The Bastard

by Julie Kriss

  Axel looked from Dylan to me, then back to Dylan. “I don’t know who you are, man, but she called me. I think it’s you that needs to leave.”

  It was so obvious, seeing the two men side by side. Axel was thick and plodding and stupid next to Dylan; Dylan was lithe and lethal and ten steps ahead. In a flash, I understood why Axel was so boring to me tonight. The thought was depressing and painfully exciting at the same time.

  Dylan leaned toward Axel. He was lean and mean in his black tee, a body honed by training instead of by gym weights. “I’m being clear here,” he said. “Delete her number. Don’t contact her again. And get the fuck out of here before I really get angry.”

  It wasn’t even a battle. Axel rolled his eyes and made a few more threats for good measure, but he got off his stool and left. If he’d had a tail, it would have been between his legs. Dylan took his place on the stool next to me and brushed Axel’s drink away down the bar, as if it vaguely disgusted him. He took his hand from my neck but he still kept close to me. “Maddy,” he said in that same low tone. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

  I shouldn’t be turned on. Blatant displays of testosterone usually just bored me, but there was no denying my nipples were painfully hard beneath the fabric of my black dress. I just hoped Dylan didn’t notice. “I beg your pardon,” I said, keeping my voice cool instead of jumping all over him. “I’m having a drink.”

  “Is this what you meant when you said you were getting laid tonight?”

  So that was why he was here. I’d forgotten I’d said that. “Did it bother you?” I asked him. “How did you find me, anyway? Don’t tell me you followed me like a creep.”

  “Fair is fair,” he shot back. “Maybe I used the same tactics you used to find out when I got on a flight. And to keep your hired man on me everywhere I go in LA.”

  I shrugged. I’d actually told Max to take the evening off, because having Dylan followed was giving me a bad feeling in my gut. “That was my job, Dylan. Don’t think it’s because I’m a member of your fan club.”

  “I would never think that,” he said. “You made that clear. But that?” He gestured toward the door, indicating Axel. “That’s your idea of getting laid? He isn’t even worthy to kiss your feet.”

  I pressed my lips together. I didn’t want to admit that I’d been about to kick Axel to the curb when Dylan had showed up. I said, “Maybe, maybe not. It’s none of your business.”

  “I’ll make you a deal,” Dylan said. He leaned in, just close enough to speak low in my ear, but not touching me. “The next time you need service, you call me.”

  My throat was dry. It was time to end this, time to get up and go home. Time to put a stop to something that was starting to feel out of control. But the words that came out of my mouth surprised even me. “Put your money where your mouth is, Dylan King.”

  He didn’t hesitate. He pulled a few bills from his pocket, tossed them on the bar, and said, “Let’s go.”

  13

  MADDY

  What the hell was I doing? I was following a dangerous man—a man who was almost my client—out of a bar and taking him home. Wait, I was following him home. Because he was confidently leading the way.

  “How do you know where I live?” I asked him.

  “I have my sources of information, just like you do,” he said.

  My head spun for a second. Defensiveness and pure, unmixed fear. Because it had never crossed my mind that Dylan would have sources of information—and there were things I kept private from the world. Very private.

  My steps faltered and Dylan paused, turning to look at me. “Are you all right?”

  We were on the street in front of my building; the glass doors were right there, the doorman looking at us with carefully masked curiosity. He’d seen me leave, and now I was returning with a strange man. Well, that was too bad. “I’m fine,” I said, but I didn’t move.

  “Maddy.” Dylan touched my arm, his hand warm and almost gentle.

  “What else did you learn about me?” Because I knew Dylan, and he wasn’t the kind of man who did things halfway. If he had researched me, he had dug deep. Deep enough to hurt. I raised my gaze. “What did you find, Dylan? Tell me.”

  He didn’t have to. I saw it in his eyes before he said, “I read about your parents.”

  No lying, no hedging. Just a straight admission of truth. And for a second I was so angry I could have hauled back and slapped him. “Fuck you,” I said, getting the words out through a throat that was closing. “You had no right. Fuck you.”

  His gaze didn’t waver. “Tell me off,” he said, “but do it inside.” He touched my arm, and it made me even angrier that I didn’t flinch away. “Come on.”

  I didn’t speak to him in the lobby, or in the elevator, or when I put the key in my door. I didn’t speak to him as I walked into my apartment. I couldn’t get any words past my throat. I’d never felt like this—like I was glass and I had just cracked, a huge, violent line zig-zagging through my entire being. Through my life. The last time I’d had a panic attack, I’d been twelve years old and my mother had called the cops on my father during one of their fights. When the red and blue lights came through the window, I hadn’t been able to breathe. I had the same feeling now.

  I put my hands flat on the kitchen counter and leaned on them as sweat broke out on my forehead. Behind me, I heard Dylan close the door.

  He came closer, and he didn’t even need to speak. He leaned against my back and put his hands next to mine, braced on the counter. His lips brushed my neck, but I instinctively knew it wasn’t sexual; he wasn’t trying to fuck me. Instead, he was a blanket, a shield between me and the rest of the world.

  “Breathe,” he said softly.

  I choked a breath. It was stupid, of course, to have a panic attack over a man finding out who your parents were. But I already knew that was how panic attacks worked. They didn’t make sense, but no matter how many times you told yourself that, it never made them go away.

  “What exactly did you see?” I asked him when I could speak again.

  Again, his answer was direct and honest. “Their arrest records. Both of them.” His lips brushed my neck again. He was warm, so warm, his chest against my back. “I’m sorry I did it, and yet I’m not. You have nothing to be ashamed of, Maddy.”

  “You don’t know them. My parents are trash.”

  “So are mine. We have something in common.”

  I opened my mouth to argue, but in a way I knew he was right. Dylan’s parents might have money, but I had fielded calls from his mother, drunkenly accusing me of fucking her ex-husband. And Hank, to tell the truth, hadn’t been much better. He’d just had more money and had been better at hiding it.

  “Everything I do,” I said, “everything I’ve ever done, is to get away from them. To be someone who isn’t them, who doesn’t come from them. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

  “I know what that’s like,” Dylan said softly.

  “No, you don’t. Because you’ve never done something you’re ashamed of to get what you want. You’ve always done the good thing, the right thing. I haven’t.”

  He laughed softly. “You think I’m a hero?”

  “Of course I do. Everyone does. You went off to serve your country. You’re the Special Ops version of Captain America.”

  “My sisters, and the men I’ve killed, would disagree.”

  I was quiet. He waited for me to work through it. He was wrong—no matter what he said, he was a hero. He couldn’t help it. Why the hell was he still here? Why didn’t he leave in disgust?

  Well, if he hadn’t already, he would soon. “I fucked my law professor,” I said.

  The words were out there, dirty and ugly. Dylan didn’t move.

  “He said he’d give me a good grade,” I said. “He was in his late forties, and I was twenty. I wanted to get through law school so bad. I wanted it more than anything. So I did it.”

  Dylan lifted one of his hands and stro
ked my upper arm, as softly as if he were soothing a cat. “Maddy,” he said.

  “Don’t you get it? I fucked my professor. I did everything he told me to. I sucked his dick, Dylan, to get a good grade. My entire career is a lie. Everything I’ve done, everything I do every day—it’s all a lie.”

  He stroked my arm again. “One class doesn’t get you through law school. It doesn’t let you pass the bar, either.”

  He was right. I’d done most of it on my own, by my own smarts and determination. But it didn’t change how ashamed I was. “I’m a fake,” I said. “I’m always talking about my standards, how I don’t screw clients. It’s all a lie because of what I did.”

  “That’s bullshit,” Dylan returned. “What’s his name?”

  I pushed him gently off me and turned around so we were face-to-face. He was still so close, with my back to the counter, but I didn’t move away. “Why do you want to know that?”

  “Because someone is going to get a late-night visit from some very unpleasant people.” His voice was casual, but his eyes were hard. “As soon as I know his name, that is.”

  I shook my head. “You can’t fix it, Dylan. It was a long time ago. I did what I did.”

  “And he did what he did,” Dylan said. “You were trying to get away from a bad childhood. You were desperate. He wasn’t. And if you think you’re the only student he’s pulled that shit on over the years, think again.”

  That made the back of my neck go cold. It had occurred to me from time to time that my professor probably had a pattern. He taught twenty-year-old girls every day, and I was hardly special. But I always pushed the thought from my mind. “It doesn’t matter what his name is. You’re not listening. I just told you something I’ve never told anyone, and you’re not listening.”

  He leaned closer and cupped my jaw with his hands. God, how did he touch me just the right way? I was on edge—if he did or said the wrong thing, I would snap. But he stroked my jaw and the side of my neck, and I not only calmed beneath his touch, I felt shivers of arousal.

  “I’m listening very closely,” he said. “So that’s why you waste yourself on men who aren’t worthy of you. You don’t think you’re worth anything more.”

  I laughed bitterly. “Don’t get any ideas. Axel may not be one of my smarter decisions, but that doesn’t mean I’m a romantic. I’m not looking for hearts and flowers and promises. That part isn’t a lie. I just like to come, that’s all, and sometimes I don’t feel like doing it alone.”

  “Understandable,” Dylan said. His hand moved from my neck and he leaned in and replaced it with his mouth, his lips dragging slowly against my skin, his soft beard brushing me. My head fell back and I bit off a moan as I felt a slow, warm rush of wetness between my legs.

  God, how long had it been since I felt like this? Since I was purely turned on by a man’s touch instead of controlling it, telling him what to do and how to do it? His teeth scraped against the soft skin of my neck and I couldn’t contain the moan this time. It came out on a rush of breath.

  Dylan kissed the edge of my jaw, then the tender skin beneath my ear. “I made you an offer,” he said. “I meant it. If you want to come, you call me. Not him. Not anyone. Only me.”

  “You are so full of yourself,” I breathed as his hand dropped to the hem of my skirt and pulled it up.

  “I know,” Dylan said. “I told you, we have a lot in common.” His fingers trailed up the outside of my thigh to my hip and hooked into my panties. “Did you wear these for him?”

  I was hypnotized now, my legs going boneless, wanting to open for him. “Maybe. Yes.”

  “Throw them out,” he said, pulling the thong panties down and dropping them to the floor so I could step out of them. “Delete his number. Whoever else you have in your phone, delete them, too. You’re finished with him as of now. You’re finished with all of them.”

  His hand was back on my inner thigh, and he was close, so close. “Are you this annoying with all of your women?” I asked on a breath.

  “There aren’t any other women,” he said. He stroked the front of my pussy, not parting it, just claiming it with a possessive touch. “Only you. And this.” His fingers slid into me, slicked into my wetness, moving, rubbing.

  I moaned again, louder this time. It had been so long. And it was always business, me on a schedule to get off as briskly as I could.

  Dylan seemed to be in no hurry, but he was going to get me off faster than any man had before.

  “You haven’t…proven anything,” I panted as his fingers moved gently, irresistibly. My hips moved, trying to take him deeper. “You don’t have the job yet, King.”

  “I’ll get it,” Dylan said, his voice harsh with restraint and desire. A voice that made me shiver and move my hips again. “No hearts and flowers, Maddy. I won’t even kiss you. Except here.” His thumb swept over my clit and I arched into his hand, sucking in a breath.

  “Do it,” I said. It sounded like a command, but we both knew I was begging. “Stop talking about it and just do it.”

  He leaned in and nipped my earlobe, the sting making me jump. “Open your legs,” he said.

  My thighs parted and Dylan got on his knees in front of me. I was still wearing my high heels, and he lifted one of my legs and put it on his shoulder. At the same time he put his mouth on my pussy and sucked.

  I arched, gripping the counter behind me and making a mewling sound. I pushed myself against his mouth, wanting him deeper, harder. But Dylan had control. He pressed a hand against my inner thigh and worked me slowly, his tongue tasting me from top to bottom and up again, exploring every nerve ending. He’d only done it for a few seconds but it felt like a year, I was so desperate to come. “More,” I told him.

  Still, he didn’t cede control. He licked at his own pace, as if he wanted to memorize every inch of me. He reached my clit again and swirled his tongue over it gently, again and then again, and then he sucked on it.

  “God, oh, God.” I was pushing now, pressing against his mouth, my hands on the counter behind me, my dress rucked up to my waist, my leg on his shoulder, my heels on. It was dirty and decadent and exactly what I wanted. It was against every rule I’d ever made—it set the rules on fire, turned them to ashes, and made me glad of it. It was pure pleasure—his mouth, his hands, his big body on his knees in front of me, his warm shoulder beneath my leg. He held me steady and had no mercy, his tongue swirling and his mouth sucking, over and over, just rough enough that it pushed me to the edge and made me teeter there.

  I begged him. I begged God. I shouted Dylan’s name as my thighs shook. And when I came it was with white sparks behind my eyes, my throat raw from shouting, my legs sore, my hips pulsing. It was soul wrecking and it was absolutely fucking incomparable.

  For the first time in my carefully made life, I was out of control. And I had the feeling I’d never completely be in control again.

  14

  DYLAN

  At seven o’clock in the morning, my cell phone rang. I was in bed in Hank’s penthouse, mostly naked and dreaming very pleasantly of Maddy’s pussy against my mouth. I was hard as a rock, but when the phone jerked me out of sleep, the dream dissipated into reality.

  I was by myself. That was fine. I had last seen Maddy five days ago, when we’d had that hot scene in her kitchen. She hadn’t called me since. That was the deal—I got her off, and then I went home alone.

  I rolled out of bed, following the sound of my phone, and stumbled around until I found it. I didn’t recognize the number, but since almost no one had this number, I answered anyway. “Hello?”

  “Oh, my God.” My half sister Sabrina’s voice came over the line. “Tell me you’re actually coming to the wedding.”

  I blinked stupidly and ran a hand through my hair. “Sabrina? How did you get this number?”

  “Madison White gave it to me. She said I should call you right away.”

  Of course she had. “Sabrina, it’s seven o’clock in the morning here.”

>   “Oh, shit. I forgot about the time difference. Madison said it wouldn’t be a problem.”

  Now Sabrina sounded unsure, and I remembered how sensitive she could be. “It’s fine, Brin,” I said. “I was up anyway. It’s good to hear your voice. And, yes, I’m coming to the wedding.”

  “Oh.” Brin sounded excited and a little terrified at the same time. “Ronnie is going to be so mad. I mean, also happy. But so mad.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s her big wedding. She doesn’t want anyone to ruin it for her and Clayton. And I already almost ruined it by getting kidnapped at the engagement party.”

  “I heard about that on the news.” I padded toward the kitchen in search of the coffee maker. “Are you all right?”

  “It turned out okay. I didn’t get hurt. But I don’t recommend getting stalked.” She laughed, and I could hear in the tone of it that she wasn’t over the scare. Not even close. I didn’t blame her.

  “Listen,” I said, “when I heard about it on the news, I came back as fast as I could. I would have helped, but you were already safe by the time I got here. I wanted you to know that.”

  “You came back for me?”

  “Sure I did. Jesus, Brin, I thought you were going to get killed. I got on the first plane that was taking off. It didn’t do much good, I guess. But I tried.”

  She was quiet for a long minute. “Okay,” she said, her voice choked up a little. “Garrett got me out of there. I owe him my life. But it’s good to know that I had backup.”

  “You have backup,” I said. God, I had so much work to do with my sisters. So many years to make up for—years that were Charlene and Hank’s fault as well as mine. But it didn’t change the fact that there was a huge chasm where there shouldn’t be. I was just so goddamned bad at family—I didn’t know if I’d ever be any good at it, to be honest. Maybe I’d let my sisters down over and over forever.