Wicked Fortune (Wicked Nights #5)

Chapter 7

SEVEN

My field trip to Masque with Clive was on Friday night. Now it’s after midnight on Sunday and the earth is spinning fast toward Monday. Which means that for three nights and two days both Jenny and Matthew Holt have been on my mind. One teasing me with decadent promises. The other begging me from behind the veil of death to give her peace through answers.

Or maybe it’s only me who wants that peace.

I don’t know. Hell, I’m not sure I know anything anymore.

Which is why instead of being tucked into my warm and snuggly bed the night before I return the contract and formally accept Holt’s “job” offer, I’m standing on the Glendale-Hyperion Bridge, the glow of distant streetlights casting elongated shadows in the gloomy night. The sturdy bridge seems to sway, and I keep my hands on the rail as I look down at Riverside Drive and the battered ghost of my dead friend.

I had no intention of coming here tonight, and I don’t even remember making the decision. One minute I was on the couch, tearing up as I watched the last few minutes of an episode of How I Met Your Mother, a friend-centric show that had me missing Jenny all the more. The next thing I knew I was driving along Glendale Boulevard, the bridge’s octagonal towers coming into view in front of me. The bridge has thirteen arches—a piece of LA history I picked up somewhere—and I shudder, thinking about that unlucky number.

It was certainly unlucky for Jenny.

I sigh, and despite knowing that I’m standing about where Jenny must have stood in the last moments of her life, I feel safe, like a spectator peering into a distant age. With a sigh, I look down at the river and highway, wondering how many secrets this bridge has kept across the years.

I’m not sure how long I’ve been standing, lost in thoughts too scattered and fleeting to grasp. It’s peaceful here, and I can almost hear Jenny calling to me, ready to reveal all her secrets. I only need to close my eyes and let her in and maybe then I’ll?—

“What the hell are you doing?”

I jump, my heart pounding as I turn to face Bree, stalking toward me on the pedestrian walkway.

“Me?” I snap back. “You can’t just sneak up on people like that. She was just about to tell me—you know what? Never mind.”

I can tell from her expression that she knows exactly what I was going to say, and I stand up straighter, fully prepared to argue that just because she doesn’t get feelings and impressions like I do, that doesn’t mean I’m being ridiculous or new-agey or whatever.

But she doesn’t say that. Instead, she bites her lower lip and just says, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have interrupted.”

I sag, all the fight going out of me. “It’s okay. I don’t think she was really going to tell me anything.”

She moves closer to stand beside me, both of us looking down at the spot where Jenny’s body had been found.

“It’s strange, isn’t it?”

I shake my head, not knowing what she means.

“She died there, but it’s just asphalt. It should have her initials. Or a red X.” She wipes away a tear. “Her death made the news, but in a few weeks, no one will even remember.”

My chest tightens. “We will.”

Beside me, Bree exhales softly. “Yeah. We will.”

I shoot her a sideways glance. “So you tracked me?”

She shrugs. “I swung by your place and you weren’t there. Then when I saw you here, I got worried.”

I reach for her hand and squeeze it. “I’m okay. I’m just—I hate it. Not having answers, you know?”

She nods. “Yeah. I know.”

For a moment we just stand there, the hum of traffic underscoring our thoughts before her words break the silence. “Did you learn anything at Masque?”

Oh, yeah. I learned quite a lot.

But I don’t say that out loud. I’m not quite ready to tell Bree everything that happened with Holt. “I learned that Clive makes an excellent date,” I quip. “Except for that pesky no sex at the end thing.”

“Sucks to be you. But what did you learn about those parties? Do you think Matthew is involved in whatever made Jenny kill herself. Or,” she adds after I give her the stink-eye, “whatever led someone to murder her?”

“I don’t trust him,” I say.

“Him—you mean Matthew? Come on. I know he’s edgy, but …”

She trails off as if I’m going to pick up the thread. I don’t. She’s right about him, and so am I. He’s odd and edgy and sexy, but there’s something real underneath. I don’t want to be attracted to him. He’s a gorgeous, powerful man who runs a no-holds-barred sex club. That isn’t a man who follows the rules. That’s a man with power.

And powerful men believe they can walk through the world doing anything they want. And they think they can get away with it because usually they can.

I meant what I told her—I don’t trust him. But more than that, I don’t trust myself around him. And I don’t know what to do about the intense longing I feel all the way into my bones every time I think of him.

“Ari—”

“No. You tease me about my hunches but you know I’m usually right. There’s something about him. Something dark. Something secret.”

“Well, duh. He runs a billion-dollar industry. It would be weird if he didn’t have secrets.”

I tilt my head from side to side, trying to work out the kinks. “It’s more than that,” I say as cars whoosh by beneath us. I think of my gift bag and the arrogant, ballsy, and damned enticing gift I found inside it. “He’s a man who’ll do whatever it takes to get what he wants.”

“So will most powerful people. That’s how they become powerful. Or stay that way. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have limits. And it sure doesn’t mean he’d commit murder.”

“You can’t be sure of that.”

“Then you can’t be sure he’s dangerous.”

“I’m certain,” I say. And it’s true. I’m one hundred percent certain that Holt has it in him to kill. Not for money. Maybe not even for his reputation. But to protect his secrets? To protect someone else? Yeah, I could see him doing that. And I’m about to throw myself into his lair.

For a moment, I think she’s going to argue some more. She doesn’t. Instead, she puts her hand over mine. “Then you can’t work for him. If he catches you poking around …”

I steel myself. “It’s a risk.”

“A risk?” she repeats, her voice rising. Then she shakes her head. “No,” she says. “No, he can’t be that bad. I mean, come on. I know him. Ash is friends with him.”

“He has it in him,” I say firmly. “But that doesn’t mean he did it. It just means he could. If he had reason enough, he’d probably do it in a heartbeat.” I turn to look her in the eye. “Ash could, too. You know he could.”

Even in the dim light of the streetlamp, I can see the color drain from her face as her eyes go wide. “Yes,” she says, the word barely a whisper. “To protect me, he wouldn’t even hesitate.”

“Or to protect his sisters and his brother. Or Nikki. Or Damien. Ash has that fire. We both know it. So does Holt.”

She bites her lower lip before saying, “You’re sure?”

I nod. “And with a man like that, you either trust him or you run like hell. I can’t do either.”

“Ari—”

“No.” The word is soft as a prayer. “I’m going to walk into the lion’s den tomorrow, and I’ll do whatever I have to do—play whatever role I have to play—but somehow, someway, I will learn the truth. For Jenny.”

For a moment, Bree says nothing, then she meets my eyes and nods. “Yes,” she says. “For Jenny.”