Beautifully Toxic (Toxic Love #1)

by L. M. Roberts

  I narrow my eyes. “Please,” I snort, “you’d do it just to see people give me hell.”

  He chuckles, slaps me on the back, and then walks over to the weight bench. “Yeah,” he calls over his shoulder, “you’re right. I do like seeing people give you hell. Now quit being a little bitch and laugh a little.”

  It would be easy to let loose and laugh with them if I wasn’t tied up in such knots right now. I couldn’t get James’ cryptic message out of my mind. I’d figure it out eventually, but right now, for the life of me, I couldn’t figure it out. Chances are once I do figure it out, I’ll be kicking my own ass.

  After signing in, I make my way to the locker room and changed into my workout clothes. If I was going to make it through this day, I needed to work out my frustration the hard way—through weights and running on the treadmill. I knew these guys were just going to bust my balls over this one. What other option did I have? Abso-fucking-lutely nothing!

  For the next few hours, I forced my way through a workout that I never really wanted to do in the first place, only to end up where I was before I ever got here.

  So motherfucking lost.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Sinclair

  “I can’t believe you rented him a Bug. Most epic prank ever!” Sharon giggle-screeched over the rim of her glass.

  After leaving the tattoo shop and taking Triple-A home—while he profusely apologized for letting something like that slip—I made my way to the bar down the street and met up with Sharon, Dominique, and Tracy. I really needed this. It wasn’t going to make what happened any better, but it sure as hell would numb my senses a bit.

  I shrug my shoulders. “If you think that’s a good one, then just wait.”

  I am such a naughty girl. If he thought the car was the end of the world, then he was really going to fucking freak when he found out what I did to his truck. The little devil was rubbing her hands together on the inside. Let’s just say the color pink and butterflies were going to be his newest fashion statement.

  I glance over to see Tracy shaking her head back and forth before taking a sip from her glass, a small smile playing on her lips. She was the only one that had any idea what I was talking about. It wasn’t normally her job to come and take care of wrecks. But when I had called her saying who wrecked in front of the tattoo shop, she took it upon herself to be the officer that took care of the police reports. She was also the one that took care of the towing and told the mechanic what she wanted. Of course, the mechanic looked at her like she was crazy. That was until she pulled out her badge and showed him she was part of the FBI Special Forces Unit, and then he was singing a different tune.

  Dominique eyed me over her glass but said nothing. But that didn’t stop Sharon from butting in. “What did you do?”

  I shrug my shoulders again and almost spit out my drink when an image of Alex’s face when he goes to pick up his truck popped in my head. If I weren't so upset with him, I’d be willing to travel along just to see it. But I knew that wasn’t going to happen. That would mean that I was admitting defeat, and that wasn’t going to happen. He chose a cell phone over me.

  I snort, take a sip of my drink, and then scoot close to the table. This shit was going to be good, and there was no way, at least, one of these drinks wasn’t going to go flying off the table with Sharon’s wildly flapping set of arms.

  “Well, as sort of a fuck you for the cell phone incident I had his truck towed,” I said before taking another sip. I proceeded to drain the whole glass of melon bomb before speaking again. “His truck is going to come back to him after taking a little visit to the Pepto factory, and then taking a short detour through the land of sparkles and butterflies.”

  Sharon lost her shit. She flung her arms around wildly, hitting her glass in the process, sending it to the floor to shatter into a hundred pieces. I glance away to see the bartender leaning against the bar shaking his head. His eyes caught mine, and I was surprised that I didn’t see any fury in his. I cocked my head to the side and smiled, shifting my glance to Sharon before bringing it back to him. He blushed before picking up the rag on the bar and started cleaning it.

  Well, well, well… What do we have here?

  “You’re going to fuck his ride up?” She squeals and slaps the table.

  I grab my glass before it becomes her next victim. “That would be correct, my very intuitive friend.”

  She does this half giggle, half snort thing and the table falls silent. We all stare at her as she throws her hand up over her mouth and begins to turn fifty shades of red. What the hell was that? It sounded like a dog dying.

  “Sharon, are you sure the dog you swallowed didn’t just die?” Dominique jokes.

  Her face takes on a purplish hue, and I think she’s going to pass out at any minute. I raise my hand in the air signaling the bartender for another drink. I look back at Sharon, and I’m fearful that she’s about to pass out due to low oxygen intake. I lean forward and pat her on the back. She glances at me, and I see tears in her eyes. Thinking she’s about to start crying, I stop and get ready to start apologizing for Dominique when that awful sound erupts from her mouth again.

  I’ve never been around Sharon when she’s been plastered, so this was new for me. I was used to her being the level-headed one—the one who was our DD instead of the one shooting shots right beside us. But from the moment that we walked through the door and she ordered a tequila, I knew something was up. I had a feeling that it was about that bartender, but I couldn’t be sure. Hell, now that I think about it she hadn’t made eye contact with him all night. What was I missing?

  I sat back in my chair when the bartender dropped off my drink. He went to turn away, casting his eyes downward, keeping them anywhere but at my best friend. I grabbed his arm at the last minute and stopped his departure. He turned, and I looked up to see the most startling, yet gorgeous eyes that I’ve ever seen. One was a dark brown, almost the color of melted chocolate, and the other was an icy blue—almost white. I’ve heard of people having different eye colors before, but seeing his eyes was nearly enough to take my breath away.

  “What’s your name?” I ask, and see his eyes peer up at me through his lashes.

  He smiles but looks back down to the floor. “It’s Noah, ma’am.”

  My heart melts that much more. Noah. It’s so sweet. I wonder if he has a freak streak behind that shy exterior. I shouldn’t be fiddling with things that weren't mine to fiddle in, but I couldn’t help myself. From the way Sharon won’t even look at him, nor he her, I have to wonder what’s going on here?

  I smile. “Have you met my friends? This is Dominique,” I say, gesturing to the vixen on my right. She smiles and waves slightly. “This is Tracy, and I have a feeling you know my friend Sharon.” I finally gesture toward Sharon, who is all sorts of flustered, drinking and fidgeting in her seat.

  He gives me a half-assed chuckle while still looking toward the floor. “How are you ladies?”

  “Eyes up here, gladiator,” Dominique jokes.

  Noah’s eyes snap up before he makes the excuse something being in his eye and he has to leave. I watch him walk off like there is fire trailing his ass. I suck in a deep breath of air and just watch as he goes back to the bar and starts making drinks. I watch him for a few minutes before turning my attention back to Sharon, who doesn’t know I’m looking at her. She’s watching Noah with need clearly written on her face.

  She hears me clear my throat and quickly averts her eyes from Noah and downs her drink. I giggle lightly and then fold my arms over my stomach.

  “Sharon, just a question, but, uh… Do you know Noah?” I ask, already knowing that she does. In all honesty, I just want to see if she will actually come out with it or if she’ll make me go digging.

  Her eyes jerk to mine and she begins to shake her head, which in turn has me arching an eyebrow at her. She finally sighs and scoots closer to the table.

  “Promise you won’t say anything, okay?” she asks, t
apping the table with her fingers.

  I look at Tracy and Dominique, who both nod their heads before we turn our attention back to Sharon. “Yeah, we promise. Now spill it.”

  “Don’t think that I am desperate or anything like that, but… I’ve been throwing myself at him, and he apparently ain't picking up what I’m putting down,” she finishes with a long breath. “I’ve tried everything in the world to get him to notice me, and he just looks at me like I’m just another customer. I don’t get what I’m doing wrong.”

  I giggle. “Someone is actually turning the great Sharon Hall down? Who’d have thought?” I fake a gasp and put my hand over my heart.

  She flips me off and steals my new drink, downing it. “You don’t have to be a bitch about it. It’s not like I fuck everything that walks, Sin. Hellfire. At least my situation ain't as fucked up as yours.”

  I suck in a sharp breath. “Wow, Shar… Low blow.”

  She doesn’t even have the decency to look like she hates what she said to me. This is the one and only time that I am going to chuck it up to her being drunk and not realizing what she is saying. Otherwise, there was going to be a catfight right here in the bar.

  “Okay, girls,” Tracy butts in. “Don’t make me get out my government-assigned Taser. Because, bitches, you know I’ll do it. And I’ll shoot both of you all in the ass.”

  “Well, she started it,” I countered.

  Tracy snaps her fingers and puts her elbow on the table, pointing her finger at me. “I don’t give a shit who started it. If you ask my opinion, you both started it. But we are not here to point fingers; we’re here to have a good time before you have to go home to Triple-A, which by the way you should be doing right now,” she finishes, glancing at her watch. “It’s already almost midnight. The boy is probably worried sick about you.”

  I sigh; she’s probably right. It didn’t matter that I was living in the house right next to my parents; he was still in the house alone. Of course, he could be over there as well. Knowing that she’s right, though, I throw down twenty dollars and get up from my seat.

  “Okay, okay. I’ll see you wenches later.”

  They all nod before turning in their chairs and begin whooping and hollering for more drinks. I shake my head as I push the door to the bar open. When I get outside, I take a cleansing breath and look up at the sky. I smile when I see that it was just as clear as it was when I walked in earlier, except now the night has painted the clouds in a soft gray and the streets surrounding the bar are shadowed in darkness.

  I couldn’t really be mad at what Sharon said. She was right in the long run. My current situation was not a desirable one in the least. If I had a perfect life, Alex would be my husband, the cell phone incident would have never happened, and we would have raised Triple-A together. Considering that this is the twenty-first century, I highly doubt that was going to happen. I was almost thirty now, and my chance at Alex had long since vanished.

  There are often times that I sit on my front porch at night—a front porch that used to be Alex’s all those years ago. Yes, the house that I now lived in used to be the house that belonged to my ex-lover, the one that I was still in love with. I can’t help it. I know it makes me weak. Most women would have just forgotten about him by now, but I wasn’t most women. I was a woman who, no matter what life threw at me, stood up and grabbed it by the balls and manhandled that shit.

  However, with Alex, there was no handling that. I was barely keeping myself together as it was. I’ve wanted to be with him since I was sixteen. When a woman who has been wronged so much in her life can overcome that pain and learn to forgive, I think she is the definition of strong. A woman needs to learn how to stand up and fight for herself—to take what life has given her and make the best of it. And that’s what I’ve done.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Alex

  “I love you guys,” I slur, rolling my head to the side to see that Tank, Draven, Jon, Dane, and Jace were lying on my living room floor in a similar state I found myself in.

  I hear a few grunts and groans, and I chuckle, letting my head fall back to the other side a little too freely. Note to self: A pint of vodka and the edge of a couch do not make the best combination. Before I can catch myself, I fall head over ass onto the floor. I hit the hardwood with a thump and just lie as I fell. I was way past drunk, and there was no way that I was going to be able to get up.

  “Tell me whys we do this again.”

  I heard Jon or was it Jace snicker. “Be free and fly, Pierce.”

  I finally manage to get on my back and I stare at the ceiling. I instantly close my eyes, because drunk or not, if I stare at the ceiling for too long I will start looking for shit. That was the only problem with drinking for me. My compulsive side grew ten thousand fold. So when we got to drinking, I would have to go all out or not at all. That shit sucked, but after being called a pussy one too many times, I decided to join them instead of being the only sober one watching the rest get dog-faced drunk.

  “Are you praying or something?”

  I turn my head and see that Tank has managed to get next to me. “Does it look like I need to pray?”

  He tries to open his eyes wider so that he can look at me better. I laugh because it looks like his eyes are trying to bug out of his head, and his mouth is doing this sort of twitching thing. He just stares at me for the longest time, and I have a feeling we're heading into uncharted territory until he just spouts off something that confuses, yet angers the piss out of me.

  “Damn, you two could be twins!”

  I’m instantly sober. I narrow my eyes at him and slowly raise myself from the floor. “What the fuck was that?”

  His eyes open wide again and he slaps a hand over his mouth. I can still feel the effects of the vodka, but not so much that it stops me from trying to get at him. I fumbled with my grip on the floor, and I lunge for him. He kicks and jerks around, crawling away from me. The party is instantly over.

  “What the fuck was that, Tank?!” I yell, staggering when I get to my feet. “That’s the same fucking thing that James said earlier. What the hell do you know?”

  He sighs, and his shoulders slump inward. “I’ve done a very bad thing, Pierce.”

  What the hell could he have done that was so wrong? He’s been my go-to guy ever since I moved out of my mom’s apartment. Now the motherfucker was saying something about doing something bad. If he was saying this while he was dog-ass drunk, then it had to be something bad. Normally, Tank was the type of person to tell me everything. And that was when he was sober. So if he was holding something back from me and letting it slip while he was plastered, it had to be something really damning.

  “You better spit it out, Tank,” I fume. Jon and Jace are already at my side, a little uneasy on their feet. “Or so help me God, I’ll castrate your ass.”

  He snickers, but rights himself immediately when he sees the anger overtaking my face. Tank knew when to push the boundaries and when to back off. If the vodka was overshadowing his judgment right now, I would be all too happy to put him back in his place.

  It has been plaguing me ever since I left the tattoo shop the other day. The thought of who that boy was. I’ve gone over and over in my head of the people that I’ve caught with her, and his identity still eluded me. It was like the fucker never existed, and I know that to be false because I saw him with my own two eyes. I may have been drunk on a desire for Sin, but I know that boy was real. There was no way he couldn’t be.

  I feel hands on my arms and find that I am stepping toward Tank without realizing it. “Fess up, dough boy!” I yell.

  “You, bastard! You know I couldn’t help that shit when I was younger. So what if I was chubby. Tell you one thing and you use it against me!”

  Was I playing dirty right now? Maybe. Did I regret this shit? Hell no.

  “I can’t tell you. If you want to know, you’re going to have to talk to Sin. This is her boat to keep afloat,” he says.

  By n
ow I’m too pissed to care. I’m tired of people not telling me what I want to fucking know. I shrug off the hands holding me back and stalk through the house. I can vaguely hear Tank go off in the living room.

  “Let me go! He’s going after his gun. He’ll shoot my fucking ass!”

  I snicker, but can’t let the happiness overtake me from the fear I hear in his voice. The only thing that I was focused on was getting to my phone. It seemed like every cocksucking son of a bitch wanted to keep something silent, and I was going to find out what this shit was about. And I was going to find out right the fuck now.

  I push open my door and start searching through the mass of clothes that I have strewn all over the place. Why is it that when you need something it’s never there, but when you don’t want it there it’s always in front of your face like a fucking flashing sign? I don’t know, but my phone was apparently playing a game of hide-and-seek, and I couldn’t find the motherfucker.

  I start to step over a pile of clothes at the foot of the bed when my foot gets caught in the pile of death. My balance is thrown off, and I fall forward. The next thing I know I almost knock myself the hell out when my head bangs into the damn bed post. I’m going to rip the fucker apart and burn it.

  “Son of a bitch!” I yell, feeling the blood ooze down my face.

  I slide down the rest of the footboard until the front of my body is pushed against it and my lower half is lying on the floor. So, here I am bent into half a freaking pretzel, and my body feels like its Jell-O so I can’t move to save myself. Why does this shit always happen to me? I feel defective. The compulsive disorder always drives me to do insane things. Many doctors over the years have wanted to put me on medication, but I won’t let them. I refuse to end up with an addiction like my crackhead mom and her pimp. That’s a weakness I just can’t afford.

  Over the years, I have made my fair share of enemies. So if they knew that I had this little problem they’d exploit it, and I’d be ruined. Nobody wants to hire a bodyguard service whose owner has a compulsion problem. That would only lead to disaster, and I don’t need my life to be any more fucked up than it already is.