by BL Mute
I click the app, go to the messages, and sure enough, it’s B.
RetributionRebel – Can’t stop thinking about our time last night. I hope you’re having a good day. Let me know when you’re free again.
I smile and type out a reply.
Spitfire – I can’t either. Maybe tomorrow?
Did I lie? Yes. Does he need to know that? No. Bernard is sweet, and charming, and handsome. He’s the type of man I should give my time to, even if he is paying for it. I don’t need to tell him that he honestly never even crossed my mind because I was too busy being fucked by a guy. A guy with no name and apparently no heart.
RetributionRebel – Tomorrow would be perfect. Same place, say 6 O’clock?
Spitfire – I’ll see you then.
I throw my phone back to the passenger seat where I found it, keeping it plugged in, then head home. Right now, I need more sleep, food, and a lobotomy so I can erase Stallion from my mind.
Sleep definitely helped me feel better. When I stumbled inside, William saw me. I was almost scared, but then I remembered, I already got shitfaced. There isn’t anything he can do now other than chastise me a bit. He’s used to Lydia bringing me home drunk anyway. I just didn’t want to deal with the questions last night when I was leaving.
Out of everyone in my life, William is the hardest to lie to because he’s so damn sweet and actually cares about me. Like now, I’m perched back on the barstool in the kitchen as he stirs homemade chicken noodle soup on the stove for me.
“Why did you take the job, William?” I ask to his back.
His white hair is thinning more these days, and his once full frame is getting slimmer. I guess that’s what happens with age though.
He turns and sets the dish towel in his hand down. “What are you talking about?”
After thinking about how much I crave Stallion’s story, it’s made me realize I want everyone’s. I want to know everything they’re willing to share. And William is someone I’ve never bothered to ask. He’s always been busy cleaning up the house, or running errands for my dad, and taking care of me.
“This job. Why did you take it?”
He tips his head with a small smile. “I took it because I felt I had to.”
“What do you mean?”
He turns back around and ladles some soup into a bowl. When he sets it in front of me, he leans against the counter. “Well, I have a daughter, and if I wanted to see her and be a good father, I needed a good job.”
I can feel my eyes widen with his confession. “You have a daughter?”
He nods with an even bigger smile. “I do. She’s very smart and sweet.”
“How have you been with us for sixteen years and I never knew?”
He shrugs. “You never asked.”
Damn. That kind of hurts, but I know he doesn’t mean it in a malicious way. He just doesn’t filter things the greatest sometimes, just like me. And maybe that’s where I get it from because God knows I didn’t inherit shit from my dad.
“I’m sorry.” A frown pulls my lips down.
“Don’t be sorry, Carmen. My job here is to, one, make sure you’re okay, and two, make sure everything stays running in order. Your father didn’t hire me to gossip or tell you my life story.”
“You have a point, but now I want to know.”
“Another time, okay? I have some things I need to do around here.” He waves his hand around, and I nod. “But I do have something for you.”
I raise a brow. “For me?”
He smiles with a small shake of his head, then pulls out a black velvet box from his pocket. As he passes it to me and my fingers wrap around the box, I feel a lump form in my throat. Opening it, I smile, and my heart pangs with happiness. “William.”
“Figured you could use a little pick-me-up. I know you say you’re fine, but you haven’t been acting like it. I understand I’m not the first person you want to talk to, but I am here, Carmen.”
Every word he says swirls around my brain as I pull the ring from the box. It’s a gold snake that wraps around my finger with a ruby eye. “I promise I am okay. I just—”
He holds up his hand as my eyes move back to his face. “Don’t worry about explaining right now. Just know I’m here when you’re ready.”
I nod, appreciating the out he’s giving me. I don’t like talking about my feelings because once they’re out, there is no reining them back in. They hang in the air, taunting me, and grow. And that’s just not something I like to deal with.
“I love you, William.”
“I know.” He smiles. “You tell me all the time.” Without another word, he leaves the kitchen.
I turn the ring he got me around my finger, doing my best not to cry. I’ve always held so much animosity toward my dad for being absent, and now, I don’t even know why. I don’t need him. I have William. But now with him gone and out of the room, everything feels empty and lonely, and it makes me think of Stallion.
I blow out a breath, then pick up the steaming bowl of soup. I take one small sip just to check the temperature, then down it all.
I leave my empty bowl on the counter, then head back upstairs and into my room. I grab my phone from the nightstand and send a text to Stallion. I know it’s a slim chance he’ll even reply, but it’s worth a shot.
What if he doesn’t have family? Or a William? Or even friends?
I knew when I hit Send, the reply wouldn’t be immediate, but now sitting here thinking about it more, maybe it was stupid to even try. Instead of dwelling on it, I decide to open the dating app and send a message to B because at least he wants to talk to me.
Spitfire – I’ve had a change of plans. Wanna meet tonight?
Not even a minute passes before he replies.
RetributionRebel – Of course! But be careful. You might start to spoil me, wanting to meet two days in a row ;)
I smile as I type out a reply.
Spitfire – Maybe it’s you who’s spoiling me with good conversation and something nice to look at the whole time.
RetributionRebel – I could say the same thing, Carmen. You’re beautiful and I’m lucky to be in your presence.
Spitfire – Stop. Now I’m blushing. :D
I’ll see you at 6.
RetributionRebel – I can’t wait.
CHAPTER TEN
CARMEN
Two weeks. Two entire, long, boring weeks since I’ve seen Stallion.
I’ve been trying not to count the days, but it seems useless. Bernard is sweet and fun, but he isn’t the same as Stallion. I want more from him. I want the wild, animalistic need most men exude. I want the chase, but B just isn’t like that.
I thought what he offered was enough—that my tastes were changing—but I was mistaken. Now I dread going to see him. All I can picture is ripping his clothes off and nothing else.
Sure, he tells me I’m beautiful or makes comments about wanting to roll around in the sheets, but that’s all they are. Words. Words with no action, and I’m getting crabby. This whole thing was meant to serve as a distraction, and it’s done that, but now I find myself obsessing over other shit. And by other shit, I mean sex.
I’ve always had a healthy sexual appetite, but it’s seemed to have grown since being with Stallion. Sometimes I think it’s more than that though, and the only reason I was so okay with B is because he was giving me what Stallion wouldn’t. Now I realize how much I depend on sex though.
The feeling of being wanted. The feeling of flickering lust. It’s not like anything else. It’s a high I can’t seem to find anywhere else, no matter how much I drink or smoke.
I just hope since we’re finally moving to a room for one of our meetups, though, that I can finally get what I’ve been craving.
As I park at the Annalee, my phone pings. I pull it from my bag and see it’s my reminder I set to meet B, along with the room number on the third floor. I’ve been seeing him almost every day now, and every time we meet up, the conversations get a little mo
re personal. He’s moved from asking about me to asking about my friends. He’s seemed to take an interest in Carter and Lydia. I’m not sure why, but I don’t really think too much into it either. Clearly, he’s just wanting to get to know the person I am because you can tell a lot about someone by the company they keep. And he did say he needs more of a connection before fucking. I thought I understood that before, but I was clearly lying to myself.
I can hardly contain my want for him to fuck me.
I step out of my car, pushing my thoughts to the back of my mind, then hit Lock on my fob. The sun is already dipping low in the sky, which means most of the staff will be clearing out and less chance I’ll run into someone I know, or even worse, someone who knows my dad.
As I walk across the parking lot, I feel different. Like as soon as I step into the room with B, everything is going to be different, and I’m going to come out a new person. A person who doesn’t obsess over a fucking ghost online. He’s finally going to give me what I want—at least hopefully—but what kind of lover will he be? Slow and sweet? Hard and rough? Will he be different than Stallion, or even better, will he make my memory of Stallion completely fade away?
I just want the itch I’ve had for fourteen fucking days to finally be scratched.
When I make it to the front, I avoid the valet like I always do, then glide through the open doors. I scan the counter, so thankful no one seems to be occupying it, and hurry across the lobby to the elevator. Punching the Up arrow, I wait less than ten seconds before the doors open.
When I look up, my heart sinks to the pit of my stomach. And not in a good way. I cross my arms over my chest and step to the side, waiting for him to exit, and do my best to maintain my composure.
I want to ask him what the fuck, but I don’t have the right. We were just a hookup. A quick fuck with no strings, so I can’t be mad. But when I see the red staining the collar of his white shirt, all the questions I want to ask or obscenities I want to yell leave my brain, and the only thing left is… hurt? Or maybe jealousy? I don’t even know.
I swallow my pride and lift my chin high. If he wants to fuck someone else, fine. I mean, I’m about to do the same thing, right? Right! I reply to my own thoughts like that will help how I’m fucking feeling.
When his head lifts, his amber eyes that normally scream predator are filled with panic. I want to ask if he’s okay, but before I can even open my mouth, he shoots his eyes away from me and barrels out of the elevator.
I’m stunned. How can he see me and not feel all the shit I was feeling? How can he rush past me without a single word? Suddenly, all the hurt is washed away, and the anger returns. “Fuck you,” I mumble to myself.
I’m going to forget about him like I said I would and go let B fuck my brains out. At least he acts like he likes me and actually wants to be around me. I step inside the lift and push the number three a little too aggressively. As it starts moving, I take deep breath after deep breath and shake away all my feelings. I’ve never been the type of bitch to get hung up on some guy, and I won’t be starting now.
When the elevator dings and the doors open, I release my last breath and step out. My shoes pad against the carpeted hallway quietly, and with every step, my confidence grows. I think about how hot I am, how many men want me, and how I can have whatever this world has to offer with the simple snap of my fingers. I don’t need some self-absorbed, coldhearted, distant fuck buddy.
If I wanted to be reminded of how I’m not wanted, all I have to do is call up my dad. Fuck Stallion.
When I stop in front of the room I know B is in, I slip the key card from my purse and insert it. When the small light flashes green, I push open the door. At first, everything is dark, but the further I slide the door open, the more I see, thanks to the light spilling inside from the hallway.
My mind goes completely blank, and my hands start to tremble. I blink a few times, knowing what I’m seeing can’t be real, but every time I open my eyes, there it is. My chest rises and falls in rapid succession as I step inside slowly, turn on the light, and close the door behind me. Blood. So much blood.
“What have I gotten myself into?” I whisper out loud to the empty room and the dead body at my feet. Every thought and feeling I had before I opened the door vanishes, and all that’s left is those surrounding B’s dead body.
I try to focus on anything other than him. And the blood. And the queasy feeling in my stomach. I peer around the room. I’m not sure why, but I can’t stare at him. I can’t think of him. A suitcase is lying a few feet away from him, opened and spilling with cash.
Okay. Money. I can focus on that.
Blood splatters across some of the bills, and it just brings me right back to him. Bernard. Sweet, sweet Bernard, dead at my feet.
I drop my purse and press my back against the door and try to process whatever the fuck is in front of me. I should check on him, right? What if he isn’t dead—but with this much blood and the gaping slit in his throat, it’s doubtful.
I try to take in a deep breath to stop myself from screaming, but the coppery smell of blood fills my nostrils and goes straight to the back of my throat. I slap my hand over my mouth and try to dodge the pool of blood as I run into the bathroom.
My knees crash to the tile, and pain shoots through the bones all the way up my thighs as I fall to the floor in front of the toilet. I try to ignore it as I jerk the seat up and empty my stomach. I heave until pain vibrates through my belly and nothing is coming out.
When I stand, my knees wobble, but I know I can’t stay here, and I can’t call the cops. What if they think I did it? What if they ask questions about how I know him? I can’t tell them he’s paying me to hang out and potentially fuck. And what if they ask all I know about him? Because at this second, I realize he knew all there was to know about me, but I know very little about him. Like who the fuck would murder him. Hell, I don’t even know his last name.
I shake my head and scrub my hands down my face. “Okay. It’s fine, Carmen,” I start telling myself, but my mind knows I’m lying. This is definitely not fine.
I can see my purse from my spot in the bathroom, and instead of focusing on B’s dead body or the insane amount of blood, I stare at the leather and start forming a plan in my head. One, get my purse. Two, walk out of the room. Three, stay cool as a fucking cucumber.
I look to the ceiling and shake my head. If only it were that easy.
When I bring my focus back to my bag, I grow a pair of balls and just go for it. In three long strides, I make it to my purse and pick it up. Without looking at Bernard’s face, where his eyes are still open, I fish out my phone with a shaky hand as tears blur my vision. Managing to type out “911,” I hit Send. If I can keep Lydia’s deepest, darkest secrets, it’s time for her to keep mine too.
Once it shows delivered, I start to turn on my heel and walk out the same way I walked in—a complete badass—but the open briefcase catches my eye again. I know I shouldn’t, but I step over B, squeezing my eyes shut, and snag it. I push the golden latches down, clasping it shut, then hop back over the crime scene at my feet to the door. I crack it open and peek outside.
This time I’m not scared of someone seeing me and telling my dad. No. I’m scared someone will see all the blood just beyond the door and accuse me of murder, and I’m sorry, but I do not look good in orange.
When I don’t see anyone, I step out and close the door behind me. I only make it a few feet when my phone rings. Knowing it’s Lydia, I answer and try to keep my voice level and pace steady and not rushed. “I’m on my way. I need help.”
When I pull up to Lydia’s, I do my best to calm myself. I did pretty good walking through the hotel, but as soon as I made it to my car, I lost it. The weight of all of this came crashing down, and I can’t get a grip on myself. My heart feels like it’s going to beat out of my chest, my stomach is turned, and my hands won’t stop shaking.
I step out with my phone and the briefcase in hand and hurry to the do
or. Again, I don’t knock, and I don’t even care if I see shit I don’t want to. This is bigger than that. Bigger than anything.
“Lydia!” I scream, pacing just inside the door.
She appears within seconds with Cater by her side. “Carmen, what happened?”
She tries to stop my movements by placing her hands on my shoulders, but I brush them off. “I fucked up. I fucked up really bad. And now I’m fucked I should have called the cops I should have called someone.” The words coming out are nothing more than all the thoughts in my head—run-on sentences, emotions, fear. It’s all just spilling out.
“Carmen,” Carter starts, stepping in front of Lydia. “You need to tell us what happened.”
I shake my head and throw the briefcase down. “Bernard is dead. He’s dead and I took this and now I don’t know what to do. I’m a dumbass!” I yell, smacking my head.
The briefcase falls to the floor with a thud before popping open. Bills fall out, some with his blood painted across the front, then kick up in the wind from my pacing.
“Who is Bernard?” Lydia’s voice is soft, almost like she’s scared. Hell, I’m scared too. I handled all this the entirely wrong way.
“Oh my fucking God.” I stop in my tracks as a new thought forms.
Lydia and Carter exchange a concerned look. “What is it?” she asks.
“Stallion. He did it.” The realization hits me like a ton of bricks.
That wasn’t lipstick on his shirt—it was blood. He killed Bernard, and now I’m connected. Was it because of me? Was he jealous?
No, that can’t be it. Can it? No one even knew I was seeing B. It was my secret—my way to get everything I wanted.
“Carmen, you’re not making sense. What the fuck happened?” Carter chimes.