Page 49 of Beneath the Burn

The room broke out in maelstrom of tumbling bodies, save for Charlee, who refused to participate in a wrestling match of male egos. But maybe she could nullify it. “I’m not married. We’re not together.”

Jay swung an arm at Nathan’s head. His fist overshot and cracked the leg of a baroque table. The misfire seemed to surprise him, and he sprung from the floor. Shuffling backward, he edged the room. His face transformed from rage to despair and back to rage as he looked from her to Nathan.

“Don’t do anything crazy.” Laz held up his hands, circling him. “Think of Charlee, man.”

“Don’t bring me into this. I’m trying to stay the hell away from crazy.” She was brimming with enough of it herself because all she wanted to do was kiss that stricken look off Jay’s face. “Is cocaine doing this to him?”

Laz nodded. “He’s hardcore crashing. He’ll be restless and bad-tempered for a couple hours.”

She exhaled a fog of frustration. Dammit, she needed to talk to him.

“Great.” Nathan rubbed his jaw and rolled back on his heels in a squat. “Maybe we should move him to the punching bag in the gym.”

Jay hissed through clenched teeth, his eyes aflame and locked on Nathan.

Nathan climbed to his feet. “Don’t look at me like that, motherfucker. Stop swinging at me, and I’ll stop hitting you.”

“What happened to all the voicemails?” Jay ground out as he looked between her and Nathan. “I called for two months.”

Voicemails? Her head throbbed. “What voicemails?” And why did Nathan’s face slack?

Nathan raked a hand through his hair. “I kept the landline number active and picked up the messages. It was the easiest way for me to keep track of you. To make sure you weren’t going to interfere or give away Charlee’s identity. I didn’t want to engage you, but when you placed that call to my PI firm, I made the decision to lie about her death. A guaranteed solution to your relentless inquiries.”

He called her for two months? She glared at Nathan. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Jay charged him. They collided in the doorway and rolled through the foyer, punching and grunting.

“Laz,” she shouted as he ran after them.

He skidded through the door and looked back at her.

“Tell him we’re not married. We’re not together like that at all. If he’ll even listen at this point.”

Lines formed around his gaping mouth. “You’re not?”

She shook her head. “Hank and Maylynn McGraw were aliases.”

He slapped a palm on his forehead. “Aw shit. I just assumed the marriage was real. You slept—”

Glass shattered. The walls thumped and vibrated. More breaking glass.

“Oh shit. The dining room.” Laz took off.

Where were the guards? Was it not one of their jobs to breakup fighting? She trailed him through the foyer and passed a half-awake Wil Sima, scratching his ass in his open doorway.

He yawned. “Let me guess. Jay’s crashing?”

Laz didn’t stop to answer him, so she did. “Yeah.”

Plaid pajama pants sagged from his narrow hips, and he blew a curl off his boyish face. “You’re the foxy lady from the restaurant. That sucks.”

“I’ll try not to take offense to that.”

“No, it’s just that I really wanted to win that bet.”

She patted his cheek. Wow. Wil was standing right in front of her in his pajamas. “No dates with Laz. I’m an old friend of Jay’s. I think that means you won the bet.”

Shouts erupted down the hall, and the crystal teardrops in the chandelier overhead clinked on their gold hoops.

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