by Hannah Ford
“Wait,” I said. “Um, what… when do I take it out?”
“When I say so. I’ll see you soon, beautiful.”
By the time the limo pulled up in front of my apartment, I felt like I was going to explode.
The metal ball inside of me brushed against my insides every time I moved, setting me on fire. It was just enough to keep on the edge of horniness, the ache between my legs a constant distraction.
Landon stepped out of the back of the limo.
He was dressed in a tux, looking every inch the powerful billionaire on his way to a benefit. I didn’t know anything about tuxedos or fashion, but I could tell that what he was wearing was expensive and tailored. The material was cut elegantly, hugging his broad shoulders and large frame, his shirt white and crisp, his cufflinks glittering under the lights of the city.
“Wow,” he breathed when he saw me.
“You like?” I twirled, letting the bottom of my dress swirl around me in a shimmery, gossamer cloud.
“You look absolutely stunning, Ms. Courtland.” He pulled me toward him, his eyes dipping down the front of my gown, where an expanse of cleavage awaited him. His lips claimed mine in a kiss. “I might need to take you upstairs and fuck you before we even get there.”
“No,” I said playfully, shaking my head and sliding past him into the limo. “We don’t want to be late.”
He groaned and got into the limo, sliding across the seat toward me and nuzzling my neck.
“Have you been a good girl?” he whispered.
“Always.”
His hand pulled the fabric of my dress up slowly, his fingers slipping inside my panties, up inside of me, checking for the gold ball.
“Landon,” I gasped.
“If you’re bad tonight, princess, if you defy me in any way, I will take your panties away.” He grinned devilishly and brushed his lips against my neck, over the hollow of my throat, my pulse leaping and dancing.
If I thought it was torturous keeping the metal ball inside of me with panties on, I could only imagine how it would be with no panties – right now the sheer fabric of my thong was helping to keep the ball inside of me.
If I had to tense my muscles even harder to keep it from falling out, the feeling would go from torturous to unbearable.
Landon’s lips found mine, his tongue tracing the seam of my lips, parting them. He tasted like mint and danger, and soon we were making out heavily, my hands sliding inside of his suit jacket, tracing the defined muscles of his abdomen through his dress shirt.
His hand held the back of my neck, his other hand sliding up and down my side as we kissed, our tongues tangling and dancing.
A few minutes later, the limo came to a stop in front of a tall, luxury apartment building.
Landon untangled his legs from mine.
“Shit,” he groaned.
“What? What is it?” His kisses had left me breathless.
“I told Conner and Violet we’d pick them up at Conner’s apartment,” he said. “I thought you would enjoy driving over with your sister. Now I’m realizing the complete foolishness of that idea.”
I giggled and snuggled into him. “No, it’s sweet. I’m glad they’re riding with us.”
The door opened, and Conner and Violet tumbled into the limo. The two of them were giddy, on a high after finding out that they weren’t brother and sister. They also seemed as if maybe they’d had a couple of glasses of wine before they arrived.
My sister’s cheeks were flushed, and Conner’s eyes were half-lidded.
“Are we late?” Violet asked. “Sorry if we’re late. We were busy.” She giggled again. She looked beautiful in the shimmery sheath dress we’d picked out earlier, her hair brushed to the side in a fishtail braid.
“You’re not late,” Landon said, looking at them with amusement.
“Nice to see you, brother,” Conner said, then turned his attention to me. He took my hand and raised it to his lips. “Aven, good to see you again.”
“You too,” I said, not sure if I meant it. But I supposed I was willing to give Conner a chance. He was Landon’s brother, Violet’s boyfriend, and even though he gave off a vibe that made him seem as if he were less than trustworthy, he hadn’t done anything specifically to me.
“I’m starving,” Violet said. “Is there going to be food at this thing?”
“Yes,” Landon said. “There will be food.”
“If you call one bite of caviar and a tiny sliver of lobster food,” Conner scoffed. He reached into the mini refrigerator of the limo and pulled out a tiny shooter of vodka, handed it to Violet, and then picked one of bourbon for himself.
“Aven?” he asked. “What’s your poison?”
“No, thanks,” I said.
“Oh, come on,” Violet said. “We’re celebrating.” She smiled at Conner as they downed their drinks.
“Yes, it’s great news,” Landon said. “The DNA results were conclusive.” He picked up the empty bottles his brother had placed on the leather console, lifted the lid and dropped them into the garbage.
I glanced at him.
Something in his tone made me think that there was a “but” coming, and I wondered if it had to do with his father, if he was going to bring up the fact that Victor Sheer had pretty much admitted that he’d had my sister assaulted.
The way Conner and Violet were acting, it was if it had never happened, even though the bruise on my sister’s face was slightly visible under her makeup, and the cut in her lip made her look as if she’d had lip injections.
“Not just that,” Conner said. “Tell them Violet.”
“I’m moving to New York!” Violet said gleefully.
“What?” I frowned. “You mean after graduation?”
“No.” She shook her head. “Now.”
“But what about school?”
“I’m going to transfer.”
“To where?” I pressed.
“I’m not sure yet.”
“But you love Filmont.” She did, too. It was one of the best art schools in the country, where Violet could study graphic design and be confident she could get a job afterwards, thanks to their extensive alumni network.
“I’m sure I’ll love whatever school I pick here.”
I frowned. “But isn’t it too late to start for next semester?”
“I’m going to take a semester off.”
“And do what?”
“I don’t know, explore the city. Conner said he might have some clients I can freelance for.”
“I’m sure he does,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. I met Conner’s eye, and he gazed back at me coolly. It was an uncomfortable feeling, someone having a say in my sister’s life, since for so long it had been just the two of us. I checked myself, wondering if perhaps I was overreacting, if I was overstepping my bounds.
But I didn’t think I was.
Violet was acting reckless, moving to New York to, what, live with Conner? And do nothing until she could apply to school? She had scholarships at Filmont, a generous financial aid package. Was Conner going to pay for her school, too, or were these supposed freelance jobs going to be expected to pay for her tuition?
I opened my mouth to voice some of these objections, but before I could, Conner spoke.
“And will the lovely Abigail be there tonight?” he asked, his question for Landon, but his eyes on me.
Next to me, Landon tensed.
“I don’t know.” Landon’s tone was curt, short, as if he was done with the conversation.
“Oh, come on,” Conner said. His tie was loose around his neck, as if he couldn’t have been bothered to tighten it, like he didn’t want to be uncomfortable for a second, even for a fancy benefit. “You mean she didn’t email you?” The limo was pulling to a stop now in front of the Quartz Stewart Building, where the dinner was being held in their Rosemont Room.
Our limo was just one in a line full of them, and I watched as drivers opened doors, a seemingly endless array of beaut
iful people stepping out, the women spray tanned and toned to perfection, their hair combed back into soft chignons or loose buns.
“Who’s Abigail?” I asked, trying not to sound as curious as I felt.
“That’s Abigail,” Conner said, pointing out the window at a woman standing off to the side talking to a group of people. She was in her mid-twenties, tall with long dark hair. While most of the women had their hair pulled back, she wore her hair loose in soft, tousled curls. Her lips were full, her tiny waist accentuated by the dress she was wearing, a strapless rose gold number made of layers of soft material that made her look like some kind of angel. “She’s Landon’s ex-girlfriend.”
“She was never my girlfriend,” Landon said.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot you don’t like labels,” Conner said, rolling his eyes.
Landon tensed again.
“This is going to be so fun,” Violet declared, and then her and Conner were out of the limo in a tangle of limbs and laughter.
“You ready?” Landon asked, taking my hand and giving it a squeeze.
“Yes.”
We got out of the limo, Landon’s hand still around mine, as we began making our way toward the front of the building.
But before we could get there, that Abigail woman appeared at Landon’s other side. She was even more gorgeous up-close, her skin flawless, her lips plump and full.
“Landon,” she said. Her voice was breathy, making her sound younger than she was.
“Abigail.”
She fell into step with us, like we were a happy group of three.
Landon made no move to introduce me.
“How are you?” she asked as we climbed the steps of the building and slipped through the doors. The lobby was huge, with a domed ceiling and crushed velvet carpet. We began to follow the crowd back to the ballroom.
“Fine. And you?”
“Good.” She leaned into him then, and made a movement so quick that I almost missed it. She pressed a note into his hand, kissed him on the cheek, and then disappeared into the crowd.
A weird feeling bloomed in my stomach.
It wasn’t jealousy, exactly.
It was more unease.
I’d literally been out with Landon for a few minutes, and he was getting notes from beautiful ex-girlfriends. How could one ever expect to have a relationship with someone like that?
Landon moved to the side of the lobby, pulling me with him.
He glanced at the note, making no move to shield me from it.
“Need to talk to you. About the center and your father. Text me when you can step away. V important. Destroy this note. “
Landon sighed.
“What’s that about?” I asked, trying to keep my tone light.
“Abigail’s husband runs the clinic the benefit is for,” he said. “The Benedict Center for Behavior Health. I told you my father is a big donor there.”
“Why does she want to talk to you about it?”
“I don’t know.”
I raised my eyebrows, and Landon caught it. “What?”
“Nothing.” I shrugged. “It’s just strange that she would want to meet with you, alone, about something that really has nothing to do with you, making it sound all sinister.”
“She’s married, Aven.”
“So?”
He shook his head. “It’s not like that. She wouldn’t –” He stopped talking, realizing that he was defending her, and then his face softened. “Fine. I said no secrets, right? Everything out on the table? Let’s put this to bed right now.”
He pulled out his phone, dialed a number.
“Abigail,” he said. “Meet me outside, behind the building. Yes, right now.”
Landon took my hand, and led me back outside, around to the back of the building and into a small alley.
It was dark out, and the sounds of New York were muted.
A moment later, Abigail emerged from another door, one that must have connected to the ballroom.
“Landon,” she said, glancing at me in surprise, as if she’d forgotten Landon had been with a date.
“This is Aven,” Landon said.
She nodded at me, but didn’t say it was nice to meet me or offer any other introduction. All she said was, “I need to talk to you alone.”
“Anything you have to say, you can say in front of Aven.”
“It’s about your father.” She twisted her hands, and I noticed her nails, even though they were painted a sheer rose gold that matched her dress, were bitten to the quick. “I don’t want to overstep my bounds, but you’re the only one I can trust.”
“It’s fine,” he said, and now his face was lined with concern. “What’s going on?”
But before she could answer, the sound of gunshots ran out through the alley, so out of place and surprising, that at first I thought they were firecrackers. I glanced toward the sky in annoyance, wondering why someone would be setting off firecrackers in New York City when it wasn’t the fourth of July.
It was only when Landon pushed me to the ground, placing his body over mine that I realized what was happening.
More shots rang out, a horrible popping sound that seemed to last forever, but it was probably only a few seconds. Then they stopped.
“Are you okay?” Landon asked. “Aven? Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Stay there.” He stood up, and that’s when I saw the blood on my hand, felt it wet against my face.
“Landon,” I cried, and he was back down next to me. “I’m bleeding.”
His shoes were covered in blood, a pile of it now starting on the cement.
“No,” he said. “No, you’re not.”
He reached down and helped me up, out of the blood, and that’s when I saw her.
Abigail, lying on the concrete.
Half of her beautiful face was missing, blown to pieces by a bullet.
Someone had shot her.
Someone had shot her right before she was going to tell Landon something about his father.
I turned and looked at Landon.
“I need an ambulance,” he was barking into his cell.
The puddle of blood grew darker, larger.
“Come on,” Landon said. “Come on, Abigail, stay with me.” He took off his tuxedo coat and pressed it against her forehead, trying to stop the bleeding.
But there was so much blood.
His eyes met mine, and for the first time since I’d known him, I saw real fear there.
“Go get Violet,” he said. “Tell her and Conner what happened, and tell them to get the hell out of here.”
I was frozen.
“Aven, go.”
I ran.
The End of Part Seven
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