Let Me: New Adult Dark Romance (Vengeful Book 1) Page 13

  My cock throbs as I think about her on Saturday night, watching her eyes close against my touch. Feeling her beneath me. And I hate that. I hate that she still has this effect on me. It’s not right. It’s fucking wrong. It’s twisted and fucked up and that only makes me want it more.

  What the fuck is wrong with me?

  Vivian was pissed when I ditched her before our day-date had even truly begun. We met at the hotel, right after Riley got there. I saw Riley speaking to the receptionist. Saw the woman sliding the plastic key to her. And I should have just let her go. I should have carried on with Vivian. But suddenly any warmth I’d felt toward the paralegal had vanished, and shortly after that, I had too.

  She stopped blowing up my phone later last night, presumably when she was wrapped up in her boyfriend’s arms. That doesn’t bother me. I almost wish they’d get married and maybe then she’d stop fucking around with me. I could end it myself, but it’s too convenient. The release is too easy. I don’t want more, she can’t have more, and therefore can’t bug me about it. It works out.

  Except last night.

  It didn’t fucking work out.

  When I get into the office, the monstrosity of a building that I own outright, I go straight to the 27th floor and don’t bother glancing in Vivian’s direction as I head to my office. I press the button to close the blinds and when I’m in darkness—blackout curtains pulled tight behind me—and in my leather chair, I call Benji.

  “I need information from you,” I say without a greeting.

  “I thought I sent you enough information last night,” he says quietly, and I wonder if he’s in a woman’s bed. I know Benji sleeps around, but he never talks about it. I never ask. He’s not dating, that’s for sure.

  “I need more.” I quickly tell him about seeing Riley at The Villa.

  Benji doesn’t say anything for a moment, but then he does, and I imagine him nodding. “I’ll see what I can find.”

  That was easy.

  I reach out a finger to end the call, but he says my name, stopping me.

  I pause.

  “Don’t get burned again, Caden,” he says quietly.

  My finger hovers over the End Call button.

  I try to think of something witty to say, but I’ve got nothing.

  I disconnect the line.

  Bury my head in my hands.

  And wonder why the fuck I’m still thinking about this girl.

  My brother’s murderer.

  Twenty-Two

  Present

  Tonight, I’m meeting Morgan for dinner, and I have no idea what the hell I’m going to pay with. I’ve literally got nothing right now, no access to anything at all. The amount of money in my checking account is laughable, the savings non-existent, and the credit card more or less the same.

  I hate Rolland all over again as I bury further in the crisp white sheets of The Villa’s king-sized bed. Morgan put me in a suite. Yeah, it’s a small town in Ontario, but it’s the best Haven has to offer, and I’m grateful for it.

  Mom hasn’t messaged me this morning which means she probably forgot when my flight was, or else she believes I got tied up with Adam.

  Fuck.

  My life is a mess, and that thought will get me nowhere, so I sit up in bed, and contemplate robbing a bank.

  For about two seconds.

  I’ve dug myself in this mess. By being swayed by Rolland’s blackmail—blackmail that should have been mine—I’ve put myself at his mercy and in another country without a way to get home. If it wasn’t so horrible, I might laugh. I consider myself a smart girl. I get good grades in school. I got a scholarship to university.

  I’m not a fool.

  And yet here I am, at the mercy of a long-ago friend’s charity in a country that’s no longer mine. For a split second, I think about Caden again. About that woman draped over his arm, and how he left without her. About his swollen nose. I think about telling him everything. About letting him hate me more if he’d like. About ending any chance of anything we might ever have in this life or any other.

  But we have no chance as it is.

  My phone buzzes, tangled in the sheets, and I fish it out and stare at the screen.

  Adam.

  He’s been curiously quiet since we broke up, aside from barging his way into the condo and having to be escorted out.

  I answer it, because why stop making stupid decisions now?

  “It’s Caden, isn’t it?” Adam seethes into the phone.

  I glance out the balcony window, overlooking the pool. The curtains opened automatically as the sun rose. Rich tricks. I miss swimming in the Virani’s pool.

  “What are you talking about?” I ask, trying to keep my tone disinterested.

  “It’s Caden that told you, not Benji. About the—”

  “About you having a threesome in the middle of a fuck load of strangers?” I roll my eyes. “Does it really matter who told me?”

  “You know he’s fucking some chick that works for him, don’t you?”

  That surprises me. Not that Caden is sleeping with someone—probably the woman I saw last night—but that Adam would know. I always thought Caden would be good at keeping secrets. Unless it’s not just a random fuck.

  “I always knew you wanted to sleep with him,” Adam continues. I don’t bother denying it. What’s the point? “Mr. Virani told me” —my breath catches—“that you’ve always had a crush on him. That’s fucked up, Riley, you know that don’t you? After Jack…I can’t believe—”

  “Stop talking,” I snap, glancing at the clock on the bedside table. “It’s eight in the morning, and this is how you’re spending your time? Sleazing around behind my back and talking to Roll—Mr. Virani? What the fuck are you doing that for?”

  Adam laughs into the phone and I marvel at the fact I ever thought he was hot. His laugh is sleazy, just like Rolland, his apparent co-conspirator. “Mr. Virani came to me. He said he was worried about you.” He takes a deep breath, sounding annoyed. “Christ, Riley. You really get to people, don’t you?” He has no idea. “One of the most powerful men in the city still bothers to give a shit about you after his son offs himself, probably because you fucked with him, too—”

  I end the call, throw the phone against the wall opposite the bed, where it falls to the marble armoire with a clatter. It’s probably broken, but in the moment, I don’t give a damn.

  Adam knows nothing.

  The only reason I fell for him, I think, is because I wanted a link to the city. I wanted a reason to fend off Rolland. I was under no illusion Adam would be faithful. Hell, I was under no illusion I would be faithful. And yeah, watching your boyfriend screw two chicks in a crowded sex club isn’t all fun and games, but it’s really not the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.

  The worst thing is Jack’s death.

  For Adam to use it like that, against me, it’s fucked up. Adam went to high school with us. He knew Jack. They weren’t friends, but they weren’t enemies either. For him to dare say something so vile…

  I blow out a breath and put the pillow to my face, suppressing a scream. I’m mad at Adam for stupid words. It was me that let Jack get fucked over.

  I tighten my grip on the pillow.

  I can’t go down this hole again. It leads to an abyss I almost didn’t escape the first time. But that abyss led me to that fucking party, which led me to Caden. Can I hate it that much?

  My phone vibrates against the armoire—clearly, it’s still working, and I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not—but I ignore it. If I’m stuck here in Haven in a 5-star hotel, the least I can do is take a shower in the glass monstrosity that spans nearly the entire bathroom.

  Without glancing at my missed calls, I open up my phone and play Rise Against through the wireless speakers in the enormous bathroom, and wash and condition my hair, put on a complimentary face mask tucked behind the porcelain sink, and dress in skinny jeans and a black tank top. I throw my mass of wavy hair in a wet bun on to
p of my head. I like to let it dry that way to get some more curl out of it.

  I pull out a notebook from my bag, get back in bed, and start writing.

  I want to be an English professor, but I also want to be a writer. My mind is a strange place, and only empty sheets of paper don’t judge you for that. I don’t write about real life, even though mine is strange enough in itself to make an interesting novel. No, I write worse things. Murders. Crimes. Houses in the woods full of mutilated body parts.

  I’ve always had that darkness.

  Rolland made it worse.

  I think Caden had it, too. With a sick fuck for a father, how could he not?

  Maybe it’s what drew us to one another. Thinking that we weren’t alone in that strange place our minds dwelled.

  I write for what feels like hours—what is hours, according to the clock on the nightstand—when there’s a knock on the door.

  Thinking it’s likely housekeeping, I keep scribbling, pages and pages filled now, and then call out, “No, thank you.”

  The knock persists. Louder and heavier this time.

  Hell, maybe Morgan is ready to kick me out. Maybe this place has suddenly become host to a few busloads of traveling elderly.

  I hop off the bed, throw down my notepad and pen, and pad barefoot over the thick carpet to the door. I yank the chain and undo the lock without peering through the peephole.

  I still when I see Benji in the doorway.

  He has his arms crossed, he’s leaning against the wall, and there’s a smirk on his lips. He’s wearing a dark blue dress shirt, taunt over his muscled shoulders, and dark jeans.

  “You didn’t answer your phone.”

  “Can I help you?” I ask, trying to keep my voice from shaking.

  His eyes snake over my frame and I feel suddenly nervous. But Benji wouldn’t hurt me, because surely Caden wouldn’t be okay with that. But it dawns on me that I have no idea what Caden would be okay with anymore, and besides that, Caden had Benji follow us in the woods.

  Benji’s eyes look dark green right now, and I catch a glimpse of a tattoo beneath his shirtsleeve.

  “Actually,” he says, straightening and sliding his hands in his pockets, “you can help me.”

  I wait, keeping the door propped open against my shoulder. I couldn’t move fast enough to slam the door in his face, and beyond him, in the marbled hallway, there’s no one. I don’t even hear anything beyond this door.

  At my back, music is still playing from the bathroom speakers. Katatonia.

  Benji lifts a brow. “You having a party in there? It’s only noon.”

  I don’t respond, only narrow my eyes, trying to look braver than I feel.

  He smiles, no warmth in his dark eyes. “Why haven’t you gone home, Riley?” He nearly croons the words, as if he might want to seduce me to my death. “Your flight was supposed to leave today. It was cancelled. Why?”

  I try not to show any surprise that he knows that. I never knew Benji well. Never got to know much of anyone in Caden’s circle well. I only saw glimpses of them at the Virani’s house. But Caden was finishing up law school. They didn’t all hang around that often. And Benji always kind of scared me.

  “Why does it matter to you what happened with my flight?”

  “Are you here to fuck with Caden?” Benji asks, taking a step closer to me. I resist the urge to back up.

  “No.” That isn’t a lie. “You two were the ones who cornered me in the woods,” I point out.

  He allows himself a smile small, brushes his thumb over his mouth. “Then why? Why Haven? Surely you know he lives here?”

  I had conveniently forgotten as much when I called Morgan. But I did know. Tyler had told me, months ago when SVE was in Toronto’s paper.

  “I have no business with Caden.”

  Benji huffs out a laugh. “I hope not. Because if you do, Riley…” he trails off, looking down at his black shoes. “Well,” he drags his gaze up to my face again, “it won’t end well for you. And if I were you,” he continues, looking as if he’s simply striking a bargain with a colleague and not threatening me in the hall of a 5-star hotel, “I’d get on a plane and leave. As fast as I could.”

  At this, I laugh. Immediately, I wish I hadn’t. Because even though he shouldn’t, somehow, Benji knows.

  “You need a flight.” It isn’t a question, and I don’t say anything, but the blush on my cheeks must answer for me because Benji’s cold smile widens. “I can help you with that.” He reaches in his back pocket, grabs his wallet from his jeans, and opens it up, thick hundred-dollar bills inside. He pulls out ten of them. Ten. He counts them in front of me, folds the bills in half, puts his wallet back in his jeans, and hands the money to me.

  I shake my head, even though I can’t stop staring at it. That’s more money than I’ve ever seen in my life. Sure, the Viranis own half of Ontario, but they don’t throw bills around like it’s confetti.

  “No,” I say, frowning. “I’m not taking money from you.”

  But Benji is still holding the money out, and I meet his gaze. “Take it and get out of here. Never come back.”

  Anger lashes through me. “You can’t order me out of this city,” I say, shoving his hand away. He drops it by his side, the money in his clenched fist.

  “I can. And I am. If you don’t leave, I’m going to make you wish you had never stepped foot in Haven. You think the woods was scary? You haven’t seen anything, Riley.”

  I snort. “You don’t scare me.” A lie.

  His eyes narrow. “Don’t you think you’ve tortured Caden enough?”

  My hand whips over the side of his face before I can think through what the hell I’m doing. I jump back after his head snaps around, not from my slap, but from shock.

  His eyes narrow, a red mark blooming on his tan skin, and he takes a step forward, a vein throbbing in his neck, but he doesn’t touch me.

  “What does his dad have on you?”

  My pulse quickens. I can still feel his cheek against the palm of my hand. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I know things other people don’t, Riley. And I know you’ve seen far too much of Rolland Virani for it to be a coincidence. Please don’t tell me you’re fucking Caden’s dad, too, because that,” he shrugs, menace in his gaze, “well, we both know what that would be.”

  Heat works its way up my face again, and Benji looks livid as he watches my blush.

  “You’re disgusting, Riley. Did you know that? You were nothing more than a forbidden piece of fruit that Caden couldn’t resist taking, but now he’s done with you. Get out of here.” He drops the money between us, bills scattering around my bare feet. “Never come back.”

  Without another word, he walks away.

  Twenty-Three

  Present

  Benji shows up at my office just after lunch. I’m in the middle of a call, speaking with a client about a merger gone wrong. The dude is screaming his head off, and I’m sure he’s about to have a stroke, but I don’t have time for this and I don’t get paid so people can scream at me.

  “Nice talking to you, George, but I’ll have to pick this back up later,” I say over his screams. He starts screaming louder. “Chat soon.” I hang up the phone and lean back in my office chair, hands locked behind my head as Benji shuts the door behind him.

  He looks pissed off.

  “What?” I ask immediately, sitting up, my hands now clenched on either side of the chair.

  He sits across from me, unnervingly slow, and stares dead into my eyes.

  “We’re not finished with Riley Larson.”

  I frown. “No shit, but…what happened?”

  He looks as if he whatever it is, he really doesn’t want to tell me, which makes me nervous. Benji has never been a guy to hesitate in speaking the worst truths.

  “She’s…” he runs a hand through his dark hair. “She’s sleeping with your dad.”

  I feel like I might throw up. My hands grip my chair arm
s tighter, and I have to look away from Benji because he’s staring at me, waiting for my reaction. I don’t have one, other than holding back bile that’s coming up my throat.

  I shouldn’t be surprised.

  I expected as much myself.

  She came to his party. It’s why she’s here. He was nearly groping her in the foyer to my parents’ house. But for her to…for him…to fuck my mom over like that. After what she’s already done.

  To hear it confirmed like that…

  Anger quickly replaces any feelings of sickness I had.

  Saturday night at Lake Jordan wasn’t enough for her. For me. For Benji, apparently.

  “I gave her a chance to leave,” Benji continues calmly, and I’m staring down at my shoes while he talks. “But if she doesn’t, she’s going to get what’s coming for her.”

  I can’t even argue with that. Part of me always wanted just that. I wanted to avenge my brother’s death. But then part of me wanted to protect her, because I always have. Now, though…

  That protectiveness has gone out the window.

  “What do we do?” I ask, my voice hoarse. I still can’t look at Benji. But with my question, it almost seems as if the mood of the room shifts. As if Benji is excited.

  “Humiliation is always the worst sort of pain, don’t you think?”

  I clench my jaw but force myself to look at him. “Explain.”

  “Obviously some of her money is wrapped up in your father if she’s staying at that condo. She works part-time at a gym, but she’s in school full-time, finishing up her English degree. He seems to control a lot of her life. He had to have paid for her flight here. She couldn’t afford that.”

  I feel my heart squeezing in on itself. I run my hand over my mouth, swearing under my breath.

  “Rolland has given her a long leash. He knew she was fucking Adam. But he’s got your mom, so he let it go.”

  At the mention of Mom, I tense, but don’t say anything as Benji hurries along, as if he knows what I’m feeling.

  “Don’t worry,” he says calmly. “I’m not going to cause any trouble for Maria. But if your dad knew that you two were fucking around—”