texts right back. Only if you’ll be my fiancée.

  You bet. I’m quick to text him back.

  “Well, how do you like that?” I say to Dutch. “It looks like I got a proposal after all. Just from the wrong man.”

  Dutch whimpers as if it were all his fault, and a small part of me wonders if it’s true.

  Chapter 7

  Fallbrook is majestic any time of the year, but with fresh white powder covering the rooftops of these monolithic estates, the grandiose, sprawling grounds glitter as if we just stepped inside a snow globe.

  Dutch barks as we come upon the architectural wonder where Naomi assured me ordinary people would be hosting a potluck, and for some reason, I’m beginning to doubt a word that flew out of her Elite escort-loving mouth. Naomi has spent the better part of the last decade trying to humiliate me. I don’t see why tonight should be any different.

  Everett and I pull into the enormous circular driveway littered with cars that trail to the back of the property. The house itself isn’t nearly as big as Everett’s mother’s mega mansion, but it’s colossal to say the least.

  We get out, and I secure my pink box of red velvet cupcakes to my chest as I look into the old world-inspired architecture. The façade of the structure is completely covered in stone, and the ivy running up along the sides of the house looks as if it’s been hugging the structure from the beginning of time.

  Naomi actually did suggest I bring something. She said it’s a potluck each and every time, and now that we’re outside of the palatial estate, I’m beginning to question the elegance of my red velvet wonders.

  “Lemon”—Everett’s chest expands as he studies the tall structure with its endless towers like pointy witches’ hats—“our conversation covered a lot of ground on the way over.”

  “That it did.” Suffice it to say, I learned a lot about the legal system while Everett had a crash course in my magical cream cheese frosting. I let him eat as many cupcakes as he wanted as we cruised over to Fallbrook. It was only fair considering he’s surrendered his free time to me this evening.

  He blocks my path a moment. His serious eyes look as if a storm is brewing in each one. “He didn’t pop the question, did he?”

  My mouth opens and closes, dismayed that I don’t have the answer I’d like to give him.

  “No, he didn’t.” My entire body sags as Dutch runs a circle around us. “You don’t think it has anything to do with you know who, do you?” I point behind him, and Everett averts his eyes.

  “No. It’s not fair to blame the zombie dog for Noah’s goofy moves.”

  “Dutch is not a zombie. Oh, and hey, guess what? It turns out, Carlotta Sawyer, my bio mom, has the same gift. I caught her holding one of those roving celestial Chihuahuas the night of the murder, and she copped to it.”

  “What?” He inches back as if I struck him. “Why in the world did you wait to tell me?”

  Something in me warms to see him so intensely invested. “I’m telling you now.” A heavy sigh escapes me as I watch Dutch head on up the front entry without us. “She said I shouldn’t keep him. That bad luck was an understatement of very dark things to come.”

  “Then he’s got to go.”

  Dutch backtracks, whimpering as if he’s already regretting his trip to Fallbrook, and maybe the planet, too.

  “He doesn’t want to go, and I’m not sure I want him to either.”

  “I’m sorry, Lemon, but I think I’m siding with Nell and Carlotta on this one. Who knows what could happen? You’re playing with fire here. That dog belongs with its owner.”

  “We’ll see.”

  Everett and I head on up and ring the bell. It takes less than ten seconds for a tall block of muscles to open the door, shirt off, skin tanned and slightly oiled down. He’s wearing fitted jeans and sneakers, and his smile is toothy, a perfectly pearly white block as if his upper and lower teeth had melded together into one big chunk.

  “You must be Evan and Lola!” he beams, and I say a silent thank you to Naomi for taking my suggestion. “You can call me Tiger.” He says every word with a greasy grin as he ushers us inside. His hair is dark and stiff, sticking straight up like a fresh mowed lawn. His eyes are a strange shade of green with bright yellow striations. But I quickly lose interest in that greasy, cheesy grin he’s sporting because the house itself is stunning. Stone floors run throughout, the walls are white, the furniture is sparse, and yet what they have of it is ultra-modern, acrylic and steel. There’s not one cozy element about this place.

  “You’re just in time,” Tiger guffaws as if it were hilarious. “The potluck is going strong. I’m guessing you brought dessert, so you’ll be a hit right away.”

  His eyes run down my body, and I can feel his gaze crawling over me like sticky fingers. He definitely has an ick factor about him, a sleaziness that ensures I never want to be alone in a room with him.

  We come upon a small crowd busily humming away at a buffet, and I’m suddenly glad to have brought my ultra-dreamy, red velvet, softer-than-air cupcakes with their sinful cream cheese frosting. Tiger is right. They’re sure to be a hit.

  Tiger leans my way while his enormous hand presses into my back, and it feels intimate, creepy. “You’re not the only first-timers here tonight. We’ve got another couple, too. Normally, I’d suggest the four of you do the switch, but my goodness,” his lips twist with lewd delight as he examines me, “you are one tasty snack. I might just have to keep you all for myself!” He guffaws so loud and long both Everett and I aren’t sure how to deal with it.

  Tiger claps the room to attention with those catcher’s mitts he calls hands. “Let’s get this party started!” About a dozen or so people mill around, each well dressed and polished looking. The small crowd begins to migrate to the myriad of half-moon shaped sofas scattered around, and I spot Dutch sitting smack between a tall man and a redhead still congregating around the periphery. It’s not until they turn around do I discover how very bad my luck can be.

  A breath hitches in my throat. Can’t move.

  Noah Corbin Fox stands tall and stoic, and judging by the size of his bulging eyes, he’s just as surprised to see me as I am him. Detective Ivy Fairbanks shoots a wicked eye my way. Her hair is wild and free and looks alarmingly gorgeous, as does the rest of her. She’s donned a fitted red pencil skirt, a red silk blouse, and has on a pair of matching heels, and I can’t help but note there’s something perfectly devilish about her tonight. Both Noah and Ivy glower our way as Everett takes my hand and leads us to a sofa adjacent to them.

  Tiger does a quick introduction of names, moving on down the line until he gets to Ivan and Noelle. I see what they did there. How very cutesy of them.

  I am not amused. And do you know what else doesn’t amuse me in the least? The fact my ghostly pooch has happily planted himself between the two of them as if he liked them better. Ivy has her legs crossed. She’s kicking poor Dutch right through his phantasmal rear every other second, and judging by that smile on Dutch’s face, he seems to be enjoying it. He is such a boy.

  Music starts up, something with a heavy backbeat, lots of animated instruments, no lyrics. I cast a quick glance around the room. The women have all dolled themselves up as if readying for a night on the town. They’re all beautiful in their own right, and I can’t help but note they’re all equally feasting their gaze on Noah and Everett as if they were fresh meat. The men are all balding, paunch-bellied, sporting the dad bod that seems to be all the rage these days. And for sure, none of them are as exciting to look at as the aforementioned studly duo. So I can’t say I blame the girls for taking in some eye candy while they’ve got the chance.

  Tiger starts in on a spiel about the co-op. I’m guessing this is the co-op, or we’ll be
asked to purchase it shortly. An overeager brunette, wearing nothing but a silk kimono and kitten heels, bops by his side like an ever-faithful cheerleader.

  “The co-op is a lifestyle,” he booms as his voice reverberates off the walls like thunder. “It’s about living your best life now. Freeing yourself of the chains society has landed on our backs and opening yourself up to new ideas, new people, new experiences.” The crowd cheers. “This is about liberation, a night of reckless abandon, free rein to be the true person you were designed to be. Most of all, it’s about emotional freedom!” More wild cheers, and I’m beginning to think Everett and I have forgotten to drink the Kool-Aid. “For those of you who are visiting with us for the very first time, the safe word is swing. Jennica will now hand out our assignments.”

  My eyes enlarge as I look to Noah across the way—Noah who looks as if he’s ready to kill or maim Everett. And maybe me.

  I lean toward my partner in crime and whisper, “Why do you think we need a safe word, Evan?”

  Everett leans in close, his warm breath tickling my ear. “Because we’re swingers, Lola.”

  I sit straight as a pin and gasp as Jennica, the kimono-wearing cheerleader, heads our way. She holds a basket toward Everett, and he dips his hand in and pulls out a piece of paper that reads Noelle, and he crimps his lips my way.

  He’s been paired with Ivy. Oh, thank God for that.

  Jennica bypasses me for the next male in the bunch, and I can’t help but scowl at the sexism going on tonight. Jennica giggles as she leans my way as if she sensed my fury.

  “Don’t worry, hon. It’ll be ladies’ choice soon enough. The men claim they can’t choose among all of these luscious desserts, and we can’t really blame them. But take a look around. You and the other new girl will get first pick the next time we meet!” She bounces off, and my mouth falls open as I look to Everett.

  “What are we going to do?” I hiss so loud I nearly eclipse the sound of that porny music they have streaming from the speakers.

  Everett grunts as he flicks that ticket between his fingers. “I don’t know about you, but Ivy and I are about to make the best of it.”

  “Everett.” I smack him on the arm just as bodies begin to shift around the room. Couples begin to pair up, taking one another by the hand and sneaking off down the seemingly endless corridors in this perverted place.

  “Let’s do this.” Everett helps me to my feet, and my stomach sours as I look to the men left in the room. To say my prospects are bleak is being far too generous. There’s no way I’m pairing off with some stranger. It’s not like Everett would ever leave me. I bet he’ll—

  Just like that, Everett heads to Ivy and they share a quick laugh. I bet they think this is hysterical.

  Tiger steps over with his hauntingly huge frame, that wide chest of his glistening like mad as if he just endured a workout while feeding us a bunch of lines about opening our minds when all he really wanted was for us to open up other body parts.

  “Lookie what I’ve got here.” He belts out a hearty laugh while exposing me to a tiny piece of paper with my questionable name on it. “It looks like you and I are about to have a little fun.”

  Noah steps up and plucks that tiny piece of paper right out of Tiger’s hand.

  “I’m looking to trade.” He drops his own golden ticket into the giant’s oversized hand and ushers me out of the room, down the hall, and straight for emotional freedom.

  Chapter 8

  “Swingers!” I hiss as Noah seals the door shut behind us, and Dutch bounds right through the dark-stained mahogany as if it were still opened.

  Noah’s lids drip down, his mouth curls with a wicked grin. “I’d save the safe word for when you need it, Cupcake.” A dark laugh strums in his chest as he lets the moniker fly that both he and Everett have gifted me. “And the way you’re making me feel—you might just need that safe word.” He sneaks a heated kiss to my neck, and I melt into him for a moment.

  “Noah.” I take a reluctant step back and examine the dimly lit room illuminated exclusively with candlelight and Dutch’s arresting bright red eyes. Of course, Noah isn’t privy to that. Thank the Lord for not-so-small invisible mercies. “These people are sick. They’re twisted! They’re committing coitus all over this haunted mansion right this very minute!”

  “I realize that.” He pulls me back in by the waist. “And I’m starting to feel left out of the fun.”

  My mouth falls open. “I’m guessing that is not why Noelle and you dropped by tonight.”

  His lids drop a notch. “Nor you and Evan.”

  “Fair enough.” I can feel my body heat spike in anticipation of what’s coming next.

  “You promised not to investigate, Lottie.”

  “The Elite Entourage. Remember? I promised not to investigate the Elite Entourage. And I’m not. I’m investigating Jackson Jarvis, because I know for a fact he was at the community center the night Greer Giles was murdered.”

  Noah’s head ticks to the side. “You can place him at the scene of the crime?”

  “Not exactly, but I heard Greer tell her friend that Tiger was there, and she didn’t sound happy about it. No sooner did she say it than some dark-haired man stepped over to them.”

  “Did you see his face?”

  “No. A crowd moved between us.” Dutch barks behind me, and I take a quick glance around. “Noah, this looks like some kind of an office.”

  “Huh.” He scours the vicinity. “You’re right.” He heads for the desk lined with candles, and I’m right on his tail. Noah tries to open the drawer, but it doesn’t budge. “Locked.”

  “Ooh, let me,” I say, pulling a safety pin from my purse. “My mother kept her expensive jewelry under lock and key, and my sisters and I would break into that treasure chest every chance we got. I’m an old pro at this.” No sooner do the words come out of my mouth than the safety pin cracks in half with the needle breaking off in the lock. “Oh no!”

  “Allow me.” Noah pulls a utility knife from his pocket, and soon enough he gets the drawer to yawn wide open.

  “I’m impressed.” I try the side drawers, and they’re on lockdown as well. “Do these, too,” I say, and Noah is quick to oblige before we pilfer our way through enough files to wallpaper this enormous house with. “It looks as if he’s got a file on every couple,” I say, looking quickly through the odd notes that accompany each one. “Prefer the lounge. Does not like to share. Flexible and friendly.” I make a face at that one.

  “Look at this.” Noah holds a list of some sort to the candle flickering away. He points to the top of the page. “Brought in by G.G. I bet that’s Greer.” Underneath it is an entire litany of names, men and women.

  “It looks as if she was supplying him with clients. Do you think she got these people from the Elite Entourage?”

  “It’s possible,” he whispers. “But this was billed as a couples’ night out. There are no real couples in the Elite Entourage.”

  “Maybe this was the next step? Once they found someone they were happy with, they had no more use for the Entourage.”

  “Could be.” He flips the page around, and there’s another list under the heading private.

  I run my finger down the bevy of monikers, each a first initial followed by a surname.

  I read off a few names near the bottom. “Henry Holt. Spencer Brandon.” I shake my head because those names mean nothing to me, until I read a little farther. “Hey, some of these names look familiar. H. Nash? As in Mayor Harry Nash? S. Shumaker? That sounds like it could be that judge Everett was talking about last night at dinner.”

  “If it’s true, this is a list of very exclusive clients.”

  “Why is this scrawled on some piece of paper?” I ask while taking a few snapshots of it with my phone.

  “Maybe it’s a hard copy. Or maybe he’s promised his clients he wouldn’t input it in a computer file that could easily be hijacked.”

  “Going old school, huh? I’d say that’s pretty s
mart, but we’ve clearly outsmarted that clever giant.”

  Noah growls as he drops the file back into the desk and pulls me in. “Do you realize the things that man wanted to do to you?”

  Those green eyes of his cast their spell on me. His strong arms, that seductive cologne, I can hardly take another minute of it.

  I bite down over my lip. “I think we have some time before we need to vacate the premises. Maybe you can show me?”

  A villainous laugh vibrates through his chest. “Honey, what I’m about to show you is going to make you blush from head to toe.”

  “Ooh, maybe I’ll learn a few moves to take home with me and use on my boyfriend.”

  His brows flex until they meet in the middle. “He sounds incredibly boring.”

  “I don’t know about that. The things he can do with his mouth set the bar pretty high.”

  “Then I guess I’d better bring it.”

  Noah strips off his clothes and mine in record time, and before I know it, I’m pressed against the bookshelf, bracing myself on an old set of Encyclopædia Britannica, leather editions, and I’m pretty sure I’m using a book of Shakespeare’s completed works as a footstool. Trust me when I say there is nothing hotter than a tryst among the stacks. Noah brings explosive passion of literary proportions, and after sending me to the ceiling with his earthshattering frosting technique, he’s finishing it off with an aggressive shelf-slamming crescendo, and I don’t even mind the fact Dutch is barking up a storm as if I were being attacked.

  “That’s enough, Lot,” Noah grunts while keeping the room rioting around us.

  “What’s enough?” Not to sound like a sloth, but I’m not contributing much to the situation.

  “Whatever it is you’re doing to my ankle,” he pants into my ear.

  I glance down and spot Dutch’s mouth firmly attached to Noah’s leg, and a scream gets lodged in my throat.

  Dutch shakes his head as if he’s about to remove an entire limb, and Noah hops backward, shouting and shaking his leg as if he were being attacked and, my God, he is!