Fatal Beauty (15 page)

Chapter 22

“We have a problem.”

Charlie looks at EJ. They’ve been in the hotel in Santa Fe for an
hour, and both of them have showered. Exhaustion and temper are pulling at
Charlie, and all she wants is to crawl into the big bed and fall asleep.

“What is that?” she says, yawning.

EJ gives her a challenging smile. “I’m bored.”

Those words are always trouble. They’ve been the instigator to too
many nights out in New Orleans, and even in Charleston, when boredom drove
Charlie into EJ’s world in the first place.

And it’s the quiet challenged Charlie can’t refuse.

“What are you thinking?” she asks, grinning as she stands up and
begins digging through her suitcase.

*

They end up at a bar downtown. It’s full and loud and Charlie can feel
herself relaxing as they’re pulled into the madness. A table full of frat boys
watch them, a little too interested to be ignored. She smirks, and EJ grabs her
by the arm, pulling her away from them and toward a tiny table with three high
stools.

She’s wearing a dress, a tiny thing that buttons up the front and
stops just below her ass. It’s tight, with a high neckline and almost no back,
and a blue so deep it’s almost black, paired with red fuck-me heels that give
her another four inches of height.

EJ is in black leather, a pair of pants and a matching corset that
pushes up her tits and curves in her waist and leaves her shoulders and neck
bare. When she emerged from the bathroom in that and bright red lipstick,
Charlie almost said fuck it, and stayed in.

But EJ was bored, and she wanted to go out, and even if Charlie
did want her, she wasn’t going to break first. She never had and tonight
wouldn’t be the night she started.

“Want to play a game?” EJ asks, a mischievous smirk lighting her
eyes.

Charlie eyes her. “What kind of game?”

A waitress in a tiny pair of shorts, spiked heels and a shirt so
small it should be called a bra comes by and EJ orders a bottle of vodka. When
she hurries away, EJ refocuses on Charlie.

“Random boy. Any random boy.”

“And what am I doing with this random?” She asks, arching an
eyebrow.

EJ shrugs, “Whatever you want. But the catch is, I get to pick the
random boy you take home. And you pick mine.”

Charlie stares at her, as the waitress puts a bottle of Gray Goose
between them and a small bottle of cranberry juice in a crystal decanter.

That EJ would never pick the kind of boy Charlie would is a given.
           

But the idea of allowing EJ to control this—it’s intriguing. She
can’t help but nod her agreement and flash a smile. “Fine.”

EJ smirks and twists on her stool. The table of frat boys are
still watching them, and Charlie thinks for a moment that she’ll point at them.

“See the one at the bar. Dark hair, black suit, blue tie?” EJ
says, and Charlie finds him. Pale, and tall and handsome.

“Him?”

“Him,” she says, a private amusement in her voice.

Charlie leans forward, and pours a shot of vodka, tossing it back
before sliding off her stool.

"Where are you going?" EJ asks, amused.

"To find your boy."

Being in a bar again feels familiar, and comforting because of
that familiarity. She can feel the eyes following her as she winds her way
through the bar, feel the interest and the speculation and the desire. They
never try to keep that to themselves. For a heartbeat, she wishes she hadn't
left EJ at their table--that she was flanked by her best friend and writhing on
the dance floor, drawing a fucking sea of attention. Not even because she wants
to take any of them home. But because she loves the attention, thrives on it
the way some thrive on fucking exercise.

There is no drug quite like worship, no high as addictive as
adoration.

A blonde catches her eye, one with a redhead standing a few feet
away, He's watching her with big worshipful eyes, almost desperate for her attention,
and oblivious to the people around him.

He's pathetic and utterly perfect, and she grins. Turns to the
table where EJ is still sitting. Even from half a bar away, she can feel EJ's
gaze steady and waiting, on her.

Do you want to know
what I saw in her?

She shudders, shaking the feeling and the voice, the ghost and
nods at the puppy. EJ's expression turns grumpy, and then she's turning away,
her mind already on the dark-haired suit at the bar.

*

It takes four shitty martinis to get him out of the bar. Four. She
danced and drank and flirted in that stupid subtle way—not
 
the easy southern charm that worked so well
on the boys back home or frat boys who seemed disappointed to be ignored by
her.

But the cool, dismissive confidence that sent four fucking
martinis back to the bar untouched, and kept her shying away from wandering
hands on the dance floor, and coldly shut down the two guys who approached her
while she sat alone at the bar.

EJ was dancing, a slow, fucking hot-as-hell bump-and-grind with
the puppy, his redhead long since forgotten, and she's still playing hard to
get.

But after that second frat boy, he caught her at the bar, and
pulled her against him. HIs voice low in her ear. "You've been watching
me."

She smirks and his hand skimmed low on her hips, over her belly,
controlling the move of her body as he fit along her back and she rolled her
hips in time with his and the pounding music.

"What took you so long to notice?"

"I noticed hours ago, sweetheart."

The words trip the game into desire, or maybe it's been that all
along. Isn't this her favorite game? Twisting them up and getting them to take
the pretty bait, even if they never know they've been played?

Once he dances with her, it's over. She's won. It takes a little longer--three
songs and a few breathless moans as he presses his dick against her ass--to
seal the deal, but then he's pulling her out of the bar and toward a black SUV.

She has one moment to consider how stupid this is before she
twists out of his grip.

"I can't just leave," she murmurs and he makes a low,
displeased noise. She smirks as he dips down to kiss her, hot and hungry and
lacking finesse.

"Why?"

"I came with a friend."

"She's fine."

"Come together, leave together," she whispers and leans
up to kiss him again. His lips are hungry, tongue thrusting into her mouth,
hands hard on her hips. Behind them, the music from the bar flares over the
parking lot. She hears a low male voice and a familiar female laugh.

She straightens, and pushes Miles away from her.

"Charlie," EJ purrs, sauntering across the parking lot
toward her, trailed by her puppy. "Your new friend is pretty."

Charlie grins, "He’ll do."

"What is this?" Miles snaps, and EJ's eyes skip toward
him, and cool. Charlie can see the animosity brewing between them, and steps
in, “My friend. I told you I didn’t come here alone.”

He glances down at her and frowns, and she can almost see the
confusion in his pretty blue eyes. She goes up on the tiptoes of her heels and brings
his head down, just enough to bring his lips to hers. Coaxing and teasing,
everywhere all at once, nipping at his lip and sucking lightly. His eyes are
just a little glazed when she pulls away and he nods gruffly. EJ laughs, and
slides into the backseat, a long leather bench, and pulls her toy in behind
her.

The ride back to the hotel is a special kind of torture. Charlie
sits in her seat next to Miles as he drives, and in the backseat, EJ and her
new toy are putting on a
helluva
show. When EJ whimpers—fucking
whimpers—Charlie almost turns to watch.

It doesn’t matter how good Miles is in bed—she’s only a few light
touches from orgasming, just from listening to the soft noises EJ makes. She
can hear the slide of flesh on flesh, and his soft whispers. She’s making these
tiny noise that are driving Charlie wild, becoming more and more frantic.

Miles stops the car abruptly, and she blinks, looking out the
window to see their hotel.

It takes EJ and her pet a moment to pull themselves together and
crawl out of the car. Miles grabs Charlie and hauls her against him, his hand
splayed over her ass as he kisses her. A car pulls up behind them, and Charlie
looks up as the valet says something to Miles. EJ steps out of the car, her
short hair wild, sex personified and Charlie is, for a heartbeat, irrationally
jealous of the idiotic boy who made her look like that.

“Ella.”

She freezes, and Charlie sees fear stutter over her expression as
the voice cuts across the drive.

How the hell did Jacobs find them?

“
Lews
,” EJ almost purrs as she turns to
the man approaching her. He’s with another—two nondescript men in jeans, button
downs. She vaguely remembers seeing them at the bar, before EJ distracted her
with this game. “And Jason. Lovely.”

“Why don’t we take this to your room?” He says simply, flicking a
quick look over Charlie and the two men. Miles’ grip on Charlie’s waist
tightens, just a little, and she squeaks.

“Don’t,” says the man next to
Lews
, his
gaze sharpening. He shakes his head, a tiny thing. “You don’t want to push.
Just do what we say.”

“Does he want me dead?” EJ demands, and the men exchange a quick
glance.

“What the actual fuck?” Miles demands quietly and Charlie squeezes
his hand.

“Just shut up and do what you’re told,” she murmurs.

He gives her a furious look.

They’re a quiet, odd processional but the hotel is either used to
weird sights, or they know better than to ask questions. Either way, they’re
left alone as
Lews
and Jason usher them onto an
elevator.

“What floor,
lil
sis?”
Lews
asks.

Charlie glances at EJ. It’s the second time she’s been called that
by one of Jacobs’ men, and it occurs to her that the endearment is more than
that.

It’s a title.

“God,
y’all
are fucked up,” she mutters
and it earns her a dirty looks from EJ and both hired guns.

“Fourteenth,” EJ says, instead of addressing EJ’s assessment.

“I take it the mouse knows who Jacobs is?”

“Does someone want to explain what the
fuck
is happening here?” Miles demands, and
Lews
punches him, a hard, almost careless blow to his stomach that has the guy
doubled over and gasping. Vaguely, Charlie feels bad, but she doesn’t say
anything to protest as
Lews
takes EJ by the arm and
pulls her off the elevator.

“Charlie,” EJ snaps, and it keeps her moving as the other gun
grabs Miles by the back of the neck and EJ’s puppy by the arm, pulling them in
Lews
’ wake.

The hotel room is almost empty—they left most of their stuff in
the Nova, and it’s too secluded—panic claws at her for a moment, and then she
shoves it down. One moment. That’s what she gets.

Lews
shoves EJ into the bed and
waves at Charlie with his gun. “Sit down, mouse.”

“You know, when I see Jacobs, I’m going to shoot him for calling
me that,” she says, and at her side, EJ giggles. Completely inappropriate for
the time and situation but—there it is. Her girl is laughing, and
Lews
is glaring at them and the two random boys they picked
up in a bar.

She has a moment to feel sorry for them, before
Lews
slaps her, hard. Miles takes a step forward, furious.

Charlie shakes her head, a single quick motion and
Lews
smiles. “Jason, take care of those two, would you?
Boss didn’t say anything about them.”

“What were the orders?” EJ asks.

Jason is herding Miles and EJ’s pet into a corner, and Charlie
can’t decide who looks more furious, Miles or—what the hell is his name?

“They changed, since Marco died. Did you know he was dead?”

EJ flinches, and sways at her side. “No,” she whispers.

“Boss is pretty pissed. He wants your girl’s head. And he wants
you home—but he didn’t say anything about the condition he wanted you in.”

Jason laughs, a sick noise that is all she can hear as rage washes
through her.

Charlie has a heartbeat before
Lews
lunges, a heartbeat to knock EJ aside and swing up with her fists. And then
Jason is on her.

*

She scrambles for the bag Charlie left on the bedside table. It’s
small and compact, with a few condoms and a toy in it. And the gun, the small
black gun Charlie snatched up from Marco.