It appeared he really didn’t know where the trash bins were, considering they were lined up against the wall in the garage by the door, but he guided her toward the great room.
Through it.
Out the door.
She opened her mouth to share he was going the wrong way, but closed it when he led her to the recessed seating area around which were white-padded, built-in, backed benches. In the middle there was a fire pit.
He took her right down and stopped them at the pit’s side.
“I’ll be back,” he murmured, turned, and strode up the two steps to his built-in barbeque area.
He opened a drawer and came back with a long grill lighter.
He went to the side of the pit, turned a silver key, flicked the lighter, and a wave of heat came with the blaze of fire that shot from the lava rock.
Stellan then tossed the lighter to the pad on a bench and moved back to her side.
“I take it the garbage isn’t a permanent enough solution for you,” she quipped.
He leveled his eyes on her.
Right.
Still not the time to be amusing.
“Go, darling, crocodile first,” he ordered.
Yes.
It wasn’t time to be amusing.
She turned her gaze to the fire.
It was probably over a hundred degrees outside, but somehow the heat of the day mingled with the flame from the fire seemed less like a roasting and more a cleansing.
She tossed the crocodile in.
It went up like a torch.
“Whoa,” she mumbled.
“That fucking doll,” Stellan, not wasting any time, growled.
She glanced at his stern face and back to the flames.
She tossed the doll in and took a step back as the plastic hair curled into nothing nearly instantly and the plastic face started melting, both searing the air with an acrid scent, and the clothes went up like tinder, so fast, it was almost like they evaporated.
The doll oozed, dripping between the lava rock, the crocodile totally gone, disappeared. And she stood with Stellan at her side and watched as the doll continued to liquefy, vanishing drip by drip.
This morning it’s my famous French toast for my baby girl!
“I didn’t need French toast, Daddy,” she whispered to the blaze. “I didn’t need a doll. I needed you to be a father.”
Stellan moved closer.
Sixx and Simone, as one at last, stood and stared at the only thing she had that her father had given her as it trickled away.
“We needed you to be a father,” she repeated.
Stellan had all the patience in the world now, and the doll was long gone, not a speck of her in sight, before he spoke again.
“Are you ready for the pictures?” he asked gently.
She turned to him and nodded woodenly.
So lost in this bizarre, but powerful, ceremony, she hadn’t noticed he’d taken them from the frame.
He handed the paper to her.
So flimsy. Once she threw them in, they’d be gone in seconds.
How odd that something that captured a moment in time that should have been beautiful, emotional, precious—those pictures kept and treasured and handed down so the people in them would never be forgotten—could be so frail.
If there existed a picture of her and Stellan, she’d throw herself into any flame that threatened to erase it from existence.
She tossed the pictures of her parents in like they were completed grocery lists.
And she was right.
They were gone in seconds.
Stellan curled her into his arms, but even as he did, Sixx kept her eyes aimed at the blaze.
“He made you French toast?” he murmured.
“Not often. When he didn’t wake up strung out or hungover and was in a good mood.”
“I shall never make you French toast,” Stellan vowed.
She stared at the flames, then tipped her head back and stared up at him.
Her handsome savior.
Her beautiful healer.
She wasn’t the hero of her own story. She also wasn’t the villain.
What she was, was one half of a whole.
Just not the half she thought.
The half that fit the other half of him.
She could go on and fight again, stronger, smarter, more powerful, along the way giving him what he needed to do that in return.
They were the dynamic duo.
“I love French toast,” she said softly.
“Have you had anything to eat?” he asked.
Not a chance. The way she spent her morning, if something went down, it would have come right back up.
But suddenly, she was feeling seriously peckish.
“No,” she answered.
“Then we’re having French toast,” he decreed.
He also started to move, his hold on her sharing he was going to take her with him, but she locked her arms around him and he stilled.
“I thought you were going to fuck me,” she noted.
“I am. But I haven’t eaten either, and since the both of us will be naked for the rest of the day, and active, we need fuel.”
She smiled up at him. “Are you going to turn off the fire?”
He sighed, let her go, went to the silver key, turned it, and the fire slowly died.
Her parents and her past were wisps on the wind, ashes.
She felt no loss.
She felt reborn.
At that point, she could have made a joke about ending up in Phoenix.
Looking at Stellan’s face, though, she decided …
Later.
He came back to her, tossed his arm around her shoulders, and moved her to the steps.
She slid her arm around his waist and walked with him, their hips and legs brushing as they went.
She heard the relaxing fall of water from the feature as they made their way to the house.
“Can we do some of our nakedness and fucking in the pool?” she requested.
“Anything you want, darling,” he murmured.
Anything she wanted.
It was the first time he said that that it didn’t terrify her.
She felt nothing.
But light.
Clean.
And happy.
STELLAN
After breakfast, while Simone was upstairs getting sunscreen, Stellan moved out to the fire pit to retrieve the frame he’d left there.
He took it through the house, to the garage, and opened up the trash bin that sat next to the recycle bin just beside the back door.
He tossed the frame in.
Then he stared at it.
Reached in.
Retrieved it.
Lifting his arm, with all his strength, he pitched the frame into the bin and the cheap, flimsy wood cracked, the thin glass shattering.
He picked up what remained intact and repeat.
Repeat.
Repeat.
Until there was nothing but bits of detritus.
Only then did he lean into the knuckles of his fists against the wall and look down at his trash, his breaths coming fast, expanding his rib cage, his chest, as he stared at nothing but waste.
But in his mind’s eye he saw block after block filled with Simone’s graphically depicted, in more ways than one scarred beauty doing terrifying things to survive a dangerous life and save the day again and again for a little girl who had a life of playing with exquisite dolls and miraculous wonders of fanciful tea sets in a room full of ruffles and lace and love.
He also saw Simone staring at him with fear and heartbreak standing on his deck and sitting in his library, thinking he’d set her free after she shared what beat down to the heart of her.
“You goddamned, fucking motherfuckers, creating that beauty and sentencing her to live that life. I hope you’re burning in hell,” he growled, took one hand, tossed the lid of the bin down and pushed from the wall.
He stare
d at the door like he wished he could pulverize it with his eyes.
“She’s mine now,” he told the door. “Nothing vile or putrid is touching her. Never again. Not ever fucking again.”
With that, he straightened his shoulders, drew in a deep breath, and walked into his house, his home with Simone, to spend the day with the woman he loved, which would be just a day that would lead into the next, and the next, and the next, all of them where she’d be safe and happy and loved.
Until neither of them were breathing.
nineteen
Domestic Decadance
SIXX
Late the next morning, Sixx walked into Sip and right away spotted Sylvie Creed sitting at one of the tables.
She was very petite, had long, wild, honey-blonde hair, green eyes and a curvy body that Sixx didn’t know if it came naturally or from the fact it seemed she was constantly popping out offspring.
One look at her, you would never guess she was the badass spitfire she was.
But regardless of the fact she was an adoring wife and a devoted mother, her level of badassness made Sixx look like a cheerleader.
The second Sixx spotted her, Sylvie caught her eye and lifted her chin as well as her plastic cup of iced coffee, so Sixx knew to go direct to the counter to order her jolt without worrying about setting Sylvie up.
She did that, grabbed it, and walked to her friend, noting Sylvie watching her with growing intensity as she made the short trek through the kickass structure that served coffee and beer, with a limited but delicious menu of food, all of this in a repurposed garage.
From the minute Sylvie discovered it, that was the only place they met.
Not a surprise, it was so totally her vibe, not to mention it was awesome and had some of the best coffee in Phoenix.
“Hey,” Sixx greeted as she sat opposite the blonde.
Sylvie stared at her, then asked, “What?”
Sixx was confused. “What, what?”
Sylvie did not exactly elucidate with her, “What’s going on?”
“I told you. I have a job that I might—”
“No,” Sylvie cut her off. “What’s going on with that look on your face?”
Damn.
“Nothing’s going on,” Sixx lied (yes, yet again to a friend). “I just got a lead on a side job that, if I take it, and it looks like I’m going to take it, I’m going to need someone to go undercover in a sitch where I can’t do that.”
“That look on your face doesn’t say job. It says my girl is gettin’ herself some, and that gettin’ is a whole lotta good.”
Stellan didn’t miss a thing.
If possible, Sylvie missed less.
“I’m seeing someone,” Sixx muttered.
“Say what?” Sylvie almost yelled.
“I’m seeing someone,” Sixx snapped. “No big deal.”
“Like, someone you aren’t tying up?” she asked back, finishing, “Notthatthere’sanythingwrongwiththat.”
“People in my world hook up for more than just a hookup, Sylvie,” she educated.
“That look on your face says that’s the damn truth,” Sylvie shot back. “What’s his name and how long has this been going on? And warning, your answer better not piss me off seeing as my girl seeing someone means texting that info to her girl ahmeejeeatly, get me?”
“He and I, we’ve known each other years. But it started only recently. And so you’ll be fully informed, we’re living together. I moved in with him.”
Sylvie’s eyes took over her face.
“It’s not that big of a deal,” Sixx said.
“It’s not that big of a deal,” Sylvie parroted.
“No,” Sixx said sharply, hoping that’d be the end of it.
It wasn’t the end of it.
“Heads up, commitment-phobe, moving in is totally that big of a deal.”
It took some effort, but Sixx managed not to roll her eyes.
“At least he didn’t move in with you. And please, God, tell me he doesn’t live in a shittier studio than you used to,” Sylvie added.
“His place is…” Sixx couldn’t help but grin, “really nice.”
“Anything is nicer than that squat you used to call home.”
“It wasn’t that bad,” Sixx protested.
“It sucked,” Sylvie returned.
Sixx really couldn’t argue that.
“So spill,” Sylvie pushed. “What’s his name?”
She’d find out anyway considering, outside Aryas, Sylvie was the closest thing to a BFF she had in Phoenix—or anywhere—and Stellan simply wasn’t going anywhere.
And Sylvie also was a private investigator, so if Sixx didn’t spill, she’d go out of her way to learn what she wanted to know.
Sixx decided to save her the effort.
“Stellan,” she answered. “Stellan Lange.”
She didn’t have to say the second part.
On his first name, Sylvie’s eyes took over her face again, and she instantly snatched up her cell sitting on the table in front of her, engaged it, poked at it, and hit speakerphone so that Sixx could hear it ring.
“Sylvie—” she started.
“Yo, baby,” Tucker Creed’s voice said via speakerphone.
“Get this, partner,” Sylvie crowed. “Sixx is banging Stellan, and by banging I mean, all-moved-in-domestic-bliss-if-her-face-is-anything-to-go-by bang … ing.”
The good news was that she wouldn’t have to introduce Stellan to Sylvie and Tucker through some awkward dinner party or something. Clearly, for whatever reasons that could come about, they already knew him.
“Well, shit,” Tucker muttered, sounding amused.
Sixx looked up to the ceiling.
“She’s totally loved up,” Sylvie declared, and Sixx moved her eyes back to her friend in order to glare at her. “It’s coming out of her pores so bad, it’s turning me on.”
“Then finish your meeting quick, baby, and get your ass to me.”
“Roger that,” Sylvie replied.
“And tell Sixx I’m glad for her,” Tucker said. “Stellan’s solid.”
He could say that again.
“I’m right here,” Sixx piped up. “You’re on speakerphone so pretty much everyone at Sip knows I’m banging Stellan.”
“Glad for you, babe,” Tucker repeated, sounding like he was laughing.
Sixx shook her head.
“I gotta get this meeting done so I can get to you and work out this vibe,” Sylvie cut in. “Love you, hubs. Later.”
“Love you back,” Tucker said before Sylvie disconnected.
“Was that necessary?” Sixx asked.
“Totally,” Sylvie said through a grin with her straw to her lips before she sucked. After she sucked, she asked, “Do you tie him up?”
“He’s a Dom,” Sixx sighed.
“Bummer,” Sylvie muttered. “I was having visuals of Stellan Lange tied up. I love my man hard, but they were good ones.”
Sixx knew how that felt.
“So, he’s a Dom, and that’s your swing too, so how’s that work?” Sylvie asked curiously.
“He ties me up.”
Sylvie grinned. “Even better.”
“And gives me toys,” Sixx went on, not wanting to, but knowing Sylvie wouldn’t let it go.
“Yowza,” Sylvie said, her eyes dancing. “Niiiiice,” she finished on an exaggerated drawl.
Sixx’s brows went up. “Can we talk about work now?”
Sylvie put her drink down, nodding. “Sure. Shoot.”
“You know the Bolt?” Sixx asked.
“Yup,” Sylvie answered.
Sixx laid out what Carlo told her, watching Sylvie’s face get serious while she did.
She concluded that with, “I’ve done some research on all the partners. Like my guy said, Josh Coates is a flake, but he’s as solid of one as you can get as far as I can tell. Barclay Richardson is just straight-up good people, and from what I got after making a few calls this morning to players I k
now in that scene, he’d lose his mind if he knew this was happening. The last asshole, Pete Beardsley, is just that. An asshole. He’s a mess. Got a rap sheet. Petty shit, but it includes possession with the intent to distribute, something that he pleaded out, and soliciting a prostitute, twice. It’s primarily his mismanagement that led the Bolt to nearly having to close down before they recruited Richardson to buy in, turn the place around and run it. Which he does. Efficiently. And now it makes a good profit. The three players I talked to report Beardsley is skeevy, most the women, subs and Dommes, stay well away. And they all shared that they think something has been up recently, at least the past couple of months, since he suddenly has a stable of females available to him when no one would touch him.”
“So he partakes as well as hires out,” Sylvie mumbled.
Sixx nodded. “Apparently. I can’t know unless I get in there. My guy is setting up a meet with me and Josh. That’s happening this afternoon. But if I take it on, I can’t go in like I’d need to. I’m known in the scene. I’d never get this guy to believe I’m ripe for the picking.”
“Babe, I want in on this with you,” Sylvie said, picking up her coffee, “but this is decaffeinated.”
Damn.
“You’re knocked up?” Sixx asked.
“Yep,” Sylvie answered before sucking back a sip.
“Again?” Sixx queried.
Sylvie swallowed and smiled as angelic a smile as she could, which meant it was naughty … but happy. “Yep.”
“Happy for you,” Sixx said softly, and Sylvie’s smile got bigger.
“I am too. Creed acts every time like it’s the first time, so he’s clomping that big body of his around on air. Jesse wants a baby brother. Rayleigh keeps screaming, ‘thithy!’ so I’m feeling where she’s going. I don’t care. It’s another being made of me and Creed, and he or she will be loved, and that’s all I need.”
Another being made of me and Creed, and he or she will be loved, and that’s all I need.
Sixx looked away.
“Serious as shit, sister,” Sylvie said quietly, “you and Stellan would make beautiful babies. He’s way hot, and you’re gorgeous.”
She and Stellan had had the day before. It was the most beautiful day of her life. No day could possibly surpass it. She knew that down to her soul.
And it sucked to realize right then that even though they’d successfully navigated that minefield, things might not be just smooth sailing.
The Greatest Risk Page 39
