32

Afterglow

Joy lay curled on her side, sound asleep, when his cellphone rang again later that night. Bryce grabbed it from the nightstand and cocked his head when he saw the caller ID. Snatching his cigarettes, he slid out of bed and walked half-naked into his living room as he answered the call.

“Evening, bro.” He lit himself a cigarette and opened the door to the balcony, stepping into the brisk night air. “Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

“Evidently, I didn’t wake you up,” came Drew’s sour voice from the other end of the line. “Busy banging the third girl of the week?”

“What? Me?” Bryce laughed, leaning his elbows on the railing and taking a long pull at his smoke. “Nothing of the kind. So to what do I owe this most prestigious call?”

Drew grunted and was quiet for a moment. “Busy this weekend?”

“Is that a rhetorical?”

“You know what, never mind.”

Bryce’s smile lifted. He thought on the paperwork Harry had faxed through two hours ago, after he’d put Joy into a fuck-coma and phoned the lawyer back to find out what he’d been on about. He must have stared at those documents for over half an hour, chain-smoking cigarettes as he drank his last beer and then chased it down with two whiskey sours.

Why the fuck would Drew be adding him to his trust? And then there was Angel — the trust’s new beneficiary? There’d been something else, too, something that Harry seemed reluctant to voice despite how hard he pressed. He just kept saying that it was privileged information until Drew decided to share it.

The only slightly plausible explanation — and the most logical — was that Drew had lost his mind.

What fun.

“What’s on your mind, bro?”

There was a pause. “I’m going to my lakehouse. Taking some time off.”

Bryce tugged on his cigarette, staring out over the twinkling lights of the city spread before him. This wasn’t exactly New York, but there were plenty enough apartment blocks, street lamps, and houses to pollute the night air with their lights. Enough that only a few of the bravest, strongest stars were visible when he tipped his head back.

“Yeah, that’s the Drew I know. Phone up your brother and brag about your lakehouse. Nicely done.”

“I…” Drew made an exasperated sound. “I didn’t want—”

“One word at a time. You can do it.” He grinned when Drew’s voice came back rushed and heated.

“Angel said to invite you. Said it’d be a good chance for us to resolve our issues.”

He laughed, hard, slapping the railing with his palm. “Yeah, sure she did. Was she wearing a pair of glasses and writing in a little notebook at the time?”

“You know what? Forget it. I told her it was a waste—”

“Whoa, little brother. Don’t get your panties in a knot.”

“For fuck’s sake—”

“I’ll come.”

There was a pause. He could hear something sliding over wood — a tumbler? — and the squeak of a chair. “You’ll come?”

“Yeah. Why not?” Bryce scratched his side, giving himself goosebumps. “Nothing to do here, anyway.”

“You mean no one,” Drew said dryly.

“Sure.” He laughed. “Is Angel going to be there?”

“Yes. But that doesn’t mean—”

His laugh cut off whatever Drew had wanted to say. “Relax, bro. You know me; when have I ever had the same piece of ass twice?”

There was a long, pregnant pause. He could almost imagine how Drew’s face screwing up; his lips going tight, his eyes narrowing, homicidal rage brewing in his eyes.

So he laughed again, took the last drag of his cigarette, and flicked it over the side of the balcony.

“Send me the address,” he said, his words emerging white and billowy with the smoke. “And tell me what to bring.”

“Your best behavior.”

“Yeah, I think I lost that somewhere back in eighty-two, when I banged those sisters.”

Drew let out a long sigh. “The Jones’s sisters?”

“What? No, not them.” He laughed. “Probably shouldn’t have agreed to let their brother watch us—”

Drew made a disgusted sound and hung up the phone. Bryce was still laughing as he let himself back in the house. When he slid back into bed, Joy stirred and rolled over. Her hand went around his waist.

“Why’re you so cold?” she murmured.

“’Cos you’re doing a shitty job of warming me up, peaches.”

“Sorry.” Her arm tightened, and she let out a soft sigh as she plummeted back into the depths of sleep.

Bryce stared down at her, pushing a strand of hair out of her face. There was enough ambient light that he could make out her features, but not much more.

“I’m going away this weekend,” he said, sticking his hand up under her shirt. She made a soft sound when he cupped her ass and drew her closer. “Don’t be here when I come back.”

“What?” Joy’s eyes flashed open. She blinked at him a few times before pushing herself to her elbows. “What the fuck, Bryce?”

He shrugged. “I told you when we met; this wouldn’t last longer than a week.”

“I thought you were just being an asshole.” She pushed away from him, but he yanked her back.

“Any last words?”

“Yeah.” Joy slapped his chest, wriggling to try and escape him. “Go fuck yourself.”

“I’d prefer it if you did.”

She was still struggling when he slid on top of her, but pretty soon she was making the same animalistic sounds of pleasure as before.

“Why?” she whispered, still clinging to him, still trying to catch her breath.

“Why what?”

“Why can’t I stay?”

“Because I’m done with you, baby girl.”

Joy exhaled softly, turning her face to him. In the dimness of his bedroom, he could see wetness shimmering on her lashes.

Jesus, he hated it when they bawled. He pulled out of her and sat on the side of the bed, using his shirt to wipe off his dick.

She slid her arms over his shoulders, hugging him hard.

“Is there someone else?”

He laughed, reached behind him, and slapped her ass.

“There will be. Next week.” When he got to his feet, she clung on for all of two seconds before releasing him.

When he was done pissing and had tugged on a clean pair of briefs from his walk-in cupboard, the bed was empty. He walked through the house, his smile fading when he saw that Joy’s handbag wasn’t on the kitchen table. That her shoes were gone. Her car keys, gone.

He went into the dining room he’d converted into his study and got the stack of papers Harry had faxed through. After staring at them for a while, rubbing his thumb over the place where Angel’s name had been printed, he let out a weary sigh and dropped the papers back on the desk.

He returned to his bedroom and pulled a duffel bag down from the cupboard. He tossed in some clothes. His fingers paused in the act of opening his nightstand drawer. Then he shook his head and took out his Smith & Wesson. He caressed it for a few seconds, brought it up for a quick whiff, and bundled it in the faded red t-shirt he’d found in the back of his cupboard. A round of ammunition went on top of it, and he wrapped everything in another t-shirt, this one black and just as faded. The parcel went in the bottom of his bag, socks and two pairs of clean briefs going in after it. Then he tossed back the shirts he’d shaken out and zipped the bag closed, setting it down by the door.

It was almost two in the morning when he climbed onto the couch, drew one of his discarded suit jackets over his legs and another over his torso, and tried to fall asleep.