- CHAPTER FIVE -
SCOTCH
The window was too greasy to allow me to see Costello and Thorne outside. Even if it had been clear, I didn’t have a good enough angle, and it wasn’t like I could read lips. I cursed all the times I’d turned down my uncle when he’d suggested teaching me for fun.
This isn’t fun, I reminded myself. This is life or death. If someone had told me I might be killed because of a thwarted blow job, I’d have told them they were nuts. Life is too fond of its little curveballs.
The door rattled; I jumped back onto the bed, settling on the rock-hard mattress as Costello entered. He fixed his eyes on me, shutting the door behind him. “Is Thorne not coming in?” I asked, doing my best to act casual and not like I had been trying to spy on them.
His long index finger pressed to his lips. He wants me to be quiet? I wondered, reading the universal sign for shut up. Like a great cat he prowled around the room. It wasn’t a big space, but with him in it, it became smaller.
The browned bulbs over the stained bathroom mirror cast a halo around the door, allowing me to watch as Costello meticulously squinted into every cobwebbed corner.
He stepped onto the bed, forcing me to lean away so he had enough room to stand and reach the ceiling’s light fixture. When he unscrewed the cap, peered at the wires, then efficiently put it back together, I realized what he was doing.
He’s making sure the room isn’t bugged. I doubted it was, but that was just the kind of person Costello Badd was.
Meticulous.
Sharp.
Someone who made no mistakes.
Until me, I thought morbidly. He should never have rescued me from the club tonight. I was sure he had to know that, and yet . . . so far . . . all he’d done was take more measures to keep me safe.
That could change at any moment. I don’t know what he talked about with his brother. His slinking around—soundless as the night—put him in a less positive light. What if he’s decided to get rid of me? My eyes shot around at the barren walls that were the color of old coffee. Could this be the last place I’d ever see?
Holy shit, stop being so morbid! I told myself with disgust.
He’d gone into the bathroom; I heard him fiddling with the lights and the showerhead, and then he came back toward me. He sat on the mattress, the springs squeaking like he was as heavy as the incessant weight crushing down on my heart.
“Sometimes the cops use these places for drug stings,” he explained. “We don’t need anyone catching us chatting about a gunshot victim.” He spoke as if his mouth were full of warm syrup. I wanted to roll around in it like a sugar glutton.
I cleared my throat. “Okay, good to know.” After I’d been quiet for so long, my voice sounded strange to me. “Are you going to tell me what Thorne didn’t want me to hear?”
Costello bent his head nearer, getting a better angle to . . . smell me, or something. But that was a crazy idea. Even when he breathed in loud enough for me to hear it, I knew I was imagining things. “How do you feel about Vermont?”
An awkward snort escaped me—I hadn’t been expecting such a weird question. “Come again?”
“We’re going to head there in the morning.”
“Are you being obtuse on purpose? Why the hell are we going to Vermont?”
His gaze rolled from my eyes to my collarbone. The jacket had fallen open; the zipper could do only so much, it was huge on me. “Someone saw you go into the champagne room at the club.”
My ribs became too tiny for my lungs. “I—someone saw me? Who?”
“Doesn’t matter who. What matters is that we get you out of the city until Darien wakes up and calls off the dogs.”
It sounded good . . . but really, this man could make anything sound good when he spoke just above a whisper. “But why Vermont?”
“There’s a wedding I need to attend. If I bring a date . . .” He trailed off, bouncing his dark eyes from my cleavage to my face. I was sure I was making a very stupid expression; he’d just told me I was supposed to be his date. Tightening his jaw, he turned away, pretending to see out the blinds covering the window. “It won’t look suspicious. You’ll be safe.”
I’d stopped listening when I noticed the cherry-red color of his earlobes. “I’m such an idiot,” I scoffed. “I can’t believe I let you stay outside without giving you your jacket back!” I was very familiar with winter chills. “My nose looks like Rudolph’s after a mere minute of exposure.”
“It’s fine,” he said, and if he’d had more planned, it ended on the tip of his tongue. Without thinking it through I’d lifted my hand up to feel his nearest earlobe. I’d done it partially out of compassion . . . but mostly because of stupid curiosity.
His skin was silky—a hard man like him should not have felt so soft. But he did. And now I knew that intoxicating fact. A very silly “Oh” tumbled out of my open mouth. I yanked my hand back and buried it in my lap like it had a mind of its own and might jump on him again. “S-sorry, uh, that was weird and I know it was weird and . . . and . . . I’m going to go use the restroom!” After tumbling sideways and nearly landing on my ass, I sprinted the short distance into the only privacy-offering space in the motel room. Once I was inside, I twisted the tiny lock and fell back onto the toilet seat cover.
Holy. Fuck.
Pushing my hair off my forehead, I caught a glimpse of myself in the worn-out mirror. I was red and shiny, like someone who’d done something very, very wrong. Why is he getting me so worked up? I asked myself in frustration.
Mirror-Me looked back in disbelief.
“Okay,” I whispered with a tiny laugh. “You’re right, he’s smoldering and sexy and I’ve got a thing about guys with badass written all over them.”
Gina had warned me about this several times. I don’t know why she got to judge me, though; she’d fallen for a few “rough” dudes in her time, to put it mildly.
I heard the mattress rustle outside the door. My heart jolted, but it was my cell phone in my skirt pocket that tore my insides in two. “Son of a!” I gasped, looking at the buzzing screen.
Gina: Are you okay?
Her text filled me with joy. I hunched on the toilet, and my thumbs were a blur.
Me: Sort of! But who cares! Are YOU okay??
Her message came fast.
Gina: I think I’m going to sue that damn club.
That made me grin. Her next text wiped the grin away.
Gina: Where are you?
Glancing at the door, I pictured Costello on the other side. Was he waiting for me? I typed a quick message back: A motel.
Gina: Um. With who?
I stared up at the ceiling and bit the inside of my cheek.
Me: Costello.
Instantly my phone blew up with tons of What? WHAT? WTF? and other such things. I watched her fill my screen, and when she finally stopped, I hesitated with a response. Before I could type, she was at it again.
Gina: So I didn’t dream all that. Scotch, just because he saved you doesn’t mean you had to sleep with him.
Blushing furiously, I came close to throwing my phone in the tub. A gentle rap on the door startled me. Costello asked, “Are you okay in there?”
“I’m fine!” I shot back. “Just . . . cleaning up for bed.” Oh, good, just make it clear you’re assuming you’re spending the night here with him.
He went silent. When I was sure he was gone, I typed into my phone.
Me: I didn’t sleep with him! Nothing happened!
Gina: Okay, well, if you do, tell me how he is. I want all the details. As in get a tuning fork and tell me how his moans vibrate. Quiet types make me wonder.
I crushed the device in my palm and breathed out. The thing is, I was wondering, too. Giving the door a sidelong look, I moved my thumbs.
Me: Are you really okay? You looked so roughed up.
Gina: Doctor says I’m fine and I feel fine. They gave me a ton of drugs . . . I don’t think this place is legal, to put it nicely.
Me: Is Darien there, too?
Gina: Not sure. Haven’t seen anyone I know but Thorne. Gave him a piece of my mind—said I’d sue him, don’t think he believed me. Asshole, as if this isn’t partly his fault for letting that dick in the club . . . I doubt I need to say it, but thanks for helping out. I’m not sure I’d be as pretty as a corpse.
She sent a little heart. My belly was flipping too much to let her take the seriousness out of her message with emoji.
Me: I shouldn’t have let you go off with him.
Gina: Please. Like you could have stopped me. Besides, I’m fine. You’ve always been my guardian angel.
She’d called me that before, back when I could pretend the club was just a phase in Gina’s life.
She’d had a lot of regulars when she began. The customers loved her energy, the way she seemed to love her job. But one of them turned out to be unhinged. One night he’d cornered her in the parking lot, demanding she see him outside of work. I’d spotted him trying to pull her into his car—and I’d jumped into action.
Luckily, the guy was a coward. With me and Gina both shouting at him, he’d given up and driven off. I could still recall the way my heart had pounded . . . how I’d been convinced that this was it, Gina would see the light and quit the club. We’d both get our lives back on track.
Sitting in her car as we recovered, I’d asked her if she was okay. “Of course,” she’d laughed. “I have to be. That guy won’t be the worst person I meet here.”
“Gina, if you quit dancing, you won’t have to meet men like that at all.”
She’d smiled at me. “Why would I quit? I get to be onstage, people treat me like a star, and I get to spend time with you. You’re my best friend, my guardian angel. What more could I want than this?”
Remembering that night, I shivered in the present and clutched the phone. Gina was the sister I’d never had. She’d struggled with a rough home, and my mother and father and I had welcomed her into ours anytime she needed it. I couldn’t count all the nights she’d slept over. We weren’t blood, but we were as good as you could get otherwise.
Gina had been through enough pain in her life. I’d promised myself I’d never let her be hurt again. But she did get hurt, I reminded myself. I let it happen. And now we were both in danger.
Me: Listen, you need to stay low and not tell anyone about tonight.
Gina: As if I would. I’m not that stupid.
Me: I’m going to have to vanish for a little while, too. It looks bad for me. Real bad.
Gina: You’ll come out of this sparkling.
That made me swell up with more memories. When we were in the fifth grade, Gina and I had to do a project on the solar system. We’d spent all night on it, thinking we were super clever for making the planets out of day-old doughnuts my mom had left over from the bakery.
After Gina went home, I’d found my inner genius and decided to cover the whole thing in glitter. It looked great—but I’d made the crucial mistake of forgetting that glitter is the herpes of crafts, and once I picked up the display, I’d covered myself in sparkles.
And then I’d covered the bus.
And my homeroom.
And every kid who got too close in the hallway.
Gina had dubbed me the Sparkle Queen, hammering it home when we landed an A in science class, in spite of how much every teacher and student hated me for that damn project.
But she’d been right. I’d come out sparkling.
Me: Love you.
Gina: Luv ya, too, babe. Can you tell me where you’ll be hiding?
Pulling my knees into the jacket, I hunched on the toilet. Her question made me think about what Costello had said before I’d flipped out and hid in the bathroom. I’m supposed to be his date . . . but who’s getting married? It was hard to picture a guy like Costello at a wedding—though he probably rocked the suit look.
Me: Vermont.
Gina: Bring me back some maple syrup.
Still smiling, I put my phone in my skirt pocket. Standing at the sink, I quickly splashed my face. My cheeks dripped, and as I looked closer, I saw there were a few dots of dried blood on the ends of my hair.
My eyes shot to the shower. Well, I did tell him I was cleaning up.
I’d probably showered for too long—the mirror was solid white from steam—but the burning water had been soothing. I wrapped my hair in a towel, dried off, and slipped regretfully back into my clothes from earlier.
Snapping my bra on, I stared at Costello’s jacket on the doorknob. Should I wear it? Biting my lip, I crossed my arms. It’s that or a towel. Or nothing. Wouldn’t that be a sight? Gina might have the balls to do something so over-the-top, but I wasn’t sure I did.
Sighing, I brushed my fingers over the jacket’s leather sleeve. Okay, be honest, you want to wear it again. It wasn’t my fault I enjoyed it; it was warm and expensive and it smelled so damn good.
I scooped it up and zipped it into place. Instantly I felt better . . . safer? Was that the word? It’s because it belongs to the guy a few feet away who promised to protect me. It was really weird to think about Costello Badd as a good guy—but for now he’d shown he was.
I hoped that remained true.
“Hey,” I said, stepping into the colder air of the main room. He was reclining on the bed, somehow looking as if he belonged on the green-and-gold blankets that probably cost less than the socks on his feet.
I had a feeling he could be comfortable anywhere, if he wanted to.
His eyes darted to me. “You showered.”
Placing my palm on the towel on my head so it wouldn’t fall off, I nodded. “Kind of needed it.”
His arms unfurled from behind his head. He swung his knees over, then stood and approached me. The steam was at my back, but the closer he got to my front, the more I felt like that was where all the heat in the world was coming from. “Was it hot?” he asked.
I blinked. “Hwa?”
“The water. Was it hot?”
“Oh, uh, yeah.” I stood aside so he could pass. “I didn’t use it all up, I don’t think.”
He bobbed his head once and closed the door without another word. I was left alone in that tiny room with nothing but a bed and a TV from the early eighties. There was silence; then the shower hissed to life. I heard it through the walls, realizing this motel lacked soundproofing. You can hear everything, I thought in surprise.
Costello’s belt buckle jingled. Then came the cloth-rustle of his shirt . . . his shoes . . . his pants. I could hear him stripping down. Burning with uncertain excitement, I hovered by the bathroom door. I’m being a megacreep. A real weirdo. In spite of my own insults I still stood there for way too long.
It wasn’t until I heard the shower curtain sliding on the porcelain, then Costello’s thick groan of pleasure as the hot water rained on him, that I backed away. I moved so fast I half fell onto the bed when I hit it with the backs of my knees.
Sitting heavily, I squeezed the blanket under me. “Dammit,” I whispered. Maybe I should have taken a cold shower instead.
Settling onto the bed, I turned my cheek into the rough pillows. They were worn out, probably needed a good washing, but when I inhaled . . . I smelled him. Costello had been resting here, on a bed that was barely big enough for two people.
Not that it needed to be big enough for two.
It wasn’t like we were going to do anything.
Not one bit.
Curling up, I hugged my knees and yawned. Maybe I should sleep on the floor. I AM acting like a dog, after all. But it’s not my fault, I thought through my growing sleep fog. He just looks . . . and smells . . . so good . . .
There was a metallic click. My eyelashes fluttered as I rolled over enough to glance at the bathroom. I’d been dozing, but now I was hyperawake.
Costello was standing within arm’s reach, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. I’d imagined his body would look good naked, but I’d been wrong.
It looked fucking amazing.
Black and red ink swirled over the hard muscles of his chest. There were stars, birds, writing, all sorts of symbols. I couldn’t help but notice the crisp drawing of a crown on the right side of his rib cage. The closer I looked, the more I noticed other things, too:
Scars. So many scars.
He was a mural of delicious art and old wounds, a landscape I wanted to explore. Especially the half of him hidden by the towel.
His hair was still damp; a droplet coasted down his forehead and over the bridge of his nose. There was a swatch of raised goose bumps on each of his forearms. When I sat up, my own towel tumbling free from my hair, I experienced the chill in the air and understood.
Of course, he’s got to be cold in just his towel! Standing up so fast it left me disoriented, I said, “I’m sorry! I keep forgetting we’re in the same boat with no clean clothes. Here, take this back, you need it more than I do.” I started to tug the jacket zipper down.
Like an unexpected flood ready to drown and destroy, he was on me. He swept up my wrists in hands that were still warm from the shower. “It’s fine,” he said, his voice oddly rattled. “Keep it on. I don’t need it.”
Too many fuzzy emotions were ruling my body. Costello made my senses explode . . . my brain melt. Everything in me was screaming to just get away from him before I did something stupid.
“Really,” I said, fighting him—trying to rip the jacket off. “You should have it!”
“Slow down.” His strong hands gripped me tighter. “You have nothing else to wear!”
“I’ll wrap myself in a sheet!” I grunted, struggling to pull down the zipper while he kept tugging it up my neck. “Just—let me—ah!” I’d pulled us off balance. Together we landed on the mattress, his weight solid on top of me.
His muscles flexed, but he didn’t budge. I was probably shaking the whole motel with my anxiety. Could he feel my pulse? I was positive he could. But what finally got through my cotton-strangled brain . . .
Was how I could feel his pulse.
It moved through his arms to where his palms were cupping my shoulders. His breath was short and sharp where it was drying my damp hair. The blue in Costello’s eyes had become the color of vodka in a frosted glass. Chilly on the surface . . . scorching in the center. “I’m telling you,” he said thickly, “I don’t need it. I’m plenty warm.”
I came close to spilling one of my many secrets: I am, too.
He glanced down at where the zipper had split apart. The tops of my breasts heaved in plain sight, nearly touching his naked chest. “How funny,” he said, quieter than before. “Earlier tonight I was trying to strip you. Now you’re desperate to get yourself naked in front of me.”
He didn’t need to reference earlier . . . I was already reliving it. I’d witnessed this hunger in his stare when I’d dared him with my brazen ass-to-dick grind attack. At that time Thorne had intervened. Who would stop us now?
The Costello I’d seen from a distance had always been so serious. A buttoned-up man who never lingered, never gave me a second look. The oldest son of the Badds had been a man with nothing but business in his heart.
And I’d gone and undone all of that.