Dirty Together (The Dirty Billionaire Trilogy #3)

by Meghan March

  You know what plays havoc with a man’s ego? Having a wife who has walked out on him twice. Luckily, my ego is big enough to handle it. But these detective missions to find out where my wife has run off to are getting a little old.

  Listening to her sing, however, will never get old. I stand at the back of the crowd in the karaoke bar of the bowling alley and get my first look at Holly on the stage where she found the courage to chase her dream.

  She’s fucking magnificent, and I’m far from the only person in the crowd to think so. These people, who she probably claims as her people, are in awe of her talent. Which they should be.

  When the last note fades away, I move through the crowd, making my way to the stage. I have no idea what I’m going to say, but I don’t think it really matters. My being here should send a message all of its own.

  “Another shot, Holly?” someone yells over the now cheering crowd, but Holly is bent over at the waist, trying to catch her breath—something I’ve never seen her do onstage. It appears my wife has had plenty of shots tonight.

  Conscious of all the cameras flashing, I make an executive decision and step up to the stage. “I think you’ve had enough, my dear.”

  Her head jerks up and she meets my eyes. “That’s not your call,” she says, her words slurring.

  “It is tonight. We’re leaving.”

  “I’m not going back to New York. Not now.”

  I stiffen at her adamant statement. “I think we should save that discussion for when you’re sober.”

  “Fine. But I’m not done.”

  She grabs the microphone from the stand and calls out, “How about one more?”

  The crowd roars.

  “Let’s take it back to some classic Reba!” Holly yells. “I’ve got a craving for a little something ‘Fancy.’”

  The crowd roars again, this time to a deafening volume. The music starts to play, and I’m pretty sure I’ve heard the song, but I’ve never really listened to the lyrics before. But when Holly sings them, they sink into me one line at a time.

  Everything she’s said about her mother and running off with men who have enough money to take care of her for a little while comes filtering back into my brain. This song is a message to me, and I think I’m hearing it loud and clear.

  What I don’t know is how the hell I’m going to get through to her that she isn’t just some kind of ornament in my life. She is my life.

  Holly isn’t a woman who will be swayed by words. I know that now. She needs me to show her. And guess what? That I can fucking do.

  Her clear, stunning voice carries the last note for what seems like forever, and the bar thunders with applause and cheering. This time I don’t wait. I step closer, swing her up into my arms, and jump down off the stage.

  “What are you—?”

  “I’m taking you home.”

  “I’m not going—”

  “To your home, Holly.”

  “Oh.”

  Her arms twine around my neck, and she holds on tight while I maneuver us through the crowd and out of the bar, into the lobby of the bowling alley.

  I feel a tap on my shoulder and glance back.

  It’s a guy. A big guy.

  “She’s done for tonight,” I tell him. “You can get her autograph another time, man.”

  “If I wanted her autograph, I would’ve gotten it when I picked her up tonight.”

  Everything in me stills.

  “Logan, it’s okay—” Holly starts.

  I don’t even wait for her to finish her sentence. I turn and walk for the doors.

  As soon as she said his name, a seething possessiveness shredded my better judgment. I have to get out of here before I put her down and take this guy on in a way that he’ll understand—with my fists, until one or both of us are bleeding. I’m hoping, if he has any sense, he’ll stay inside.

  But I hear the heavy booted footsteps behind me as I carry Holly outside to my rental.

  “You ain’t just coming in here and carrying her out without me hearing from Holly’s lips that she wants to go with you.”

  I left the car unlocked, figuring that no one was going to steal it. I grab the door handle and rip it open before depositing Holly inside and slamming it shut.

  She yells something, but I slide my hand into my pocket and hit the Lock button before she can open it. In her drunken state, it’ll take her a few moments to figure out how to unlock the fucking thing. Thank you, Cadillac.

  I turn and face Logan. “Apparently I’m at a disadvantage, because you know who I am, but I’m pretty sure Holly has never mentioned anyone named Logan.”

  He crosses his bulky arms over his chest. He might have thirty pounds on me, but I’m used to sparring with Cannon. And there’s the added factor of me being riled the fuck up and defending my claim to my woman. I’m not afraid to bleed to make a point.

  “I ain’t tryin’ to get between a husband and wife—” he starts.

  “Then turn around and head back inside.”

  He continues as if I didn’t speak. “But I also don’t believe in letting a woman I brought somewhere leave with another man.”

  I flex my hands and curl them into fists. “Well, you sure as fuck aren’t leaving with her tonight. So you’re going to have to put that belief on ice.” Even in the dimly lit parking lot, I can see the muscle ticking in his jaw. “If you’re looking to stake a claim on a woman, I suggest you pick one who’s available.”

  He smirks. “The only reason you had a shot at her is because I didn’t stake a claim.”

  “Then you missed your shot. The next time we’re in town, I’ll buy you a beer to thank you. Right now, I’d like to get my wife home before she pukes in my rental car.” I say the word wife with undeniable emphasis and satisfaction.

  “Seems to me a man with a wife like that should learn how to keep a hold on her a little better.”

  The words aren’t that far off from what Boone said when he ripped me a new asshole several hours ago in Nashville.

  “You better not keep doing shit that sends her running, or you’re gonna fuckin’ lose her for good,” was Boone’s redneck wisdom.

  He made his point when he eyed the shotgun hanging above the front door, and when he delivered his final warning. “That girl is one of the good ones. Don’t make her cry, or I’ll be forced to step in and take action. I consider her family.”

  My explanations placated him enough for him to tell me exactly where she went. Back to the small town she came from is about the last place I would have thought to look, so I owe Thrasher. But I don’t owe this asshole anything.

  Logan narrows his eyes on me. “This conversation ain’t done.” He jerks his head toward the car door. “But it can wait.”

  I look at the car as well, and see Holly passed out against the window. Shit.

  “You know how to get to her gran’s place?” he asks, clearly deducing the problem I’m facing as soon as I do.

  It’s with annoyance I admit that I don’t have a clue. He’s in the middle of giving me directions when Holly rouses and knocks on the window.

  Fuck. I recognize that look. I unlock the door and pull it open just in time for Holly to lean her head out and puke on the gravel. I step around the door and gather her hair into a messy ponytail behind her head. A car door opens and shuts nearby, but I’m not paying attention to anything but Holly.

  Logan reappears, crouching just out of range of the vomit as he holds a bottle of water to her lips.

  Given the caveman tendencies that spring to life every time I’m around Holly, I should be pissed to see another man helping take care of her, but I’m not. I’m grateful because taking care of her is the only thing that matters right now, not the pissing contest I was engaging in. It’s amazing how simple things become when priorities are highlighted so brilliantly.

  When she’s finished drinking and puking and drinking again, I smooth Holly’s hair away from her face and tuck it behind her shoulder. She sits back in th
e seat of the Cadillac and looks from me to Logan.

  “I’m confused. And drunk.” Her gaze swings back to me. “How the hell are you here? Why?”

  “I think that conversation is best saved for when you’ll actually remember what I say.”

  “Good. I don’t know what to say yet . . .” Her words trail off as her eyes slide shut.

  Fuck.

  I snap my attention to Logan. “What the fuck did you do to her? I’ve never seen her like this.”

  “She was trying to forget about you.”

  His words are like a jab to my gut. I exhale sharply, physically feeling the effects of the verbal sucker punch.

  “Well, that isn’t fucking happening because I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Your choice, man, but if a woman asks me for space, I tend to give it to her if the alternative is pushing her away by refusing to give her what she needs.”

  “What is it with rednecks and their fucking need to dispense backwoods wisdom today?”

  “I’d resent that if you hadn’t just acknowledged that they’re wise words.”

  I didn’t mean to imply that, but this Logan guy is apparently smarter than he looks.

  Holly slumps sideways, on the verge of falling out of the seat, and we both reach out a hand to steady her. He snatches his back when I shoot him a sharp look. Carefully, I sit Holly upright in the seat and close the door. Once she’s situated, I turn to him.

  That thought about my inner caveman calming down? Total bullshit. I need to make something clear to him before I drive out of here. And considering Holly needs to be in bed five minutes ago, I’ll make it clear without wasting any time.

  “You see that ring on her finger? That means she’s not fair game, unless that’s the kind of guy you are.”

  Logan’s head jerks back, and his eyes narrow. “I ain’t lookin’ to poach. I respect that you took vows, but I also know that you don’t have a good track record of keeping ’em.”

  Rage boils through me, and I fight the urge to plant my fist in his face. Age-old instinct has me stepping toward him until an old man comes shuffling through the parking lot and inserts his cane between us.

  “All right now, boys. Time to get ’em out and measure, or get on home.”

  “I think I’ll take the latter,” I say.

  I’m pretty sure I hear Logan mumble something about me losing in a dick-measuring contest, but the old man is already speaking again and holding up a purse I recognize as Holly’s.

  “You know where her gran’s house is?” the old man asks me.

  “Mostly.” Logan’s instructions were cut off midway through.

  The old man nods. “You just need to take a right, go a half mile, and it’s the first house on the left after the power lines. If you hit the railroad tracks, you’ve gone too far.”

  His decidedly country directions are easy enough. He holds the purse up higher. “This is hers.”

  “Thank you,” I say, reaching out to grab it, but the old man jerks it back before I can.

  “You take care of that girl, or I’ll have your balls in a sling.”

  Jesus fucking Christ. I don’t even know what that means, but it’s the third threat I’ve received today.

  Snatching the purse out of his hand, I nod. “Duly noted.” I turn for the car, but Logan isn’t quite done yet.

  “Her bedroom is the one at the top of the stairs. You can’t miss it.” His words are tinged with triumph, and once again I want to put him on his ass in this gravel parking lot.

  “I don’t want to know why you fucking know that.” My voice comes out rough and deep, and I almost don’t recognize it.

  Logan smirks and tucks one thumb into the pocket of his jeans. “Calm down, rich boy. It ain’t like I popped her cherry.”

  Why he’s choosing to bait me now, I don’t know, and I don’t fucking care. I also don’t want to drag my lawyer out to Bumfuck, Egypt, to bail me out of jail, even if the charges are justifiable homicide. So I take the high road; I threaten him.

  “You do know I can afford to make you disappear, right?” I round the car and reach for the driver’s side handle, pausing in anticipation of his response.

  Logan leans against a black truck parked next to the Cadillac, and I’d bet my jet it’s his. “Out here, a man does his own killin’ and buryin’. I know miles of mine shaft where you’d never be found,” he drawls.

  I straighten and take his measure. “I get that you’re a cocky son of a bitch, but what’s your angle here?”

  He meets my gaze without hesitation. “I didn’t like the way Holly looked when she rolled into town, and you’re the most likely cause.”

  I imagine her looking tired and stressed to the max, the way she did before everything went to shit last night at the MoMA event, and I want to get her back to her grandmother’s house to take care of her properly. Last night left a lot to be desired on both our parts, but I’m here to fix whatever broke between us.

  I keep my words steady, even as my temper flares hotter. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

  Logan shifts his shoulders back, and his hands tighten into fists at his sides. “I’m making it my business.”

  I glance at Holly, passed out in the passenger seat, before looking back to Logan. “I don’t have time for this right now, but if you’ve still got a death wish in the morning, you know where I’ll be.”

  He shoves off the truck and steps toward me, and this time it’s my hands balling into fists. “Some of us have to work in the morning. Like me, on your wife’s piece-of-shit car that broke down the second she pulled into town.”

  I curse under my breath. “Don’t bother fixing it. I’ll buy her something when we get home.” I don’t know what she was driving, but I’m guessing it wasn’t the Maserati I’d pick for her.

  “You sure she’s leaving with you?” Logan says smugly.

  “Abso-fucking-lutely.” I won’t allow for any alterative outcome.

  “That’s the same answer your wife gave when I asked her if she wanted to get drunk tonight.”

  I grit my teeth as I yank the door open. Logan is still leaning against his truck as I pull out of the parking lot of the bowling alley, gravel flying. I swear his smug smile grows bigger, and I hope the stones chipped the paint of his truck. Fucker.

  We make it to Holly’s gran’s front porch before she starts puking again, and I know it’s going to be a long night.

  And tomorrow? Tomorrow, Holly and I need to have our own come-to-Jesus talk.

  My head pounds and the light cutting across the room hurts my eyes, even though they’re still closed. I make a sound that I think qualifies as a moan, but it’s guttural enough to be an animal noise. Rolling my head to the side, I see a glass on the nightstand, and pills beside it.

  “Thank you, Logan,” I mumble.

  I almost fall out of bed when a deep voice answers, “It wasn’t Logan.”

  I shoot up in bed and regret it instantly as nausea roils in my gut. “Creighton?”

  He’s seated in the tiny chair that belongs to my vanity. He looks ridiculous because he’s big enough to crush it.

  What the hell is he doing here?

  My mind spins, looking for answers, and I can’t grasp a single one. My confusion must be obvious, because Creighton raises an eyebrow.

  “You don’t remember last night?”

  Last night? My memory might as well be a black hole. I shake my head, and splinters of pain shoot from behind my eyeballs.

  Whoa, Holly. Take it easy.

  I look at Creighton once more, but his dark expression sends a new and different kind of pain through my head. It’s a look I’ve seen before. Creighton is pissed. The reason for it comes out quickly.

  “The fact that you expected another man to be in your bedroom pisses me the fuck off, Holly.”

  Big swamping waves invade my stomach, notching up the nausea at the thought of the coming confrontation—one I’m not nearly ready for—and I swing
my legs off the bed and bolt into my tiny bathroom. Dry heaves rack my body until tears stream down my face.

  A glass of water appears beside me magically. Well, if you consider Creighton Karas to be magic. I refuse to give my opinion on the matter.

  Mumbling my thanks, I take a sip and spit it into the toilet. I feel like road kill, and not a single memory of last night surfaces from the black hole. Not a good sign.

  Creighton takes the water from me and produces a damp washcloth before leaving the tiny bathroom.

  I wipe my face and carefully stand. A peek in the mirror reveals that I also look like road kill resurrected from the dead.

  I wipe at the raccoon eyes left by my mascara, and attempt to look less awful. My hair is tangled and knotted, so I grab a hair tie off the counter and attempt to pull it away from my face into some semblance of order, but it’s really not happening. Nothing is going to touch this hot mess but a shower.

  Wary, I poke my head out of the bathroom door. Creighton is sitting on my bed, looking completely out of place in my white and pale lilac room. His eyes are on me, and his pissed-off vibe hasn’t lessened a bit.

  “I, um, I’m going to grab a shower.”

  The nod he gives me is stiff, and I can’t read anything beyond not frigging pleased in his expression.

  Frowning, I slip back into the bathroom and shut the door. After stripping off my rumpled clothes, I turn the ancient showerhead all the way to Hot and hope it can wash away . . . something. Everything? I don’t even know anymore.

  I came here to get away, to regroup, but part of me is really happy to see Creighton in my bedroom. I thought I’d be ashamed to have him see this side of me, but something about it is actually . . . freeing?

  Like I no longer have anything to hide. Like he’s seen all of me, including the innermost and least fame-worthy part of me, and he’s still here.

  I smile into the nearly scalding water, and when I feel something like hope bubbling up inside me, I can’t help but start singing in the shower.

  After I brush the hell out of my teeth and my tongue is mostly numb from Listerine, I reach for the door handle. The smile on my face is wide, and I feel almost human again.