Chapter 7
SEVEN
It had been a week since she’d last seen Locust, and she didn’t know if she should be grateful or suspicious. It wasn’t rocket science to realize that he was following her because his prez wasn’t satisfied with the cellphone she’d given him. He probably thought she was lying, and that she was aiding and abetting her slimeball stepbrother. But what could she do to prove that she had nothing to do with Elijah, nor did she know what the moronic asshole did with the money he’d stolen?
At least she knew Locust wasn’t following her around anymore, not that she didn’t still feel his eyes on her. But when she’d look, she didn’t see anyone. And then there was the weird vibe she got when she was home now. It didn’t start until a week ago, when she came home, got into her relaxin’ clothes, and made dinner. The moment she sat down on the couch to eat…it was like all the little hairs on her body stood on end all at once. It was creepy as hell. She spent that night, wide awake, with all the lights on in the house. Had someone been looking in a window? Had Locust or one of the other Unchained been lurking around her house?
She was anxious all the time, heartbroken, grieving, and yet valiantly trying to move on, to live her life, to just be the Nadia she knew she could be. And that meant ignoring the ridiculous disappointment she felt when she realized Locust wasn’t following her anymore. Yeah, she realized what a hypocrite she was—angry that he’d been following her, but also pissed he stopped.
Rolling her eyes whenever she checked and rechecked her rearview mirror every morning to see if she could spot his bike, she gritted her teeth and swore under her breath, and pushed on with her day.
Her chest still ached, her heart still reeling from his betrayal, she determined to get the hell over him, and now that he wasn’t popping up around every corner, she could.
Right?
Now, sleep deprived and starving—because she missed breakfast after sleeping through all five of her alarms—she was definitely not in the mood to deal with a bridezilla who was on the warpath because the one florist she’d hired didn’t have the flowers she suddenly wanted two days before the wedding. Nadia wasn’t the event coordinator, but she was still in charge of member services, which meant she was left to deal with the screaming bride while, Janice, the wedding planner, called around, desperately trying to find a local florist with the special orchid the bride absolutely could not get married without.
“Ms. Rogers, I can assure you that Janice is doing everything she can to ensure that your wedding day is as beautiful and magical as you’ve always dreamed,” Nadia offered, placatingly. What she really wanted to do was wipe the fifty layers of makeup off the woman’s face, then slap her with the Emerald Greens’ Event contract she’d signed when she’d given the deposit check. “However, you must, per our policies, give all coordinators at least 48-hour notice of any changes to the event.”
The bride, Martina Rogers, glared so viciously at Nadia that she could almost feel her skin starting to smolder.
“Why do I need to give 48-hour notice if I change my mind about the flower arrangements—it’s my wedding, I should get to change my mind!” the woman shrieked. Nadia didn’t flinch though; years of dealing with mean, entitled women had numbed her to vitriol.
Refusing to acknowledge the stupidity of the woman’s question, Nadia continued undeterred, “Ms. Rogers, Janice is doing what she can to secure a new florist, one who will have your orchid.” The woman sneered, lifting her chin as if Nadia’s very words were beneath her. “In the meantime, why don’t you enjoy champagne in the White Room?” At that, the woman’s nostrils flared, her eyes narrowed, and she huffed.
“Fine,” Martina snapped, waving her hand dismissively. “I guess I can sip a little bubbly while I wait for this one-star motel to get their act together.” Nadia, holding back another flinch, this time one of offense, gave the woman a practiced, plastic smile.
“Very well. I will send Janice to you as soon as she’s secured your orchids.”
With that, the woman hefted her chin once more, threw back her shoulders, and swanned out of the room.
“One-star motel?” Vicki stage whispered from beside her, shaking her head. “If this place ever got below three stars, Bengwell would cut off his own hand—the one he uses to count his money.” Evander Bengwell was old money, his family having permanently commuted from Manhattan to northeastern Pennsylvania ninety or so years ago. They used their old railroad money to buy up properties in the valley, and transform them into destinations for the wealthy looking to enjoy time away from the big city. They wanted to give the Poconos a run for their money, and they did pretty well for themselves, if the poshness and exclusivity of Emerald Greens was any indication.
Nadia snickered, then sighed. “Bengwell has other people to count his money.” Heading toward her office where she hoped to catch five minutes off her feet, she turned to Vicki who was keeping pace beside her. “Speaking of money…did you hear how much those orchids the bridezilla wants cost?”
Vicki pursed her lips in thought. “No, but I’m assuming more than my house payment.”
“$200,” Nadia blurted, making Vicki gasp. “Per flower! And the bride wants six bouquets of a dozen each!”
Vicki stumbled but recovered quickly. “Holy shit.”
In all honesty, Nadia could afford the orchids, and they were actually exquisitely beautiful…so beautiful, she wouldn’t have minded having them in her own bouquet at her own wedding…if the man she’d wanted to spend the rest of her life with hadn’t been a lying, manipulative, arrogant asshole.
Good thing I learned the truth…. True, but not before she’d already pried open her chest and given him her heart, given him those three precious words. Words he’d never returned. That should have been a red flag right there, but she’d been so caught up in everything James Monday, she honestly believed those words would come with time. The only thing that came with time had been devastating heartbreak. So, no expensive, exquisite orchids for her.
Snapping herself out of that spiral to emotional hell, Nadia nodded at her friend’s response, then pushed her office door open, slid into her desk chair, and groaned at the immediate relief in her feet.
Vicki plopped herself in the chair on the other side of the desk, and stuck her hand in the candy dish Nadia had there and regularly filled with butterscotch candies.
Popping a candy into her mouth, Vicki mumbled, “Any more biker sightings?”
Nadia sighed and threw herself back into her chair. She narrowed her eyes at Vicki. “I never should have told you about that; now you think he’s some sort of morally gray, anti-hero stalker from one of your dark romance books.”
Vicki’s cheeks turned pink. “Well, he is a bad boy, he did betray you, and he has been following you—that’s a recipe for groveling, dirty make up sex, and an HEA.”
Nadia glared. “Yeah, if the man actually gave a shit about me, which he doesn’t. You forget that he used me to get information on Elijah; everything was fake, including his supposed feelings for me. But I haven’t forgotten, Vicki, because I am reminded every day when I wake up in that empty bed, or when I see a coffee mug he used once, or when I hear the sound of a Harley anywhere .” Sitting up, Nadia started fiddling with the stacks of paper on her desk, anything to keep herself from snapping at her friend, from snapping period.
She was a fool to think she could just get over him if she kept herself busy, and even though she hadn’t seen him following her in a week, didn’t mean her thoughts weren’t of him, or that she wasn’t actively looking for him on every corner.
Or through the rearview mirror, like a freaking sap.
There was silence for long moments as Nadia shifted papers, and finally Vicki stood up, cupped Nadia’s face, and planted a soft kiss on her forehead. Nadia closed her eyes, leaning into the affection she needed so desperately.
She was hurting. So fucking much. Her breath caught, the sob choking her as she attempted to swallow it. She was done crying over him, over what she lost; the future she’s envisioned with him, the hope of a happy life, a beautiful family, and an undying love.
Vicki sighed. “I’m sorry, hon. I didn’t mean to make light of what he did, I’m just…lost as to how I can help you. Margs and sexy Jensen didn’t seem to do the trick. And with him coming around, thrusting that fiery hot poker into your chest over and over….”
Nadia lifted her eyes and met Vicki’s concerned, pained gaze.
“I just want you to be happy, Nadia…and I can’t help but feel like, well, we don’t know everything. It doesn’t make sense for the Unchained prez to agree to leave you alone, and then send Locust to spy on you again.”
Nadia snorted, rolling her eyes. She didn’t see a point in reminding the woman that there hadn’t been Locust sightings in days. “That man, the cold-hearted Frost, ordered another man to fuck me for my supposed secrets, I doubt there’s anything he wouldn’t do to get what he wants. And Locust is such a loyal little biker bitch boy, he’ll do whatever his prez tells him to do.”
“Well, what?—”
Whatever Vicki was about to say was interrupted by a knock on the door. Nadia hadn’t bothered closing it all the way, because she hadn’t meant to be in her office this long.
Clearing her throat, she called, “Come in.”
When a familiar face appeared, Nadia didn’t know whether to spit nails or break into tears.
“Emily, what are you doing here?”
Emily was the wife of the very man she and Vicki were just discussing. She’d met Emily once, at Horde’s house, and she’d liked the woman instantly. She was sweet but sassy, self-deprecating, and thoughtful—an overall great person. Then again, she was married to an asshole who thought it was okay to seduce and spy on innocent women, so maybe she wasn’t such a great person after all.
“What’re you doing here?”
Across from her, Vicki crossed her arms over her chest, her protective mode activated. Seriously, the woman was no bigger than 5’4”, but she had the fierce presence of a momma bear.
Emily’s lips thinned, and she stepped inside the office, her cheeks red, her eyes glossy, and she shoulders stooped.
“Well, I was here to tell you that the flowers Martina Rogers ordered will be delivered tomorrow.” At Nadia’s confused look, Emily continued, “I own Flower’s Blooms on Market St, and Janice called looking for the burgundy cymbidium orchid bouquets. Lucky enough, we had just the right amount.”
Ah. Nadia tipped her head. “Okay, that’s good news, but….”
Emily nodded, looking awkward as hell.
“I overheard what you were saying…about Frost,” she admitted, her voice cracking on her husband’s name. “Did he…did he really do what you said? Did he really send Locust to hurt you?”
Nadia collapsed onto her couch with a moan and dropped her head back to stare into the popcorn ceiling above her.
“Well, that was one shitty ass day,” she grumbled into the empty living room.
After Emily arrived in her office, and the subsequent sharing of what Locust and Frost had done, Emily quietly left. Nadia didn’t know what to make of the prez’s ol’ lady other than she looked truly devastated by what her husband had done, what he’d ordered Locust to do. When Emily left, the office felt heavier, as though it portended bad things to come.
It had taken longer than she’d wanted to shake off the emotion and weighty thoughts of what happened in her office, so once she’d finally emerged, it was to see that Martina Rogers had gone on a rampage, screaming at event staff, overturning tables of sample hors d'oeuvres , and literally tearing dresses from two members of her bridal party because the hems were too long. After dealing with pissed off staff, offended chefs, and inconsolable bridesmaids, Nadia was ready to put a bullet in her brain just to make the headache go away. It took another three hours of overtime to set things to rights, finish the accounting paperwork for payroll, and then get her ass home.
Now that she was in her house, she didn’t want to move from that spot. It didn’t matter that she hadn’t eaten since lunch and it was going on 10 PM, it only mattered that her feet were pulsing and swollen, her back was cracking with every breath, and her brain was throbbing like someone was playing angry Beethoven in her synapses.
Closing her eyes, she knew her aches and pains wouldn’t get better from the couch, so she willed herself to sit up. It took another five minutes to convince her feet to cooperate before she stood up, then stumbled into the kitchen to grab the ibuprofen and a glass of water. Pain meds taken, she leaned against the counter, dropped her head, and heaved a pained sigh.
At least she had tomorrow off, which meant she had absolutely nothing planned other than laundry, watching A Discovery of Witches , thinking filthy thoughts about Matthew Goode as a sexy vampire—not a certain sexy biker—and maybe, perhaps, baking some pumpkin bread to bring to work the following day. That day was the day of the Rogers-Bellamy wedding, and Nadia had no doubt she’d be emotionally snacking all day, so why not have one of her favorite snacks on hand for when she needed some comforting?
Her thoughts about pumpkin bread and bridezillas was interrupted by a decisive, loud knock on her door.
She jerked at the abrupt sound, gasping at the pull in her aching back muscles, then cursed.
Shit! Who came to visit at 10 PM on a Thursday night?
Suddenly, alarm bells rang in her head. She tensed, her eyes pinned to the door through the archway from her galley kitchen. No one with good intentions just stopped by after dark.
Swallowing, she pulled the paring knife from the knife block by the stove, and slowly made her way to the door. A knock sounded again, this time it was louder, making her think the person on the other side was getting frustrated.
Just steps from the door, she waited for another knock. And waited.
A shrill ping filled the room, making her start and drop the knife. Thank God it missed her foot!
“Shit, shit!” she whisper-yelled, turning to find her phone which was on the couch next to where she’d been sitting. It pinged again.
A text.
With one last glare at the front door, she hurried to the couch and picked up her cell, glancing down at the screen.
Unknown: Answer the door.
Unknown: You missed dinner, so I brought you some.
Unknown: Eat it, baby.
Her mouth hanging open, Nadia couldn’t stop the rise of her rage even if she wanted to. She knew exactly who was texting her, and from a different number since his previous number had been blocked.
“What the hell, Locust?” she growled, turning to the door. In three strides, she opened the door in a flurry, hoping a certain asshole biker was standing there so she could kick him in the nuts, but the porch was empty save for a paper bag with scintillating, familiar scents wafting from it.
Holy shit…he’d ordered and brought her Sunny Lee’s Chinese. During their time together—which was a period she’d rather forget—they’d ordered from Sunny Lee’s at least twice a week, especially on nights when one or both of them worked late. She always ordered fried rice, wontons, and teriyaki chicken…and Locust had always ordered General Tso’s and fried prawns. Sometimes…he’d even convinced her to share a little of her fried rice with him…and when she did, he’d kiss the fuck out of her, leaving them both a heaving, panting mess. Often, they’d forget about the food for long hours, feasting on one another instead. From ravening kisses over fried rice to fucking like animals until they couldn’t walk straight.
God…how had he faked that ? His kisses were always so masterful, passionate, deep, and dominating. How had every kiss that seemed to speak unspoken emotions been nothing more than a fabrication? How had the hours of lovemaking and animalistic sex been faked? How had he been able to fake the way his eyes would darken, and how his gaze would fill with emotion as she stared down at her in her bed?
Pressing a trembling hand to her chest, she shuddered a breath, the agony swirling through her.
Thankfully, it hadn’t ruined her appetite, this time—she’d had a long, stressful day, she deserved fried rice deliciousness! Her stomach growled, loudly, and she groaned, thankful that it had pulled her from her damning memories. Her brain told her to toss the food, it might be poisoned, and why should she accept food from a man who hurt her so badly? But her body was screaming, “It’s chicken fried rice and pork fried wontons, you dumbass!”
Lifting her head, she scanned the area around her porch, then the street, looking for the asshole biker delivery boy. Shadows reached out from the bushes along her walkway and from the cars parked across the street, but other than the distant sounds of nighttime traffic, there wasn’t any indication that he was there, watching her.
Other than the feeling the skittered along her spine, telling her to grab the food, get back inside, and lock the door behind her.
So that’s what she did.
Once the locked door was between her and the night outside, she carried the food into the kitchen, grabbed a plate, filled it with steaming, aromatic Chinese food crack, and plopped back down on the couch to start her A Discovery of Witches marathon early.
It wasn’t until she’d demolished the wontons and most of the rice that something finally struck her.
She grabbed her phone and reread the texts.
Unknown: You missed dinner, so I brought you some.
Her heart pounding, the food in her mouth tasting of ashes, she shot to her feet.
How the hell did he know she hadn’t eaten dinner? Had he been watching her at work? Was he still following her? She shook her head, not quite believing that her suspicions were now confirmed.
And suddenly, those prickling, tingling sensations of being watched…were no longer passing phantoms in her mind.
What the hell was going on?