Treacherous by Alex Grayson & Melissa Toppen

by Alex Grayson

  Sliding my heels off, I snag them off the floor and continue to my room, but when I reach my door, I hesitate. Turning around, I stare at Oliver’s door for a solid minute, the wheels slowly turning.

  Two can play at his game. I drop my things right inside my room and quietly slip across the hall. His room is dark when I step inside. And quiet. It feels almost too quiet.

  I almost chicken out.

  Almost….

  Taking a deep breath, I flip the switch that powers his bedside lamp, causing a soft light to flood through the room. Other than looking through his open door, I’ve never actually been in here. It feels wrong on more levels than one. How would I feel if he did this to me?

  I think back to the “fun fact introduction” and my resolve thickens. If he can spy on me in the bathroom, then why the hell should I feel bad about snooping in his room?

  I start with his nightstand. Pulling open all three drawers, I rummage through an assortment of junk, magazines, and unused condoms—gross—before dropping to my knees to look under the bed…. Nothing.

  I go for the closet next, a little surprised by his organization skills. Everything is separated into storage bins, labeled and stacked on shelves that hang above his clothing inside the massive walk in.

  Scanning the handwritten labels, I stop on one that says pictures, hoping to find some incriminating photos or something I can use to deliver a little well-deserved payback. Pushing up on my tiptoes, I manage to pull the bin down, holding it against my chest as I make my way back into his room. Crossing to his desk, I set the container down and pop off the lid, pulling out a handful of pictures.

  A lot of the ones on top are family photos—pictures of Oliver with his mom and dad. Some are old, some more recent. All in all they look like the all-American, happy family.

  I don’t know what happened between his parents, or why they divorced. It’s not something I thought to ask. I just assumed it was for the same reason most couples separate—because they no longer love each other or one cheated.

  I think about that for a moment, a gut curdling realization settling in my stomach. Is that why Oliver hates me and my mom so much? Did his dad cheat on his mom? Was my mom the other woman?

  There’s no way… Mom would never knowingly break up a family. At least, I don’t think she would….

  Shaking off the thought, I continue rummaging through the pictures. I find several of Oliver with various girls. One after the other, it’s like every picture has a different face. How many girlfriends has this guy had?

  I pause when I come across one of him and Zayden. They’re sitting in the back of a pickup truck, legs dangling over the open bed, fishing poles propped up next to them. They are both smiling at the camera. I would guess them between maybe twelve or thirteen in the photo. Both look so innocent and carefree that I hardly recognize either of them.

  I hone in on Zayden. Even the younger version of him is breathtaking. His messy dark hair, those incredible eyes, but it’s the smile that really draws me in. I’ve seen him smile, not at me of course, but I’ve never seen him smile like he is in this picture.

  The sound of the front door shutting causes me to jump, and I end up knocking the tub of pictures off the desk. They go sliding across the slick hardwood in every direction.

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  I lean down and frantically pick them up, sure that I’m about to be caught at any moment. Throwing the lid haphazardly back on top, I sprint to the closet and quickly return it to where I found it.

  My heart is pounding a million beats per second as I exit the bedroom, flipping off the light before quietly closing the door behind me. I’ve just turned the knob to my own room when Oliver appears at the top of the stairs. If he has any indication that I was in his room, he doesn’t lead on. Then again, it could be due to the fact he’s a bit preoccupied at the moment—given the red head hanging on his arm.

  “I thought you’d be face down crying in your pillow by now,” he sneers, causing the girl next to him to giggle.

  “Sorry to disappoint you, brother, but per usual, you’re wrong.”

  “Guess I’m not trying hard enough.” A wicked smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.

  “What you did tonight was low, even for you, but there’s something you’re failing to realize.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “That eventually I’m going to start pushing back. And I have a feeling you’re not going to like what that means for you.”

  “Is that a threat?” he spits, his tone murderous.

  “Keep up this little charade of yours and find out,” I challenge, turning my attention to the girl on his arm. “And just so you know, he won’t call you tomorrow. But by all means, go spread your legs for him. When you end up with an STD, you can’t say he didn’t give you anything for your trouble.” With that, I spin on my heel and disappear inside my room.

  Pressing my back to the door, I have to cover my mouth with my hand to conceal the laughter that bubbles from my throat.

  Damn that felt good. Almost too good. And while my snooping was cut short before I could find anything to use against him, that doesn’t mean I’m giving up. I meant what I said. If he keeps pushing, I’m going to push back. And that goes for Zayden, too. He may not have been the one feeding the lies, but he’s just as guilty as Oliver.

  Our earlier altercation comes back to the forefront of my mind, and just like when it was happening, it only serves to confuse me further. He’s cruel, there’s no question about that, but not in the same way Oliver is. Oliver’s goal is to hurt people; whereas Zayden seems like he only wants everyone to fear him.

  There’s just something about him. Something that tells me there’s a lot more to Zayden Michaels than what he lets people see—something beyond the tough guy exterior. And if I want any chance of coming out of this on the other side still standing, I have to know what that is.

  ZAYDEN

  I PULL UP TO THE back entrance of Hart’s just before nine and shut off the engine. My hands grip the steering wheel so tight my knuckles turn white. Pulling in a deep breath, I let it out slow. The adrenaline rushing through my body has me twitchy and my muscles tight. This is how it always is right before a fight. Hyped up on endorphins with the need to do some damage coursing through me.

  Giving my head a shake, I open my door and get out of my truck. The bright light over the back door of Hart’s flickers. Just beyond the reach of the beam, Oliver stands with his back against the brick wall, waiting for me. I haven’t seen him since last night, when we both took part in humiliating his sister.

  Anger at the both of us along with a twinge of guilt lead the way as I walk toward him.

  “You ready for tonight?” he asks, stepping away from the wall.

  “Yes,” I grunt. I bang the side of my fist against the rusted metal door and wait for Bruce to answer.

  Oliver tosses a handful of Red Hots into his mouth and chews as he talks. “Where’d you go last night? Thought you said you didn’t have to leave until eleven.”

  “I dipped out early.”

  The door swings open and one of the guys Hart uses for security on fight nights greets us. I tap my knuckles against his.

  “How’s it going, Bruce?”

  Oliver and I step inside before he closes and locks the door behind us.

  “Busy. Got a full house tonight.”

  I nod, having seen the long line of cars lining the street. More people means more money will be exchanging hands tonight, and if I have it my way, more money lining my pockets later.

  We leave Bruce and walk down the dim hallway that leads to the stairs to the basement. It’s quiet for now, but as soon as I open the door, the loud ruckus from below will beat against the walls.

  “Tiffany was looking for you last night after you left,” he remarks, the box of candy rattling as he dumps more of the shit into his mouth.

  Irritation has my scalp prickling. “Tiff
any needs to back the hell off. I told her last night I wasn’t interested.”

  “She looked pretty bummed when she couldn’t find you.”

  “She’ll get over it.”

  We come to a stop at the basement door. Instead of opening it, I turn to my best friend. But before I can say anything, he continues, “Did you see Rylee’s fucking face after my little stunt?” Unadulterated delight illuminates Oliver’s face. “It was pure fucking genius on my part, if I do say so myself.” He smirks.

  A mental image of hoisting him up by his neck and bashing him against the wall filters through my mind. I could blame it on the adrenaline flowing through my veins from the impending fight, but something tells me it’s more than that. I just don’t know if I want to know what that more is.

  “That last part was uncalled for,” I state, shoving my hands into the pockets of my gym shorts.

  “What?” His eyebrows raise. “The part about her in the shower? That was the best part.”

  “No, asshole, it wasn’t,” I growl, anger making my words harsher than I intended. “That shit is fucking wrong on all levels.”

  His eyes narrow in suspicion. “What the hell is up with you, Z?”

  “Nothing,” I mutter, taking a deep breath to calm my rising temper.

  I don’t blame him for his suspicion. I’ve got no right to be angry over something like this. Especially since it’s Rylee. But I can’t get the image of Oliver watching her during such a private moment from my mind.

  “Why were you in the bathroom while she was showering anyway?” I keep my tone as level as possible.

  He shrugs and his features smooth out. “It was by accident. She was in there a long time, so I stepped in to grab my razor so I could shave in one of the other bathrooms. She made a small noise, and I unconsciously glanced in the mirror. The shower is frosted, so I couldn’t see her, but there was no mistaking from her silhouette what she was doing.” His grin is cocky. “Obviously, the part about her “o” face was a little something I added.”

  His answer doesn’t appease me. He may not have seen her body, but he still witnessed her getting off. Maybe not intentionally, but he shouldn’t have gone into the bathroom in the first place. He could have fucking waited like a normal person.

  I ignore my body’s reaction to finding out that Rylee actually did get herself off in the shower, and Oliver had witnessed it. I was hoping it was just a lie he’d formulated—I could have forgotten about it. But knowing that it’s true, that she touches herself, has probably delved her fingers between her pussy lips until she was soaking wet and gasping, will play fucking havoc on my body.

  I clench my teeth so hard my jaw hurts. The door bangs against the wall when I thrust it open. Laughter and jeers assault my ears as I stomp down the stairs and across the short hallway leading to the big, open room. It’s fucking jam-packed.

  I push past the hands grabbing at me and ignore the screams trying to get my attention. I spot Hart talking to a guy in the corner, and that’s where I head, Oliver following my lead. A couple of his security guys stand off to the side, their attention focused on the crowd.

  Hart steps away from the guy he’s talking to and leans in close to my ear. “It’s fucking hopping tonight and the pot is high. The guy you’re against is a crazy motherfucker, so watch your back, but make it quick.”

  I jerk my chin up in acknowledgement.

  Hart’s eyes move to Oliver. “When he’s done, get his ass out of here. Brett warned they’ve got a bust tonight nearby. I don’t want to take any chances of them coming this way.”

  Brett Willock is one of the cops Hart pays to keep the police department’s prying eyes off this place. As long as the fighters don’t kill each other, he turns a blind eye and intercepts any suspicions when necessary. Hart’s had this place going for close to ten years, and so far it’s worked out for him. There have been a few close calls, but it’s usually kept under wraps.

  “I’ll be back,” Oliver hollers, and walks off to a brunette that’s been trying to get his attention since we made our way down.

  I leave Hart and head over to the chained off area used as the makeshift fighting ring. When I catch sight of a mess of thick brown hair I do a double take, thinking my eyes are playing tricks on me, but my second glance confirms what I don’t fucking need right now. At least tonight she’s dressed more appropriately in a white shirt and a pair of ripped jeans—or that’s what I think until I see the ripped fabric of her fitted tee, showing off small slivers of her perfectly tanned stomach.

  Irritation burns in my gut as I change directions and stalk toward Rylee and Charles. Rylee’s mouth is practically hanging from its hinges as she gawks at the huge crowd around her. If I thought her being at the party last night was bad, this is ten times worse. The atmosphere here can get hostile; it’s the last place she needs to be.

  She swivels her head in my direction. At first her eyes widen in surprise, but they soon narrow when she sees the expression on my face.

  I grab her by the upper arm and drag her with me until we reach the hallway. When I pivot to face her, I notice Charles has followed. Good. I’ll need him to get her ass out of here.

  “You need to leave,” I say, just loud enough for her to hear over the crowd’s screams.

  She pulls out of my grasp and crosses her arms over her chest, cocking her hip like a fucking diva or something.

  “You seem to say that to me a lot,” she snarks, increasing my irritation. “And I’ll tell you the same thing as last night, I’ll leave when I want to, not when you tell me to.”

  “And how did last night work out for you?” I ask, baring my teeth.

  Pink tinges her cheeks, and for a moment I think she’s going to relent. Instead, the girl shows her balls and glares at me. “You and Oliver can fuck off. It’ll take more than that to make me bow down in defeat.”

  “It’s not safe for you here,” I grit between my teeth.

  Reaching out, I grab her wrist, ready to haul her ass out and dump her on the sidewalk. She tries to hide it, but I notice the wince before she can. Guilt hits my stomach like dead weight when I look down and see the bruise around the flesh of her small wrist.

  “Fuck,” I hiss.

  The light in the hallway is shit, so I lift her arm and examine the purplish-blue marks marring her otherwise flawless skin. Hatred at myself bleeds into my system. Except for a few palm prints on the asses of girls I’ve fucked who like that sort of rough shit, I’ve never left a mark on a girl before. I can beat the shit out of a man without blinking an eye, but the thought of physically hurting a girl, this girl, has bile threatening to come up.

  “I’m sorry,” I choke the words out past dry lips. “I shouldn’t have grabbed you like that last night.”

  I lift my eyes and meet hers. She has her head tilted to the side, her gaze curious and no longer filled with animosity.

  “It’s no big deal. I bruise easily.”

  “Doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t have happened.”

  I still have one hand wrapped around her bicep with her wrist resting in my other palm. My thumb traces light circles over the injured skin. I have an instinctive need to lower my head and press a kiss over the mark, like a parent does a child. Only, my thoughts are nowhere near innocent.

  “Last night….” I stop to clear my throat and try again. “Oliver took shit too far last night.” Her throat bobs when she swallows. “What he said… about what he saw in the bathroom, that was private and should have never left the walls of that bathroom.”

  She dips her head in embarrassment, her entire face turning red. She should never be ashamed of something so natural. Everybody on this side of puberty experiments, whether they admit it or not. And there’s not a damn thing wrong with it.

  I let go of her arm and take a step back.

  “Will you please consider leaving?” I ask instead of insisting or forcing the issue. I’m no longer in the mood to fight with her.<
br />
  “I don’t understand why you want me to leave so badly, but if you’re worried it’s not safe, don’t. I’ll be fine. I can take care of myself.” She looks over at Charles, who’s silently watching our exchange with an expression I can’t decipher. “I have Pierce with me.”

  I release a tired sigh and scrub a hand over the back of my head. I pin Charles with a fierce look. “You stay by her side the entire time. I mean it, Charles. You gotta piss, you hold that shit until you’re both out of here. I’m holding you responsible for her. Got it?”

  He steps forward and throws an arm over her shoulders. I don’t know why that pisses me off, but it does. “I’m glued to her side for the duration of the night.”

  “Once the fight’s over, you both need to leave. The cops are in the neighborhood tonight, so everyone might need to make a quick getaway. People tend to freak out and trample without regard for others.”

  Once I have their word that they’ll leave immediately afterward, I give them both a tight nod. My gaze lingers on Rylee for a second longer, before I spin around and leave them in the hallway. Oliver’s already in the chained off area, looking around the crowd for me, when I step over the chain.

  “Where’d you go?” he asks over the deafening noise.

  “Nowhere.” I’m not telling him Rylee’s here because I don’t want to set him off. I’m sure he’ll see her eventually. Rylee is the type of person who stands out in any crowd she’s in.

  I turn and eye my opponent, Luis Garcia. He’s half Mexican and half American. His looks must come from his Mexican side, while his build is American. He’s stacked upon stacked with bulging muscles, and he has to be several inches taller than me. His long inky black hair is pulled back into a folded over ponytail against his bulky neck. To most men, he’d be intimidating and imposing, but to me, he’s just another guy who will be eating the concrete beneath our feet before the night is over.

  One side of his mouth tips up in amusement and he lifts his chin at me. I turn my back to him and my eyes instantly land on the girl who’s standing just beyond the barrier that holds the crowd back. True to his word, Charles is pressed against her side.