CHAPTER THREE
MADDOX
“Where the fuck is your head at?”
I’m fairly certain that barked question from Axel was directed at me, but my head was still dreaming about the five-seven curvy minx who nicknamed me Dracula, which seems like an invitation to bite her.
Visions of doing precisely that have been occupying my brain far more than sugar plums—that’s a Grinch reference. Axel is resembling him at the moment.
None of those thoughts are the shareable kind. That’s one of those lessons from my mom that I try to employ. I’m not great at it, but she always appreciated effort, so I’m calling it a win.
All my brothers are staring at me now, so I think I’ve remained in my head far longer than is socially acceptable.
We’re in the conference room in our penthouse, where we conduct our most confidential meetings with each other.
They have various levels of amusement and irritation painted on their faces, so there are several ways I could play this.
I settle on squinting my eyes with a contemplative chin stroke, like one of those old guys who can only think if he’s rubbing his overgrown goatee. “I’m on top of it.”
“On top of who?” Cash quips. His blond hair is effortlessly tousled, and he’s sporting a cocky grin, always ready to stir shit up.
Jackass. He is both my best friend and a thorn in my side.
Axel adjusts his reading glasses, scrutinizing me for a beat.
He’s wondering if I’m full of shit and if the insinuation that I was fantasizing about being on top of a woman is accurate.
As the oldest, he’s always shouldered the most. How the man isn’t flattened by all life has flung at him, I’ll never know.
He finally nods with approval, pouring me a midday whiskey and sliding it down the mahogany table, like I’m a cowboy at an old saloon. “Good. This call is important and just one of the responsibilities I need you to step up for. Ryker deserves more time with his family.”
A subtle pang of panic assaults me because I truly have no fucking clue what I agreed to, and relying on Cash for the CliffsNotes is dangerous at best. But I summon my go-with-the-flow mentality and let it roll off me.
My gaze snaps to Ryker’s icy blues. “You do need more time with your family. Does that mean you’ll actually be using the house you bought, bro?”
He grins like a giddy teenager at the mere thought of his wife and son. “Only when Mercy and I can both be off for at least thirty-six hours. Otherwise, we miss too much time with each other and Remy with the added commute.”
“Which is why you stepping up will make a huge difference,” Axel adds.
We all rooted for Ryker and Mercy to find their way to each other.
Having our own families might not be an aspiration for the rest of us, but it was inevitable for them.
Ryker works weird hours, so staying here makes sense.
Not that any of us mind. Mercy and Remy bring a lot of life into the penthouse.
“Happy to do it,” I assure Axel, swirling my whiskey. “Could you have your assistant email me the details I need for the call so nothing gets missed?”
“Of course.” He makes a note. “Moving on.”
I roll my shoulders back with a hint of pride. That was an incredibly smooth cover.
Jax smirks at me, swiping his pale blue hair away from his forehead.
He bluffs fucking everything. He’s far smarter than people give him credit for and stoned less than people believe.
He learned a long time ago that the illusion of incapacitation could work to his advantage, so he uses it.
He’s also actually stoned a fair amount of the time.
The guy’s fucked up. It’s just less than what others assume.
My mind drifts back to Tessa. She thinks I’m an asshole on a power trip, which is way off base. I have more power than I care to possess on most days.
I’d rather her believe that than the truth because the reality of our situation would terrify her. So, I’ve let her hate me for the last two and a half years. She’s sexy when she’s seething. And at least I know she’s safe.
Or did.
The memory of that fucked-up night swarms me.
York answers the phone on the second ring. “Go.”
“I need your services.”
“I was expecting you. Go,” he orders again.
“Only cleanup and a cover story,” I begin.
His shock is audible before he replies, “No disposal?”
I’m so fucked.
“I’m handling disposal myself.” I glance at the bag of sawed limbs. The stench is so oppressive. Doesn’t matter that I’ve been acclimated to the putrid odor my whole adult life. It still makes me nauseous.
He doesn’t answer for a stretched-out beat.
Not asking him to handle disposal can only mean a few things.
Cleaners generally take care of the body.
Not this time. He’s patently curious, but he’s not my usual cleaner, so maybe he’ll let it go.
There are certain kills you need to keep quiet.
Even from the connected. This is one I’ll be hiding from everyone.
Especially her.
Impatience swells inside me. I’ve got to get this and myself cleaned up before I see her. The clock is ticking. She’ll be looking for me soon.
“Are we good?” I ask.
“Does the referring party know the details?”
Ah. He’s concerned it’s a conflict of interest for his client who sent me. This is the problem with using people that aren’t yours. But my cleaner will report back to Axel, and I can’t have that either.
“It’s not a conflict of interest,” I assure him.
He moves on. “Time of arrival?”
For some reason, I think of my mother. The house and life and family decimated, reduced to soot and a ringing phone. Melted vinyl and a singing knife.
“You can go now. Everyone is gone.”
That brief remembrance only solidifies my position. Unfortunately for Tessa, I’ll be doubling down on every precaution I’ve taken so far. Most of those enabled me to remain at a distance, but I have a suspicion there’s a storm brewing, so it’s time to batten down the hatches.
And maybe have some fun with it.
Since Axel is discussing something with Cash, I shoot Tessa a quick text.
Me: Trying to plan my week. I have your work schedule. But I need all other commitments submitted by this evening. We can discuss any conflicts when we arrive at your apartment.
That will piss her off to the brink of being homicidal. And I’m here for it. Like I mentioned, Tessa seething is sexy. And also a bit infuriating. I got that girl out of a bind. No questions asked. It was a tale of heroism. And she’s snubbed me ever since.
I kind of like it, but that’s beside the point. She doesn’t know that.
The dots beside her name finally dance. I can actually feel the wrath jumping off them.
Tessa: Are the rumors true?
What the fuck kind of response is that? What rumors?
Me: The ones about my superhuman bedroom skills? So, you’ve heard. That explains the nickname. No need to be coy about wanting me to sink my teeth into you.
Tessa: Superhuman isn’t exactly the word that was being tossed around, but you know what? Never mind. I hate gossip. It’s good that you can put a positive twist on things.
She’s baiting me. But she’s also sacrificing time to spar with me, and that’s something. No idea why it feels like something. Why does this girl get under my skin like no one else can?
Me: Now we’re getting to it. Jealous, huh? You’re wishing I were twisting you.
Tessa: That’s a stretch, even for your inflated ego.
Me: Since you’ve heard the rumors, you know I can stretch you out and knot you up in ways that would have you losing your voice, forgetting your name, and walking crooked for a week. But that’s not what this escorting is about. Get your mind out of the gutter, Dollface.
That term of endearment will have her fuming. I wish I could get out of this godforsaken meeting and pull up the cameras at Café L’Ambroisie. I wonder if she’s as distracted as me.
Tessa: That’s a good point. Jealousy has no place here. I can be open-minded. So, you’ll be going where I go? And doing what I do?
That sounds flirty. She’s undoubtedly fucking with me, but I can almost hear her provocative rasp relay those words, and all coherent thoughts leave the goddamn building.
Me: Consider me a shadow from here on out.
Tessa: A shadow? This will certainly keep things interesting.
Still reeling me in. She probably has those mouthwatering legs crossed, black boots tapping, victory curling her plush lips because she’s about to flay me open.
Tessa Lockhart is lethal, a cautionary tale to any man.
She could decimate the entire male species with a smile on her face.
If that isn’t the most erotic image I’ve ever had, I don’t know what is.
I’m fucking sick.
My brothers drone on in the background, but times like this require prioritizing. And being ensnared by the enchanting goddess, even if only over a text thread, is most definitely at the top of my list.
Because the thing is, I saw the way she looked at me today.
She was salivating. She masked it well, but there was a shiver or two, a few lust-drenched flashes in those Caribbean blues.
Her scent matches those beautiful eyes. Sugar, vanilla, and pineapple.
Like a pina colada. It’s too whimsical for her, which somehow makes perfect sense.
She’s an enigma.
She presents herself like such a hard-ass. Confident, elusive, miffed. That’s intoxicating. But it’s only part of the siren song drawing me in. There’s something fragile beneath that tough shell she dons. I want to crack it from the inside out.
This is why I’ve steered clear of her. That girl makes me fucking nuts.
And all of it spells trouble. She’s Mercy’s best friend, my employee, and we are unfortunately bound by a very fucked-up night that could get us both killed. She’s not a girl I can screw around with and walk away. And I don’t do relationships, so …
Me: Mind-blowing is more fitting.
Her reply takes a good minute, and the whole earth holds its breath while I wait.
Tessa: Ooh, that should sell it. I’ll let my date know that whatever I do, you do. He might be into that.
I chuckle under my breath because I waltzed right into that one willingly. She’s probably celebrating her delivery, which is kind of cute. That thought lasts about ten seconds. Then a prickle of dread slithers down my spine.
Is she referring to the ex she mentioned to Mercy? Or a different guy? It shouldn’t matter either way. That’s not what this is, and yet I am suddenly enraged at the thought of anyone touching her.
“You fucking disappeared again.” It’s Ryker barking this time, his dark brows furrowed in a vexed scowl.
I flip my phone over and sip my untouched whiskey, leering at him over the rim. “I didn’t disappear. I was tending to my responsibilities. An employee reached out.”
Cash slants his head, concealing his lopsided smile with his index finger. “To you personally? Isn’t that what Brasi is for?”
This motherfucker.
A huff flies out of my lungs, which catches their attention.
I’m not a huffer. I don’t get exasperated.
That’s Ryker and Axel’s territory. I’m the fun one, the spontaneous and unpredictable one.
But my veins are on fire at the thought of Tessa with someone.
And now I’m fucking sweating. And itchy.
Maybe I have an aneurysm. Is thirty-two too young for that?
That bizarre concern does not explain what spills out of me.
“What are the rumors about me?”
“Who the fuck cares?” Ryker glares, spinning in his chair so he’s more fully facing me. “People say all kinds of shit about us. What the hell is going on with you, Mad?”
That’s a valid question. I’m spiraling.
“I’ve got a lot of shit on my plate. That’s all.” It’s not a lie. I do have too much going on right now. But I can’t share most of it, so that won’t line up for them.
My need to protect Tessa and the fallout lurking in the distance are on top of an already-overflowing plate.
That’s all this is. Tessa fucking with me has nothing to do with it.
As if my subconscious is determined to refute that, an image of her with some faceless guy flashes in my mind, and I flinch.
Jax raps his fingers on the table, his other hand toying with one of his gauge piercings as he formulates his observation. “You’re sweating, man.”
Sliding my chair out, I wipe the perspiration off my forehead as they all gape at me. “The hot wings I had for lunch must not be sitting right. Email me anything you need or tell me tomorrow at family dinner.”
Without giving them a chance to stop me, I dash for the door, beelining for the privacy of my own room. And because I need to even the playing field, I send Tessa a text that will level things.
Me: Hunter isn’t really my type, baby. That guy will wither in my shadow.
That’s the only ex of Tessa’s that I know of.
I’m not sure if that’s who she was talking about with her sister, but it’s a strong play.
Because if it was, she’ll realize that I was practically in that room with her while she was on the phone.
Maybe that’s a dick move. But I didn’t ask for this goddamn situation, so she’s going to have to bend to my rules.
Tessa: What’s it gonna take to shake you?
Me: There is no shaking me, Tess. Get used to it. You can fight me, be a good girl, or beg me to make YOU shake. One way or another, you’re tied to me. I’ll see you at 8.
I could leave it at that, but I suspect the amorous banter is throwing her off as much as it is me. And she should know, I don’t back down.
Me: Oh, and one more thing to note: since you’re fantasizing about Dracula, I bite, but I also kiss it better.