F*ck Club: Con

by Shiloh Walker

Stupid connectivity, stupid dead zones and stupid phone companies that couldn’t put towers in places like this so he could get his fucking phone to load when he needed it to load.

  “Son of a bitch.” Con slammed his foot on the gas, hit the blinker in the same second, then pulled into the parking lot of a gas station undergoing renovations. After putting the car in park, he got the email to load.

  A few seconds later, he was online, reading up on just what was going on in Miz Shawntelle’s life.

  Chapter Fourteen

  She lived somewhere near Williamsburg, Virginia.

  He was assuming it was near Williamsburg and not in, because she’d told him she lived in a town that had only one stoplight.

  Williamsburg was a tourist trap of a town that had a hell of a lot more than one stoplight. A pretty tourist trap, he had to admit, but it was still a tourist trap.

  Con had never been there.

  Granted, he really couldn’t claim to have been much of anywhere. He’d had a client—

  Yeah, maybe he shouldn’t think about that when he was trying think about how to approach Shawntelle later that evening.

  He almost sent Charli a text to see what she thought about what he was doing.

  Then he thought better of it. She’d said she needed time away, so he needed to let her have it.

  There was no point in calling Riley for advice. His older brother had already torn him a new asshole over the phone. Con had to admit, he deserved it. He’d sort of left his brother hanging and he knew it. He might very well end up on the receiving end of a hammer-like fist right to the jaw. But it wasn’t like he’d had time to try to talk Riley into this.

  He knew exactly where Shawntelle was going to be—for one day.

  He wasn’t going to waste that chance.

  Ever since she’d sauntered into the pub, that faint smile on her lips, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her.

  Too many things had been between them and then there wasn’t but she hadn’t exactly lingered around so they could maybe work things out.

  Now he had one chance and he wasn’t going to let it slip through his fingers.

  He might be a charming bastard who preferred to coast his way through life, but he knew how to work for what he wanted. And he wanted Shawntelle. At least he thought he did.

  Coming to a stop in front of the address he’d found online, he stared inside.

  The sun reflected off the glass, making it difficult to see much of anything, but she wouldn’t be there for a few more hours. He didn’t have much of anything to do until she showed up but he didn’t have much of any place to go, either.

  He hauled open the door and the blast of air conditioning was a welcome relief after the stifling Virginia heat. He tugged off his sunglasses and gave his eyes a minute to adjust before moving deeper into the bookstore’s quiet hum.

  It was mid-afternoon on a busy summer afternoon and the place was alive.

  He wasn’t quite the book lover his sister was so he wasn’t sure where to look. But like a sign straight out of heaven, just as he moved off into the depth’s, he caught sight of something.

  A very literal sign.

  Shawntelle.

  Her face stared out at him from a mounted poster-board sign.

  Below it read the words, AUTHOR SIGNING.

  The date below it corresponded with today’s.

  And he had four hours left.

  Drawn toward the display of books spread out under the sign, he picked up one, then another and another.

  “Hi!”

  The cheery chirp came from a girl who barely rose to his shoulder, her hair done in rainbow-colored braids and the hoop in her nose matched the rainbow red.

  He gave a short nod. He didn’t want to talk. He wanted to look at the books.

  But she wasn’t getting the hint. “Are you a fan? She’ll be here tonight.”

  As if he hadn’t noticed the sign, she tapped it and nodded proudly. “We’ve had her in here twice. She doesn’t do signings.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “Have you read her before?”

  He almost said, “I think I’m falling in love with her.”

  But he stopped himself. That might have come off as rather creepy. “I’m…interested.” Then, before she could trap him in a conversation, he gathered up one copy of each book and headed toward the check-out up front.

  He had some reading to do.

  * * * * *

  Con ended up at some place that described itself as a French café. He hadn’t ever been to France, so he wouldn’t know. He did know they made one hell of a Manhattan and their sandwiches and fries were enough to leave him drooling. He was about eighty pages in when the server stopped by and asked if he’d need anything else. He didn’t even look up as he pulled out his debit card to pay the tab.

  The shifts had changed before he realized that she’d written her phone number down on the ticket and he eyed it with a bit of dismay and amusement before tucking the receipt into his jeans pocket.

  Another hour ticked by and he continued to take up space. Since he worked in the hospitality industry, he knew what it was like to have somebody taking up a table without paying any money so he ordered another drink. Besides, it was hot as hell outside. And there was another hour to go.

  His last drink was down to ice when he happened to look up, maybe twenty minutes before Shawntelle’s signing was supposed to start.

  The bookstore, just across the street, had a line that stretched down in front of the next store front.

  “What the hell?”

  The server who’d stopped by to bring his ticket caught sight of his books. “You better get in line,” she said with a laugh. “Don’t worry. Since you bought them today, she’ll sign them, but the longer you wait…well, the longer you’ll wait.”

  Con fished some bills out of his wallet and tossed them down before grabbing his books.

  Outside, he eyed the line.

  “Shit.”

  Then, with nothing else to do, he headed toward the end.

  * * * * *

  It wasn’t just a signing.

  Self-conscious, his shoulders hunched, he stood in the back, shades on his face in hopes of concealing his features. There were close to a hundred people packed into the small courtyard behind the bookstore and Shawntelle sat cross-legged on a picnic table, taking one question at a time. The Q&A had been going on for nearly thirty minutes.

  They’d been told she’d take questions for forty-five, then move on to the book signing. He’d almost wished he’d waited until the whole thing was finished, but if he’d done that, he might have missed her. He hadn’t even seen her arrive.

  The cloak-and-dagger thing was sort of irritating.

  The crowds were irritating.

  He wanted to see her.

  Talk to her—

  Her eyes flicked in his direction and he clenched his jaw to keep from saying anything.

  But her gaze flitted past him without landing on him and she nodded to a young blond a few feet to his right, sitting on the ground. “So how did you come up with the idea of working a bar scene? Did you know you were going to face that kind of sexual harassment?”

  And another flurry of questions hit.

  Some of the guys had come just to heckle her.

  Every time one of them started in, Con wanted to move in and slam his fist to the man’s jaw.

  But Shawntelle shut them down smoothly and easily, as if she’d been doing it her whole life. And that was entirely possible.

  An hour came and went. Then an hour and thirty.

  By the time it was creeping up on two, almost everybody had gotten their books signed. The few left in front of him seemed practically punch drunk and he was shifting his weight form one foot to the other as he waited.

  He still had his sunglasses on.

  It was well past nine.

  The sun was painting the western horizon a palette of orange, gold and pink, reflecting through
the upper window where the signing was being held.

  Shawntelle took the book from the last woman in front of Con and offered a wide smile.

  As the inane chatter droned on in his ear, Con stared at the books he held.

  Without thinking about it, he grabbed one of the pens resting on the edge of the table where Shawntelle sat and flipped opened the page where her assistant had tagged it to be signed.

  He scrawled a note and snapped the book shut.

  The woman in front of him moved on, still babbling at Shawntelle.

  Shawntelle was talking back.

  Con took his book, slammed it down on the desk in front of her, opening it to the page he’d written on.

  She jumped.

  “Ex—”

  The words died in her throat.

  From under his lashes, he watched her. Her eyes slowly crawled from the book across the table toward him, but just at table height—the lower part of his belly, at best. Then his torso and chest, then higher, higher.

  The pulse was hammering in her throat when she finally met his eyes, but it wasn’t shock he saw there.

  Shawntelle cocked a brow at him and leaned back in her seat.

  “Hello, Con.”

  “Is that all you’ve got to say to me?”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Is that all?” Shawntelle leaned back and folded her arms over her belly.

  Off to her side, the young woman who’d been helping her out stood by, looking fascinated. Shawntelle flapped a hand at her. “Go on, Genice. This doesn’t concern you.”

  “But…” The woman shifted her attention to Shawntelle, clearly sulking.

  “Now.”

  Con jammed his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and rocked back on his heels as he waited for her to focus that look on him.

  When she finally did, he lifted his chin. “Going to try and dismiss me, too?”

  “If I was going to do that, I would have done it the moment I saw you in the crowd.” She sniffed and gathered up pens and bookmarks, dumping them into the cup on the table.

  “So you knew I was here.”

  There was a brief hesitation before she finally answered. “Not…right away. But I saw you about halfway through. Doubted you stumbled into a book store on your trip to Virginia Beach or Jamestown.”

  “Think I can’t read?” He snagged a chair and dropped down into it, staring at her.

  “Oh, I imagine you read just fine.” Shawntelle lifted a shoulder.

  She wasn’t going to let him bait her and that was annoying as hell. He didn’t know how to handle her if she was being agreeable. Mouthy or snarky or just about any other mood, sure. But agreeable? It was a pain in the ass.

  “So…” Shawntelle tore her eyes from his and picked up the book, turning it around. “What is this?”

  He eyed the scrawl of his handwriting and hitched up a shoulder in a shrug. “It looks like somebody wrote you a note.”

  “Somebody.” She flipped it back around and read it. “Seems like an odd note for a total stranger to write in my book.” She slid him another look, then reached for the glasses she’d put on and taken off intermittently during the evening. The sight of those wire-framed lenses perched on her nose did some weird things to him—they made him picture her wearing those glasses and only those glasses. “Let me read it, and I quote, ‘I’ve been going out of my mind looking for you. Now that I’ve found you, are you going to disappear again?’”

  She put the book down and folded her hands on top of it.

  Con met her gaze and lifted a brow in challenge.

  “Weird, huh?”

  “Depends on what you consider weird.” He glanced at the book, then at her. “I thought it was weird not having you nearby. It was even worse when you weren’t in my bed. I was planning on making it a regular thing—not just having you in my bed. But having you around.”

  “Wow. That’s just so…flattering.” She fluttered her lashes at him.

  He bent down and put his hands on either side of the table, edging close enough that, when he breathed in, her scent flooded his head. “You didn’t seem to mind having me around, Shawntelle. I definitely liked having you around. We had something, remember? Then you disappeared.”

  She was quiet for so long, he started to wonder if she’d answer. Finally, she heaved out a sigh, looking away. “I didn’t just disappear. I’ve got a life. I had a brother to bury. My mother…” The rest of her words faded away and she looked up to meet his level gaze. “My mother died a couple of years ago. But not before Kyle tracked us down and started trying to lay a guilt trip on her. And he was good at it. It was her fault she’d left him with his father, her fault she’d abandoned him. Her fault. Everything was her fault. She was already sick. Him coming around like he did just made it worse.”

  “He’d call,” she said, her eyes downcast, voice soft. “Every couple of months. Sometimes more. Sometimes less. She couldn’t even avoid the phone calls—she felt too bad. And then, when she died…it was like he had to have his whipping boy. Whipping girl. Whatever.”

  “He’s gone. He’s only here now if you let him be here.”

  Shawntelle nodded. “In a way…yes. But every little reminder brings him back.” Her voice was husky, haunted. “He tried to make me take Mama’s place. But I moved. Changed my number. The place where I live, my agent sublets it for me through an arrangement so he can’t track me down through my social security number or anything.” She shrugged. “I imagine he could find me if he really wanted, but he never got that bored, I guess.”

  Con suspected it wasn’t that.

  Kyle had found something else to amuse himself with.

  “I’d done so well putting him behind me,” she whispered. “I thought he’d actually forgotten about me. That I’d really lost him. But it turns out he knew where I was all the time. He calls me out of the blue, tells me everything that’s being done to him. To him. Not the mess he made for himself or the problems he’s caused others. All of this is being done to him. I wanted to hurt him. Part of me still wants that.”

  “He’s dead.” Con wanted to kill Kyle all over again. It didn’t matter that he still saw the man dying in his dreams—he wanted to make the man suffer now. Suffer, because of all of the misery he saw in her eyes, the anguish in her voice.

  “Yes. And I’m glad for it.”

  He waited. But she said nothing else.

  “Ok. I’m confused.” Rubbing his jaw, he shook his head and asked, “So what’s the problem? He’s dead. You don’t have to worry about him. What’s the problem?” he repeated.

  “I am.” She lifted her chin, glaring at him. “He caused so much hurt for people. You really think I want to be around to remind people of that?”

  Seconds passed before he really understood what she was saying. When he did, he felt a little sick. Then he started to shake his head, uncertain just how to proceed. Maybe she was…

  No.

  No.

  No.

  “I’m not asking you to marry me or anything. Not right now. I’m asking you to give me a chance. Give us a chance.”

  “And what happens if we end up falling for each other?” Shawntelle shouted at him. It sounded horribly loud in the quiet of the night, echoing around the courtyard and coming back to him over and over again. “What happens if we fall for each other and then the people you care about most decide they can’t handle having me around? What then?”

  He took his time answering, because he wasn’t entirely sure.

  Not at first.

  “I think if they care about me, they are going to care about the people I care about,” he said.

  “That’s all fine in fairy tales.”

  She turned on her heel.

  He caught her shoulder and spun her around to face him.

  “Riley’s going to raise a boy who isn’t his son. But he’ll love him just the same.”

  Shawntelle looked at him, her mouth pulled into a tight, flat line. “That�
�s fine and dandy, for him. But this isn’t the same.”

  “We’ll all love that kid the same as if he was Riley’s boy. Because he will be. Once all is said and done, the only thing that will matter is the fact that Riley is raising Toby, the fact that Riley loves Brianna. That will be it. The end. And we’ll all love her.

  “You had nothing to do with what he did.” Con reached up and cupped her cheek, pressed his lips to her brow. “If you’re going to let him define you, in a way, he wins.”

  Shawntelle’s mouth trembled, then tightened. “But there’s one other thing. My step-brother raped the girl your brother is in love with.”

  She pushed him back, and turned to storm away.

  He watched as her hands came up to brush at her tears and he wanted to grab her, haul her against him.

  “What do you know about that?” Con asked instead.

  She laughed bitterly. “Everything. I had to go back into town a week later.”

  “You…” He stopped then shook his head, trying not to think about that. She’d said had, and judging by the strain on her face, it hadn’t been a happy trip. He put two and two together easily enough. “You came back to take care of…everything.”

  “There wasn’t much to take care of.” She jerked a shoulder in a shrug. “I had his remains cremated. No service. I didn’t even want to think about it. He doesn’t have any family. I barely even count myself. I paid a group to go in and clean out the house. I was only there a couple of hours one morning.” She shot him a quick look. “On one of your work days.”

  He didn’t bother scowling over that. It was pretty clear she’d avoided seeing him.

  “I went through the house once. I wasn’t really…looking for anything. I don’t even know why I did it. Kyle was screwed up almost from the start, thanks to that father of his. There were notebooks.”

  The last comment came out of nowhere.

  “What notebooks?” Con demanded.

  She licked her lips, turning to meet his eyes. “He had a…well, I guess you’d call it a journal—or journals. He had all these journals. And he wrote in them what he did. He…” She swallowed and blinked rapidly but it did nothing to clear the sheen in her eyes. “He used to watch me sleep. He would follow girls home and watch them whenever he could. Then he wrote about Brianna and what he did to her, okay?”