by Lily Cahill
I can’t have that.
The dragon inside of him roared with displeasure, and the man wasn’t doing much better. Ramona was his, and of course she could have it. She could have anything she wanted.
Show her, his inner beast demanded. He was helpless to disobey.
Blayze closed the distance between them, and then his lips were on hers, kissing her fiercely. She gasped, and he used the opportunity to lick inside her mouth. She melted into him, her arms twining around his neck as he pulled her closer.
Just the touch of their lips and he was as hard as he’d ever been in his life. Having her pressed against him reminded him of the other night, when they’d been so wild for each other they’d fucked like animals as soon as they were inside her front door.
He didn’t want that now. He wanted to take her apart, piece by piece, and show her how much he cared for her. He wanted to make her come so many times that she couldn’t see straight. He wanted to take it slow, make sure that it lasted all night so that they fell asleep as the sun was rising.
His hands drifted to her round ass and he ground their pelvises together, heard her bitten-off whimper of pleasure. She made the most delicious sounds. They were like oxygen to him. He needed to hear them to live.
He pulled his head back and trailed his lips down her neck, taking some of her skin between his teeth and nipping lightly before soothing the area with his tongue. He could feel her breasts move against him as she took in deep, heaving breaths.
She wanted this just as much as he did, and even if she didn’t think she could have it, he knew she could.
He moved his lips up to her ear and whispered, “Do you want me to stop?”
Ramona groaned. “You’re not playing fair.”
“When have I ever?”
Her hands moved to his shoulders and pushed at him. Surprised, Blayze complied, and took a step back.
She looked so beautifully disheveled, her clothing askew, her lips kiss-swollen, and her eyes huge and dark with desire. But she shook her head. “I can’t. It’s…it’s not right.”
Daniel.
Blayze fought back a growl. He’d never been as in touch with his dragon side as Damien or Vincent, but ever since he’d found his fated mate, he had been feeling its presence more and more. It was always in the back of his mind, and now was no exception.
There’d been another person, another man that she’d loved, who had loved her back. His biology insisted with every cell that Ramona was his, but he knew that mortals were different.
But she felt the same, felt the pull. He knew she did.
“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with loving more than one person in your lifetime,” Blayze managed. He sounded much calmer to his own ears than he would have expected. “And I think you know that.”
“You—you’re bad for me. I haven’t been able to think straight since you showed up.” Ramona glared. “I was fine before. I didn’t have these problems, life was so much simpler. And now it’s so complicated. I don’t want complicated.”
“Well, Jones, you can’t always get what you want.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and scoffed. “Right. So, what? You thought I’d come over here and you’d fuck me into submission? I don’t think so.”
Hurt flickered inside of Blayze’s chest. He didn’t want Ramona’s submission—he loved her fire, her no-nonsense attitude. He liked that she didn’t take his bullshit.
He didn’t want her doting and sweet—he wanted her.
“Look. This is going nowhere. Why don’t we eat, and then I can give you your present, and then we can talk about this some more.”
Every inch of Ramona went stiff. “Present?”
Shit.
Blayze’s dragon snarled at the misstep. It was supposed to be a surprise, but she knew now. Maybe it would be enough to win back her good graces and help her to see that he really did value her, all of her, just as she was.
“I…well.” He went to the table and picked up his plate. Hidden beneath were the papers he’d received earlier that afternoon. It had taken some doing, but he’d managed it.
He walked backed to her side slowly and held them out to her.
Ramona plucked them from his grasp, eyes roving over the print before coming up to stare at him.
“Are you serious?” she asked, her voice a harsh whisper.
“Absolutely.”
He’d had to call a friend of a friend of a friend in New York, and then send that person any and all YouTube videos he could find of Ramona singing, and THEN promise to cover a few key costs himself should everything work out, but he’d found someone willing to talk to Ramona about a record deal.
It wasn’t a sure thing, of course. There was a vetting process. But he’d heard Ramona sing, and he knew she wouldn’t have any trouble. Getting a foot in the door was the hardest part of any process, and he’d gotten it for her. Her talent would take care of the rest.
Ramona gaped at the papers, then looked up at him.
He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but the glare he received wasn’t it.
“How dare you,” she spat, quivering with rage.
He hadn’t expected this. When she’d opened up about singing—sure, she’d said she was okay without it, but she also went out of her way to perform often in Augustus. She talked about singing the way people spoke of their glory days, with a kind of wistful nostalgia.
She didn’t have to wonder what if. She could live that dream.
“It’s not a guarantee, but that’s one of the top A&R guys at—“
“Stop. Stop talking.” Ramona held out the papers and tore them in half. They fell to the floor in pieces. “I don’t ever want to see you again. You can send a check when the case is over.”
Blayze stared at the contract on the floor, uncomprehending, as Ramona stalked by him. As soon as his brain caught up with the situation, he turned and followed her to the door.
Her hand was on the knob.
“Wait,” he said. He’d never sounded like this before, his voice so low, so authoritative.
Ramona obeyed and faced him. “I want to leave.”
“You’re going to explain to me what just happened.”
Her eyes were narrow slits. “I don’t owe you any explanation, Blayze. I told you when we picked up Joy that I didn’t want to sing, and yet here you are, trying to force it on me—“
“That’s not what I was doing. Don’t tell me what I intended. I wanted to give you something, to make you happy—“
“You know what makes me happy? Solving cases! Going to bed and being able to sleep in any position I want because I don’t have to consider anyone else! Singing at the bar, for tips, once every few weeks! I don’t need more than that. I don’t need you to give me things to try to mold me into the person you want me to be.”
“I want you to be you!”
“Oh, sure.” Ramona’s eyes were cold, her hand still lingering near the door knob. “That’s why when I tell you want I want out of life, you ignore it and give me what you think I should want! But I guess I don’t know what else I expected. You’re too self-obsessed to care about anyone else’s feelings.” She shook her head. “And you wonder why no one takes you seriously.”
Blayze was on fire, his blood running hot. His body wanted to shift, to roar. He breathed deep, barely keeping himself in check. “You think you know me so well?”
“Oh yeah,” she said, seething. “I think I do.”
“I’m surprised, then, because you’ve never given yourself a fucking chance to do so.”
She broke in. “Your brother’s girlfriend hired me to do a job. Excuse me for wanting to do it without having to deal with—romantic bullshit!”
“She doesn’t even know you’re working the case!” The words exploded out of him before he could stop them, even though he knew they were a horrible idea.
“What?” Her voice was strangely small.
“I hired you myself. Felicity doesn�
�t even know you exist, and if she did, she’d be fucking pissed off about it, but Jones—Ramona. I know you feel this, too, okay? You don’t need to be scared.”
“Fuck you. I’m not scared, I just don’t like you!”
He growled. “Bullshit. You got hurt once, so now you’re afraid to live. You cling to the past as an excuse so that you never have to take any risks, or trust anyone, or—“
“I don’t want to hear this!”
“Then go!”
They stared at each other, each of them panting like they’d just run a marathon.
Ramona’s eyes were over bright, but whether these were tears of frustration or tears of sadness, it was hard to tell. Part of Blayze wanted to reach out, to curl his body around hers and whisper apologies into her ear, but that part was outweighed by the anger still coursing through his veins.
She sniffed. The sound hurt him, despite everything.
“Don’t contact me again,” she said, her voice breaking on the last word.
Then she opened the door and was gone.
Chapter Eight
Ramona
THE NEXT MORNING, RAMONA WOKE up with sore eyes and a knot in her chest. She’d cried herself to sleep the night before, and she wasn’t even sure why. Was it because she was enraged, because she was hurt, or because Blayze had struck a nerve?
What did it mean if it was all three?
She checked her phone while still lying in bed, but there was no text waiting for her. He hadn’t reached out to apologize, or to yell more, or—anything.
It was over, then. Done.
Tears rushed back to Ramona’s eyes.
She hadn’t cried in years. She wasn’t the kind of girl who cried. No, she picked herself up by her bootstraps, kept her head high and her eyes staring straight ahead. Nothing could be solved with self-pity and tears.
Daniel’s funeral, she thought. That was the last time.
Rolling to the side, Ramona rummaged under her bed for the photo she always kept there. It was framed from where it had used to hang on the wall, but after Daniel had died, she’d had trouble looking at it. They’d gone and done silly portraits at JC Penney one day, intentionally making awkward faces and wearing their dorkiest clothes. She’d hung up the stupidest looking one, both of them grinning with their eyes crossed, even though Daniel had laughed at her for doing so.
She could still hear his voice in her head. Those were supposed to be a joke, Ramona. Are you seriously going to make me look at my ugly mug every day? Not you, of course, you still look radiant as ever, and—
The memory made her want to laugh and cry at the same time.
Blayze was right, and she knew it. Daniel had died so she could live, but she hadn’t been living for years. She’d been hiding from life in plain sight. Sure, she went out and talked to people, but her closest friends were the bandmates she saw every few weeks. She’d allowed her grief to consume her until she was paralyzed, never engaging more than she had to for fear of getting hurt, going out of her way to solve the crimes done against those who hadn’t been quite as careful.
She looked at the smiling faces in that goofy photo and couldn’t remember the last time she’d had fun like that, had felt that happy.
At least, not before Blayze.
He’d woken her up, showed her what she was missing, and she’d resisted because she was scared. He shouldn’t have contacted that A&R executive without speaking to her, he shouldn’t have invited her over on false pretenses in some weird attempt to woo her with fancy food, but—she shouldn’t have been so cruel, or thrown his kindness in his face.
Ramona sat up and wiped her face, ridding it of any evidence of her crying fit.
It was too late for her and Blayze, she suspected. He would never take her back, not now that she’d said such horrible things about him. That realization caused a fissure of pain down her chest. She’d ruined things so thoroughly that there wasn’t any hope of resurrecting what they could have had.
Where would she find another man like that? She couldn’t conceive of one. Maybe she hadn’t known Blayze long, but they had connected on so many levels. He’d been so easy to talk to, so easy to listen to.
She would have to apologize to him. It probably wouldn’t make a difference, but she had to do it.
Eventually.
Moving stiffly out of bed, she looked at her phone again. A few new emails were waiting for her, as well as her notes on the Valdez case. The Valdez case—right. There wasn’t really a Valdez case. Or if there was, she wasn’t really working it. Someone had poisoned Joy Valdez, but no one would know or care if she solved it.
No one except Joy, maybe.
Ramona remembered Joy’s sad, tight face, her brusque manner. She suddenly understood Joy in a way she hadn’t before; this was a girl who was desperately afraid of being hurt. It was something to which Ramona could relate all too well.
Screw the money. It may have been why Ramona had taken the case, but it wasn’t going to be why she solved it. And she would solve it. Joy deserved that peace of mind.
Her emails were mostly junk, but there was one from a contact who worked in a seedy motel on the edge of Augustus. He’d spotted Bullet, also known as Billy Lasseter, last night and was sure the dealer would be around again tonight. Perfect. He’d even attached a picture—footage taken off of the security cameras. If Zeke didn’t taint the drugs—and she was pretty convinced that he hadn’t—then it had to lead back to Billy.
Maybe it was too late to fix things with Blayze, but it wasn’t too late to help Joy—or herself. Ramona glanced one last time at the silly portrait of her and Daniel, and she smiled as she looked at it. She put it back under her bed and didn’t feel guilty for doing so.
It was time to start living.
Stakeouts were not great for the whole “enjoying life” thing.
Hours of sitting in a car, waiting for a person to show up. Never able to glance away from what she was doing, or to zone out for a moment. Doing that could waste an entire night’s work, and there was no way Ramona could put herself through this twice.
She sank further down into the driver’s seat of her car, hands around her still-warm mug of coffee.
She wondered what Blayze was doing, if he had thrown away that contract with the A&R guy, if he was cursing her name or driving to Philly to bang that red-headed nurse they met or—
Ramona shook her head. Now was not the time. If she let herself fall too deep down the Blayze rabbit hole, she was sure to miss her perp.
There was a flicker of movement around the back of the hotel, and then, there he was. Billy Lasseter. A squirrely little guy, shorter than she was, and so skinny she was sure she could snap him like a toothpick. Except, given the way his jeans bulged around the waistband at the small of his back, he was definitely packing.
But she had to talk to him. There was no other way to get her information.
Ramona opened the car door and let it slam shut so that she had Billy’s attention. He froze, but didn’t run away, instead watching her approach. He probably thought she was just looking to score.
“I don’t talk to cops,” he said, as soon as she was close enough to hear him.
“I’m not a cop.”
“And I’m a choirboy. Women like you don’t come see me around this dump.”
Ramona pulled a business card from her bag and handed it over. “Not a cop. Private investigator.”
Billy frowned. “That ain’t much better.”
“I’m not here to get you into trouble, all right?” Unless he was the one to hurt Joy, of course, but he didn’t need to know that. “I just want to ask a few questions about Zeke Maxwell and Joy Valdez.”
“Fuck.” Billy looked ready to bolt, but Ramona quickly walked around him, forcing his back toward the wall so that he had nowhere to go.
“That’s not a comforting answer.”
Billy glared with his small, beady eyes. “Look, I don’t know shit, all right? I cooked the same shit I alway
s cook. I ain’t no warlock or whatever, I didn’t create some magic poison. I wouldn’t even begin to know how.”
A thorough googling had proven that Billy was not, in fact, a warlock, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t find one if he wanted one.
“Believe me or don’t, I don’t care. But I’m telling you the truth. I cooked it the same way I always cook it, I gave it to Zeke at the same drop point we’ve met at since he started dealing for me … there’s no secret here, sweetheart. I’m an honest crook.” He nodded toward the back of the building, where she could see a door propped open by a small stopper. “Now, if it’s okay with you, can I go back inside?
Ramona sighed and nodded, then watched him disappear. It was possible he’d been lying, but if he was, he was more talented than she could believe.
But if it hadn’t been Billy, Zeke, or Tania, then who could it have been?
Something pressed against the small of her back, and a sharp voice said in her ear, “Don’t fucking move.”
There was pain as something broke over her head, and then there was nothing.
Ramona’s head was aching when she woke up. Consciousness came back, fuzzy and indistinct, but she managed to hold back a groan and keep her eyes closed. Her ankles hurt—was she tied to something? It felt … strange.
There were voices talking, hurried and quiet, and although she didn’t know where she was, she was smart enough to know that she shouldn’t alert those voices that she was awake.
“—going to do with her? We can’t keep her here. I don’t know what you were thinking—“
“She found Billy! She was going to figure it all out, so I took action. We can’t sit around—“
“—so much trouble. I don’t know why I married … wait, did she just twitch?”
Dammit. She had been trying to keep still, but the pain radiating down her skull was horrible.
She blinked her eyes open to see—
The back room in the Maxwell General Store, door shut tight, and Mr. and Mrs. Maxwell, staring down at her as she lay on the floor.
The Maxwells!
“Great. She woke up. It was your stupid idea to hit her and you couldn’t even do that right.”
