Aiden: The Lost Breed MC #8

by Ali Parker

  After three rings Cheryl’s sexy southern accent filled the line. “Hello?”

  I cleared my throat. “Hey.”

  She was quiet for a minute. “Vince isn’t home right now. Can I take a message?”

  “I’m not calling for Vince. I’m calling for you.”

  “Who is this?”

  I looked up at Rhys and Owen who both gave me nods of encouragement. It reminded me of my time in foster care, sitting in my attic bedroom with three other boys as they encouraged me to prank call our teachers. “It’s Aiden.”

  Her sigh was heavy. “Of course it is. You can’t call me at home like this.”

  “I know. I shouldn’t have. But I had your number and I couldn’t not use it. I’ve been thinking about you.”

  “Well, I haven’t been thinking about you. If Vince ever found out you called here—no. I’m not talking about this with you.”

  “Are you afraid of him?”

  “Excuse me?”

  I swallowed. Yet again, I’d crossed a line. It was none of my business. I knew that. But I couldn’t stop the next words from falling from my lips. “I just get a bad feeling about him. And you don’t deserve that, Cheryl.”

  “Wow. You really think highly of yourself, don’t you?”

  “I didn’t mean to—”

  “I’m done. Don’t call here again. I mean it. I have other shit to worry about besides some jerk harassing me. I have two hours to prepare food for fifty-five people, plus finish unpacking boxes. So you are the absolute last person I want to talk to right now. Good bye.”

  She hung up.

  She must have been talking loud because based on the looks on Rhys and Owen’s faces they had heard every word she said.

  Owen sighed. “Sorry man. Worth a shot, right?”

  Rhys nodded. “At least you know.”

  I frowned. “Who says I’m throwing in the towel?”

  Owen made a nervous sound in the back of his throat. “What terrible idea is rolling around in that head of yours, Aiden?”

  “She said she was having a party tonight.”

  “And?”

  “And there are fifty-five people going. If I show up in a suit, who’s going to be the wiser? I can get a minute alone with her. Just need to get the address and I already know where to find that information.”

  “Terrible idea,” Rhys said, vigorously shaking his head.

  Owen pointed at Rhys. “I second that. That sounds like fifty-five people available to hold you down until the cops show up after she reports your stalker ass.”

  “I have Dani in my corner,” I said.

  “I don’t think that’s how this works,” Rhys said. “Let me paint a picture for you. You show up at the party. Nobody notices you’re not supposed to be there. You find this girl and try to talk to her. She kicks you in the balls for doing the exact opposite of what she told you while screaming for help. This Vince guy beats the shit out of you and drags you into the bathroom to give you a swirly. Or six. Then your lungs fill with water and you drown on this rich assholes bathroom floor.”

  “That took a turn,” I mused.

  Rhys rolled his eyes. “You’re going anyway, aren’t you?”

  “You said to take a shot. So I’m taking it. And I don’t think I have to worry about a swirly, man. This isn’t junior high. She’s a classy chick and he’s a rich asshole. This is gonna be a corporate thing. Business people most likely. They just moved here so there’s no way they have that many friends. I’ll blend right in.”

  Owen arched an eyebrow. “Yeah? What the fuck are you going to wear?”

  “I have a suit.”

  “Yeah? Does it actually fit you? You’ve put on like twenty pounds of muscle since we left Chicago.”

  “I hadn’t thought about that,” I said.

  Owen and Rhys laughed at me.

  I shrugged. “But I have two hours to figure it out. What do you say, boys? Want to go suit shopping?”

  They shook their heads and in unison said, “No.”

  Chapter 10

  Cheryl

  I opened the oven and heat spilled out along with the rich smell of my homemade brie and baguette platter. The cheese was perfectly melted and the crushed pecans on top perfectly roasted. I set it down on a cooling tray and hurried to pull out the other platters of quiche, baked oysters, and yams that I would sprinkle with cinnamon, goat cheese and more pecans.

  I straightened up and wiped sweat from my upper lip.

  I’d been running around all night making sure everything was in order.

  The guests had started to arrive just before eight o’clock. Every time the doorbell rang I hurried down the hall with Vince to greet them in the foyer, take their jackets, and hang them in the closet. Then we invited them in, showed them around, and I poured them a glass of wine and brought it to them wherever they settled.

  Most people were out in the backyard, milling around the pool. It had cooled off somewhat since the sun dipped down and our backyard was plunged into shade, becoming the perfect place for people to mingle.

  Those that were still inside congregated in the dining room and living room, meaning I had to make sure there were appetizers spread out in three areas.

  I also made sure everyone’s drinks were topped off and nobody had an empty glass in their hand. I checked on the bathrooms regularly to make sure the toilet paper was fully stocked and the toilet bowl was free of urine—since men had an uncanny knack for spraying the sides and leaving a mess in their wake, and I didn’t want the guests enduring that.

  Aside from me there were only six other women out of fifty-five guests at the party, and one of them had already left because she had kids to get home to. I could tell the other women wished they had a good reason to leave as well. It seemed to me that they felt they spent enough time with their male colleagues and weren’t too keen on spending their Saturday evening the same way they spent their work weeks, which was listening to total buffoons talk about things they knew nothing about.

  I fanned my face to try to cool down before putting the oven mitts back on and delivering one appetizer to every area. As I went I checked other platters and took note of what needed to be refilled. The meat and cheese platter in the living room was getting low. The crystal bowl of sangria in the dining room also needed to be refilled. And the vegetable and sushi spread would need to be rearranged to look a little less picked over.

  I started there and made it a little more presentable before fetching the giant sangria bowl and carrying it into the kitchen to mix another batch. I added ice and some fresh fruit, specifically slices of orange and some strawberries, and then returned it to the table. As soon as I walked away the remaining women flocked to it and refilled their glasses.

  I couldn’t blame them.

  Honestly, I wished I could indulge a bit myself. Just enough to get a bit of a buzz to endure the rest of this night.

  “How’s it going in here babe?”

  I turned around to find Vince leaning on the doorframe. His arms were crossed and he wore a pleasant smile.

  We’d put our argument to bed when we both woke up this morning. He apologized and so did I, and we reconciled. At least, I was pretty sure that’s what we’d done. He gave me a kiss and told me he was looking forward to tonight, and then went and got in the shower.

  I made my way downstairs and got breakfast ready and we sat and ate like he hadn’t destroyed one of the most precious things to me in the whole house.

  I hadn’t been able to bring myself to throw away the broken pieces. I’d packed them into a Tupperware container and tucked it in the back of one of our closets upstairs. A closet I knew Vince would never open.

  “It’s going,” I said, running my hands down my thighs. The dress I had on was a bit tight. Unfortunately I hadn’t had the foresight to pick my outfit for tonight in advance and discovered this afternoon after my shower that all my dresses were too tight. This one was the least offensive of them all and revealed the lea
st amount of cleavage. Since this was a business event I didn’t want to go around with them spilling out of my dress.

  “Is there any more of that cheese thing you made? It’s disappearing pretty quickly out there,” Vince said.

  “Um,” I said, brushing strands of hair off my forehead and turning in a circle in the middle of the kitchen. I was so overwhelmed. My feet hurt. The heels I had on pinched my toes. “Yes. I think I have another brie wheel in the fridge. Just give me fifteen minutes and I can put it out there. Has anybody complained that the jelly I used was too spicy?”

  Vince shook his head. “It’s a real crowd pleaser. Just like my girl.”

  I smiled. “Fifteen minutes.”

  Vince pushed himself off the doorframe and came over to me as I opened the fridge and searched for the brie. He put his hands on my hips, his chin on my shoulder, and held me to him. My ass pressed against his crotch.

  A year ago I might have wiggled my hips to tease him. I might have even pulled the classic reach around move to stroke his cock through his pants and whispered something sexy and daring in his ear like, ‘I’m going to show you the best time when all your work friends are gone and it’s just the two of us’. But that was then and this was now, and the thought of rubbing my ass against his crotch gave me anxiety.

  A year ago he would have got a hard on.

  Now all I’d feel was his flaccid dick, and no girl wanted that. It was a biological reminder that he was no longer attracted to me.

  I tugged the hemline of my dress down and found the brie tucked behind a head of lettuce. I shimmied out from between Vince and the fridge and began preparing the appetizer.

  Vince gave me a kiss on the cheek. “You’re a hell of a host, babe.”

  Then he left me alone in the kitchen.

  I scrambled to finish the third brie platter of the evening in the fifteen minutes I promised. Somehow I pulled it off and replaced the old platter as the last piece of bread was plucked from it. I brought it back in, scrubbed it clean in the sink, and put it back in the cupboard from which it came.

  Then I did one more lap through the house to see if anyone needed anything.

  I topped off a couple glasses of wine. Two white. One red. One sangria.

  A couple men with empty cocktail glasses asked me for whiskey, so I saw to that too, and before I knew it I was popping champagne and pouring bubbly and bringing people appetizers on napkins.

  When I had a moment to myself I decided to check on the two bathrooms on the main level one more time.

  I closed the door behind me, braced myself on the counter, and just breathed.

  In and out. In and out. Nice and slow. Calm and steady.

  “Only two more hours,” I whispered to myself. “Two more hours and you can take this horrible fucking dress off, wipe off the stupid lipstick, then go to bed and forget about how much your feet hurt.”

  I stared down at my swollen feet, strapped into the patent leather torture devices that had cost Vince three hundred and fifty dollars. They were beautiful black pumps, but they hurt like a bitch.

  They looked great with my dress though; a long sleeve black body-con covered in lace with capped sleeves and a sweetheart neckline.

  When I was a good fifteen pounds lighter the dress looked spectacular on me. Now my eyes were drawn to how big my hips looked and how much my waist shape had changed. From the side my tummy showed even in the body shaper I had underneath that made it impossible for me to drink anything carbonated.

  I didn’t dare look up at my own reflection. I was already struggling to keep my chin up out there with the other women who looked marvelous in their dresses and formal wear. I was sure everyone was talking about me behind my back and I hated how out of place I felt in my own home.

  “Two more hours,” I muttered.

  Then I straightened up and faced the door. I took three deep breaths, nodded assertively at nothing, and walked out to carry on with my duties.

  I found Vince talking to three other men in the living room. They were talking about something work related, and when I walked past to go check the sangria one of the men called, “Excuse me?”

  I turned with a pleasant smile. “Yes? What can I get you, sir?”

  Vince nodded approvingly.

  The man, probably in his late forties, a silver fox if I ever did see one, frowned and shook his head. “Oh. Nothing dear. I just wanted to introduce myself. I’m Gavin. I had no idea Vince was such a lucky guy and had such a lovely wife.”

  I didn’t look at Vince, but I did say, “Oh. Thank you, that’s very kind. But I’m not his wife actually.”

  “My apologies. That was assumptive of me,” Gavin said.

  I maintained my pleasant smile. “Nothing to apologize for. It was nice meeting you. Now if you’ll excuse me, I see the ladies flocking to the sangria, which usually means it’s time to top it off if you know what I mean.”

  Gavin chuckled as did the other men talking to Vince. I turned and left, a smooth exit I was sure, and heard the men saying words like ‘sweet’ and ‘charming’ and ‘lovely’ to Vince. I wasn’t sure what surprised me more—having those adjectives used to describe me or hearing Vince agreeing with them.

  Five minutes later I was replacing the refilled sangria bowl on the table. Then the doorbell rang. I made eye contact with Vince who was still deep in conversation with the three men, and then I gestured for him to stay where he was and that I would get the door. He nodded his understanding and I hurried to greet our newest guest.

  Quickly fluffing my hair, I fanned my cheeks before pulling the door open and fixing my best smile on my lips. “Good evening. Come on in and—” I stopped talking and clamped my mouth shut.

  Aiden stood on the threshold. In one hand he held a bottle of red wine. In the other a bouquet of exquisite white roses dusted in glitter that reminded me of the paint job on my Mercedes.

  He was dressed in a perfectly fitted all black suit, save for his tie and pocket square, which were black but covered in a swirling subtle pattern of pinks and turquoise.

  He looked like a real gentleman. The sort of gentleman who, if he approached you at a club, would stand a very good chance of making your panties drop.

  My panties didn’t drop at the sight of him, but I did become suddenly very aware of them. Where they sat on my legs. How they rested against the soft skin between my legs.

  The smile he gave me was the smile of the devil himself. “Cheryl. Good to see you. Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

  Chapter 11

  Aiden

  I couldn’t explain why, but Cheryl’s slack jawed, wide eyed expression made me want to do naughty things to her.

  She stood in her foyer with the front door only halfway open. Her mouth started working but no words came out, and she looked me up and down several times before muttering something completely incoherent. Then she shook her head, sending her long blonde curls dancing across her shoulders.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” She finally managed to hiss.

  I shrugged one shoulder—the one in which hand I held the roses—and glitter rained down from the petals onto the welcome mat upon which I stood. It read ‘Home Sweet Home.’

  How predictable.

  I nodded past her where, down a long wide hallway that led from the grand foyer in which she stood to the rest of the house where the party goers were mingling. “Sounds like a good time in there.”

  “It’s not.”

  “No? Then you should definitely invite me in. I’m a charmer at parties. Trust me.”

  “I don’t trust you. Not even a little bit. Get out of here, Aiden. If Vince—”

  I waved my hand dismissively before pushing the flowers into her arms. She let out an annoyed moan as I shouldered my way by her and stood in the foyer looking up at the crystal chandelier above. “Damn,” I whistled. “How much did that set your boy toy back?”

  “He’s not my boy toy.”

  There were two sets of stairs
against the walls of the oval foyer that led up to the second level of the house, because apparently one staircase wasn’t good enough for Vince Price and his lavish taste. I should have expected something so extravagant.

  I fixed my jacket. “Do you actually like this, Cheryl?”

  She stared blankly at me.

  “All of this,” I clarified, waving one hand around the foyer to gesture at all the grandeur around us.

  She licked her crimson lips. “I like it when you’re not standing in the middle of my foyer trying to make me feel like I shouldn’t.”

  I chuckled. “I like you.”

  “The feeling isn’t mutual.”

  I held up the bottle of wine and gave it a little shake. “What do you say? Should we crack this bad boy open? I’d like to mingle with some of Vince’s douche bag work friends and—”

  “You will not be doing any mingling,” Cheryl snapped.

  I frowned. “Why do you want to keep all of this from the people, Cheryl?” I asked, looking down at myself. “I dressed up just for you and Mr. Price. You can’t tell me I won’t fit in. No leather. No t-shirts. Just good old fashioned class.”

  Cheryl snorted. “I don’t think you know what the word means.”

  “Sure I do,” I said, turning my back to her and heading down the hall to the back of the house where the voices of Cheryl’s guests grew louder with every step. I heard her slam the front door behind me. Then her hurried steps, short and clipped due to the obscenely high shoes she was wearing, came up behind me as she rushed to catch up. She grabbed at my arm but it was too late. I’d stepped out of the hall and into a high ceiling living space. The whole back wall of the house was floor to ceiling glass that gave a spectacular view of the backyard, complete with an in ground swimming pool, cabanas, and twinkle lights strung up all over the place.

  Vince and Cheryl had likely spent more money on this party than I had on my last six months of mortgage payments.

  I turned to the kitchen. Nobody was in there, which was a lucky thing, because Cheryl came in after me, seething like a rabid dog. She jabbed me between the shoulder blades from behind as I started opening drawers looking for a corkscrew.