by Holly Hart
“Drinking with Carson....”
I jump up, triumphant. “Drinking with Carson! And he tried the same shit on me, the night we got back from DC—pouring bourbon down my throat, trying to get me to admit to, uh.... Us.” I realize I’m pacing, and force myself to stand still. “That whole night was fucked up—that guilt trip he laid on us... I mean, not that we didn’t deserve it, on some level, but it’s not like he’s been a saint in all this.”
“So you’re saying....” She swallows hard. Presses her fingers to her mouth. “You’re saying he’s been working us like sock puppets all along. And now, he’s...he’s glommed onto Wes?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?” She pulls her knees up to her chest, scrunching herself into a ball. “What could he possibly stand to gain from ruining our wedding? From any of this?”
“I’ve been thinking about that. It’s got to be jealousy.”
“Jealousy? Of...us?”
“Yeah. I mean, Matt Danbury ruined his life. He didn’t skip West Point: he didn’t get in. His grades tanked senior year. His dad made him enlist. That was it for him—one long downhill slide, from there.”
Kate knits her brow. “Why our wedding, though? Why just us? We were all in on Matt Danbury. Shouldn’t we all have got notes?”
“Who’s to say you were the only one? I mean, why’d Wes go to London? Maybe he was running from something, too.” I’m on a roll. “And even if nobody else got a note, it still makes sense. Dev and Wes—they were going nowhere. Nothing to envy there. Dev was, y’know...lost. And Wes had his dad to worry about. But you and me—we had a future. We had plans.”
“So did Kyle and Rachel.”
“Yeah, but Carson and Kyle were like this, in high school.” I hold up my thumb and forefinger, nearly touching. “And they had their falling out just recently. Just before Carson moved in with Dev.”
Kate rocks in place, eyes shut. “So he and Kyle part ways, his wife kicks him out, and his jealousy comes roaring back?”
“Why not?”
She nods slowly, hugging her knees. “It makes sense, I guess. I could see him screwing with our wedding, at least. Killing Dev, though—Dev, of all people?”
I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around that one, too. But there was always something off about Carson...wasn’t there? He was all over me after Kate ran off, wanting to take me drinking, shooting cans in the woods—whatever it took to get my mind off her. Almost like he was enjoying it. Getting a good look at what he’d done. That kind of sadism doesn’t evolve into anything good. Especially—
“Max?”
“Sorry—I was just thinking, he called himself a coward in his blackmail notes—the ones he sent himself. What if he’s covering for something worse? Making himself look scared and vulnerable, when really, he’s.... We don’t know what he did over there, what happened to him—maybe life’s cheap, to his eye.”
“That’s... We can’t assume that.”
She’s right. “So we’ll find out.”
“We need to get Wes away from him in the meantime.” She gulps. “Jesus Christ—was he listening at the door that night? After the funeral, when we...?”
I don’t want to picture it, but.... “Yeah. Probably.” I was pretty loud, too. There wouldn’t have been much doubt what she was doing to me. “Don’t think about it.” I sit down again, pulling her into my lap. “You’re sick. And there’s nothing we can do right this second.”
I feel Kate shudder. “I should text Wes, or—”
“Carson might see it. Plus, Wes can’t keep a secret for shit. We can’t tip our hand. Not till we’ve got something on him, something we can nail him with.” I slide my hand under her shirt, rubbing her back. Slowly, she starts to relax. “It’s a good thing you didn’t tell me,” I whisper. That feels right, too, now I’ve said it. “About our wedding, I mean. I might’ve kept the secret a while, but I’d eventually have told Dev, and he’d have told Carson, and... You were right. You were right.”
Her breath hitches slightly. She wipes at her eyes.
“I’ve spent so much time being furious with you—it’s not fair. I can’t let it go, just like that, the hurt, the anger, all that betrayal, but...can you give me some time? Would you—do you still want...?” I’m not sure how to finish that thought. I’m not asking her to go back to how things were. But if I still love her, and she still loves me, haven’t we earned a chance?
Kate’s nodding, hot tears soaking through my shirt. Can’t have that—can’t have her crying. Not now. I’m supposed to be taking care of her, making her feel better. A smile tugs at my lips: bet I still know how to tickle her funnybone.
“I have to ask you one thing.” I poke her in the ribs, just gently. “Wes send you any dick pics? On Tinder, I mean?”
Her sobs turn to laughter, loud and violent. “No! Ha! My God!” She snickers. “I’ve seen it, though. His dick.”
“Oh?”
“Oh, yeah. He and my assistant were quite the hot item, for a while. Five, uh...six years, I think?” Kate looks up at me, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Came back to the atelier late one night, to pick up my portfolio, and he was, uh.... She was....” She’s outright gasping, now, shaking with laughter. “She had this strap-on, and...yeah.”
Shit. “Go, Wes?”
“He seemed to be enjoying it.” She sighs, giggles subsiding at last. “Not sure why they broke up. She never said, and he kept clinging to the old mutual parting of the ways excuse.... Poor Wes. Really thought he’d found the one, there.”
I thumb the last of the tears off her cheeks. “You’re looking better: more pink in your cheeks.”
“I feel better.” She inhales deep and lets it out with a sigh. “A little shaky, but my stomach’s settling down.”
“Good.”
“When we catch Carson...” She cuddles up against me, nipping lightly at my jaw. “Let’s make him piss his pants for real.”
“Think that could be arranged.” I’d like to do much more than that. Fucker has a lot to answer for. I might not be able to make him feel Dev’s wrenching despair, the terror of Kyle’s last moments, Rachel’s aching desolation, but he’ll feel something, all right. I’m going to rub his face in it. Make him face up to what he’s done. And then...and then....
Maybe I will kill him.
Chapter 32
Kate
* * *
I wake up to late afternoon sun spilling over the bed, and the distant murmur of conversation. I’m refreshed, energized, full of purpose and fury. Max is on the terrace, talking on the phone. He wanders up to the French doors when he sees me stir.
I stretch out, not ready to give up the comfort of his quilt just yet. “Did you talk to Wes?”
Max tucks his phone away. “Keeps going to voicemail. Made a few calls on his behalf, though.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah—thought I’d put out some feelers about getting him some work. Something to tide him over while he rebuilds his empire.” The bed dips as he sits down next to me. “He’ll never need to know it came from me.”
I turn my head to rest my cheek against his thigh. “You’re a good friend.”
Max pushes the hair out of my face, letting his palm linger on my forehead. “If you’re feeling better, I might have a mission for you.”
“What kind of mission?”
“Show me you’re up to it.”
“Oh, well, if you insist....” I plop my hand in his lap, honking his cock like a clown nose.
“Oof—not like that.” He swats me away. “I meant, sit up. Maybe eat something. Not my meat.”
I sit up slowly, biting back a chuckle. The wooziness doesn’t come back. “Think we’re good.”
“Perfect.” He’s still playing with my hair. I lean into it, still pleasantly sleeplogged. How I missed these casual touches, the easy trust between us. To have him back, even for a while....
Max plants a kiss atop my head. “I need you to stick a tracker under Cars
on’s car.”
“What?” Now I’m awake.
“He’s still crashing here. When he gets back, I’ll pull him aside to share my latest crazyass theory, and you’ll get his car.”
“Which one is it?”
“Knew you’d be up for it.” He sneaks another kiss, a leisurely one this time. “It’s the one that looks like it doesn’t belong. Beat-up Corolla; duct tape on the driver’s side mirror. Should be next to mine.”
“Why do you even have a tracker?”
“In case someone steals my car. You’ll have to grab it off there, first.”
I glance at the clock on the nightstand. “When’s he coming back?”
“No idea.”
The hem of my shirt rides up my leg when I straighten up. Max follows it with his eyes, and I know I’m not imagining that hungry glint. Might be all kinds of sick and wrong, but the precariousness of our situation only makes me want him more. The way his lips cling to mine, like every kiss might be a kiss goodbye, is enough to make my toes curl. There’s an edge to his whispers that has me hanging on every word. Every caress seems to linger on my skin.
I lean back on the pillows, letting my shirt fall open. Max’s eyes narrow as his hand drifts to his tie. He loosens the knot with a quick, aggressive tug. “He was watching us before. Like a pervert in the bushes.”
That shouldn’t do it for me, but.... “Maybe he’s out there right now. With a set of high-powered binoculars.” As if on cue, the curtains billow out. The doors are wide open, exposing us to the breeze, and the peaks of Manhattan.
“Mm....” Max leans down to kiss my inner thigh. His breath stirs against my slit, and I twine my fingers in his hair.
“Going to show him how it’s done?”
“Undress me first.”
I let him go and he sits up, hands never leaving my body. My shirt slithers off my shoulders, and I squirm out of it. Max’s cufflinks catch my eye: rose gold with pearl inlays, in a honeycomb pattern. I pluck one free, then the other, discarding them over the side of the bed. I toss his tie clip after them, then the tie itself, and his watch and chain. “You’re overdressed.”
“You’re nearly naked.” He hooks two fingers under the waistband of my panties, tickling my belly.
I grab him by the lapels and pull him close. His jacket’s rough against my skin. He doesn’t protest as I wrestle him out of it and push it down his arms, trapping his hands behind his back. His waistcoat and shirt soon follow, and he kneels there at my mercy as I divest him of his belt.
“Here....” I slip behind him and turn him to the windows, sheltering behind him as I wrap my arms around his waist. He shudders, whether at the cool breeze or at the sensation of my lips on the back of his neck, I can’t be sure. I thrill to the feeling of his skin against mine, his hard nipples under my palms as I map out the contours of his chest.
Max bucks into my hand as I drop it into his lap. “Oh...that’s indecent.”
“Not yet it isn’t.” I unbutton his fly, slow and teasing. Already, he’s hard for me, cock swelling for my touch. I trail my fingers along his length, following the now-familiar shape. He responds eagerly as ever, my name dissolving into a broken moan as I nibble his earlobe. He’s slick through his briefs, thrusting wantonly into my palm.
I pull my hand away, relishing his groan of frustration, the way his wrists chafe against his jacket. His muscles bunch and ripple as he struggles, and I can’t resist the impulse to bite his shoulder blade, kiss my way down his back. He’s perfect, every inch of him. And he’s not getting away. I give the fabric a twist, pulling it good and tight.
“My prisoner....”
He’s panting for me, thrusting into thin air. This is how I need him: wanting and desperate, not a trace of inhibition. I push his pants and briefs down, baring him to the city. His cock throbs hotly in my hand. “Think he’s jealous of this?” I give it a squeeze.
Max’s laughter rumbles deep in his chest. “He’s a pretty big guy, himself.”
I coax him to full hardness with long, slow strokes. Max tilts his head back, eyes closed. If anyone is watching, they’re getting an eyeful of his pleasure. He seems to like the idea, rocking up into my fist, breath coming in quick, heated gasps.
I ease off when I feel him trembling near his limit. He growls, frustrated, and I pinch his nipple hard. The sound he makes, somewhere between a snarl and a yelp, only spurs me on. I keep him riding that razor’s edge, circling my thumb around the head of his cock, too light to satisfy, running my tongue up the side of his neck and breathing on the wet trail to make him shiver.
“Oh, you...you’re getting too good at this.” He writhes in his bonds, to no avail: he’s all mine. “You going to make me shoot in your hand like a horny fratboy, in front of half the city?”
“Would I be so cruel?”
“I don’t know....”
Truth is, I might...but not today. I’m wet and aching for him, and I haven’t tried it this way yet, sitting in his lap, riding him hard. “Condoms?”
“In the nightstand.”
I grab one and roll it on him. My heart’s pounding; I’m hot under the skin, half hoping Carson is watching, half hoping it’s eating him alive. I swing my leg over Max’s lap and sink down on his shaft in one long, slow motion. It still hurts a little, that improbable stretch, but that’s part of the appeal—that sense of being opened and filled. A flutter of excitement races through me as I start to move. This position’s perfect: my clit grinds against him on every downstroke; my nipples graze against his chest. And the way he’s looking at me, like he could devour me with his eyes....
“Can’t—can’t hold on much longer.”
I slide my hand between us to grip the base of his cock. “You’d better.” I snake my other hand up his back. Dig my fingers into the nape of his neck. “You’d better make me come.”
Max arches against me. The cords stand out on his arms as he clenches his fists behind his back. He whines between gritted teeth, holding back by sheer force of will.
“That’s right. Hold on for me.” I swivel my hips and rake my nails down his back, making it near-impossible for him to obey. He shouts and bucks up into me, so hard I’m forced to seize his arms for balance. And then he’s pistoning into me, hard and fast, all semblance of restraint out the window. I hold on for the ride, and soon I’m right there with him, slick with sweat, panting, begging—“Please....”
I bite him hard when my climax hits, and that seems to trigger something in him: he practically roars. Thrashes furiously against his restraints. This time, he succeeds in breaking free, one hand tearing loose with an audible popping of stitches. He lifts me bodily and throws me on my back, thundering into me with abandon. I wrap my legs around him, moaning his name as one peak of pleasure crashes into the next.
“Don’t stop.”
“Wasn’t planning on it....” He tangles his fingers in my hair, pinning me to the pillows. I turn my head to the side to look out over the terrace, imagining our audience watching him take what he wants, watching me give it to him, watching us melt in each other’s arms.
Max plunges into me one more time, deep and hard, body going taut in my embrace. I cry out loud, and so does he, howling incoherently as he finds his release. And then, the only sound’s our heavy breathing. Our breathing, and the distant shriek of a gull. I reach up and brush his hair out of his face.
He shakes his ruined shirt off his arm and collapses onto his back. “That was...quite a show of defiance.”
“Yeah, well. Fuck him.” I fold myself into the crook of his arm, hiding from the window. It was one thing to imagine Carson getting an eyeful of our reckless pleasure. But the intimacy of the afterglow...I don’t want to share that. I reach for the sheet, pulling it up to our necks.
Max casts his gaze to the sky. “It’s getting dark.”
Already...I must’ve napped half the day away.
“We should shower. Get dressed.” He makes no move to do either of those things, bury
ing his face in my hair instead. “Carson’ll be back....”
I huddle even closer, but he’s right. “You should come back to the Plaza with me. After I do the tracker thing.”
Max shakes his head. “It’d look too suspicious, abandoning my own home. Even for mindblowing sex.”
“Hate the thought of you alone with him.”
“He’s not going to do anything. Not till he gets his big payoff.”
I sit up, pulling the sheet with me. I don’t want to think about what Carson has planned. It doesn’t matter anymore. We’ve got him now—or we will have. Then it’ll just be a matter of.... “What are we going to do with him? Once we’ve got our proof?”
Max goes to the French doors and closes them. He draws the curtains, plunging the room into an early twilight. “Haven’t decided yet. We can’t turn him in. Blackmail him back, maybe? Like Kyle said before: mutually assured destruction.”
“That’s assuming he cares what happens to him. If he hates us enough, it might be worth it—his life for ours.”
Max shifts on his feet. He looks grim and feral in the low light. “You saying we should kill him?” He’s joking—I think—but a chill goes down my spine all the same.
“Not that. But we’ll need something to keep him in check. Something he does care about, to hold over his head.”
“Shit....”
I look away, awash in unexpected guilt. We do this, we’ll be better than Carson how, exactly? And what justice would it be for Dev and Kyle, for Rachel, to let him walk away, bound by some shaky stalemate?
We need to do better than that.
Chapter 33
Max
* * *
“My God, his life is boring!” Kate lets her head loll against the headrest. “Just eat it already! Yeah—put it in your mouth. In your mouth.”
Carson sets down his bagel. Turns the page of his book.
“Jesus.”
I smirk. “Ten bucks says the lady in the wheelchair finishes her coffee before he has a taste.”
