Dynamite (Stacked Deck Book 10)

by Emilia Finn

  “It’s not a bad thing to be a decent person, you know?” I tell him.

  I walk halfway along the pier and try – I swear to all that’s holy, I try – not to look at Luke’s tanned body as he paces. His pecs ripple when he’s facing my direction, but better yet – worse yet? – when he turns, his back is all toned, perfect lines, and bulging muscles that make my throat turn dry.

  “The fact you stayed and helped her makes you a good person, Luke. Had you left, there would be a lot of people who’d dislike you at a very core level right now. Starting with your mother, moving through everyone else you consider important, and ending with…”

  I wait for him to stop. To turn to me. To scowl.

  Then I grin. “You.”

  “You can leave now.”

  “Why?” I look around at the beautiful lake surrounding us and almost do a Sound of Music-type turn. “It’s perfect out here. It’s hot enough to swim, the breeze is cool enough to take away the burn, and it’s almost dinnertime, which means the day is done and there’s no more work for anyone.”

  “Wrong. I’m working right now. But you’ve crossed a line of tape that clearly says don’t cross, and now you’re trying to tinker with my head.”

  I burst out laughing and hold my ground as he makes his way back in my direction. “I’m not tinkering with anything. I’m merely… reading. Guessing.”

  “You’re being a pain in my ass.”

  Part of me, I suppose, expects him to come right up to me, to get in my space and demand just a little bit more. He’s the type of guy who will impose, purely so he can establish he’s the ‘baddest motherfucker’ in town. So as Luke stalks in my direction, I hold my ground, I lift my chin and stand tall so I can face him down and not lose whatever this battle is.

  But I guess he and I aren’t playing the same game.

  He slams a hand to the center of my chest. Not a single word is spoken, no smile, no sneer. He simply shoves so hard that the oxygen in my lungs bursts out and glances off his face, then I’m falling. Off balance, arms swinging, legs scissoring, my equilibrium can’t be recovered.

  I fall backwards with wide eyes and a loud squeal, then I hit the water’s surface with a loud splash before sliding under. I clamp my lips shut when water threatens to race down my throat. Then my eyes, when the murky lake stings them. And fighting the funnel of water trying to take me lower, I kick with fast, motor-like speed, and break above the surface with a banshee scream.

  “You bastard!” I choke and try to spit out whatever water I did swallow. “You complete asshole!”

  Luke stands on the edge of the pier with his hands on his stupid hips, and a wicked grin playing over his face. But his eyes… those eyes… they dance with childlike glee as I act like a cat in the bath. “I’m the baddest motherfucker around, Allyson. And you pissed me off.”

  “You are a child!” I screech like a… well… a cat in a bath. “You are a spoiled brat having a tantrum.”

  “And your dress is see-through. I like your nipples, by the way. I was hoping I’d get a look sometime today.”

  I squeak and look down so fast that I wrench my neck, which only elicits another burst of laughter from Luke.

  My dress is not see-through!

  “Made ya look. Need a hand to get out, or you gonna stay in there and act all proud and shit?”

  “Go fuck yourself.”

  I swim to the pier, clumsily climb up, and let my pride drip away much the same way the water drips from my dress. And when I’m out, I grab my things and bundle them close to my chest.

  I’m being a brat now, I’m having a tantrum. But I can’t help myself. I’m in too deep, so I slip my feet into my flip flops, and adjust my things in my arms so my phone isn’t pressed to my wet dress. Then as I pass Luke, I swipe out fast as a snake and try to shove him.

  Except I don’t think my snake is very stealthy.

  Or strong.

  He whips a hand out and grabs hold of my wrist so tight that it borders on pain. When my breath catches, and my eyes snap to his, he pulls me in so our chests touch, he lowers his head just a little so his breath feathers along my lips, then when I worry he might do something that’ll piss us both off – like plant an obnoxious ‘I don’t catch feelings for girls’ kiss on my lips – he actually shoves me again so my stomach drops, and thoughts of my phone fizzling on the bottom of the lake play through my mind.

  I scream out, loud and piercing, and one foot leaves the pier so I’m balancing all over again. But when I expect to topple backwards, Luke pulls me in again and snickers.

  “Baddest motherfucker around.”

  “Jackass!”

  Luke

  Devil Twins

  “Rob?”

  The weekend is here, the pier still ain’t even close to done, and if I get my ass caught tonight, I’m probably going to jail. But still, I pass through the kitchen of the apartment I share with my brother in the middle of town.

  We moved out of our childhood home when Rob became just as fed up of hearing Mom and Dad fuck as I was. We’re not yet ready to settle in and buy two-story family ranches with all the trimmings, so this was our compromise. A bachelor pad, a cheap place to rent so we’re not wasting too much money on something we’ll walk away from eventually, and more time spent with our best friends – each other. It’s the perfect solution, really. And shit, but if I’m gonna live with anyone, it’s awesome that person is Rob. Someday, when it’s time, he’s gonna leave me. And that day will be a day of mourning. Of letting go of the one true constant I’ve always had.

  He’s had a rough time over the years when it comes to dating, so if I push him toward the ‘right now’ kind of chicks at the club, knowing none of them will make the final cut, then so what? It’s a strategic move that leaves him happy, but without commitment, and lets me keep my best friend and roommate.

  “Rob?” I stomp through our apartment now and search for him. “Dude! Where the fuck are you?”

  I pass through the living room – TV on – and the dining area – though I can’t say we’ve ever used it for its intended purpose – then hitting the hallway, I hear it: the shower.

  I make my way along the hall and stop at the bathroom door. “Rob?” I crack the door open. “Get out, get dressed. We’re going out.”

  “Uh…”

  Ya know how, even when there’s no noise, no talking, no whispering or movement, but then everything actually stops, and you can hear the difference? That happens now, as Rob clamps up and the air in the bathroom changes.

  “Luke…” I hear a groan and a giggle in one. A slurring expression of what the fuck?

  Narrowing my eyes, I shove the door all the way open so it bounces off the wall, and the breeze from its movement makes the peach-colored shower curtain ripple.

  Rob moves the curtain just far enough to the side so that I catch a glimpse of his devilish eyes; but they’re red, puffy, and day drunk. “The fuck?”

  “You got someone in there, little brother? Hellooooo?” I look at the curtain, at the water that hits it. But it’s not so light that I see shadows. One, or two? “Anyone in there?”

  “Can’t do that.” Rob sing-songs. “I’m nekked and in the shower.”

  “Open it up.” I fold my arms in the steam-filled room and stand my ground. “Open the curtain, Robert. Show me what you got.”

  “No! We don’t look at guys.” He yanks the curtain closed and grumbles, “Inappropriate.”

  “Inappropriate, my ass. You and me, we’re identical. So whatever you’ve got, I’ve seen.”

  Before he has a chance to toss his companion out the window, I grab the curtain, and yank it to the side just far enough to prove my point.

  I find a trim woman with Becky-with-the-great-hair brown locks and wide, brown eyes. “Grace.” I look to Rob and growl. “Are you fucking serious?”

  “Go away!”

  I look to Grace Rissata – though I like to call her ‘Risotto,’ just to piss her off – and sneer.
“Hey, slut. You got back in, huh?”

  “Luke!” Rob sways in the shower. Drunk and useless. “Don’t be mean to her.”

  I ignore him and stare deep into my brother’s high school hook up’s eyes. “Tasted any unusual dick lately? Large? Small? Funky? You’ve had a lot of each, right?”

  “Go away!” Grace Risotto is a fuckin’ bitch. It’s as simple as that. She’s a liar, a cheat, a slut, and she continues to hurt my family, all because she considers herself exempt from being a decent human being. “It’s illegal for you to check me out while I’m naked. He already asked you to leave.”

  I look to Rob and snarl. “Why would you even let her into the fuckin’ apartment? Do you have no self-respect at all?”

  “Go ‘way.” He yanks the curtain closed and shuts me out. “Nobody asked you.”

  “Too bad, because I’m callin’ it. Grace Risotto is back, and you’re shit-faced fuckin’ drunk, which means she jumped aboard and is trying to get laid before you wake up. She knows she fucked up, she knows you’re the bee’s knees, and she knows she’s punching above her weight when she pulls you. But she holds all the power, because you let her hold your fuckin’ balls in her purse. She whines about all her woe-is-me bullshit, and there ain’t a soul on Earth who believes it – except you!”

  “Go away!”

  “But eventually,” I continue, “you’re gonna smarten the fuck up and leave her in the past where she belongs. And she can’t have that, because fake tits and fake lips only last so long. When you’re gone, she’s gonna need someone else to pick up the tab.”

  “Fuck off, Luke!” This time, it’s Grace and her nasally brat voice.

  “You know he’s gold fucking standard,” I snarl. “You fucking know it. And you know he’s soft on you because you’re flexible and have long legs, so you play with him, you keep him as your backup, and each time you move on from something else, you come to him hoping some of his gold will rub off. Except, ya know what? Shit, wrapped in rose petals, is still shit, ya fucking turd! You’re addicted to dick, you’re the eternal victim, and you have the attention span of a goldfish, which means that even though you know he’s fucking awesome, you can’t chill the fuck out and do the right thing by him. You won’t do the right thing till you’re forty and your tits sag. Except, by then, this motherfucker will be married up and sucking on real titties.”

  “Luke.” Rob sways in the shower and grabs onto the curtain rod for stability. “First of all, I’m right here, I can hear all that backup plan bullshit. Second, go away. I’m busy.”

  “No, you’re fucking not.” I reach into the shower, probably commit a couple felonies when my hand is too near a woman’s body without her permission, and killing the heat, I wait for the cold to hit them.

  In three, two…

  “Agh!” Grace slams against the wall with a thud, then begins sliding around when her feet can’t find purchase.

  Rob, being the eternal fucking hero, even when he’s blackout drunk, catches her, and doesn’t flinch at the icy cold water as I wipe my wet arm on a towel.

  “Get out of that fucking shower,” I growl, “send the slut home, then we’ll go out and find you some quality poonani. You have twenty minutes to be at the front door in something that’ll make the chicks look twice. If you’re not, I’m coming back, but we’ll be sparring.”

  I push out of the bathroom, and into the hall, and because I’m a prick, I leave the bathroom door wide open so Grace has to do the run of shame in the nudie.

  I take zero pleasure in seeing her white ass run. But her squeak and humiliation sure is a nice perk for a Friday night.

  For the next fifteen minutes, Rob and Grace fight. Something about how I’m an asshole, and how Grace is sick of my shit. Rob fires back that yeah, Luke’s an asshole, but we’re best friends, and it’s his job to love me anyway. Grace wants him to love her the way she deserves – she doesn’t deserve shit, if you ask me – and to do that, he needs to move into his own place and leave me behind.

  “Fuck off, Risotto!” I lay on my bed in the room beside Rob’s, and grin while they dress and argue. “Rob and I shared womb water, you dumb bitch. That bond can’t be broken.”

  “Fuck you, Luke! Mind your own business.”

  “You’re in my home, stupid. Arguing with my womb-buddy. It’s alllll my business.”

  “Can you shut up?” Rob stops at my door, sobering the longer he has to listen to Grace’s tantrum. His eyes are hooded and tired, but he still manages a grin when I flip him off. “You’re escalating the situation.”

  “I’m gonna escalate the fuck outta this shit,” I declare. “An hour from now, a new chick is gonna be riding your cock. And I bet if I gave her a dollar, she’ll wave to Risotto as she watches from outside.”

  “I’m gonna kick your ass,” Rob barks when something hits the wall and shatters in the room beside mine. “I will straight up end your life.”

  “Fine by me. But first, you’ll thank me.” I sit up on my bed and flash a wide grin. “Get rid of her. I’m gonna put it in my will that you don’t get our Tazo collection unless she’s permanently removed from your life.”

  “Shut up, Luke!” Risotto throws the motherlode of all tantrums in Rob’s room so that the walls rattle and shit breaks. “How can you people be identical, but one of you be such an asshole?”

  “Who knows? How can most chicks be cool and beautiful and smart, but then we get you, the brain-dead slut?”

  “Dude!” Rob wipes a hand over his face. “You’re cleaning my room when this is finished.”

  “Suits me. I’ll clean while a new chick is sucking you off.”

  “I hate you.” He pushes away from my door and heads back to his. “Grace. You need to go home. I’ll call you tomorrow, since we still have shit to talk about, but—”

  “He won’t call you tomorrow! He’ll be sleeping on a pair of real titties, exhausted from the eleventeen orgasms he had overnight because his new woman won’t be selfish in bed. They’ll be fair in exchanging orgasms, unlike you, you hoarding bitch. You think I haven’t heard him get you off seven times in one night, but he only does the grunt thing once in all that time? You think I didn’t count?”

  “You are fucking weird,” Rob snarls. “For fuck’s sake, Luke. Shut up.”

  “I will not be silenced!” I roar, because I love escalating a tense situation. If I had a jousting lance right now, you bet your ass I’d be running the hall with it. “Get out, Risotto. We got places to be!”

  “You.” Rob sits beside me at the bar inside a dance club named Rhino’s. “Are.” He takes a shot, and drops the glass back on the counter. “A pain in my fuckin’ ass.”

  “Drink up.” I push four more shots closer to his hand and grin. I’m already half drunk, and Grace’s flounce out of our apartment an hour or so ago turns funnier as I take each new shot. “She’s got fake tits, right? You can tell me. I won’t tell anyone.”

  “Mm.” He tosses back another shot and makes an ahhhhh sound as it slides down his throat. “They’re not real. But they look good, so—”

  “Y’all!” I spin on my barstool and shout, “Grace Risotto has fake tits, hair extensions, and a black heart. I don’t think she’s even that good in bed, because my brother only gets to come, like, once for every eight he gives her. The ratio is off!” I burp loud and obnoxious. “The fucking ratio is off!”

  “You are gonna get your ass tossed out if you don’t pull it together.” Rob grabs my shoulder and spins me back around so fast that my whiskey swirls, and my brain takes a second to spin with the rest of me. “Quit ya bullshit and stop being the crazy one for once.”

  “Why are you so stuck on her, huh? Why Grace Alfredo?”

  “Risotto. And you know why. Shit is going down, and—”

  “The ratio is off!”

  “I still come, you idiot. I don’t love her. I’m not attached to her. I just… it’s complicated. And it’s not your fucking job to chase her off every single time my phone beeps an
d her name pops up.”

  “I can’t even do that anymore! You changed her name in your phone so I wouldn’t know. You think I wouldn’t notice?”

  “I think you and I have an extremely unhealthy codependence. We’re not in the same fucking womb anymore, dummy. We’re grown-ass men who need to live separate, grown-ass lives.”

  “Don’t have to,” I grumble and take another shot. “We’re happy the way things are. You, me, and our psycho cat.”

  “I’ve gotta piss.” Rob takes one last shot, drops the glass onto the soaked bartop, then pushing to his feet, he turns away and leaves his stool open for point-three seconds before someone else slides in and tempts me to slam their head against the bar.

  I look to my right to see who I’m slamming, only for my eyes to take a second to figure out that I’m looking at a woman, and not an annoying man. I’m not drunk or anything. I’m just… chilled the fuck out and smiling a lot.

  Dark hair that goes to the middle of her back, a top that doesn’t cover nearly as much skin as her hair does, and cherry red lips. She sits tall on the stool and gives me my minute to ogle her beautiful body.

  “Wanna talk ratios?” Her voice is like a cat’s purr. Smooth like silk, sweet like sugar. “Because an eight-to-one average interests me.”

  “You’re looking for my brother. He’s the martyr in bed. That ain’t me.”

  “So what’s your ratio?”

  I smile, wide and weird. Then I shrug. “I dunno. I stick to a much more modest three-to-one or so. Enough that I’ve never had complaints, but not so much that I feel used and tossed aside when she’s done.”

  “You don’t wanna feel used and discarded?”

  “No! I have feelings, ya know?” I extend a hand as this chick laughs that girly, flirty laugh chicks do. ‘Cause I’m funny as fuck. “I’m Luke.”

  “And I’m Kelly.” She takes my hand and holds on for a moment longer than normal. She flutters her lashes, and smiles a perfect smile. “I’m traveling through town and won’t be here beyond tomorrow.”