“Jesus Christ, I can’t have that. I can’t allow you to do that. It’s over. You need to move forward.” He walks toward me and stops. “I’ve changed. I am ready to move forward and really live again. It’s time for you to do the same.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Jason

  The getup frustrates me. The wig, the makeup, all the black clothing—it all eats at me. Watching her fluff her hair and smack her lipstick-covered lips irritates me more. What the hell is she doing? She climbs into her Impala, and even the car pisses me off. How do the levelheaded eyes of an angel nurse go from one extreme to another?

  I need to walk away. I don’t.

  No, I keep coming back to her eyes. Every time I close mine, I see hers.

  I came here because I’m a fucking glutton for punishment after she sent me away to have a talk with him. I should have left it at that. She made her choice. I would have sent him away. Instead, she had me leave. I shouldn’t care what happened after I left. The dismissal she gave me earlier still stings, but what the hell can I do about it? I should let it all go and let her go. I damn sure shouldn’t be here watching, seeking, and waiting for whatever the hell comes next.

  I can’t. For some messed-up reason, I can’t walk away.

  Knowing I left her with him, I had to come back and see for myself if he got to stay. What kind of crazy game is she playing? Why does he have this pull over her? Why does his family have such a connection to her? He asked her to come home. His whole family wants her to come home. It’s just nuts.

  Home. I mean, really? The girl lived with them for some time obviously, but where did she end up? Back home. She brought herself back to the same nightmare that haunts her to this day. I have heard of people trying to overcome their fears by facing them, but this is so much more fucked up than holding a damn snake to get over your phobia.

  This shit . . . This shit she’s doing—living in the basement of the house her family was murdered in—is the stuff that is made for TV or something. It blows my mind. There is no way I could live in a place like that, and I had a far from ideal childhood.

  My father deserves to die brutally, and still I wouldn’t want to sleep in the same house it happened in, no matter how much I know he earned it. She had a loving family, and to live in the place it all came to an end . . . I just can’t wrap my head around it.

  She backs out of her driveway, bringing my attention back to the urge to follow her. She’s in that car, in the outfit. The outfit that tells me Lorraine isn’t out tonight. No, my angel has tucked herself away. Why? I can’t help questioning.

  I shouldn’t care. I should turn around and sort my own life out. Missy keeps calling, I keep ignoring. Missy is no longer my problem. I am my problem.

  But every time I close my eyes, I picture her blue ones staring back at me. I picture Lorraine, leaning over my hospital bed like a vision of an angel.

  I should take my ass back to the hotel and find a new place to live. I have enough problems of my own. Do I do the responsible, smart, and normal thing, though? Do I leave the woman I barely know to her own troubles?

  No. I follow her instead of my instincts. I sit back and try to sort out what she’s doing.

  She drives without checking her rearview, and like the sick fuck I am, I follow her.

  Our first stop is on Brown Avenue. She parks her car in front of house number 7929 and sits. She doesn’t get out. She doesn’t move. She simply parks, turns the car off, slides down into the driver’s seat, and waits.

  What the hell is she waiting for?

  When I see the garage door open to the house across the street and the black BMW pull in, there is no doubt in my mind who is driving. Charlotte Whittaker, the most put-together woman in the district. She is a fierce negotiator and will stand toe-to-toe with any man in her perfectly tailored suits and high fucking heels. She’s one of only a few people my father actually respects.

  Charlotte enters her home, and still, we wait. I look around, trying to figure out why we are here since there is no other activity in the area. After thirty minutes or so, the taillights flash on Lorraine’s car before she pulls away.

  Keeping my distance, I pull out, following her to the next location. We stop on East River Drive. She repeats the same process of sitting still and watching. I can’t figure out what she’s watching. The upscale neighborhood is quiet.

  My mind goes over why she would be here. I come up empty.

  We aren’t here nearly as long before she pulls off again. We stop next at Wesley Drive. I immediately know who lives across the street from where she has parked.

  Gavin Waters is a shrewd businessman with an appetite for the finer things in life. He also goes so far back with my dad he’s my damn godfather.

  It’s not long before the man I have known my entire life comes out in jeans and a polo shirt with his hair styled in this shaggy way that is the polar opposite of his usual slicked-back business look. His Lexus backs out, and I am shocked when Lorraine—or I guess I should call her Heidi since she’s in the getup—pulls out, following him.

  Five blocks later, he parks his car and moves into a waiting cab. I know the routine well. This is how you make sure you aren’t tied to The Lion’s Den when you are a married man.

  I shake my head, trying to shake off the thoughts of a man who is like a second father to me spending time in a kink club. The times I have been in the club my mind was never focused on the male patrons. He could have walked right by me and I wouldn’t have given it a second thought.

  Without missing a beat, she follows the cab. We seem to have come full circle as I follow her into the parking garage for The Den. Now it makes sense. She was watching him that night. That’s why she was distracted. Lucky for me, he didn’t spot me.

  Disgust hits me like a punch in the gut. No way is this beautiful woman going to this club for a slimy bastard like Waters. He is as much a monster as my father.

  I slam my hand down on my steering wheel. Shit, I fucked her like a damn whore when I knew it wasn’t her kind of kink. It showed.

  I fucking knew it.

  Why did she go inside? Why did she let me fuck her? She got off, so I know she enjoyed it, but why go through with it?

  More than anything, I can’t stop thinking, Why come back?

  My anger boils over when she climbs out of her car in black, peep-toed hooker heels, fluffing her hair and adding more makeup. She starts to make her way over to the club as I park and jump out of my car, following her.

  My phone rings. Seeing it’s Missy, I ignore the call, not having time for her bullshit right now.

  Anger runs through my veins. Is there one woman in my life who won’t fucking play games?

  Lo knows what this place is. She knows what people come here for. If that’s what she wants, then I will be the one to give it to her. Me, my inner asshole screams. It will be me who gives it to her, not some bastard playing games his wife won’t play because he doesn’t have the balls or the talent to give his woman what she needs first. She came here tonight dressed to play. Well, then game fucking on.

  “Lo,” I start but stop myself. “Heidi,” I call out, and she stops.

  My Internet search said the Boschs were parents to twin girls: Heidi and Lorraine. Hi and Lo. If only they knew just how different their two girls would turn out when they named them in such a way.

  Reaching her, I guide her by the arm to the alley beside the club. Her eyes grow wide in fear, and I am conflicted.

  The dark hair, the red lips, the tight clothes—they make my dick hard. At the same time, they make me angry.

  “You come here to be fucked like a whore?” I growl, angry at myself, angry at her, angry at the fucking world.

  She licks her lips, and I crash my mouth to hers. What was meant to diffuse the situation and keep her from going inside after that bastard turns into something so much more. Somehow, the tables turn, and she takes as much as I give her, moaning for more.

  She bites my bottom lip when I try to pull away. With my body against hers, pinned to the brick wall, I rock my erection into her belly. I fight not to tear her clothes off and take her like a wild animal. She makes me crazy.

  “Feel me, Hi,” I whisper, and she moans again. “Is this what you came here for?” I swear she purrs. “You want cock? You want my dick so deep inside you it’s almost as if you can feel me in your throat?”

  She doesn’t answer verbally. She nods, biting her bottom lip.

  Not good enough. I want the words.

  She pulls at my neck, but I hold back. Then she traces the snake.

  “You want Cobra?” I ask. If she’s going to play this twisted game, I will give her the monster inside me. In the moment it’s not about Hi or Lo or anything in between, it’s us and I’ll take her as she is right here, right now.

  “I want you.” She looks up at me with lust in her blue eyes.

  I crash my mouth onto hers and grab the back of her thighs as she wraps her legs around me. Thank fuck she’s in a skirt.

  Hoisting her up, I rub her pussy with my hand as I unbutton my jeans, releasing my cock. I love the feel of her soaking wet silk panties against the roughness of my skin.

  I don’t think, and I don’t stop as she rocks on my hand, soaking it with her juices as she looks for release. I don’t wait. I push her panties to the side and slam into her.

  She arches, hitting the back of her head on the unforgiving wall as I pound into her. In and out, in and out, I slide as she claws at me for more.

  Leaning down, I bite her neck, making her cry out as she goes still, tightening against me.

  “Cooobra.” She trembles as her orgasm starts.

  Her body shakes around me while I keep going. In and out, I slide as she rides through the aftershocks, her inner pussy muscles contracting around me.

  After a few more thrusts, I go off inside her. I don’t even give a fuck about the risks.

  “Hear me now, Hi, and let’s be clear. It’s my come inside you. It’s me who’s marked you. You’re not walking into that club.” I run my nose along her jaw and down her neck, inhaling and exhaling deeply. I feel the goosebumps erupt on her skin, and it turns me on again. “I don’t give a shit what Waters is up to. While my jizz drips out of your hot cunt, you’re going to be with me. After I get you cleaned up, it’s me you’ll still be with. While we figure out whatever fucking game you’re playing with me and with yourself, it’s me you’re going to be with.”

  Lost in her post-orgasm emotions, she nods her head as I slowly set her legs down. She’s unsteady, so I guide her back to my car. She doesn’t fight me, doesn’t argue. She moves with me like she wants this as much as I do, and I thank fuck for that.

  I will get Brock to pick her ride up later. For now, we have shit to sort out, and it needs to be sorted immediately. I’m not a methodical man. I take life as it comes at me. But this Hi/Lo insanity needs resolution. If she can’t fight for it, I will.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The wild abandon with which he took me outside the club rocks me to the depths of my soul. I knew when Waters switched to the cab, I shouldn’t follow. I know what the club is about. Yet, I came anyway. It’s a sickness the way finding their killer has consumed me. The lengths I have gone to in order to survive this mess both mentally and physically are beyond any definition of insane. The only way to do this is to become someone else. Heidi deserves retribution and becoming her gives her that.

  Somehow, Jason sees through it all. He sees me. Somehow, this man who calls himself Cobra can read me like a book. Somehow, I have allowed myself to get into his truck and ride with him—home. Only he doesn’t take us to my home like I expect. Silently, I allow him to take me and the craziest parts of me say I would follow him anywhere. I don’t even know why.

  As soon as we walk into his room, he turns and pulls the wig off me then drags me into the bathroom.

  “Sit,” he says. He is so angry, so very angry, so I do as he asks.

  He turns his back to me and grabs a washcloth then turns on the water. “Why the fuck do you do that?” he grumbles. “Why fucking go there?” He wrings out the washcloth and squats down to wash my face. “You hide your face, hide behind a wig, behind too much fucking makeup, and go there looking to get fucked! Wasn’t the doctor’s son enough for you? Don’t answer that. I know it wasn’t. You need to be fucked like a whore by a real man.”

  He is angrier than I have ever seen anyone.

  “Don’t even try to deny it. I saw it with my own eyes,” he continues. “The way he looked at you, and you looked at him. He’s fucked that tight little cunt of yours. He fucking thinks he owns it. You and I both know better. He doesn’t satisfy your craving. He can’t fuck you hard enough, can he?”

  “It’s not what you think,” I whisper as tears start to fall.

  “Oh, no? You gonna lie to me now?”

  I shake my head, and he stands up, crossing his arms in front of himself and looking down at me.

  “Then fucking tell me how it is!”

  “He loved her!” I yell at him. “He loved her and missed her, and so did I. I would never—” I stop, because it’s not true. I did. I did! “Yes! Yes, I slept with him, but it wasn’t me. It wasn’t truly me!”

  “Oh, fuck!” he roars, throwing his hands in the air, acting as if the entire world has just exploded. “Just how fucked up are you? Tell me, are you bipolar, schizophrenic, or just so fucked up you don’t even know the truth!”

  “He was fucking her! He was fucking me, all the while pretending it was her.” I stand and point at him. “I don’t expect you to understand it. It’s wrong. It was so very wrong, but it happened, okay? It happened, and there isn’t anything I can do to change it!”

  I feel my body shake and my stomach twists in a knot. I have never talked about it, never told anyone. Now that I have, it’s even more real and upsetting.

  “Did you fuck him tonight?” he snaps, balling his fists at his sides.

  “I’m gonna be sick,” I say, turning around and dropping to my knees in front of the toilet.

  I throw up over and over. Nothing but liquid comes out. Nothing has been in my stomach all day.

  When I finish, I lean back on my heels and see a washcloth in front of my face.

  “When’s the last time you showered?” he snaps.

  “Yesterday morning,” I answer, wiping the refreshing, cool cloth over my face.

  I hear the water in the tub start.

  “Get in.”

  “I just want to sleep,” I say, holding my stomach.

  “Get. In.” He is already lifting me, his hands under my arms.

  “Let go!” I yell as I try to fight my way out of his arms. “Dammit!”

  I throw up again.

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

  “I warned you!” I cry, pulling my knees to my chest as he still holds me up.

  I feel him pull the waistband of my skirt and underwear down, and then they are off. He sets me in the tub none too gently then pulls my shirt over my head and yanks my bra off.

  “You’re such an ass,” I grumble, pulling my knees to my chest and covering my body.

  “And you stink,” he sneers as he grabs a towel and wipes up the floor. Then I hear him stomp out of the bathroom, and the door shuts to the outside.

  I quickly dunk my head under the water and grab the two-in-one shampoo then wash my hair, scrubbing vigorously. I then lie back and rinse my hair, submerging my head completely, wishing I didn’t have to come back up, wishing I could just stay here in the weightless state. I think of the past five years and what I have become: nothing.

  He pulls me up by my arm. “What the hell are you doing?”

  I yank my arm away and wait for him to yell at me. I want him to yell at me. I want him to run from my insanity, but I don’t want to lose him. I want him to fight me and then for me. Instead, he steps back.

  “You need to calm the fuck down,” he says in a low grumble.

  “You need to walk out of here and let me finish,” I say just as quietly.

  He nods once then walks out.

  I wash my body in privacy, taking my time doing so. It has been years since I soaked in a bath. I can’t honestly remember the last time I felt safe enough to do so. While away at college, I lived in the safety of numbers and the chaos that is college. I showered during busy times so that I knew the bathrooms would be full, and I wouldn’t be alone and afraid.

  I look up when I sense he is watching me.

  “You’re taking a long damn time in here. Just making sure you’re okay.”

  I lean against the side of the tub, covering myself as much as I can. “I’m fine. I just . . .” I pause and gather my thoughts. “I forgot how much I enjoy baths.”

  He looks at me and nods. “You need clothes.” He holds up a T-shirt and a pair of shorts then sets them on the counter.

  “Thank you, Jason.”

  He nods again. “It’s late.”

  “I’ll get dressed, and then I guess I could walk—”

  “Did you fuck him today?” he interrupts.

  I shake my head.

  He runs his hand through his hair. “You sure?”

  “I’m sure,” I answer, setting my forehead on the cold porcelain tub.

  “My cock was the only one inside of you today?” he asks in a rumble.

  I peer up at him. “Yes.”

  He pulls his shirt over his head swiftly and pushes his pants down before stepping out of them. He then steps toward me. “I need a shower. You need to get out and get dressed. Then get your ass to bed. I’m done tonight. Tomorrow, this shit gets sorted.”

  I dress quickly, deciding to leave while he showers. Facing the night is less scary than facing him right now. I have a task to complete, a job to do. I can’t have him involved or in the way. I know how this ends, and then, and only then, will I feel safe again. Then, and only then, will I forgive myself for being late.

  After quickly dressing, I reach out and slowly open the door to leave. A large hand reaches from behind me and slams it shut.