She feels guilty, a feeling she hasn’t experienced in so long it’s startling to her.
“She’s cleaning up,” Frenchie says. He looks tired, his shoulders a little stooped, the bow tie he was wearing when they arrived long gone. He isn’t done—not even close. But she knows he’s tired. He extends a joint and she takes it and the lighter. When she inhales, it loosens some of the tension in her, even before the drug starts working into her and some of the tension eases in her shoulders.
“What happened between you and Jacobs?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Mmmm. Is that why you have the Nova and Marco is dead?” He nods when she glances at him sharply, “Yeah, EJ, I heard about that. Talk to me.”
“There isn’t anything to say, Frenchie. This is the way it is now.”
He’s quiet and she hits the joint again. Extends it to him. She leans back, her head craned to stare at the sky. The lighter clicks and flares to life and he pulls hard, coughs a little.
Frenchie is living outside of Vegas proper, almost secluded, and although she can see the glow of the lights in the distance, she can’t get over the vast expanse of star-studded dark night sky.
“Where will you go?” he asks, softly.
“Dunno,” she says.
He laughs, and it drags her attention away from the sky to him. She quirks an eyebrow at him and he grins. “That you think I would believe you is a little bit insulting. Amusing.”
“What do you mean?”
“You were taught by Jacobs, EJ. He’s never not had a plan. You wouldn’t get this far without one.”
“I’ve run from Jacobs before without a plan,” she says conversationally.
“With your IDs that he had made for you. That’s not running. That’s throwing a fit to get fucked. This is different and we all know it. Even Jacobs knows it.” He pauses, waiting for her to say something. Anything. When she doesn’t do anything but stare at the sky in silence he releases a long breath. “You don’t have to push us all away, just because you’re pissed at the boss, EJ. You know you have friends.”
“Of course I know. That’s why I came to you.” She rolls her head to the side and smiles at him.
He smirks, “You came to me because I’m the best.”
“Mmm, that too.” She agrees.
They smoke in silence until the joint is gone and he straightens away from the car. “Will you tell him?” EJ asks, staring at the sky. “When Jacobs comes and asks what you made—what my new name is and where I am. Will you tell him?”
He hesitates before, “Do you want me to?”
She doesn’t answer and the door beyond them opens.
Charlie is standing there, her hair a sleek curve around her face, big brown eyes just a little worried, long legs wrapped in black jeans. She’s wearing a white top, off the shoulder, and white peep toe heels and she’s fucking breathtaking. EJ sits up on the car and Charlie gives her a tiny smile.
“No,” Frenchie murmurs. “I won’t. I’ll purge my files and get the hell outta Vegas.”
She shivers as a wind kicks up across the desert. It’s hot, a balmy caress, but it still feels like a harbinger, somehow. A promise of something coming.
“Do it soon,” she says as she slides off the hood of the Nova. She goes on tiptoes to kiss his cheek and then drops on her heels. “Call me when you’re done.”
He nods, “Thirty six hours.”
Charlie smiles awkwardly at him as she slips into the passenger seat, and EJ slides behind the wheel.
They’re about five minutes from Frenchie’s house, when she says softly, “I like him.”
EJ smiles. “Frenchie is kinda hard to not like. Jacobs even likes him, and he doesn’t like anyone.”
Charlie makes a choked laugh. She hasn’t asked about the conversation EJ had with him, leaning against the door to their hotel room last night. She keeps thinking Charlie will bring it up, but she’s been almost scarily silent about the matter.
And as long as she’s willing to ignore it, so is EJ.
Chapter 27
They arrive at the MGM Grand with no fanfare. For them, it’s almost anticlimactic. A valet takes the Nova and their bags, and Charlie and EJ get a few curious glances, but this isn’t Charleston. They aren’t the biggest fish in the pond, not here.
Here, they’re barely afloat.
And neither are terribly bothered. Charlie waits at EJ’s side as she uses her fake IDs and Charlie’s credit cards to get a room. The receptionist is polite and distant—they aren’t making an impression.
It’s strange, and perfect.
The hotel room has a gorgeous view of the Strip, sprawled out like a glittering rug of sex and distraction. Charlie stares at it for a moment.
Tre loved Vegas. It was one of the only things he and Hayes both liked, and she can remember a time—the summer after her junior year at Vandy—when she was still convinced that he hung the moon and stars—that they had taken a week to hit the city.
It was a blur in her memory of drunk nights, gambling too much and hot sex. Hayes had fucked his way through nameless girls they dragged home from the casino, and one night, Tre had agreed to take her to a Cirque show, although he’d bitched through most of it.
They had been so crazy stupid in love, then. It had almost been enough.
“What are you thinking about?” EJ asks, quietly.
Charlie releases the sheer curtains and they call to cover the window, clouding over the lights outside.
“How fast everything can change. Last time I was in Vegas, I was in love with Tre and couldn’t imagine life without him.”
EJ makes a low dismissive noise in her throat, and it annoys Charlie. Even knowing she agrees on one level, even knowing that Tre was toxic and would likely kill her one day with his abuse—even with that, it annoys her.
Because it reminds her that there has always been a disparity between them. She needs EJ, more than EJ will ever need her.
And she isn’t comfortable needing anyone.
“I’m going out,” she says, abruptly, and EJ looks at her, eyes slightly startled. “You wanna come?” she offers. Nerves dance in her belly, unfamiliar and almost painful.
“I need to do this,” EJ says, nodding at the open computer.
This.
Cripple Jacobs, and get out.
A tiny smile turns her lips, and she nods as she turns away. “Then I’ll be back in a few hours.”
EJ watches the door swing shut behind Charlie. She’s been quiet and distant, even after she’s started talking again, a small part of her wonders if she’s going to bolt.
They can’t go home. That ship sailed in Memphis, when she shot Marco and Pax.
But there is a very good chance Charlie hasn’t realized it yet.
*
Nerves are clawing at her as she walks through the casino. No one ID’d her, which is good because she doesn’t have one. Not yet. She considers approaching one of the tables, but decides against it. She doesn’t need to play, and her heart isn’t in it, not tonight. It’s more about being present than anything.
She can feel the curious eyes of other patrons at the bar--a few older men with lecherous smiles that make her want to wear a burlap sack, a girl younger than she is sitting next to one with a bored expression. And a few guys her age. One is being a little too obvious--he reminds her a little of the guy EJ seduced at the bar in Santa Fe, before everything went to hell.
A little too eager, a little too desperate. A sweet, disposable puppy.
"What can I get you?" the bartender asks, his gaze trailing down her neck to the wash of cleavage, before he drags his eyes back to hers and gives her an appreciative smirk. She arches an eyebrow.
"Whiskey sour," she says and his eyebrows hitch just a little before he reaches for a glass. He doesn't talk while he makes her drink, and she's happy to be left alone, watching the horse race on the screen and trying to shake the memories that won't leave her the fuck alone.
"Here you go," he says and offers a final friendly smile.
Charlie nods and slips off the stool after laying a tip on the shiny bar. He whisks it away and she sips her drink as she sways away, into the crowd of machines and desperate humanity and gaming tables.
"Ma'am?"
She glances back as a hand touches her elbow, and swallows hard.
From across the bar, surrounded by his friends, the puppy looked cute, but nothing to write home about. But now he's standing in front of her, a hopeful sort of smile on his face and she has to admit that he's delicious. Not just cute and desperate, but jaw droppingly handsome, with a strong jaw, bright blue eyes, and dark scruff that gives the impression of someone harder. He's smiling, almost tentative, almost amused.
"You left your phone."
"My phone?" she says. He wiggles it slightly, and she flushes, a tiny laugh bubbling up. Stupid, stupid girl. "I did. Thank you so much!" He grins at her, and starts to step back, and Charlie speaks before she can talk herself out of it. "Let me say thanks."
It stops him, but a smile is twisting his lips. "You did," he points out.
"Let me take you to dinner," she says, a shy smile turning her lips.
It's stupid. She'll be gone in a few days, and dinner with this lost little boy—it's not in the plan to clean out Jacobs’ accounts and leave. It's not in any plan. But he's grinning at her in that wholesome way that she has always loved and hated. The same way that Tre smiled at her, at the very beginning of their whirlwind courtship, before things went so off the rails.
The way Pax had, in college when she agreed to marry him, and even after, when she told him she was going to marry Tre. It's adoring and a little bit idiotic, and she smiles, sweet and innocent, as a tiny thrill of triumph rushes through her.
"How about you let me take you to dinner?" he says, closing the space between them, until he's standing in her space, watching her with those bright bright eyes shadowed with desire, and she has a heartbeat of fear, of blinding panic that she felt in Santa Fe, and the empty pit she plunged into when Jason--she shoves the memory down, violently, and nods.
"I'd like that."
"Tomorrow?" he murmurs and she nods. He takes the phone from her and keys in a number. In his pocket, his own phone rings before he kills the call. "What's your name, sweetheart?"
"Charlotte," she murmurs.
He smiles then, a wide thing that makes her heart jerk.
The high of getting a guy to fall for her will never. Ever. Lose it's appeal. It's better than pills or coke or weed. It's fucking intoxicating, even when she's utterly sober.
"I'm Jasper. Try to hold on to that, ok?" He closes her hand around the phone and his palm is warm and rough on hers, and she wonders what he does, to have a hand so rough. "I'll call you tomorrow, sweetheart."
She nods, and he falls back a step, glancing back at his friends. A hesitance, telling her he doesn't want to go.
So she goes first, slipping away while he's distracted.
Chapter 28
EJ is drinking when Charlie returns, smelling of whiskey and smoke. There’s a triumphant flush to the other girl’s cheeks that she wants to ask about but knows she doesn’t have the right to, so she remains quiet, tapping at the computer and sipping her vodka.
She can feel Charlie eyeing her but the other girl doesn’t say anything. She makes a tiny huff, annoyed or a quiet call for attention, something EJ ignores, and then she slips into the bathroom. The shower turns on a few minutes later, and some of the tension gathers at the base of EJ’s spine, curling a tight fist of pain into her shoulders and up into her throbbing head.
They shouldn’t still be this fucking awkward together. Sometimes she wonders how they function at all, and how the hell they’ll manage in a fucking Irish castle, with nothing but books and copious amounts of wine to distract them.
Either the best idea she’s ever had, or the worst.
Probably the worst.
She’s done working, but she’s too tired to move—and it’s comfy here, in this oversized leather chair that reminds her of the one Grant—stepfather number two and the one that lasted the longest—had kept in his home office. She used to sit at it when she was coloring, while Mom read and Grant dozed, his head in her lap.
It was, she realizes abruptly, one of the happier times of her life. She’d been young enough to not realize that it was too good to last.
“You’re smiling,” Charlie murmurs. EJ doesn’t even tense at the sound of her friend. Maybe she’s too drunk—or maybe it doesn’t matter because what happens between them is the only thing she’s never been able to control.
The variable she didn’t expect.
“Why are you smiling?” Charlie asks, her voice a whisper that she feels as well as hears. The brush of it against her skin tells her how close Charlie is, even without her turning to look. They’re a hazy picture in the glass and gauze curtain, Charlie leaning against the chair that could be a throne.
“Just thinking about a time I was happy,” she says, her voice hoarse and wistful.
There’s a long moment where Charlie is quiet, and then, “Are you happy now?”
Is she? The freedom of her mother’s expectations, of Jacobs’ control, even of the business she’s built for herself—it’s been intoxicating to be away from that. To be bound by nothing but her own whims. Even with the pitfalls and danger and the dead bodies—“Yes,” she murmurs.
Because you are here.
The words hang unspoken and unacknowledged, in the back of her mind. They settle there, elusive and anxious, but she won’t voice them. Not to Charlie.
There are some elements of control she won’t give up.
“Everything changes soon,” Charlie murmurs. EJ swallows the urge to snort softly. Stupid, beautiful girl. Everything has already changed.
She shifts and stands, and Charlie, already close, is suddenly pressed against her, all of her curves and the thin silk of her robe. Charlie’s hands close over EJ’s hips, holding her steady and close when EJ would step back.
This should be easy. So easy. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know what Charlie wants—it’s all there in the pert hard nipples pressed to the silk robe, the glassy eyes and nervous way she nibbles at her lip, and the grip on her hip that turns hard so quickly.
“Charlie,” she whispers, and Charlie is kissing her, and she doesn’t have a fucking chance at control. It’s shattered, breaking under the soft assault of her lips, slanted over EJ’s, tongue licking into EJ’s mouth.
Her shy, hesitant girl is nowhere to be found, and that thought is almost as intriguing as the robe that’s parting like water to reveal Charlie, all soft skin that she wants to spend hours exploring. Charlie’s mouth is still on hers, catching every stupid noise she makes, and she hates that she’s making them, that Charlie is playing her so damn well.
She strokes up the other girl’s body until her palms are cupping Charlie’s breasts, her thumbs stroking over hard nipples. EJ catches one, and pinches, sharply enough that Charlie cries out, and she drops her head, her tongue tracing the other nipple, pale pink in the soft light of the room, and Charlie’s cry this time is breathy and startled, and almost begging for more.
She wants to hear Charlie beg. Until now, hearing the soft whimpers and the half formed words that spill like nonsense from her, she hadn’t realized how much she wants to reduce the other girl to a whimpering, begging wreck of sensation.
EJ smiles, and pulls Charlie to the bed. And despite everything, there isn’t any hesitation in Charlie as she lays back, only hungry impatience as she watches EJ strip slowly, until she’s wearing only a pair of lace panties and she crawls onto the bed, kissing Charlie hard and deep, petting her until the girl is panting, and then sinking down her body and settling between her thighs.
“I told you I would finish what I’d started,” she murmured, the breath of her words brushing against Charlie’s wet pussy. A choked sob answers her and she smirks, a private thing the other gi
rl doesn’t see, and then EJ lowers her head and makes Charlie beg.
Chapter 29
EJ hangs up the phone and rolls onto her back. Charlie curls into her side, warm skin and tousled hair. “Who was it?” she asks, her voice sleep tinged.
“Frenchie. He’s done. He’ll be here soon to drop everything off.”
Charlie makes a low pouting noise. “Does that mean we have to get up?”
EJ laughs softly and kisses her forehead before digging her fingers into Charlie’s sides. The other girl shrieks in protest and flails away.
“Get up, Charlie,” she says with a grin. “Frenchie is gay but he isn’t blind.” She ducks into the shower, washing and dressing quickly before turning her attention to her hair.
Something she’s discovered she loves about short hair is the very minimal effort she need put into it.
“How do you know Frenchie?” Charlie asks, when she’s out of the shower and dressed in a sundress, a pale green thing that has a vintage, innocent sexy look to it.
The dress amuses EJ, because there is nothing innocent about her.
“Jacobs likes to collect people who can be useful. He knows someone in almost every field. But I met Frenchie when I was in New York City a few years ago, a business trip Mom’s husband at the time wanted her to go on. Frenchie was his PA for the trip, and completely wasted at the position. I was underage, but he made me some fake IDs to get into a club with him while Mom was out with Barry. We had so much fun, and I realized just how useful he could be. So I introduced him to Jacobs when we got home. And in a few months, he quit working for my stepfather and was doing fake IDs and forgeries. He moves around a lot, to keep his client base growing and away from the authorities, and also—he likes it. He likes being in new places.”
“If he works for Jacobs, how do you know he won’t turn you over to him?” Charlie asks.
“Because he knew me first. Frenchie is loyal. Intensely so. But that loyalty came to me first, and I’m paying him now. He won’t fuck me over.”
Fatal Beauty Page 16