“All that proves is he’s reached out to her. You can tell she’s shocked by the expression on her face in the footage.” Hunt jumps to her defense again. Shocker.
“It’s a pity you couldn’t read the contents of the letter,” Anderson adds. “That would help clarify things.”
“We’ve zoomed in, but it’s too blurry,” Hunt says. “Xavier knows a dude who might be able to clean it up so it’s legible.”
“Or you can ask Abby to find the letter and take a picture of it,” I suggest.
Anderson swings around on me, his dark eyes flashing with warning. “Abby is her friend, not your fucking spy. She’s dropping hints, hoping Nessa will open up to her, but that’s for her benefit, not yours. Abby is worried about her.”
“So am I,” Hunt adds just as Elle returns. “I don’t like it.”
Neither do I, but for different reasons. It’s why I sicced a PI on Nessa this week, something I haven’t told the others. They would go apeshit on my ass. Especially the girls, spouting invasion of privacy, etcetera. Fuck that shit. If Montgomery is in contact, it’s only a matter of time before he makes himself known. Either she’ll do his bidding or she’ll go to him or maybe both. I want to know, and I want to be there. It might be the only opportunity I get.
“I wanna dance,” Elle slurs, pouting as she drapes herself all over me.
Why the fuck did I bring her? Oh yeah, to annoy Nessa, only she couldn’t care less. She hasn’t once looked in my direction tonight. I should have attended solo with Hunt.
“Oh shit.” Hunt almost chokes on his beer, and my head whips back around to Nessa, all the blood slowly draining from my face.
She’s dancing with some dude I’ve never seen before. Pressed up against one another, they are face to face, and she has her arms around his neck while his hands are on her waist as he bends down, whispering in her ear.
“Who is that fucker?” I blurt before I can stop myself.
“What fucker?” Elle slurs, her eyes following my line of sight. “Wow. He’s one hot tatted sexy beast.” Irritation crawls over my skin, and I grind down on my teeth before tuning her out.
“No idea,” Anderson says. “I’ve never seen him before.”
“He looks shady as fuck,” Hunt adds, extracting his cell.
“No shit, Sherlock,” I hiss, eyeing the guy with suspicion as Hunt taps away on his phone. A deep scar trails from his left eye across his temple and into his shorn dark hairline. Tats cover his arms, disappearing under his black T-shirt, emerging at both sides of his neck. He’s tall, built, and wearing ripped jeans and scuffed boots to an exclusive party, which means he’s clearly not from around here. He sticks out like a sore thumb, and he knows it. But he clearly has zero fucks to give. Dude exudes vibes that suggest he’s not to be messed with. “What the fuck is she doing dancing with him?” I snap.
“Nessa always liked living on the edge,” Hunt replies, looking up from his cell. “Looks like that part of her personality hasn’t changed.”
“How the hell did he get in here anyway?” I glance around, looking for Rothweld so I can get him to throw this punk out on his ass.
Of course, he’s nowhere in the vicinity, because that would be too convenient. I could look for him, but I don’t want to leave Nessa alone with that guy. My eyes home in on his hands as they move lower, landing on her ass, and I growl, cursing under my breath.
Elle wraps her arm around my waist, and I instantly remove it, stepping sideways to create space between us. I can’t stand her touching me, and I need to get rid of her fast.
Nessa and the asshole are dirty dancing now, grinding their hips and pawing at one another, and rage infiltrates my system, sweeping through me like a river overflowing its banks. “What the fuck does she see in him?” I seethe. “He looks like he just walked off the set of Sons of Anarchy.”
“Oh my God. I love that show,” Elle unhelpfully mumbles, reaching out for me again. “Jax Teller is so fucking hot.”
I push her away, swiping another glass of champagne and handing it to her. “Knock yourself out, sweetheart.”
“Lauder.” Hunt’s tone carries warning.
“Relax, Dad. She’s my date. I’ll look out for her and make sure she gets home.”
I’m not a total prick.
Removing my cell from my jeans pocket, I tap out a message to the driver to return. I’ll send Elle on her merry way so I can focus on protecting Nessa from creeper dude, because that shit will not end well.
Nausea climbs up my throat when I lock eyes on Nessa again. Pinpricks puncture my aching heart as I watch her kissing him in the middle of the dance floor. Hands clench at my side, my muscles lock tight, and every inch of my being demands I storm over there and reclaim what’s mine.
“Easy, tiger,” Hunt says, noticing my reaction because that dude misses nothing.
“I don’t like him,” I hiss.
“Who?” Elle frowns, a dazed look in her eyes as she glances around, stumbling a little. I grab her elbow to steady her before letting go.
“Course, you don’t.” Anderson smirks. “Payback’s a bitch.”
“Whose fucking side are you on?”
“The side where you fucking open your eyes and see what’s staring you in the face.”
“Come on.” I grab Elle’s arm, not taking my eyes off Nessa as she makes her way through the crowd on the dance floor, hand in hand with the asshole.
“Dude.”
“Fuck off, Hunt.”
“Leave it, Lauder.” Anderson shakes his head. “You’ll piss her off, along with Abby and Shandra, if you interfere.”
“Like you wouldn’t do the same,” I scoff.
He shrugs, fighting a smirk, because he knows I’m right. “Your funeral.”
Leaving my friends, I tow an inebriated Elle along with me while I stalk after Nessa and the asshole.
They stop just behind the door to the other room, and I pull Elle over into the corner. It’s quieter and darker here, which makes it perfect for spying. The asshole has his back to the wall, and Nessa is pressed up against him, her hands resting on his broad chest. I want to rip them off him before laying into the prick for even daring to breathe on her.
She’s mine.
A territorial growl gurgles up my throat, and it’s taking every ounce of self-control not to smash the guy’s face into the wall. How fucking dare he touch her.
“Bryant,” Nessa purrs in that sultry sexy voice I love. “I like it. A sexy name for a sexy guy.”
I cough-laugh; I can’t help it. That is cheesy as fuck. Not that you’d know it from the guy’s expression. He’s peering at her with an amused-slash-lust-filled gaze I know all too well. Nessa’s head whips around, and I yank Elle in front of me, pulling us farther into the corner, burying my head in her shoulder so it looks like we’re making out.
“I’m glad I came here tonight,” the asshole says. “Was planning on ditching, but I changed my mind at the last minute.”
“You’re not from around here either, are you?” Nessa asks.
Elle palms my dick as her lips suction on my neck, making a slurping sound. Slapping her hand away, I grab her champagne flute, placing it against her lips. “Not now, babe,” I whisper. “I just want to hold you.” Gag. She falls for it though, holding on to me with a dreamy expression on her face. “I think I already love you,” she slurs.
Gee, lucky me.
Okay, I am a bona fide prick. I’ll own that shit, but she’s driving me mad, getting in the way of my stalking. I purposely zone her out, refocusing on Nessa and the jerk, subtly lifting my head and watching them over Elle’s shoulder.
“Prestwick?” Nessa says. “That’s North Mass, right?”
“Yeah.”
“How come you’re here? Who do you know?”
“A dude I know from way back is friends with the guy who’s throwing the party,” he says. “That’s how I scored an invitation.”
He runs his fingers through her hair, and I bite
the inside of my mouth so hard I taste blood.
Fuck, I need a drink.
Snatching my half-empty glass of champagne from the ledge I left it on, I swallow it in one go.
“How about you?” he asks, palming her ass and pulling her in flush against his dick.
I tighten my arms around Elle’s waist because I need to hold on to something to stop myself from going over there and landing a punch on his smug face.
“Friends from college know Edward Rothweld. I piggybacked on their invitation.”
“You go to college around here?”
“Yeah. RU. What about you?”
“I think that’s enough small talk, don’t you?” His flirty statement is a clear deflection. One look at the guy, and you know he’s not a student. Doubt the punk even got his high school diploma. It’s not like he can admit he sells drugs or guns because, let’s face it, it’s got to be one or the other.
Screw me if I sound judgmental. I couldn’t give two shits. That asshole has his hands all over my woman, and I’m two seconds away from going postal on his ass.
My cell vibrates in my pocket, and I pull it out, reading the message confirming our driver is here. I’m conflicted. I really don’t want to leave Nessa. Especially now that the asshole has his tongue shoved down her throat. But I need to send Elle on her merry way before I sort that fucker out, and she’s far too drunk to leave to her own devices.
So, I do the decent thing and escort my date outside, placing her protesting ass in the car before handing the driver her address, telling him to return as soon as he’s done.
When I return to the ballroom, Nessa and the punk are gone, and my blood pressure rockets into coronary-inducing levels.
I race to where Anderson and Hunt are still standing guard at the side of the dance floor. Abby and Shandra are oblivious to the fact their new friend has gone AWOL with some degenerate. I grip Hunt’s shoulders. “Where did Nessa go?”
He glances at the door, where I last saw them, confirming he had eyeballs on her for some of the time. “She was there a few minutes ago.”
“Well she’s not fucking there now!” I’m aware I’m screeching like an overwrought female on her period. Zero fucks to give.
“Relax.” Hunt shoves my hands off his shoulders. “She’s a grown-ass woman. She knows what she’s doing.”
“Hunt.” I thump him in the arm. “She’s probably drunk, and he’s taking advantage right now.”
“She’s been drinking water all night. She’s completely sober,” Hunt confirms. “If she’s gone off with that dude, it’s consensual.”
“Did you not see him? He’s a fucking delinquent!”
“Rothweld vouched for him,” Hunt coolly replies.
“That makes me feel so much better,” I retort, sarcasm thick in my tone.
“Then you probably don’t want to know he’s a member of The Arrows, a notorious gang from Prestwick,” he adds on purpose to piss me off.
I thump him in the arm. “How could you let her go off with him? Ugh.” I drag my hands repeatedly through my hair, debating whether to stay and punch my best friend or chase after my girl.
Anderson cracks up laughing. “Oh, how the mighty have fallen. This is too funny.”
“This isn’t fucking funny, fucker.” I grab fistfuls of my hair, pacing in front of them. “I need to find her right now. I need to make sure she’s okay.”
“Sure, you do.” Anderson’s smug grin makes me want to punch him. “Admit you’re jealous, and we’ll help you find her.”
“Fuck you and your juvenile ass.”
“You are in no position to throw stones,” Hunt says. “You’ve been acting like a five-year-old whose puppy was kicked for weeks.”
“Fine, I’m jealous.” I give in without further argument, because three bodies searching this vast house is better than one. “Now will you help me find her?”
We split up, taking different parts of the mansion. It helps that most of the house has been cordoned off to partygoers. I sprint along the back corridor that intersects the ballroom from the main living section, frantically opening and closing doors, my heart beating out of control at the thought of what could be happening right this fucking second.
It doesn’t matter whether it’s consensual or not.
If that dude has laid his hands on any part of her naked flesh, I will fucking kill him with my bare hands.
Moans filter from a room on my left, and I slam to a halt, blood rushing to my head. I tug at the door handle, but it’s locked. I curse under my breath, panic welling inside me until it feels like I might explode.
“Go away!” a man with a deep, rumbling voice says, and I recognize the asshole instantly.
“Nessa! Open this fucking door right now!” I hammer my fists on the wood.
“Fuck off, Jackson,” she yells before adding, “Ignore him. He’ll go away.”
The moaning starts again, and it could be my imagination, but it seems even louder this time. A red haze coats my eyes as anger shuttles through me like a tornado hell-bent on destruction. I slam my shoulder into the door repeatedly, my anger mounting to dangerous levels, but it barely budges.
“Get lost, Jackson!” Nessa screeches. “I fucking hate you! Go back to Bottle-blonde Barbie and get her to suck your dick.” She’s pissed, but she doesn’t know me at all if she thinks that’ll make me leave. Clearly, she wasn’t as oblivious as she pretended to be, and that spurs me on too.
Hushed conversation ensues behind the door, but I can’t make out the words. A minute later, the moaning restarts, and I’m officially all out of patience.
My eyes dart wildly around the hallway, looking for something I can use to attack the door, but there isn’t anything suitable in sight.
Walking back the way I came, I quickly open and shut doors until I discover a wall-mounted fire extinguisher in a small utility room. Unclipping it from the brackets, I race out into the hallway and over to the door where Nessa and that asshole are hiding out. Using the extinguisher to hammer at the door handle, I aggressively swing it over and over until the handle gives way and the door pops open.
I crash into the large bathroom, blood pounding in my head and fists clenching. Bile floods my mouth when I take in the scene before me.
The dickhead has Nessa pinned against the wall, and his hand is moving underneath her dress. A primal growl travels up my throat, and I let it loose as something snaps inside me. I lose all sense of reality. Red-hot possessive rage courses through my veins, and I lunge at the guy just as he moves Nessa to the side.
She’s screaming. He’s shouting, cracking his knuckles, and swinging at me, but I barely hear it, barely register anything over the rage consuming me from the inside.
We fight. Throwing multiple punches and jabs. Clothes rip. Blood flies. Glass shatters. Pain ricochets in my skull and shoots across my torn knuckles, but it only encourages me to fight harder to protect what’s mine.
This dude is more ripped than me, but what I lack in muscle power, I make up for in sheer aggression. It’s pouring out of me like a river overflowing its banks. I hardly feel his hits. I just keep lashing out, matching him punch for punch, swinging and diving, thumping and kicking.
It only stops when we’re forcibly dragged away from one another.
“Jesus Christ, Lauder.” Anderson has a vise grip on my arms, pulling me off to one side of the room while I thrash about. Wet warmth trickles over my lips, dripping down on to my shirt. “Calm the fuck down,” he hisses in my ear. “You’re barely even human right now, and you’re scaring Nessa.”
That is possibly the only thing he could say that would work.
Gradually, my pulse slows, my heartbeat steadies, and my surroundings come into focus.
The bathroom is trashed. Toilet lid broken. Tiles splintered. Jagged cracks mar the old-fashioned tub that has probably been in the family for generations. The mirror lies shattered in pieces. Blood splatters mix with torn shirts and pieces of glass, scattered aroun
d the floor.
The asshole glares at me with naked hatred in his eyes. Blood leaks from his nose, his lip is split, and he has a few other facial cuts. His shirt is ripped, exposing a chest mottled from my punches. I’ve no doubt if I had a mirror it would confirm I’m in a similar state.
I sag against Anderson as all the fight leaves my body. My eyes find Nessa’s, and terror shoots up my spine. She’s huddled against Hunt, wrapped in his arms, staring at me with disbelieving eyes. Her expression is a combination of fear, disgust, and loathing, and something inherent dies inside me with the realization I have majorly, epically, fucked up.
“Nessa,” I croak, wriggling in Anderson’s grip, urging him to let me go.
“Don’t make it any worse than it already is,” Anderson pleads in a low tone. I force my body to relax, nodding, and he releases me, seemingly satisfied I’m not going to go apeshit on the dude’s ass again.
I take a step toward the girl who holds my heart in the palm of her hand. The only girl to ever bring me to my knees.
There’s no point denying it anymore.
I am so fucked when it comes to Vanessa Breen.
I am completely and utterly under her spell.
It doesn’t matter that she’s betrayed me.
I fucking want her so much. I miss her so much.
“Babe.” I take a step toward her.
Her eyes immediately narrow to slits. “Don’t call me that. I’m not your babe. I’m not your anything.” Revulsion is evident on her face, because she’s doing nothing to shield it from me. She wants me to see that I disgust her. That I’ve crossed a line. I have pushed her too far.
Stepping out of Hunt’s protective embrace, she squares up to me. “You make me sick. I don’t know what I ever saw in you. Stay the hell away from me, Jackson. I want nothing more to do with you.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Jackson
“DOES IT HURT?” Hunt asks, watching me gently prod my nose. We’re at Abby and Kai’s house, having Sunday dinner with the whole crew. Olivia—Abby and Drew’s mom—and her friend Sylvia are also here.
JACKSON Page 24