The Token 8: Kiki: A Billionaire Dark Romantic Suspense (7 page)

Need.

Mick's engine ticks as it cools. He sets his helmet on the empty backseat.

“How's Faren?” I ask.

Mick smirks. “Family bliss, Chet.”

“Ah, right.” I wink. Though I know he's sincere, it's hard to imagine giving up the entire fairer sex for one.

My mind latches onto Kandace, but I shove her away, locking her safely into her box.

Mick glances at me. He's very astute. “How did it go with Kiki?”

She wears my teeth marks.
“Fine. I think we've come to an... arrangement.”

Mick's eyes widen. “Really? Because she told Faren she wasn't interested.”

I smile, still feeling her underneath my hands and around my cock. “No. I think we'll move slowly and go from there.”

Or hard and fast.

Mick smirks. “Now why do I get the feeling you’re holding out on me?”

I shrug. “I think she's more than I bargained for.”

Mick shakes his head, his strong hands pegging his hips. He folds his arms across his chest. “Better than Chloe.”

“Yes, that. Apologies. However”—I meet Mick's cool gaze—“she has her uses.”

“Just not in front of Faren. That whole thing, all the put-downs, I could hardly keep from hitting her. If she'd been a guy, she'd been on the floor and out for the count.”

He studies my expression and laughs. “What?”

“She has been punished.”

There is no one around to hear what I say. My staff understands discretion.

Mick's voice goes low regardless.

“God…” He plows his hand through his hair. “Are you still doing the ka-
ching
!” Mick pantomimes snapping a whip.

“I don't use whips, though it's an excellent suggestion. Not that I need any help with creativity.”

Mick grunts. “I am not discussing your sex life.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Can't you just fuck normally?”

“That's discussing it.”

Mick jumps off his bike, stomping away and jams his helmet back on his head. “I don't want Kiki messed with.”

I follow him like a prowling cat. “I am not messing with Kandace.”

Our gazes lock.

“That's what scares the shit out of me,” Mick says. “I know how serious you are, how driven. You set your sights on something, and watch out.”

I cross my arms, the leather of my jacket crinkling. “True. So why do I feel like you're cautioning me?”

“Thorn—”

“Oh please. That thug?”

Mick leans forward, dangerously close to putting a finger on my chest.

Neither of us want that. It cannot end well. We're almost like siblings, and we can sometimes fight like them too.

“Thorn is
not
a thug. He's a cop.”

I shrug, and he frowns, going on. “And you're the one who got into it with him at the Black Rose last year. I’m amazed Kiki will date you.”

“I wouldn't call it dating.”

“Fuck,” Mick says in dismay, his hands clenching into fists.

“That
is
more like it.”

“Oh my God. Don't tell me you're boning my wife's best friend. It will so have my ass in the dog house if you use Kiki.” His eyes search my face. “Screw over Chloe. That bitch? She's deserving.”

I smirk, throwing up my palms in a truce gesture. “She has already received much of what she deserves.”

Mick holds up a palm. “Don't. God, just don't tell me, man.”

My mouth comes together. I plant my legs far apart.

The silence stretches between us.

When nothing more is said, I straddle my bike and start it. “Let's cruise.”

“It won't solve things,” Mick says.

My eyebrow hikes. “Some things don't need to be solved, Jared.”

He stills at my use of his real name, his lips thinning into a hard line. “Fine. But if I find out you're banging Kiki for the fun of it like one of those rich whores, I'm going to come unhinged.”

I laugh.

“Now, Mick, you must know by now I don't do anything unless there's fun involved.”

Mick glares at me and turns on his engine, jamming his booted foot on the shining chrome peg. “That's what I was afraid of.”

He gives a hard throttle to the engine and roars off. The pipes of his Harley blare his presence far and wide.

I smoothly pull out after him. My Honda responds like a bullet without a mark, finding his trail on the winding asphalt like a crack in glass.

My mind is usually free to detach when I ride, with nothing but blurred scenery and bitingly chilled air present.

But not this ride. One face batters the inside of my head, one body.

Kandace.

Keeping my mandatory three days of silence before I feast on her again will be all I can manage. I want more pieces of her for myself.

I shift on my seat, my dick as hard as one of the pistons inside the machine I use to outrun my mistake.

I will not allow emotions to come into play.

Kandace meets a need I've had since I was very young—perfectly— and that is all.

Mick pulls away, tramping the speed limit. My unconcern for rules exceeds his, and I pass him, taking the lead.

It's where I like to be.

Kiki

Me:
OMG, Faren
,
girl
—
we need to talk

A full minute passes as I tap my foot.

Faren:
What's going on?

Me:
No E.

Faren:
Chet?

Smart chickadee.

Me:
Yes.

Faren:
What?

Me:
N
ot on text.

Faren:
I need to know you're okay. Snap chat me.

I step away from my cell and take a quick selfie with my middle finger raised.

I wait a few seconds.

An image comes back of Faren, all Casper the Ghost skin and fiery hair.

She's smiling.

Faren:
Nice. I'll meet you.

Me:
Okay. Steelhead, ʼkay?

Faren:
Kk.

*

My foot swings, an extension of my tension.

Faren breezes through the door, flicking her slicker's hood away from her bright hair.

She scans the 1950s diner seats, not seeing me in the back-of-the-bus booth yet. The high windows reflect the exterior neon and wet pavement inside the diner like spilt rainbows against the light-hued tile. Pools of color collect at Faren's feet.

She smiles when she sees me, giving an enthusiastic wave.

A lump lodges in my throat, and I'm not sure why I feel like crying. That's not like me. I've been through some horrible shit, and screwing Chet, even with all his dominant stuff, doesn't compare to that.

I consented to him.

I didn't consent to the others.

Faren's footfalls slow as she nears the table. “What is it, Kik?”

“Sit down,” I say in a low voice.

She sets her purse on the bench seat and slides inside the booth. She wears a deep navy sweater that shows off her light gray eyes like flakes of captured dirty snowflakes.

Faren's hands creep across the table, and I clasp them.

My ankle no longer kicks underneath the table.

“God, Kiki, you're scaring me. Tell me what it is.”

“How's Shane?” I ask. Now that she's here, I'm not sure I can barf out what needs telling.

She straightens, squeezing my hands. “He's fine. Mick's watching him.”

I inhale deeply, the air burning my lungs. It always feels that way when I’m trying not to cry. “I fucked Chet.”

Faren's shoulders slump. “God, I thought you were going to tell me your mom—well, something bad happened.”

“It
is
bad.”

Faren shakes her head, lets my hands go, and gives them a solid pat. “Nope. He's a solid guy. He and Mick go way back.”

My eyes rise to meet hers. “He's not what you think.”

Faren's caramel-colored eyebrow cocks. “What do you—I mean”—she gives a small laugh—“until you, I can only guess at his crappy taste in girls. I had the misfortune of meeting Chloe.”

My smile feels tight. “Here it is, and listen close, because I'm kinda freaking here.”

Faren leans back, crossing her arms.

The waitress comes, takes a look at our expressions, and hesitates.

“Coffee with cream,” I say before she can ask.

“Coffee?” Faren brays like a donkey.

I nod.

“It must be a thing,” she says.

“It is.”

Faren smiles at the waitress. “I'll have tea.”

“House tea okay?” the waitress asks.

Faren nods.

The waitress walks away and I lean forward. I open my leopard print handbag and slide the cell phone across the table.

It looks like a square oil slick between us.

Faren's eyes flick to it. When she picks it up, a small wrinkle forms between her eyes.

“Check it out.”

Faren presses a button and swipes the front. Her eyes tell me she sees my tit. “This’s your breast. I'd know it anywhere.”

I bark out a laugh. “Yeah.”

Faren blows a hair out of her face. “You know what I mean.”

I nod. “I do, don't get your panties in a twist.”

“Did he? God…” She lowers her voice. “Did Chet do this to you?”

My voice only shakes a little. “That, and way more.”

I move my shirt aside, and she gasps when she sees my shoulder.

It's faded in the three days since Chet and I were together, but it looks sort of raw still.

Faren covers her mouth. “Oh my God. Mick's going to kick his ass.”

I shake my head. “Nope. It's all on me.”

Faren grabs my icy hands. “Are you joking? He's a fucking perv! Is this some kind of weird ʻblame the victimʼ thing?”

A single tear escapes my eye before a prison break of sobs.

“What?” Faren whispers, leaning across the table. “Why do I get the idea there's more?”

“I wanted him to,” I whisper.

Her hands fall away, that wrinkle still marring the perfection between her eyes.

“I don't understand.”

I look into her eyes, swiping at my own. My normal, beautiful friend. Married to a rich hottie. Mother of one. Nah, she wouldn't understand.

Chet does.

“I like it rough.”

Faren's expression tells me she knows. “I remember you like a little tie-me-down.” Her voice says she's
trying
to get it. “But this is way more than that. This is...” She shakes her head.

“Sadistic?”

She nods.

“I know. And I liked every bit.”

Faren's exhale leaves her in an exhaustive push. She stares out the window, watching people swarm by. The fish-throwers at Pike Place Market can be vaguely heard through the expansive glass windows.

Her face swivels toward me. “Okay. Let's say for the sake of argument that Chet biting you like that is somehow okay.”

I nod, feeling vaguely nauseated.

“Relationships aren't stagnant. This is your first time with him?”

I say nothing.

Faren props her chin in her hand. “It'll—it'll progress. If this is consensual... it'll become more. And…” Faren's brow comes together. “Why are you bothered about this if it's consensual?”

“You know what happened to me in the hood.”

Faren's face turns pink.

Some would take it as embarrassment, but I know Faren's rage look. Her fair complexion is always the tell.

“Yes, and I still think you should take Mick up on his offer of counseling. Like we've discussed in the past. Look at what it's done for Thorn.”

“I know,” I reply with a sigh. “I appreciate it.”

Faren flings herself back against the booth, crossing her arms again and turns to search out our flake waitress. She directs her attention back to me. “But you're not
going
to.”

I shake my head. I don't see how telling someone all the nastiest shit that's ever happened to me will somehow make it better.

“Kiki,” Faren says softly, “don't. Don't punish yourself. This stuff, these things you're doing with Chet? It could be a way of working through stuff that's dysfunctional from the past.”