by Emily Snow
Finally, his hands knot into my hair. “This is dangerous,” he warns.
I glide my tongue over all the spots where the ice has just melted, and then I lean back, staring up at him. His blue eyes are soft with desire and fatigue.
“I want it to be dangerous,” I whisper before lowering my lips.
He holds my face between his hands, massaging my temples, as my mouth explores him while my fingers continue to dig into his hips. He moans when I encircle my hands around the base of his cock, pushing and pulling him to me, and when he releases, he says my name. He’s still saying it as he pulls me to my feet.
He wraps my legs around his toned waist and pins me roughly to the shower wall. “Let me touch you, beautiful.”
I clutch on to his shoulders, nodding. “God, I need you to.”
He pushes his fingers between my slick folds, thrusting two in and out of me. As he moves his hand in a quick tempo, his palm teases my clit until I climax.
Even then, he’s left me begging for more. “I want all of you,” I whisper frantically against his mouth. “I fucking need you.”
He doesn’t say a word as he carries me into the other room to the king-size bed, our bodies still dripping wet from the shower, but his eyes tell me exactly what I want to know.
He needs me just as much.
A few hours later, we’re still awake as the first glimpse of the Albuquerque sunlight creeps into our room. The side of my face is pressed against his chest, and I listen to him quietly hum something that sounds like an off-key Chevelle-inspired medley featuring “Send the Pain Below” and “Wonder What’s Next.” He adds in words every once in a while I rub my thumb and forefinger in gentle circles over the All Does Not End Well tattoo on his neck.
Sleepy laughter bubbles from my chest as I prop myself up on my elbow. “You’re the worst singer I’ve ever fucking heard.”
“The worst?” He shoots me a look of disbelief. “I’m sure you’ve heard worse.”
I shake my head slowly. He caresses my shoulder and the curve of my ass, causing a delicious tingle to spread through my body, as he guides me on top of him.
“Sorry, McCrae,” I say. I move my hips against him, and he slides his fingers from my shoulder down to my side, so he can grip my ass with both hands. “Stick to using your hands.”
He doesn’t respond. Instead, he sucks on the tip of his thumb before pressing it to my clit, and then I’m blissfully lost.
As much as my body and brain is desperate for some rest, I get very little. Heidi surprises me by showing up at my room at 9:47 a.m. She’s dressed for the day and wearing a satisfied grin that can only come from one thing—sleep.
“Where’s Wyatt?” she questions, trying to peek inside my room.
I ease the door closed until nothing more than a tiny sliver of light is between us. She narrows her eyes but doesn’t try to sneak another glance.
“You look…perky today.” And I’m not talking about her bright pink top or her even brighter pink lipstick. This is the most well-rested I’ve seen Heidi since we met up in New Orleans a week ago.
Apparently, rooming with Cal is good for her.
“Sleep is your friend,” she says.
I roll my eyes up toward the ceiling. “Thanks for the pointer, Lucas.”
“I’m going out for breakfast,” she announces. When I give her a blatantly unexpressive look, she clenches her teeth into a pleading smile. “You’re hungry, right?”
Actually, I’m starving, but I’m tired, too. I spent fourteen hours inside of the Suburban yesterday. Not to mention, most of the night was spent with Wyatt inside me. I should sleep. I should turn her down and take my ass right back to that amazing memory foam mattress and the naked man currently lying on it.
But then my stomach makes a noise, and Heidi nods her head slowly, her brown waves swooshing back and forth over her face. “There’s a place next door. Just go throw on some pants, and we can walk over.”
Groaning, I glance down at the Motionless In White band tee I threw on just before I answered the door. I’m braless and pantyless, and there’s no way I’m leaving my room without a shower. “Give me twenty, okay?”
“Any longer and I’ll leave your ass,” she warns as she heads toward the elevator.
I don’t buy that for a second. I take as many shortcuts as possible to get dressed, including a shower that’s so quick I’m not sure the pipes had time to heat up to their full potential. As I drag another band tee over my head—the colorful Three Days Grace shirt that’s by far one of my favorites—Wyatt wakes up.
He sits up in bed and watches me intensely, his vivid blue eyes following my every movement. As I adjust my thong, he releases a string of curse words. “Get back in bed, Kylie.”
I give him a pointed look and shake my head. “You’d think you’ve never watched a woman get dressed.” The instant the words tumble from my lips, I regret them. Wyatt has watched plenty of women, including myself, get dressed. Dropping my gaze to the carpet, I run my tongue over my lips. “I’ve got to say, you’re freaking me out with all the staring, McCrae.”
“Because I want to wrap that fucking thong around your wrists and keep you here with me.”
Despite the harshness of his words, his voice is tender, and I’m a little shaky as I squat down to poke my legs into a pair of ripped-up jeans. As I stand and button them, pleased that this pair actually fits without cutting into my girlie parts, I slide my bare feet into a pair of pink Chuck Taylors.
“Where are you headed?” he asks.
“Breakfast with Heidi.”
He makes a sleepy noise and stretches his arms over his head. The sheets pool around his waist, dropping to show off his tan, muscular V. “I want you for breakfast.”
My mouth goes dry because I want him too, but I turn away from him as I gather my hair into a short ponytail on top of my head. I’ve composed myself by the time I face him again. Leaning my butt against the cherry wood TV stand, I cock my head to the side. “You’ll be here when I come back?” There’s a hopeful edge to my voice, but what’s surprising is the way the question comes out so easily. Then, I realize that for the first time, this screwed-up thing between us seems like a real relationship.
“No.” He shakes his head, and his full lips draw down into a frown. “Setting up with Hazard Anthem and running through the set. Then, I’ve got a few more things to take care of. Won’t be back until right before it’s time to get you tonight.”
I try not to think about if Terra will be there, considering her late-night party invitation. “Okay, well, I’ll text you if I need anything,” I say. When he cocks an eyebrow suggestively, I groan. “That’s all you think about.”
“Your ass is too good not to.”
I’m still feeling the effect of his words as I sprint down the stairs to the lobby.
Once Heidi sees me, she pops up from her chair and meets me halfway. “What took you so long?” She looks me up and down, examining everything from my clothes to my messy hairstyle, before she cocks an eyebrow.
“What the hell is wrong with me?” I ask breathlessly. When she shrugs, I release a frustrated moan. “It’s Wyatt. He touches me or talks to me, and I’m a total wreck.”
“Yikes, I thought we weren’t supposed to touch the subject of Wyatt touching you with a giant pole,” she reminds me, her voice lowered to a whisper. As we take the revolving door to the outside of the hotel, she glances over to me. “Something’s happened since yesterday morning.”
“I’m batshit insane.”
“He wants a second chance?” She points her finger to the right toward the restaurant next door. As we walk across the hotel parking lot, she asks another question before I have the chance to answer the first. “And you’re seriously thinking about it?” Heidi’s soft voice is full of amazement.
I slide my hands up the front of my jeans, wiping off the perspiration from my palms. “He doesn’t want to give me up.”
“Because he’s not stupid, Kyl
ie,” she says as I hold open the restaurant door for her. She dashes inside and then smiles at the hostess, holding up two fingers. Lowering her voice as we follow the woman to our table, Heidi says, “He’ll fight for you, but if you decide you don’t want to be with him, what then?”
I wait until we’re alone to answer her. “If I’m happy, he won’t pursue me.”
Her pink lips press into a thin line, and I know she’s calling bullshit. “Did he tell you that?” When I nod, she shakes her head. “Do you think that’ll actually happen? He’s addicted to you.”
Our waiter, a skinny guy with tattooed wrists peeking out from his long-sleeved button-up, stops by our table to take our order. I point to a random spot on the menu that turns out to be the western omelet. I barely even notice the way the waiter’s eyes scan over me as he takes our menus and promises to return shortly with our drinks.
Heidi sighs. “And you’re obviously too addicted to him to notice anyone else.”
I trace back and forth over the corner of the napkin wrapped around the silverware, my finger skimming the prongs of the fork. There’s no point in denying what she has just pointed out now and so many other times before. I’m addicted to Wyatt on so many levels that it’s apparent to anyone who sees us together and who knows what we’re like apart.
We hurt each other.
Then, we mend ourselves.
And then, we do it all over again, only more violently.
Wyatt and I are our worst enablers. We always have been. If I didn’t go to New Orleans, I probably would have been fine. If I had gone to him instead, this wouldn’t be a conflict.
But I didn’t go to him. I didn’t meet him halfway.
He came to me—something he’s only done a handful of times since we had started this twisted thing.
Our waiter returns to the table, and a dimpled grin slides easily over his features as he sets my orange juice down in front of me. “Need anything else?” he asks.
Heidi covers her mouth and coughs.
I ignore her. “Thanks, but I’m good.”
He asks Heidi the same but with a little less enthusiasm, and when he leaves, she eye-humps him until he turns the corner. “I swear, Kylie, you’re like sex on a—”
Chevelle blasts loudly from the inside of my pocket. I scramble to grab my phone as several people around us turn in our direction, their eyebrows gathering together at the noise. Pressing my thumb to the button on the side of the iPhone, I manage to silence it. I flip the phone over and wrinkle up my nose when I see Unknown flash on the screen.
“It might be Officer Townsend calling about our stuff.” I stand up, and Heidi bobs her head enthusiastically as if she truly believes that all our belongings have been recovered and aren’t currently in a New Orleans pawnshop. “Be right back,” I promise, leaving her at our table.
I accept the call, but I wait until I dart out of the front double doors to say hello.
“I’m trying to reach Lucas Wolfe,” a crisp female voice says.
If someone is calling this number for my brother, it’s no doubt a business call. I turn on my professional voice, smiling widely to sound more pleasant. “This is his assistant, Kylie. I’d be more than happy to help you.” As I pace back and forth in front of the bench that’s beside the cigarette receptacle, I hear the sound of the woman’s fingers rapidly flying over a keyboard. A moment later, she asks me to verify the last four digits of both my and Lucas’s social security numbers. Once I do so, she tells me who she is—a representative from his business banking account.
And then, she delivers news that I just know is going to bite me in the ass.
“Due to the most recent transaction, Mr. Wolfe’s checking account is currently overdrawn by $1,347. Would you like to transfer money from one of his other accounts to cover the overdraft?”
Chapter Twelve
“It’s going to be alright,” Heidi reassures me twenty minutes later as we hurry through the door of the room she and Cal are sharing. She’s been telling me the same thing since I sat back down for breakfast. Each time, she gives me her soothing voice that I’m sure she uses on her phone sex customers. Still, I only manage to down half of my western omelet before my stomach starts to pitch violently.
All I can think about is how Lucas will react once I break the news to him that Shiner Bock had somehow managed to break into his bank account before I canceled my cards.
“Kylie, I swear, it’s fine.” Heidi puts the small handbag she bought in the hotel’s gift shop into a compartment in the closet.
I sit down on the floor by the mini-fridge and start pulling up the bank’s website on my iPhone. “He’s going to flip the fuck out.”
She kneels down in front of me, taking my chin in her hands. “Relax. Banks fix this kind of thing all the time. Especially since you’ve got a police report. Just take a deep breath and get it figured out.”
I start to nod, but then my phone beeps three times. I drop my gaze, letting out a curse when I see the low battery indicator flashing across the screen. “Do you have a charger I can use?”
“I think Cal does.” I watch as she goes to the queen bed on the right side of the room. She glances around until she finally spots what she’s searching for on the side closest to the wall. As she brings me Cal’s phone charger, I realize that both beds look like they’ve been slept in.
When I’m not freaking out about my job, I’ll mention that to her.
Plugging my phone into the wall outlet, I log in to Lucas’s bank account, using the username and password he set up for me a few years ago. Almost immediately, I receive an error message—Incorrect Username or Password.
“Calm down,” I tell myself although my voice sounds anything but cool and collected. The last thing I want is to fumble with the keyboard so many times that I’m locked out for the next twenty-four hours.
“Yes, keep calm, babe,” Heidi says as she fishes a cigarette out of her luggage.
She hasn’t smoked in days, and I feel bad for stressing her out to the point where she needs to temporarily pick up the habit again.
As she darts out the balcony door to smoke, I try to get into the account again, typing each letter and number slowly. Once more, I’m denied access. “Shit.”
I close the Internet and open the Notes app, sorting through rows of reminders until I find the one I’m looking for—Lucas’s personal login. After I commit the details to my memory, I retry logging in to the bank account.
“Thank God,” I whisper when I’m not kicked out.
A few different accounts are listed on this page, and I click on the one the bank representative mentioned when I talked to her. I scroll through and study the recent transactions, and I feel absolutely sick to my stomach.
Several recent transfers have come into this particular account, each one from Lucas’s accounts at other banks, equaling more than $200,000 in all. At the top of the screen under pending transactions, there are two purchases—one for the flight I secured for him the other day and the other for an outbound wire transfer in the amount of $250,000.
It’s a ridiculously insane amount of money.
And deep down, I know this is something that Shiner Bock definitely has nothing to do with.
Money like this has Samantha Wolfe written all over it.
“Heidi,” I call out.
She peeks her head back inside the room. “Yeah?”
“I’m going to go back to my room to call Lucas, okay?”
“Are you sure you’re ready to talk to him?” Frowning, she steps inside. Her cigarette is still in her hand, and even though it’s one of my vices too, I cough when the smoke curls around my face. “Sorry,” she says, stretching the offending hand out the door as she waits for me to respond.
Gripping the mini-fridge, I pull myself up to my feet. “I’m sure I’m ready.” Just to reassure her, I muster a confident smile. “I think I figured things out, and we’ll probably be able to fix it fast.”
She releases a deep b
reath. “Thank God.”
As I take the stairs back to my room, I try to call Lucas. I’m not surprised when I’m redirected to his voice mail. Over the next hour, while anxiously watching a horror movie on HBO, I attempt to get in touch with my brother three additional times. I’m debating on whether or not I should call the one person Lucas will answer for—our mom—when my phone rings, and I see his name on the screen.
He doesn’t say hello. He doesn’t say anything, and I take it upon myself to initiate the conversation.
“Lucas,” I say, trying to keep my voice calm, “why is there a huge chunk of money missing out of your business account?”
A quarter of a million dollars isn’t just a huge chunk of money though. It’s several years of my income, and it’s gone from an account that I’m supposed to be monitoring.
The man who answers me a few seconds later doesn’t sound like my older brother at all. He sounds broken, like a wounded animal. “It’s nothing. Mind your own fucking business, Kylie.”
The fear that has seized my chest for the last hour and a half suddenly shifts, and now, it feels like poison rippling through my body, wrapping around my bones, and slithering through my veins. “Not on your life, Lucas. It’s Sam, isn’t it? Are you paying that bitch off again? Where’s Sienna? What the—”
When I hear the faint click, I know that I’ve lost him. I know that whatever it is my brother’s gotten himself involved with has only gotten worse since he and Sienna took off for Atlanta.
I feel like I’m dying inside from worry.
For several minutes, I sit silently on the bed, inhaling the faint masculine scent Wyatt left behind. I know what I have to do. I know that I have to call Sienna to find out what she knows about my brother, but I also know that I’m not going to like what I hear. I know that there’s a 99.9 percent chance she’s been burned by all of this.
By the time I work up the nerve to call her, I’m crying.
“Please tell me he didn’t?” More than ever before, I want to be wrong. I want her to tell me that she’s still with Lucas, and he hasn’t kicked her out.
