by Shandi Boyes
It’s the only thing that didn’t make my stomach churn when placed within an inch of my nose. It had quite the opposite effect, actually. I told Melody I’d never make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich without getting hard. I should have said I’d never eat peanut butter again without testing the durability of the zipper in my pants. Just the smell of peanut butter mingling in the air gets me hard.
Eager to stop my zipper’s nasty bite on my cock, I suck off the remainder of the peanut butter from the spoon, dump it and the jar of peanut butter onto my bedside table before making my way to the walk-in closet to change into something more suitable for sleeping.
When I catch sight of my white face, black-rimmed eyes, and cracked lips while standing in front of the full-length mirror, I’m tempted to snap a selfie and send it to Alex. He wouldn’t need to demand a doctor’s certificate if he could see what I’m seeing. The black rims circling my eyes gives my skin a ghost-like appearance, and we won’t mention the low-hang of my shoulders or we’ll be here all night.
Once I’m dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a plain white shirt, I head to bed. My steps slow when I notice my iPhone screen is lit up with a text message. It’s so late, Agent Phillipa crashed on me like Isabelle did weeks ago, but not nearly early enough for my mom to remind me that the best days begin when the sun is rising.
Curious, I check who the message is from before crawling into bed. I’m tired, but I can’t take an ounce more curiosity.
My pulse spikes when I speedread the message.
Unknown number: Hey, BJ. Are you awake?
I cross my room at the speed of lightning to check Phillipa is still asleep on the couch. Her faint snores are authentic, but she’s the only female in a very long time who has called me BJ at this hour.
When I find Phillipa snuggled under my bedspread, I type out a reply to my mystery caller while pacing back to my semi-naked bed. I only have one blanket, and that’s keeping Phillipa warm.
Me: I am. Who’s this?
It feels like the planet circles the sun a million times while waiting for the three dash message sequence to be replaced with a text.
For how long it takes, I expected more than a five word response.
Unknown number: It’s Melody. Can we talk?
As my eyes stray to my partially cracked opened door, my heart beats out a tune I haven’t heard in years. Don’t ask me why I’m checking if the coast is clear. Your guess on my weirdness of late would be as good as mine. I’ve barely felt myself the past seven years.
Me: Okay.
What? I’m on the verge of coronary failure, so it was either send a one-word text or collapse. I chose the one that wouldn’t have the coroner snapping off my cock when he loads me into the back of his van. I have peanut butter on my lips, and the girl who turned my love into an obsession asking if we can talk at three in the morning. A monster dick is understandable.
The situation in my pants grows worse when the message screen on my phone is replaced with an incoming FaceTime call. I tilt my head to the side to check Phillipa is still snoring before hitting the connect button. With my room bare of another place to sit, I rest my back on the wall my mattress is squashed against before dragging across a second pillow to cover my crotch. I’m wearing sweatpants. The imprint of my dick is very noticeable.
Have you ever had a moment where you can neither speak nor move? That’s what happens to me the instant my dodgy internet finally connects. Excluding the newspaper articles I regularly scanned for her pictures, and the ones Phillipa gave me late last week, I haven’t seen Melody’s face in years. She’s even more beautiful than I remembered. Her looks have matured, but just like her jump from adolescence to womanhood benefited her, so has the past seven years of adulthood.
From the way the screen of her phone illuminates her face, it’s obvious she’s sitting in a dark room. Not even the dingiest conditions could hide her gorgeous face, tulip-shaped nose, and bright brown eyes that are twinkling despite a small bout of wetness flooding them, though.
“Hi, BJ,” Melody signs through watering eyes.
“Hi.” I want to say more but I’m truly and utterly speechless. Usually, I speak while signing, but I can’t even manage that this time around.
“I’m sorry for the late hour—”
“It’s fine. I was awake,” I interrupt. “Are you okay?”
The quick bob of her chin lowers my heart rate miraculously fast. “I need a favor?”
“Anything,” I reply without pause for thought. She helped me when I reached out to her a few weeks ago, so the least I can do is return the favor.
Who am I kidding? Even if she hadn’t secured Marjorie’s file for me, I still wouldn’t have said no to her. I was trained to obey, protect, serve, and honor her. Years of silence didn’t change that. It just taught me to ensure the person I’m helping is worthy of my assistance. Melody cheated on me, but Grayson is right. She made a mistake—once—so it’s time to let bygones be bygones.
“What do you need?” Conscious not to wake Phillipa, I only sign my question instead of speaking it as well. Melody doesn’t seem to mind. Just as much silence is resonating from her side of the conversation as mine. I can’t even hear the annoying tick of the antique clock she keeps on her bedside table. It’s one of those old wind-up styles. It ticked all damn night when I had sleepovers at her house when we were kids, so you can imagine how mortified I was when she packed it when we left for college.
Mercifully, Melody exhausted me to the point of being near-comatose the weekends we spent at her dorm, so it didn’t keep me awake like it did in our youth.
The only good thing that could have come out of Melody’s dorm fire was discovering that frustrating time contraption had been destroyed by flames. Alas, nothing ever comes easy for me. The damn thing survived with only a handful of scorch marks.
Although I can’t testify that Melody packed her clock when she left for Cali all those years ago, but since its annoying tick couldn’t be blamed for my lagging sleep schedule the following six months, I’d say she did.
After glancing up and to the left, Melody returns her eyes to mine. “I was hoping you could help me identify someone.” When my head bobs, she continues, “I only have a photo to go off. It is grainy, but I figured you would—”
“Grainy is fine. Grainy works. Can you send it to me?”
Smiling, she nods. My phone dings two seconds later. This will make me sound like a sucker, but it takes me a good three seconds to log out of my FaceTime app to open up my messages. I don’t want Melody to disappear again, even with this feeling more like a business call than a personal one.
I’m anticipating for the person in Melody’s photo to match the man from Phillipa’s surveillance images. I’m proven wrong when my eyes drink in a blurry image of a large bald man standing next to a dark four-wheel drive. His biceps are the size of bowling balls, and he is a good two heads taller than the raven-haired woman he’s guiding into the back seat.
Once I’m confident I’ve taken in the photo with due diligence, and wiped the riled expression from my face, I reopen my FaceTime screen. Melody is there, patiently waiting for me with her lower lip caught between her teeth. Even in the tense circumstances, the visual of her chewing on her lip sends blood rushing to my cock. She always been undeniably beautiful, and tired, panicked eyes can’t detract from that.
Recalling the reason for her uneasy gaze, I ask, “Who is this man?”
Melody’s dirty blond brow pops up high on her face. “I was hoping you could tell me that. That is why I reached out.”
I scrub my hand along the scruff on my jaw, hoping it will conceal my lips when they respond to the smugness on her face. “Smart ass.”
Guilt for making light of the situation smacks into me when Melody’s playful chew of her bottom lip turns lethal. She bites down hard as she fights with all her might to trap the sob I see in her eyes in her throat.
“I am sorry. It is late. I am being an ass.”<
br />
She drags a hand across her wet cheeks before assuring me I have nothing to apologize about. “It wasn’t what you said. It was hear—”
She stops signing when a male voice joins our voiceless conversation. “Mel, what are you doing hiding out in the living room? Come back to bed, baby. It’s cold without you.”
For the first time in my life, I dislike the taste of peanut butter in my mouth. It isn’t just the guilty expression on Melody’s face that has me regretting my dinner selection, it’s the image of a man wearing nothing but a pair of sleeping pants in the top righthand corner of Melody’s screen. The lamp behind him shows he’s standing in front of a rumpled bed.
My eyes shoot back to Melody’s face when I spot her signing in the corner of my eye. “I have to go, BJ. Can I call you tomorrow?”
With how hard sick, morbid jealousy is hitting me, I should say no, but for some fucked up reason, I dip my chin instead.
My quick agreeance returns the smile I was mesmerized by only seconds ago. “Thanks, BJ.”
Melody stares directly at me for what feels like a lifetime before she disconnects our call. It takes me just as long to lower my phone from my face. Even with an immense amount of awkwardness fueling our exchange, it was so surreal, I’m beginning to wonder if I am napping on the couch with Phillipa.
The only reason I know I’m not is because Phillipa has her shoulder propped on the doorframe of my bedroom. Her brows are pulled together tightly and her lips are pursed. “Do you often have wordless conversations in the middle of the night?”
I shake my head. “That was Melody.”
“I kind of gathered that.” Phillipa enters my room without waiting to be invited. “The sign language gave it away, and let’s not forget that.” She swallows harshly at the end of her sentence before dropping her eyes to the crotch of my pants—the exposed crotch of my pants since I knocked off the pillow somewhere between being gob smacked by Melody’s call and blinded by jealousy. “What did she want?”
After covering the tent in my pants with a pillow, I arch a brow. “Do you really want to have this conversation now and in here, of all places?”
I stare at Phillipa with massive eyes when she touches her toes, twists her back, then does leg stretches like she’s about to run a marathon. “I’m not as nimble as I was in my college days, but this old girl should still be up to the task.” When she spots my whitening gills, she laughs. “I’m joking, BJ. Even if it’s been a while, you don’t have the equipment I need for an all-night romp-a-thon.”
“Huh?”
Phillipa motions for me to scoot across the mattress. When I do as asked, she discloses, “I’m a lesbian.”
“You’re a lesbian?” I apologize to anyone within a five mile radius of my apartment building. I can’t help but shout. I’ve never been in the dating circuit, but I could have sworn she was giving me flirty kiss-me vibes earlier today.
Fuck, I’m in even more desperate need to get laid than I realized.
After slipping between the sheets of my bed, Phillipa slants her head to the side so she can peer at me with batting lashes. “I’m not a lesbian. But I’m more than happy to pretend I am if it saves my ass from spending another minute on your couch. Just because it’s expensive doesn’t mean it is habitable, BJ. I paid a fortune for a bonsai garden to fancy up my patio and it died within two weeks.”
Even though I shouldn’t laugh, I can’t help it. I’m so tired, deliriousness is the next logical step to full-blown craziness.
Phillipa waits for my chuckles to settle before nudging her head to my phone. “Are you going to show me what Melody sent you, or should I wait for you to fall asleep then hack into your phone?” When I give her a look as if to say, I’d like to see you try, the smugness on her face triples. “Melody’s birthday, am I right?”
When she scoops up my phone, I snatch it out of her hand, grumbling about how I have a knack for picking up annoying strays. Once I have my message app open, I scroll down so Phillipa can’t see I was unaware of Melody’s private cell phone number until now, then pass her my phone.
“That’s Kwan Turgenev. Why do you have a photo of him?”
The collision of our eyes is almost brutal. I’m desperate to find out how she identified the perp so quickly, and she’s dying to know why I have a photograph of him.
Since Phillipa had a nap, her stableness is more noticeable than mine. I dive over her legs without the teeniest bit of concern my male parts brush her shins on the way by. I need my laptop and I left it on the dining table when I gathered the bedspread for Phillipa.
Phillipa’s craziness jumps up a notch when I yank out a chair from beneath my dining table and take a seat in front of my laptop. “Watcha doing?”
“Running a background search on Kwan Turgenev.” I raise my eyes to hers. “Does his first name start with a K or Q?”
“K…” I stop typing Kwan’s name into the search bar of the bureau’s mainframe when Phillipa adds, “But you won’t find anything on him. He’s a ghost. Has been for years.”
With my lips twisted, I finalize typing his name, certain I have access to channels Phillipa doesn’t know about.
***
Ten minutes later, I’m chewing on my tongue. There’s not a single shred of evidence that a Kwan Turgenev exists, much less had an invitation to the campaign fundraiser I saw flyers for in the backdrop of the photograph Melody sent me.
“I told you he’s a ghost.” Phillipa slumps in the chair across from me before balancing her feet on part of the seat not taken up by her backside so she can cradle her knees with her arms. Melody used to sit in the nook in her window the same way anytime she was tired. “It’s been like that for years. Other than in a handful of long range surveillance photos a few years back, his file is empty. I’m shocked you have an image of him. I doubt you would if he noticed it was being taken.”
Ignoring her underhanded comment that Kwan is dangerous, I ask, “Do you still have access to his surveillance photos?” Although the late hour could be playing havoc with my mind, I’m reasonably sure I’ve seen Kwan before. I just can’t recall where.
Phillipa lowers her legs to the floor before she leans across the table to seize control of my laptop. “How long after a suspension does access to my Bureau email remain?”
I smirk a smug grin. “If you know the right people, your access will never expire.”
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Acknowledgments
Thank you to all the wonderful people who have supported me. Whether from the start, four years ago, last year, last month or last week, I appreciate every single one of you. I am incredibly grateful to have such wonderful and supportive family and friends, and I count my blessings every day.
The time and effort it takes to write a book is immense. I sacrifice a lot of time with my family and friends to produce each book with the hope readers will fall in love with my characters as much as I love them. Considering this is book 41 in a little over four years, I think that is the case.
From my husband who listens to my crazy ideas every night when he returns to work, to my mum who reads my rough drafts, there are a lot of people behind me encouraging me to thrive.
In the past four years, I’ve made author friends, developed close kinship with readers, and corresponded with people all over the world.
How? Books—my books.
It’s crazy, and I’ve loved every goddamn minute of it, but I wouldn’t be here without you—the readers. So, from the bottom of my heart, thank you for reading my stories. Thank you for loving my characters as much as I do. And thank you for supporting me.
I wouldn’t be me without you.
Talk soon,
Shandi xx
Also by Shandi Boyes
Perception Series:
Saving Noah
Fighting Jacob
Taming Nick
Redeeming Slater
Saving Emily (Novella)
Wrapped up with Rise Up (Novella - should be read after Bound)
Enigma:
Enigma of Life
Unraveling an Enigma
Enigma: The Mystery Unmasked
Enigma: The Final Chapter
Beneath the Secrets
Beneath the Sheets
Spy Thy Neighbor
The Opposite Effect
I Married a Mob Boss
Second Shot
The Way We Are
The Way We Were
Sugar and Spice
Lady in Waiting
Man in Queue
Couple on Hold
Enigma: The Wedding
Silent Vigilante
Hushed Guardian
Quiet Protector
Bound Series:
Chains
Links
Bound
Restrained
Psycho
Russian Mob Chronicles:
Nikolai: A Mafia Prince Romance
Nikolai: Taking Back What's Mine
Nikolai: What's Left of Me
Nikolai: Mine to Protect
Asher: My Russian Revenge
Nikolai: Through the Devil's Eyes
RomCom Standalones:
Just Playin'
The Drop Zone
Ain't Happenin'
Christmas Trio
Falling for a Stranger
Coming Soon:
Skitzo
Trey