Wycked Escape (Wycked Obsession Book 3)

by Wynne Roman

  “Baz.” I put it on speaker. Paige’ll need to hear whatever he has to say.

  “Noah,” he says as I wander back toward the sofa.

  Shit. He sounds serious.

  I put the phone on the coffee table. “What’s up?” I ask with an eye on Paige. She isn’t looking at me but is watching the phone like it’s a snake and she’s waiting for it to bite her.

  Damn. How did her life—and mine—get so fucked up?

  “It’s not great news, bud.”

  Fuck. I swallow the word and rub my eyes. Bud. He only calls us that when it’s bad.

  “Guessed that,” I admit, trying not to snap at him. “That fucker Drake give another interview?”

  “No. Not about him this time.”

  Not about him? Who is then?

  Jesus, it isn’t Marlie, is it?

  I lean forward, stare at the phone, like that’s going to give me some kind of clue. Suddenly wish we’d video chatted. “What then?” I snap harsher than I meant, but I don’t apologize.

  There’s just a second of a pause, and then he says, “Elyssa.”

  “I . . . what?”

  “Elyssa. She’s gone, dude.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about? What do you mean, gone?”

  It’s the only thing I can think of right now. The question echoes in my head. What do you mean, gone?

  After everything else that’s been blowing up in my fucking face, she decides to pull some shit now?

  Paige is staring at me. I can feel the heat and weight of her gaze, which means I don’t need to look at her to know her reaction isn’t good. But I can’t deal with that right now. Not until I find out what this other shit means.

  Baz is talking again. “Gone,” he repeats. “As in missing.”

  What the fuck?

  “I—you’re gonna have to give me more than that, man.”

  “She took off. Yesterday sometime, we think. Didn’t leave a note for her handler. Julie—the handler—went by last night, and she was gone. Got a call from the lawyer a few minutes ago.”

  Anger’s growing in me. Something tells me I ought to feel something different. Something more. Like concern. Maybe even be anxious about where she is. But I don’t. I’m just pissed. So fucking pissed off, and in a very complicated way.

  I spare a quick glance in Paige’s direction. She looks . . . blank. Like she’s wearing a mask all of a sudden and there’s no peeking behind it.

  I should take the phone off speaker. Hell, should have never put it on. I thought Baz’d be calling about Drake. Good news or bad, it’s more her business than mine. She needs to know.

  But this shit about Elyssa?

  Fuck.

  Paige’s heard enough that I can’t just cut her off now. I’d have to explain it all later, anyway.

  Realizing that brings up a new question. Was I even planning on telling her? About Elyssa and all the lies? Or did I think I could keep this secret from her indefinitely?

  Is there even an indefinitely? I told her she could stay here, we fucked last night, and . . . well, who the hell knows where this thing between us might go? If anywhere. I know where my interest is, but what about hers?

  Besides that, how much do we share, and how much do we keep private? I told her a shit-ton last night. Why not this? She already knows half of it, anyway.

  Shut. Up!

  I shout it to myself. Didn’t I say I wouldn’t overthink it? Would let things roll naturally?

  Yeah, I did. But that was before this disaster. Never guessed I’d have more shit to deal with than I already knew. And how do I keep things from getting fucked up again and again?

  I close my eyes on a frustrated sigh and then open them again. Stare at the phone. No more delays, no pretending. Time to face whatever’s next.

  “All right, man. Tell me what happened.”

  “Not sure.” It shouldn’t satisfy me so much that Baz sounds a little frustrated, but it does. “Julie said Elyssa seemed okay until the last couple of days. She had a doctor’s appointment Thursday—going weekly now—and Julie took her. Dropped her off like normal. Elyssa still won’t let her come in or anything like that, but she said everything was okay when Julie picked her up. Next thing we know, she disappeared.”

  “What are we—uh, they—doing?”

  I’m not doing shit, but I’m paying an assistant and a lawyer to take care of things for me. Not because I can’t do it or don’t want to be bothered. Because I won’t get that close.

  “Bernie’s got somebody looking into it. Guess all lawyers have investigators they work with.” He almost chuckles, but it comes out more like a snort. “They promised an update by the end of the day.”

  “End of the day?”

  “I know, bro, but it’s early in L.A. Maybe we’ll know something sooner.”

  “I . . . fuck.”

  “Listen, man, I’m on my way to Austin. I got a flight out of LaGuardia in a couple hours. I’ll be there about four. Maybe we’ll know something by then.”

  “You’re in New York?”

  Don’t know why I ask. Doesn’t really matter, except it might be easier if he was in L.A., too. I trust Julie and Bernie, the lawyer handling this situation for me, but I have more faith in Baz.

  He’s a damn miracle worker.

  “Been here a few days.” He says it like I should already know this, and something triggers in the back of my mind. “True had a gallery opening last night.”

  “Oh, right.” It connects too late. Baz’s boyfriend True is a photographer—pretty freaking amazing, actually—and he’s been making a name for himself.

  “Sorry.” Least I can do is apologize for fucking up their plans. “Don’t mean to take you away from that.”

  “No problem. We were taking off for Hawaii in a couple of days, anyway. He’ll leave on schedule, and I’ll meet him there.”

  “Right,” I say again and try to pull the right memory out of my ass. Baz is a little anal about keeping us informed about where he is, what he does, and who he’s with. “What is it you’re going for? A . . . wedding or something?”

  “Yeah. True’s stepbrother. Now forget about that shit and think about what we’re gonna do once we find her. And Bernie’s guy will find her. You know that.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” I do know that. But . . . “Jesus, what the hell can we do?”

  “I dunno, dude. You got one month to go. Keep that in mind. Thirty days, this baby’s born, and then . . . Well, then we see what’s next.”

  Paige

  Most of my brain functions are shutting down. Just that fast. It happens the instant I hear the word baby.

  Thirty days, this baby’s born, and then . . . we see what’s next.

  Baby? I try to swallow past a dryness in my throat, but it won’t go away.

  Noah’s having a baby with another woman?

  He’s going to be a father?

  I hear a strange noise and then realize it’s coming from me. I’m breathing hard, almost gasping, because no matter how hard I try, there doesn’t seem to be enough air in my lungs.

  What’s wrong with me?

  I pant a little, trying desperately to regulate the airflow, and then, when I can, I try for a real, deep breath. I can’t tell if it helps or not, because I can only hear one certainty echoing in my head.

  Noah’s going to be a father.

  Surprise—no, shock—scrapes over my nerves. They react in a twitchy sort of way and leave me feeling like I’ve got a fever, or an allergy, or maybe I’m going to be sick to my stomach. Whatever it is, it’s physical, and I can’t seem to do anything about it.

  Don’t be stupid, I tell myself, directing my focus totally inward. It lets me ignore everything else. Noah. Baz. The phone call. The apartment. Everything.

  Don’t overreact, I add, hoping my better sense might even listen for once, but I can’t help it. All I can think about is that some other woman is going to have Noah’s baby.

  It’s been a long, long time s
ince I thought about having children. There was a time, back in high school when I was young and romantic, when I expected to be Noah’s wife and the mother of his children. It would be a long time in the future; I knew that. After college and when we’d figured our lives out. That was okay, because I was always certain that we were meant for that happily ever after.

  I lost that the night I watched him put his mouth on another woman’s pussy.

  But that was years ago. We broke up. Went our separate ways. Until a few days ago, I hadn’t seen him again in all these years. So why am I reacting like this now?

  I mean, I’ve always known about the other women. He’s been with a lot of them since me. After we broke up, he was nowhere near celibate in high school. It hurt—a lot—but I did what I had to in order to get through it. Went on with my life and managed just fine those last few months.

  Well, maybe not fine, but I got to graduation in one piece. I went on to college, and he became part of Wycked Obsession. From there, I figured he’d forgotten all about me. With his collection of other women, the only memorable thing about me would be that I was the one who said no to threesomes.

  Maybe that was true, but I have my doubts about some of the details. Actually, I have my doubts about a lot of things since we saw each other again the other night. Especially after Drake pulled his shit, Marlie said her piece, and Noah saved me.

  Everything’s been all wonky since then.

  So why is this thing about a baby such a big deal?

  But that’s a stupid question, and I know it.

  It’s because of the baby. A precious new life that will tie him forever to another woman.

  And because, even with another woman pregnant with his child, he made love to me again.

  That breathlessness tries to take over again. I do my best to force it away. Find a gasp of air.

  Made love? No, we fucked. I’m sure that’s how Noah sees it.

  “Sweetness.”

  I blink, praying for my nerves to settle down. It would be so much easier to look at him if I wasn’t so goddamn hurt. And furious. And that’s not fair. At all. Not to him, and not to me.

  I have no right to be any of those things.

  “Yes?”

  “It isn’t what you think.”

  I glance at the phone.

  “He’s gone. We hung up.”

  I force myself to look at Noah again. His amazing upper body, all muscled and tattooed. His handsome face with its close-cropped beard and those sexy earrings.

  His expression of regret.

  Oh, God.

  “It isn’t what I think?” I wish my voice didn’t sound all bitten off and ragged, but it’s too late to change it. “That’s a cliché if I ever heard one.”

  “Maybe so.” He lifts a shoulder. “But it’s still true.”

  How do I answer? I bite my bottom lip, lick the top one. Ignore the flare in Noah’s eyes.

  “Okay,” I finally agree, and it takes everything I have. I really want to shout a dozen accusations at him, like lying, cheating motherfucker. I don’t, but only because I know if I get started, I won’t quit until I collapse in a pool of enraged, bitter tears.

  I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing that much emotion.

  Maybe he can tell something’s going on in my head. I don’t know, but he doesn’t answer, and so I say, “Instead of jumping to conclusions, let’s say I give you the benefit of the doubt. What makes this different from the usual baby news?”

  I want to be proud of my calm tone, but I’m consumed with the knowledge of how much it took to say the word baby.

  He doesn’t answer at first, and my eyes track to his without thinking. The instant he has my gaze locked with his, he says very deliberately, “The kid isn’t mine.”

  Don’t guys always say that?

  My anxious nerves, achy insides, and breathlessness don’t go away. They don’t get better. They churn around inside of me, but, surprisingly, that’s enough to give me a slice of uncertainty.

  The kid isn’t mine.

  “You want to explain?”

  He shifts, looks past me, but then brings those beautiful blue eyes back to mine. “I’ll give you the truth, sweetness, but not all the details. Not now.”

  The truth without the details? Is that enough? But the part of me that’s fighting to stay on even ground reminds me it’s probably more than I deserve.

  These resurging feelings or not, I have no real place in Noah’s life. He owes me nothing.

  “And the truth?” I ask.

  “The kid isn’t mine,” he repeats. “She—Elyssa—is all delusional or something. Makes claims about shit that’s completely made up. Invented a whole weekend that never happened. Said she had proof, but it was just stupid shit. A piece of paper with some song titles on it. A McDonald’s receipt. Just . . . bizarre.”

  He’s frustrated. His flashing gaze and tight mouth make it pretty clear. But I still have to ask.

  “Can you be sure?”

  Noah gives me a sharp look, but I do my best to stare him down. “Based on the stories I’ve heard, can you really know every woman you’ve ever—” I cut the words off, suddenly unwilling to finish.

  “Fucked?” he snaps. “Just say it. How can I know every woman I’ve ever fucked? I can’t. I don’t.”

  He takes a breath, another, like he’s trying to calm down. And maybe he is—but that’s on him. He’s the one with the lifestyle that left him open for something like this.

  “I knew it with this one, though,” he finally says. “She gave details that aren’t true and don’t make sense. No matter what I said, she stuck to her story and tried to gaslight me. Haven’t seen her since.”

  “But you know she’s missing. You have a—a handler for her. And a lawyer.”

  “Baz hired ‘em. She spooked me enough that I wouldn’t see her again. She got all psycho about it and threatened to go public. Didn’t want that after everything else the band’s been through, so I figured this might get us through until the paternity test.”

  Paternity test. Of course!

  “Why haven’t you had one already?”

  “She refused. Doctors say it can be risky for the baby, so I couldn’t really argue. Bernie negotiated a deal with her. She signed an NDA—non-disclosure—and agreed to the test as soon as the kid’s born.”

  “But now she’s missing.”

  He nods. “Now she’s fucking missing.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Noah

  Paige is mostly quiet for the rest of the morning, and I guess I am, too. With everything else going on around us—between us—I can’t really blame her. Neither of us knows how to act. I’m pretty sure it’s too soon to talk about last night, especially after the Elyssa bombshell, and so we fall back into kind of a pretend normal routine.

  Showering. Grocery shopping. Stocking the pantry. Talking about lunch.

  Anything but going over the uncertainty of whether Drake or Marlie are going to release any more statements to the press. Or where Elyssa got off to, and why. Or the shitstorm that any of those things could produce.

  Doesn’t mean we aren’t both thinking about it, because we are. We both know it, too.

  We’re debating sandwiches versus salads, or if we should each do our own thing, when there’s a knock. Paige looks at me in alarm.

  “Relax.” I give her what I hope is an easy smile. “Gotta be one of the guys. Nobody outside the band has the entrance code.”

  She nods, and I open the door to find Knox and London waiting in the hall. They look casual at first glance, dressed in shorts and T-shirts and flip-flops. His expression is all cocky, like normal, but she’s more serious. Concerned.

  Shit.

  I glance at my watch. After two. Baz is still in the air. Does that mean London has news?

  “Hey.” I go for a relaxed smile.

  Knox grins. “How was Whole Foods?”

  “What?” Paige shouts from behind me.

  “Fu
ck.” Don’t need more than the word. “There’s a picture?”

  London nods with resigned smile. “On some fan’s Facebook page. She tagged you, and it went viral. Two confirmed sightings of you and Paige, and the fans are rabid.”

  “Shit.”

  “Maybe it was Nickie Harman,” calls Paige. “She says she’s gonna marry you.”

  “Haha.”

  “You gonna invite us in?” demands Knox.

  “No.” But I stand back to let them enter.

  They greet Paige, but her attention is all on me.

  “What?” I ask.

  “We can’t even go to the grocery store?”

  I give her a half-amused, half-weary look. “Yeah, we can go. Just have to take the chance that somebody’ll recognize us.”

  “You,” she corrects. “They’ll recognize you. I’m nobody.”

  “Not necessarily,” inserts London carefully. “You should remember that. At least right now. Look what happened to Bree. You’re . . . infamous. Noah Dexter’s high school girlfriend. Your ex says you left him for Noah. You’ve been photographed together twice.”

  “And that’s fucking amazing for Mister Manwhore Threesomes.”

  “Shut up.”

  I could punch Knox for his contribution, but I got other stuff to worry about. Like making Paige feel better.

  “It’s just temporary.” I try to reassure her. “Something else’ll happen, and they’ll forget all about me. Us.” I hope.

  “I’m not so sure about that. At least not yet.”

  Goddammit. London is nothing if not honest.

  “Fuck.” I don’t even try to swallow the word or how tired it sounds. “What d’you have?”

  “Can we sit?”

  I answer London’s question by leading the way across the room to the oversized sofa. I’m a little surprised when Paige takes a seat next to me, but maybe she needs the reassurance of a close, familiar body. I sure as hell do.

  Wish I could take her hand, but I don’t think it’s a good idea. Yet.

  Knox and London sit across from us.