Boxed Set: Traitorous Heart Volumes 1-6 (The Traitorous Heart Series)

by Wilde, Breena

  “No. As a matter of fact, I’m not.”

  “Is there someone you can call?” Cage pulled me into an embrace.

  I clung to him, knowing I could call my parents. They lived in Albany and would come if I asked, but it would take a while. And really, what would telling them accomplish? Nothing. My mom would worry and drink too much. My dad would ask too many questions, searching for answers I didn’t have. Yet.

  “My parents live in Albany. They’d come down, but I’d rather keep them as far from this as possible.” I wiped my eyes, suddenly realizing I’d been crying.

  “I understand. Maybe you should go stay with them, though. We can’t take this threat lightly.”

  I pushed away, glaring. “Fuck you. Fuck that note. I’m not a breakable little child and I’m not going to let some asshole scare me away.” I tossed the pillow on the couch. “I’m going to figure out who’s doing this. Besides,” I smiled, “this note proves Birdy didn’t kill Reid.” As afraid and pissed as I was, that one piece of information made up for it. “They have to let her out now.”

  Cage seemed to mull it over. “It’s definitely new evidence. There’s a possibility she’ll be set free. But…” He trailed off, rubbing his hands over his short brown hair. “Fuck.”

  “What?”

  “My guess is, unless they find DNA evidence to prove someone other than Birdy touched this heart or the fork and paper, then the prosecution will claim Birdy put someone up to this, possibly even you, in a sad attempt to gain her freedom. With all the evidence pointing at her, the judge is likely to agree.”

  My breathing came faster. It felt like a panic attack. But fuck that. “Son of a bitch.” It made sense. It was what I would do.

  “I know.”

  There was a knock at the door. I checked through the peephole. It was the police. I let them in. They took our statements, packaged up the evidence, promised to keep an eye on the place, and left. When they were gone, I fell onto the couch. It was nearly five in the morning and I hadn’t been to sleep yet. Exhaustion was taking over.

  “Will you be okay sleeping here?”

  The answer to that question was a big fat no, but I nodded. “Yeah.” My voice wavered, exposing the lie.

  “That’s it. Pack a bag. You’re going to come stay with me for a while.”

  “No. They are not kicking me out of my apartment.” Surely he could understand that. My life was being flipped on its ass. I needed to keep something normal. “I’ll add an extra lock.”

  “This isn’t up for fucking negotiation.” He pushed past me. “Get a bag, fill it with what you think you’ll need, and then get your ass downstairs.” His blue eyes gleamed with anger.

  “Since when did you become the boss of me, Cage?”

  His jaws clenched tight, as did his fists. He took a deep breath and blew it out. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I barely know you. But that doesn’t change the fact that I don’t like the idea of you sleeping here alone.”

  “I’ll be good here. Besides, it’s nearly daylight. I’ll be fine at least until tonight.” I fell onto the couch, closing my eyes. They burned and I rubbed at them. “I’m just so tired.”

  “Fine.”

  I heard the contained fury in his voice. It wasn’t fine. It was killing him that I wasn’t doing what he wanted, but he could suck it. Everyone could. I needed some sleep.

  The door opened. “Lock this behind me. I’ll be back later to discuss what we want to do next.”

  “Okay.” He was letting me have my way. The least I could do was agree to him checking on me. “What are you going to do?” I peeled open my eyes, sitting up.

  “I’m going to submit the paperwork describing the new evidence and ask that Birdy be released. It’s a long shot, but we might get lucky.” Cage looked fierce. He didn’t look like he hadn’t slept in nearly twenty-four hours; in fact, he reminded me of a warrior. One well dressed and ready for action in the modern world.

  I smiled. “Sounds good.”

  When he was gone I locked the door, took off my clothes, and fell into bed. I think I was unconscious before my eyes closed.

  CHAPTER 4

  Griffin

  I paced my apartment and wondered for the thousandth time how the hell Katie found out about Nichole. Again, I went over the night. Nichole said she was coming to The Attic, but I hadn’t seen her there. My guess was she’d become distracted by a pretty boy and decided to spend her night with him.

  I’d been more than thrilled she hadn’t shown. But maybe she had. What else could explain Katie finding out about Nichole?

  I texted her. Did you fucking say anything about us tonight? I knew giving Nichole any kind of attention was a bad idea, but I didn’t have a choice. I needed to find out exactly what Katie knew before I said another word to her.

  Nichole texted back. Hey Griffy. I may have mentioned something about our night to a doe-eyed girl who seemed hopelessly in love with you. I figured I was doing you a favor. She wasn’t your type.

  Mother fucking shit. What did you say?

  Why, Griffy, I told her you and I fucked. Was I bad? Do you need to punish me? I can think of all sorts of ways.

  I turned off my phone and tossed it on the bedside table. My relationship with Katie was over—not that it ever really began. I knew I should be thrilled. I’d just dodged a possible serious bullet. My feelings for Katie didn’t fit into my plan. I was leaving in a few days to L.A., would likely sign a contract, and then my already crazy life would get crazier. There’d be endless hours in the recording studio. PR events. Tours. It would be nonstop busy. I didn’t have time for a serious relationship. Not now. Maybe not ever.

  I took off my clothes and jumped in the shower. While I washed I tried to think about all the women I’d fuck, baggage free. But Katie’s eyes kept drifting through my mind. And the way she looked when we’d fucked in her room. Her mouth when we kissed, and the taste of her pussy. My cock grew. I realized as I masturbated, imagining my cock inside her pussy, pounding her hard, that I didn’t want all those other women. I only wanted Katie.

  When I finished I rinsed off and got out, then went to bed. In the morning I’d go to her apartment and talk to her, explain about Nichole. That she meant nothing. That I was sorry. And that I wanted only her. Katie.

  As my mind drifted I thought about her coming on tour with the band. It would be fun, having her there with me. Cheering me on during the shows. Fucking whenever we felt like it. Sleeping in my bed. The guys would love her…

  I punched my pillow and forced myself to stop thinking like that. It was a dream. A stupid fucking dream. I didn’t deserve Katie.

  CHAPTER 5

  Griffin

  The next morning I pickup up a couple of coffees and had my driver take me to Katie’s. I knocked several times, but she didn’t come to the door.

  I left and walked down Fifth Avenue toward the gym. It was the one across the street from Dorvey’s, a total meat market, but the facility was clean and I got a lot of attention.

  After an hour on the treadmill I started feeling differently about Katie going on tour with the band and me. It wasn’t a good idea. She’d be better off here, and I’d be able to focus more fully on what was most important: My music. And who the fuck knew? Maybe nothing would come of our meeting with the record label.

  I took a towel from one of the workers and wiped the sweat from my face and hair, then moved over to the weights.

  I planted my feet shoulders width apart and faced the full-length mirror, then began lifting two thirty-pound free weights. When weightlifting I liked to do three reps: The first set with moderate weights, each arm twelve times; the second with lower weight and higher repetition; and the final set with heavier weight and lower reps. The system really created definition at a quick pace.

  “Nice guns.” A blond female came over, admiring the flexing of my biceps.

  “Thanks.” I blew out as I released the bicep curl. Sucked in as I lifted my other arm.

&n
bsp; “You’re Griffin, right?”

  I finished with the thirty-pound weights and went over to pick up a couple of twenties. “Yeah.” I started bicep curls again.

  “I remember you from high school.” She got five pound weights and started her own bicep curls.

  I studied her reflection in the mirror as I counted my reps internally. Her face didn’t seem familiar. It was fake tanned, along with the rest of her scantily clad body. She had bright blue eyes and pouty lips. Her breasts were nearly popping from the bra top she wore. She had on short workout shorts that cupped her toned ass and came to just below her belly button, which was pierced.

  I finished my reps. “Were we the same year?” I asked, putting the twenties back and picking up two forties.

  She smiled. “Yeah, but I looked different in high school.”

  “Oh, how so?” I figured, since she wasn’t leaving, maybe an open-ended question would give her lots of room to talk.

  She set down the weights and faced me. “I was forgettable. Obviously.”

  I slowly perused her body. “Your body is unforgettable.” I smiled, hoping she’d appreciate the compliment.

  She blushed.

  “What’s your name?”

  Her blush deepened. “Chloe Morrell. My dad is the president of Morrell Banking.”

  “Holy shit.”

  She laughed. “Yeah, I guess.”

  “Were we in any classes together?” I blew out, trying not to show any strain as I lifted.

  “No. And I didn’t hang in the same crowd you, Reid, and Pamela did. I was kind of a bookworm, really.”

  That surprised me. Not the bookworm part, but that she knew Reid and Birdy. “Did we ever speak to each other in high school?”

  Her smile faded and she looked away.

  “What? Oh, God, was I an asshole? I swear I’ve grown up.”

  She turned back. “You spoke to me once.”

  “What did I say?”

  “What you said doesn’t matter. It was a long time ago.” She picked up heavier weights. “But your words stuck with me.” Her perfectly composed features wavered slightly, and I realized that whatever I said, it wasn’t nice. It was hurtful.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?” Her face returned to its former serene composure.

  “I was such a complete prick in high school. Whatever I said probably hurt.”

  She seemed surprised. “Don’t be. Your words inspired me to become who I am today.” She set the weights down.

  I put mine back, too, then walked over to the machines and adjusted the weight on the overhead press, sat, and pulled. “Well, that’s good, I guess.” I wasn’t sure what else to say.

  “You guys were considered royalty to the rest of us. We pretty much worshipped you.”

  I’d known that. At the time I’d relished it, took it for granted.

  Chloe went on, “That you bothered to speak to me at all made my day. Pamela, Brian, and Reid never acknowledged me. Not once.”

  “We were all kind of assholes in high school. Birdy’s probably changed the most. She’s practically a saint.” I pulled down, working my chest.

  Chloe snorted, crossing her arms and making her breasts pop out of her top even more. “That’s why she’s in jail for murder, right?”

  That sent the hair on the back of my neck on edge. So she knew about Reid. And Birdy. Was she a reporter? “Birdy didn’t kill Reid, Chloe.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.” She pouted.

  “Are you a reporter? Because if you are, I don’t know anything.”

  “No,” she squealed, then lowered her voice. “Are you fucking kidding? My dad is in banking. If I did anything other than go into banking I’d be disowned.” She sat at the machine next to mine.

  I nodded. I could understand where she was coming from. My dad nagged me repeatedly about joining the family business. “What do you know about Birdy and Reid?”

  “Only that Reid was murdered and the police think Birdy did it. I also know the DA’s office really wants to nail Birdy.”

  “So, what? You’re just a concerned citizen?” I checked to see if there was a way she might be recording our chat so she could post the video on the Internet. It didn’t look like it. There was no way to hide a phone in that outfit.

  Chloe stood and tapped me on the nose. “I’m no one.” She walked away.

  I debated going after her, finding out what else she knew. But there wasn’t a point. The lawyers could handle it. They probably already knew about Chloe.

  “Who was that?”

  I froze, glancing up and into the mirror. Katie was there. She looked angry. I stood, happy to see her. “Hey, how’d you find me?”

  “I wasn’t looking for you, Griffin.”

  “Oh.” That pissed me off.

  “That woman. What’s her name?”

  “What’s it to you?” I snapped.

  “Look, I don’t care if you want to fuck her. It isn’t my business. But I saw that woman with Reid leaving the gym on the night I was eating at Dorvey’s. She might know something.”

  I sat back down. “Her name is Chloe Morrell. Her father owns Morrell Banking.”

  “Did you happen to get a phone number?”

  “No.” I ground my teeth together.

  I watched her turn away and then pause. “I thought—” Katie stopped. Touched her fingers to her lips. “I hope you find all the happiness you’re looking for, Griffin.”

  I couldn’t speak. You’re my happiness, my mind raged. But I couldn’t say that. I might feel like that now, but what about in thirty days or thirty years? If I chose her over my dreams I’d regret it someday, and I’d grow to despise her. She didn’t deserve that. I knew what scorn looked like, felt like. I wouldn’t do that to her.

  How did I tell her that since my mom was killed, I believed I didn’t deserve real happiness? That I thought she was too good for me, better off with someone else? If I explained any of that shit she’d learn the truth, that I loved her. As fucking much as I hated to admit it, it was true. I fucking loved her. “Thanks. You too,” I said through clenched teeth.

  I watched her shoulders sag and her reflection walk away.

  CHAPTER 6

  Katie

  Seeing Griffin shook me, brought out feelings I wished I didn’t have but couldn’t deny. I couldn’t focus on them now, though. After three hours of sleep I’d got up and gone to the gym, hoping to find the girl I’d seen with Reid that night through the window.

  It’d surprised me to see her talking to Griffin…not that I should’ve been surprised. I ran after her, but she climbed into a cab and took off.

  “Damn.”

  I took a cab back to my apartment and got to work on my computer. The first step was to see how much I could find out about Chloe Morrell and her family. Turned out it was pretty easy to find information about the company, but the family was more difficult. There were dozens of pictures of Chloe, most of them barely dressed. I even found a video of her and some guy fucking. From the way Chloe looked at the camera it was apparent she knew the camera was there. The guy’s face was kept in shadow the whole time, so I couldn’t make out his features. Chloe was on top, riding the guy hard, pinching her nipples, rubbing her clit. Other than the guy’s occasional moan he might as well have not been there.

  There were a few pictures of Mr. Morrell. In most he was shaking the hand of some businessman or woman, a big grin on his face. Except one. Mr. Morrell was in a more casual suit. It looked like his arm was around someone, but the picture was cut off at the person’s shoulder. Mrs. Morrell was nowhere to be found.

  County records confirmed that Mrs. Morrell left the dad and Chloe when Chloe was seven. Plenty of papers covered the news. Words like “disappearance” and “vanished” were later replaced with “left,” “took off,” and “abandoned.” One of the articles showed a homely little girl with short dark hair; she was crying. I zoomed in to verify that it was a photo of Chloe.
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br />   I checked the online directory to see if Chloe had her phone listed. She didn’t.

  I changed my phone settings from show my caller ID to blocked and then dialed Morrell Banking Headquarters.

  “Morrell Banking. How my I direct your call?”

  “Hi, this is Samantha Goodwin from the Jasper County Newspaper in Biloxi, Mississippi. May I speak with Mr. Morrell?”

  “I’m sorry, he’s in a meeting.”

  They’re always in a meeting, I thought.

  “Uh-huh,” I continued in my thick southern accent. “Well, I wondered if he’d be so kind as to grant me permission to do a piece on his lovely daughter, Chloe.”

  “What kind of a piece?” the person on the other end of the line asked.

  “Oh, you know, the kind where we talk about the charities she contributes to, the amount of time she gives to those in need, stuff like that.”

  The female snorted. “You must be thinking of someone else. Chloe is a selfish brat.”

  “Can I quote you on that, ma’am?”

  “No. Shit. Listen, what do you want?”

  “Just a phone number so I can talk to her directly.” I waited, held my breath. The receptionist would be breaking all kinds of rules giving up the number.

  “Here it is.” She mumbled off the number.

  I was prepared and quickly wrote it down.

  “Thank you, hon. You have a—”

  The line went dead.

  I dialed the number she’d given me.

  “Hello.”

  “Is this Chloe Morrell?” I decided to keep my southern accent and the reason I was calling.

  “Yeah, who wants to know?”

  “My name is Samantha Goodwin. I’m with the—”

  “How’d you get this number?”

  “Oh, Chloe, I have my ways.”

  “Well fucking lose it, if you know what’s good for you.”

  “Did you threaten Reid before you killed him?” It was the first thing that popped into my mind. I didn’t think anything of it. But the longer Chloe waited to respond, the more suspicious I got. “Chloe, you there hun?”