Wicked for You

by Shayla Black

  Mystery took Aunt Gail’s outstretched fingers and bowed her head on cue. She listened with half an ear, utterly distracted today.

  “Amen. Dig in, dear,” her aunt instructed. “It looks delicious.”

  It did. Mystery remembered the amazing hamburgers the diner served from her childhood. With gusto, she picked the sandwich up and took a big bite, then moaned. Heaven.

  Heath picked at his pork chops. His thoughts were turning, she could tell. He always got a little distant when something bothered him. But Mystery had no idea what might have put him in such a mood.

  Her aunt seemed not to notice. She waxed poetic about her fried chicken and filled the empty space at the table with chatter about all the things she planned to do in Indonesia. “They have some beautiful coastline, and this Kansas girl is looking forward to just soaking it all in.”

  “Isn’t that a primarily Islamic country?” Heath asked.

  She turned to him, looking a bit surprised by his question. “All the more reason for us to travel there. Less than ten percent of the population is Christian, and it’s a shame they’re missing out on the Lord’s blessing.”

  Mystery plastered on a smile and refrained from pointing out that the people there had religion, just not necessarily hers, mostly because she knew it did matter to her aunt which God these people had chosen to follow. Aunt Gail had always been religious. That cross hanging above the stove had been there for decades. But the one at the top of the stairs with pictures of the TV preachers raking in millions in tax-free cash were new. Mystery hated to be so cynical, but didn’t quite grasp how these televangelists could be so gung-ho to minister to the millions they couldn’t interact with if a little bit of greed wasn’t involved.

  Lifting her glass of tea only to realize it was empty, she looked around for Patrice. She was nowhere to be found. Typical.

  Beside Mystery’s burger sat Axel’s untouched food. He’d been gone more than a few minutes. Had he gotten sick? Was he okay?

  “Excuse me,” she said to Heath and her aunt, then filed out of the booth.

  Heath nudged Aunt Gail. “I’m afraid I have to follow her. Occupational hazard.”

  That startled the older woman. “Oh, of course. You know where to find the restrooms?”

  Absently, Mystery wished her aunt hadn’t shouted that in such a public place, but the woman often talked on the loud side. Thankfully, only a few patrons lingered at nearly two o’clock. “I’m fine.”

  As they both scooted out and to their feet, Mystery made her way to the back of the restaurant and turned right to enter the hallway that held the bathrooms, Heath right behind her. The lighting in the narrow hallway wasn’t spectacular, but she made out two shapes leaning against the wall, entwined.

  Axel stood with his back against the dark paneling. And Patrice was draped all over him.

  Mystery stopped short, taking in the waitress’s mouth on his. Her shirt and bra had been ripped wide open, and now she pressed her bare breasts to his chest. She’d also wrapped one arm around Axel’s thick neck while they kissed. The fingers of her free hand tugged at his zipper.

  Mystery blinked, stunned. Shocked. Pain hit her chest with a terrible blow. Every inch of her froze over. She gasped.

  Suddenly, Axel shoved the waitress off him, arranging his expression to look somewhere between stunned and pissed off.

  Oh, he hadn’t begun to see pissed off as far as Mystery was concerned.

  “What the hell are you doing?” he asked Patrice.

  The waitress bit her lip and fastened her bra. “Oops, is that your girlfriend who caught us? You were right; we should have gone in the break room across the hall and locked the door.”

  “What the fuck are you’re talking about?” Axel demanded, setting Patrice farther away.

  Mystery wondered how often her dad had said similar words to her mom. How often had he made her question her judgment, feel paranoid for being suspicious, or deflected the situation to make it sound like her fault, not his.

  She wasn’t going to fall into that trap, not when she’d seen Axel with another woman—again—less than twenty-four hours after the last fiasco.

  “You fucking bastard,” she growled.

  Axel stepped toward her, his face imploring. “Take a deep breath. Think rationally. It’s not what you’re imagining, princess.”

  “Of course it’s not. It never is.”

  “Seriously. She crawled on me less than two seconds before you came around the corner. I didn’t touch her. I had nothing to do with it.”

  “Stop! Just stop.” She threw up a hand to ward him off, icy betrayal chilling her bloodstream that otherwise sizzled with fury and scorn. “Don’t come near me. And don’t you dare touch me.”

  “I guess she’s sensitive?” Patrice muttered. “I had no idea . . .”

  “Shut up,” Mystery snarled. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised by this little quickie fling but somehow I am. Two can play that game.”

  Without warning, she turned and collided with Heath’s substantial body, then wrapped her arms around his neck and slanted her lips over his. He stiffened in shock—then began devouring her lips with his own like a starving man needing sustenance.

  Mystery pulled away, dazed and out of breath. She didn’t feel vindicated or even happily spiteful. Instead, everything she’d done felt terribly wrong. She didn’t want Heath, and it wasn’t fair to use him to make Axel angry or lead him on. But she was so damn angry . . .

  “Are you fucking serious?” Axel demanded. “That’s really how you’re going to play this?”

  No. She wasn’t. No matter how she felt about Axel, she couldn’t be unfair to Heath. He’d done nothing but be a faithful protector and friend for six years.

  She backed away and sent her bodyguard an apologetic glance. His dark eyes held hurt and censure that promised a long discussion later. A blade of shame struck her deep.

  Curling her arms around herself, Mystery turned to Axel again to find him tucking in his shirt and righting his pants. The sight infuriated and hurt her all over again. New tears stung her eyes like acid.

  “I believed you were different,” she sobbed, wishing she could hold it back. “I believed it when you told me you were just friends with Sweet Pea. I let myself trust you. I fell in love with you. I’m such an idiot.”

  Mystery stumbled away. She had to get out of here, away from him, before she broke down and succumbed to the urge to ask if there was any way she’d mistaken what she’d seen and whether Patrice really had been the aggressor, taking Axel by surprise.

  But it was time to accept that no man was perfect, even the one who had once saved her life and starred as the hero of all her fantasies. At the end of the day, he was just a man, like her father, who was a fabulous director, friend, coworker, and dad. But he couldn’t be perfect at everything, and he happened to be a lousy mate. Axel had so many amazing qualities, she could have put up with some faults. Why did his have to be that he was a cheating asshole?

  The question ripped her insides apart, and all she kept seeing in her mind was the waitress’s lips against his, her hands at his zipper.

  “Let’s go.” Heath shot Axel a look of disbelief and disgust, then wrapped his arm around her.

  Her aunt stood stock-still, looking too shocked to even breathe. “Oh, my . . . You poor girl.”

  Mystery let the two of them tuck her between them and lead her away from the darkened hallway and the terrible nightmare unfolding.

  “Don’t you leave, Mystery.” Axel came after her, his heavy footfalls resounding on the old flooring. “Don’t you walk out on me before we’ve talked.”

  More tears stabbed her eyes. She covered her face in her hands. Yes, she’d promised they would talk things out from now on. He’d spanked her for leaving once before . . . then made love to her so masterfully. No, he’d fucked her body and her head all at once, and she didn’t owe him a damn thing.

  Why would he bother cheating? Did he simply have a wan
dering eye? Did he get a thrill out of indulging in a little something on the side? Or had he viewed her as nothing more than a path to fame or a meal ticket? Maybe she’d never been remotely relevant to him at all.

  The thought only made her sob more. And when Heath shoved her toward the exit, pausing only long enough to throw some bills on the table for their meal, Mystery didn’t fight him.

  “If you do this, you know how I’ll take it,” Axel shouted after her.

  Yes, if she walked out on him now, they would be done forever. He’d warned her. But what did they have to save? If he couldn’t love just her, then they had absolutely nothing.

  Heath pushed the door open and gave her a nudge. She resisted for a moment, then turned to look at Axel one last time. He looked big, agitated, so damn masculine. And blurry. More tears spilled and scalded her cheeks.

  Maybe they’d always been doomed. If everything happened for a reason, maybe this had transpired because she’d needed to see the real him to grow up, move on. Maybe she’d witnessed this so she could finally fall out of love with him.

  “Go to hell!” she shouted.

  Then she ran out the door, tumbled into the car, and refused to look back.

  Chapter Seventeen

  THAT motherfucker, Heath Powell, drove Mystery away before Axel could say more than a handful of words to her. He heard the last of the spinning tires and watched the black car disappear down the street. His guts fell somewhere around his toes and his heart broke open wide.

  Why the fuck was he just now grasping the fact that he’d fallen completely in love with Mystery Mullins? Not that his stupid ass realization did him any good now.

  Hell, she’d blindsided him. One minute the sex had been so hot she’d nearly melted him, but his need for more than her body had been something new. Axel hadn’t known how to interpret it. He’d never felt anything like that. So he’d avoided labeling it.

  Wasn’t that biting him in the ass now? Maybe if he’d realized his feelings sooner, he could have simply told her he loved her and they could have avoided this stupid misunderstanding at the café. Instead, she’d seen him “cheating” and overreacted. But Axel kind of understood because when he’d seen her kiss Heath, he’d felt some weird red haze jack up his temper. Then she’d threatened to leave, and he’d totally overreacted, too.

  So rather than holding her close, he got to watch Mystery skid out of the parking lot with the man she’d locked lips with behind the wheel. Axel tried to imagine spending his life without her. He couldn’t. He didn’t want to.

  So what now? Chase after her like a damn puppy? Axel sighed at the picture that painted. But wasn’t that better than spending the rest of his life with his insides crushed and feeling as if he were missing the other half of his soul?

  Put like that, the dog scenario sounded way better.

  But would that be the end of it? Would she run out on him yet again because she wasn’t capable of the death-do-us-part, forever sort of love? He didn’t want to be gloom and doom, but for the third time in twenty-fours, she’d left him cold. How was he supposed to get over that?

  Axel stood with his hands on his hips, gaping at the street, though the town car was long gone from view. He had no ride back to his rental at the farm. He’d have to find one, then wait for Mystery and her aunt to return so he could talk some sense into her. He’d figure out why he’d suddenly felt a pressing need to pee yet again and apologize for not taking the waitress’s overtures seriously until it was too late. If that didn’t work, if Mystery wouldn’t talk to him . . . he’d have to figure out what fucking tactic to take next, because he couldn’t give up. That only led to the bottom of a bottle and decades of misery.

  “What just happened?” a woman asked behind him.

  He turned to find Patrice looking brutally confused and grabbed her arm. “You tell me. Why the hell did you climb all over me uninvited?”

  Grimacing, she yanked her arm free and removed the elastic band securing her blond tresses in a ponytail. “I was hired to. I’m an actress. Someone contacted my agent and paid my travel expenses out to this one-pony town to pull a practical joke on you.”

  Axel heard her words—and she might as well have been speaking a foreign language. “What?”

  “Yeah. I’m from L.A. My agent just told me that someone important wanted me to play a joke on one of his friends. I got your picture and some instructions . . .” She shrugged. “I’m so sorry. I really had no idea it would screw up everything between you and your girlfriend.”

  Who the hell would do that? And why? Axel’s thoughts raced. Someone wanted him separated from Mystery and had figured out that she’d stomp away if she believed he couldn’t keep his pants zipped. He could only see two possible motives: Either someone didn’t like his relationship with Mystery—Heath came to mind—or someone dangerous wanted her to be minus a protector who would lay down his life to save hers.

  “How much?” he demanded.

  “What?”

  “Money. How much were you paid to do this?”

  “Ten grand, plus travel expenses,” she admitted. “I feel terrible. I really am sorry.”

  Too late for that. “Call your agent and ask him who hired you.”

  “I asked before I took the gig. He wouldn’t tell me, but I needed the money to make rent. The only condition was anonymity. Sal told me that whoever hired me swore you’d know who it was.”

  So Heath was toying with him . . . or the killer was. Axel did some quick mental math. Could Heath come up with ten grand plus travel expenses in less than twenty-four hours? Since Joaquin had already given him the guy’s bank balance before Patrice had been hired, Axel knew the answer was no. Heath had investments, but none he could get his hands on right away.

  Since he didn’t think Heath wanted to kill Mystery, this stunt probably had nothing to do with her love life and everything to do with the reason for her mother’s murder. That made Heath the last line of Mystery’s defense against the psycho hunting her.

  Axel groaned. Yeah, he’d said that he wouldn’t come after Mystery if she left him again. But he couldn’t stay away. The circumstances had been extenuating, and someone had set them up to fail. He intended to make sure they didn’t succeed, especially if her life was on the line.

  “Shit,” Axel cursed, feeling behind the eight ball. He had to talk to Heath, ensure the Brit knew something was up and the killer was likely planning to make his move.

  Who wanted Mystery dead? Who, among her friends or family, had the money and connections to hire this actress at the last minute? Gail Leedy had chosen the restaurant, which cast suspicion on her, but the woman didn’t have any money to hire someone. Axel had seen her bank balance, too. After selling off the land around her farm for a pittance to a neighbor about ten years ago, she’d lived on it and her salary from the medical clinic, saving a modest amount in an IRA. She donated more money to religious organizations each month than to the upkeep of her own home. And why would the pious older woman want her niece dead?

  Axel sighed. He didn’t have time for a fucking puzzle. He had to get to Mystery pronto, but he had no car and didn’t know the name of her attorney’s office.

  Beside him, Patrice—if that was even her name—hovered, looking utterly contrite.

  He turned to her. “Did you meet the café’s manager or owner before you started this farce?”

  “A waitress.” She nodded quickly, as if finally glad she could be of assistance. “I’m actually taking Betty’s shift today. She’s waiting in the employee break room to take over again.”

  “Ask her to come out here. I need to talk to her. Tell her it’s a matter of life and death.” At least Axel suspected it was.

  “S-sure.” Patrice darted off.

  Yanking his phone from his belt, Axel scrolled through his contacts until he found Heath’s number. It rang once . . . twice . . . a third time—then rolled to voice mail.

  He swore as the last of the Brit’s clipped greeting played. �
��Mystery is in danger. I have a bad feeling that once she gets her hands on whatever her mother left for her, all hell will break loose. Call me as soon as you get this. If I can figure out where you’re going, I’ll head in that direction.”

  Axel ended the call, then someone tapped him on the shoulder. He turned to find Patrice standing there with a salty older woman whose hair was a very unlikely shade of red. She was sixty-five if she was a day. She chomped on a piece of gum, looking at him as if she’d seen and done it all and now it bored her terribly.