“Yeah, I got your e-mails.” Riley mirrored his relaxed posture, but she felt tense. The topic made her throat constrict.
“I meant every word.” His smoldering gaze fixed on hers and his brow knitted. “You’re the last person I wanted to hurt.” His apology seemed sincere, and Riley desperately wanted the conflicting feelings to fade.
“Care to share why you took off the way you did?” This meeting was about answers, not providing Sean with a way to feel better about himself.
He smiled, but didn’t take the bait. “How have you been?” He picked at a cracked menu stand in the middle of the table before retrieving his own drink. “I heard you’ve climbed your way into Trusics’s record books.”
He lifted his cup in salute and smiled before taking another sip.
“You can say that.” She frowned, refusing to give him the pleasure of a smile or any similar nicety. A compliment about her success at work wasn’t going to pacify her or distract her from the reason she’d wanted this meeting. She rubbed the palms of her hands against the top of her jeans. “Look, I’m not here to make nice with you.”
“I can tell.” Sean absentmindedly played with the scruff on his face. “So after all these years, what made you finally reach out to me?”
“Why are you in town?”
Sean snorted. “Well, this is different.” He narrowed his eyes to inspect Riley. The intensity of his scrutiny made her want to wither, but she kept her backbone rigid and straight. “What happened to the polite Southern girl I met all those years back?”
“She got hurt by the one person who should have been there for her, so she grew up.” Riley’s frown lines deepened. “And don’t ignore my question. You know I can’t stand that.”
“I was making an observation,” he admitted with an easy shrug. “But if you must know, I’m in town to visit some friends and to wrap up some … personal projects. I honestly didn’t even know the old gang had relocated here until I got to LA.”
“I know you’re not here for casual chit-chat with friends.” Riley’s voice lowered. “So, once again, why are you in my town?”
“My my, how time has changed you.” His glance drifted toward the crowded bar, and he took another sip from his emptying glass. “Your bite’s gotten bigger. That’s good. It’s healthy. Keeps you alive.”
“Don’t toy with me, Sean.” Riley’s jaw tightened. “Tell me about these ‘personal projects.’ Would it involve breaking into someone’s dream?”
Sean’s brow furrowed, but his expression remained unreadable. “I don’t know what you mean.” He knocked back the rest of his drink before returning Riley’s pointed glare.
Long moments passed in a heated stalemate as neither cubare spoke nor moved. Riley’s eyes narrowed in mounting anger, and her nostrils flared. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t reach across this table and drain you right here,” she gritted.
It was meant as an empty threat to move things along, but what surprised Riley was how easily the words rolled off her tongue. Hidden beneath the table, her hands ached to wrap around his neck as she watched the life fade from his eyes. She wanted him to suffer the same way he had dragged Morgan through hell.
Sean’s phone erupted in a loud series of buzzes on top the table. The unexpected noise snapped Riley from her violent musings.
Sean snatched his phone off the table before Riley had the opportunity to read the screen. He shoved the device into one of his jacket pockets. “I hate to do this to you, kiddo. But I have to go.” He stood from the seat and pulled his coat back on. “If you want my advice, stay in your little Trusics bubble. It’s a much easier life when your biggest problem is what outfit to wear.” Sean gave her a tight-lipped smile and ducked his head before leaving.
It took Riley a few moments to gather herself from the abrupt departure.
“Oh no you don’t.” Riley abandoned her unfinished drink and jogged after his retreating form. She pushed her way through the heavy entry door and caught up with Sean down the alley. “I’m not done with you,” she called out.
At the sound of her voice, Sean stopped walking, but he didn’t turn around. In the darkened alley, his silhouette was illuminated by the moonlight.
A noise, similar to a predatory growl, rumbled up Riley’s throat. She balled her hands into fists at her sides. “Leave Morgan the hell alone.”
The name caught his attention, and he spun to face her. “Morgan.” His eyes narrowed in confusion. “How do you know about her?”
“I read your fucking files.” Riley kept her clenched fists by her side to keep from lashing out at Sean as she moved to close the distance between them. “To think I’ve defended you all these years …”
“It’s not what you think happened.” His voice was surprisingly soft.
“Look me in the eyes and tell me you didn’t terrorize an innocent woman for months,” she yelled, not caring who might overhear them.
“Rillea,” he tried to soothe.
Riley jerked like a puppet on strings at the familiarity that fell from his mouth.
“My past isn’t pretty.” He spoke to her slowly, as though talking to someone threatening to jump off a ledge. “But it’s not easy to explain, nor is it easy to understand what I went through—”
“What you went through?” Riley laughed in bewilderment. The high-pitched sound teetered on the hysterical. “How about the person you violated and tormented for your own twisted pleasure?” She shoved at his chest, and despite their size difference, the spontaneous action knocked him a couple steps back.
He looked helpless as his mouth opened and closed a few times.
“Make me understand what happened.” Riley’s breath fell in heavy, ragged puffs. Her stare was unrelenting, even when he refused to make eye contact. “Because what I see is a man who can’t deny what I’m accusing him of. And this coward isn’t the one who sired me.”
The words tumbled out before Riley could shove them down. The guilt and conflict she experienced because of Morgan existed not just because of the knowledge that an incubus had taken advantage of her. The burden was exponential because the incubus who had created Riley had been the one responsible.
“I could kill you for what you did to her,” Riley seethed. “I don’t care if you’re the one who made me this way.” She tugged at her skin like it was a mask she couldn’t shed.
Sean took a few steps back and braced himself against the brick wall of the opposite building. A heavy breath escaped his lungs. “Tell me how you know Morgan.” His voice was low and steady. “Please.”
Riley hesitated in telling him anything more; it felt like a violation of Morgan once again. But she relented because she needed answers. “She was a mark. I didn’t know about your connection to her until later.”
What she revealed caught his attention. He blinked and pushed off the wall, closing the distance between them with a newfound interest. “Have you had sex with her?” he demanded. Riley couldn’t decipher the look on his face.
Riley recoiled at the question. She wasn’t squeamish about discussing conquests in the realm, but this was Morgan. “You have no right to ask that.”
“Of course you didn’t.” He ignored her words with a thoughtful shake of his head. “You’re a little rough around the edges, but the exchange would have affected you more.”
“You’re insane, Sean.” Riley pinched the bridge of her nose briefly. “You need help or something.”
His gaze dropped to the ground. Riley could practically see the wheels in his head spinning faster than he could process. “You don’t understand …” His words faded and he struggled to find what to say. “But—but I can make you see. Do you still have access to her?”
“Why?” Riley shot back. “So you don’t have to break into her dreams?”
“I never …” His face lit with excitement, and before her body could react, he pulled her into a crushing hug. The words “Jekyll and Hyde” crossed her mind again. She didn’t know if she was angry o
r if she felt sorry for him. As healthy as Sean may have looked, there was still a part of him that seemed twisted and lost.
She pulled herself from the embrace, and Sean backed away. The tight-lipped smile returned to his face. He rubbed at the back of his neck before speaking again. “Tomorrow.”
He took a few steps backward and away from Riley. This time, she didn’t follow after him.
“Tomorrow.” His voiced echoed through the alleyway and he disappeared from her sight. “Same time and place.”
With the sun setting earlier every day, it was harder to gauge the hour. Even in California, winter evenings brought the darkness of night. Riley checked her watch as she walked to the small lot where she had parked her car, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Despite everything that had happened with Sean, she would still be on time for Christmas Eve dinner and avoid a call from an irritated hostess.
Her phone chimed with an incoming message and she rolled her eyes. She fished the device from her pocket and readied a snarky reply to let Heather know she was on her way. But the screen lit with a number she didn’t recognize.
I wish there was a different solution, but thank you for everything. Try not to De-Scrooge anyone else? Merry Christmas, Succubus.
Riley gaped at the message. She didn’t need to know the number to deduce who the sender was. Her hands shook as she saved the contact information in her phone. Morgan Ambre Sullivan she typed out—a name that felt like a prayer when it fell from her lips.
Her response was immediate: I’m sorry. But it was the best option.
After pressing the send button, Riley silently cursed her inability to hold off on a reply. It felt desperate to return a message so quickly.
The phone vibrated again within seconds. Never seeing you again is arguably not the best option.
Mutant butterflies, far larger than those found in Morgan’s backyard, assaulted Riley’s stomach as she unlocked her car and slid behind the steering wheel. There were too many responses she could type back, and if she allowed herself another message, she knew she would indulge in a second, third, and so forth. She would sit in that parking lot until Morgan decided to let their conversation fade. Rather than allowing that to happen, she tucked the phone back into her coat pocket and started up the car. She had a nagging feeling that Morgan would make their separation difficult, and until Riley could decide what to do about it, she would occupy herself with the company of friends and cling to her rapidly disintegrating sense of normalcy.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Riley pushed against a heavy cluster of clothing. She shoved the garments on their hangers down the horizontal pole in the walk-in closet of her guest bedroom. She had been wildly inattentive to the arrangement of her clothing the past few months, the result of rushing from one mark to the next, and now her closet was suffering the consequences. Blue jeans and flannel shirts hung side-by-side with leather corsets and sheer lingerie, and that was unacceptable. With nothing else to preoccupy her until her meeting with Sean later, Riley took to the task of reorganizing her clothes.
Riley had no place to go, and no one with whom to share the day. Amber was still with her family and wasn’t due back until later that night. Heather had invited her to spend Christmas morning with her and James, but Riley had politely declined. She excessively relied on her best friend for intimate companionship. And even though James was too kind to ever say the words out loud, she was sure he desired one-on-one time with his partner on this holiday morning.
Christmas Eve dinner the previous night had been a subdued affair. Food had been eaten, wine had been consumed, but the usual after-dinner banter had been missing. It had been a trying few months for all of her friends, not just Riley. The typical crew had been in attendance—Seven, Madison, and Wyatt, with James and Heather hosting. Aaron was a conspicuous absence, but he had a new life, and a new desk job, and a new family to attend to for the winter holiday.
Riley frowned at the word: Family. Holidays brought joy and festivities and love, but this season, more so than the ones that had preceded it, had made Riley acutely aware of her lack of family. She loved her friends with all her heart, but she couldn’t help this feeling of wanting more beyond the cubare community. It had been the original catalyst to pursue a relationship with Amber, months ago.
She pulled an out-of-place black silk robe from its hanger. Hidden behind it was a red and white trimmed corset, paired with tiny red shorts, red garters, and black stockings. It was the outfit she’d worn for Morgan the day that everything had changed. She rarely wore the same outfits twice, so each hanger held a unique memory from an experience with a specific mark; she hadn’t intended on digging up this particular memory, however, when she’d begun the task of rearranging her clothes.
Hanging in her closet, the Santa-themed garment looked more like a torture device with its complicated series of garters, straps, and loops. It had only served to torture her though when Morgan’s fingers had fumbled inexpertly at the clasps and fastens that made up the lingerie. She’d clearly never undressed another woman before, let alone someone wearing something with so many stays and ties as Riley’s chosen outfit.
Riley touched her fingers to the stiff bodice. She wondered what Morgan was doing to mark the holiday, if anything. She’d said she didn’t celebrate Christmas, but was there a reason for that? She wondered if her parents were still alive, if she had any brothers or sisters, or if she was close with her extended family. Did she have someone to make sugar cookies and decorate gingerbread houses with, or was she too organizing her closet?
Riley realized she knew little about this woman for whom she’d developed deep, intense emotions. She also couldn’t stop thinking about Sean and his vague and confusing one-sided conversation about Morgan changing her. It was enough to give her a migraine, but she only had a few more hours until they were supposed to meet again at the Red Sea Tavern, where hopefully he’d have the answers to her questions.
Christmas morning as an adult was a far cry from Riley’s memories of growing up on a ranch outside of Austin, Texas. Her parents had had a whirlwind romance before America’s entry into the Second World War. When her father had returned from abroad, decorated from battle, she was already walking and forming her first words. He’d taken advantage of the G.I. Bill to buy land in Texas. The toil of his sweat and blood had built the ranch and farmhouse from the studs up where she’d spent her formative years up until she left for college in Austin.
Her mother had always insisted on a giant Christmas tree. Riley would accompany her father to the local Christmas tree farm and pick the tallest, fullest tree on the lot. She remembered thinking they were the biggest trees on the planet. Her mother would spend all day long painstakingly decorating each branch while Riley watched and handed her each delicate decoration to help out.
She remembered back to waking up before the sun in anticipation of presents from Santa Claus, her reward for a year of obedience. But there was always work to be done—fences to check, animals to feed, and stalls to shovel clean—before she could unwrap the presents piled at the bottom of the tree. There had been stockings filled with Silly Putty, Slinkies, and extra parts for her Mr. Potato Head. Those were the years before an actual plastic doll; her mother would help her find the largest potato in the ten-pound bag and carefully scrub it clean before she could shove the arms and the shoes and the teeth and the hat into the starchy, makeshift doll. Those had been the easy years, the happy years before her mother had grown distant and had eventually left her father and her seven-year-old daughter. Riley had been too young to understand what was going on but old enough to realize that her mother was never coming back.
Her father, her gentle-mannered father, wasn’t a bad man. It was the alcohol that changed him on the worst nights. He hated the monster he would become when the bottle touched his lips, so he would lock Riley away in the pantry to safeguard her from his mounting anger and the grief that refused to go away. He’d wanted to protect her from the violent
outbursts that were sure to follow, unaware of the mental damage that shielding her from the physical bruising had produced. Riley had chosen this apartment over others she had looked at because of its proximity to her workplace and for the generous size of the bedroom closets. The extra room was needed not only to house all of her undergarments, but to keep her from feeling like the walls were closing in on her.
Riley abandoned the task of organizing her clothes. The action was supposed to be therapeutic, helping her regain control over something tangible like the unruly order of her closet when the rest of her life seemed to be spiraling. But rather than a welcome distraction, even this task had unhinged her.
She sat down in the center of the walk-in closet with her phone in hand. She typed in the first few letters of Amber’s name, intending to text her to find out what time she planned on being home after visiting family. She had a nagging feeling that after meeting with Sean, she’d need to see a friendly face. When she typed out the letters A, M, and B, the contact information for two people appeared on the screen—Amber and Morgan Ambre Sullivan.
Her thumb hovered over Morgan’s number. All she had to do was press down. Instead, she pulled up their most recent text message conversation. She had yet to reply to Morgan’s admission that being without her wasn’t a good option. Rereading the words caused her throat to involuntarily tighten. She didn’t know how to respond without tipping her hand that she missed the sound of her voice. She even missed Morgan’s damn, dreary childhood home with its faux wood paneling.
Riley flopped onto her back and tossed her phone out of reach to avoid further temptation. The device bounced harmlessly on the carpeting in the closet. Riley rested her hands on her stomach and puffed out a deep sigh. She still had to pick out clothes for meeting up with Sean. When she gave a cursory scan of her closet, her gaze landed on an outfit she hadn’t thought about since her time with an old mark, Ms. Manners. A peculiar smile slid onto her face. If she was going to return to the Red Sea Tavern, she might as well look the part.
Drained: The Lucid Page 31