by Bromberg, K.
“Vaughn.” His tone begs me to hear him when all I really want to do is just shut him out. “Does any of that sound like something I would say coming on the heels of what we did the night before? Hell, just an hour before?”
“You’re the one who said them.”
“I did. And then I called and texted and got here as soon as I could to explain everything to you, but you wouldn’t listen,” he says as I glare at him.
“Please, just go.”
“I made a mistake, Vaughn. The bastard threatened you, and the words just came out. All I could think about was finding out what he had on you. All I wanted was to nail his ass to a goddamn wall by using his willingness to sleep with you so I’d have some leverage over him. I knew no one was listening, and—”
“But I was listening! You would’ve never known if I hadn’t walked in. Do you know what you were risking for me? What if someone had put two and two together, and the social worker found out somehow, and Lucy—”
“But it didn’t. It didn’t!” he shouts back for the first time, and I can tell he’s getting frustrated with me. But he has no idea how it feels on my side of this.
My chest burns with hurt. With the urge to give in because I still love him and the need not to for my own pride.
And then the reality hits me.
I’m lying. Even if he had given me the “hang loose” sign, it still wouldn’t negate the things he said. The truths he confirmed. The way he made me feel. The information he tried to gain.
Nothing could ever validate or justify or anything what he said.
“You disrespected me, Ryker. You used me when you’re the one who is supposed to stand up for me. You used me for your own gain—”
“I told you I was trying to—”
“Better whatever situation you have with your client, I know. You’ve said it enough times.” I pause as I swallow over the lump forming in my throat. “For that I can’t forgive you.”
He opens his mouth and shuts it as his expression falls. “And what about for trying to protect you?” His voice breaks, and I hate that every part of me wants to crumble at the sound.
“The last I checked, destroying someone and protecting someone aren’t the same thing.” For the first time in this conversation, my voice lacks all emotion, because I see it now. I know it now.
His shoulders visibly sag, and for a beat there’s defeat in his posture, but just as quickly as it came, it goes. “So what does that mean?” He strides across the room and puts his hands on my arms, the connection, his nearness, the somberness in his eyes all but breaking me.
And it takes a second for me to find my bearings again. It takes a moment for the hurt to subside long enough so my reason can reign.
I take a step back to create some of the distance that he’s clouding. “I’m sorry, Ryker, but Wicked Ways is no longer allowing you to use their services. Your access has been revoked.”
“I don’t care. I don’t want their services. I just want you.”
I hiccup over the sob I emit. “I just need—” To believe you. To trust what you’re saying. To know this was real. “Time.” The lump in my throat now almost chokes me. “Can you please just go now? Haven’t you caused enough hurt already?”
“Don’t throw this away. Us away.”
You already did.
“Please . . .”
My back is to him, my hand on the door. My emotions turbulent. My heart breaking.
“I’ve fallen in love with you, Vaughn.”
And if anything is going to spark the fight back in me, it would be those unexpected words.
“No!” I spin around and stare at him, not caring about the tears suddenly painting my face. “You don’t get to say that to me! You don’t get to use those words to fix things.” I suck in a ragged breath.
“But it’s true.” He gives me the most nonchalant of shrugs to match his matter-of-fact tone.
I push my fingers against my eyes and shake my head back and forth as I try to reject the words I’ve never allowed anyone to say to me. The ones I’d never wanted anyone to say until twenty-four hours ago. The ones that just twisted the knife in my chest and made this whole thing hurt that much more.
Because I love him too.
But not like this.
Not after he used me. Not after he showed me that a woman at his disposal is all he’ll ever see. Not after he thought it was okay, regardless of the circumstances.
“Please leave or I’ll call the cops. I don’t love you in return,” I lie.
Emotions play over every muscle in his gorgeous face. Without another word, he turns around and walks out the front door, never seeing my hand in the “hang loose” sign hidden behind my back.
CHAPTER THREE
Ryker
You said you loved her.
I stare at the city streets twenty floors below my penthouse. Taillights brighten and dim, steam rises and dissipates, and people move quickly in and out of my line of sight, but all I see is the turned-off front porch light of her house when I stood on her driveway. How there was a blue hue on the other side of the closed curtains where she probably had those beloved black-and-white movies of hers playing to comfort her. All I can feel is the goddamn panic I felt when I forced myself to drive away after sitting there for an hour after she kicked me out.
You used those damn words out of desperation to salvage your fucking colossal mistake.
When my fist slams through the drywall, I don’t feel an ounce of pain. Hell, I didn’t even realize I threw it.
All I know is the hole in the wall has nothing on the hole currently eating its way through my fucking chest.
Dignified and always-in-control Ryker Lockhart just punched the wall like a thug.
That’s what this woman does to me. She makes me lose all sense of myself, every ounce of reason . . . and fuck if she hasn’t made me love every second of it.
Love.
There’s that damn word again.
The fucked-up term that people throw around just so they can get back at someone else. The one they wield like a weapon to hold over their lover’s head in the future.
It’s not real. I think of my mom, of the way she needed the word and then hated the obligations that came with it after it was said. The demands and the conformity and the constant hurt I watched her hide because of that one damn emotion.
Vaughn.
The expressions on her face tonight are snapshots in my mind. Hurt. Shame. Disbelief. Anger. Love. One after another.
What’s between us can’t really be love. That shit doesn’t exist. Falling for a woman? Yes. Actually loving her? Not a chance in hell.
This is not me.
Never has been.
Never will be.
And yet here I am. Fucked and furious and a failure because I screwed up.
Big time.
I wasn’t cut out for relationships. For love. For anything that has to do with thinking about someone else before I think of myself. Doesn’t this prove that point?
Walk away. Do the one thing you know how to do when it comes to a woman—create space and distance to prove to her and yourself that she doesn’t matter. That she’s disposable. That you are the heartless son of a bitch you know yourself to be.
Walk away.
Fuck you, Lockhart. You’re being a coward.
Walk the fuck away.
Easier said than done.
CHAPTER FOUR
Vaughn
The dull throb of the bass echoes around me and irritates me when it shouldn’t.
I chose to pick up yet another extra shift. Anything to busy my mind so that I stop thinking about Ryker and what happened last week and what exactly the senator might do with any information he might have on me.
So I opted to lose myself in my job. In the people around me. In the music and dark lights. Too bad I didn’t realize all of that was going to amplify my bad mood rather than abate it.
Love. It’s everywhere I look tonight.
In the familiarity in the simple touch of a man’s hand to a woman’s lower back as he leans in and whispers in her ear. In the soft smiles and knowing looks across the space between a couple.
All things I miss about being with Ryker. All things I don’t want to miss but do.
It’s only been a few days. I hope it gets easier. I fear it won’t.
“Madam?”
My feet falter in response to the voice at my back. The dark stretch of the hallway, uncharacteristically empty, puts me on edge, as does the lone word the male behind me speaks.
Not here at my work.
Please don’t let the senator have ruined that for me too.
I force a swallow down my throat and turn around, expecting to be propositioned for some reason. The man before me is tall, dark, and handsome with a lopsided smirk and an expensive suit.
Handsome? Yes. Am I interested? Not in the least.
“Yes?”
“Can we get more drinks?” he asks, holding up his empty glass. “We’re in the Two Pod.”
Not a man propositioning me for my services as a madam.
“Sure. Yes. I’ll get your server over there right away,” I say, suddenly embarrassed at my assumption.
Just a man being polite.
You need to get a grip, Vaughn.
Stop being so paranoid and get a damn grip.
With a sigh, I go about the rest of my night and try not to mess up any more orders like I’d already done several times up until that point. And I do better. I don’t snap at any more customers. I decline the request for my phone number several times, because all I can hear is Ryker saying he’s fallen in love with me. All I can focus on is him using those words like a weapon to try to win me back.
“You done for the night?” Ahmed asks as I pull my purse from the locker. I glance his way, and he’s tying a clean black apron around his waist.
“Let me guess . . . a drunk woman spilled her drink on you in the hopes that she could pat off the liquid.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” he says and flashes a disarming smile. But it’s when he takes a step closer that his eyes narrow and his voice lowers. “You okay, Vaughny?”
I force a smile he won’t believe. The same one I’ve been pretending to feel all night long. “I’m good. Just men is all.”
“We’re sons of bitches, aren’t we?” His attempt at humor doesn’t win me over. “Seriously, though . . . same guy as before?”
“Mmm.”
“A fight?” He reaches out and runs a hand down my arm in sympathy.
“Something like that.”
“It sucks to finally allow yourself to need someone and then not have them.”
“It does,” I murmur.
“Maybe the sun hasn’t set yet.”
I hate that I smile at his gentle reminder of what he said to me last time he saw me upset over Ryker. How he found me sitting in a Starbucks more than worse for the wear and then gave me his romanticized advice. Most people look for love in the sunrise, when they don’t realize for them it can be found in the sunset. But I smile at him anyway, knowing it’s solely to thank him for being so sweet. Not because I have any desire to be part of Ryker’s sunset.
“It’ll get better. He’ll come to his senses, or else I’ll kick his ass to the curb.” He presses a brotherly kiss to my cheek. “I’ve gotta get back to the masses.”
“Have fun.”
But as I collect my things and start to head home, I find myself thinking about what Ahmed said about needing someone.
My thoughts drift to Samantha and Brian, my sister and Lucy’s father. To their codependency that seemed cute at first and then grew to unhealthy proportions. His need for drugs and her need to please him. Then it grew to their dependency on the drugs and each other to help score some. Samantha knew Brian was bad for her but kept going back.
Is that what I’ve done with Ryker? Allowed myself to fall for a man, to need a man, who probably isn’t the best fit for me? A man who hasn’t been in a relationship before. One who coerced me into ours with ultimatums and threats and then used me like he did? A person who I have grown to need despite telling myself after Samantha’s suicide that I’d never allow myself to need someone like she did?
“Lot of good that promise did you,” I mutter to myself, because hell if I don’t need Ryker right now despite everything he did and said.
No.
Not need.
Want.
And this feeling—this needing, wanting, missing Ryker—scares the shit out of me, especially when fate keeps proving time and again that he’s bad for me.
The ringing of my cell phone startles me from thoughts I shouldn’t be having, because deep down I can already hear myself shutting them out.
“Hello?” Flustered, I answer the phone without thinking.
“Is this Vee?”
The deep tenor of a male voice startles me for the second time tonight, and I realize it’s my Wicked Ways cell that I answered.
Heartbreak seems to have messed with all aspects of my life.
“Yes. Sorry. You caught me off guard.” I signal a left turn with my blinker and slip into the role I know so well but that now feels like so much more than a lie. “This is Wicked Ways, and I’m Vee. How may I help you?”
The man clears his throat, his discomfort over how to continue the conversation evident. “I—uh . . . I was given your number.”
“That’s always good to hear. May I ask by who?”
“By a client of yours. Does it matter who?”
“I’m sorry, it does matter. We only take new clients through referral.”
“Hmm.”
“I assure you, sir, all information is kept completely confidential. Is this your first time calling a service?”
“Yes.”
“It’s quite common to feel a little anxious over it. I assure you, we’ll take good care of you.”
He pauses for a beat, combatting his anxiety. “Ryker Lockhart is the name.”
My shoulders sag hearing the name, but I shouldn’t be surprised considering this is the sixth call I’ve received like this in the last ten days. A part of me wants to tell the gentleman my client list is full and refer him out to another agency. Ryker’s sudden referrals make me feel like this is how he’s trying to cement his apology to me.
Doesn’t he get that sending me customers doesn’t take away from the humiliation and hurt he caused?
“Are you there?” the man on the other end of the line asks.
“Yes. My apologies,” I say as I pull into my driveway. “I’m driving and was distracted. I’d love to help you with your needs. Here’s how Wicked Ways works . . .” And then I explain the process of becoming a client, the website where he can fill out the beginning paperwork for the vetting process. I then go on to explain how payment is up front and that we provide an escort only for whatever event she’s needed for, that companionship is our service, and that anything that happens after that has nothing to do with Wicked Ways.
His chuckle rumbles through the line in response. “Convenient.”
“The truth,” I correct, toeing that fine line between what could land me in jail and what might save my ass.
“When do I get to see the girls?”
“After you complete the information online.”
“Seriously?”
“If someone referred you to us, then I assure you we’re worth it.” His sigh is drawn out. “Look, I know it’s a lengthy process, but I like to keep a certain standard as well as a guarantee of my clients’ confidentiality.”
“Which I’m sure your clients appreciate.”
“Most definitely.”
Another nervous clearing of his throat. “Ryker had only positive things to say about you.”
“Mmm.” It’s all I can muster as emotion clogs in my throat. “Please don’t hesitate to call with questions.”
“I won’t.”
“Your name so I can look for your information?” I ask
, pretty convinced he won’t follow through with it, the nerves in his voice more than telling.
“Noah.”
“Thanks for calling, Noah. I’ll be in touch once you’ve filled everything out.”
When I hang up, I sit in the silence of my car for a bit and fight the sudden swell of sadness that overtakes me. With Ryker near, I felt more invincible than ever before. I knew I could earn money through Wicked Ways, pay off my debt, and then get custody of Lucy. The worry was always there, but the doubt I could pull it off diminished knowing he had my back.
And now? Now . . . I just feel vulnerable. I hate everything about the way it feels. So much so that once again I’m fighting my own resolve against picking up the phone and calling him.
With a resigned sigh, I get out of my car and head up the walk. I see the flowers and chocolates on my porch the minute I turn the corner. A groan falls out of my mouth, and a pang of grief hits me at the same time my cell rings yet again.
But it’s not the person I think I was hoping to see on my caller ID. In fact, I don’t know who it is at all.
With a sigh and a hunch that it’s yet another referral from Ryker, I answer the call. “Wicked Ways, this is Vee. How may I help you?”
“Just how wicked are your ways?”
I jolt at the voice and then curl my lip in disgust. I should have expected he’d call, but with each passing day, I thought less about it happening.
Guess who was just proved wrong?
“What? Cat got your tongue?” He chuckles. “Oh, right. You didn’t expect it to be me, did you? Burner cell phones, letting men cheat on their wives for years,” he says in an announcer’s voice.
“Go to hell.” I end the call just as his laughter sounds off.
And then I hate myself for being weak. For not telling him to leave me alone or . . . Or what, Vaughn? For not telling him you have a damning log of phone calls that makes absolutely zero sense to you? That’s great. Threatening him with a paper someone else told you could bring him to his knees even though you don’t have a fucking clue what that something is?