WITCHCRAFT (A Paranormal Romance) (26 page)

Thirty-Eight

The ride back to her apartment was silent. Not the least of which because she was alone. She could still see the absurdly large truck Roy had somehow come into possession of, following at the somewhat discreet distance of two cars back. As if she would have rebelled and started off again if he were too close.

If anything she wanted to have his bumper pressed up against hers the whole way. As if the closeness would be enough to make sure that she never ran into trouble like this again. She let out an unsteady breath as she pulled into the hotel parking lot.

Schafer's truck pulled in behind, found one of the dozens of empty spots around her, and he got out. Erin couldn't find it in herself to get out of the Jeep, but she at least managed to work up the energy to turn the engine off.

She laid her head back and set her eyes on the sky, barely visible through the row of trees that blocked out the side of the hotel parking lot.

"Are you okay?"

"What happened?"

"What do you mean? You were there."

"How did you find me?"

"It was a bit of luck, to be honest."

"Figures."

"We didn't take long finding Hutchinson. He's not a hard man to find, with his notoriety. We showed a few pictures around and found him with plenty of time to spare. At which point we threw him in the back. He starts the usual talk—you can't arrest me, you're making a mistake. I didn't do it. The usual shit, right?"

"Sure."

"Well, then he says he needs to go find you. There's gonna be trouble. I figured there was nothing to it. He's trying to bullshit me."

"But you decided to come check on me anyways?"

"He offers me a full confession to the Angels' various crimes—drug trafficking and a couple of murders down the coast—if we can just drive by and check on you. Just make sure you're okay. His club isn't any of my business, but that's not the usual spiel any more. So we went to check on you, and I see you driving with some guy in your passenger seat." Roy's face split into that pretty-boy grin. "I got a little jealous."

"How sweet of you."

"Are you hurt?"

Erin looked down at her body. She hurt where she'd been thrown to the floor, a little scrape on her knee and a bruise on her hip. There was a red stain where he'd cut her belly open, just a bit, but it was going to be fine. Probably already closed.

"Not really."

"You want to go upstairs?"

"Calm down, boy," she teased. "I'm a little tired for that."

"I didn't mean—" he pursed his lips to stop his lips twisting into a sour smile. "Are you going to be alright?"

"I don't know."

He reached a hand through the open window and cupped the back of her head.

"You're going to be fine, babe. I know it. You're a tough cookie."

"You think so?"

"I know it."

"Thanks." She didn't feel tough, and she didn't particularly feel like she was going to be fine. How long would it be before the nightmares stopped? How long would it be before she could go to sleep without triple-checking the locks? How long before—

Erin stopped that line of thought.

"We're going to take a few days to question Craig. Get what he knows about the situation out. We'll get everything we need to know from him." He didn't add
and then we're going to leave
but she heard it anyways.

"Yeah?"

"I promise. We got the guy who did all of this, and we're going to put together proof enough to convince anyone. Maybe even you."

"Good."

She was too tired to have any sort of feelings at all about it. The week had worn her out. It would be days before she felt anything but tired, she knew. If she could move on to the next case, maybe it would be a knock out of the park. Maybe she'd be able to hammer one, and then the next, and by the time she realized she wasn't ever going to feel right again, she wouldn't care any more.

"Are you gonna be alright?"

"I'm going to be fine." She finally found the energy to push the door open and stepped out onto an unsteady leg. "And I still don't need your help getting into bed, Romeo."

"Look, I'm just saying, if you did, though—"

She cut him off with a smile and a laugh. "I know, you're more than willing. Maybe some other time."

She limped her way back to the elevator and hit her floor, unlocked her door with the keycard, and fell into bed.

The next few days passed slowly. Agonizingly slow. Roy kept her updated on everything with his texts, but they were too busy pulling together evidence. Officially, they were just wrapping up loose ends.

Back in '95, when Erin was first settling into her new west-coast life, Papa Hutchinson had found Jesus in all the wrong places, but apparently hadn't found out about the church's view on narcotics use.

In his drug haze, he'd been more than a little critical of his eldest boy's dating habits. What started as cops getting called a few times turned into beatings, turned into a girl getting stabbed. That diary page came from Craig's father.

He was, himself, on his third wife at the time, so the hypocrisy wasn't lost on any of them, but the eldest boy, Jared, had taken it hard. At some point, for reasons nobody cared to speculate, he'd decided that his girlfriend had absolutely deserved to get what she'd got.

Now that his brothers had spread around the country, he found out that they were dating, and just like poor Chrissy, they were corrupting his innocent brothers. Craig had been dealing by then, and by the time he managed to find his brother, it was too late. He assured Craig that was the end of it, until he found out about Becca, and then all bets were off again.

He'd failed to kill Becca's twin sister, a couple of days later. He didn't succeed in finding the right 'twin sister' until four days later. In the mean-time, he managed to find out that one of the other brothers had been hiding a relationship from him, as well, so his work was cut out for him.

Craig was arrested for distribution and trafficking in a class-A controlled substance, among other, lighter charges.

Roy offered to stay—there was a place in the L.A. field office, working narcotics, and he could get a steady job. Erin couldn't imagine him working narcotics. She told him to stay in Quantico. If he'd worked half as hard to be in that position as she had to be where she was, she wasn't going to derail his career for a relationship.

She let out a breath, looked down at the paper in front of her. At least, if he'd worked half as hard as she had to be where she thought she was. She closed her eyes a minute, stifled the panic at the thought of what she was going to do if things turned ugly. She touched the pistol on the table, to remind herself that she still had it.

She folded it up and put it in the envelope, then looked down at the plane ticket beside. She had to get going now if she was going to make it to the airport. The next flight to Virginia was leaving in three hours, and she still had to tender her resignation.

It was a waste to ruin one person's career so that she could keep working in L.A., because now all she could think about was what would happen if she got mixed up in something like this again. It would be a struggle just walking into the station.

She would, though. Because it was the respectful thing to do, and maybe Erin the bitch could give it a rest for a while. It was going to be a long plane ride, though, so she was going to keep her options open.

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A Rich Man's Baby

The Billionaire's Double Impregnation Surprise

Selena Savage

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1

In the heat of the afternoon, two people tangled up in sweaty bedsheets writhe with ecstatic gasps. Their touches are charged, full of primal desire. The woman's dark skin glistens with water that the man laps up at her neck. The salt brings his taste buds alive. The sensation of his slick tongue against her skin makes her clench around his manhood and moan out his name.

Gripping his back with her hands and wrapping her legs around him, she throws off the bedsheets. The man's face dips down, his soft lips sucking in her nipple.

They move in time until the woman's toes curl, her legs gripping him tighter. She orgasms around him, and then he follows her, spilling into her.

Falling down with a gasp, Charlotte Spencer's black hair cascades over the bed like serpents. The man leans over her for a kiss, which she turns away from. His hand hovers over her forehead, wanting to push a stand of hair from her skin, but she pushes him away.

“Thanks for picking me up, Max.” Leaning to one side, Charlotte grabs her phone from the table next to her bed. “I don't know what I would have done without you. I hate with Louis calls in sick, this is the third time in two months!”

Maxwell Cooper, a tall, buff man with wild brown hair and a scruffy beard that Charlotte hates, grins down at her. “No problem. You've repaid me enough.” Max nuzzles his face into her shoulder, his perpetual five o'clock shadow scratching her skin.

Today, like every other day that Charlotte might call Max to her, was nothing more than her way of dealing with stress. Friends with benefits, no strings attached. That was the deal they made after Max made his little mistake and forced Charlotte to break up with him.

Max, on the other hand, has never cut those ties. His heart lies with this woman with hair like the darkest night and eyes fierce as any lion's. He has been fighting for her love ever since they broke up, but Charlotte has never relented.

Reaching around her curvy body, Max gropes Charlotte's breast. Her brown nipple stiffens in response, but the rest of her body tenses as she sighs. She sits up, her lips tight. The sheet slips from her shoulders, her brown back glistening in the fading afternoon sunlight that streams in from the Southern window behind her bed. At all times, Charlotte looks like a goddess. Breathtaking, inspiring, terrifying. Capable of compassion and creation, or brutal destruction.

“Max, we need to talk.”

His heart leaps. He sits up straight, his eyebrows furrowing. He gives Charlotte his full attention, hoping that maybe she'll finally relent and become his girlfriend again. He has been over to her house, in her bed, three times this week. He even fully satisfied her each time to the best of his ability. Surely, she's ready to trust him again.

“What's up, beautiful?”

“We can't keep doing this.”

“Doing what?” Max reaches between her legs while kissing her hip bone. She smells like sex and spiced apple. “This?”

Charlotte pushes off the bed, ripping the sheet from him and wrapping it around her body. With it draping down her thin frame, she looks even more like a goddess. Aphrodite, angry. “I can't keep sleeping with you, Max. I'm just leading you on, or you're reading more into this than you should be. I don't know who's to blame, all I know is I'm never going to give you the kind of relationship you want from me.”

“What?” He asks, coming to the edge of the bed. His chest tightens, a familiar ache threatening to overwhelm him.

“Please just go. I need you to leave.” Her jaw clenches, her fists at her side straining to keep her from lashing out. When Max doesn't get up immediately, she throws her arms up and turns, opening her drawers and slamming them shut as she grabs clothes. She throws them on the counter in the bathroom attached to her bedroom. The same bathroom where Max lost his virginity. “I'm going to take a shower, and when I get out you need to be gone.”

“Wait!” Max stands up, not covering himself. His cock slaps against his leg as he runs to the door, trying to stop her. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because, Max! You fucked up, and I still haven't forgiven you!”

Max grabs her arm, but she pulls away and slaps his face. He rubs his stinging cheek and tries to choke down a tear. “I thought you enjoyed this!”

“The sex is great and always has been, but it's not worth it to keep torturing myself with your stupid puppy dog looks and idiotic dream of one day marrying me! It's never going to happen! You have to go. It was so stupid of me to rely on your help to deal with my stress, and now I'm cutting you off.”

Charlotte stands there for another second, watching Max as he goes from hurt to furious to hurt again. He has a million questions he wants to ask her, and a million more insults he wants to sling her way, but before he can say anything she slams the door with a loud sigh.

“God damn it!” Max bellows, throwing Charlotte's expensive bedside lamp to the floor and shattering it. He grabs his clothes and his cell phone, pulling a framed photo of her off the wall in the hallway and breaking its glass before storming out of the house. Hopping into his Lamborghini, his radio blares speed metal and he rushes out to the nearest club. He's going to dance, drink, and then fuck someone. Doesn't matter who. All that matters is pumping up the ego that Charlotte just stepped on, cut up, and ground to a pulp.

With three stages, 10 private rooms, expensive liquor, and the students of an Ivy League college nearby, Paradise on Ten and Drive is the number one club in the city. It's a little slice of New York hundreds of miles away. Celebrities from all over the world travel to be seen at Paradise, and it's no surprise. It's been around for fifty years and has been owned by one of the top movie producers ever since then.

Only a  few people are able to bypass the line and just get into the club on any given night. Politicians. Celebrities. Exceptionally beautiful women. Max slides by the bouncer with a nod thanks to his heavy investment in the club and his father's work with the owner.

The club is too crowded for bad emotions to catch anyone's attention, but Frank isn't just anyone. As soon as Max sits down in front of his bar with his head in his hands, the star bartender immediately sets down a glass of vodka and places a hand on his shoulder. “You don't look so good.”

Frank is one of the few people Max considers a real friend, even though he's as old as his father and covered in scars and tattoos from years in jail. When Max was a kid and still sneaking into the club with a fake ID, Frank was there to take away his alcohol and give him a few words of wisdom. It was annoying at first, but now Max appreciates the attention that he rarely got elsewhere.

“Charlotte shit,” Max grunts, fighting the urge to punch his own leg. Who does she think she is? Max is going to be worth billions of dollars in a few years! Who could turn someone like him down?”

“Man, tough luck. You gotta get over her, she's worse than heroin for you.” Frank knows a thing or two about heroin. You can read his history on the lines in his face.

Max slams his drink on the table, sloshing half the small glass onto the wood. “I don't know how! I know I fucked up, but... I love her, Frank!” He doesn't say that they have been fucking ever since they broke up and that she's always been distant with him, even when they were dating. It's not like she lived a bad life, so she had no reason to have that emotional wall up. Max just chalked it up to being emotionally stunted or having Daddy issues, but it may just be that Charlotte is a bitch.

Fire pulls up from his stomach and into his throat, and Max apologizes to himself for saying something so harsh about his beautiful goddess. She's not a bitch. Maybe he's just a bad person.

Pop hands Max another shot and then turns to help another customer. Her melodious voice is familiar to Max, so he looks up and drinks in the sight of Poppy Der Rohe's long red hair. It nearly swallows her whole body when she lets it down.

“When's the last time you god a haircut, Red?”

“When's the last time you did volunteer work, Rich Boy?”

Max sticks his tongue out at her and downs his shot. A sudden vision of Charlotte's beautiful dark face, with her long nose and dark brown eyes sends a jolt of pain to his heart and tears to his eyes.

“Whoa,” Poppy says, sitting down next to him and draping an arm over his shoulders. “All the blood just drained from your face. Are you sure you aren't sick or something? Maybe you should be drinking water instead?”

Max tries to shoo her away, shrugging her arm off his shoulders. “Mind your own business.”

“Is Charlotte teasing you still?”

Max wonders if everyone in the world knows that Charlotte secretly detests him. He keeps the thought to himself. No reason to piss off his only other female friend. He's had enough heartbreak for today.

“You must think I'm an absolute joke,” he says. Frank brings him another shot, but Poppy shoots the old man a dirty look that makes him back off.

“I don't, dear. I just don't understand why you're wasting your time with her. There are so many others that would kill to be with you.” She doesn't mention that she's one of those people. Partially because she would never admit it, and partially because it doesn't really need to be said.

“I love her so much, Poppy.” Max's words drip with depression as much as they drip with alcohol. Poppy winces, trying again to place her hand on his shoulder. He doesn't push her away this time.

“She doesn't love you, though.” She rubs his back. Poppy's ability to hide her own emotions has helped ever since she was the only middle-class kid in one of the most elite private high schools in the country. Poppy got there on hard work, studying, and perfect grades. Max and most of the other kids got there on their father's bank accounts.

His head droops toward the table, a single tear splashing on the dark wood. “I just don't understand why!” A couple men from the bar look at Max, annoyed at being disturbed. Paradise is a sanctuary, a place where only good things happen. Not many people come here to mope.

“Alright, come on you big dork. It's time for you to get home.” Poppy grabs Max's thick arm, wrapping it around her neck and pulling him up. For such a small girl, she's strong from years of weight training and martial arts classes. She's been taking them ever since her first homecoming date tried to take things too far.

“No, I need to drink more,” Max whines, trying to pull away from her. He's really a lightweight. Even a few shots makes him a drunk mess, every time.

“I don't think so, Rich Boy.” She tugs him and waves to her friends. They roll their eyes, turning to complain about her taking Max home again. They're all used to Poppy having to bail this sad sack of emotions any time something bad happens. They also all know her feelings for Max, which is the source of a lot of teasing and attempted interventions much like this one.

“Give me your keys,” she demands, holding out her free hand.

“No way, I can drive,” Max says, pulling his keys from his pocket. He fumbles them and they fall to the ground.

Poppy sighs and props Max up against the wall before picking up his keys. “Yeah, clearly you aren't under the influence at all. Get in the passenger seat.” She opens the door for him, which is answered with rolled eyes and a snort. She slams the door shut and closes her eyes for just a second to gain control of herself. She runs over to the driver side before he can scramble into it.

“Ugh,” she whines. “It's a manual. What happened to that cute Mercedes you had?”

He doesn't answer, his arms crossed over his chest. He looks just like he did when he was younger, pouting and insolent. Even this is cute on him.

Struggling with the clutch, Poppy finally gets the car driving and takes it slowly through the side streets until they arrive at Max's large family home atop a scenic hill. From miles away you can see the tall, green walls of his mother's garden, and as you get closer you can hear the barking of his 3 Rottweilers. They're less attack dogs and more slobbering beasts as they run up to Max's car to greet their favorite master.

The car is still moving when Max flings the door open and struggles to get out. Lucky for him, his seat belt is still on as he tries to claw his way out of the moving vehicle, the dogs licking his hands as he flails and squirms.

“Damn it!” He yells. The car shutters to a stop.

“You might need to replace the thingamabob,” Poppy says, grimacing at the sound the car makes. She reaches over and flips his seat belt loose, which sends him flying into the pavement with a wail. The dogs bark and whine, each one jumping over Max and licking his face.

“Get off of me, you wretched beasts!”

Poppy laughs as she steps out of the car, handing the keys to Madelaine. Madelaine is the head maid of Cooper House, and has been for some 60 years. She's old and a bit cranky now, but once upon a time, she was Max's beloved nanny.

“Do you need me to send help?” Madelaine asks, barely looking at Max from the corner of her eye. The corner of her lip twitches in disappointment or disgust or both.