Bona Fide (Illusive Duet Book 2)

by Hazel Grace

  Reagan hums, either keeping an outburst from coursing through her or she’s contemplating.

  Either way, I’m not pleased with any of it. I’m not happy with the way shit ended. I’m not proud of what I’ve done. And I’m certainly not entertained by the fact that I just called Indie by her name over an hour ago.

  “Sounds like someone is still upset,” Reagan deadpans.

  “On the contrary, Miss Shelton,” I counter. “I have a woman with an ass for days upstairs waiting for me. The past doesn’t really crawl up on me these days, just Indie who climbs me like a fucking tree from time to time.”

  “Seem to be doing well for yourself.” She crosses her hands over her chest, urging me to look down at her tits.

  “Not too bad.” I shrug. “But I can’t keep up with you, so you win.”

  “Well, if I knew we were competing, I would’ve had you in the room with us to watch.” My fingers clench at my sides as I cock my head to keep my inner rage in check.

  She’s tormenting me, and I’m standing here like an idiot.

  “Is that a thing now, watching men take your sloppy seconds?” That’s when she slides off the stool in between us and gets in my face.

  “You sure about that? Because it seems like the woman you’re currently screwing is—”

  “Seriously, can I leave you alone for ten minutes, Tsarina?” We both look over to see that big-ass motherfucker she calls a brother glaring at both of us.

  I’m actually relieved he’s here. That means both men I’ve just accused her of being with aren’t with her. I can’t see big brother letting those two dumbfucks tag along.

  And how does this asshole look bigger? I might need to drug test his platoon.

  “I’d say she started it,” I allege, getting a smell of her perfume with how close she is to me. “But you’d side with her so…”

  Marty stares at me with knitted brows. “Glad to know I’m serving a president with half a brain.”

  I tip my hat. “Appreciate the faith, Soldier. Watch the bartender, she’ll try to fuck you in the basement and might poison your sister because of her big mouth, but you both enjoy your night.”

  He ignores me and glances over at Reagan. “What do you want to drink?”

  “Tequila.”

  Marty hits me with another frown. “Say goodbye to my sister then get lost. I don’t want you here when I get back.” He strides from us, leaving silence in his wake.

  “Still a nice guy.” I reach into my jean pocket and pull out one of my key cards. Putting it in her hand, I lean in to whisper, “Since you haven’t been fucked in a good while, Sox or Miss Shelton—I’ll call you whichever one you want to make you wetter—come up to my room. I’ll give you a replay of what you gave up.”

  Then I pivot on my heels, leaving her with my words to soak into her brain and my cock straining against my zipper.

  She won’t come.

  Still doesn’t mean I don’t want her to.

  ♫ Tainted Love — Marilyn Manson ♫

  Wade’s key card burned through the flesh of my palm all the way back up to my room. Marty wasn’t too happy for the rest of the night, grumbling over the rim of his Coke as I kept taking shot after shot of Jose Cuervo.

  I was expecting for him to lay in on me. That he didn’t want me to speak to the man who deceived me and was linked to the woman who burnt Mama’s house to the ground.

  But he remained silent, appearing worlds away in his own head, and I’m afraid I’ve upset him more than I expected.

  Granted, I should know better. Mama was alone in Riverview without anyone caring for her while I’m in New York suffering out my exile until the waters clear for me to rebuild in Connecticut.

  After Marty cut me off after the sixth shot, he brought me back up to my room with his adjoining it, and I’ve been pacing the carpet ever since.

  Immediately, I toss the card key on the desk, contemplating. Then calling myself an idiot because he has his new mistress somewhere in this hotel.

  He didn’t deny it.

  I shouldn’t care. He’s not mine anymore.

  I should be wishing her luck along with a business card to a therapist and a bag of weed.

  Speaking of...I need some—badly.

  Flicking on the TV, there isn’t shit to watch. The mini-fridge has waters and small liquor bottles, but I’m not looking to have a hangover the size of the Pacific Ocean when Marty and I go visit it tomorrow.

  I sift out a pair of my pajamas from my suitcase. A light silk pink pair with stupid black hearts all over it. Black hearts, thought it was fitting since that’s the color it turned back into over a year ago. I feel like it’s been violated and in need of treatments to beat right again after Wade pulled his shit and left me to figure out how the hell I was going to get my life back on track. To be able to open up again or live alone with a dog and a hardcore fetish of gossip magazines and people watching.

  Shit, I already do that minus the cute puppy.

  I make up stories about the couples walking down a sidewalk or sitting in a park. One of them having a secret backstory because I’m scorned as fuck and can’t forgive and forget, so I think everyone else has something lurking in their past.

  Maybe it’s a coping mechanism to feel like I’m not the only one going through something. That I’m not the only girl who’s been lied to and had her heart cracked open like an egg.

  Donning my PJs, I sit on the edge of my bed and grab my phone, tempted to text Sadie to make sure she’s doing okay. To also make sure Mila is all set for the small brunch on Friday for a bunch of housewives, but I stop myself.

  I’m not supposed to be thinking of work, per Marty’s orders. Sunny California and learning how to surf was on the agenda, and I can tell he wants me to be super stoked about this.

  I was—up until about two hours ago.

  Until I saw Wade brooding over the bar top with his famous whiskey in hand. No matter what he wore, I was magnetized to him. Something inside drew me to where he was and, low and behold, the last person I wanted to find moved me from being excited to nervous since leaving New York.

  I’m like a damn moth wanting to get electrocuted by his bright and hot ambiance—over and over again.

  If vacations involve running into my history, I’ll take a hard pass from now on.

  Hauling my covers back on my bed, I jump into the cool sheets and straighten my spine.

  Goals, I need more of them. I deserve to build something that I can actually look forward to. That’s why I never broke up my arrangement with Enzo. He was trying, we weren’t officially dating, but I’m thinking maybe I should give him a shot.

  But him being my “person” hasn’t been settling in with me. He’s great, for the most part, however, I never feel completely comfortable with him. Like I could bare my whole soul and past without judgment.

  This was a process, something I needed to grasp and understand because I wasn’t going to be the same overnight.

  Or over a year, apparently.

  The door to my room beeps and clicks open, exposing a tall figure illuminated by the hallway lights. I don’t have to ask myself whose shoulders block most of the doorway or the height of the man there because my mind already knows, and my heart is already flinging around inside my ribcage.

  “Figured I’d save you the trouble of fighting yourself over seeing me,” he protrudes, taking his first step inside and letting the door close softly behind him.

  He’s still dressed in his jeans, gray shirt, and hat as he takes me in, still sitting in my bed with my legs sprawled out.

  I bring them around so I can stand. “Now we’re pulling out president stops to get keys to guests’ rooms?”

  “It has its perks.”

  I point for the door. “Out.”

  “Throw me out, Sox,” he challenges. “I won’t fight you over it.” I stride towards him, my hand landing on his bicep as I give him a shove in the direction of the only exit in this room. The arm for that sai
d bicep wraps around my waist and drags me to hit his solid chest.

  My neck cranes up to meet blue eyes underneath his hat, and God, he looks so normal. Not a man that can send a country into war or spring nukes at a push of a button. Not a dude that can spread and change the views and daily lives of a nation.

  He’s pure sovereignty. A king without a crown. A god without the statue for people to bow and worship—yet.

  Standing in front of me is a facade of ordinary but beneath simpers the potential to crush anything or anyone in his path.

  “I like your outfit.” His other hand abrades up the silky material of my top, skimming my hip before reaching my ribcage.

  My body stays put, content where it is while my brain is screaming to break free, get away, remember what he destroyed in his wake—my whole fucking life.

  Nevertheless, my anatomy is on strike from my brain, basking in the heat radiating off him and sending a trail of goosebumps from my toes all the way up to the back of my neck.

  “Do you know what this week is?” he asks, still looking down at me as though he hasn’t seen me in forever.

  “The week that starts with a Sunday.”

  He smirks. “It is. But it’s also the week that I got to feel you for the first time.”

  “Feel me?”

  “Fuck you,” he professes.

  My hands arrive on his chest. “Not this again. You need a life.” His hand curls around one of mine on his chest and slowly pulls it away.

  “I have one.”

  “And so do I, one that you think needs to be dictated all the time.”

  “Which is why I’m here.” His lips quirk higher. “Call Jed Hardison.”

  My brows snap together. “Are you drunk?” He looms closer, forcing me to retreat deeper into the room as his cologne wafts off his clothes to fill the space between us.

  “Call him.”

  “For what?”

  “Did you want to save Enzo or…” I grimace at his warning-promise then jostle him back again.

  This time is enough. I’m so over this shit.

  “Don’t come in here and—” Wade’s phone appears in his hand, and he hits a button then brings it to his ear, locking his blues to my violets.

  “Is everything all set?” he asks before nodding. “Great.” He moves the mouthpiece from his lips. “Did you want to talk to him?”

  “Who?”

  Wade shrugs. “We’ll call him Bob.”

  “What are you doing, Lockwood?” His eyes narrow as he takes another step, challenging me to keep pushing him. Quit questioning him.

  Stop doubting that what he has in mind won’t happen.

  “Call Jed Hardison, Shelton. You’ve got one minute before I pull the plug.”

  “On what?” Wade rolls his eyes and extends the cell to me. I eye it before hesitantly taking it and bringing it to my ear. “Hello?”

  “Miss Shelton,” a monotone and all-business like voice responds back. “My name is Bob, I’m here pending the word from Mr. Lockwood to send an email out to the head of North Region Hospital that the pharmaceutical rep named Enzo Junus is stealing other samples of their drugs that are similar to his so they order more. Therefore, he makes more money, more contacts, more distribution to one of the largest hospitals in the state. Upon hearing Mr. Lockwood’s other request, I will also be sending additional emails to every single one of the hospitals and doctor’s offices that he frequents and works with. This will terminate his relationships and—”

  “You send out any of those emails, Bob, I will fucking kill you,” I seethe.

  “I have my own protection, Miss Shelton. No need to—” Wade’s phone is plucked from my hand and brought back to his ear.

  “Stand by, I’ll call you back.” He hangs up, pocketing the cell into his back pocket, and looks at me expectedly. “Did you want to call him or no?”

  My fingers burn to slap him in the fucking face.

  The moment I kissed this man in his office over a stupid kid named Harry Styles was the instant I signed away my life.

  I’m not sure in what world or exactly how he was raised, but in mine, you don’t get to own someone like he’s trying to do with me over a kiss.

  And a bunch of sex, carryout, and everything else in between.

  “Time’s a ticking,” Wade mocks, pointing at his gold Rolex wrapped around his wrist.

  I do what he says, swiping up my phone off the bed, and dial Jed’s number. I have no choice or any clever words to get out of it. Wade has me by the throat, ready to pull the trigger on screwing up someone’s career.

  And I’m not going to be the cause of another man’s ruin because I couldn’t do or accept what needed to be dealt with. It’s the greatest favor he’ll ever not know that I’ve done for him.

  “Put it on speaker,” Wade orders, standing in front of me as I sit on the mattress and listen to the rings on the other end.

  Again, I follow his instructions when the phone halts its chiming.

  “Hello?”

  Fuck, Jed.

  “Hey,” I nervously greet back. My skull is on fire from Wade’s penetrating eyes, and I forgot to ask him what he wanted me to fucking do if he answered the line.

  “Hey,” he answers back solemnly. “What’s up?”

  “Uhh…” I glance up at Wade, looking for further directions, but he just glares at me in return. Great. “I was just...calling.”

  No, shit, Sherlock.

  “What for?” Jed challenges, a hint of annoyance rightfully in his tone.

  “I...how are you?”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yep.”

  “Umm, well—” A mirthless laugh comes from the other line. “How do you think I’m doing, Rea Rea? You only told me that we were done and that I deserved better. That you didn’t want to fuck anymore but that we could be just friends. Just friends, Rea, that’s great. Because I never got a say in it and you’re just—” Wade rips the phone out of my hands and hangs up before tossing it to the side.

  “What the fuck was that all about?”

  “I got my evidence,” he solicits, yanking off his hat and flinging that to the side too.

  “I already told you that I ended it.” He bends towards me, his nostrils flaring as he inhales me with his next breath.

  “When are you going to apologize and beg for me again, Sox? Your body is screaming for me to have my way with it. Especially with that lapse of judgement you had in Mexico. That was all the confirmation I needed.”

  His words don’t sink where he wants them to because my jaw goes slack at what he just had me do. Since Wade didn’t believe me, he just had me upset Jed again because my proof wasn’t up to his standards.

  And the glint in Wade’s eyes alludes that he doesn’t give a shit.

  “You’re an asshole,” I grumble.

  “Had to be done.” His fingers lace through my hair, brushing my cheek before gripping on to the strands tightly. “And Enzo was always a means to an end for you.”

  I shake my head because I want that to be myself telling me those words, not him. The truth rings in my head, over and over again, because there are no lies to what he says.

  I’m just a fucking nut job and weak as hell. I take advantage of men to gain my own needs whether it’s revenge, companionship, or just letting my past go. I’ve relied too much on other people, never being able to man up and take care of it on my own.

  “You’re feeling guilty,” Wade announces, lifting my head more so he can examine my face fully. “Don’t. They’ll all be fine. And you’re already taken care of, Sox.”

  I snort, not bothering to contain or minimalize it. “By whom? You?” I tsk and grab his wrist to let me go. He doesn’t, instead he drifts more into my personal space.

  “Tell me,” he mutters. “That it’s me that you think about when they’re trying to drown and bury the memories of us for a little while. That it sugarcoats it for only a few hours because shit comes barrelling back into your brain. Remind
yourself—” He whispers in my ear. “—that it was me you were in love with. Because after tonight, there is no more torture. It’s you and I finding a new path. It’s a sad goodbye that has to be said because I’m still getting my shit straight and you aren’t doing a thing to make things better, only pissing me off. Find a man who will worship you and not some pussy-ass like Jed Hardison. Not some selfish bitch like Grant, and—for the love of God—not Enzo, who has the last name of Janus, Shelton. I don’t think I need to elaborate on that one.”

  His warm breath still blankets my ear as he comes around to face me again. In this moment, if there’s one thing I know, it’s that Wade was always the more rational one. Which is sad given that he knows about everything that I’ve done like a psycho.

  “Get the fuck out,” I grit out, melting away at how he’s considering me like he really wants me to find happiness. That he’s the one recalling who we were together and how we can’t be together.

  He’s married.

  I’m a fucking disaster with fucked-up morals.

  He’s possessive.

  And I want him.

  My body wants to scream it so loudly that it doesn’t care if Marty comes stomping in the room afterward. It misses him, his touch, his scent, his voice, the way his lips frown and quirk.

  Everything.

  It fucking pines and longs for him more than anything I’ve ever experienced in my lifetime.

  And I want it gone.

  “Make me,” he challenges. “Because you’re shaking and you want me. You’ll fight tooth and nail, baby, to keep me at arm’s length, but I’m fucking here. And I want you too. I want to own you for the last time and then I need you to let me go.”

  “Listen to me, you stupid motherfucker,” I sneer through my teeth, adrenaline pumping so fiercely through my veins that I’m starting to feel dizzy. “I don’t give a fuck who you are now or what kind of shit you can pull, you’re not going to barge into my life anymore. You’re not going to give me ultimatums. You’re not going to speak to me anymore, I don’t—I can’t do this. You fucked me up, and I absolutely—I’m done.”

  He inclines his head. “Alright.”