Wycked Escape (Wycked Obsession Book 3)

by Wynne Roman

  “Okay, everyone.” The call comes from London, who’s on the other side of the patio. “Let’s sit down and sort through everything. As much as I hate to, I’m going to have to send Baz an update.”

  My smile fades. Their manager left for Hawaii this morning on a pre-planned vacation of sorts. Something to do with a wedding in his boyfriend’s family, and then some extra time to relax. Baz deserves it, they all agree, and refuse to let him cancel.

  Noah sighs as he leads me over to the large table. “Do we have to tell him about it now? First there’s the wedding, and then . . . well, hell. He deserves a break. He’s worked his ass off for us since our first tour.”

  “I know,” London agrees as she takes her seat. She’s always dressed so impeccably, and this evening is no exception. She’s wearing a calf-length blue polka-dot sundress with cap sleeves, and her hair is wound into an intricate bun at the back of her head. God, she’s beautiful.

  I fight with the insecurity that threatens. She never acts like she thinks less of any of the rest of us, and it helps that Bree and Claire are dressed much like me: jeans and casual shirts.

  We all take a seat, except for Knox, who stays next to the grill. With a nod, London continues. “I agree, Noah, and I’m going to tell him as little as possible. If I can possibly handle it myself, I will. That way, I can give him information after the fact, and he won’t have to do anything.”

  Heads nod around the table, London sits back easily, and then she looks in Noah’s direction. “Okay, sweetie,” she says steadily. “You’re up.”

  Noah heaves a long sigh and then surprises me when he takes my hand. We link our fingers, and I look down at them curiously. Is he trying to lend me his strength, or does he need mine?

  “Well, hell.” He shoves his free hand into his hair, pushing it back over his shoulders and shaking his head. “Where do I start?”

  I squeeze his hand, hoping he can feel my encouragement. “Okay.” He nods. “Don’t have all the details to explain everything yet. The police are still investigating.”

  “Like what?” Knox asks.

  “Like how Elyssa got here from L.A.”

  “They assume she flew,” I put in, because I don’t want Noah to have to do this alone, “but it must have been under an alias.”

  “And if that’s true, where’d she get the gun?” Noah asks.

  “Good point,” says Rye.

  “Easy to do on the street.” Knox is the one who says it, but the rest of the guys nod in agreement.

  “Anyway,” Noah continues, “she figured out where Paige works from that fucking article by Oliver Clark. She waited in the parking lot and followed Paige back to the apartment today.”

  “I didn’t think you were going in to the office,” Bree says with a frown.

  “I wasn’t,” I admit, and I can’t stop my cheeks from getting overheated with embarrassment. “But I had a meeting there today to, uh . . . discuss the incident from Monday.”

  “So if you hadn’t had to go in today, this wouldn’t have happened.” Bree sounds disgusted.

  “Not today,” agrees Noah. “But it’s pretty clear that something else would have gone down. Elyssa is . . .” He pauses, like he’s trying to find the exact right word.

  “Crazy?” Knox suggests.

  Noah’s lips twitch, while I can’t decide if it’s funny or not. I don’t like the word when applied to someone who’s obviously mentally unbalanced.

  “The police called it a psychotic break,” continues Noah. “I don’t know what kind of diagnosis she has, if she’s even been treated for mental stuff, but she’s in the psych ward.”

  “That’s good.” Bree sounds deeply satisfied.

  “Anyway,” Noah continues, “our best guess right now is that she followed Paige to the apartment building and piggybacked into the garage when Paige pulled in. She pulled a gun, forced Paige to take her to the apartment, and we had a little discussion. It all ended up in a fight for the gun, and I got the upper hand.”

  “Those are really shitty details,” says Knox from where he’s flipping burgers.

  “Knox!” Claire scolds. “Leave Noah alone. He probably doesn’t want to talk about it anymore.”

  Noah grins at Knox’s mom. “Y’all can read the police report when the investigation’s over.”

  “And the baby?” asks London carefully. I can tell by her tone of voice that it’s the one question she’s been dying to have answered.

  “Turns out there wasn’t one.”

  “Never?” demands Bree.

  Noah shakes his head. “Nope. Never. She got it in her head somehow that she and I were in a relationship—she was in love with me or I was in love with her or some shit—and decided she was pregnant. She did everything to make it look like the truth, including faking doctor’s appointments, and I think she actually believed it. At least part of the time. Some kind of delusional disorder or something.”

  “It’s associated with schizophrenia or something,” I add.

  “Hmph.” Claire sounds offended on Noah’s behalf. “How did she think she could explain no baby? And what about the paternity test?”

  “She got by with a lot. She refused to share most of her medical information, and I wasn’t in a position to force her into anything. I think she got overconfident and didn’t think that far, or . . . well, the police said it could have been worse,” he admits.

  “She could have planned to kidnap someone else’s child,” I suggest, swallowing against the way my stomach wants to turn over. I see the same look of horror on the other women’s faces.

  “That’s just . . . evil,” says Claire, sounding a little breathless.

  “Yeah,” Noah and I agree at the same time.

  “But now it’s over?” asks Rye.

  Noah lifts a shoulder. “Except for some legal stuff. And whatever magic London and Baz come up with to straighten it all out with the media.”

  Thank God.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Noah

  We stay stupidly busy for the next couple of days. Besides dealing with the media fallout from announcing that the pregnant groupie turned out to be a very non-pregnant stalker, we’ve got regular Wycked Obsession business to deal with. We review the NDAs for Drake and his father, go over the corporate changes that Knox wants to make, and study the sketches and ideas that Rye’s meeting with the architects have produced.

  We have a new topic for discussion, too. Security. Do we need to actually hire bodyguards or some kind of security detail like we had on tour?

  Fuck. That kind of crap was never supposed to be part of our reality.

  Paige is holding it together pretty well, but I know the whole thing still has her spooked. The rest of us have had a slower introduction to the crazy stuff. She went from total anonymity to being completely exposed in less than a week. That shit isn’t easy.

  She isn’t quite ready to go back to my apartment just yet—memories of a fucking gun being pressed to her head make her understandably uncomfortable—so we stay with Knox’s mom. Claire has plenty of bedrooms, she says, and seems so loving about it. She also likes taking care of us, so how can I say no?

  Haven’t had that kind of attention in a long time, but I can stand it for a little while.

  To make Claire happy—but mostly for Paige.

  I wish she’d forget about the bandage on my side, though. The wound isn’t that bad, more a burning sensation than anything. It gets better every day, but whenever she sees it, her eyes fill with tears.

  We haven’t had sex—made love, fucked, anything—since Elyssa crashed physically into our real lives. I’ve held Paige every night and she’s wrapped herself carefully around me, but I don’t want to push for anything else. Not yet. I sense she isn’t ready, and even though I might have that fucking manwhore reputation, I do have some self- control.

  With Paige, it’s about so much more than just sex.

  Meanwhile, London’s been working like a champ, getting Vanessa
Payne to do an update to our interview, and arranging for some airplay on TMZ and Entertainment Tonight. Even People magazine expressed interest in doing a piece about the whole Elyssa crap. I only have to agree, but that’s one place where I’m not ready.

  I know goddamned well that Paige is overwhelmed right now, and I’m not adding anything else stressful to her life until I’m sure she’s going to be okay.

  As for Baz, he’s majorly pissed we aren’t letting him come back. He has strict instructions to stay away, and I’m using that as my excuse to delay.

  It works for now.

  I’m just stepping out of the shower Monday morning when I hear Paige shriek. Holy Christ!

  Grabbing a towel, I wrap it around my hips and race into the bedroom. She’s sitting on the bed, holding her phone.

  “Sweetness! What is it? What’s wrong?”

  She looks up, so adorable with her pink cheeks and bedhead hair all over the place. She’s wearing her sleep shorts and tank top, all scrunched up under her tits, and my dick notices.

  I do my best to ignore it—him—and search her face. Her eyes are wide, her mouth open, but I can’t tell if her expression is amused or shocked.

  “Oh, my God, Noah. You have to see this!”

  I regain some of my ability to breathe as I crawl onto the bed with her. Don’t give a shit if my body’s still a little damp. I pull her against me, and she comes willingly.

  She makes a selection on her phone and holds it up for me to read. It’s an email from Vanessa. She sent it to Baz, London, Paige, and me. This went live overnight, her note says. I got it from Oliver Clark, who’s doing a follow-up. Guess there’s trouble in paradise.

  I see a YouTube link at the bottom. I glance down at Paige. “What is it?”

  “Oh, geeze, you have to watch it!”

  She giggles, which is weird. My Paige isn’t a giggling girl.

  She touches the link, presses play, and then a video starts up.

  “Holy fucking shit!” I shout, but mostly I stare.

  It’s a threesome, two men and a woman. A man I don’t recognize, Drake, and Marlie.

  That kind of threesome doesn’t shock me. I’ve done it a time or two. Zayne and I double teamed a couple of girls over the years, but we weren’t exactly into touching each other. It was more about the turn-on of one of us fucking a girl while she was sucking off the other one. At the time, it was hotter than hell.

  Now? Not so much. Especially if the girl was Paige.

  It smacks me upside the head then. She didn’t like seeing me with another woman? I would fucking hate seeing her with another man.

  A grunt from the video recalls my attention, and I stare. Drake kneels on all fours, while the other guy shoves his dick in and out of Drake’s mouth. Marlie’s on her knees behind Drake, a huge pink strap-on cock secured around her waist, and she’s fucking Drake in the ass.

  Drake is groaning, totally into it, and Marlie’s shouting her encouragement. “Take that dick up your ass, Drake. Take it deep, motherfucker, until you come all over the bed!”

  What the fuck!

  I snort-laugh, and I can feel Paige’s body shake, like she’s trying to hold back her own laughter. I hit pause on the video.

  “Goddamn, sweetness.” I glance down at her. “Did you know he was bisexual?”

  “Not a clue.” She sounds stunned. “He always acted like gay men were disgusting and called them horrible names. I’d tell him to stop being homophobic, and he’d say, ‘Why are you sticking up for a bunch of fags?’”

  “Jesus.” I’m at a loss for words, but I have one question.

  Who else knows about this?

  “Turn that shit off,” I beg. I need to think for a second.

  My phone rings before I can figure anything out. It buzzes from the nightstand next to us, so I grab it and answer.

  “Noah!” It’s London. “Did you see the video?”

  “Uh, yeah.” I try not to laugh. “You watch it?”

  “Of course. It’s everywhere!”

  “Everywhere?” I send a shocked gaze at Paige and switch the phone to speaker.

  “Apparently. I guess this Marlie woman sent a copy to Oliver Clark a couple of hours ahead of posting it for open viewing. She gave it a title of something like the guy who lost his girl to Noah Dexter getting fucked. It’s gotten thousands of hits already.”

  “But, why the hell would she post that?”

  “I don’t have a bloody clue. I guess it’s like Vanessa said. Something happened in paradise.”

  I snort. “I guess.” Must have been something pretty fucking big.

  “I talked to Vanessa about where we go from here. She’s going to run with it and says Oliver Clark’s doing some kind of follow-up. He doesn’t care who he humiliates as long as he gets hits on his story.”

  “Do you think we—Noah—should make a statement?” asks Paige, looking up at me.

  “Probably,” London agrees. “But it should be something like Drake’s private sexual life is of no interest to you.”

  “That’s true enough,” I laugh.

  “Do you think . . .” Paige starts, pauses. “Does this ruin their credibility when it comes to accusing us of having kinky sex?”

  “Oh, definitely.” London sounds absolutely certain.

  “Is there anything else we should do?”

  “Not at the moment. I think they’ve pretty much screwed themselves, no pun intended.”

  We all laugh.

  “Although,” London adds a second later, “if Vanessa asks for a quote, you’ll want to cooperate with her.”

  “Of course,” I agree. “And Oliver Clark?”

  “Hmm . . .” London pauses. “If he wants anything, he can submit his questions to me, and we can decide if we give him written answers or some kind of interview.”

  “Okay.” I nod, even though she can’t see me. “Sounds good.”

  “You might get other requests, too.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know.” London sounds softly reassuring. “But you know how this stuff goes. Once a story gets some kind of traction, all kinds of media outlets come out of the woodwork.”

  I sigh. “Yeah. All right.”

  “Do you think it’ll all die down after that?” Paige asks quietly.

  “It should,” London reassures. “In a few days. Unless one of you has other skeletons you’re hiding.”

  “No, ma’am.” I grin at Paige. “You know everything.”

  She pokes me in the side, her eyes wide again. “Well, maybe not everything,” I amend, “but the rest is personal.”

  “Keep it that way, will you?”

  We wait until the next day to go back home. We’re running out of clothes, and I mention we need to either buy some new stuff or pick up a few things at the apartment.

  “No,” Paige says as she starts packing up the small backpack we brought with us. “We should go home.”

  “Are you sure, sweetness?”

  “Yes.” She nods once, decisively. “I needed a little break. A chance to—” she lifts her shoulders in a shrug “—process what happened, but it’s time to go back.”

  “Only if you want to.”

  She looks at me, her eyes soft with gratitude. “I do, Noah. Really. I promise. Staying away any longer only gives Elyssa more control. She’s already spoiled enough of your life.”

  “She hasn’t exactly made it easy for you, either.”

  “Maybe not. But allowing her to change us only lets her win.”

  What Paige says makes sense, so we go back to my apartment. I like that she called it home, but I don’t mention it. Not yet. We still have some shit to talk about, some decisions to make, and I can be patient until then.

  I think.

  We’re just walking into the apartment when Paige’s phone rings. She looks at the screen and groans.

  “What?” I ask.

  “My mother.”

  Fuck. I don’t really hate Mrs. Hamilton, bu
t I hate what she does to Paige. The way she makes my girl feel.

  “Here.” I stick my hand out.

  “What?”

  “Give me the phone.”

  “What?”

  “Give me the phone.”

  Paige stares at me for a second, and then slowly she offers up her phone. Part of me gloats with satisfaction, but the rest of me cringes a little. It shows just how much Elyssa’s bullshit has fucked with Paige’s head that she’s willing to let me take charge.

  “Hello?” I say.

  “Oh! Who is this? I’m calling for Paige.”

  “This is her phone.”

  “Who is this?” Mrs. Hamilton repeats impatiently, and I switch the call to speaker.

  “Noah Dexter. Who’s this?” I grin at Paige.

  “This is her mother!”

  “Oh, hey, Missus Hamilton.” I sound like a clueless surfer dude or something and have to swallow a laugh. Paige’s mom will never get the sarcasm.

  “I need to speak with my daughter. Is she there?”

  Paige’s eyes are wide, maybe a little panicked, but I’ve got it—her—covered.

  “Yeah, she’s here, but she isn’t up to talking right now.”

  “I beg your pardon.”

  “I said—”

  “I heard what you said.”

  “Okay,” I say, still sounding like a dumbass.

  “Let me speak with my daughter!”

  Her pissed off tone is enough to end the joke for me. I drop the act and say coldly, “Look, Missus Hamilton, that isn’t going to happen.”

  “I—what?”

  “It’s not in Paige’s best interest to talk to you right now.”

  “Listen, Noah.” She says my name like it’s another word for shit. “I need to discuss these salacious rumors that are flying around the internet. This is totally unacceptable. I told her to warn me if there were other things I needed to know, and she failed to do that. Her father and I—”

  “Listen, Missus Hamilton.” I imitate her tone perfectly. “Paige has been through a lot. I’m not going to tell you about it, because it’s none of your business.”

  “Everything about my daughter is my business.”