Page 79 of Bourbon and Lies

As I rest on the desk, he wipes up his mess with a scarf that was hung on the back of Hadley’s door—hopefully, it wasn’t something she’ll be looking for later. Bending over, his knees crack, as he pulls my bottoms back up my legs. He leaves a path of kisses along my inner thigh as he does, and it shouldn’t make me want more. I should feel sated, but in reality, he’s onlyperked up my appetite. And the next words out of his mouth don’t help matters.

“What if I don’t want to go back to the party and watch you serve anyone else tonight? What if I’d rather just spend the rest of the night figuring out all the ways I can serve you?”

I peer back and watch as he trails his hands back up my body again. Wrapping my arms around his shoulders, I play with the hair along the nape of his neck. The place he loves to touch whenever he’s uncomfortable or thinking.His tell.He leans into me, dragging his nose along my jaw, and I melt into the way this feels. Touching him this way and feeling how it softens him for me.

Kissing me once more, he looks at me like he has so much more to say. And I want to hear all of it.

“Take me home, cowboy.”

Chapter 34

Laney

Three pictures.That’s all I have to remember my mother. Remember isn’t the right word...Maybe it’s to memorialize the fact that I had one, but I never knew her. I stare at the way she smiled at my dad, and the way she looked so happy in her makeshift wedding dress, The Las Vegas Chapel in the background and the champagne bottle in her hand. I always thought it was cheap and impulsive, but after spending so much time and seeing the money poured into the weddings I plan, I wonder if they got it right. Love each other and make a promise. She couldn’t keep her side of it, but my dad would tell me the best part of loving my mother was that he got me. Wiping away my tears, I think about him and how disgusted I am at myself for what just happened.

I put the photos back into the wooden box and run my fingers over the magnet from Disney World, the photo strip of us that we took on the boardwalk after celebrating the last day of 7th grade, and the tiny Buddha he said would bring me luckwhen we spent the day in Chinatown, wandering and eating our way down Pell Street. Tiny trinkets and pieces of paper are the only things in the entire storage unit that mean anything to me.

“Somebody—”

It’s the only word I hear before the gut-wrenching scream that carries and echoes down the hall. I didn’t know that I was this kind of person. That if it came down to something or someone in danger, if I would fight or flight. But I don’t think. I run out of the unit so fast, but instead of away, I run toward the screaming. I leave my phone behind. My purse and wallet. I simply run to help with whatever’s happening and to whom. When I turn the brightly lit corner and see the blood dripping down her neck, the torn, mutilated skin, and the way tears streak down her dirty face, I stop with my heart in my throat, but she doesn’t. I don’t panic. An instant need to help, find the problem, and fix it takes over me.

“Please! Oh god, please get me out of here. We need to leave!”

I glance behind her and see nothing. When I turn, I catch sight of the fire alarm. I lift the plastic cover and pull down. But nothing happens. There isn’t a blaring alarm or ringing, only a light that flashes above the exits. Why is there no alarm?

That’s when I hear it. Hear him. “You’re mine, pretty thief.”

I suck in a breath, and it feels like a weight sitting heavy on my chest. I start coughing as soon as my eyes open. My back, underneath my boobs, and along my upper lip are all damp with sweat. It’s the warm hand on my forearm that grounds me. It’s the one that helped wake me. I blink away the remnants of the nightmare. Small pieces of it are different from the reality of what happened, but it still amplifies my anxiety. I know that’s not what he said, but hearing that voice has my stomach in knots.

Maybe it was seeing Phillip again that stirred things up. Even though Grant made sure Phillip wouldn't be a problem. If I had to guess, it didn’t take much convincing if Grant threatened to blow up the inflated life that Phillip had built in Manhattan. It would be enough to keep him away and quiet.

But my dreams aren’t about Phillip. They’re about everything that happened in that storage facilityafterPhillip. I’ve woken up sweating and unsettled, remembering pieces of a nightmare, every night for the last week. And I’ve had enough. I’m not even upset anymore; I’m just pissed. I hate having to relive these feelings, the anxiousness, the adrenaline of being chased, the seemingly endless what ifs. I look around the room. The drapes are drawn closed, the low hum of central air keeping the temperature cool despite my overheated body.

“You’re okay. It was just a bad dream,” Grant says softly, rubbing small circles along the top of my hand. He doesn’t know what they’re about, but he still comforts me.

I sit up and scrub my hands over my face. The bed shifts and Julep jumps up, sitting on alert at the foot of the bed. “I’m okay, sweet girl,” I say and wiggle my fingers for her to come closer.

Grant leans up from lying on his stomach and kisses my arm. “Want to talk about it?”

“Not really. I’m—” I don’t know what I am. My body buzzes with something that doesn’t feel right. An uneasiness that I’d like to ignore.

In his morning low gravel, he answers for me. “Not okay?”

I shake my head no. He kisses where he was just soothing on my hand.

“How about I show you what I do when I’m not okay?” He gets up before I can respond, his black boxer briefs molded to his delicious ass.

I roll my lips to hold back a smile as I check out just how handsome this man is, especially in the morning. Bite-my-fist level attractive. “Does it involve you being naked in your kitchen?”

He throws a t-shirt at my face. “Get dressed and meet me down in my workspace.”

“Hit it again.”

Almost an hour later, and I’m out of breath. It feels good to throw my amped-up energy at a heavy bag. After I brushed my teeth and opted for a sports bra and shorts instead of one of his t-shirts, he had hand wraps and a pair of boxing gloves waiting for me.

I hit the bag again.

I’m still in a mood. Pissed off and working through it, but pissed off nonetheless. I had helped someone, and any good feelings associated with that were washed out by having to leave everything I had known. And I still haven’t told Grant all of it. Maybe it’s more about keeping this from him than Phillip showing up.

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