DECEIT (B723)

by Hazel Grace

  “I say we do what Marty mentioned,” he states. “Lure the fucker out so we can leave and redo last night.”

  His eyes meet mine, and fuck the slight blush, my whole body combusts into a ball of red-hot fire, matching my dress, I’m sure.

  “You know we can’t do that.” I steal a glance through the packed room. “Way too many people.”

  “And what do you suggest, mastermind?”

  “I have a tranquilizer,” I quip. “I need him in a room.”

  Bishop lifts a brow. “You want to get him in a room alone?” His blues slice down my frame again. “I don’t think so.”

  “I can handle him.”

  He lets out an exasperated sigh. “Oh, baby…I know you can.”

  “Bish.”

  “Mhm?”

  “Eyes up here.” He doesn’t right away, enjoying himself and making me antsier by the second with his heated study of me. But when he cuts his focus back up to my face, I continue. “I only need a few minutes.”

  He blinks a few times, sorting whatever is going on in his head before he asks but not too happily, “How long does it last?”

  “Two hours max, depending on how his body reacts to it.”

  “And how do we get him out?”

  A smirk graces my features. “Are you a good actor, Bish?” He perks a questioning brow at me. “How would you like to play the man of the house?”

  “For what?”

  “I call the cops, people leave. You have to answer to the police, though.”

  “I can deal with pigs,” he grumbles.

  “And I’ll keep the drug dealer occupied until then.” Plucking two champagne glasses off a passing tray, Bishop quashes the rest of the space between us.

  “Occupy with him passed out on the fucking floor, right, Ems?” His tone molds into a menacing red flag. That he doesn’t like my idea or the fact that I’ll be alone with anyone, let alone a man.

  “Yes,” I agree, aware not to even try to argue with him. Offering him the flute of golden liquid that fizzes along the glass, Bishop makes sure to brush his fingers against mine.

  “You win, Ems.”

  Write this day down.

  Lifting my beverage, I say, “To the new man of the house. You need to knock down the decor though, it’s too much.”

  Taking a sip of the bubbly liquid, Bishop watches me with an expressionless look on his face as he takes one of his own.

  “Ready?” Pivoting on my four-inch heels, Bishop faithfully follows.

  I know that William Wamkin has sandy blonde hair, is somewhat built, and looks like an entitled prick that’s never done a hard day’s work in his life.

  But appearances can be deceiving. I’m living proof of that.

  Outside of B723, no one would ever guess that I’ve killed several people in my lifetime. That I can hack into a bank account within three minutes and empty it. How I can hot-wire a car, choke someone out with a Japanese weapon, and climb a roof…with some assistance.

  I’m not scared of the darkness of the world, just that I’d lose one of my own to it.

  People around us chat with custom drinks as classical music plays softly in the background. You can feel the wealth dripping from the room. The entitlement and power that thickens the air as Bishop and I make our way to the back of the house.

  When we get outside to the patio, it gives me an opportunity to study the crowd further. Bishop leans over the railing to view the ocean. The pinks and oranges are beginning to form in the sky over the beautiful darkness of the water.

  “There’s a bunch of young dudes to my right gawking at you,” he mutters with his back to the party. “You said he was a dirty blonde?”

  “Yep.”

  “Mid-thirties?”

  “Thirty-two,” I reply over the rim of my glass.

  “I have more of a chance than you. He’s closer to my age.”

  I scowl. “Are you starting this shit again?”

  “He might not be into older women.”

  “But he’d be into older dudes?” I steal a glance at him, smirking over his champagne. “Give it a shot. He could be gay.”

  “Yeah, but if he touches me, I’ll end up punching him in the throat. You should probably try first.”

  “Get lost then, or they’re going to think we’re together.” My eyes lock with a guy with medium-brown hair and George Clooney vibes.

  “It won’t stop a dude with money and privilege.“ He turns his body to face me. “And if he’s straight, there’ll be no turning you down in that dress.”

  I jerk my head to the side. “Alright…now move, you’re cramping my style. I’ve made eye contact and just demeaned myself by batting my eyelashes.”

  I think I hear Bishop chuckle as I make my way back inside the house to make it appear as though he’s either a friend or acquaintance.

  The point is to look available.

  Discovering Kyson stalking the masses like a shark, his eyes land on me, and I jerk my head slightly for him to come to me.

  “What’s up?” he asks. “Where’s Bishop?”

  “By the railing. Listen, can you—“

  “No, he’s not.” Kyson furrows his brows, and I whip my neck around to find Bishop not in the spot I left him literally thirty seconds ago.

  “What the fuck,” I mutter under my breath, scanning the area for him. Then it falls right on the group of men he mentioned was staring at me with Bishop now fraternizing like their old friends. “What is he doing?”

  “Socializing,” Kyson answers behind me.

  “We both know what that means. He’s going to make a scene.”

  “Here? Too risky.” I glance back to find his best friend appearing unfazed at my comment.

  “Are you insane too? He’s always doing stupid shit like this.”

  He shrugs. “So he started a bar fight that ended up in ten hospitalizations and—“

  “Ky,” I sneer. “These people will press charges.”

  Kyson’s golden irises widen then form into slits. “You think?” His palm hits his chest. “Holy fuck, we better leave.”

  “Shut up, this is serious.”

  “Well, that was easy,” Bishop claims behind me, pressing a possessive hand above the curve of my ass. “Ky, gonna need you to punch me in about thirty seconds.”

  My eyes practically bulge from my sockets. “What?”

  “What did you do now?” Kyson groans. “Dude, this isn’t the trailer park. We’re not—“

  “How close is he?”

  His best friend quickly glances behind us. “About fifteen yards.”

  “You’re up, Em,” Bishop whispers in my ear, his voice fucking delicious and deep. “Play a good damsel in distress. I’ll be back.” Before I can even fathom the words hell no to reach my mouth, he straightens his spine and moves to my side. “Now.”

  Kyson wastes no time or asks any questions because he cocks his muscular arm back and slams his fist right into Bishop’s face.

  My surprised gasp is mixed with everyone else’s as Bishop dramatically stumbles backward, and Kyson menacingly stalks after him.

  My blood burns hot inside my veins at the fact that Bishop couldn’t just follow a simple ass plan that we laid out in this very room.

  Spread out.

  Find anything useful.

  I shove a tranquilizer in his arm, throat, leg, where-the-fuck-ever.

  Get William Wamkin.

  Not this.

  If the cops are called and charges pressed against the Ying and Yang twins, Ledger will lose his entire shit on the squad.

  A pair of large hands steadies me as the growing crush of people gathers closer to Bishop and Kyson’s shitshow of a fight.

  “This way, Miss,” a male soothes, guiding me back and away from the blood-thirsty savages who want to witness my two idiot co-workers duke it out.

  I place a hand on my chest, starting up my role as damsel while I turn to face the man I think Bishop was describing before.

&nb
sp; “Are you alright?” he asks me, faux worry laced in his tone.

  “Yeah,” I reply, sounding out of breath and widening my eyes in shock like I’ve never seen these boys go at it a million times before. “Oh my God.”

  “Let’s get you away from this.” He doesn’t wait for a reply as he escorts me along the side of the room and into the nearest doorway.

  As he opens the oak door, I pray to God that Mills, Marty, or Blue aren’t in here snooping, but he doesn’t react, so I take it as the coast is clear.

  Stepping inside, he doesn’t bother turning on the lights as he rounds to face me. “You sure you’re alright?”

  “Yes…thank you so much, Mr…”

  “Wamkin, but please call me Will. My father is Mr. Wamkin.”

  Bingo.

  “And you are?”

  I notice that he hasn’t let go of my bicep, which to anyone else might not come off as anything at all.

  But to me, it hints at a lot of things about him.

  That he has no decorum on social distancing and that he prays on the weak. It’s normal to turn on the lights, but it’s fucked up when they’re not on in a room with a stranger.

  My personal red flags begin to wave in warning, but since I’m not an ordinary girl, this isn’t something I’m too worried about unless he’s packing a gun.

  I didn’t bring one of those with me.

  “I’m Amy Grant,” I offer. “Thank you so much for getting me out of there.”

  “It’s not a problem. Did you know that man?”

  I scoff disgustingly. “Unfortunately. He’s an ex-boyfriend from months ago. Keeps following me around at parties and other gatherings. I have a restraining order against him, but it doesn’t seem to be doing the trick.”

  “Sounds like you need protection.”

  “Are you signing up? You’re just missing the shiny armor and the sword.”

  William chuckles, aligning himself with me. “I mean…I’d love to, actually. I saw you the moment you walked in. This dress you’re wearing is…a showstopper, Miss Grant.”

  “Just Amy, and thank you. Though it was hard to slip on.” His fingers flinch at my words, more than likely imagining what I look like with it off.

  “I can only imagine,” he mutters gruffly before clearing his throat. “Your friend, Brian, came over to me earlier…said that you were too shy to come and speak to me.”

  Thank fuck for the darkness because I roll my eyes. Bishop would make it sound like I was incapable of doing anything on my own.

  “Brian has a big mouth,” I transmit through gritted teeth.

  “I think it’s charming.”

  “You do?” Lies. “Well, who knew we’d meet up like this?”

  “Not in a million years, but I consider it something magical. Fate even.”

  “Oh, you think so?”

  He steps even closer to me, smelling of vodka and cigars. “Yeah. Almost like you were destined to walk into my life tonight.”

  More like placed but we’ll go with that.

  “I believe in fate.” I take this moment to look up at him, studying what I can from the light coming from the room’s windows to my right.

  Sandy blonde hair and a strong jawline, Will has a Zack Morris thing going on about him, and if I was twelve, I’d be melting on the floor.

  However, my tastes have changed, and I apparently enjoy torturing myself with men in beards and a lack of uttering two nice things to me in the same conversation.

  “Do you?” His flat chest bumps lightly into mine.

  “Life is short, and moments like this are fleeting, don’t you think?”

  “What about kissing within minutes of knowing each other.”

  Oh, Lord.

  I step away slightly, portraying that I’m shy and that I like to wait until at least five dates where I’m wined and dined before giving away an innocent kiss. “I’m not sure. We literally just met.”

  “I don’t bite,” he presses, countering my actions. “Unless you like that sort of thing.”

  I stay grounded to my spot, allowing him to make his move. Which he doesn’t yet. Apparently, Will isn’t a total creep, and he needs more coaxing.

  “I mean…I guess no one would know,” I drawl, feeling a wave of goosebumps lining my arms.

  “Amy, you’re not a woman I’d like to hide in the dark, but…” He wastes no time gathering me in his arms and planting a dry kiss to my mouth that tastes like vodka and cranberry.

  The pads of his soft fingers roam right down my back to my ass as he trails us backward.

  A moan escapes my lips from the distress of having to do this, and he takes it as a cue to amp his game up.

  My butt suddenly hits a hard surface, a desk I think, and William goes right for the belt of his pants.

  With my clutch still in my hand, I undo the snap button and pull out the syringe with my middle and index finger. William’s fingers draw up the interior of my thigh as I fumble with finding the left side to flick the cap off.

  “Just the thought,” William utters above me, then heaves me onto the desk. “Of sinking my cock inside you with this red dress on…is one of the highlights of my week.”

  “Yeah?” I exhale, raising my needle to thrust into the back of his shoulder. “I’ve had one hell of a week—“ William is abruptly hauled away from me, and leaving my neck hanging out like I’m making out with air.

  A grunt, rough breathing, and a hard thud clatters together before a new body emerges from the dark—wider, taller, and menacing.

  Bishop.

  “Now what are you doing?” I chide off a heavy exhale, my shoulder slouching in disappointment because he just robbed me of my mission—again.

  Bishop doesn’t answer my question. Instead, he lapses up the space between us and leans in my direction. His callous palms find both my knees and spreads my legs wider to accommodate his muscular body in between them.

  My pulse accelerates at lightning speed, forcing my throat close as Bish looms over me. The smell of sweat from fighting with Kyson and his natural nutmeg and leather scent has everything outside and in this room suspending. His heavy breathing from jacking around brushing over my nose and cheeks.

  “Making sure no one touches my fucking wife.”

  Seeing Emmy walk out of her bedroom tonight in a scrap of red material that appeared glued to her body was severe mental and physical pain.

  It took every ounce of self-restraint not to point right back to her room and demand she throw something else on that wasn’t so fucking distracting.

  Not only to me but any other individuals at this party, male or female.

  When I wasn’t staring at her ass the whole way inside this overdone and tasteless mansion, anything with a dick did.

  And every woman envied the way she didn’t notice, care, or was too blind to see that she stole the room. She lassoed it into the palm of her tiny hands and walked around holding what even Blue would’ve wanted.

  And sitting in front of me, with her legs spread open, I’m beyond tempted to just take what I want again and claim this little blonde as mine to everyone.

  Since B723 is here, I might as well. She’ll get pissed at me for at least a week, but she’d have to get over it.

  Or divorce your ass for it.

  “What?” Emmy spits out, breaking my inner civil war. “I had it.”

  “I know you did,” I respond calmly. “And so did he.”

  The motherfucker.

  He’s lucky I need him to talk, or I would’ve already ripped his fucking arms off.

  “Whatever,” she scoffs off, scooting forward so that her pussy is even closer. My cock throbs once as she peers up at me. “Are you going to move? You just had to take away my stabbing him too. Let alone your little scene outside you orchestrated. That wasn’t part of my plan.”

  “Yours took too long.”

  And it did.

  I wasn’t about to spend a few hours waiting for the prick currently residing face down
on the hardwood floor to end his party before we finished this. Nor was I going to allow him another second to put his filthy hands on Emmy.

  She bumps my thighs with her knees. “Move.”

  And I do because if I don’t, I’m not responsible for what happens next.

  When we fuck, I get stupid. I throw caution to the wind, and I almost open my big-ass mouth to blurt that she’s mine.

  All fucking mine.

  I already mentioned that she’d get furious with me. Still, I obviously can’t grow a means to become selfless and allow her to move on.

  However, the monsters in my head won’t let me rest. They point out the severe consequences for fully letting her in.

  Because if it gets to that place, it’ll destroy, leaving one of us heartbroken and crippled inside.

  She might be strong enough for that.

  I’m not.

  * * *

  “Fuck you!” William spits out, blood flying in the air and down the corner of his busted bottom lip.

  He pulls at his black zip ties, jerking his body around and getting the chair to crash along the floor with his attempted escape.

  “No, thanks,” Blue remarks, unaffected as she checks her nails and circles around him. “You’re not my type.”

  William scoffs. “What wealthy men?”

  “Oh no, rich dudes do it for me.” She peers up at me and winks like a jackass, knowing it’s usually the kind of fuckers Em is normally around. “I don’t like entitled pricks.”

  “My prick is just fine, Ginger,” he retorts sourly. “Why don’t you sit on it and I’ll show you—“ Her hand seizes his neck as she straddles his body before plopping down in his lap.

  Her ivory dress rides up her tan thighs, which she doesn’t bother fixing, and pushes his head back to expose the column of his throat.

  “I think you have the wrong impression of me,” Blue announces slowly. “See, we’re not here to fuck around. Big Man over there likes to hurt and ask questions later, but I like a little pleasure first.”

  “Pleasure?” he repeats, skepticism in his tone. “What do you mean?”

  Blue releases his neck and brings one of her thumbs up to brush away the blood off his chin. “You tickle my fancy…and I’ll jack off yours.”