Beautiful Elixir (Beautiful Oblivion #3) (13 page)

Did you upload any videos of yourself and Kennedy Slade engaging in sexual activity? (Answer; No)
TRUTHFUL RESPONSE

“
S
hit
.” I thumb through question after question, each silly little prank Kennedy suggested that Keith pulled on himself to make her look bad. He’s clean as a fucking whistle.

My phone rings, and I turn it over. The number is unknown, but I can feel the gravity of it pulling me to answer so I do.

“Hello?” I bark into the receiver without meaning to.

“David Stokes. Are you in your office? If not, you’ve got a nice little treat waiting for you. It’s blonde and thin and says everything I was hoping it’d say. I’m guessing it’s not your kind of sweet talk, though.”

“I’m looking at it right now.”

“Good. I guess there’s just one more thing to do before we bow out of this cage fight. Have your client take a polygraph.”

“No way.” My chest pumps rabid. What the hell did I say that for?

Friendly laughter emits from the other end. “It’s okay. We both know she’s guilty. There’s not a damn thing you can do about that one. We all get them—the delusional client who doesn’t know how deep they’re in. It’s best we get it over with though. I’ve set it up for tomorrow. They’re coming to you. Second verse same as the first. You know the drill. If you need to reschedule, you have until Friday. I want this shit cleared up and my client’s good name restored before we need to get dirty in the ring, if you know what I mean.”

We hang up, and I fall into a trance while staring at the findings.

Kennedy can’t be guilty.

That conversation we had between love making sessions comes back to me. She was worried that Keith would somehow ace the exam of a lifetime, and I was quick to comfort her the only way I knew how, by shooting down that ridiculous notion.

When he walked in I was so sure he was lying through his teeth.

Kennedy wouldn’t lie. Would she?

Zoey’s refrain from earlier comes back to me.

Never say never.

A
fter work
, I text Kennedy and let her know I’ll be a few minutes. I’ve circled the lake twice now and I’m half tempted to jump into the Poison Barrel for some much needed relief but dread the idea of heading back to the cabin smelling of liquor.

She texts back.
Hanging with my girls tonight. Let me know when you’re ready to climb in bed, and I’ll be there to warm it.

A dull smile comes and goes.

Maybe I will have that drink, and if I run into Kennedy, even better. We can hit the whiskey together. That should make all of this bullshit go away.

The sun is still high enough to qualify as afternoon, golden, turning that sad shade of pumpkin before it blanches the granite blue and dips down behind the mountain.

I drive the outer rim of the lake, opposite the cabin, opposite most cabins, nothing but campsites and boathouses out this way. Zoey and her vinyl proposition comes to mind. I think I’ll take her up on it as I park up near the boathouse she’s staying in. I’ve dropped her off a time or two when her engine was giving her trouble. I spot her car near the back, parked cockeyed as if she arrived home in a rage. Can’t blame her. I have no clue why she quit school. I’m not sure I should pry either. I’d hate to send her the wrong message especially since she’s interested in more than gifting me her old record collection. She’s hinted at it more than a time or two.

Zoey pops her head out the door and flags her arms, jumping up and down as if I reached the finish line in some long, drawn out race, and, judging by her enthusiasm, I won.

“You’re here!” She continues to jump like an exuberant schoolgirl. I frown at my own analysis as I get out of the car. “I left my canoe down by the water. Can I borrow your big, strong muscles to help me hoist it back up? I’d hate for the tide to pull it in. Gavin would kill me.”

“Not a problem.”

Zoey skips ahead, bubbling with laughter, and it’s not until we hit the waterline do I note the hint of vodka trailing behind her. It looks as if Zoey had a few troubles of her own she needed to drown out.

She stops abruptly just shy of the marsh and spins toward me, her mouth still panting out a laugh. Zoey whips her T-shirt right off before I can process it—no bra, just two fleshy eyes staring back at me. Her fingers dig into her cutoffs, and, holy shit, she’s naked as a jaybird—minus the feathers.

How the hell did I land in this vagina trap again?

“You dropped something.” The manufactured smile glides from my face. “Seriously. Let’s get back.” I spin in the opposite direction, regretting ever falling for her vinyl record line. “Here, I’ll turn around while you get yourself together.” I bet there are no crates. And where the hell is Gavin when you need him? I pull out my phone to shoot him a text just as she lands on my back like a spider monkey.

“
Zoey
,” I shout, reprimanding her for almost snapping my spine. “Whoa.” I twist into her and carefully try to help her dismount without copping a feel. My hand glides over the side of her tit, too late. Shit.

“I’m sorry.” She wheezes. “I’m just”—she shoves her forearm to her nose, and her laughter turns to tears—“it’s just been a crap day all around.”

I give a quick glance across the lake and thankfully can’t see the cabin—any cabin across the lake for that matter. We’re well secluded by the marsh, and the thicket just beyond that, but anyone with a view behind us can see us plain as day.

“Let’s get you back, and you can tell me all about it.” I help her gather her clothes. Her T-shirt is long enough to touch past her bottom, so she leaves it at that. I spot her canoe in the bushes, far from any hint of water outside of dew.

Should’ve known.

We head back to her boathouse. It’s the size of a thumbtack—just one tiny bed and microscopic kitchen, the end. I’m assuming there’s a toilet behind door number one. I snap a robe off her bed, wrap it around her body, and Zoey dutifully climbs beneath the covers.

“They’re all in the corner.” She leans her head against the wall, her eyes dull with defeat.

I glance over and spot all five crates, present and accounted for, stacked with battered, well-worn covers.

She gives a hard sniff. “Today would have been my mother’s fifty-eighth birthday.”

“Zoey, I’m sorry. Let me get Gavin over here. You shouldn’t be alone.” I send out a text before she can protest.

“Take the records. Get them out of here right now.” There’s a faraway look in her eyes. Zoey is lost in some desolate, mean place that forces your head underwater and makes you breathe in the horrible hurt of the past, the horror of a barren future. I’ve been there. Not quite in the same way, but I have.

One by one, I haul all five crates to the car, three in the trunk and two situated on the passenger’s side. Zoey was right. I should have made room.

Gavin and Demi pull up and jump out of his truck.

“What happened? Is she okay?” Demi is rife with worry.

“She needs someone.”

Demi rushes in, but Gavin gives a puzzled look to the loot I’m ready to haul away. They’re both dressed to the nines, a rarity for Gavin, the lake’s favorite lumberjack. They must have been out enjoying a nice dinner. That’s all I want to do with Kennedy right now. Enjoy a good meal, enjoy her company without the shadow of doubt creeping up in the back of my mind.

“She said she didn’t want them.” I motion to the records. “Do you?”

“Nope.” He flexes a dry smile. “I have the originals. Zoey wanted to expand the collection. I told her it wouldn’t be the same.”

“It’s not. She’s not the same either. She’s taking this pretty hard.” I leave out her attempt at seduction. I’m sure the rejection didn’t help.

“Thanks for showing up, man. How are things with Ken? Did you nail that bastard that’s screwing with her?”

The polygraph bounces through my mind, settles in and stays a while.

“Not yet.”

“Get to it.” He offers a light sock to my arm. “Get this crap in the past, and let’s get you two in the future. We should go out sometime. Just the four of us.”

“I’d love that. We’d love that.” That grin tries to break free on my face again, but that damn polygraph has it stifled.

His demeanor darkens. “What’s wrong?” Gavin and I spent several grueling weeks tied to the hip last summer, trying to get Demi free of the nightmare that ensnared her. And we did.

“Nothing’s wrong—yet.” I give him a light sock back. “Take care of your sister, would you? Let her know she can take some time off if she needs it. She’s lucky she has you. Not everyone has a sibling they can count on.”

Solomon’s face pops up without warning.

I take off and find Kennedy and her girlfriends sitting on the deck of the cabin, and I take in a full breath as I get out of the car.

Stay calm. This will all work out fine. She’s probably right. Keith is a sociopath. Once she aces her polygraph, we’ll be at an impasse—we’ll call in the head doctors and take it from there.

I give a friendly wave as I make my way up the steps, and Kennedy smiles the smile of a stranger. It’s funny how you think you know someone, you would bet your life and then, bam—you discover what they’re capable of.

But I can’t hold it against her.

After all, she doesn’t know me—Solomon flashes through my mind again—or what I’m capable of.

T
here are not
a whole lot of things that can throw me for a loop. At an early age my mother taught me to be prepared for whatever life might hurl my way. She warned it would launch so hard so fast at times that it would feel as if hellfire were raging against me. This is one of those storms. Hellfire is coming at me hard and fast.

Charlie, Reese, and Melanie have all gathered around like chicks to a mother hen—albeit a mentally fragile mother hen at the moment. Although, they do like to point out my kick-ass capabilities and happily inflate my ego with how
awesome, and pretty, and smart I am!
I’m almost sick of myself after the bizarre pep talk that’s been taking place. It’s as if they know it’s bad, and, in an effort to shield me from exactly how bad things are, they’ve placed me in a bubble that floats precariously into the sky. Just one pinprick of reality, and I’ll splatter all over the sidewalk of truth.

Honestly, they have no clue the level of despair I’m feeling. I made the mistake of sending a mass text telling them I was in a funk, and they all believe it’s the sex tapes that have me down. Yes, the thought of my nether regions lighting up a big screen—my orgasms playing out like a touchdown on game day to a bunch of frat boys huddled over a bowl of chips makes me want to hurl, but it’s Keith and his promise of a polygraph that has me anxious. Each hour that drifts by, I wonder if Caleb has received the results. If he knows things I wish he wouldn’t. I’m not breathing a word of this to anyone. I’m just glad I had the girls here with me today to ease the pain, even if they were clueless as to how bad things were about to get for me.

Caleb arrives a little after dark. My stomach churns in knots as the girls whimper how gorgeous he is. A Calebgasm takes place sans Reese’s participation. She’s still very much enjoying her Acegasms, thank you very much.

“We’d better head out,” she rallies Mel and Charlie to their feet.

We’ve been here for hours—at his place. The girls wanted to head to the Poison Barrel, but that’s too public for me and next door my mother has adopted a very large ear. To say the least, she’s terrified for me. I’ve never seen her so sick with worry, which in itself is worrisome. I wanted to shake that sick look off her face.
Is this so much worse than what we went through before?
I wanted to shout at her frightened expression.
Is this so much more terrible than what you had me do? You have trained me. You made me who I am. I am the exact representation of who you are—a manifestation of your darkest hour, playing out on a loop because I can’t figure out how to escape the monster that I’ve become.

“Hello?” Charlie waves her hand over my face, and I startle.

I glance past her shoulder and find Caleb already inside speaking to Reese and Mel at the door.

“Wow, you were pretty far gone. You want to share?” Charlie hitches my hair behind my ear. Charlie and I go way back to when I first arrived in Loveless. I can tell her anything. I sort of wish I had done just that so many years ago. Sometimes when you bottle up the past, you’re just setting yourself up for a toxic explosion somewhere down the line. Unfortunately, for me, my detonation has already occurred.

“Just zoning out. You guys headed down the mountain?”

“Yup. We’ll be back this weekend. It’s Neva’s birthday, Warren is throwing a surprise party.”

“Nice. It’s good to see he’s reformed—if not liberal with the keggers.” I make a face as we head inside. My arms collapse around Caleb, and I take in a greedy kiss right here in front of my sparse guests.

“Show off!” Charlie swats me over the shoulder as she heads out the door. “Call if you need me!”

I pull back to see Caleb and those deep-welled dimples smiling back at me. His phone goes off, and he steps toward the kitchen.

“Goodnight ladies.” He gives a slight wave before tending to his messages.

Reese gives me a brief hug. “He is handsome. Do everything I would. Isn’t that the advice you like to give?” She gives a playful bite to her lip.

“I’ll make sure it’s naughty and hot.” I give a quick wink. It’s true. I’m the first to suggest the lewdest—
crudest
time be had by all, and, yet, I was always the last to have it. I’ve built a palace around me, constructed solely on the bricks of my transgressions, and now I watch as it all crumbles to pieces. Some lies you can get away with, some lies you can’t. Something tells me I’m about to find out which is which.

Mel is the last one out with her arms crossed tight, her stance defiant. “You really are a lucky little bitch.” Her eyes snag on mine a minute too long. “Love you like a sister.” She lunges at me with a wild embrace. “Live it up, girl. You deserve what’s coming to you tonight.” She glances at Caleb as she says it before giving a kiss to my cheek and disappearing into the dark.

I wonder what my friends, what Reese, would think if they knew the real me? Normal people wouldn’t have done the things I’ve done. Normal people wouldn’t have built their entire foundations on lie upon lie. At some point, though, it all became white noise—an entire field of words streaming through my mouth, actions that were just as easy to disregard. Sometimes I think I’m a sociopath and, sadly, this has never alarmed me.

I shut the door and give a dramatic spin toward Caleb—my man. It actually makes me happy to say this, and I want to laugh at myself. How quickly I’ve become one of those girls—the all too happy to see her boyfriend,
doting
girlfriend. It’s funny because with Keith it was all pain and sorrow, and with Caleb it’s all sunshine and fucking—just the way it should be. A simple smile comes to my lips.

“Who was that on the phone?” I’m not sure why I asked—just asking to ask. I don’t really care. But in a way I do. What if it was his mother? And what about his brothers? What kind of relationship does he have with them? Doesn’t the one on trial want him around and vice versa?

He glances down at it a moment before sinking it back in his pocket.

“Nobody.” Caleb takes off his jacket, his muscles popping from underneath his dress shirt, and I’m already gone. All of the stress, the anxiety of this treacherous day are in the past. Now there is only Caleb and his ocean blue eyes to contend with. I can live with that. “Did you eat dinner?” He asks so sweetly I could cry. Caleb cares for me, for all of my basic needs as well.

“The girls brought take out. I left some for you in the microwave.”

“Thank you. I’m okay, though.” Caleb rubs his thumb over my cheek. He inspects me with his gaze as if he were trying to pickax his way into my brain. The smile fades from him as his lids drip low. “Take off your clothes.” Caleb’s strict attorney voice is like drinking an erotic tonic. I can feel the charge in me electrifying my bones from my feet, jolting up my thighs, all the way to my chest then shooting out like lightning through my arms.

A heated moment thumps by as the room pulsates with a heartbeat of its own. Caleb has taken off the gloves, he’s ready to rumble, and it starts right here with my clothes hitting the ground.

“Yes sir, counselor.” My fingers touch the stubble on his cheek, and I expect to see a spark. “Better yet, why don’t you take them off for me?”

His lips invert into the briefest frown. “I take it you don’t like doing what you’re told.”

“Hate it.” I give a casual shrug.

“Not one to play by the rules, are you?” He says it more as a fact than a question.

“Sometimes.” Lie. He’s right, but I don’t like giving in so easy either.

“You like to make the world bend around your needs.” He says the words slowly as his hand glides down to my neck. “Make it do your bidding. You don’t like the storyline you’re given? Mold it to what you want it to be.” He leans in and takes a genuine bite from my neck.

I take in a sharp breath as his teeth sink in. A shock of pain travels from my jaw to my thighs.

“You know me.”

He pulls back, and I motion him back to the fire he just abandoned.

“I’m okay with a little biting, Caleb. Don’t be afraid to make it hurt.” I press his lips back to that aching spot he enlivened near my jugular.

“I fell in love with your neck first,” he whispers against my skin, and it quells the pain for a moment.

“Should I be insulted?” A dark laugh bubbles from me.

“No—it’s sublime, your neck.” His lips lock over my flesh just below the earlobe as Caleb forms his mouth to me. “I want to have my way with it.” He murmurs through his kisses. Caleb latches on. I can feel the intense pull of pressure as he sucks me down, his mouth demanding my blood vessels burst for him in a show of glory, like bloody sparklers on the Fourth of July. I remember him wanting to do this during those face-sucking fests we held down at the swampy end of the lake. I told him no way no how—no evidence, and, now, here he is, marking me in that adolescent way he’s wanted to all along. I won’t stop him. I want it. I crave it. I want to make him mine in some special way, too. Tonight we leave marks and claim territory. I very much approve of where this is headed.

Caleb inhales me—absorbing me right down to the marrow. His heated affection, his determination is something outside the bounds of erotic. Caleb nurses my flesh as if it were an exotic elixir. My hands glide down his body, pulling and tearing at his shirt, his belt.

Caleb dips his hands into the back of my jeans and gives a mean squeeze. This is a different Caleb than the softer, let’s-make-love version I’ve grown accustomed to. This one is up for something more impromptu, something far more cutthroat and dangerous. This one demands to fuck.

A lazy smile drifts to my lips as I sway my head back and forth.

“Take my clothes off,” I gravel out the words. “Right now.”

My blouse is torn off so violently, not only do the buttons ping across the room, but the sound of fabric ripping peals through the air like thunder.

“A little wild tonight, are we?” I pull back, dislodging him from project Super Hickey. My neck already feels singed—branded—in that location. I’m betting a scarf will be a required accouterment for the next several weeks. Caleb has really done some damage tonight, and I’m more than impressed. I give a dirty grin. “What’s gotten into you, McCarthy? Not that I’m complaining.”

Caleb pulls back, stoned with lust, his eyes glowing like a glacier. I love the way his dark hair frames those illuminated orbs. It’s haunting in a way.

“You got into me,” he says it sad like some morbid confession. “You always get into me. You’re in my head, my bones, my blood. I can’t escape you, Kennedy. You’re a part of me, and I don’t ever want that to change—no matter what.” His eyes widen as if there were a “what” dancing right there on the tip of his tongue. Caleb is skirting an issue, and this makes my stomach clench with fear. I hate fear. I’d much rather channel the energy toward something far more useful.

I take off my jeans achingly slow—twirling my hips, riding my body up and down his like a skilled pole dancer.

“I’ve been to strip clubs before, Caleb,” I whisper over his lips, denying him the kiss. “I’ve seen women grind their hips, shake their junk while men stuff their panties with dollar bills. Is that what you want me to be for you? A dancing dollar whore?” I shimmy down his body one more time, rubbing my lips over his erection through his pants. “I can do it. I really don’t mind.” I turn around, bottom pushed out, still looking at him—I would never deny myself the pleasure of watching his jaw drop. My fingers dip into my panties, and I glide them down an inch. “Why don’t you do the honors?” I arch my back, projecting myself toward him just a little bit more.

Caleb groans, already too far-gone with lust as his hands land over my thighs. He swipes my panties off in one aggressive move, his finger penetrating me, deep, without warning.

“There you go.” I push back into him. “Let’s see you let go of that aggression.” I lean over the cool granite of the island as Caleb takes me from behind rough and greedy. This isn’t the charming lover of days past, this is the bad boy version, the I’m-pissed-off-at-you-right-now, the I’m-going-to-punish-you version, something intense is happening—makeup sex without the proper fight.

Caleb rockets into me, mercilessly, like a prizefighter defending his glory. He pounds in, over and over, until his body collides one last time in a fit of marked aggression and then he freezes. Caleb shudders into me, letting me know the show is over for now, my body, my needs unmet until later. No, this isn’t like Caleb—the generous lover, the let’s-get-you-there-first hero that my orgasms have come to appreciate (pun intended.) This is greedy sex. Caleb is sending me a message, a pornographic Morse code I can’t quite decipher.

He presses his hand over my shoulder. His moist flesh still adhered onto my back. I wait for him to pull out before twisting into him. Our panting mouths unsmiling for the first time.

“Now tell me what has you so worked up”—I breathe the words heavy into his chest—“that you were afraid to tell me to begin with.” My gaze presses into his just shy of rage. “What has you on edge, Caleb? What do you know?” It’s my turn to latch on and start sucking for blood. I’m not letting up. I don’t care how many vessels get broken—I can break every bone in his body—I want the truth dammit. I’m already certain it involves me in the most unforgiving way.

He gives a lazy grimace, dimples no smile. “Let’s take a shower.”

“We’re taking a bath.” It’s in my nature to be difficult. I secretly think he loves it. After all, that’s what he signed up for, the complicated girl, the challenge, the wild one who doesn’t understand the simplicity of boredom. He wants it all, but what he doesn’t realize is, that, it comes with a price.

Caleb scoops me into his arms, stepping out of his pants on the way upstairs. He stubbornly turns on the shower and finishes disrobing as if his clothes were doused in flames. He pulls me into the hot, hot, steam, kissing me soft and lithe, proving that all of the aggression has been worked out of his system.

“Tell me, Caleb. What’s happened? What has you so worried for me?” There, I’m calling him out.

Steam rises between us in thick, vaporous billows, white as smoke. We were in proverbial flames, our relationship evaporating right before us.