BITCH (A Romantic Suspense Novel) (19 page)

Thirty-Eight

The ride back to her apartment was silent. Not the least of which because she was alone. She could still see the absurdly large truck Roy had somehow come into possession of, following at the somewhat discreet distance of two cars back. As if she would have rebelled and started off again if he were too close.

If anything she wanted to have his bumper pressed up against hers the whole way. As if the closeness would be enough to make sure that she never ran into trouble like this again. She let out an unsteady breath as she pulled into the hotel parking lot.

Schafer's truck pulled in behind, found one of the dozens of empty spots around her, and he got out. Erin couldn't find it in herself to get out of the Jeep, but she at least managed to work up the energy to turn the engine off.

She laid her head back and set her eyes on the sky, barely visible through the row of trees that blocked out the side of the hotel parking lot.

"Are you okay?"

"What happened?"

"What do you mean? You were there."

"How did you find me?"

"It was a bit of luck, to be honest."

"Figures."

"We didn't take long finding Hutchinson. He's not a hard man to find, with his notoriety. We showed a few pictures around and found him with plenty of time to spare. At which point we threw him in the back. He starts the usual talk—you can't arrest me, you're making a mistake. I didn't do it. The usual shit, right?"

"Sure."

"Well, then he says he needs to go find you. There's gonna be trouble. I figured there was nothing to it. He's trying to bullshit me."

"But you decided to come check on me anyways?"

"He offers me a full confession to the Angels' various crimes—drug trafficking and a couple of murders down the coast—if we can just drive by and check on you. Just make sure you're okay. His club isn't any of my business, but that's not the usual spiel any more. So we went to check on you, and I see you driving with some guy in your passenger seat." Roy's face split into that pretty-boy grin. "I got a little jealous."

"How sweet of you."

"Are you hurt?"

Erin looked down at her body. She hurt where she'd been thrown to the floor, a little scrape on her knee and a bruise on her hip. There was a red stain where he'd cut her belly open, just a bit, but it was going to be fine. Probably already closed.

"Not really."

"You want to go upstairs?"

"Calm down, boy," she teased. "I'm a little tired for that."

"I didn't mean—" he pursed his lips to stop his lips twisting into a sour smile. "Are you going to be alright?"

"I don't know."

He reached a hand through the open window and cupped the back of her head.

"You're going to be fine, babe. I know it. You're a tough cookie."

"You think so?"

"I know it."

"Thanks." She didn't feel tough, and she didn't particularly feel like she was going to be fine. How long would it be before the nightmares stopped? How long would it be before she could go to sleep without triple-checking the locks? How long before—

Erin stopped that line of thought.

"We're going to take a few days to question Craig. Get what he knows about the situation out. We'll get everything we need to know from him." He didn't add
and then we're going to leave
but she heard it anyways.

"Yeah?"

"I promise. We got the guy who did all of this, and we're going to put together proof enough to convince anyone. Maybe even you."

"Good."

She was too tired to have any sort of feelings at all about it. The week had worn her out. It would be days before she felt anything but tired, she knew. If she could move on to the next case, maybe it would be a knock out of the park. Maybe she'd be able to hammer one, and then the next, and by the time she realized she wasn't ever going to feel right again, she wouldn't care any more.

"Are you gonna be alright?"

"I'm going to be fine." She finally found the energy to push the door open and stepped out onto an unsteady leg. "And I still don't need your help getting into bed, Romeo."

"Look, I'm just saying, if you did, though—"

She cut him off with a smile and a laugh. "I know, you're more than willing. Maybe some other time."

She limped her way back to the elevator and hit her floor, unlocked her door with the keycard, and fell into bed.

The next few days passed slowly. Agonizingly slow. Roy kept her updated on everything with his texts, but they were too busy pulling together evidence. Officially, they were just wrapping up loose ends.

Back in '95, when Erin was first settling into her new west-coast life, Papa Hutchinson had found Jesus in all the wrong places, but apparently hadn't found out about the church's view on narcotics use.

In his drug haze, he'd been more than a little critical of his eldest boy's dating habits. What started as cops getting called a few times turned into beatings, turned into a girl getting stabbed. That diary page came from Craig's father.

He was, himself, on his third wife at the time, so the hypocrisy wasn't lost on any of them, but the eldest boy, Jared, had taken it hard. At some point, for reasons nobody cared to speculate, he'd decided that his girlfriend had absolutely deserved to get what she'd got.

Now that his brothers had spread around the country, he found out that they were dating, and just like poor Chrissy, they were corrupting his innocent brothers. Craig had been dealing by then, and by the time he managed to find his brother, it was too late. He assured Craig that was the end of it, until he found out about Becca, and then all bets were off again.

He'd failed to kill Becca's twin sister, a couple of days later. He didn't succeed in finding the right 'twin sister' until four days later. In the mean-time, he managed to find out that one of the other brothers had been hiding a relationship from him, as well, so his work was cut out for him.

Craig was arrested for distribution and trafficking in a class-A controlled substance, among other, lighter charges.

Roy offered to stay—there was a place in the L.A. field office, working narcotics, and he could get a steady job. Erin couldn't imagine him working narcotics. She told him to stay in Quantico. If he'd worked half as hard to be in that position as she had to be where she was, she wasn't going to derail his career for a relationship.

She let out a breath, looked down at the paper in front of her. At least, if he'd worked half as hard as she had to be where she thought she was. She closed her eyes a minute, stifled the panic at the thought of what she was going to do if things turned ugly. She touched the pistol on the table, to remind herself that she still had it.

She folded it up and put it in the envelope, then looked down at the plane ticket beside. She had to get going now if she was going to make it to the airport. The next flight to Virginia was leaving in three hours, and she still had to tender her resignation.

It was a waste to ruin one person's career so that she could keep working in L.A., because now all she could think about was what would happen if she got mixed up in something like this again. It would be a struggle just walking into the station.

She would, though. Because it was the respectful thing to do, and maybe Erin the bitch could give it a rest for a while. It was going to be a long plane ride, though, so she was going to keep her options open.

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Elle

He came out of nowhere, and made her life hell for a brief moment. She thought that would be it, but she was so wrong.

Elle's grandma had a surprise for her: That strange, rude stranger was going to be her husband. That is, if she wanted to keep the house she grew up in.

Forced to marry after never even so much as going on a date before, Elle wasn't exactly thrilled. She held that anger against Troy, even as she started to like him.

She used that anger as a wall to protect her from revealing the one secret from her past, the one thing she was ashamed of.

Just as she was starting to fall in love with the man she never wanted to meet, she was given even more news that would change her life forever.

Troy

When Troy met Elle, it wasn't love at first sight. It was anxiety, a panic attack that threatened to take over him. A gift given to him by his time in the army.

Then she caught him with his pants down. Sure, he threw some sly comments at her, took things too far, but his fear of her was starting to fade.

Until he found out they were going to be forced to marry, and she became as beautiful as she was overwhelming to him.

Now he's scared that he won't be the soulmate of his soulmate. Finding out that their one night together could have created a new life made that anxiety even worse.

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Fertility and Fate

A Desperate Woman's Good Fortune

Selena Savage

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If I want to inherit the money and house my mother left me, I have to get pregnant. Today.

Last week I found out that I must get pregnant right away. If I don't, I won't be able to test next month and get my inheritance. With no child, that money goes to the charities she preferred. I don't know why my mom would put that in her will. She knew I wasn't even dating.

But I need that money. Because I have school debts. Heavy school debts.

Can I afford to take time off of school to raise a child? No. But my mom somehow had over three million dollars just saved up and ready for me to take it... if I'm with child.

So the past week I've been bringing home one night stand after one night stand. A few decided to ditch me when I said we couldn't wear a condom. A few didn't wear a condom but decided to cum on my tits, or my ass. Only two men came in me. That's not enough people for me to feel safe in assuming I will get pregnant.

I must venture out, to another bar, and hope that one last man might be into risky sex. It seems a man like that would be easy to find. I guess not.

A black taxi takes me to the newest bar that close enough to my house to be worth going to. It's so new that I don't know anything about it, and as a college girl I know all about bars.

It's more like a big black box than a bar. The sign on the front of it says The Heritage. The entrance is in the back, where a large man is standing, guarding the door.

He checks my ID (I'm 23, but to be honest I look younger than 18. You would think that's a blessing, but it's just annoying) and then lets me in, and it's then that I realize this isn't a bar. It's a gentleman's club.

My little black dress looks like a nun's habit compared to the bikinis the dancers are wearing. Some of them aren't even wearing those. Every man in the building is wearing a suit and you can just tell they're climbing the corporate ladder. Some might even be a New York elite one day.

A few of these dancers will get lucky, they might get plucked out of this oblivion to be a kept woman or even a wife one day. That and the huge tips they get keeps them from hating themselves.

I can't exactly leave now, can I? Still, I'm the only non-dancer woman here. I have to admit, though, that the things they can do with their bodies is impressive.

I notice one man's eyes on me. Even though he's receiving a lapdance, he's watching me from across the room. I move to one side and his eyes follow me. My face burns, and I turn away, looking around for some place to sit where I won't be at risk for a lap dance.

The bar is the only real choice.

With the deep electronic beat making me feel just a little bit dizzy, I sit down on one of the tall stools and order myself a drink.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch the man push his dancer off of him and pay her. She scoffs, flipping her long black hair and prancing off. She's beautiful, she probably isn't used to a man pushing her away. Poor girl.

The man, like all the other men, is wearing a suit. He's the only one with a beard, though. His eyes look tired, almost bored. His blond hair matches his beard. This guy looks more like he belongs in the country than in a club.

I look up at him with the most innocent face I can manage. His eyes are blue. Just, blue. No gray, no green accents. Light blue, like a baby's.

“May I sit with you?”

His lips curve with a perfect, charming smile with each word. They look soft. I take a second, letting him know that I'm the one in charge by checking him out. Weighing the pros and cons of letting him talk to me.

His eyes flash with momentary insecurity, and that's when I know I have him. He wants me, badly. He doesn't have to know that I need him. Not right now, at least.

“Sure,” I answer. Simple. Straightforward. Tease him with a lack of emotion. This is how I've gotten every possible daddy before this man.

“So, what are you doing here? Waiting for your boyfriend?”

The joke catches me off guard. I snort into a sip of my red wine, then wipe it off my chin. “No,” I say. “I'm not waiting for my boyfriend. Maybe I'm here to enjoy the women.”

He nods, almost with an air of sarcasm. “Sure. You just aren't the kind of girl who comes here alone.”

“Well, you are the kind of man who comes here, clearly.”

He laughs at my joke, placing his elbow on the bar table and leaning his head against his hand. It's an endearing, honest position. He isn't trying to pick me up, now. No, now he's genuinely enjoying my presence. Interesting.

“What's your name, then?” He asks.

“Honey,” I answer.

“Honey, what a sweet name.” I watch his lips curl up at his own pun as I roll my eyes. “I'm Noah. Noah Wilson.”

I take another sip of my wine, watching him for a second before setting down my glass and holding out my hand. He takes it for a firm handshake, then holds my hand and flips it palm up. I try to pull it away.

“Hey, stop that,” he chastises. “My grandma used to do palmistry.”

Deadpan and flat, I reply, “Really.”

He nods with another laugh. “I picked up a few tricks from her. Want to see?”

“Sure, why not.” I hold my palm flat so he can see the lines better.

Noah studies my hand. “Now, see this long line in the center of your palm? This is your fate line. Yours digs deep into your skin, which means you have an inheritance coming to you, but it's broken into two lines. That means you have a destiny that is rife with trauma or difficulties.”

What the hell. I can feel my eyes widen as he tells me all this, and it hits home. He has me pegged. This could just be a guess, but is that the most likely answer?

“And this line, cutting across your palm from the side?” He points to a line curving up towards my middle finger. His touch is warm, pleasant. “That's your heart line. This one is deep, too, which means you are quick to stress. It's curved up, which means you're an intellectual. It's long, and it's chained with other lines as well. This means you're idealistic and that relationships weave in and out of your life, almost like fate.”

I nod, listening to him closely. I'm learning more about myself, things that I know to be true but never really think about.

“Ah, and your children lines.”

I suck in and gulp down some air. Noah looks up at me, his blue eyes curious.

“You have three of them. All of them are deep, and long. No miscarriages, no early deaths. Very lucky.”

The breath comes out as a long sigh. I take my hand back from Noah and rub it with the other, as if to scrub off the anxiety it's caused me.

“You seem stressed out about kids,” he says. “Do you have some already?”

“No,” I say. “But hopefully soon.”

He raises his eyebrows and I realize that was really stupid to say. He probably thinks I'm going to bait him into some awful relationship. I'm going to have to try to pick up another guy tonight once he runs off. Damn.

“Interesting. Listen, I have a few palmistry books back at my house. If you're interested...”

“Yes!” I blurt out. He looks even more surprised, but then he laughs.

“Alright, come on.”

Noah said something about fateful relationships. Is this going to be one of them?

The drive to Noah's house is interesting, in that he told me about his car. It's a rare Mustang called a Super Snake, and it's very rare.

“I must admit, Noah, I don't really know anything about cars. If you wanted to impress me with all this, well,” I shrug. “I just don't know what is and isn't impressive.”

Noah grins at me as we turn into a long driveway leading up to a huge house. “I'll explain it all to you sometime.”

He keeps talking to me like this won't be a one night stand. This guy was getting a lap dance less than an hour ago, and now he's trying to treat me like a girlfriend or something. It's weird but... it's also kind of nice. This is the most normal guy I've met this week.

Watching the house grow larger as we come closer to it puts into perspective just how much land this guy has. This huge house surrounds itself with land that's covered with trees and ponds and horse stables and gardens. It's dark out now, but if I could see everything in the day it would probably be spectacular.

“Who are you?” I ask, turning to Noah wide eyed. “You have to be someone, right?”

“Nah,” he replies, waving his hand. “I'm virtually a nobody, to be honest. I just made some good choices with money my father left me, which was tiny compared to what his father left him. I made a point to rebuild my family's fortune. You wouldn't know me, though, because I do all of my work behind closed doors and away from reporters.”

He comes over to my side of the car and helps me out, holding my hand with an aching tenderness. I wobble a bit on my heel. Noah catches me. His big arms cradle me as I struggle to right myself.

Once inside, he takes off his suit's jacket and lays it over the arm of a leather couch. A lamp clicks on, and he turns to smile at me. The floor has a gray rug over it, and one wall is a darker gray than the others. Down the hall, I see a room that has a bit more color than this one.

I hear the trickle of water, and then notice a fish tank behind Noah. In it, tropical fish happily swim around. It's probably six feet long, a huge tank. Some of the fish are unfamiliar to me, too.

After feeding the fish, Noah watches them for a second. With his back turned to me, I realize how badly I want this man. He's normal. Blissfully normal. Even with all this money, he can hold a conversation and doesn't seem to find me dull. His body is gorgeous, too, with big shoulders hidden beneath his white shirt.

“Come here, I'll show you my books-” He turns around with his hand held out for me to take it, but he stops in his tracks. My dress is slipping down my body after I silently unzipped it. I stand before Noah with only my shoes, panties and bra on.

His eyes flicker with delight.

“I didn't come here for your books, Noah,” I say, smiling. Blushing. I'm usually very good at flirting, but under his gaze I feel just a little bit smaller. Less sure of myself.

“All business, huh?” He asks. Moving closer to me, he places a hand on the small of my back and pulls my body into his. I hold in a gasp, my stomach fluttering. A finger and thumb pinch my nipple through my pink bra, and that gasp makes its way out along with a moan. “I like that. I do have to warn you, though, that I like sex in a very particular way.”

“Oh? Nothing too freaky, I hope, I don't have a safe word planned.”

Chuckling, he brushes a strand of hair from my face. “No, nothing freaky. Just raw. No condoms. I like risky sex, and if you're not into that then I'll have to call you a taxi.”

Oh, hell. He's pushing all my buttons. Did I give myself away somehow? Or did he learn how to read minds too?

“Still interested?”

“Terribly,” I say. My  breath is drawing shorter the more excited I become. Noah swings me up into his big arms and carries me up the stairs into a huge room. One wall is entirely windows. He lays me gently on the bed, and then goes over to the curtains.

Instead of pulling them tighter, he opens them wide. Silvery light from the moon pours down onto him. Looking like a god, he turns to me.

“What if someone's watching?” I ask.

“Watching me impregnate the most beautiful woman I've ever seen? Let them.”

He climbs up onto the bed with me, and stares at me for a long time. With his hand, he ever so lightly brushes my jaw. He caresses my features, and I relish in his touches. I never realized how much I wanted a man to touch me tenderly, to have soft skin touch me all over.

When he kisses me, I don't resist. I can't. It's passionate and full of fire and I just want him to claim me! My whole body accepts the pressure and sensation, the tingles and heat that arise from between my legs.

I stop breathing for just a moment, melting into him. My hands clutch his shirt. His soft, warm lips press against my own, and our tongues tangle.

Noah's mouth leaves my lips, but his taste lingers. He kisses my neck, sucking in a bit of my flesh and breaking the blood vessels. He's leaving his mark on me, a lovely bruise.

Why am I feeling so invested in what must be a one night stand? The confusion only heightens the pleasure that he's giving me.

A shiver falls down my back. I wrap my arms around this man's torso, my hands pulling his shirt up. His teeth graze my flesh. It feels so good. “Noah,” I moan.

Noah slides his hand under my bra. With his fingers clamped on my nipple, he grows and bites into my neck. I gasp, my toes curling. My nipples are going hard, my womanhood pulsating with heat and desire.

I can't wait for Noah to touch me there, to feel how warm and wet he's made me. I want him to know how much of a slut I am for him. Pain and pleasure both course through my body as he bites me and pinches my nipple, and I writhe beneath him. I want him to fuck me like a whore, like a cheap whore!