Torn: Part Four (An Alpha Billionaire Romance) (The Torn Series Book 4) (4 page)

CHAPTER SIX

HOLDEN

Regret is something that I try to avoid. That's why I meticulously plan everything in my life where possible. Some things can't be planned though. Some things are just unexpected.

After hearing the news about my mother's declining health, I canceled all of my appointments for the day and drove straight to the nearest bar. The one I landed at is a hole in the wall, someplace I would normally never be caught dead in. I don't want to be recognized though. I don't want to have to talk to anyone. And the best place to go to avoid such things is where you've never been before, where everyone is a stranger to you.

I take a shot of bourbon and swirl it in my mouth before swallowing. It tastes rich with a slow burn. The alcohol seeps into my taste buds and leaves behind a sweet charred flavor. Fire rolls down to my intestines, sending a looseness to my limbs.

There is a mix of emotions brewing inside of me, but right now, at the very top of the shit soup is anger. That my mother wouldn't tell me that she's dying, that she'd keep something so important from me...But more than that, that I wasn't able to find out with all of the resources that I have at my disposal; it infuriates me.

She lied to me. She lied about the internet scammer. I got the police involved and she didn't even bother to stop me. That's some serious shit. If they knew she lied...I'm not sure what they'd do.

Hell, I never knew that my mother was so good at lying—so good at keeping secrets. All of my life I've seen her as an honest Christian woman, incapable of doing any wrong—incapable of lying. I suppose I don't know her as well as I thought. That's apparent if she was smart enough to go behind my back and keep her condition undetectable to me.

I sigh over the new shot of bourbon that the bartender places in front of me, thinking about how I don't even know what my mother is dying from. I allowed my anger to get the best of me, was so stressed from the conversation with Piper that I just exploded. Logic left me. I was angry and hurt and confused and so many other things. I didn't want to hear anymore—didn't want to stick around and talk about it. Now, I barely know more than I did before. Just that my mother is dying. The last person that I have any closeness to in this world...is dying.

My hand trembles slightly as I pick up the shot glass and throw back the liquid inside before slamming the glass back down onto the bar and pushing it to the bartender to order another. For as much as I'm drinking, I should have just gone to a liquor store and bought a bottle. It would have been cheaper. But right now I want to be served and not have to think about anything extra. My mind is too consumed with other things to be bothered with shelling out extra money on alcohol. If they cut me off, that's when I'll go buy a bottle somewhere. No. That's when I'll go to another bar.

I doubt they'll cut me off, though. The bartender is a middle-aged woman watching a soap opera on the television in the corner between serving customers. She doesn't look like she gives two shits about what's going on in the bar around her. That's good for me.

Too bad she's not younger. I'd give her something to take her mind off of that stupid drama. I gnash my teeth, bitter memories of Piper coming into me like bile flowing up my throat. Almost the second the hatred hits me, though, it dissipates, swallowed down.

For as much as I don't want to admit it, none of this is her fault. She was just being dutiful to my mother. It was never important for her to be good at her job. All my mother wanted was someone who could keep her secret. Piper couldn't even do that much. I snort.

Maybe that's not a bad thing, though. If she were able to keep her mouth shut, I probably never would have found out that my mother is dying. While I'd like to think that Mom would have told me on her own eventually, I'm fairly certain that she's stubborn enough to have kept the secret to her grave. Why though?

The bartender places another shot in front of me, and I stare at the liquid inside, wondering how long it will be before I'm completely alone in the world. It's annoying how quickly my emotions are flipping from one extreme to the other, how rapidly I'm shuffling through thoughts, but I suppose it can't be helped.

I've been so cruel to my mother lately. Remorse takes over me, but I shove it back. Mom knows damn well why I was being nasty. If the scenario were anything other than her hiding information from me, I would have been right to want Piper gone.

That girl...I shake my head. That beautiful, willful girl. I pick up the shot and swirl the liquid within absentmindedly. I've hated her for all the wrong reasons—tortured her for all the wrong reasons. In the end, though, I was able to break her down. I smirk to myself.

I still feel like I owe her something for telling me about my mother. I feel almost bad for everything I put her through, even if it was worth it.

I take the shot finally, trying to drown out those thoughts. They don't matter. What's done is done. My mother will probably fire Piper now, and she'll be out of our lives forever. The past is the past. I should be focusing on what the future holds for the time that I have left with Mom. That's easier said than done though when the alcohol switches my body from running on emotions to running on hormones. With each shot that I take, Piper crops up in my mind more and more. My sympathies are heightened, and I keep trying to rationalize why I should see her again.

At the very least, she deserves an apology from me. I've been the king of assholes for as long as she's known me. I can take off my crown for just one night.

Before long, all I can think about is what we did in the backseat of her car at the play party. I had come so close to having sex with her. If Larry had just stayed inside, I wouldn't still be wondering what it would feel like to be inside of her.

I lick my lips and get an aftertaste of bourbon. I'm so drunk that I can barely function enough to use my cell phone to call my limo driver and tell him to bring someone to drive my car home when he picks me up. There's no way I'm getting behind the wheel after I've had so much to drink. Luckily, I have servants for that. I could probably hire someone to wipe my ass if I wanted to. Money can buy lots of obscure things and services. I laugh to myself at the thought.

To myself. By myself.

I look around the bar and feel completely alone. There are people talking all around me, couples and friends. And I'm alone. I'm almost always alone unless I have business associates with me or the occasional girl that I pick up somewhere. I don't let people get close to me because I'm scared of losing them. The funny thing is that I seem to keep losing people anyway. Everyone that I love. Gone. Soon, I'll truly know what it's like to be alone.

By the time Barnaby, my limo driver, walks in to retrieve me, I'm in a sulking mood. I wrap my arm around his shoulders and brood as he half-carries me out of the bar.

“Are you ready for me to take you home, Sir?” Barnaby asks politely as he helps me into the back of the limo.

“For an old guy, you're pretty strong.” I give him a playful punch on the shoulder.

“Thank you, Sir.” His smile seems forced, though I can't really tell. It's not often that I see him genuinely happy.

“I don't want to go home.” I shake my head.

He closes the door and walks around to the driver's side, slipping into the seat before opening the window that separates his compartment from mine. Turning the key in the ignition, he casts a backward glance at me. “Where to, Sir?”

I sigh as I dig in my pocket for my cell phone and then scroll over to the notes section. The address that I rattle off is one I never thought I'd actually use. In these circumstances, it's one that I shouldn't be using. I have no fucks left to give though. I want what I want, and tonight I feel selfish.

I grab a bottle of water from the mini-fridge and lounge back while we drive to the destination, wondering what I'll say when we get there. There's no doubt that I'm nowhere near as smooth with my words when I'm drunk. Is that what I'm really going for? I need to apologize, not get my balls lit, though the latter of the two would be nice as well.

I close my eyes for a fraction of a second, and then I hear Barnaby calling my name. My head rolls as I stir back into consciousness, my voice coming out in an annoyed slur, “What?”

“We're here, Sir.” He's gazing at me through the rearview mirror, and I realize that the limo has stopped.

“Oh.” I pick up the bottle of water which has slumped over on my lap and take a drink before putting it back in the refrigerator. “Thank you, Barnaby.”

“Do you need me to wait for you, Sir?”

“No. That won't be necessary.” I push open the door, not bothering to wait for him to come around and open it for me. “I'm going to be here for a while.”

“Very well, Sir.” He nods to me as I exit the vehicle.

I shrug the tension out of my shoulders and straighten the front of my suit. The alcohol has my body feeling loose, and as I take a few unsteady steps forward, I realize that looking put together is going to be more difficult than I thought. For a moment, I consider going home, but that would just be boring. I'm going to do this. I nod to myself with determination.

I walk up to the quaint, little two-story house and hesitate on the front stoop, squinting to find the doorbell. I'm so drunk that there are three of them spinning around each other. Luckily, I have three index fingers too that seem to zero in on the real doorbell easily enough. I push it, listening to the chiming sound it makes.

Time stands still as I wait there looking out across the rows of other houses in the neighborhood. It's a lower-middle-class neighborhood, not in the worst part of town, but definitely not in the best either.

Finally, I hear footsteps approaching on the other side of the door. My chest tightens, the first signs of stress, as I realize that I don't know what to expect. The door pulls open to reveal Piper standing there in the most unsexy nightgown that I've ever seen. My eyes fall to the thick flannel material that hangs off of her like a curtain. Her breasts are the only thing that give her body any kind of shape.

She blinks at me a few times, her cute little mouth opening slightly like she's about to say something. I lose all control, everything that I came here for going completely out the window. My hands reach for her. She steps back, but not far enough. I pull her into my arms, feeling the softness of her breasts as they press against my chest. Her lips touch mine, and she gasps into my mouth before I engage her in a kiss.

Now I know what I came here for. Now I know what I
really
came here for.

CHAPTER SEVEN

PIPER

Ding! Dong!

“Ugh,” I groan to life, wondering if I'm hearing things.

Ding! Dong! Ding! Dong! Ding! Dong! The annoying sound persists.

I prop myself up on my elbow to look at the clock on my bedside table. It's nearly 2:30 AM. Quickly, I take a mental headcount. Both boys were home when I went to bed. I have no idea who could possibly be here this early in the morning.

I force myself to my feet and rummage through the middle drawer of my dresser for a nightgown. I don't even look at what I grab. I just slip it over my head and hurry out of my room.

A glance through the peephole sends my heart racing. For a moment, I think I might still be asleep. What in the hell is Holden doing at my house?

I don't want to open the door, but I know he won't go away unless I do. He'll keep ringing the doorbell until the boys wake up, and then I'll have even more drama to deal with. It will be easier if I just go out and face him.

I take a deep breath before unbolting the door and turning the handle. As soon as I open the door, I realize that something isn't right. Holden gazes down at me with glassy eyes, looking completely lost. The smell of bourbon radiates from him like a heavy cologne.

I open my mouth to ask what he's doing here, but before I have a chance to get a word out, he advances on me. All I can do is gasp as he pulls me into his arms and roughly kisses me. The smell of alcohol increases tenfold. It's so strong that I try to turn away. My hands fly up to his chest, pushing him off of me. At first, he doesn't budge, but the second time I shove him, he gives, allowing me to put an arm's length between us.

“You're drunk,” I practically cough.

“Yeah. So?” He shrugs nonchalantly.

“What are you doing here?” I hold the back of my hand over my mouth, half-wiping it and half to keep him from trying to kiss me again.

“I came to apologize.” He sways slightly.

“Apologize?” I didn't even realize that word was part of his vocabulary.

“Yeah.” His gaze falls to the floor. “For how I acted. I never would have known my mother was dying if you hadn't said anything.”

“Oh.” I wrap my arms around myself, the memories of the day coming back to me with all of their unpleasant feelings. “Well, you've apologized. You can go now.”

“I can't. My ride just left.” He points his thumb behind him.

As if on queue, I see a limo pulling away from the curb.

My mouth falls agape in disbelief for a moment. “Call him back.”

“No.” He shakes his head.

“Why not?” I place my hands on my hips.

“Because I'm not done apologizing.” He surges forward again, pulling me against him. His eyes bore down on me, such a beautiful shade of gray. If I didn't know he was drunk, he might actually be able to seduce me.

“Call him back.” I glare up at him, unmoving.

“Has anyone ever told you that you're beautiful when you're angry.” He reaches up to stroke my cheek. The gesture is so gentle that it makes me shudder with desire.

I pry his hands off of me and step back inside the house. “I'm going to call you a taxi.”

He follows me in unabashedly as if he owns the place and closes the door behind himself. “No. I don't need a taxi.”

Oh great. He's going to be a pain in the ass, as always. Now not only do I need to figure out how to get him to call his limo back but I also have to get him out of my house.

“You stay outside.” I turn and place my index finger on his chest, stopping him in his tracks.

He grabs it and clasps my hand in his, using it as an excuse to get close to me again. “Why?”

“Because I didn't invite you in and you're invading my home.” I try to jerk my hand away from him, but he tightens his grip on it.

“I like your home. You should show me more of it.” He looks around briefly, but I understand what he really means.

“I'll show you the door.” I nod toward it.

“We don't have to be enemies anymore.” A charming smile graces his lips.

“We aren't going to be friends, either,” I tell him. “Go wait outside.”

“Show me your bedroom.” The heat in his gaze doesn't dissipate for a second. It's like he's not even hearing what I'm saying.

My temple throbs as stress overtakes me while I think. He's far too drunk to understand reason. The smell of alcohol coming from him is almost overwhelming, and I can tell that he's having trouble keeping his balance. He certainly hasn't lost his strength, though.

Maybe if I sober him up first, sense will return to him and I'll be able to get him to leave. As it is, I can't keep him downstairs in the living room. He's too loud and I'm worried he's going to wake the boys.

“Fine. I'll show you my room. Come on.” I take his hand and lead him down the hall, though I don't sound pleased about it in the least.

He follows me without complaint, probably thinking that he's going to get laid. As soon as we're inside, I turn on the light and close the door. He gazes down at me like a predator, but I refuse to look at him, keeping an eye on his hands to make sure that he doesn't try to grab me again. If he gets me down on the bed, I'm not sure he'd stop. While the word
apology
is a part of his vocabulary, the word
no
is not. I learned that at the play party.

“Here.” I round on him when we get to the bed, then put my hands on his shoulders to push him down until he's sitting. He smirks at me in amusement, but when he reaches out to touch my hips, I jump away. “I'll be right back.”

“Where are you going?”

“To get you some water and Tylenol. You need to sober up.” I start walking towards the door, but he apprehends me with unexpected speed, gripping me around the waist and pulling me back against him. I can feel the outline of his erection pressing against my ass, and I'm admittedly surprised that he's able to get it up in his inebriated state.

His arms cage me in as his mouth seeks out my ear. His hot breath sails across it, making me shiver. “I don't want water or Tylenol. I want you.”

I curl my hands around his arms, struggling to pull them off of me. “You seem to keep forgetting that I hate you.”

“I can make you hate me less.” He squeezes me tighter.

“I'll hate you less if you behave and drink some water,” I growl.

To my relief, he lets me go, taking a step back to reclaim his seat on the bed. For a moment, he looks lost. I take the opportunity to leave the room, heading to the kitchen to retrieve a large glass of water and two Tylenol. Thankfully, he stays put while I'm away. And when I return, he drinks the water like a man dying of thirst, downing the Tylenol with it.

“That's a good boy,” I tell him half-mockingly. The fact that I'm having to take care of him is annoying, but I'm definitely thankful that he's not being as difficult as before.

“Thanks.” He hands the empty glass back to me.

“I'm going to get you some more.” I turn to take it to the kitchen for a refill, but he grabs my wrist, making me pause.

“No. Stay. Talk.”

“Talk?” I give him a wary look.

“Talk. Please.” He lets go of me.

Apprehensively, I set the glass down on the bedside table and sit a few feet away from him. The idea of being on the bed with him makes me uncomfortable. It wouldn't take much for him to overpower me, and I would not put it past him to try it.

“My mother...” he trails off.

“What about her?” Just thinking about Ann makes me uncomfortable.

“What's she dying from?”

There's a twinge of pity in my heart as his expression becomes melancholy. It's like all of the energy has left his body. His shoulder slump forward, his perfect posture deflated.

“Cancer.” The word sounds painful coming from my lips.

“What kind of cancer?”

“I don't know. She hasn't told me and I haven't asked. When I went to the doctor with her the other day she spoke to him about having headaches. I don't want to assume, but...” No, I don't want to assume. Headaches could be a side effect of so many different medications. It doesn't necessarily mean that she had brain cancer. “I just don't know, Holden. I'm sorry. You'll have to ask her about it yourself. I figured you had when you went in to talk to her.”

“No.” He shakes his head, closing his eyes. “I just got angry...like I always do.”

I sigh, feeling like I need to say something to make it better for him. This is not my responsibility. We're not even friends. My focus should be entirely on getting him out of my house. Still, I can't help but feel sorry for him.

I open my mouth to speak, but then I shut down again, deciding that he doesn't deserve my sympathy. After everything he's put me through, the only kindness I can offer him is helping him to sober up and then making sure he gets home safely. I don't even owe him that much, but I'll do it for Ann's sake.

I take the glass back to the kitchen for a refill, then return with it and my cell phone. I hand him the glass and then dial the local taxi company. When the receptionist comes on, I give her my address, then I look at Holden. “Hey, what's your address?”

He gazes at me over the top of the glass, sipping water and not saying anything.

I nudge his foot with mine. “What's your address? I need to tell the taxi so when they pick you up they can take you home.”

He stops drinking and sets the glass aside. Then he snatches the phone from me, hits the end button, and tosses it on the bed.

“Hey! What's the big idea?” I scowl at him.

He stands, towering over me. Already, he seems more steady on his feet. His hands find my waist, but they're not as aggressive as before.

“I'm not going anywhere tonight.” He leans down to kiss me, but I turn away. His lips stop before hitting my cheek, and he diverts to my earlobe instead, nibbling it gently.

Inside, I'm raging. It's late and I just want him to leave. This isn't sexy at all. It's just annoying.

“I'm not having sex with you,” I insist, placing both hands on his chest to try to push him away. It's like putting my weight against a brick wall. I'm beginning to feel hopeless, completely out of ideas on how to make him leave. Finally, I relent, willing to say whatever I have to to get him off of me. “Fine. You can stay the night, but you're sleeping on the floor.”

“The floor looks uncomfortable.” He pouts, resting his forehead against mine.

“It's the floor or you're going home,” my tone is clipped. “I'm tired and I don't feel like dealing with you anymore.”

He exhales loudly, stepping away from me to scrub his hand across his face. “Fine. The floor is fine.”

He sits on the edge of the bed again, and I quickly go to the closet to pull out a comforter and some sheets to make him a pallet on the floor. He watches me work, not saying anything. I can't help but wonder what he's going to think when he wakes up later on my bedroom floor. Will he even remember that he came here—what he did? Part of me doubts it. He seems pretty blitzed.

By the time I've finished making his pallet, he's drained the second glass of water. He takes off his shoes and immediately sits down on the floor, spreading out onto his stomach to sleep. A small grin pulls at the corners of my lips as I look down at him. He's such a handful. Never in a million years when I first laid eyes on him at Club Fet did I think that this would be our relationship. Enemies. We hate each other. And yet here he is on my bedroom floor.

I don't want to think about it anymore. I climb back into bed and turn off the light, thankful that this whole stressful ordeal is over. Hopefully, I'll be able to get some sleep tonight. I doubt it, though, knowing that the person I hate the most in all the world is sleeping right below me. Maybe I should pretend that I forgot he was there and step on him in the morning. Out of spite, of course. The asshole would deserve it.

I crawl into bed and lie on my back, staring up at the ceiling, listening to his breathing. If he's asleep, I can't tell. He's not snoring.

After about ten minutes, I turn onto my side to try to go to sleep. Almost the instant that I do, I hear Holden stirring. He stands, and I make my eyes slits, not wanting him to see that I'm still awake. Maybe he's uncomfortable sleeping on the floor and has decided to leave. One can only hope.

He shrugs off his suit jacket and tosses it in the corner. Then he loosens his tie and pulls it from around his neck. Then his hands reach the collar of his shirt and he begins popping the buttons open.

He undresses silently, not even glancing at me. My eyes widen for a better look. In the darkness, I can see the shirt beginning to open and planes of hard muscle peaking through. Holy shit, his body is solid. As he fumbles with the buttons over his stomach, I see the rippling of his abs. Sleepiness leaves me as my core revs to life. When he shrugs the shirt off of his shoulders, I feel like I've died and gone to visionary heaven. He's cut like a God, has that perfect V indentation that points straight down into his pants. I bite my bottom lip as I picture sticking my tongue in that groove and licking all the way up it.