Emotionally Compromised (Emotionally Compromised Series) (32 page)

Happy Beginnings & Terrible Endings

ALEX TURNER

I trail behind Jeremy as he leads me toward the exit. Even from
behind, I delight in looking at his broad frame, and the way his tuxedo ripples from side to side with every stride. I pull my hand away from his, only because I stretch for a yawn as we step outside. Immediately, I curl my hands to my chest. The breeze that skims over my skin is bitter cold.

Ding
. Dong. Ding.
A bellowing bell distracts me from the cold in the crisp night as partygoers wait in line behind us for their cars to be dropped off by the hard-working valet. Not having the energy to fiddle around for my phone, I listen to the rings from a nearby church or tower, and realize it has to be hitting midnight. I look down at my aching feet in my expensive high heels and wonder—more like wish—I would turn back into Cinderella, and for a moment, the thought of magically switching to my jeans and leather jacket seems welcome. Dresses never really were my thing.

A lazy smirk etches across my face. I am not glamorous, and do not live for nights like this. If Jeremy wants a Barbie, he is barking up the wrong tree
.

As if on cue,
Jeremy's strong arms wrap around me from behind, and my tired grin remerges with the warm embrace. A few glasses of wine, to be sure, fuel the grin, but I welcome the ease with which it appears. I bask in the warm, public display of affection as I tilt my head to the side, giving him better access to my neck. He nuzzles under my ear, taking a deep breath and kissing me a few times. More powerful than the crisp breeze, it sends wonderful chills down my spine.

My lids feel heavy as I lean against him for support. His embrace tightens at my surrender, and I wonder why I was able to give it to him so willingly.

His breath is warm on my neck as he whispers, "Are you tired, babe?"

"Hmm."

I feel him grinning. "It's been an exhausting night, then? I was hoping we could go for round two."

A tight giggle escapes my lips as I notice the town car pulling up. "Well, someone had promised me that after their speech they wanted to
—and I am paraphrasing here, Mr. Hunt—get the hell out of here. But that was, what? Three hours ago?"

With him flush against me, I can feel the bass of his laugh against my back. "I did say that, didn't I?"

The valet opens the town car's door. I slip out of Jeremy's grasp as he tips the valet a large bill, and I remember the day Jeremy gave a cab driver an obscene amount of money to take me anywhere I needed to go, no matter how hard I tried to protest. Was that only a little over a week ago? It feels like I've known Jeremy much longer.

I watch his tall, lean frame gracefully slide
in beside me, and the door closes behind him, finally cutting off the chatter of the throngs of people.

"Well, Mr. Hunt, did you really have to talk to every single person tonight?"
I let out another yawn.

"You have your job, and I have mine
." He shrugs.

The bastard's right, you
know.
My subconscious is quick to chime in before I retort with something snarky.
Considering the shit he has put up with for you, the least you could do is suffer a night in four-inch heels and a dress.

My subconscious makes me smile, because for once
, she is not only right, but also makes me think,
and I would do so much more for him, wouldn't I?

"Earth to Alex! Are you that tired?"

I shake my head, realizing I must be spacier than usual. "Sorry, I was thinking." Another yawn is quick to appear.

Jeremy grabs my hand and tugs me toward him. I don't even want to play with resisting
. I scoot into the perfect place against him as he wraps his arm around me.

"What were you thinking?" He places a kiss
on top of my head.

I'm in a tired stupor, and inhale, enjoying his
clean scent. "You, of course. You plague my mind most moments."

I hadn't even realized my eyes w
ere closed until they open when his hand tugs at my chin, lazily turning my head upward to look at him. My eyes widen as they collide with his sparkling blues that twinkle with every passing streetlamp.

"I'd hate to think I am like a plague," he quips.
His adorable tone ignites like a firecracker of warmth in my gut, and swiftly moves through each limb, and I love every goose bump that rises at the feeling.

M
ost of the evening felt normal. I didn't hear another peep from Derek, and I pretended to be the perfect date, chatting with strangers for Jeremy's sake. What makes it all worth it is the smile I see now. Every time he introduced me, he'd always turn to me with that warm, grateful, appreciative expression. My heart thuds as I realize I adore him.

What have I gotten myself into?

In the scattered darkness, I take in his angular features, pointed nose, and beautifully sculpted mouth. In a daze I think,
I want that mouth, and he's mine. I can have that mouth whenever I damn-well please.
I drag my hand up his torso and over his chest. I can feel his breath hitch in his throat at my touch.
Oh, what I can do to him, and oh, what he does to me.

I cup his jaw and rub my thumb over his stubble, loving the feeling under my fingertips. "Hmm, maybe a good plague
," I reply.

He brings his hand up to mine, and he leans into my touch. "Didn't know there was such a thing as a good plague, Miss Turner. You must be tired."

I chuckle and close the distance between our faces. In that moment, I understand what he meant about not wanting to share me. Until my lips touched his, I didn't realize how much I missed him.

I feel drunk with a combination of exhaustion and with
how I feel for him, and apparently, after midnight, I have no power over my emotional filter. "I missed you so much."

"I don't think I will ever tire of hearing you say things like that. It looks like I'm getting you right where I want you, Miss Turner."

Because I'm tired and too infatuated with him to care, I decide I don't have it in me to argue. Remembering something, I pull away.

"What is it, babe?"

Trying to avoid the embarrassment and guilt from earlier, I reply, "Excuse me."

I don't have the patience to get permission. As he opens his mouth to speak, I put my hand to his mouth, and stick my finger inside. I am trying to work through my lethargy and focus, and hold back a
laugh at his gargled gasp. I retrieve the molar mic, and tuck it into my clutch, along with my earpiece.

I smile at Jeremy again, knowing I don't have to worry about any inappropriate
slip-ups.
Thankfully, I remembered this time.

"That's better," I whisper, placing a chaste kiss on his lips.

"You could have asked, you know?"

I shrug, feeling more comfortable than I ever have with him, letting him see the more relaxed me. "I'm not really one to ask for things."

His wolfish grin is back, and I take it as approval of my behavior. "What a romantic you are, Miss Turner."

Before I can give him a snarky mouthful, his lips crash into mine. He knows me too well.

MARCUS GIBBS

I lean back against my couch with a satiated grin. My shirt and jacket were tossed aside long ago, and I watch Adessa tuck my dick back into my pants as she wipes the corners of her mouth.

She has been more than attentive since we got back to my apartment. After doing a couple lines, she assaulted me, immediately going for the button on my pants. At
first, I wasn't sure, but now I am pleased.

I can feel the numbing drip at the back of my throat, but the feeling dips all the way down to the base of my spine. Combine that with blowing a load, and I'd say I
could conquer the world, or hell, destroy
it.

Adessa always seems to make herself comfortable wherever she goes, which means she does whatever she damn
wants.

I didn't realize she had left the room until I see her slinking back into my living room with a smug look. I could go for a cigarette right about now.

Adessa has changed to a distracting, clingy tank top and shorts. Doesn't she know it's getting cold in Boston? But who am I to argue? She sits close beside me, and offers me another line of my drugs.

I think for a moment
that maybe it isn't such a good idea, but when I do, a plummeting sense of loss hits my core. I don't know where it's coming from, nor do I want to find out. Unfortunately, or fortunately, it does nothing but further my want for the crystal powder.

I button my dress pants back up, and then lean over my table with the straw she offered me. After one quick
inhale, the despair dissipates and that conquering feeling returns. The corners of my mouth twitch upward. I toss the straw back onto the table, and collapse onto the couch.

W
ith that last hit, my skin feels like it's on fire even though fall is creeping up on us, and I am shirtless. I feel powerful.
How much blow did I do?

I watch Adessa do another line as well, and I lie to myself, thinking that maybe she isn't half bad. My eyes move to the pistol that used to reside in her purse, but now seems to have taken permanent r
esidence on my coffee table. Its been pushed off to the side, teetering on the edge, among a stack of unread magazines, like any other ordinary item. However, that isn't an ordinary item, and she isn't an ordinary girl.

"When will the product be ready for shipment?"

I don't budge, but I feel my brows tense at the question.
Business? Now?

Instead of protesting, fearful I will lose my high, I humor the question, hoping the conversation will be brief. "This week, probably by Wednesday. It could be ready already, but I'd like to run a few more tests to verify it."

"Good." A smile slithers across her face, and I wonder if she is eager to get out of this town, and away from me. This weird pang thrums through my body at the thought.
I want her gone too, don't I?

She leans back onto the couch, perching her head on her hand, eyeing me like a meal.
Does she ever get tired?
"So, what are you going to do about Jeremy Hunt?"

Now
this question throws me for a loop. I sit up straight and find my arms acting of their own accord, pointing dramatically from myself to her. "What am I going to do? Don't you mean, what are you going to do about Jeremy?"

I notice her eyes twitch at my question
, and she leans back to stare up at me. "Well, Marcus, you could take care of it yourself if you wanted to."

I shake my head, dumbfounded at her statement. "You hinted at that earlier. Are you nuts?"

I notice her jaw clench, but she keeps the anger from her eyes. "It's easy."

I twist my body to face her. "You seem experienced."

She bites down on her bottom lip. "I am." Her response throws me. My eyebrows shoot upward. "You hate him, don't you?"

I look away to run an exasperated hand through my hair. "Of course I do. Now, that isn't hard to figure out."

"Then why not take care of it yourself? You have the drive."

It sounds like she's trying to compliment me. "I don't know how to kill anyone. That's why I paid someone to do it."

"Killing is not that complicated, and if you have me to guide you, the disposal will be the easy part. This doesn't have to be messy. I've done it a handful of times." Her eyes glitter as if recalling a fond memory.

I shift uncomfortably. "I'm frustrated with this."

"As am I, which is why it's better to take care of it yourself."

"I don't want his blood on my hands."

"Oh, and paying someone else to do it is supposed to make you feel better? I told you—no mess."

I roll my head, stretching my neck muscles, and ask, "Well, how would you do it?"

She scoots an inch closer. I can smell her floral perfume, and with my current high, it's pungent scent slams into my senses, entrancing me.

"Simple. You could poison him.
I mean you already have the product. All we would need to do is call a removal service." Laughter erupts from her lips as if she's just made a joke.

Although u
ncomfortable with the topic, and her, I smile back and roll the suggestion in my head. "Hmm."

"I'll pay you double for it."

Her tone is harsh, and I perk up at her words, even more curious than before. "Sounds like you want him dead too."

Her onyx eyes tense as she analyzes my features. "I wouldn't say he is a priority, but it would be nice to have him out of the picture
."

I'm tempted to ask her what she means, but I decide against it. "I can't believe we're talking about this."