Page 89 of Wicked Beautiful (Wicked Games 1)
Connor’s dark brows pull together. “Wait. Victoria Price? How do I know that name?”
I chug the final few swallows of scotch. It burns all the way down. “Bitches Do Better. Sound familiar?”
After a beat, Connor says, “You’re fuckin’ kidding me, brother.”
I run a hand through my hair. “No, brother, I am not.”
He stares at my profile, and then—in his deep, hearty baritone—starts to laugh.
I growl, “Shut up, asshole.”
“You? The guy who goes through more tail in a week than he does underwear? You’re in love with the woman who makes a velociraptor look like a family pet?”
“I never said I was in love with her!”
Connor stops laughing. “Uh-huh. And denial isn’t just a river in Egypt.”
I curse under my breath and pour myself another two fingers of scotch.
After watching me carefully for another few seconds, Connor turns back to the view. “All right. Tell me what you got.”
I start at the beginning, from the moment Victoria walked into Xengu and sent me a death glare the likes of which I’d never seen, up to this morning and the crooked painting. Connor doesn’t think it adds up to much and tells me so.
“Don’t get your panties in a wad when I say this about your girlfriend, brother, but she’s a professional bitch. Famous for it. Made a career out of it. Acting batshit crazy is like the golden rule for bitches.”
“She also lies. About everything.”
He shrugs. “She’s a fuckin’ broad. Show me a broad who doesn’t lie to a man and I’ll show you another man. What else you got?”
I shake my head. “That’s it.”
“That’s it? Seriously? You called me up here for that?”
I close my eyes, exhaling. “There is something else. But you’ll think I’m crazy.”
“I highly doubt it. Try me.”
It takes me a moment to gather my thoughts. Then I open my eyes and look at my old friend. “I think I know her somehow. I think I might have met her somewhere before, but I have no idea where, or when. She just feels so…familiar.”
He stares at me. “What, like in a past life?”
“Jesus. Forget it. Forget I said anything. Maybe you’re right. Maybe I am in love with her and I’m trying to come up with any excuse to fuck it up, because that’s what I always do with women. Fuck things up.”
Connor clasps a hand on my shoulder. His voice drops. “Easy, brother. Don’t start with that guilt shit again. What’s past is just that: past.”
I shrug off his hand. He always tells me not to feel guilt over what’s in the past, but he doesn’t know the whole story. I never told him what happened that night, the real reason I wanted to die.
If he knew the whole story, he definitely wouldn’t be telling me not to feel guilty.
Unable to stand still any longer, I turn away and walk to the opposite side of the room. Connor watches me with that stillness he has, not a muscle moving but his entire body giving off a sense of coiled readiness, of aggressive action held in check. He’s watched me like this so many times I’ve lost count.
It took a long time after we met for him to trust that I wasn’t going to do anything stupid to try to hurt myself.
He doesn’t know this, but one day I just decided it would be much better punishment for me if I lived.
“So I’ll look into her then, yeah?” says Connor, still watching me from across the room. “See what I come up with. You need eyes and ears in her house?”
“No. Just see if…see if there’s anything strange in her background. Any connection between us…I don’t know. I’m not sure what we’re looking for.” I think of my office door, cracked open a few inches. “And put a lock on my office door, same type you’ve got on the safe.”
