Ethan Walker's Road To Wonderland (Road To Wonderland #3)

by L. J. Stock

  “You can’t,” she finished for me, bringing back the ghost of a smile to my lips.

  “Exactly.”

  “I should go, Mr.-”

  “Ethan,” I said, the need to hear my name from her lips a perverted impulse that I suddenly couldn’t shake. “Call me Ethan.”

  “Thank you, Ethan.” My eyes slid closed on an inclination as her lips pushed the two syllables into the phone. I could see her perfectly clearly in my mind’s eye. Shaggy blonde hair, inquisitive blue eyes, and the pursing of her lips as she tried to figure out what the fuck I was doing on the other end of the phone.

  I allowed myself the indulgence for less than a minute, before I let reality slap me around the head and focused again.

  “Give Paris my best wishes, if that’s not too much to ask.”

  “I will and please, I know we don’t know each other but I know the sort of man Jason Dagson is, so if you could keep this conversation between the two of us, I’d really appreciate it. I know Paris would, too.”

  I wasn’t sure if Paris knew what had happened between Daggs’, Tommy, and I, or whether she’d just held the information back from her friend, but it was obvious Blondie didn’t have the faintest idea that the last person I would talk to was Daggs, let alone tell him where Paris was and involve Blondie in the bullshit that came with him.

  “I’ll take it to the grave,” I said to her in all seriousness. I meant it, even if I couldn’t tell her why.

  “Not too soon, I hope.”

  “I'll have to check there's nothing in the diary. Fairly sure I'm safe for a while, though.”

  “That’s good to hear. I’ll leave you to get back to your empire. I'm sorry for disturbing you. Goodbye, umm, Ethan.”

  I felt like a horny teenager suddenly discovering porn for the first time when she said my name again. There was an innocent quality to her voice, one that hadn’t been there during the interview with Scott, mainly because she’d been holding her own and giving as good as she got. It was another paradox in this creature who always found her way under my skin when she was near.

  It was that thinking alone that forced the next words from my mouth.

  “Feel free to disturb me anytime you like. Goodbye, mystery lady.”

  There was no answer other than a dialling tone, and I found myself relieved about it. As much as I wanted to know this woman, I’d proved I was incapable of having a relationship. My attempt with Chloe was a disaster. Not knowing Blondie was probably a blessing in disguise, because alienating her would make for a pretty fucking dull life, especially as I’d suddenly decided I needed to be the one to keep her and Paris out of Dagg’s crosshairs. I was a regular motherfucking Florence Nightingale, and I had a feeling that was either going to be the making or breaking of me. I didn’t know when or where, but I knew it was only a matter of time.

  Life had settled into an odd pattern that I fell into with ease. My priorities were Dean, Scott, and the club. I still checked up on the girls on occasion, but I’d stopped obsessing over them and moved on to my new joy in life - the stock market.

  I’d always played during night school and I never stopped. Mostly, I’d maintained the stocks and bonds as best I could, always making money rather than losing it. I became adept at reading the trends and finally fell into the twenty-first century and researched on the internet. Late nights at the club with a full, competent staff team meant I was free to dedicate hours elsewhere. My life became about numbers and terms like dividend and hedge, margins and day trading. When I tried to explain it to Scott, he gave me a blank look and a nod that said I might as well be speaking Martian to him. Maybe I was. All that mattered was that I understood it, and I knew what I was looking at.

  The knowledge and understanding also came in handy when shit started to fall apart. Not all of my little empire was saved, but I managed to keep a decent nest egg from swirling down the drain in the great financial crisis of 2008.

  “Fuuuuuuuuck!”

  “You need to just stop, shithead. You’re gonna give yourself one of those ulcer things those bastards in London are always bitching about.”

  I didn’t bother shutting my laptop down the sensible way. I just hit the fucking button and let the bitch fade to black. I may not have been hurting, but it sucked watching money just disappear. Scott always called it free money, because most of the capital I had in stocks had been made from an initial twenty pound investment I made years earlier.

  “Fuck off, fucker.”

  “See, now you need surgery to remove that stick you’ve got shoved firmly up your arse.”

  “You’re such a wanker.” But he was also right. I needed to just let it go for a while and pull my head out of my arse. Things were rough and I was making shit worse by moving my stocks around, looking for an easy fix.

  “I may be a wanker, but I brought beer.”

  “You’re forgiven.”

  “You cheap whore.”

  “Give me two and I’ll find someone to suck your dick.”

  Scott’s laugh made me feel a little easier. With my laptop shut, I could feel the tension starting to bleed from me. This was why the twat was my best mate. He knew when I needed a punch in the gut and delivered it precisely hard enough that I actually paid attention.

  “What does three get me?” he asked, lifting up a six pack.

  “My undying gratitude and half my club.”

  “Funny that. I thought I was already a partner.”

  “See… Magic.”

  “Dick.”

  “What? Did you think I was gonna offer you my mouth or my arse? You know me better than that, mate.”

  “You ain’t my type, Walker.”

  “You wound me, Jenkins.”

  “There are places for people like you,” Scott said, opening a beer and handing it to me as he dropped the six pack on my desk and fell in the chair opposite with one of his own. He swiped the hair back from his face.

  “A convalescence home? Already tried that. They wouldn’t take me. Said I was a sick bastard.”

  Rolling his eyes, Scott sank further in the chair. “I’m here for a reason. Mum sent me. She’s been asking about New Year. She said that she wants you to come this year and say goodbye to this god awful year.”

  “New Year? That’s…” I looked down at my calendar and back up, a little shocked. “Only a month away.”

  “Don’t worry. I organized the Christmas party, you thoughtless wanker. You’re welcome.”

  I had an insult all ready to fire back at him, but I was interrupted by my phone ringing. I didn’t recognize the number when I looked down at it, which was rare. I wasn’t anal by any stretch of the imagination, but I also didn’t give my number out to random people, especially not birds I spent only one night with. That was a rookie move, and why one of the staff had to change their number four times in three weeks.

  “Saved by the bell, bitch.”

  Flipping him off and grinning, I answered the call. “Walker.”

  “Hey, it’s Paris…”

  I’d given my number to Paris in a chance meeting we had earlier in the year. She’d been sober a year at that point and looked happy. Being the arsehole I was, I’d given her my card because I still lived in hope when it came to Blondie. I’m not entirely sure what my card was meant to achieve, but it was done. I’d completely forgotten I gave it to her, but what she had to say had my full attention.

  **********

  It was a simple question, but one that had me searching my monitors almost every night, looking for signs. It just so happened it was the night of the Christmas party that it happened, and that’s what led me to a cold car park, with a girl dressed like a hooker bored as shit next to me.

  “It’s fucking cold, Ethan.”

  “I told you not to come.”

  “But, I thought you said you were going to the shops. This isn’t the shops and it sure as hell isn’t the romantic drive to the countryside you promised earlier.”

  “What can I say?
I’m spontaneous.”

  “I’m not sure you know the meaning of the word. You’re staring at a dirty club full of junkies.”

  Busted.

  If it had been anyone other than the piece of arse I’d been trying to get into bed for the duration of the Christmas party, I’d probably have been up shit creek with no fucking paddle of which to speak, but it was my luck she knew nothing about my past and hadn’t so much as breathed the same air as Scott, who would have locked me the fuck up if he’d known where I was.

  “Let me take you home then.”

  “No way. I’m bloody curious what’s managed to get the attention I’ve been trying to get from you all night,” Stacie said, popping her seat belt off and half turning in the passenger seat. I could see her in my peripheral vision. The look she was giving me screamed for my attention, the subtle parting of her legs flashing her red, lacy knickers. Any other time or place I would have been balls deep in her, but it wasn’t the time or the place. At least I didn’t think it was until she lifted her leg so her foot could fondle my dick.

  So she wasn’t shy. That was always a good scheme. It also gave us a reason to be sat in the car park of a club without looking suspicious.

  “Do you often put your foot where your mouth’s gonna go, sweetheart?”

  “Is that a request, baby?”

  Reaching down with one hand, I unzipped my jeans and pulled out my dick with an expectant glance in her direction. Why use words when the request - or was that demand? - was giving her the one-eyed stare as it stood proud and grew harder in my grip? The run of her tongue over her bottom lip was all the answer I needed. Sex and math were probably the only international languages where words weren’t necessary. It was probably better that way.

  Stacie shifted herself in the seat eagerly, rolling to her knees as she bent over the center console of the car. My hand reached out and tangled in the hair at the nape of her neck, guiding her down so her face was parallel to my lap.

  I was about to get a damn good blow job and buy myself some fucking silence at the same time. It wasn’t conducive to concentration, but I had my eyes open, which was all that was needed at that point.

  She was good. I had to give her that. Her attention to the oral worship of my cock and balls was superior. She would hum quietly with every thrust of my hips, sending my dick further into her mouth. Even through the groan that fell from my mouth when the head of my shaft hit the back of her throat, my eyes were on the door of the club, waiting for the mother fucker to come out of the place.

  Leaning my head back on the headrest, Stacie’s mouth working up and down with the guidance of my hand fisting her hair, I narrowed my eyes and waited. The wet sound as she sucked broke the monotonous silence that had surrounded us. Slouching in the seat until I could just see over the steering wheel, I settled in for the long haul. There was a small gaggle of girls escorted into the club by Tommy, most of them with the same dark hair and dark eyes as Paris.

  I was so distracted by what was playing out in front of me, the ramifications of what I was doing were completely lost on me. Climaxing in a relative stranger’s mouth, in a car, on a stakeout at Daggs’ little hang out, on the night of the Christmas party my best mate sorted out for our company, wasn’t something I ever saw myself doing sober, yet here I was. If I was honest with myself, the only reason I’d let the bird come with me in the first place was as cover. If Scott thought I was getting a piece of arse, he wouldn’t be so pissed that I’d left, stayed gone for longer than I probably should have, and possibly put myself in a dangerous situation with the people who had tried to kill me in the past.

  I’d thought that Paris was being paranoid when I answered the phone. She’d sounded a little drunk when she called, but after days of watching the club cameras, I’d seen some of his guys come in and plant themselves in a dark corner to see if she showed up. They weren’t interested in my dancers, and though I knew why, the scene unfolding in front of me confirmed my suspicions.

  I was tucking myself into my jeans when the door to the club was thrown out of the way, and the big fucker appeared like someone had shit in his beer. Tommy was hot on his heels, shouting and flinging his arms about in frustration, which was about the time a hazy memory came back to me from that first night Paris walked into Daggs’ club.

  "Daggs has woman issues. If he wants one badly enough, she becomes his. She becomes his sole fixation. He loses all focus and drive, and it all becomes about her and them."

  The parade of girls heading in there had been to try and fix that obsession, to replace the girl he had lost. Regrettably, Daggs still had his sights set on the one that got away, and he wasn’t going to fucking rest until he had her back, or, worst case scenario, she was dead. I couldn’t let that happen. Not to Blondie, and not to Paris. I also couldn’t find it in myself to let Daggs win.

  Lifting Stacie’s head from my lap, I gave her a smile. I had shit to do. “Cheers, love. Where do you need dropping off then?”

  “Again?” Scott asked before biting down on his breakfast muffin. I was tying my shoes, watching him chew deliberately before smiling brightly at me. Sometimes I swore the fucker sent subliminal messages, when the thing was, he just knew me too well. “You’ve run every day at the same time for months. You think this isn’t hugely transparent, mate?”

  “Don’t know what you’re talking about, Scott, but you could do with a run yourself, eating shit like that.”

  Looking at the empty paper of my muffin was all the response I needed. I’d known all along that the cover of a run wouldn’t give me an alibi for long, and it had been months. I knew Scott had followed me at some point, which probably meant that he’d seen exactly who I passed by at the same time every day.

  “I run that shit off.”

  “Right, whatever you say, lad. You run that shit off in all extremes of weather when you have a perfectly good gym membership. You need to give me your wallet.”

  Scott was probably the only one who knew I still had my gym membership, but I was satisfied he had no idea why. I still had my locker there, and inside were still the winnings of most fights I’d had. I’d planned on starting my business with it, but my inheritance from Mum had covered that. So the boxing money sat, not collecting interest in a bank or on the stock market. It just collected dust while I checked on it once every six months or so. Now I was clean, it felt like drug money, and paired with some of the money from the jobs I’d done for Daggs, that’s exactly what it was.

  Scott snapped his fingers to regain my attention and held out his hand with his smirk in place.

  “Fuck you. Why?”

  “I’m shredding the fucking man card, you big bitch. You don’t even know her name and you've been under her fucking thumbs for years.”

  “You’re just jealous, mate.”

  “As honourable as your justifications may be, I actually think you’ve lost your goddamn mind, son. If Daggs finds out, you’re all fucked.”

  My foot dropped from the chair as I stared at him open-mouthed. Scott just took another bite of his muffin and chewed away as though he hadn’t just dropped one on me. I should have known he’d figured it all out. It was months since I’d taken it upon myself to check on the girls after I’d realised Daggs couldn’t let Paris go. Running meant I could loop around their home and look for anything out of the ordinary. Even though there was a risk of getting seen, my conscience wouldn’t let me do anything less. The two women were sitting ducks and there was nothing that Daggs liked more than a good game to flex his muscles and show people who was boss. If he knew where they were, he was probably playing cat and mouse with them, and that would only end in disaster. The fact that I got to see Blondie every day was simply an added bonus. The fact that she checked my arse out every day was an even bigger benefit, which gave me some quality mental images for the shower after my run.

  “You think I’m stupid?”

  “No, I know you’re a nosy bitch. I’m just shocked you were able to hold this in
for so long. Must have hurt.”

  “You can thank Dean for that.”

  “The pair of you gossip like old biddies. I appreciate your concern, but I’m an adult.”

  “Who’s thinking with his dick.”

  Scott was one of the few people in my life that could get away with giving me a hard time. He could talk to me in ways most people wouldn’t dare to and get a laugh in response. This was different. There were days I struggled to explain shit I was dealing with, even to the two people who’d had my back through the whole thing. As much as I was panting around Blondie and would have fucked her in a heartbeat if she’d so much as noticed me, it wasn’t why I was doing what I was doing.

  Daggs and Tommy had killed Jessica and tried to kill me along with her. I knew what they were capable of and I knew they had no remorse for it. I had a feeling the bastard that was Jason Dagson wouldn’t have blinked if it was his own mother lying dead at his feet. The only reason he was so focused on Paris was because she defied him when he wasn’t through with her. She had become a challenge, and he would take out anyone that got in his way.

  I couldn’t sit back and let the fucker kill two innocent women over his fucking ego.

  Leaning over the counter and planting my hands on the top of it, I met Scott’s eyes. One sure fire way of having him pay attention was to stare the fucker down. “This isn’t about my dick, Jenkins. All joking aside, you and I both know what this motherfucker is capable of. Jessica’s dead. I was very almost next. He looks at Paris as his possession after years of her being gone, and he’s hellbent on getting her back, dead or alive. If you can sit back and turn an ignorant eye to it all, more power to you, but I can’t do it, mate. I can’t let them share the same fate as Jessica.”

  “You think he wants to hurt them? It’s just a domestic, mate.”

  “That’s bullshit and we both know it. Do your research, Scott. Mr. Dagson’s had some bad luck with his lady loves, most of them showing up dead, as well as any motherfucker who got in the way.”