by Hannah Ford
“You know we can’t let that happen, Colt,” came the reply. It was a deep voice, that of an older man, and I was pretty sure I recognized it as the voice on Colt’s speaker phone in the car. Mick, the caller ID had said.
“Bullshit we can’t let it happen,” Colt said. He was talking louder now.
“Keep your fucking voice down.”
“No,” Colt said. “There’s no way, Mick. It’s not what he would have wanted.”
“Let it go, Colt,” Mick said. “They wouldn’t do anything anyway.”
“You don’t know that! And that doesn’t even fucking matter. What matters is that she –”
“What matters is that she got what she deserved,” Mick said. A shiver went down my spine. Something about the way he said that reminded me of my foster father, Karl, who used to say things like that all the time. If he hit us, if he yelled at us, if he kept food from us, well, in Karl’s opinion, everyone got what they deserved. It didn’t matter if you hadn’t done anything.
“You fucking bastard,” Colt said, and the sound of something scraping across the floor echoed through the hallway. “If you ever say –”
There was a huge crash then, like a chair or something being thrown to the ground.
“Listen to me, you little shit,” Mick said. “You’re not in charge around here So shut your mouth, Colt, or I’ll kick you out on your ass faster than you can say ‘fuck you.’”
I frowned. I didn’t get it. Why was Mick saying he was going to kick Colt out on his ass? How could he when Colt was the owner of the club? Of course, no one had actually told me he was the owner of Loose Cannons, I’d just assumed it from the way he carried himself, and because of that fact that he was in charge of hiring. But maybe I had it wrong.
I waited for Colt to fire back at him, wondering what I should do if it became clear they were really fighting. Should I go in there and break it up? Or just let them fight it out?
But I didn’t have to worry about that, because a second later, a man came barreling out of the room and into the hallway. Mick. He was wearing a blue and black flannel shirt over a pair of stone washed jeans. There were work boots on his feet and he stomped by me down the hall.
I held my breath and waited for him to ask me what the hell I was doing there, but he didn’t even look at me. He just pushed by me, his weathered face crinkled into annoyance.
I let out the breath I was holding and peeked into the room Mick had just left.
Colt was standing there, his hands gripping the edge of a huge desk, his head lowered. “Fuck,” he swore under his breath. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” He stood up and slammed his fist down on the desk. Once. Twice. Three times.
“Wow,” I said, leaning against the door frame. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.”
He looked up, his eyes blazing, ready to get in a fight with the first person he saw. That’s how angry he was. I recognized it because I’d had that kind of anger inside of me before. But instead of expressing it the way Colt was doing, I pushed it down as far as I could, until I couldn’t control it anymore. And then I would cut myself.
You could argue that Colt’s way of dealing with his emotions was healthier, that at least he was trying to release them. But I knew better – you didn’t get that angry in the first place unless there was something unhealthy going on in your life. Out-of-balance emotions were the product of an out-of-balance life.
You’d think that since I knew that, I should be able to fix the things that were making me feel that kind of pain. But it was one thing to understand why you had anger, or felt the need to cut yourself. It was quite another to try and fix whatever it was that was causing it.
“What are you doing here?” Colt said when he realized it was me. “I told you to stay in the car.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not good at following directions”
“You shouldn’t be here,” Colt said. “Go back to the car, Olivia.” I didn’t like the way he said my name this time, like he was in charge of me, like I needed to be scolded.
“No,” I said. “Not until you give me back my purse.”
“I’m not letting–” he started. But then he shook his head. “Fine,” he said. “You want your bag? Here.” He reached over and picked my purse up from where it was sitting on the windowsill. “Here you go. Now you’re free to go back to the shelter, take the city bus, sleep on the streets, whatever it is you’re determined to do.”
“Thanks,” I said, reaching out to take it from him. Our fingertips brushed, and I wasn’t sure if it was my imagination or not, but I felt like he hung onto my bag for a beat longer than was necessary, like he wanted me to stay.
Our eyes met, and my breath hitched. For the first time, I saw something beneath the surface in him – hurt. I thought about his anger just now, how he pounded the desk like he did, how that man Mick was yelling at him, and I wondered if there was more to Colt than I’d first thought.
Maybe he wasn’t just a rich skeezy guy who ran a strip club and got everything handed to him.
And then, just like that, his eyes hardened again. The hurt was gone, but now it was replaced by something else, something intangible. Regret? It was odd, but I had the feeling he wanted me to stay here, with him. And not just because he thought it was the right thing to do.
“Thanks,” I said as finally he let go of my bag.
“You’re welcome.”
We both stood there for a second, just looking at each other. It was weird, because nothing had happened to make me feel connected to him, except that I’d seen him get angry. And I couldn’t explain it, but somehow, I wanted to take his pain away.
That invisible pull I’d felt toward him earlier, when I was dancing for him, and again back at his apartment, returned, stronger than ever. But now it wasn’t the pull of lust – now it was something else, something deeper.
You have to help him.
“Colt – ” I started, my voice soft. I wanted to tell him it was going to be okay, that whatever was going on would end up fine in the end. I wasn’t sure I believed that – the whole it’s going to be okay in the end bullshit that some people liked to spew. But I needed to say something.
“Good luck, Princess,” Colt said, cutting me off. That playful little lilt was back in his voice, whatever vulnerability I’d seen had replaced with his usual cockiness. He reached his hand out for me to shake.
I took it, his hand enveloping mine, big and strong and warm. My breath hitched in my chest, and I could hear the blood rushing through my ears. My body was on alert again, that connection I’d felt with him thrumming in the air, electric.
I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t want to walk out of this room and never see him again. I couldn’t explain it, but I just… I didn’t.
“So,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant. “What was that business proposition you were talking about earlier?”
“Business proposition?” He frowned, confusion flooding his face.
“Yeah, back at your apartment. You said you had a business proposition for me?”
“Oh.” He shook his head. “It was nothing. It was a stupid idea, especially now.”
“Especially now?”
“Yeah, this girl – ” He shook his head. “Never mind. It’s not important.”
Was he talking about the girl I’d seen in that other room, the one who was crying? I wanted to ask him, but I was afraid if I pushed, he would kick me out.
“Really?” I asked. “Because it kind of sounded important.”
He looked at me, his eyes narrowing. “I can’t… you wouldn’t be good at it.”
My jaw dropped. “I wouldn’t be good at it?” I crossed my arms over my chest. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing, just that you’d have to listen to me. I’d be your boss. And you’re not good at following directions.”
“First of all,” I said. “You don’t know me well enough to know whether or not I’m good at following directions.” And second of a
ll…” I trailed off. “Second of all, I’m a very motivated employee.”
“Oh, really?” He was next to me in a flash, his body against mine, his breath warm on my cheek. “Motivated, huh?”
“Yes.” I forced myself to keep my eyes on his.
“You’ll do anything I say?”
My breath hitched again, and I closed my eyes because I couldn’t take looking at him. He was just so damn beautiful, and I was afraid I was going to lose my mind or do something crazy, that’s how much I didn’t want to leave this room, how much I wanted to stay here with him. In that moment, I would have don’t anything he wanted.
“Yes,” I whispered. “Anything.”
He ran the back of his knuckle over my jawbone, then leaned in even closer to me. “You’d have to live with me. I’d need to keep an eye on you.”
I nodded, then forced myself to open my eyes, not caring if he kissed me, not caring if I broke my promise to Declan.
“Okay,” I said.
He grinned, then put his hand on the back of my neck, pulling my hair up gently. Then he closed his eyes and leaned down, his mouth coming closer to mine, his lips full and perfect. I held my breath and waited for him to kiss me.
But a second later, he froze and opened his eyes.
“Wow, Princess,” he said, “you really meant it.”
My legs were jello, my knees so weak I was afraid I was going to fall over. And he’d been bluffing the whole time. I didn’t know whether to be pissed or relieved.
“I told you,” I said, trying to match his cocky tone, like I’d won, like I’d called his bluff, even though I’d had no idea he was messing with me.
Colt leaned back against the desk, and looked up at the ceiling, like he was thinking it over. “Fine,” he said. “We’ll give it a trial run.”
“Aren’t you going to tell me what the job is first?”
“The less you know, the better.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“It means that for right now, you don’t need to know the specifics of what I’m asking you to do.”
“Because it’s dangerous?” I pressed. I thought of that girl again, her hair in ragged strands, a jagged scratch across her face.
He sighed. “It’s not dangerous, exactly, it’s just better if you don’t know the details.” He looked at me. “Do you trust me?”
“I hardly know you.”
“It’s not going to work if you don’t trust me.”
I opened my mouth to tell him it was impossible to trust someone you’d only known for a few hours, but then I realized something – whatever this job was, whatever he wanted me to do, he must be pretty desperate if he was willing to let me, a girl he barely knew, become involved. It must have been something he needed a certain kind of person to do, and although I didn’t know the exact characteristics of that kind of person, I must have had them.
He wanted something from me. And no matter how successful someone was, no matter how rich, how good-looking, when they wanted something from you, you had power over them. I could get something from Colt. Probably anything I wanted.
And there was only one thing I wanted, one thing I’d ever wanted. The thing I was willing to risk anything for, the thing that had led me here in the first place.
“How did you know where I was staying?” I asked.
“What?”
“How did you know where I was staying?” I asked. “You figured out I was staying at the Walnut Street shelter, you somehow had them agree to send my things to your apartment.”
He sighed and looked at me like I was a child. “Olivia,” he said. “When you have money, you can pretty much do whatever you want.”
He might have thought he was clueing me in to some universal truth, but I already knew this – money got things done. It wasn’t the way the world should work, it was unfair and unjust and you could debate the reasons why for hours. But I wasn’t interested in any of that. All I was interested in was getting him to admit that money could get you things you wanted.
“Fine,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. “I’ll help you. I’ll do whatever you want. I won’t ask questions. I’ll trust you, I’ll even stay at your apartment. But I want something in return.”
“Of course I’m going to pay you, Princess. What kind of guy do you think I am?” He raised his eyebrows at me and gave me that smarmy grin again, letting me know he knew exactly what kind of guy he was.
“No.” I shook my head. “I mean, yes, I expect to be paid. But I want something else, too.”
“Oh, yeah? And what’s that?”
“I want you to find someone for me.”
“Who?”
“Declan Keene.”
Colt frowned. “Who the hell is Declan Keene?”
I raised my chin into the air, daring him to contradict what I was about to say. “He’s the man I’m going to marry.”
END OF BOOK TWO
Consumed By Him (Obsessed With Him, Book Three)
By Hannah Ford
Copyright 2015 Hannah Ford, all rights reserved. This book is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to any places or persons is entirely coincidental.
**
Colt looked at me incredulously. “How old you are you?” he demanded.
“Twenty,” I said, hoping I sounded haughty. “How old are you?”
“Old enough to know that at twenty, you have no idea who you’re going to marry.” He shook his head. “So you can forget it.”
“Forget what?”
“Forget about me finding some asshole you have some crazy crush on. Let me guess. He dumped you. And now you’re obsessed with him and think if you can just see him again, he’ll realize what he’s missing. Like your life is some kind of fucking romantic comedy.”
“What?” I asked. “No! He didn’t dump me.” I was pissed. Pissed that Colt was acting like I was some kind of silly schoolgirl trying to stalk some guy who had no interest in her. “Declan was my foster brother.”
Colt raised his eyebrows. “Jesus,” he said. “You think you’re going to marry your brother?”
“No! He’s not…we’re not related. He’s my foster brother. Well, was my foster brother.” I expected Colt to give me a sad look, or say something sympathetic, the way people always did when they found out I’d been in foster care. But Colt just held his hands up and took a few steps away from me, like maybe my crazy was contagious.
“Hey,” he said. “What you do on your own time…”
“You know what?” I said. “You can go fuck yourself.” I turned around and headed for the door. I didn’t need this. He needed help from me, too. He should have been kissing my ass, but instead, he was mocking me. And if I wanted to be ridiculed, I could get that any day of the week, just by interacting with society.
“Okay, okay,” Colt said, reaching out and grabbing my arm. “Wait. I’ll help you find Deacon.”
“Declan.”
“Whatever.”
“Fine.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “And what do I have to do for you?”
“Whatever I want,” he said, his voice a mix of husky and cocky. He took a step toward me. “Are you okay with that?”
“Bring it,” I said, forcing myself to meet his gaze.
“Good.” He looked at me. “The first thing we have to do is get you an outfit.”
“An outfit?”
“Yeah. You’re going to be working here.”
“Oh.” I twisted my hands nervously, hoping he couldn’t tell how anxious I was. “I’m going to be stripping?”
This seemed to amuse him. “Are you serious?” he asked. “You really think I would hire you as a stripper after that audition?”
“What was wrong with my audition?” I countered, even though of course I knew what was wrong with my audition.
“You ran out in the middle of it.”
“Just because I didn’t want to get naked for you, doesn’t mean –”
“Doesn’t mean
you don’t want to get naked in front of the guys out there?” He shook his head. “Trust me. If you can’t get naked for me, you can’t get naked for them. And besides, you did want to get naked for me.”
“Oh, yeah?” I asked. “Then why didn’t I?”
“Because you were afraid.”
“Afraid?” I repeated “Afraid of what?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “You tell me.”
“I wasn’t afraid.” I swallowed and crossed my arms over my chest. “I’m in love with someone else, is all.”
“Mmm. Deacon.”
“Declan!”
“Right. The guy you need me to help you to find, because you have no idea where he is.”
“Yes,” I said. “But that’s not my fault.”
“What isn’t?”
“That I don’t know where he is. Once we aged out of foster care, it was impossible to keep track of him.”
He raised his eyebrows at me. “In this day and age of facebook and skype and cell phones, it was impossible to keep track of him?”
“I don’t have a cell phone,” I said. “Or a computer.”
“You don’t have a cell phone or a computer?”
I shook my head. “Sorry if that offends your privileged white boy sensibilities.”
“Nothing offends me,” Colt said. He reached over and pushed a button on the phone that was sitting on the desk in the corner. After a second, a girls’ voice answered. “Jessa,” he said. “Can you bring me a waitress uniform?”
“Sure,” she said. “What size?”
Colt’s eyes racked up my body, taking in my legs, my hips, my breasts. “What’s your dress size?” he asked.
“Six.”
“And your bra size?”
I swallowed. “36C.”
He grinned, and relayed the information to the girl on the phone.
“So I’m going to be a waitress?” I asked. I could definitely handle that. Being a waitress sounded like it wouldn’t be that hard. I imagined myself bustling through the tables, serving food and drinks, making conversation with the customers.
“Cocktail waitress,” Colt said. “Have you ever waitressed before?”
I shook my head. “But one of my foster families had ten kids, and I was the oldest, so I served a lot of meals. It was kind of like being a waitress.”