I’m reluctant to move. It feels so good to be tangled up with Troy that I’m almost sad when he pulls out of me and peels the condom off his softening erection. He tosses it to the floor and wraps a sweaty arm around my waist, pulling me close and holding me from behind.
“So,” Troy whispers. “You want me to stay?”
I swallow. As raw and vulnerable as it felt to stand naked in front of Troy, this is somehow harder. Rolling around in his arms, I stroke his face with my hand as if I need to commit every subtle nuance to memory.
“Yeah,” I whisper back. “I do.”
I stay in Troy’s arms, just like that, until my leg goes numb and I have to get up to pee. In the bathroom, I groan at the sight of my reflection. My hair frizzes in a puffy wave down my back, but somehow, I know Troy doesn’t mind. I splash cool water on my face and rinse my mouth out. After I brush my hair back, I feel a little better.
On the way back to bed, I stop in the kitchen and pull a Gatorade out of the fridge. I smirk at the bottle before twisting it open and taking a long drink. I always used to drink Gatorade after workouts when I was a teenager, and it still feels like a reward. But now, the workouts are a little different, I think with a smirk as I saunter back into the bedroom. Troy mumbles and twitches in bed, and I freeze on the spot.
“Troy?” I whisper. “Are you okay?”
Troy thrashes and moans, and I realize he must be having another nightmare. About the trauma he suffered as a kid. Biting my lip, I gently sit on the side of the bed and put my hand on his shoulder.
“Troy?” I stroke his arm. “It’s me, Joslyn. You must be having a bad dream.”
Troy groans and shakes. It frightens me – as intense as he is, I’ve never seen him like this before.
“Joslyn,” Troy grunts. “I…I can’t…”
“Wake up.” I raise my voice this time. Even though I read somewhere that you should never wake someone in the middle of a bad dream, I can’t stand to see him in agony. “Troy, you’re having a nightmare.”
“I’m sorry,” Troy says in a small, weak voice that reminds me of a little kid. “Joslyn, they hurt you. I couldn’t save you. Protect you.”
A numb feeling spreads from my heart through my body, all the way to the tips of my toes. Something is wrong – very, very wrong – and I suddenly have the feeling Troy’s been keeping secrets from me. Grabbing his meaty shoulder with both hands, I shake him.
“Troy, wake up!” I snap. “It’s me!”
Troy bolts awake. Drenched in sweat, his hulking body trembles underneath the softness of my touch. The foreign look in his eyes scares the shit out of me, like he’s never seen me before in his life. After a moment, he takes a deep breath and swallows.
“What was that? Troy, what were you dreaming about?”
“Nothing.” Troy’s normally strong voice is reduced to a shaky whisper.
“You’re lying.” I grab the sheet from the bed and wrap it around my naked body. “Why are you withholding the truth?”
Troy hangs his head, avoiding eye contact for what feels like an eternity. “I…”
“You need to tell me right now,” I demand, my heart pounding in my skull. “What is it?”
Troy wrings his hands as he stares at the wall, avoiding eye contact. “I met you, a long time ago. In the warehouse.”
The shock hits me like a sonic boom, and for a moment, I can’t breathe. I know what he’s going to say, and bright spots swim inside my pupils.
“I’m sorry. Joslyn, once I figured it out, I wanted to tell you. I–”
“You shut your fucking mouth!” Molten-hot rage fills every pore of my body, and I can feel myself starting to shake. “It was you. Was it you?”
I wait for him to look at me. I need to hear it from his mouth. “Yes.”
That moment floods back into my mind. That moment that made me realize I could never trust anyone. “How could you? How could you do that to me? You left me. You had no way of knowing they’d ever let me go. You fucking left me to die.”
The muscle in his jaw pops. “Joslyn, I was a little boy. I tried to–”
“And I was a defenseless, weak little girl who got her toe cut off with a pair of garden shears!”
By now, tears stream down my face in a torrential downpour of pain, but I can’t make them stop. It’s too late – the floodgates have been opened, and I’m feeling every bad emotion there is to feel. He did this! He turned me into the cold, bitter, man-hating bitch that I don’t even recognize anymore.
He betrayed me.
“And I’m sorry.” The gentle quality in Troy’s voice, his pain, his yearning for absolution, doesn’t register. White-hot rage strangles me. “Joslyn, I really am. I wanted to help you. After–”
“But you didn’t,” I wail, flailing my arms around my head. I want to hit him. I want to pummel him with my fists until he stops talking. “You let them hurt me, and you knew! And you didn’t tell me! And you…you…” I can feel myself slip into the ugly cry, and as much as I want to run away, I know I have to stand strong, or I’ll never respect myself ever again. “You acted like it was nothing!”
“Maybe if you didn’t have some kind of Amazonian fetish, I would have found it easier to tell you!” With an uncharacteristic yell, Troy jumps to his feet and puffs out his chest, putting his hands on his hips. “But no, you had to make everything so fucking difficult!”
“What the hell does my gym have to do with anything? I’m a strong, independent woman! That’s more than I can say about you, you fucking pussy! Oh, look Troy! A spider! Are you gonna piss yourself?”
His expression turns glacial. “Yeah, well, I could’ve told you if you weren’t such an unapproachable, frigid bitch!”
Before I can even think about the ramifications, I wind back and slap Troy hard across the face. For a moment, he looks at me, clearly stunned. Then his face hardens, and he grabs his clothes before storming out of my house.
Chapter Eighteen
Troy
I’m an asshole.
I sit inside my car, the leather interior molding to my body. That alone pisses me off. I want to feel the pain. All of it. Every fucking last ounce of emotional and physical pain belongs solely to me.
The harsh words I directed at Joslyn flew out of my mouth before I could stop them. I’ve never been one for understanding my own emotions, let alone a woman’s. All I knew in that moment was that I felt wretched, and I wanted it to stop. No matter what I had to do to stop it.
I know that I should go back inside Joslyn’s house and apologize. Make her listen to the rest of the story. My story. All that happened from the moment I ran from that cage.
But then I remember her taunting me, and cut myself some slack. It takes two to tango, and she’s the one leading this dysfunctional dance. I pull my pride around me, throwing the car into reverse and spraying rocks all over her lawn.
When I get home, I take a long shower. I want to wash every trace of her off my skin. I want to wipe myself clean of her toxic personality. It’s impossible. Every time I close my eyes, I see her face. The image of her angry expression makes my rage come rushing back full force, and by the time I get out of the shower, I get dressed and attack my punching bag, throwing right hooks and sharp jabs until I collapse with exhaustion.
For the first time in my life, I have a miserable day working at the Armónico. I want to call in sick, but I don’t want to give Nixon any sign of weakness. So, I spend the day in agony, watching as happy, drunk tourists lose dollar after dollar. My normal workday feels like torture, and when evening arrives, I practically run out of the casino and onto the Strip.
I know that if I don’t do something, I’ll wind up drinking all night and punching a hole in the wall. Instead, I walk into a liquor store and buy a bottle of Glenfiddich Eighteen. I’m tempted to open the bottle right there in the store – just the idea of being drunk swirls around my consciousness like a panacea. I can’t believe things with Joslyn got so fucked up…and as angry
as I am with her, I know that I’m not entirely blameless.
I can’t face the idea of going home, so I drive to Hawk’s mega-mansion instead after a quick text. His gated community lies on the outskirts of Vegas, and as always, I’m awed by the sheer size of his Spanish hacienda style home. As I pull up his massive circular drive, I hope that he can help.
The housekeeper leads me to his security den, which he calls his lair. I rap on the door a couple of times for good measure.
“Man, good to see you,” Hawk says and takes the bottle of aged scotch from my hands. “Ah, you bought the good stuff. Bad day?”
“The worst,” I mutter under my breath.
Hawk shows me inside where hundreds of monitors beep and flash, representing every casino floor on the Strip in black and white glory. Except one. Squares of marble shine beneath my loafers as I travel the short distance to a leather chair and sink into it.
“I know.” Hawk looks around and shrugs. “All this, and I spend most of my time in the dark. I even have a basketball court to go with my lap pool. Don’t ask me how many times I’ve used either.”
“I won’t.” The man’s so pasty white, I can’t imagine him outside during the day at all. He’s like a geeky vampire. “You got any glasses?”
Hawk reaches into a cabinet behind him. A wet bar lines one wall, complete with a full-sized fridge. He takes two crystal glasses and puts them down on the counter before opening the Glenfiddich and pouring two generous splashes.
“Cheers, Cass. To cold beer and warm pussy.” Hawk narrows his eyes as his glass wafts underneath his nose. After a sniff, he throws back half the contents. “What exactly are we celebrating again?”
“The end of my professional and whatever the hell else relationship with Joslyn Monroe, the frostiest ice queen in Vegas.”
Hawk gives me a weird look but reluctantly clinks his glass against mine. “Right. I don’t think I’ve ever met her. Is she that important?”
The scotch tastes rich, smooth, and heavy on my tongue – just what I’ve been craving. Closing my eyes, I tilt my head back until the expensive liquor is nothing but a distant memory. Just like the woman who inspired me to drink it. Hawk refills me without a word, and I take another sip.
“She is according to his highness, Nixon Caldwell.” I shake my head and put the glass down on the marble countertop. “But I can’t fucking do it anymore. She’s impossible.”
“Troubles, I dub thee woman.” He gestures as if we’re both knights of the round table using Excalibur to pave our way to the aristocracy. “So, what happened? And not some fake bullshit. Look around you, my friend. I have eyes and ears everywhere. Only the truth will do.”
I sigh. There’s no way I can tell Hawk the complete truth, so I rack my brain for the acceptable version.
“Hmm…”
“Come on, man, how long have we known each other? Since fucking grade school and the system. I hate the system, and I know you do too. Believe me, I’ve heard it all.” He snorts. “Or, at least, seen it through my security cameras.”
“Ha.”
“Seriously, what happened?” he asks again, lounging back in his chair. “It can’t be that bad. Was she at least a good lay?”
“Oh, it’s bad.” At his question, uncomfortable flashbacks of Joslyn’s naked form splayed out for my pleasure waltzes into my brain. I shove them away. Never again. “Bleak. Horrific, even. But it’s over now.”
Hawk frowns as he sips. “You’re gonna have to give me a little more to go on. I don’t really understand.”
“This girl.” I shake my head midsentence as if Joslyn was ever just ‘some girl.’ “Nixon wanted me to help her out – she owns the gym in his casino, and she’s teaching a women’s self-defense class. She wanted me as a dummy.”
Hawk laughs at my lethal glare. “Oh, that girl. I’ve seen her. Shredded. Tiny. Full rack, in spite of her zero percent body fat. The situation is pretty funny, though, you have to admit. Never thought I’d live to see the day the emotionless Troy Cass got thrown over by a woman half his size.”
“Maybe it’s funny to you,” I grumble. “And either way, it’s not funny now. She’s a bitch, and I can’t work with her. I don’t give a shit what Nixon has to say about it.”
“Is Nixon going to care? I heard he’s so wrapped up in his stealthy Mona Lisa takeover that Marcella could stand naked in front of The Armónico and he’d just tell her not to catch a chill.”
“Shit.” I tip my glass toward him, wondering why I don’t take the time to come here more often. Hawk gets me. He was abandoned as a baby at a local hospital. After my dad got arrested and thrown in the pen, we met each other in the foster system. “If he’s that involved, I haven’t noticed it. He’s crabby as fuck, but he’s still the same old control freak you and I both know and love. Nothing easing up on that front.”
Hawk gives me a sympathetic look. “He’s a reasonable guy, Troy. He’s not going to flip out over woman troubles. She’s not that important to The Armónico. She’s one tenant of hundreds on The Promenade.”
“He’s under a lot of stress right now,” I say, shaking my head. “And I need to do something to make him think I’m not a complete fuck-up. I’m jonesing for the VP of Security over there. He spouted off some line of crap about leadership, and me not being ready to grace his fancy C-suite offices.”
“Hey, why don’t I show you what I’ve been working on?” Hawk leans back in his chair and watches me.
“Any excuse for a distraction.”
Hawk carefully slides a signed Frank Lloyd Wright print to the side, revealing a luminous keypad. I snicker as he punches in a long code. When he’s done, Hawk jerks his head to the side and gestures for me to follow him.
“I can’t believe you have security just to get into your walk-in safe.” I follow Hawk down a narrow corridor. “That’s pretty fucking nuts, man.”
Hawk whistles. “Wait until you see what I have in here. I think you’ll get a kick out of it – it’s pretty cool. At least, I think so.”
“Yeah.” I glance around, admiring his state of the art equipment, a lot of which he invented or created himself. He’s always been a tech genius. I’m glad he’s using it for good and not evil. With the horrors of the social system, a kid can go either way. “Because you obviously need another home or something.”
“Hey.” Hawk pretends to be hurt, stabbing himself in the chest with a fake knife. “A vacation home would be nice.”
“Yeah, except you’d never actually go,” I reply, slapping him on the back.
Hawk pretends to cough under the force of my hand. “Oh, yeah. You’re right.”
Hawk takes me into a dark room and leads me over to a large touch-screen table. He swipes his hand across the table, then pinches his fingers to zoom in. A large map appears of Hawk’s neighborhood, and I gasp as I see my car in the driveway.
“Holy shit, what is this?”
Hawk leans back and crosses his arms over his chest, looking smug. “Something new I’ve been working on – it’s pretty much done, actually, just needs a little debugging. You know me, always looking to change the world.”
“Or line your pockets. You forget I’m not exactly a tech genius like you. Can you explain it?”
“So, it’s sort of like GPS tracking,” Hawk explains. “You know – like, Find My iPhone marries Google maps in the wedding of the century, complete with cupcake tower. But instead of a phone – or even a tracking device – all you need is a person’s name.”
“Holy shit.” I chuckle as I stare in awe. Inside, I’m flabbergasted by his talent. “That’s diabolical.”
“And you’d be surprised – it’s actually easier to track people via their mobile numbers now, even easier than their social security numbers. Almost everyone has at least one mobile number now, and they’re individual…not to mention international and not just American. So many people have tons of contacts stored in their phones that they never actually use, but every time they register their
number with, say, a new website…all of their contact information goes in as well.” He grins, looking pleased with himself. “And please, don’t call me Big Brother. This is only to be used for good. If we could get the cell numbers of everyone entering a casino, imagine how easy it would be to keep tabs on them, and their gambling habits.”
“So…all you did was punch my name and phone number into the program?”
“Basically, yeah,” Hawk says. “Look.” He zooms out, to a map of the whole city of Vegas and I see golden dots moving around on the screen. “Those are your contacts – at least, the contacts within reach at the moment.” He swipes his fingers across the screen in an easy gesture, and I see an aerial map of the Armónico, with several golden dots inside. “Looks like his highness has his scepter shoved firmly up his own ass as he sits on his chrome throne.” He snorts and laughs. “He’s married now. I can’t believe his gorgeous wife tolerates his work-a-holic ways. Doesn’t he ever fucking leave?”
I blink. Suddenly, I wonder if any of those little golden dots are Joslyn Monroe.
“You said this is almost ready to be…?”
“Deployed?” Hawk grins. “Yeah. I’d say, I dunno, give me three or four days to make sure it’s all good. Why?”
“Because this is just the thing I need.” I keep my tone measured when all I want to do is jump out of my own skin. “This is exactly what I need to prove myself to Nixon.”
“I don’t understand,” Hawk says with a frown. “You’re already close – you’re his right-hand man, aren’t you? He trusts you, and with Caldwell, that means everything.”
“I am. But I want to move up. I want to be Vice President of Security at the Armónico, and Nixon told me I needed to prove my leadership skills.”
All In (Caldwell Brothers Book 5) Page 13