Honesty (Mark of Nexus)

by Butler, Carrie

  “Bless you, you giant cherub.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Just see what you can do about getting me on that gravy train to Cleveland.”

  “Will do, man. Later.” I pressed a button on my earpiece through the mask, taking a sharp turn into my adopted parking garage. Sure, it was a ways from my apartment and I never used it, but it was a great source of vandalism. Sometimes even the odd assault. That’s why I left a few cameras there.

  I used to get bored on my days off, and since the feed went straight to my phone, I was never more than a few minutes away from citizen intervention—or vigilantism, as Wallace likes to put it. I tried to get him on board last winter during his break, but he wasn’t down with using his abilities for the greater good. Total duty shirker, if you asked me.

  I jumped over the gate and tore up the ramps, stopping at the second level from the top. If I recalled correctly, the nearest camera was on the north end, fixed to a mirror bubble. The investment had provided hours and hours of people-watching entertainment. I almost hated to let that go.

  Sadly, the small device was needed for a new purpose—to film my recreated sex tape. Speaking of which, I needed to get moving. The costume shop was across town, and I still needed a Teresa lookalike wig. It sucked being a responsible adult.

  ~

  I gave myself one last glance in the mirror, tilting my chin back and forth. Strong jaw, smoldering eyes, killer smile. If I were a religious man, I’d be tempted to write the Man Upstairs a thank you note.

  As it was, I gave myself a mirror five.

  The bedroom camera was in place and set to record with one tap of my phone’s screen. I’d even found a dark wig and cut it to approximate length. The only thing left was to consult my shadow box.

  Yeah, that’s right. I’m crafty.

  It hangs in my closet, so visitors don’t draw any unsavory conclusions. I don’t know why they would with a colorful display of panties, but whatever. People are judgey. Let’s see…

  The last time I’d banged Teresa was in February, meaning they’d be in the second row, but which pair? I remembered it was a weekend hook-up, because she wasn’t in a hurry. Hubs was in Brazil on business. I crossed my arms.

  It stood to reason that I could eliminate the multi-colored pairs and anything with a granny cut. Chicks only bust out the sexy stuff when they know there’s a possibility someone will see it. So, that left the black, the sequined, the—

  Aha! Red lace panties. That jogged my memory. Perfect. Now all I had to do was hit the lingerie store on the way home with my convincing actress, and we’d be all set.

  Wait.

  Were they running on mall hours? If so, I’d have to snag someone early—not a lot of time to get her drunk. The selection wouldn’t be that spectacular either. Damn it.

  Okay, I’d pick up panties on the way there. Play the fantasy angle. Throw in the wig. Then as long as I kept her on top, her back to the camera for that little cheetah-stalking thing Teresa did, I’d be gold. I could cut the film after foreplay. All I needed was enough to be convincing.

  God, I was brilliant.

  CHAPTER 6

  The Neon Tavern was busy, even for a Saturday night.

  People packed every stale corner, anxious to escape their workweeks within the confines of a darkened room—accented by multi-colored lights. Some local band was rocking out on stage, but I didn’t have time to enjoy the ambience. I was a man on a mission.

  The mission objective had to be a head shorter than me, with curves in all the right places. Nothing like Rachel…

  Whoa, what happened to compartmentalizing? Work before pleasure.

  “You here alone?” someone asked to my left.

  I glanced over my shoulder, gave the girl a once-over, and sighed. “No.”

  “So, you’re not alone?”

  “I’m not interested,” I clarified. “No time. Sorry.”

  She made a sourpuss face and rolled her eyes. “I wasn’t either. I was just asking.”

  “Right.”

  I sidled up to the bar, not bothering to wait for her answer. For whatever reason, I was anxious to get this whole thing over with—which, admittedly, felt weird since I knew I’d be getting laid.

  The woman at my right smirked into her glass without looking at me. “I think you just made a mistake—”

  My eyes did a full recognizance mission before she even knew I’d checked her out. Approximate height, maybe. Same figure. Her chestnut hair would definitely fit into a skullcap for the wig…

  “—but it’s none of my business,” she finished with a shrug.

  “How so?” I waved to the bartender.

  She tilted her head back, gesturing toward the woman I’d just dismissed. “I saw her come in with a pack of Barbies earlier. I bet you ten bucks one of them just got dumped, and they’re looking to distract her with a night of binge drinking and duck face pics.”

  I blinked. “So?”

  “So, you blow off one, you lose your shot with all of them. Plus, they’ll probably cockblock you the rest of the night out of spite.”

  Huh. I leaned back to take her in. “Then why don’t you let me buy you a drink? From the way you talk, it sounds like you’re the only chick in this bar who hasn’t been compromised.”

  Her shoulders lifted again. “If you insist.”

  The bartender wandered over. “Hey, what can I get you?”

  I picked up my new companion’s glass and took a careful whiff of its contents. “Uh…”

  “Captain and Coke,” she supplied, amusement tugging at her features.

  “What she said.” I bumped my fist on the counter. “Just a water for me.”

  He nodded. “You got it.”

  “So tell me…” I set the woman’s glass down and raised my eyebrows, waiting for her to fill in the blanks.

  “Jovon.”

  “Jovon,” I repeated. “What’re you doing here at the bar, by yourself, on a Saturday night? Is your boyfriend out of town?”

  She grinned. “Oh, that’s clever, Mr. Anonymous.”

  “Sorry.” I held my hand out. “Cole Blake.”

  She took it with a firmer grasp than Rena’s freckled friend had earlier, pulling me closer. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Same here. Now how about that question?”

  Her lips twitched. “How about it?”

  Did Wallace and I have some smartass triplet that I wasn’t aware of? I reached back and pulled out my wallet. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

  “I have a lot of friends who are boys. None I feel particularly accountable to, though.”

  I threw a twenty on the bar, narrowly avoiding a wet ring. “Good to know.”

  “Isn’t it? Maybe we can rig up a shooting star out of all this neon—make our very own PSA.” She winked.

  Speaking of lights, I think I just got a green one to depantsify this one.

  “Here we go, guys.” The bartender slid two glasses across the bar and scooped up my twenty.

  “No change.” I waved him off, hoping it’d get me a quicker exit.

  He paused for a moment. Not used to decent, non-plastered tippers, no doubt. “Thanks, man.”

  “Trying to impress me, big spender?” Jovon spun around on her stool, tossing her hair back.

  “Maybe.”

  This chick was quick with the wit. I liked it. Hell, maybe she could be my next two-to-five before I made a formal pass at Rachel. Regular sex with someone who shares my sense of humor? Yes, please. Let’s bag and tag thi—

  Someone tapped me on my shoulder.

  I turned back to find a chick with bleach blonde hair and black, matted eyelashes. “Yes?”

  “I think you need to apologize to my friend over there.” She pointed to the pack Jovon had warned me about, and they all glared daggers on cue. Reow. “She’s had a really crappy day, and she doesn’t need some…some man to objectify her.”

  “What about a woman?” Jovon cut in. “I could try it, if you like.”

 
; I reached for my drink to cover a bark of laughter.

  “Why don’t you turn around and mind your own business?” The blonde straightened in her stilettos, puffing out her chest.

  “Why don’t you go burn a cock effigy?”

  “This doesn’t concern you.”

  “Maybe I don’t like you sniffing around my man.”

  Her man? A little alarm bell sounded in my head, but I ignored it.

  The blonde held up her hand and whirled around. “Whatever. I hope you choke on your drink, bitch.”

  “After you teach me to swallow, cumbucket!” Jovon yelled back, jumping to her feet.

  Where had my snarky little drinking buddy gone? Did she really just hulk out into a crazy, possessive stranger? Next thing, someone would tell me Santa wasn’t real.

  “Oookay now.” I put my hands on her shoulders and steered her toward the exit. “Why don’t we ditch this place? No sense making a scene when there’s work to be done.”

  “Work?” She craned her neck back.

  “I meant fun,” I lied, groaning in my head. “I actually live nearby, if you want to hang out.”

  “Sure. Why not?”

  “Exactly. Why not?”

  ~

  Jovon scared me.

  I didn’t even need to sell the fantasy. The chick got a bottle of gas station wine in her, and the next thing I knew, she was donning the wig and panties while running laps around my apartment.

  “Victory for the United States!” She did another slide-by in her socks, skidding into the hallway. The Browns throw she’d been holding over her head fell around her shoulders, and she cracked up laughing. “I’d give myself bronze, that time…”

  “Right,” I said, taking a slow drag from my seat on the counter. Thanks to the whole parents-getting-killed-by-a-drunk-driver thing, I wasn’t a huge fan of alcohol. In other people, yes. It was cheap entertainment. But sadly, I couldn’t share their delusions.

  My body would probably metabolize it in two seconds anyway.

  “You wanna take this into the bedroom, doll?” I hopped down and put my cig out in a mug. “We can go for the gold in bedroom gymnastics.”

  She swung around the doorframe, the dark wig fanning around her bare shoulder. Dead serious. “Have you qualified?”

  Where do I find these nut jobs?

  With a shrug, I pulled at the bottom hem of my shirt. “You tell me.”

  It was a cheap ploy, but I knew it’d shut her up about this Olympic shit. Inch by inch, I raised the cotton, revealing the benefit of my Dynari lineage—abs to rival the Greek gods for which the games were established. They were probably related to my ancestors, anyway.

  That sobered her up.

  I jerked the shirt over my head and threw it on the floor, about to take one for the team. Or Tits, at least. This video was going to give us job security. Plus, it’d get me closer to my brother. Closer to ERA’s headquarters.

  Closer to Rachel.

  Her name triggered the thousand memories my brain had somehow managed to capture in two minutes of interaction. The way the sunlight played with her hair and the easy way she smiled. How her eyes were kind, but a little…sad.

  “What’s the matter?” Jovon asked, startling me with ice-cold fingers against my skin. “Stage fright?”

  I swallowed, shoving all of my thoughts into a box. “You only get stage fright when you doubt your ability to perform.”

  She fumbled with my fly. “And?”

  “And,” I continued, stilling her hands with mine. “It’s not my first Olympics.”

  Creases branched out from her grinning eyes. “Then let the games begin.”

  I grunted, edging around her to grab the car battery I’d left out. “All right, bring that licorice off the counter. Oh, and the chili pepper. I think I’ve still got working cables in my bedroom…”

  When she didn’t follow, I glanced over my shoulder. “What?”

  “Nothing.” She shook her head, an amused smile playing at her lips. “Anything else?”

  “Just one more thing.” I took a breath, pulled out my phone, and hit the record button. “Mind if I call you boss?”

  CHAPTER 7

  You don’t want to ever burn your nipples. You just don’t.

  It was bad enough when Teresa had wanted to do the weird stuff, but recreating it was worse. Thankfully, we managed to pull it off. After Jovon slept off the booze, I bought her McBreakfast and took her back to her car. Clean break.

  Sort of.

  She might’ve thrown herself at me in the parking lot, and I might’ve pulled a Houdini on her. That was unfortunate. In fact, if I hadn’t blown her mind Saturday night, I might’ve felt a little bad. But I didn’t.

  Sunday morning was spent editing footage. Hours and hours of footage. I kept the usable shit, printed off a few stills, and deleted everything else. I didn’t even keep the panties. It was too weird, even by my standards.

  Tits emailed me around noon with his findings on Rachel. Needless to say, I now had her phone number—along with last semester’s grades, her tax records, and an x-ray from when she broke her collarbone in third grade. Good ol’ Titsy.

  Another trip up to Cleveland gave me the opportunity to peruse three bachelor pads that afternoon. The first one was a modern high-rise. Granite countertops, stainless steel appliances—the whole shebang. Gorgeous, but a little soul sucking.

  The second was a stately complex with up-to-code ramps, in a quiet suburb. I didn’t even have to go inside that one. It’d be crawling with old people, and then I’d have curious types making note of every time I came and went at odd hours. Not exactly conducive to my lifestyle.

  Finally, I stopped by a brick walk-up downtown. It was a little older than the previous two, but it had personality. Seemed like a tough old bastard who wouldn’t give up his spot to the younger punks crowding the neighborhood.

  So, which one did I choose?

  God, I need to stop watching HG-TV when I’m trying to fall asleep. The third one. I chose the third one. It was high enough to keep tabs on my part of the city, but not so high that Titsy and I would die fiery deaths if someone left their oven on. Plus, the area was strung with lights and full of nightlife. Done deal.

  Monday morning brought the task of tying things up in Columbus, which was easier said than done. Fun fact—very few people recognize their own backs. This is especially helpful when you want to blackmail someone with a forged sex tape. Say, your boss…

  Teresa’s nostrils flared five times before she even allowed herself to look at me. When she did, the snorting bull routine didn’t fade. Instead, she fisted her perfectly manicured hands and met my gaze with fiery determination. “Get out.”

  “Easy there,” I coaxed, leaning against the side of her desk. “I didn’t know it’d be such an unflattering angle.”

  “Cole.”

  Wow. With a voice like that, maybe I should’ve brought an exorcist. Who knew evidence of our fun, but fictional, time together would elicit this much of a response?

  “I will make the arrangements.” Her words were slow, deliberate. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think I was forcing her to say them under duress. “But what I need you to do is stay the hell away from me. Now. Tomorrow. The next day. I do not want to see your face in my doorway. I do not want to hear your voice in the hall. If I so much as see a printout with your name on it, I will go postal on everyone. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Crystal.” I grinned, sauntering out. “You got it.”

  ~

  The rest of the day passed by in blurred victory, and before I knew it, it was time to head down to Scion. Yes, I have a dinner date with my grandma once a week, and yes, I’ll kick anyone’s ass who dares to breathe a word about it. So, suck it.

  The woman raised me, and despite everything I’ve done, she always welcomes me back with open arms. I waltz through that door, and I’m fourteen again—muddy from riding bikes with Wallace and already thinking of excuses to get out of m
y homework. Life is simpler, slower.

  Of course, the feeling never lasts long. Once Grandma ushers me in, looking frailer each time around, I’m ripped back to the present. Suddenly, I’m a full-grown man with a whole host of problems.

  And I hate it.

  Grandma pulled the lid off her slow cooker, releasing waves of steam to taunt the smoke detector. “Something wrong, dear?”

  Like I could answer that. Not only was the woman a fully matured empath, she also had the minor gift of discernment. She always knew when I was lying.

  “No.” Yet I still did it.

  “You need to quit running around on those errands of yours,” she went on, unbothered. “You look exhausted. We do have a police department, you know.”

  “Yes, and they’re so effective.”

  I collapsed into the nearest chair and rubbed my neck. Maybe I was exhausted. With everything going on—the break-up, blackmailing my boss, trying to keep tabs on ERA and their virus—my life had become a clusterfuck of gloom. Not to mention the fact that this could be one of my last weekly dinners with Grandma.

  Ah, shit. I still need to broach that subject.

  “Okay, I guess something is wrong.” I cleared my throat and stood up to get the plates. “My boss is transferring to Cleveland, and the guy who’s taking over hates me.”

  She didn’t even flinch. “What did you do to him?”

  “Nothing, Grandma. Geez.” I chuckled under my breath, reaching to open the cabinet next to her.

  “Uh huh.”

  “Okay, we got into a fender bender last year. The point is, he’s going to can me as soon as she’s gone, and I need that job.”

  But I don’t want to leave you alone.

  She stirred the pot, swirling pork chops smothered in gravy. “Can you transfer up north to the same office your current boss is going to?”

  I blinked. “Well, yeah, but…I’d have to move up there.”

  “So?”

  A warm, herb-scented cloud wafted over, burning my eyes. “So, I’d be living in Cleveland. Wallace, Henry, Edwin, me—hell, even Faye would be up north.”

  “Honey.” She put the spoon down and clasped my arm. “I love you, but I survived long before you came along. I know how to take care of myself.”