Let Me: New Adult Dark Romance (Vengeful Book 1) Page 11

  I want to hit him so hard he doesn’t wake up for a very long time. But he’s my best friend. I asked him to come last night. And right now, I can’t lie to him. Except maybe I can, because then I say, “I just don’t want you going back to prison.”

  Which is true enough, but it has nothing to do with why I would have gotten between the two of them last night. I would have bashed Benji’s brains against the sidewalk if he hadn’t let go of her in the alley.

  He smiles as if he knows, but it’s cold. “Keep lying to yourself, Caden. I already dealt with two guys you decked because of her.” He backs away, and gestures vaguely toward me. “Wanna go again?”

  Hell yeah I do.

  I want to punch that smug look right off of his too-handsome face. Because part of me, last night, was scared she would have gone with him. She likes to be scared. It was why I took her to the woods last night, with Benji. And Benji is just the kind of darkness she might want.

  I don’t trust him not to resist if she does. He barely did last night.

  So, I go at him, my fist connecting with his nose, and he actually lets out a grunt of pain. A weaker man would have been howling, but this is Benji, and it makes me happy to see blood gush from his nose, all over his tan skin.

  I shrug. “Sorry, man,” I say, not sorry at all.

  He wipes the back of his hand over his nose and shakes his head.

  “I’m not.” And then he returns my punch in kind.

  When I feel blood gush down from my nose, I know I deserve it. God, I deserve that and so much more.

  The rest of the day passes slowly. Much too slowly. I think about going into the office, going over the next merger, catching up on paperwork. Fuck, I’d clean the toilets if it would get my mind off of her.

  But Vivian sends me a text, says she wants to come by before she heads to dinner with her actual boyfriend. She wanted more from me—more than this casual fuck—but I couldn’t do it. I’ve never been able to do more since Riley, and I don’t think I ever will again. I was never one for monogamy in the first place, all throughout high school and university. Then when she came along and then left…well, the idea is hilarious. I like the arrangement I have with Vivian. She works for me, but not directly under me. I mean, I own Scott Virani Enterprise, so maybe she does, but she’s a paralegal and we don’t interact at the office.

  Ever.

  Which drives her nuts, but I’m not going to fuck her in the office. People already think I bought my way to the top, which isn’t true. That would imply I paid someone off to get there. I didn’t. I only paid myself. And I don’t want anyone to think Vivian is getting special privileges because of me.

  She’s not.

  Benji left to go do whatever it is he does, which I don’t really want to know about nor did I ask after. He was right when he freaked Riley out in the alley. He did find her flight all on some protected app on his phone. It’s eerie, and I don’t really like him knowing that much about her, but he’s my best friend. At least that’s what I keep telling myself, trying to pretend he didn’t grab her wrist in the alley. Trying to pretend he didn’t hold her against him in the woods, and that he didn’t want to let go. I still kind of want to kill him for that, even if I agreed to it.

  And I don’t know why it stings so much.

  She isn’t mine.

  I don’t even want her.

  Not like that.

  I tell the live-in housekeeper, Angie—a woman old enough to be my grandmother—that I won’t be home for dinner. I never ask her to make it, but she does almost every single night. She was someone’s grandmother once, and then her grandchild died from an overdose. Now she lives with me. I don’t really need a housekeeper, but when I get home from the office, the last thing I want to do is house work. And this house is too fucking big.

  “Where are you going? And what happened to your nose?” she asks with a sly smile. She’s wearing a pink sweater and pink pants and she’s got on a pink pearl necklace and her hair is some strange shade of the color, too.

  I roll my eyes and shake my head, standing in the foyer to the house. I put my fingers gingerly on the tip of my nose, relieved it only hurts a little.

  I would only ever let Angie ask me questions like those. But I ignore her second one.

  “Out,” I say, winking at her.

  “Vivian?” she presses. She doesn’t like Vivian, and even now, she scowls just a little, her wrinkles scrunching up as she does.

  “No,” I lie. “Not Vivian. Just a friend.”

  That last part is kind of true, although Vivian isn’t really my friend, either. She’s just a girl I sleep with. And I don’t want her in my house. She knows that, based on only the handful of times she’s been. I usually go to her place, but she’s paranoid her boyfriend is getting suspicious, so she doesn’t want to go there either. Which means I’ve rented us a hotel room at the only 5-star hotel in Haven. She sounded excited on the phone when I called to tell her, but she’ll probably be disappointed. It’s not like we’re having dinner there. Or even room service. It’s a quick fuck. Nothing more. And I kind of want the room, too, because I want to be alone, when she leaves. In a place that’s smaller than my house because it feels too big when it’s just me in there. And the last thing I need is more space to think about Riley.

  “Have fun. Don’t get anyone pregnant,” Angie calls after me and I make a choking sound and then leave, the door locking automatically behind me. I get in the Infiniti, parked in the driveway and not the garage because there’s two more cars in the garage, and then I head to the hotel, Bring Me the Horizon blasting through the speakers.

  But I can’t listen to in the dark, and I can’t listen to them at all because they’ll remind me far too much of Riley. She always played this shit when she was waiting for my brother to come home from practice.

  I turn the stereo off instead, push the pedal down a little harder, and drive in silence.

  Nineteen

  Present

  My card is declined.

  I try to book a flight online, and it’s declined. I try to book a flight at the airport, and it’s declined. I paid the cab with some Canadian cash that looks like Monopoly money that I had on hand, but now I’ve got nothing. There’s not nearly enough to cover the flight in my checking account, my savings doesn’t have enough to order off the dollar menu, so now I’m fucked.

  Because Rolland has acted much faster than I thought he would. Because my flight home tomorrow?

  He cancelled that already.

  Everything is happening too fast, which makes me feel a little nauseous. What else is he going to do? How far is he going to go? I know his threats. His taunts over the last three years. And although I’ve never went this far before—walking out on him like that—we’ve not gotten along since the video. Since he started to use it against me. And definitely not since he sent it to Jack.

  And I almost can’t believe that he’s a sick enough fuck that his son’s death didn’t put a stop to him using it against me.

  I call Mom because I need to check on her. Especially if I won’t be able to get home anytime soon. I sink into a chair in the Starbucks drinking area in the airport, sans coffee of course, and Mom must hear the nervous edge in my voice.

  “Everything okay, hon?” she asks me, concerned.

  I swallow. My mouth feels dry. But I’ve never depended on Mom for much, and now, she depends on me. It might not be fair, but I forgot what that was a long time ago.

  “Everything is great,” I lie.

  “You’ll be home tomorrow?”

  I almost laugh out loud. I want to tell her I may never be home, or at least not for however long it takes me to walk from Toronto to Raleigh, but because I’ve always been a decent liar, I just lie again.

  “Yep, I think so. Adam wants to take me a few places up north, so I might be a little later than expected.”

  She swallows this lie. I don’t think she’d ever really want to know what I’m up to here. I’d like to th
ink she’d take my side, but it’s Mom. She probably wouldn’t.

  We hang up, and then I hold my head in my hands, give my bag at my feet a little kick. An adult tantrum. That’s what I’m having right now.

  My next call is to Tyler, but it’s only nine in the morning in B.C. and he doesn’t answer. Tyler has always been a night owl, and I imagine going on an artist’s retreat, he is even more so. Besides, if he had answered, what was I supposed to ask him? To send me money for a fucking flight?

  I can’t ask him that.

  He would do it, if he had it. But I can’t ask.

  I find myself grateful he didn’t answer.

  But that doesn’t solve my problem.

  I try my card one more time online, just to see if maybe my bank will let me go in the red, just this once. They don’t.

  The credit card is maxed out—from basic living expenses—and I am so, so fucked.

  Rolland Virani is a fucking bastard. If only this was the worst thing he’d ever done.

  I refuse to think about Caden.

  Refuse, and yet my mind trails to that night anyway.

  And then it hits me.

  Morgan.

  Morgan Sanders hosted that party, and she was one of my closest friends in high school, next to Tyler. When Jack died and I convinced Rolland it was best I went to North Carolina for university, things fell apart for me and Morgan. Nothing awful, no backstabbing or blaming. Most people never found out about the video, after all. The Virani family certainly didn’t want it out there. And Rolland protected me, too, by blackmailing me of course.

  I hover my finger over Morgan’s number in my phone.

  She owns a hotel in Haven, which is just outside of Toronto. Or at least, her parents owned it, and she was set to take it over.

  I slam my fist on the table but dial the number anyway. It’s not like I have much choice.

  Surprisingly, she picks up on the second ring, having no idea who I am or who this number belongs to. It’s my North Carolina number. I left everything behind when I moved. Everything except Rolland.

  “If this is a telemarketer, don’t waste my time.” Her tone is sharp and makes me laugh. She sounds just like she did back then.

  “It’s not a telemarketer, but I’m still going to waste your time. This is Riley. Riley Larson.”

  There’s silence on the other end, and I wonder if she’s going to hang up, or if she already did. But finally, she takes a long breath and says, “Riley! Oh my God. How are you? Where are you?” She asks me a long string of questions and then finally pauses long enough to let me speak.

  I laugh uneasily and my face burns as I get to the point. “I’m good, Morgan, but really…I need a big favor and if you can’t help, I swear, no hard feelings.”

  “Okay,” she says with a little laugh, “what’s wrong?”

  “I…I need a place to stay. For a day, maybe two…and I know your parents used to—”

  She cuts me off with another laugh. “Oh my God, Riley. You can live at The Villa for all I care,” she gushes, and something like relief rolls through me. Because she sounds genuine. Not like I’m putting her in a pinch. “I own the place now, parents retired and moved to Mexico. Bastards,” she says with a smile in her words. “But in exchange, you’ve got to do something for me.”

  She waits for me to respond and I realize my free hand is clenched so hard, little half-moons are forming in my palm. It’s not that I don’t owe her, because obviously I do. It’s just that her words sound so much like Rolland’s when he made our little deal that I want to vomit.

  “Anything,” I manage through gritted teeth.

  “Have dinner with me tomorrow night?”

  I exhale a sigh of relief and feel myself genuinely smiling.

  “Of course,” I answer breezily. “Thank you so much. You have no idea how much this means to me—”

  “Honestly, Ry, save your breath. It’s nothing. The place isn’t packed. Tell the receptionist your name when you come in, and really, stay as long as you want. I’ll tell them the room is filled for the next two weeks.”

  “Morgan, that’s way too long—”

  “No one will force you to stay,” she says with another laugh. “But if you need it…it’s yours.”

  We hang up, her promising she’ll meet me at the hotel for dinner, and I blow out a breath. Now I just have to figure out how the hell to get to Haven.

  After digging around in my bag, I find enough change to take the train there. I’ll have to walk from the stop to the hotel, but I don’t mind walking, and it’ll only take me half an hour.

  On the train ride, I think about Caden.

  Even though I don’t want to.

  I can’t stop.

  I can’t stop thinking about that night. About all the others I’d longed to be right there, in his lap, and not Jack’s. How I held my breath every time he came into a room at the Virani’s house. How he made me nervous, but I felt safe when he was around. Safer than I ever did with Jack. How I can’t believe that this is us now. Nothing. Less than nothing. Because indifference is one thing. Hatred is another thing entirely.

  But of course, it isn’t Caden who texts me on the train ride.

  It’s Rolland.

  You’re making a huge mistake. What do you think Caden will make of our little secret?

  It isn’t an empty threat. Even though it implicates him just as much as me, he won’t show it to the police, of course. And there’s the matter of whose face is in it. That would be mine, not his. And it’s not the police I’m worried about. That’s not who he plans to hurt. No, he’ll show it to someone who has already seen it. And he’ll fill them in on that missing piece. Caden would never bother with the police. Hell, Caden wouldn’t know when it was taken anyhow, or why. He’ll believe what it shows. He’ll believe I wanted it.

  I don’t respond to Rolland. My stomach feels sick, but I refuse to give him anything else. Ordering me to that summer party was too far. He knew it would piss Caden off. He knew it, and he probably wanted just that. Wanted to parade me around. To show Caden he owned me. Or at least to show everyone else.

  I wanted to end this when I graduated. When I had money. When I could get a lawyer or hire someone like Benji who seems to work in the shadows. Someone who could get the phone and get the video and every copy of it that exists and wipe it off the face of the earth.

  I realize I might have to drop out of school. And honestly, I don’t give a shit. I’d rather do that then live under Rolland’s fucking thumb any longer. He might send it to my school. A private, Christian school. Not that I’m religious, but they gave me a full ride, and they won’t take kindly to that kind of thing. Especially because it looks consensual, if you don’t look hard enough.

  I should have told someone about this then. I should have immediately told Caden the truth.

  I was stupid.

  Not the first time.

  Probably, I think with a sigh as I lean back in the train’s seat, not the last either.

  I get off at my stop, happy to see the sun still high in the sky. I use my phone to find walking directions to the hotel, and then I set off, wondering how the hell my life turned into this mess. I don’t feel sorry for myself, I’m just genuinely shocked. How does one fuck up their life choices so badly?

  The walk is nice. It’s hot outside, but not nearly as hot as summer in North Carolina. I scroll through my phone’s calendar to make sure I won’t miss any exams this week, but I’m in the clear. Summer classes are laid back, and I know I’m not risking failing or anything by skipping this week. Usually, I never skip.

  It’s the gym I’ve got to worry about, so I shoot my boss, Shane, a text to let him know something has come up. Something almost never comes up, so I’m not surprised when he sends me a text back to ask if I’m dying.

  I laugh (lol, as if this is one big goddamn joke), tell him no, explain I’ve got more business to take care of in Toronto than I initially thought. He lets me off the hook with a fro
wn-face emoji, but says he understands.

  I doubt it.

  Shane is married with no kids and too much money for his own good. He’ll either work the gym himself, because he can, or he’ll order one of the other university students I work with to do it, and his life will carry on.

  Meanwhile, I’m just trying to figure out how the hell I’m going to get home from here.

  Just when I see Tyler calling me back, his goofy grin popping up on my called ID, The Villa’s gates come into view. Because of course it’s gated. It’s a 5-star hotel. Something I conveniently forgot when I begged Morgan to let me stay here. For free.

  A golf cart pulls up at the gates and a man in a tight security shirt asks if I’m Morgan’s friend, Riley. I can’t stop the smile on my face from her thoughtfulness, and nod, then take Tyler’s call while I ride in the backseat, around the gated, Olympic-sized pool and under the awning of the hotel.

  “What’s up?” Tyler asks, skepticism and sleepiness in his voice. “You never call.”

  I sigh. “I know,” I say. “It’s nothing. I was just…bored.”

  He isn’t buying it. “I know you, Ry. You don’t call people when you’re bored. You read books or go work out or listen to death metal or do something else strangely obscene. Did you sleep with him?”

  “Who?” I choke out as the security guy shoulders my bag and I nod my thanks. I usually don’t talk on the phone when I’m dealing with other people, because it’s rude. I know, because it happens at the gym all the time. But I called Tyler. He deserves to know why.

  Or at least…the lie of why.

  “Stop playing stupid. Did you fuck Caden?”

  “No,” I say quickly. “I gotta—”

  “Ah, that’s why you called. To know if you should. You two are toxic. Gasoline and…no, scratch that. You’re like a nuclear power plant and he’s a bomb about to drop on top of it. And there’s no iodine for the people in your path. You and he are like Chernobyl, and the Russian government, lying off what really happened.”