Keeping Leilani (Shadows of Obsession #5)

Chapter 1

Koby

I sigh as the keypad outside Ryder’s place beeps. I’ve just punched in the same pin he’s been using for longer than I care to remember, and it still works...

Given his line of work, it’s pathetically careless.

The door gives way, opening onto the familiar scene, every sleek surface clinically scrubbed. The man is obsessed with hygiene. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he’s OCD, but I do know better. Ryder’s not meticulously polishing every surface of this oversized condo. He pays a maid.

Three steps in, my agitated, under-the-influence brain, distracted by the cleanliness, whirls back on track so fast it makes me nauseous. The walls stretch taller, the ceiling dips low, and the whole place blurs into a sideways smear.

My stomach knots.

A slow, mean roll follows. I pause, one finger in the air for balance, head tilted, hand grasping the doorframe.

Will I throw up or...?

I force it down, jaw tight. Sweat beads at my hairline despite the AC whirring overhead. The wave passes and I suck in a shaky breath.

No puking tonight. Thank fuck.

My skin prickles, the sensation driving me halfway up Ryder’s snow-white wall. At least it would if I weren’t incapable of climbing so much as a chair.

My intake tonight leaves a lot to be desired.

I must’ve drunk more in the past two hours than the past two months, and somehow I’m still not mellow. Still not passed out in my bed, the back seat of some soldier’s car, or one of the loveseats or armchairs at Scarlett.

All three have happened before, but tonight’s not my lucky night. I’m stuck in this weird state where I think one more drink will finish me off, then find I’m still halfway to sober. That’s an award-worthy accomplishment considering the nine glasses of whiskey I’ve downed already.

Halfway to fucking sober because the worry gnawing at my brain cells burns off the alcohol faster than I can drink it.

I expect to find the apartment quietly alive, the man of the house stretched across his couch, laptop on his knees, the hum of high-end hardware filling the silence, broken by the rhythmical clicking of keys.

Nothing could be further from the truth. The condo is silent. Fucking dead as the door closes behind me with a soft click. My eyebrows knit together. I swear I kicked that door hard enough to rattle the whole damn place.

“Ryder?” I boom, stumbling across the living room on someone else’s legs. If only my mind was equally numb, things would be golden. “Where the hell are you?”

“Just a minute!” a breathless female voice floats from the bedroom’s direction.

Once again, I pause, head tilted. My brain’s processing speed is lagging, and it takes me an embarrassing amount of time to realize Bianca’s the one yelling.

I forgot they’re a thing now.

Well, not forgot per se. It’s impossible to forget your best friend’s dating, but I’ve conveniently blanked that detail out.

I head down the hallway to knock on the door. “Ryder!”

Before I tell him to get out here, Bianca snaps again. “I said just a minute! Sit your ass down and wait.”

My lips do a fish-out-of-water dance before a drunken laugh bursts from my chest.

Looks like I’m interrupting a naked wrestling match.

If I weren’t stuck in this half-drunk limbo, I’d be horrified.

“Damn,” I huff. “Make her come, man. She’s mean when she’s frustrated.”

Turning on my heel, I make my way back to the living room, bouncing off the walls twice. The third time there is no wall. I fall sideways, bruising my ribs against the console table. The pain might not register tonight, but it’ll come tomorrow.

“I’m raiding your liquor cabinet,” I yell. The bottles lining the shelf blur together and suddenly there are twice as many necks, twice as many labels... I shake my head like a wet dog. “Don’t take forever!”

I grip a twenty-four-year-old scotch and fetch two glasses just as a muffled gasp cuts through the walls. Then another, louder, and another, even louder. The rhythm builds, a harmony of low grunts, breathless moans, the slap of skin on skin.

Jesus. It’s surround sound in here. Dolby 5:1.

Ryder’s bed creaks as I pour the scotch, and a wine for Bianca. She’ll need it. Probably two to ease her trembling knees.

My best friend is many things. A genius, for one. Loyal, ruthless, trustworthy... and an orgasm king if the screaming women I’ve overheard over the years are any indication.

I settle onto the couch, drink in hand. If I close my eyes, I can picture every detail. Her nails raking his back, his hand around her throat, their bodies writhing in sync, covered in a sweaty mist.

Normally, that would do it. I’m a man, and any man with a pulse would be half-hard by now. Sue us for our physicality. It’s only fucking natural that we get turned on when we overhear people having sex... but my dick lies there, limp.

I tug at the front of my jeans. “Come on,” I mutter. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Nothing. Not even a twitch.

Goddamn it, she broke my cock.

It’s as soft, unresponsive, and pathetic as I am.

And I’m so pathetic right now. My skin feels too tight, shrink-wrapping every bone and muscle until it hurts to breathe. My jaw aches from constant clenching and pulse stutters like a glitching metronome.

All because a girl I’ve only ever seen twice looked scared.

Twice. Two fleeting encounters and her face is stapled inside my skull. Every time I blink, she’s there, staring right at me. Pale, wide-eyed, gorgeous, delicate, frightened little thing.

I want a break. A few minutes where her fearful irises don’t haunt me, but for that, I’d have to stop blinking.

I’m drunk enough to try it.

The burn in my optic nerve flares with each second I stare at the ceiling. My eyelids tremble, and she’s there again, waiting in those black spots flashing in my vision.

Fuck. This feeling can’t be normal by any definition. Working with Carter, I’ve seen dozens of women in peril. Hundreds in tears, begging for their lives. I helped any I could, but the rug never flew from under my feet the way it did when I saw Leilani.

One glimpse of that innocent young face and something fundamental about me shifted.

Such a pretty girl, caught in the claws of a monster.

Such a pretty girl, terrified of the man who calls her his.

Nothing about their interactions, their supposed relationship, felt appropriate, but the moment he kissed her temple and she seemed to relax, I retracted my claws.

Little torches swam in her eyes, making me think I’d misread things. Maybe she wasn’t as helpless as I thought.

Maybe Jax wasn’t the one making her uncomfortable.

Maybe we were?

Like a fool, I convinced myself to let it go.

I spent a week wondering whether I’d imagined her discomfort. Seven fucking days forcing my body and mind to forget how my heart faltered at the sight of her.

It failed, and after another encounter with Leilani, here I am... listening to Ryder fuck his girl, because I need information. Details. Anything and everything he can find.

How did she end up with Jax and Noretto?

Carter said she was friends with Aalyiah, his late sister. They were very close when they were kids, so what happened?

How did a girl so sweet, so innocent looking, so fucking gorgeous, end up standing beside a man who clearly makes her skin crawl? Does he have something on her? Has he brainwashed her?

The questions multiply and the answers I conjure chill me to the bone. The worst one?

Maybe she loves him. Like really, truly loves him...

Damn it. How long can Ryder’s ride go on for?

I’d tell him to hurry up, but I’m certain Bianca would bite my fucking head off if I interrupted again.

I down my drink and pour another.

Five more minutes pass before the telltale cacophony of their orgasms filters through the bedroom door.

“Jesus! You two fuck, and I’m the one who needs a smoke!” I yell, patting myself down for a stray cigarette.

It’s pointless, obviously. I don’t indulge in the habit, but sometimes, when things get tense and Broadway and Carter visibly relax as they fill their lungs with smoke, I wonder if it helps or if it’s just a placebo.

Ryder joins me first, raking his fingers through his messy hair, willing it back into place. His cheeks are flushed, eyes glossy, the post-orgasm haze softening his expression. I bet he’d already be asleep with his face buried in Bianca’s boobs if I weren’t here.

Tough luck. I am, and I’m not leaving until I get what I came for.

“You look like shit,” he quips, one eyebrow raised.

“Thanks. Real helpful.”

Also, true. I saw my reflection in the elevator mirror. I’m far from my usual charming self.

Bianca joins us, perching in the armchair, eyes on me. “What’s got you so worked up?”

“Look at that,” I chuckle, the sound humorless. “No longer snappy, huh? I see my boy got you off properly.”

Ryder shoots me a glare. “Koby, I swear—”

“What? Am I wrong?”

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” Bianca says with a smile.

Her boyfriend just rolls his eyes.

“So? What’s with the intrusion?” He points at the glass I’m refilling. “And your exceptionally high intake?”

I drain half the glass in one swallow, scotch burning down my throat. It doesn’t numb me, doesn’t calm the storm tearing me a new one. If anything, it sharpens the edges.

This is insane.

I shouldn’t have come.

The last thing I need is Ryder’s condescending, knowing smirk or Bianca wagging her eyebrow, both deciding I’ve lost the fucking plot. My knee bounces and my palm itches against the glass.

“I need...” I cough, taking another swig. “I need you to dig up everything you can on Leilani.”

I brace for laughter. For surprise. Shock, even. Eyes bulging, mouth gaping, disbelief, and Ryder’s trademark what-the-fuck-is-wrong-with-you look. I’m ready to hear I’m a drunk idiot, or that getting so bent out of shape over a girl I’ve never spoken to is ridiculous.

But I get none of that.