Wolf (A Little Red Riding Hood Retelling) (Brother's best friend romance)

by J. A. Wynters

Maybe this torment is what I need to finally crush this desperate desire for her e—to cleanse myself of my need for her, to be force fed my own medicine of bitter disappointment and a savage knife to the heart. And maybe at last, I can stop pinning for something that never happened.

  Their lips

  Almost

  Touch.

  I suck in a sharp breath.

  One,

  More,

  Inch.

  A bottle explodes at my feet and screams slice through the music. Lover boy bolts up at the sound the vice around my heart eases a fraction. A group of men to my right are throwing punches, while a girl cries on the floor. I don’t know if she’s been hurt or if she’s the cause of the punching. I suspect it’s a bit of both.

  Red is more slumped then seated on her chair and the fucker is touching her legs sliding his fingers too high. She doesn’t protest, her head lulls back and forth.

  Fuck.

  I knew I hated this guy. I’ve seen this shit happen more than once, and right now, I hate that my fucking job is to stand still, shut the fuck up and turn a blind eye till I can fire his ass in the morning. Till then, I’m bound by our contract and an NDA.

  My fingers curl into a tight fist till the nails bite into my skin, I imagine driving it through his nose. I suck in a long breath knowing I’m about to lose my futile effort to calm down, to push some of the tension out of my body and rid myself of the raging fury building inside me.

  The fight on the dance floor spreads like an infectious disease. It’s not so much that people get involved but sucked in; they all want to help it or stop it, and soon there’s a mass of bodies that tumble through the club.

  My boys jump in. They are bigger, stronger and highly trained, and they rip through the amassed crowd as it starts to surge towards me. Someone throws a glass at my head and it bounces off and into the VIP area. It explodes on the floor where the guests all screech like headless birds. I don’t wait for another excuse, instead I tear through the rope and within two steps I grab the client, rip him from his chair and pull him behind me.

  He tries to protest for a second but he’s more of a waif that a man. Pulling him towards the exit is easy and satisfying. I snatch my radio and call for Hunter.

  The line remains static.

  Fuck.

  I turn back to Red. She’s sitting on the chair unperturbed by the commotion around her.

  “Sit here and don’t move.”

  She looks at me through glazed drunk eyes and smiles. “Hi Shaw.” She traces a hand over mine.

  Fuck.

  I try Hunter again just to get more static from him. I call down to Rob and tell him to get the car to the back exit.

  The crowd grows rowdier and busier and tension slithers up my spine when I finally spot Hunter. He rushes out of the bathroom brushing his blonde hair out of his flushed face and tugging on his pants. A petit little thing follows him out, her googly eyes ogle him, and she wipes at her mouth.

  Me and him will have words about that later.

  I’m dragging the hot shot by the wrist, and though I know I can’t break it cause he’s in the middle of shooting a film, a harsh bruise can be covered up by makeup. I tighten my grip round him and yank. He whimpers a little but keeps up as we catch up to Hunter.

  “Nice of you to join us,” I growl at him.

  “I was held up.”

  “More like she was being held down.” I nod towards the girl dreamily gazing at Hunter.

  He shrugs and a stupid grin crosses his face, “What can I say?”

  “Nothing. We’ll sort it out later. That and the fact you forgot to tell me Red would be here tonight.”

  The afterglow falls from his face in a second and he starts scanning the dance floor where the mob is starting to settle and the boys push the rowdy ones toward the door. “Where is she?”

  “I’ve got eyes on her. I’ll make sure she gets home safe if you deal with him.”

  I shove the client into Hunter’s hard body, and he doesn’t argue. Instead he takes the lead and they disappear towards the back exit.

  Once they’re gone, I turn back to Red. She’s exactly where I left her, glazed eyes, and silly expression. She has a drunk smile plastered on her face and it cracks wider when she sees me.

  “Hi.”

  “Yeah, hi, where’s your friend?” I scan the deserted VIP area and the dance floor that’s once more throbbing with dancing bodies.

  “I don’t know, he went off with a new friend. He was cute.” She waves and giggles.

  “Right.” I run a hand through my hair, this night is not going how I thought it would. I grab my radio and call Dean to find out if they have things under control. When he assures me the offending parties have been dealt with, I stare at Red. She’s barely conscious and I need to get her home.

  I grab the radio again and growl, “I need to get out of here and Hunter and Rob just left with the client, do we have anyone around that can cover?”

  Dean’s voice crackles into my ear, “Let me call around.”

  I grab a waiter while I wait and ask him for some water. He comes back with a bottle. I put it on the table for Red. She glares at it like she’s unsure what it does. It’s part adorable and part frustrating. Mostly frustrating, because of how cute she looks.

  Dean calls me back and tells me that one of our guys is a few minutes away.

  “Good, let me know when he arrives, I need to get out of here.”

  “Everything okay there, boss?”

  “Dean?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Do you like your job?”

  The static grows silent on the radio, all the guys are holding their breaths and shutting their fucking mouths.

  “I do.”

  “Then shut the fuck up and mind your own business.”

  “Copy that.”

  The radio silence screams in my ear and I wipe my forehead. The back of my hand comes back wet with sweat and I swipe it on my dress pants.

  Fuck.

  Dean calls back a few minutes later letting me know Sean just arrived. “Get him set up, I’m leaving out the back. If there are any issues, call Hunter.”

  “Yes boss.”

  I pull out my earpiece and thread my hands beneath Red’s knees and hands. She giggles and tucks her head into my chest and everything inside me comes alive like it’s been consumed by a wild, hungry hive. I’m a buzzing thing—I know I have eyes on me and that this will get back to Hunter, but fuck it. I told him I would get Red out and I’m going to tell him to fire that fucker for what he did, and everything else he was about to do. My body clenches at the thought and my skin feels too small for my own body.

  I push through the back door where Sam pretends he doesn’t see me, and I make a beeline for my Jaguar.

  I slide Red into the passenger seat. “Buckle up,” I growl at her and slam the door, then round the car.

  When I get in, she’s looking at me all doe eyed and fucking stunning, with pink flushed cheeks and a sweet little pout.

  “Why are you angry at me?” She’s more slurring than speaking, and I’m regretting putting her in my car without some kind of vomit bag.

  “I’m not.”

  “But you’re shouting.”

  I clutch the back of my neck and let out a heavy sigh, “Just buckle up.”

  She fumbles with the belt a few times till it finally clicks in place and I put the car into gear, I drive faster than I should.

  The road blurs as I swerve around corners and break a few speed limits getting us home. Her head lolls with the car and her eyes grow heavy. I put on the radio and she shrieks with glee, coming alive. She starts singing and moving to the beat, and I hate her so much because I’m fucking mesmerised by how beautiful her voice is and how lovely and ridiculous she looks as she moves around obstructed by the seat belt. But she doesn’t care; the alcohol has lowered all her inhibitions, made her open and vulnerable and totally fucking desirable for all the wrong reasons.

&n
bsp; I park. She lets herself out and stumbles into me as I round the car to get her.

  “Can you walk?”

  “I think so,” she giggles and stumbles around then falls against me. Her silky, frozen hands land on my chest and she giggles even more, totally unaware of how her touch affects me, of how much I want her to touch me everywhere, of all the things her touch makes me want to do to her.

  “Come on,” I lead her to the front door and then the couch, “Sit down.”

  She falls backward into the couch and slithers up the cushions, the movement forcing the strap of her singlet down and the skirt up. I am being punished for something, and at this point, I’m almost prepared to fall down on my knees and repent for all my sins if I could just bury myself between her legs and taste her.

  I wrench my eyes away from her and go to the kitchen. I adjust my cock that’s been pushing against my dress pants all night. My balls haven’t ached this much since I’ve been sixteen. I grab a glass of water and take it to her. “Drink.”

  Her red lips split into a sloppy smile, “Thanks Shaw.”

  Fuck.

  No one ever calls me by my name, and suddenly, the moment has become more than what it should be. My heart kicks in my chest and I want to make time stand still, I want to rip it from the thread of the universe and push it back. Back to before I fucked everything up, back before I let her go, back to when she was mine.

  She gulps down the water totally oblivious to what she’d done.

  She hands me back the empty glass and her head tips to the side. Her brow furrows for a second and her eyes almost focus before she nods, and that drunk smile plasters itself across her face again.

  “What?” I growl at her.

  “You’re like a marshmallow.”

  “Excuse me?” I tense up, my muscles growing rigid as if offended.

  “A camp fired one—you’re all dark and hard on the outside, but inside you’re all gooey.” She curls up on the couch as she talks.

  “Gooey?” I rip my hands through my hair. “Un-fucking-believable,” I mumble, “Gooey?”

  “And soft,” she purrs.

  Every fibre in my body stands on edge, I love that Red thinks about me, but I hate that she thinks of any part of me as gooey. I need to make her think of other adjectives.

  “There’s nothing about me that’s soft or gooey.” I hate that word. It’s my new favourite word to hate in the English language, fucking gooey.

  “And delicious.” Her eyes close and I stare at her. Is she talking about me or marshmallow? Fuck.

  “Red?”

  “Mm mm.” She nods slightly but her eyes remain closed, and I know that she’s gone.

  I stand over her and watch her sleep. The flush of her cheeks begins to drain slowly away as her breathing becomes even. The strap of her singlet falls to the side again and reveals her delicate fucking shoulder and long neck. I want to run my tongue all over her skin and taste every fucking inch of her.

  I rumble in frustration, go to her room, and pull away the blanket, ignoring the pile of clothes on the floor and stuff everywhere—the room is a window into her life, frenzied and in a total fucking mess.

  I go back to the couch and wrap my arms around her, picking her up. She purrs against me, wraps her thin arms around my neck and nestles her head into my chest. Her warmth radiates through me, and I’m loath to release her. I hover over her bed and hold her, keeping her there, close. Feeling her chest move against mine, feeling her breath as it filters through the fabric of my shirt and teases me with its warmth. I’ve never found it this hard to release someone.

  I set her down on the bed where she curls up like a cat. She would make the perfect little spoon. I shake my head wondering where the thought came from. Maybe she was right, maybe I am going soft.

  I throw the cover over her and march out of the room.

  Fuck.

  I pace the hallway, stopping just short of her doorway each time. Undesirable thoughts slosh inside my brain like a well stirred martini, and I fight them off. When my phone rings in the lounge, I’m finally ripped away from the door.

  Hunter’s number flashes on my screen, “How’s Red?”

  “I got her home and put her in bed.”

  “Wolf.” the warning in his voice is clear.

  “Her fucking bed, you asshole. The client invited her into the VIP area and got her legless, he was pulling all sorts of moves and if that fight hadn’t broken up, we would have had another ‘Alabama Chichi’ incident.”

  He’s silent for a long time. “I owe you man.”

  I nod into the phone; well aware he can’t see me.

  “I’ll get rid of the fucker first thing tomorrow, but till 6:00 A.M., we’re still under contract.”

  “Do you need back up?”

  “No, just watch over her.”

  “I will.”

  30

  Wolf

  I end the call and stomp to the kitchen where I grab a beer. I fall onto the couch. My brain hurts. My head falls back, and I stare at the ceiling, replaying that night over and over in my head, wishing I would have done everything differently.

  Alabama Chichi was just like Red that night. Fiery and feisty and unstoppable. She probably had hopes and dreams too and would have never expected her night to end like it did.

  None of us did.

  I sip my beer and it sours in my mouth as everything comes flooding back. She was so excited when she was invited to the VIP room, her body was vibrating with it. Her eyes were wide, and star struck. You could tell it was her first time. If I’d known it would be her last…

  I slam my eyes shut at the memories, but they won’t go away; on nights like these, they always come back.

  They started feeding her drink after drink, and I guess at one point someone slipped something in it. None of us saw, which is why we all share the blame equally. We all missed it, and it all happened so fast.

  She went from being lively and excitable to almost paralytic. She was sitting down which was why it wasn’t so noticeable when he started kissing her. That type of shit, it happened all the time—celebrities and randoms hooking up, people wanting to touch that kind of famous like it might rub off on them.

  My stomach curdles with the thoughts and my hands tightens around the beer bottle. On the upside, that celebrity fucker will only ever be famous for his infamy. Turns out, no amount of money could cover that shit show up, and once you’re tainted enough, no one wants to work with you.

  When they asked to be taken home, he held her up at the waist. She stumbled and giggled, but she wasn’t the same girl that stepped across the velvet rope. I suggested we get her a cab home, he suggested I mind my own fucking business.

  She looked drunk, but I think somewhere we knew it was all wrong. We made excuses to ourselves that we were just starting out, that we had to keep our reputation in this town or none of us would work again, but what we really did that night was fail. Fail as men and people and protectors. We were protecting the predator when we should have been protecting his prey.

  She looked drunk, and drunk girls go home with celebrities every day of the week. Fuck, drunk girls go home with me every day of the week.

  We just didn’t see it coming.

  I take another long sip and the cold beer sears my inside. It took three days for the video to surface, and when it did, it spread like a raging fire consuming everything and everyone in its path.

  The thing is, people do that sort of fucked up shit all the time. But when rich people do it and their friends take videos and they don’t want to shell out the blackmail funds, that’s when they get burned.

  And everyone got singed by that fire.

  Overnight the name ‘Alabama Chichi’ became the most spoken about in every household in the UK. Not for anything that she did, but rather for what she endured.

  The fucked-up thing about that night is that she probably woke up the next morning feeling sore and foggy but happy. Happy because she thought some c
elebrity picked her from a line of girls. Picked her. She should have felt special and precious. Fuck it, for all I know he could have kissed her good morning and smiled to her face before sending her on her way.

  She told the police that she didn’t remember anything. I bet in the end she wished everyone else would forget.

  It’s amazing what the human body can bear when it’s debilitated. It’s equally amazing what sick fucks would do to it when they can control it. The worst thing was the moaning; when they hurt her and fucked her and shoved shit down every hole, she moaned and it drove them crazy, it drove them to more, to extremes.

  I groan wanting to wipe away the sounds.

  When she killed herself, I took it personally. I mourned for her. I stood at the funeral and wished I could take it all away, and I swore I would never let that shit happen again. If that fight hadn’t broken out tonight, I would have started another. I’d be sitting in jail right now and that celebrity dickhead would be in the morgue, but Red would be safe. I may not have been able to save Alabama, but fuck it if I ever let another woman get hurt under my watch again. Never again.

  I down the rest of the beer and my stomach curdles with distain.

  I set the empty bottle down and lean back on the couch. Everything still hurts.

  31

  Wolf

  My phone rings and I groan, reaching for my bedside table to find an empty space instead. I shoot up and my back complains with the movement, realising I’m not in my bed.

  “Shit.” I mumble and find my phone on the floor. I grab it and fall against the couch, my entire body reminding me why it needs a bed.

  “Yeah?” My voice is full of sleep, and I scratch at my burning eyes.

  “Wakey, wakey sleeping beauty.”

  I check the time on my phone, 6.01 A.M, “Fuck you, Hunter.”

  “My shift is over. Thought you might want to sit in while we break this guy’s contract.”

  I grind my teeth and draw in a long breath, picturing his hands creeping up Red’s thigh, his thumb over her lips; and my hand tightens around the phone. “No.”