NEFARIOUS: B723 SERIES BOOK THREE, page 4
“Then what was it?” Crumbs from his cracker tumble from his lips as he chews and talks, which would drive Odette crazy and Mom to think he was a savage. But I like Dillon. We just, unfortunately, didn’t have that spark.
I hover the rim of my martini glass close to my lips. “You really don’t wanna know.”
He scoffs because who can say that and not want to know. “Uh, yeah. Now I really do.”
“The sex.” His brown eyes immediately transform into thin slits. “The sex sucked.” Those once slim openings of browns widen in authentic surprise, and I fight back my teasing smirk.
“Are you kidding? That sex was some of the best I’ve—listen, that shit’s not funny.” He leans over the table, attempting to pry my joke from my throat as false, but I don’t budge.
“I’m not laughing,” I deadpan, coercing all the muscles in my face not to move. Dillion studies me like a final exam before I finally break character seconds later and die from laughter on the other side of the table.
“You’re an asshole, you know that?” He lightly chides, running a hand down the side of his face and blowing out a relieved breath. “I was thinking about throwing myself off a skyscraper when this dinner was over.”
“Oh, stop. We haven’t dated in like three years.”
“Yeah, but that shit could still be true, and…” His expression grows deathly serious. “Was it bad?” I hit him with an exasperated look. “No, seriously…”
“You want to know if you fucked me so good that I daydreamed about it for days?” He nods. “I honestly don’t remember.”
“Fucking great,” he groans, resting his forehead into his palm, clearly defeated.
“But you ate me out like a champ, though.” Dillon perks up, pulling his face back up to look at me. “I came so hard that—“
“Dillion,” a female voice fumes, jerking my head over to the end of our table where a petite blonde stands glaring down at him.
“Macie,” he drones, the lack of excitement and beaten down emotionally evident in his tone. “What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing.” She directs a murderous glare at me with her pretty, clear-cut eyes made of blue shards, and I’m not sure if it’s because I’m a female at this table or the fact that I was just talking about getting head from her now fiancé. “Who’s this?”
I take one for the team and extend my hand, hoping it helps Dillon out in some way from having an argument. “I’m Amirah Van Doren; it’s nice to meet you. Dillion and I went to school together.”
“Van Doren?” she repeats, then puts some more effort in that glower she’s wearing. “Your sister is Odette?” My shoulders deflate because I can only imagine where this is going.
My sister doesn’t really have the most stellar reputation for not being a complete bitch. This, in turn, creates a problem for me because everyone assumes I’m the same way. I’ve been snuffed at by women in stores who don’t share the same conceited way of thinking like my eldest sibling, and I’m avoided like the plague.
Which isn’t all terrible sometimes.
“Yeah,” I reply slowly. “But I have a feeling an ‘unfortunately’ is going to follow shortly after my acknowledgment.”
“It should,” she fires back, skinny arms crossed along her flat chest and pink dress. “My brother is Cyrus.”
My brows fly upward because this would happen to me.
Freaking Odette and her stuck-up crap.
“Oh, yeah…he’s a great guy. He’s had dinner at—“ Her hand flies across my face so quickly and hard that it takes me a moment to comprehend that she just slapped me.
And that it hurts.
An immediate burn slices up my cheek as Dillion storms out, “Macie!” He promptly rises from the bench seat across from me and yanks her away from me, a little too hard, but, well, she just bitch slapped me, so I don’t care. “What the fuck are you doing? In public, seriously?”
“Crazy?” she raves out like Dillon is the definition of the word. “The Van Dorens are leeches.” She points an accusing finger at me at the exact moment I flex my jaw at the discomfort still stinging my face. “She’s trying to take you away from me.”
“No, she’s not,” he clips out through his teeth. “Geezus fucking Christ, you’re insane.”
“What?” I know Dillion just heard the sinister dip in her voice because I sure as hell did.
And that’s code for things are about to get really ugly, really fast. In hindsight, I’m also not about to get lectured by my mother about my first night back being a disaster as well as a scene. There’s no way no one heard that shrill that Macie protruded a minute ago.
Apparently, Mom needs to speak with Odette about whatever she’s doing with her own life and Cyrus, not mine. However, I’m always the subject of conversations that shouldn’t even be a thing because I’m actually doing something with my life that doesn’t include running up Dad’s credit card bill.
“I think I should go,” I offer, grabbing the black clutch at my side and sliding out of my seat. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—“
“You meant it,” Macie leers, her face inches from mine now. The smell of expensive perfume immediately fills my nostrils, and my stomach growls unappreciatively from the lack of dinner and the scent of grapefruit coming off her clothes.
“I’ll call you.” I look over at my ex, who clearly has lost his ever-loving mind. Why he just said that out loud and added more fuel to the fire…maybe he’s right. Perhaps he really doesn’t think he can continue with his relationship that’s about to turn into front-page news to everyone around here.
“Excuse me?” Macie leers, trailing her focus back to her man. “You’re not going to be calling any other female while you’re with me, and I’m at home waiting for you. In fact, a lot of things are going to be changing between us.”
He ignores her, attention still latched onto me, and I feel horrible for him. My protectiveness over my friend begins to ring out, ordering me not to leave him behind, but he’s a grown man that can handle this.
“I’m so sorry, Amirah.” The genuine apology and embarrassment are in his tone. Still, I’m not fully able to acknowledge it because my martini is thrown into my face next. The wet contents drip down the front of my dress and between my breasts as a loud gasp breaks from my lips as well as the surrounding couples around us—thanks to Macie and her big mouth.
And there goes not making it around the gossip mills and into my mother’s ears.
I’ve lost track of the days since waking up in this bedroom, in a chair tied up and a man who stares off into space as my only company again. Also, since learning that my blood is somehow magical for one human being’s needs and that this French broad believes it’s okay to keep me hostage until they figure shit out.
Another fun piece, they’re officially fucking with my food because I’ve been in and out of drowsiness for God knows how long since my little wrestle match with Asshole.
It’s interesting, for as much as this French woman wants my blood, she’s sure good at keeping it contaminated and worthless for that husband of hers. I know I’m not tired because I’ve been sitting still; it’s because of the drugs in every meal that’s brought to me. My attempts to keep my strength up have failed, and after the second meal, I confirmed to myself that they’re fucking with me and I’m working against myself.
I’m hauled up to piss in the bathroom while my new babysitter, Andre the Giant, stands to watch me. I’ve been literally thrown in the shower to clean up while cold water runs down my body, probably because I’ve been taunting my babysitter every time I’m conscious.
However, the freezing water does nothing to wake me up from the fog that seems to be wafting over my body and vision. My gaze always falls to the window in the room, waiting for Bishop or Kyson to bust through it like Batman and Robin to come help me out. However, I’m obviously disappointed to still awaken in the same room, with the same man, and the exact same thoughts.
It’s not until Odette sneaks into my room one day, scaring the fucking shit out of me, that I’m able to change tactics. I’ve already shown a highly irritated and somewhat violent side. Now it’s time to turn the charm on.
"Hello, Rhett," Odette greets, plastering on almost a similar smile as her mother and dressed in a black, flowy dress that hugs the small slope of her hips. "How are you feeling?"
"Like a train ran over me." I tug at my metal handcuffs that are bound at the headboard of the bed I'm lying on. Andre must’ve received orders to move me to a comfy mattress while I was unconscious instead of the hard chair before going on his break.
My ass has been appreciative.
"Wanna help a buddy out?" I make a little sound with the cuffs, drawing her attention to them, but not any sort of empathy. She only continues to smile at me. My moral needs must be amusing.
"Not quite yet. Mother is afraid you'll escape and involve the cops."
"Sweetheart, depending on how many days it's been since you got me here, the pigs have already been called."
B723 has been alerted, and that means y'all are fucked beyond belief now.
Emmy is probably working herself into a fucking fit while Bishop attempts to calm her down. The boys—eh, they'll wait until a body part of mine shows up before burning a whole city down. I think the last thing they’d think of is some crazy bitches kidnapping me for some blood. I know it definitely wouldn’t have been on my list.
"How long have I been here?" I ask, genuinely curious for one and two, to start a normal conversation in a weird as fuck situation.
"Three days." Her knees bump the mattress to the queen-sized bed. "Test results should be back soon." I purposely slide my gaze, nice and slow, down her frame as if I'm appreciating it. When really, I’m calculating if I can get my zip-tied ankles up and around her body to shove her to the ground. It won’t do anything. I still don’t have a fucking key to the restraints holding me firmly to a piece of furniture, so I work for the next best thing—the only thing I have in my arsenal—gain her shitty trust.
“A woman named Emmy Lou texted you,” she surmises, sounding bored at the fact, but I know she's curious since she mentioned it. “Girlfriend?” She waves my cell tauntingly in the air between long pink fingernails and perks a brow at me.
I shake my head. "Friend."
"You know girls and guys can't be just friends, right?" She says it like I’m an idiot when all I can see are her insecurities showing. "Should we text her back?"
"Absolutely. Give her the address of this place so she can pick me up."
Odette's lips perch higher along the sharp cheekbones of her face. Her makeup looks natural, not that she needs much. She can’t be a day over thirty, which makes her pathetically insecure if she’s even talking about another girl and me. Especially when she doesn’t know a thing about me but my so-called enchanted blood.
"And make me jealous, Rhett?” She tsks at me. “That's not very nice."
"Wouldn't want to do that," I drone, averting my gaze back to the window and silently ordering Bishop and Ky to jump through right now. "When these test results come back, then what?"
She gives me a nonchalant shrug when I redirect my focus on her. "Mother will decide then."
"Do you always follow mommy's rules?" I lift a semi-curious brow and watch her frown as if I just insulted her.
"No."
"Seems like it. I'm just saying you can't keep me here forever without my face being plastered on a milk carton and on every social media outlet." My mother and grandmother would absolutely flip. My dad, who works in Alaska on a crab boat, wouldn't find out for probably a few weeks after the fact because getting a hold of him in the Bering Sea is too hard. Still, he’d try to find a way home, and I don’t want him worrying about me.
Emmy would cover for me, I know, for as long as possible, but I don't plan on being here much longer anyway. Not to sound like an arrogant prick, but I’ve handled much worse, and two little rich girls, a sick husband, and a French woman isn’t going to keep me here for an extended period of time.
"Then maybe we should text Emmy Lou back," Odette surmises. "She's worried about you."
"As I said, go ahead, sweetheart." There is no way that Odette is going to sound like me while texting my best friend. And if she keeps the damn phone on, Emmy will have tracked it to this rich shithole.
A phone rings in the room, and my heart leaps from my chest at it being mine, but Odette pulls a red iPhone from the pocket of her dress and answers it.
"Hello?" Her voice instantly drips to annoyed as she purses her lips over her cell. "What? Tonight?”
Without so much as a goodbye or fuck you, she pivots towards the door and hurls it open, rattling a painting of a small house and pond before marching out of the room. It’s left wide open and a way to weasel on out.
Wrapping my fingers along the chains of my handcuffs, I jerk on the unforgiving metal above my head. The bed shakes as I use my weight, attempting to break or pry a screw from the bed frame. The more I haul, the more I begin to feel it loosen, giving me hope that the limited energy that I have is enough.
The metal above hits the wall behind it, creating a bunch of noise that I can’t help but make. There’s really no quiet way of doing this shit when my door of opportunity is literally ajar for me. And who the hell knows when that Odette chick is going to come back.
“Well, lookie what we have here.” I stop jerking around and slowly peer over my bicep to see Solange perched along the doorway in a tight yellow dress that literally does nothing for her.
She looks like she has an eating disorder, her high cheekbones alluding that they used to be full, but now they’re hollow and missing the meat that once was on her bones.
“Oh, hey,” I greet back cheerily. “Was just going to go grab some water.”
Solange smirks at my apparent cover-up and seizes my short-lived hope, slamming the room’s door behind her.
“I could’ve gotten that for you,” she coos, but it’s not the sweet kind of hospitality tone that you look for, but one that warns you’re about to step into some serious shit.
“No need,” I reply. “I don’t want to be a pestering houseguest.”
Her green eyes flick to my failed escape attempt. “You’re smart. A few more minutes, and you could’ve easily gotten out.”
“Next time.” She hums her agreement for some fucking reason, but her calmness and study of me is starting to creep me out a little bit. I’ve been eye-fucked plenty of times by the opposite sex—shit, even the same sex—but the way she’s examining me like she’s picking a perfect place to mount my head on her wall is eerie. Even Marty’s first stare at his targets could almost match hers.
Her bored gaze falls off me and around the room as if she’s lost in her own home and doesn’t know why she’s here. As if she just woke up days ago as I did and discovered she’s in a place she has no clue how or why she’s in it.
“The test results came back,” she finally vouches, returning her focus to me. “It was good news.”
“For your dad or me?”
“Both.”
“Mhm, I don’t know, sweetheart. I’d really—“
“Please don’t call me that,” she stresses, her tone placid, but her hands slowly begin to ball into fists.
Interesting.
Shifting closer to me, but not within a good swing of my leg, I watch her regard me with the interest of watching a traffic jam. “Do you have a girlfriend, Rhett Mills?”
I release my exhale at the mundane conversation that I’ve only had but two minutes ago. “Seems to be the ongoing question around here.”
Her body bumps the mattress, and she actually sits down next to me, making the bed dip a tad. “Do you have siblings?”
“Why?”
She nonchalantly pops her shoulders. “Curious.”
“No.”
“You’re lucky.” She looks at the small table next to me, but there’s nothing there. Already looked. “Sibling rivalry is such a cruel and exhausting thing to have to endure.”
I want to scoff and console her about being a rich girl who wants for nothing, but that’s going to do shit all for me.
“I guess I wouldn’t know,” I return instead.
She jerks her head. “You almost got the bed frame off the hinges.”
Peering upward—you know, to torture myself with later about how I almost got loose—something suddenly pricks my upper thigh, startling me into action.
“What the fuck?!” I roar out, my simmering irritation with this whole ordeal at its breaking point. On instinct, I lunge forward, but with whatever she just doped me up with…the shit works fast because I’m suddenly dead weight from the waist down.
Solange’s expression closes up, mocking mine, and we both glower at each other. Mine is full of hate and frustrations. Hers because…no fucking clue. Maybe I look like an ex-boyfriend that played with her emotions or some stupid crap that she hasn’t gotten over yet. It only takes one person to screw up everything for everyone else, right?
Regardless, she just fucked me over and my plans, and I haven’t even gotten my dick wet.
“I like you,” she claims as if I get a shit. “You have spunk.” I feel the soft graze of her palm along my hip, prickling my skin into unsought out goosebumps. “You’re handsome…” I roll my eyes as her index finger trails up my flat torso, then sternum, sending a cautionary twist through my gut. “Feeling numb, mystery man?”
“If you wanted to touch,” I leer through my taut jaw. “All you had to do was ask.”
“It’s so much more fun when you don’t.”
Adjusting herself on the bed, it dips from her weight when she swings a leg over and straddles my frame. Her weight, not that it’s much at all, causes claustrophobia upheaving itself from the depths of my head where I want to keep it.
“You’re shaking,” she points out, leaning forward, her palms falling to my chest.
“Just a little pissed off, is all.” I try to move my legs again, but nothing happens. Solange is still on top of me, sitting there as if I asked or wanted her to. I could choke her out with my knees now that she's in the perfect position, but I can’t even freaking move them right now.
