She’s mad at me? That’s rich. Well, fuck her. I did her a goddamn favor.
When I round the vehicle, ice forms in my veins at what’s waiting there. There’s a note under the wiper blade on my windshield. I can hear Evelyn’s footsteps behind me, she’s getting close. I pull it out and read it before she sees it.
You fucked up. Bad.
Preston. Fucking Preston was here, it had to be him. While we were in there getting rid of Storm’s V card. And he threatened me. You want to do this, douchebag? Fine. It’s on.
I crumble the paper and shove it in my pocket, get in the car, and slam the door, grateful the old man, Mr. Jones, who lives in the house is hard of hearing.
Mr. Jones is an all right guy. I met him when I started helping him around here five years ago. I needed cash, and I needed it quick. He let me move into the empty apartment over the garage when I left my dad’s house for the last time. Old man Jones didn’t ask me about my wrecked face, he didn’t ask what was in the garbage bag I was dragging behind me, because the fractured ribs wouldn’t let me carry it. He silently opened the door and invited me in, knowing full well I wasn’t going to leave. That’s still how it is between us, I keep the grass mowed, his oil changed in his car, the steps from creaking, and any other shit he needs doing, and I get my own space. I tried to start giving him rent. He stared down at the money and told me the motel was in town and closed the door in my face. That was the last time I did that. Because, although I can move someplace else, he’s getting on in age, and his kids are pieces of shit who never visit him. I refuse to leave him alone. It sucks. There’s nothing worse than believing nobody’d give a shit if you were dead.
I know what it’s like.
Storm gets in and fastens her seatbelt, her face fixed at the amazingly interesting scenery of dark nothingness outside.
She doesn’t take my phone and program her address into my GPS. She hardly gives me more than one word directions. On the way back to the island, I rack my brain trying to remember if I ever mentioned where I live to Preston. I’m certain I didn’t, but that doesn’t mean he couldn’t find out. That’s fine, I’ll deal with him soon enough. And his fucking threat.
When we pull up to her house, she still hasn’t looked at me once. I want to beep the horn so her father, the DA, would know that the pretentious little rich boy didn’t bring her home. The perfect judge’s son who was going to get her drunk, fuck her because he could, then dump her.
His worst nightmare did.
CHAPTER 9
I’m so stupid.
It was all a game between them. Which one of them would get me into bed. And I ran. I ran straight to him like a lamb to slaughter. He’d said I should be grateful it was him and not Preston, like he was doing me a favor or something. What an arrogant asshole! Out of all the things he’s done and said to me, that by far was the worst.
He slept with me to outdo Preston. I gave him my virginity all because of a stupid game.
I feel so ashamed, so ridiculed, so unbelievably mad, I’d hit him if he were standing in front of me.
When my phone chimes with a text, I scream one of those silent screams that rip me to shreds inside.
Unknown number, (because I still haven’t programmed him into my contacts): Rise and shine, time to get to work. Meet me at the diner in thirty.
“How dare he?!” I punch the mattress of my bed and scream again with my mouth clamped shut. “How dare he act like nothing happened?” I pace the room, unable to sit still with all the pent up emotions boiling inside me. He does this to me, pushes me to the point of losing control, until I snap. Or do something ridiculously stupid, like sleep with him.
I’m a mass of confusion. I’d be lying if I said last night – with him – wasn’t incredible, because it was. He was perfect. It was perfect. Until it wasn’t. Until the truth came out, and he didn’t even try to lie about it. I think that’s what hurt me the most. He flung the fact that he and Preston were in some kind of sick race to see which one I’d sleep with. I’d already made up my mind that I was going to use Preston to get back at Lucas, even if I didn’t really want to.
I was going to use Preston.
I stop in the middle of the floor and stare blankly ahead. That makes me almost as bad as them. I cringe at the ugly truth, feeling even shittier than I did before. I slap a hand over my eyes, refusing to see the glaring hypocrisy of the situation. Because that’s exactly what I was going to do. I’d wanted to make Lucas jealous because of that woman, Caroline. He made me go there right after they’d had sex, he made me see the naked truth of what they’d just done. It was a horrible thing to do. And I walked right into it.
But why? Why would he want me to see that? I know why I wanted to make him jealous. He hurt me, and I wanted to hurt him back.
Fury and humiliation have been taking turns leading me in this dance of rage I’ve been going back and forth with all night and all morning. Right now, fury is taking control.
We are going to get things straight. Right now!
I grab my purse as I storm out the door and down the stairs, my phone still clutched tightly in my hand. I’m not going to reply to him. Screw him.
“Did you have fun last night, sweetie?” dad calls from the kitchen as I march toward the front door, not bothering to slow down or say goodbye.
“Yes,” I answer, because I did. Until I found out the reason I was at Lucas’. A truth that is very similar to mine, it makes me sick with myself.
Big deal. Guys have used girls since the dawn of time. Don’t beat yourself up, I argue with myself as I get in my car and slam the door. It doesn’t make it right, I back out of the driveway and head toward the diner. It was a win/win. You got what you wanted, he got what he wanted. I squeeze the steering wheel tightly because that’s exactly why I’m mad. He got what he wanted. The joke was on me. But didn’t you get what you wanted too? Exactly what you wanted? Didn’t you get him? I stare out the windshield after I park behind Rosie’s diner.
Yes. I did get what I wanted. But I didn’t want it because of that.
The walk from my car allows me time to calm down, to get control of myself and my emotions. I refuse to let Lucas see how much he affects me. I will not give him that power.
I cannot let him see that I love him more than I hate him. Because if that happens, then he’ll completely destroy me, and I’ll never let that happen. If I do, he’ll break me, and I’ve been barely holding on for the past few years.
I don’t even have to look for him when I enter. I know he’s in his usual spot in the corner. What I didn’t expect to see is Amanda bent over the table with her tits in his face. Jesus Christ, can’t he at least wait until I leave? I stomp toward them. No, he can’t, because he’s vile, and horrible, and hateful, and he likes nothing more than tormenting me.
“…don’t want something to happen you’re going to regret later,” I hear Amanda talking quietly to Lucas when I approach. She’s talking about him and me. She thinks he’ll regret having anything to do with me? Honey, I can guarantee it, but not the way you think.
I shove her aside when I slide into the booth across from the asshole.
He doesn’t even bother looking at me. “We’re done here,” he tells her in that bored tone of voice he uses when he dismisses people.
The tart turns to face me and drags her eyes up and down my front. “Far from it. Think about what I said, Lucas,” but she leaves before I can tell her that she’s been done for a long time. Used up, actually.
He glances lazily out the window, still not acknowledging my presence. “Maybe last night agreed with you. You’re early.” I can see the corner of his mouth twitch with the smirk he’s trying to fight.
There’s a boom inside my head that I have to wait to clear before I can even articulate a logical response to that statement. The nerve of this guy! I close my eyes and take a breath. When I think I can communicate without getting hysterical, I slowly open them. That’s when I notice he’s in a suit.
He’s in a suit, a really nice one, sitting in a diner on a Sunday morning.
“Are you going to church?” the question pops out just as surprisingly as him sitting here dressed like that.
He laughs. I mean really laughs, it’s unguarded and natural and throws a bucket of water on the raging fire of my anger, dousing the flames. I love the way it sounds.
“No,” he shakes his head, the grin still curving those lips that were on parts of my body no one else has ever touched. “I’ve got a meeting.” His expression turns to stone again. “Which is why I need you,” his eyes meet mine, and those words, even though they don’t mean what my ears interpret them as, this time fling a blanket over the lingering anger.
You are so weak, Evie. Look at you, he smiles, and you cower at his feet. You’re pathetic. I shake my head. You’re right. I’m not caving. “Since you unceremoniously brought up last night,” he quirks an eyebrow at me, but the rest of his face remains the stone mask. I hold up a hand to stop anything he might say. If he did, I’d cave in a heartbeat, I can’t fight this sick thing I have for him. I stay strong, and continue, “It didn’t happen. We shall not speak of it; it will never be brought up again. Especially if we are to continue this…arrangement we have.” I glare at him, and I swear he wants to laugh at me. Don’t let him goad you, girl, you’re on a roll. I clear my throat, for nothing else than to get a grip. “If you cannot agree, then I’m leaving and we shall consider our agreement terminated.”
His ice blue eyes never leave mine, but it feels like they’re licking me all over my body. Just like his tongue and lips were last night, and instantly, I’m back in his bed. I can feel the heat washing up my face from the memories, both in my mind and on my skin.
Dammit.
“Agreed,” he purrs, his voice sounds just like it did last night. When he said those filthy things. It skitters down my body, across my chest, and all the way down between my thighs. Thank God the table’s blocking me and he can’t see me clench my legs shut.
“Good,” I let out a heavy breath. “Tell me what you need me to do so I can leave.” I can’t sit here with you. Sounding like that, looking at me that way, without self-combusting.
His brows pinch together as he reaches down and picks up a piece of paper. There’s an address scribbled on it, but it’s not Lucas’ handwriting. I know, because I kept the napkin he’d written the last one on.
“I need you to go here and pick up a package,” his tone sounds hard, harder than usual. I don’t know why, but it bothers me, more so than normal, and different actually. He leans in closer. “Listen to me, Evelyn,” he didn’t use my nickname. And he didn’t say my name like he did last night. He sounds serious. “You go and get the package and leave. You don’t hang around, and you don’t talk to anyone. If it seems like it’s taking a long time, you leave.”
I’m getting a bad feeling about this.
“Just leave?”
He nods. “Leave.”
“Then why am I going?” I’m starting to get nervous.
He inhales deeply. “Because it’s important, and I can’t go. This appointment I’ve got was made months ago. It’s the only time we can meet, so I can’t reschedule. I wouldn’t send you if I thought you couldn’t handle it.” His gaze drops to my mouth, and I can feel it just like his kisses last night. It’s the only true reference of what we shared. The intimacy, the closeness, how real it was. It wasn’t my imagination. The blaze ignites inside me once more, this time for an entirely different reason.
For a fraction of a second, a flash of truth is in his eyes. Pain and regret and sorrow. It squeezes my heart and all I want to do is take it all away and replace it with hope.
“Okay,” I say, convincing myself more than I am him. Because, despite everything, all of the hurtful ways he’s spoken to me, the stupid game he and Preston have, I don’t want to disappoint him. I know that whatever he asks, whenever he calls me, I’ll come. Just like he’d said.
“Good. Meet me back here when you’re done. I’ll be finished by then,” he nods, his brow still furrowed. His eyes meet mine. This time the ice has thawed from their depths, and they’re intense, so intense they burn straight to my heart. “You’re strong, Evelyn, and smart. I don’t doubt there isn’t anything you can’t do.” For a long moment, I can’t look away. He doesn't either. Things are being silently said, things neither one of us will say aloud. Because this, this moment we’re sharing is last night coming alive once more, refusing to be ignored. I feel protected and safe. With him. He leans back slowly, never breaking the gaze, lifts his hand to motion for the waitress, and instantly, the ice is back transforming him into King Asshole once again.
She must have been waiting to be beckoned because she’s already at the edge of the table. I roll my eyes.
“Isn’t it exhausting, Lucas?”
“What’s that, Storm?” he drawls the question as if it’s inconvenient to respond.
“The whiplash you must get from being an asshole to being half way decent.”
He ignores me, like the comment, and me, doesn’t warrant a reaction. He rattles off the usual order of eggs, wheat toast, no butter and coffee. She starts to ask me what I’d like when Lucas opens his mouth. I stop them both. “I know, I know. I’m leaving.”
“Told you, you were smart,” Lucas comments dryly.
As I walk away, I mumble, “Jerk,” and I hear him say, “Have a nice day,” and I smile. It’s big and bright, and happy.
Because that’s our thing. Yes, we have a thing. And that was Lucas being nice. To me.
***
The place isn’t hard to find. It isn’t even in a bad location. However, the whole thing just feels wrong.
It took me forty-five minutes to get there. It’s a modest house sitting by itself in a quiet area. When I park, I glance around and notice the houses next door don’t have any cars in the driveways. No one’s around.
“It’s fine. Everyone’s probably out working,” I mumble the pep talk as I snatch the paper with the address scribbled on it, along with my phone, from the seat beside me and approach the front door.
I see the curtains are drawn tight when I knock. That’s strange. No noises come from inside other than the sound of footsteps moving toward the door. I take a step back. It’s fine. He wouldn’t have sent me if this was bad.
Would he? Honestly, I’m not sure. And that bothers me.
Even though it’s warm, I’m sweating more than I should be. I’m scared. Not nervous, or anxious, but scared. How long is too long before I can get out of here? I strangle the note I’m holding in one hand as I check the time on my phone with the other. When the door cracks open, I almost scream, I’m so high strung.
“What?” the man I can’t see through the slit of darkness barks at me.
I shove the paper at him, unable to say anything, my throat and mouth are so dry. He opens the door a little wider and takes the paper from my hand and pulls it inside, not letting me see him.
I hear him snicker. “They sent you?”
The hair stands up at the back of my neck. “Yeah, is there a problem?”
He laughs again, the sound raspy like he smokes ten packs of cigarettes a day. He might, from the smell now making its way to me from inside. “Nah, but I’m not sure they’re gonna like that.” He closes the door in my face, making me jerk back.
Oh, shit, that sounds really bad! Nervously I check the time. Three minutes, that’s all I’m giving him. Then I’m out of here. When the door clicks open, it startles me. Again.
“Here,” he shoves a manila envelope at me through the crack. I’m so stunned, I don’t move. “Well, are you going to take it?” he shakes it at me.
“Yeah, yeah,” I snatch it from his hand.
He pulls his arm back inside and slams the door shut.
Well, that was…weird.
I turn and run back to the car, not caring if he’s watching me, whoever he was. I don’t want to know.
I crank the ig
nition and throw the car in reverse, almost squealing tires on my way out, trying to get out of here as fast as I can. Quick, Evie, before they start blasting guns. Or come out and drag you from the car. Or a house falls on me from the sky.
“Jesus, I’m being ridiculous. It was fine. Nothing happened,” I chuckle and start to loosen up a little.
A few miles down the road, when my heart finally starts beating a normal rhythm again, I glance at the package. The plain envelope is stuffed full. I lift it up and notice it’s light, so I know there isn’t a gun or something like that inside. “Hmm, it doesn’t look bad.” Lucas and his instructions. He probably just did it to scare me.
The ride back to the diner is actually nice, a lot nicer than the trip there. I turn up the radio and sing 80’s tunes with the windows wide open as I keep glancing in my rearview mirror. You know, just in case someone tries to run me off the road and I have to get out of the car fast and make a run for it.
But Lucas wouldn’t send me someplace like that.
Would he?
CHAPTER 10
That was a fucking disaster.
Something happened. Or someone. Because that wasn’t supposed to go down like that.
Every conversation I’ve had with Randall Stevenson for the past six months plays in my head as I try to figure out when things took a nosedive. I’ve been putting this plan together since the first party I helped him throw. It was perfect. All the variables had been weighed, every piece, and all the possible outcomes have been examined. It was genius.
And he fucking pulled out on me. He withdrew and basically told me to go fuck myself.
What. The. Hell?!
Nothing has been different in my dealings with Randall. Ever. He barks his orders in his Don’t-bore-me-with-your-presence aloofness, and I kiss his ass when he snaps his fingers. Nothing has happened.
Oh, yes it did, asshole!
The Making Of A King: The King Duet, Book 1 Page 10
