Shark's Edge

by Angel Payne, Victoria Blue

  As soon as she clacked out the door and down the hall, Sebastian and I stood mute and motionless inside the tiny dressing room. As the final strains of “Let’s Go Crazy” filled the building, we finally looked back to each other again.

  And recognized one distinct fact again.

  We were in a deeper hole of what the hell than ever before.

  If Cinnamon hadn’t written the letter . . . who had?

  And if this letter was fake, was Tawny Mansfield’s suicide note fake too? If not, then what had happened behind the woman’s suicide? Was it a suicide?

  Most urgent, why was Sebastian getting pulled into these occurrences? I was broken out of my perpetual questions loop when Sebastian finally stashed the letter into one of his back pockets. He swept his phone out from the other one.

  “What are you doing?” I asked softly. Was I overstepping by asking him who he was calling? Everything was so undefined.

  “Sending a note to Elijah that Sarah needs a shadow bodyguard for the next few weeks. Now that she knows about this—about someone using her persona and name—she might be a target.” He hit Send, and I was grateful to hear the little bloop of the text message shooting into the atmosphere.

  “And now,” he continued, “a second message for him to find out her last name so I can cover the rest of her tuition bills.”

  I couldn’t launch myself at the man fast enough or get my lips back on his soon enough. And I really, really couldn’t believe that less than eight hours ago, I’d planned to stay mad at him for the rest of my life.

  Such a silly, silly plan.

  So useless against this amazing, dazzling man.

  At last, after I’d ravished his lips and tongue and mouth through the first few stanzas of Sarah’s routine—she was dancing to an “updated” forties medley with synthesizers and guitars—we reluctantly drew apart. Sebastian’s stare was full of light-blue fire but dark-blue regret, as if this was the hottest kiss of the night and couldn’t be topped.

  Well, it was time to show him differently. In a lot of different ways.

  “Mr. Shark?” I pleaded, hovering my face just half an inch from his.

  “Yes, Ms. Gibson?” he flowed out.

  “Please, would you be so kind as to get me the hell out of this place?” I slanted another long kiss across his eternally stunning mouth and then tugged him toward the hallway. “Before Hank finds out I’m still here and drafts me to dance to something like that.”

  I was deliberately goading him, but my teasing laughter got drowned out by the deafening music in the hallway. The tension in his neck and the ferocity in his eyes told me that he probably growled, but there was no chance for a repeat of my answering giggles. They were replaced by a stunned shriek when I was hoisted off my feet and then all the way over the muscled plane of his right shoulder.

  “Ahhh! What the—”

  “Just a little preview of what you can expect if you ever get up on that stage, young lady.”

  “You have an odd way of defining little, Mr. Shark.”

  “Just be thankful I haven’t imprinted my hand on your sweet ass yet, Ms. Gibson.”

  Sharp gasp—mostly as an effort to diffuse the new zing of heat to my pussy. “You. Wouldn’t. Dare.”

  “Just try me, baby.” To rub that in, he did the exact same with his forceful fingers across my backside. “Oh, how I’d love you to try me.”

  I was a new collection of both sighs and snickers as he walked through the club, continuing to possessively palm my upended butt.

  By the time we hit the front doors, I wondered if I wanted him to put me down again. Ever. Dear God, what he was doing to me with the take-no-prisoners treatment. I was becoming just that. A hostage of his aura and power. A willing captive of his protectiveness and passion. If Sebastian wanted to haul me all the way back to downtown like this, I was pretty sure I wouldn’t complain.

  “Okay, there are no dance poles in sight anymore. I’m fairly sure I can walk the rest of the—oh, holy shit!”

  I almost chastised myself for being melodramatic but realized Sebastian had yelled out at the same time—and his words matched exactly what had exploded from his driver’s lips.

  “Get down!”

  A person shrouded all in black had seemingly manifested out of nowhere. Or the parking lot pavement. Or maybe straight from hell. None of us had any way of knowing, since the invader raced up to us so quickly and unexpectedly.

  Sebastian pulled me down beside him and then pressed me to the side of the town car. He wrapped himself around me, his hands covering mine and his breath a frantic firestorm in my ear. I was breathing a similar cadence. My lungs pumped with dread.

  Was this the same lunatic who’d sent the bogus suicide threat from Cinnamon? If so, were they also connected to the food poisoning? What if this was something new? A desperate street punk who figured the guy in the town car had some major flow—or, holy shit, a holy extremist ready to take down one of the “infidels” who’d been at the sullied strip joint? What if we’d been caught in the middle of a gang turf war? Or what if—

  “Mr. Shark? Oh, dear God, Mr. Shark, are you okay?”

  A second of total silence passed.

  Then another, not so quiet—because the chaos in my head had turned into a rushing din of disbelief.

  Then a third, filled with Sebastian’s growing growl.

  He exploded with the sound as he shoved to his feet. At the same time, Joel rose from where he’d been crouching against the town car’s back bumper. Neither of them looked at each other. They were too focused on the owner of that voice.

  My brain refused to recognize it, but my gut knew—and was twisting back on itself because of it.

  “Terryn?”

  Joel actually got it out before Sebastian. He finished his question—his accusation?—with a whomp of a hand atop the car’s trunk.

  After a long, labored inhale and exhale, Sebastian got out intelligible words between his teeth. “What. The. Fuck?”

  “I—I couldn’t believe it when I saw that you were in this part of town,” Terryn said. “I panicked. I knew I had to make sure you were okay. This is an awful neighborhood. With all of the weirdness going on lately, I thought you’d maybe been taken by bad people or ended up somewhere you didn’t mean to be. And if you needed help, I wanted to be here to . . . umm . . . well . . . help.”

  “To help,” Joel deadpanned, as if she’d shown up in a plastic Halloween costume with a toy gun and a spy decoder ring. “To help . . . how?”

  But in my gawking and humble opinion, he was missing the more important point here.

  “With a situation you even knew about . . . how?”

  That point. One that Shark didn’t sound even one molecule happy about.

  “I have to admit, I’m a little curious about that one myself.” Voicing the sentiment lent my knees the strength to support me again. Though I felt fairly stable, I was still quietly tickled that Sebastian kept our hands entwined after he helped me rise.

  Terryn, on the other hand, was not tickled about it. Or about seeing me at all. “You,” she practically seethed, though she recovered with agitated speed. “I—I mean it’s n-nice to see you, Miss Gibson. Especially at such an odd place and time.”

  “A fact we could point out about your drop-in, Miss Ramsey,” Joel said.

  She whipped a burning glare his way. “I already told you. I came because I wanted to help!”

  As wrath began coursing off Sebastian like heat waves, he let me go and stepped away. His tight stare told me he didn’t want to, but I sensed things were about to get really ugly.

  “You wanted to help.” Every syllable he gritted was clipped, terse, terrible.

  “Yes!” Terryn exclaimed like an exonerated murder suspect.

  “And you just knew where to come and help . . . how?”

  As swiftly as the woman’s celebration had begun, it fizzled. She gulped, clearly panicking now. “Well . . . I . . . uumm . . . ”

&nbs
p; “Terryn.”

  “Y-Y-Yes, Mr. Shark?”

  “Have you been tracking my phone?”

  She frantically licked her lips. “Well . . . ”

  “Answer me!” His voice echoed off the stucco walls of every shop in the adjacent strip mall, ringing back to us with exceptional clarity in the early evening air.

  Her eyes were huge buckets of unshed tears. “Y-Y-Yes, Mr. Shark.”

  “Give me your fucking phone.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Sebastian

  “Start the car,” I said evenly to Joel as I strode past him and closer to Terryn. This entire situation was going to end, one way or another. I thought it would be as simple as going into the Find my Friends section of the system file of her phone and deleting my contact. But when I found the utility, no contacts were checked off. Icy fingers crawled up my spine as I raised my eyes to my assistant’s expectant ones.

  I only held her gaze for a short second. I made the motion of deleting a few things—moving things around, pressing buttons, and so on, but really, there was nothing I could do.

  “Abbigail, get in the car.”

  “But I want to—”

  Of course she had to argue.

  “Now!” I barked. Much more forcefully than I wanted to. Dammit. Another apology was on the horizon. Three in one day? Hell was going to freeze over.

  I waited for Abbi to be safely inside the car before I turned back to Terryn. “Do you have your car here?” I asked, my tone of voice giving nothing away.

  “Yes. Of course. Do you need a ride somewhere? While Joel takes her home?”

  I really didn’t care for the way her voice shifted every time she spoke to or about Abbi. This woman was unstable at best, a real danger to herself and everyone around her at worst.

  I tapped on the front passenger window, and Joel lowered it. “When I give you the cue, I want you to drive forward about eighteen inches and then stop. Back up about eighteen inches and then repeat that about three times.”

  “You got it, Mr. Shark,” Joel replied.

  I bent down and placed Terryn’s cell phone right in front of the tire of the town car, and when I was clear, I gave Joel the signal to carry out my instructions. A satisfying crunch could be heard as he drove over the cell phone repeatedly.

  Terryn’s gasp was even more satisfying. I spared her about five seconds more of my time before joining Abbigail in the back seat.

  “Run along, Terryn. I hear this is a really bad neighborhood. We’ll wait and watch to make sure you get in your car safely and drive out of here. The freeway onramp is right there at that intersection.” Hands casually slung in my suit pants pockets, I pointed with my chin in the general direction to get on the 405.

  From the back seat of the town car, we watched Terryn skulk back to her entry-level Toyota and speed off into the night. I let my head flop back into the curve of the seat before looking at Abbigail.

  “I’m sorry I raised my voice.”

  “I’m sorry I questioned your judgment,” she said at exactly the same time.

  We both took deep breaths and sat quietly for a few minutes. I had no idea what to do with the mess that was unfolding in front of me.

  Finally, Abbi spoke up. “What did you see on her phone? You stiffened like you’d seen a ghost.”

  I rubbed my throbbing brow bone. “I don’t really know what to make of that woman right now.”

  “It seems pretty obvious to me.”

  “Explain.”

  “Well, it seems like she’s carrying a torch for you, Sebastian.”

  “This has moved into creepier territory than a harmless crush. When I looked on her phone, not only was my contact not checked in the Find my Friends app, but also there were no other apps like that on her phone. At all.”

  Abbi nodded. “My brothers have warned me about people having cloaked apps on their phones that appear to be something innocuous like a calculator or a stock ticker but are actually a tracker or a booty call app. She must have had something like that.”

  “That’s what I was thinking, too. Or something more sophisticated. Either way, that’s why destroying her phone completely seemed like the best option.”

  “Aren’t you worried about owing her a new phone? Although”—she laughed in the middle of her thought—“like that matters to you, right?”

  “I have a legal department filled with lawyers who live and breathe to pursue and prosecute idiots like Terryn Ramsey.”

  “So why didn’t you just fire her? Right there on the spot?”

  “You know the saying about keeping your friends close and your enemies closer? I’m still trying to figure out which one she is. With all these other unanswered questions floating around right now . . . ” I ticked them off on my fingers while listing them. “Mysterious food poisoning, a dead woman, and a letter hinting at suicide not written by the supposed author. If Terryn is the one who can provide the answers, I want to keep her close at hand.”

  “It makes perfect sense when you take all of that into consideration. So now what do we do?”

  “I need to drive you home. I’ll have someone bring Rio’s vehicle to her home as well.”

  “No, that’s ridiculous. We live in opposite directions from your office, and the traffic will be a nightmare at this hour. I’ll be fine on my own. Honestly.”

  I could’ve bet a month’s salary on this being an issue.

  “Well, according to Grant, anyone with half a brain knows you would be a good place to strike next,” I said, turning to stare out the window. I couldn’t meet her gaze after having to admit that information to her.

  “Huh?”

  “My best friend seems to think I’m wearing my heart on my sleeve these days where you’re concerned.” I turned to face her then. “My sister seems to share his opinion. Therefore, if someone is trying to fuck with me, they’ve probably put the pieces together to connect me to you. I’m sorry to involve you in something you don’t necessarily want to be involved in. But . . . well . . . here we are.”

  “I’m not completely sure I’m following this whole last part.” She waved her hand through the air, confusion wrinkling her brow. “I don’t mean to sound dense, but I have conversation whiplash.”

  “Conversation. Whiplash.” I chuckled as I tried the words on for size. “I don’t think I’m familiar with that injury. Sounds serious.” I laced my voice with mock concern to attempt to lighten the mood.

  “It can be. I’ll explain.” She sat up taller, taking an authoritative mien before starting.

  Damn, this girl makes my dick throb for the oddest reasons.

  “It’s when a person—you, in this particular case—changes their position on a topic—me, in this case—so rapidly that the people involved in the conversation—us, in this case—get whiplash.”

  I couldn’t take it. Not for one. More. Fucking. Second. I unlatched my seat belt and slid across the seat until I was right up against her. Her already huge green eyes grew impossibly larger.

  “Do you know what I think, Ms. Gibson?” I said right into her ear in a register so deep, it all but vibrated the windows. I was sure she could feel my warm breath on her skin, my need pulsing through my system where our legs touched.

  “What?” Her breathy whisper felt like fingers strangling my cock.

  “I’ve decided I like hearing you say the words you, me, and us in the same sentence. I like it a lot.”

  I couldn’t stop myself from tasting her. Being that close to her, smelling her, feeling her heat. I kissed her neck. Just leaned my head onto her shoulder and pressed my lips to her silky skin. Perfection. Fucking perfection. How had I forgotten since the night at my house? How had I forgotten how right she felt against my mouth? I reached my arm across her chest to fan my fingers against the column of her throat on the other side. I could feel her throbbing pulse beneath my touch.

  I ran my tongue up to her ear and back, and when she gave me a little moan, followed by a little sigh and sh
ift in her seat, I did it again.

  “Do you like that, Abbigail?” I said beside her ear and pulled back just far enough to watch her reaction.

  Her hand flew up so fast I thought I might be slapped, but she clutched my face so I couldn’t move far. “Yes. Yes, I do. I’m an idiot for it, but I do.”

  I threaded my fingers through the loose strands of hair that had worked their way free of her work-required ponytail and rubbed firm fingers along the base of her neck. Long days on her feet and lots of lifting and carrying had stored tension in the muscles of her shoulders and neck. Of course, I might have had something to do with the fatigue as well.

  “Oh, that feels good.” Her eyes fell closed while I stroked her. Over and over, long caresses to ease the day away. Any reason to keep touching her.

  When she seemed relaxed and hopefully more agreeable, I asked quietly, “Will you let me make sure you’re safe? Please? Just let me take you home tonight?”

  After a few long moments, she answered. “Fine. But why don’t you just follow me? I’ll take Rio’s car home tonight.” Her eyes popped open, and she sat up taller again, the spell from the massage broken with the conversation. “But why would you drive all the way across town? Do you see how ridiculous that is? Traffic is horrible at this hour.”

  I pulled back a bit. “But you should have to do it? Alone? Because I’ve kept you on this side of town long past the time you normally are? How is that fair?” She would never win an argument with me. We could do this for the next hour. Every point she could think of, I’d have a counterpoint. It was one of the many reasons I was so successful at my work. I whittled people down until they just gave in. I could verbally beat someone into submission within minutes.

  “Sebastian,” she said plaintively.

  I picked up her hand and kissed her knuckles. “What is it, Little Red?”

  She just whimpered. Whimpered in submission.