Wicked (Dangerous Liaisons Book 1)

by Ashlyn Mathews

  “He was the responding officer.” Muffled words against my neck. Small fingers clenching and unclenching my chest hair. “Promise me you’ll leave before Shephard gets here. Promise, Ryker,” she pleads.

  “You have it. Anything you need from me, I’ll give, Harper.”

  Something in my words causes a change in her. She untangles from my hold, turns, and scoots until her back is against my chest and her ass nestled in my crotch. Reaching behind, she grabs my hand and slings my arm over her hip.

  “Thank you. It means the world that you listened.”

  Her body is warm, soft. I fold into her, my arms and legs cocooning her in place. We’re a perfect fit this way too. I want to cup her face. Bring her mouth to mine. But we’re not there yet, at a point where I can touch and claim her so intimately.

  No matter what point we’re at in this journey called life, I won’t let her fight her inner demons alone. If she’ll have me at her side, I’ll keep her safe.

  Safe from the shitheads who hurt her.

  Safe from douchebags like me who want to nail and bail on her.

  Safe from bets such as the one Brett threw down.

  Which I plan to rectify tomorrow.

  I’ll withdraw from the bet.

  It’s not Missy I want.

  And no guy better throw down or accept a bet to nail my girl.

  Otherwise, there will be hell to pay.

  9

  Ryker

  I keep my promise. I book it out of Harper’s place before this Shephard guy shows up at her door.

  By the time I hit the showers after my team won the home game, thoughts of Harper’s “complicated” friend fades from my mind, replaced by the growing idea of asking Harper out on a real date.

  Wait until Wednesday to see her? Four days without seeing her face? I’ll go stir-crazy. Sitting on my bed with my elbows on my knees, I text her.

  Me: Hey

  I hang my head. That’s a douchebag start in the hunt for booty if I ever recognize one. I try again.

  Me: How r u feeling?

  Gray bar. Three dots.

  Harper: I still can’t believe he’s gone. He was so strong

  Meaning, how the fuck did someone fell an MMA fighter?

  Me: What were your parents’ names?

  Harper: Ellis and Hannah

  Ellis and Hannah Garrix. I log onto my laptop and search for her parents online. Multiple hits. The articles don’t go into how good her father was at what he did with his fists. Instead, it’s what he did with a gun that captured the news media’s attention.

  Bastards.

  Me: How’s work?

  Anything to get my head out of Harper’s parents’ sordid personal life. I can understand why her father was hooked on Harper’s mom to the point of fatal jealousy. Harper is the spitting image of her mother, and look at how Harper got under my skin after a week with her.

  Harper: Don’t know. Boss sent me home. Said I have bereavement pay to use

  Me: Nice of her

  Harper: It is

  Me: Where are u now?

  Harper: My place

  Me: Shephard?

  Harper: Giving me space

  Harper: He went to use my bathroom. Noticed the toilet seat was up

  Oh, shit, here it comes . . .

  Harper: You did that on purpose

  Man, this girl is sharp.

  Harper: Don’t do that again. Not until I have the chance to acclimate him to you

  Me: I’m like the weather now, eh?

  Harper: U r. You’re my sunshine, my downpour of charm, the rainbow when your laughter blends with my smile

  Me: That so?

  Harper: So. U make me happy

  Me: I do?

  That’s different. Girls say I make them feel good with my mouth, my hands, and my cock, but happy? Yeah, hasn’t happened.

  Harper: Yes

  Harper: Ryker?

  Me: Hmm?

  Harper: When u see Collin, be nice to him, please. He lost his father to cancer six months ago

  Aw, shit.

  Me: Sorry to hear. Explains the attitude. Kid likes you u know

  Harper: He’s an only child. I’m like a big sister to him

  An idea forms in my head. I put it out there for her to consider.

  Me: There’s a fundraiser in three weeks, on a bye week. Coach is encouraging us to bring a little sister or brother

  Harper: Do you have younger siblings you plan on taking?

  Me: I’m an only child

  Harper: Like me

  Me: Like u

  She sends back hearts and a smiling emoji. Nice.

  Harper: So…

  Me: I’d like to take him

  Me: He won’t try and humiliate me, will he?

  Harper: How can a thirteen-year-old kid have such mean intentions?

  Me: I can count the ways

  Harper: Because you’ve done these things?

  She’s onto me.

  Me: Yep. He can knock my drink onto my lap, making it look like I pissed my pants. He can belch and fart

  Wide-eyed emoji from her. I chuckle.

  Harper: What else?

  Me: He can swipe my keys and take my truck for a spin

  Harper: No!

  Me: Oh, hell, yes

  Harper: You’re such a bad guy, Ryker. I can’t believe you did all those things

  Me: But hey, it saved my dad from making a business deal with a guy that only wanted to be near my mom to get under her skirt

  Harper: I take back my words. You’re not so bad after all Ryker Conway

  Me: Does that mean u like me?

  Me: I have a chance with u?

  Fuck’s sake, stop texting. Not wanting to see her reply, I toss the cell on my bed. But I’m liking our conversation.

  I grab my phone, find her in my text messages, and scroll up, believing I missed her response to my asking if she liked me. If I have a chance with her. Nothing.

  I fall back onto the bed and stare at the ceiling. The tables have turned just as she predicted. Karma. Damn. I bring my cell to my face. Something’s been bothering me. How the hell did Harper end up in Oregon?

  Me: If u don’t mind me asking, what happened after your parents

  I’m at a loss for words, unable to describe what her dad did other than WTF?

  Harper: I went to live with my uncle, my father’s brother

  Me: That must’ve been nice, spending time with your cousins

  Harper: He didn’t marry. It was just me and him.

  Me: How’d you end up in Oregon?

  Harper: My uncle told me if anything happened to him, to move to Prescott. He died my senior year. After his death, I lived with Shephard before we moved here

  Her truth hits me like a bag of jagged rocks. Reeling and needing time to catch my breath, I return to what I wanted to tell her before our conversation was derailed with talk of the kid and this damn Shephard guy.

  Me: I like when u send me poems. I wanted to tell u earlier

  Harper: My mother wrote a lot of them

  Me: Love poems?

  Harper: Haunting ones of love and hope

  Harper: Of starting over.

  Me: Is that what u want when u bring up Shephard? A do-over? ’Cause it’s the vibe I’m getting

  Gray bar. Three dots.

  Then nothing.

  Then gray bar. Three dots.

  I wait.

  Stare at the screen.

  The gray bar and dots show up again, and I’m not prepared for her answer.

  Harper: More than anything in this world

  10

  Ryker

  Sunday comes and goes. Monday too. Harper and I texted back and forth. Nothing sexual. I’m keeping to the boundaries of what is proper. I don’t want to screw anything up with Harper and get my ass—my number—blocked.

  Most of all, I’m not crossing any lines for one reason. I want to see her face. Haven’t seen her on campus. I asked to FaceTime. She refused.
My assumption is spot on. She’s private, keeping to our Wednesday, Thursday agreement but not giving me much outside of that.

  Tuesday morning, I go running with a group of guys from the team. It’s our morning ritual. As soon as the sun rises over the horizon, we jocks are pounding the pavement.

  We run as one on the side streets of Prescott. Three quarters of the way to campus, I hear from behind the group, “To your left.”

  Jerk’s voice is deep and authoritative. For some reason, his voice rankles my nerves and gets me in a bad mood fast.

  The guys and I don’t mind him. There’s space on the road for us and him. Douchebag runs past me on my left. Following close on his heels is a small woman dressed in a pair of black running shorts over tights. And she’s wearing a black sports tank that shows the obvious. She’s wearing a black sports bra. Slim arms. Toned legs. Tight ass. Long onyx hair pulled back in a ponytail that swings as her hips sway.

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  I break out of the group and run after the guy and the girl who looks a lot like Harper. They run faster. She catches up to him, and they keep pace side by side. I huff and puff, my breaths condensing in the air.

  Shit, they’re fast. She doesn’t spare me a backward glance. I’m certain she can sense me near enough to grasp pieces of her hair between my fingers if I extend my arm.

  But I don’t. I don’t call out her name, either. If I did, there’ll be less talk and a lot of action. I can’t kick Shephard’s ass to kingdom come in front of my guys. A stomped-on pride is more dangerous than jealousy.

  And that damn green-eyed monster rearing its ugly head as his arm shoots out and cradles her shoulders, guiding her around a curve . . . They disappear out of my line of sight, and it’s a damn good thing too. I’d gulped air into my lungs and was ready to bellow her name.

  Back on campus, at the quad, I hunch over and catch my breath. Brett is at my side, doing the same. We straighten.

  “That was Harper, wasn’t it?”

  “Don’t know, man. From the back, every girl’s ass looks the same.”

  They don’t. Harper’s is high and tight. I can easily fit her ass cheeks in my big palms. I’m picturing it now. Me on my knees, kneading the round perfection of her ass as I bury my face in her sex, licking and sucking her clit until she comes. Then I’d smash my mouth on hers, giving Harper a taste of her musky sweetness.

  “Conway? Hey, Ryker?” A large hand passes by my face. I blink.

  “Your shit-eating grin . . .” Brett smirks. “How’s it with Harper? I spoke with Missy. She’s up for anything, including backdoor action.” He says the words low. I don’t miss the excitement in his voice.

  Damn, does my horny teammate want to watch or join in?

  Had Harper’s parents been open to an open relationship, would Ellis Garrix have killed his wife and her lover? Would I be just as calculating if I suspected Harper of going outside an exclusive relationship for sex?

  But what Harper’s mom felt for her lover went beyond a physical need and release. She’d fallen out of love and into love with someone else.

  “I’m not interested. I’m not going through with the bet.”

  No doubt, love is complicated. I’m not planning on falling into anything with Harper. Her pull for me is something different.

  She’s vulnerable yet strong. Experienced in life, but unsure about everything else. How come? And I’m curious to understand what kind of relationship she has with this Shephard guy. She lived with him. Harper didn’t have to reveal that important piece, but she did. Why?

  What reason does she have to drag me into whatever it is she has with him? Why the hell did he follow her to Oregon? The pieces begged to be put together, and I’m itching to be the one who makes the connections.

  “You think she’s interested in you after a week?”

  Brett sneers. What did Harper do to give Brett that fucked-up look? This isn’t the guy I’ve practiced with since we were fresh-faced freshmen trying to navigate our way around class syllabuses, parties, and girls. Too many girls wanting a piece of us to count.

  “Let’s get back to the house. Clean up. Change. I’ve got something to show you. Afterward, you tell me whether you still want to refuse taking Missy up the ass.”

  11

  Ryker

  Why haven’t I noticed this hole in the wall before? I’ve been in this part of Prescott countless times, walking by this brick building to get to the barbershop and the old man who cuts my hair exactly right.

  “What is this place?”

  I’ve showered and changed into a pair of jeans and one of those compression T-shirts that shows off my impressive torso.

  “Gio’s Gym. It’s where fighters come to train. Some of the guys on the rugby team pay good money to train with retired fighters.”

  “Those guys must be old geezers.”

  “Nah, bro. Most of them are washed up with injuries by the time they’re in their late twenties. Gyms are where they go to retire.”

  He opens the mirrored door and gestures for me to go in first. I do. There’s a tall, willowy blonde with big tits manning the front desk.

  “Hi, there. Card access only past this point unless you’d like a tour of the facilities to see if you’re interested in joining our fine gym.”

  What a spiel. On any other day, I’d lay down the charm thick on this one, showing her my rows of straight white teeth and flexing my biceps. But after spending time with Harper and seeing the adoration and happiness on those kids’ and their parents’ faces, a girl would have to be Joan of Arc or Wonder Woman to capture my attention.

  “Wait, aren’t you a member?” She studies Brett beneath long, mascara-laden lashes.

  “I am, sweetheart, but I lost my pass somewhere between my car and getting to practice. I requested another. It’s taking its merry time arriving.”

  “I thought you looked familiar. Brett Davies. You’re on the football team.”

  “That’s me.”

  “And you’re Ryker Conway.” Her blue eyes rove over my body. “My roommates think you’re hot as fuck.”

  I chuckle but don’t partake in checking out her tits when she stands and leans over the table to swipe her card on the card reader. Brett, though . . . He can’t take his eyes off her big brains.

  “I’ll let you two through and order another card, priority.”

  “Thanks. Call me.”

  “Will do, sugar.”

  “Come on, man.” I collar Brett around the neck. “Show me what I need to see. I have places to be.”

  Me inviting myself over to Harper’s for that Netflix binging that never happened.

  He shoves me off him and gestures for me to follow him deep inside the gym. We bypass the usual machines. Treadmill. Elliptical. Rows and rows of stationary bikes. We head into weightlifting territory next. I eye the bench presses. This is more my style and speed. I’m not a fan of running or cycling in place. I’m Pacific Northwest born and bred, and I prefer to be outdoors every chance I get.

  We keep walking toward the back of the gym. I hear him first before I see him.

  “Jab. Upper cut. Hook. Jab. Upper cut. Hook. Faster. Faster. Switch.”

  Deep voice. Authoritative. Shephard.

  Brett and I push through the wall of men and take a spot in front. The men we pushed at grumbled, but I don’t give a flying fuck.

  Harper is in the middle of the boxing ring, and she’s holding her own with him. The orders he barked seconds earlier have stopped. He’s going at her with his fists.

  No words are spoken. The two move in tandem, a dangerous dance of hard punches and rapid blocks. When Harper’s punches slow and her blocks become sluggish, Shephard calls it, clutching her closed fist in his palm.

  “You’re done for the day, Garrix. Go home.”

  She hunches over, her breathing ragged.

  “More.”

  It’s so fucking quiet, I swear I hear beads of her sweat hit the mat.

 
“What did you say?”

  He postures over her with his hands on his hips, looking down at her. Is Harper asking for more a damn inconvenience? Or does it go against a fucked-up power play of theirs? I shake my head. Shephard’s a mother-effing jerk.

  “I said more. I need this, Shephard.”

  “What you need is to give it a rest already.”

  She’s quiet. Not in a timid way, but strong. I see myself in her. The quiet resolve to be better. To push myself harder past the point of exhaustion.

  But it’s not better she’s after. She needs an outlet to express her grief. An expression that doesn’t take tears. Her heartache requires something more. Her fists. Her quick reflexes, dodging punches. Hitting back at the bastard who killed her strong but murderous father.

  When I held Harper that night, she cried for the loss of her parents and the innocence of a childhood stained by violence. What she went through would bring a guy like me, who’s never had such devasting losses, to his knees.

  For her to let a guy she hardly knows hold her tight as she lost herself to sleep to later toss and turn . . . I clench my jaw. Those damn nightmares of hers. Something to do with ghosts and vengeance. I’d cocooned her in my arms and soothed her as best I could, having never had that kind of experience, comforting a girl through her nightmares.

  Allowing me to do those things after confessing she felt “vulnerable” took trust.

  I’m trusting the “more” she needs goes beyond emotional heartache. Harper craves the physical release that makes the muscles burn, the joints ache, and the body want to slump over with sheer exhaustion.

  “Give her another round, man.” My voice booms in the silence. The men haven’t left. They loiter. No wonder the weight room is empty.

  “Who the fuck are you?” He storms over to the edge of the ring.

  “Someone who gives a shit what Harper needs.” I step forward, not afraid of the dickwad.

  We’re eye to eye. Bold ink on his crossed arms. Scowl on his face. Deep brown hair like mine. A scar transecting his left brow. I take another step. Suck in a breath when it hits me.