Complicated Parts: Book Two Read online

  “Great, so when I talk to the police, I’ll be sure to say, ‘Golly gee, officer, I told her to get out of there, but she was too preoccupied trying to play investigator herself, and that’s when he killed her.’”

  I flush the toilet and go to the sink. “What makes you think it’s a he? Maybe I really did get too drunk and have a one-night stand and we’re both overdramatizing this whole thing.”

  Although, one-night stands aren’t really my thing. Not when I’m seriously into someone else. Like my boss.

  I release a sigh. My memory spacing is worrisome, but I don’t feel violated…not physically anyway.

  There’s a deep ache in my chest that’s awfully unsettling, though.

  Before I can scrutinize the thought further, a slew of Spanish curse words flies out of Juan’s mouth like rapid fire.

  “Okay, I’m going.” I turn on the water and pick up the bar of soap. “I just have to wash my hands first.”

  “Because germs are so important right now.”

  I finish up and get ready to leave, but dizziness barrels into me so hard I have to brace myself against the sink. “Whoa, I need another minute.”

  Juan’s saying something, but I tune him out and lower my head so I can splash some cool water on my face and get my shit together.

  It works because a vision of me hanging out with Jess at the bar flashes through my head. “I was definitely with Jess. I remember being super nervous and embarrassing myself while admitting I had feelings for her.” I splash my face again as I recall attempting to tell her about the situation with my nanna, and her telling me to relax before they showed up. “But then we were interrupted by some druggie porn stars—”

  “That explains how you got the ecstasy,” a deep and oddly familiar voice interjects.

  I look up and catch the reflection of some towel-clad guy in the mirror. Or rather, a portion of him due to his tall stature. Not that I need to see anything else, because there’s no mistaking that he is very much male…not the gender I’d willingly agree to spend the night with.

  Instantly, terror crawls up my spine and I scream so loud it echoes off the walls. Or maybe it’s Juan’s high-pitched scream coming from the floor where I dropped my phone. Doesn’t matter, I grab the only weapon at my disposal—a toothbrush, and spin around.

  I had every intention of plunging the damn thing through my assailant’s jugular, but shock roots me to the spot as I come face to face with the last person I ever expected to see.

  “Preston?”

  A whirlwind of flashbacks burst through my head, most of them painful ones from the past, but one is recent—very recent—which only makes everything even more mystifying.

  In one casual stride, he’s standing in front of me. “In the flesh.”

  I don’t miss the way he smirks when my eyes involuntarily fall to his towel and then back up to his face before I look away.

  He takes the toothbrush from me. “Thanks.”

  And then, like me being here is an everyday occurrence, he elbows past me to the sink.

  “Preston.”

  “Kit!”

  That comes from Juan who’s still screaming on the other line.

  I pick up my phone. “I’ll call you back in a few.”

  “What—”

  I disconnect the call and focus on the guy in front of me. The guy I haven’t seen in three years. The guy responsible for breaking my heart and ruining my life. The guy behaving like everything is perfectly fine and dandy.

  “You’re brushing your teeth.”

  He spits, his face expressionless. “Hygiene is very important.”

  My mouth drops open in disbelief. So help me God, I hope Juan doesn’t call the police, because I might end up committing homicide.

  His eyes meet mine in the mirror. “You look like you needed the reminder.”

  I rear back, seeing red. I’m perfectly aware of my appearance this morning—and no, it’s not pretty. My hair is a tangled mess, my eyes are puffy, my mascara isn’t coating my lashes like it should be, but smudged under my eyes in a look I refer to as racoon chic, and my breath is a cross between a rotting onion and road kill, but it still doesn’t give him any right to act like such a douche canoe.

  Especially when the last time I saw him…he was the one who hurt me.

  Worse than that. He broke me…for no other reason than he knew he could.

  Because he wanted to.

  Preston received the paternity results proving he wasn’t the father before the shooting, and yet, he chose to lie to me about it in the elevator and at the hospital where he held me like a friend…and then stuck his dick in Becca’s mouth like an underhanded enemy. After I disclosed to him that I still had intense feelings for her.

  After he tried to kiss me.

  Even three years later, I still can’t wrap my head around it. Why he would do something so callous and cruel. Becca was a two-timing witch who didn’t deserve me, but I loved her…I loved her so damn much, and he knew it.

  I trusted him.

  And I thought that he…that we…

  I don’t know what I thought. But I do know I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry. Nor am I going to stand here and let him treat me like I’m the one who should be apologizing for waking up to what I’m hoping is a bad dream.

  “How did I get here?”

  He rinses his mouth and reaches for a hand towel. “Sounds like someone forgot to have the birds and bees talk with you.”

  I clench my hands into fists. “This isn’t a joke, Holden. I don’t know how I ended up in this motel room with you of all people. I don’t remember much of anything from last night other than a few bits I can’t piece together.”

  He turns to face me. “I found you walking the streets of Las Vegas by yourself at two a.m. You were pretty strung out. I was going to drop you off at a hospital, but you begged me not to because of your grandmother. My options were to either let you sleep on the sidewalk, or bring you home with me.” He hitches a shoulder up. “I was feeling generous, so here you are.”

  For some strange reason, that’s when it dawns on me that I’m not wearing any underwear.

  “You didn’t.” I lick my suddenly dry lips, trying to get the words out. “We didn’t…”

  Slowly, he drags his gaze up and down my body, leering at me. “You honestly think I would fuck you?”

  I feel my face turn beet red. Obviously, I have absolutely no interest in him, but the insulting way he answered was uncalled for. I don’t know why he’s going out of his way to be so vicious.

  He hurt me more than enough the last time we saw each other.

  He leans against the sink. “I don’t need to screw intoxicated girls to get laid, Bishop. I brought you here, gave you some water, and let you sleep in my bed while I slept in a chair. That was pretty much the extent of our time together.”

  A lump fills my throat. I can’t stand him, but if he wasn’t there last night who knows what could have happened to me. “Thank—”

  “You can thank me by leaving.” He juts his chin out. “The door’s that way.”

  “Right.” I curl my arms around myself, preparing to do a walk of shame I don’t deserve. I’m confused and still a bit out of it for reasons I can’t pinpoint. You’d think he could muster up some compassion.

  I’m halfway to the door when it hits me. “Wait, this is your home? You live in Vegas?” My eyes swivel around the tiny, grubby bathroom. “You live here?”

  No wonder he’s miserable. Who wouldn’t be? A seedy motel room isn’t a home. It’s a holding container when you’re out of options. A roof over your head when you’re one breath and one bad decision away from being homeless.

  On the bright side, I know Asher will be happy about this. Not about Preston’s living situation, but that he’s alive. His older brother’s been searching for him for three years with no luck. Figures a gambler would be in Vegas of all places. Talk about hiding in plain sight.

  He
snorts. “Sorry your stay wasn’t up to par. Feel free to leave your complaints with the front desk, princess.”

  “I didn’t—” I swallow and try again. “I didn’t mean that the way it came out. I’m not a snob, I just thought maybe I could—”

  “Could what?”

  I inhale, knowing my parents would be proud of me for this. Preston Holden might be Satan in a towel, but he didn’t leave me there like he could have. It would be gracious of me to do something nice in return. Put some good karma out in the world. It’s what they would do.

  “I don’t know if my purse is here, but—”

  “I don’t need your charity.” His stare turns hard. “What I need is for you to leave.”

  I stand speechless, my mouth nearly hitting the floor. When I make no move to exit because I’m too shell-shocked by his rudeness, he strides past me out the door, nearly knocking me over in the process.

  And that’s when the part of my brain holding the events of last night captive…unleash them all in rapid succession.

  Jess. The old dude. The alcohol and drugs. Getting knocked over by some guy being chased, then watching him get beat up by two men because he wouldn’t give them his duffle bag.

  I remember freezing when a gun was pointed at me…for the second time in my life.

  And I remember Preston giving up the duffle bag before the man could pull the trigger.

  I remember nearly everything up until the moment I fainted. Everything after that is too murky to make any real sense of. Kind of like a dream you didn’t retain after you wake up, but you know you had one.

  Not that it matters, I know all the important parts of the evening. Like the reason for the ache in my chest.

  But I can’t focus on that right this second…I have a bone—actually, make that an entire skeleton—to pick with someone first.

  I exit the bathroom, feeling more in control than I did a minute ago. “What was in the bag?”

  He tugs up the zipper of his jeans and I can’t help but study him. He looks different. Not in the unrecognizable sense, but in the harder, edgier, more filled out sense. Grown up. Nothing like the teenager in suits I remember. He’s not as bulky as his brother Asher, but I can tell he works out regularly. You don’t get those abs and muscles from sitting on your ass all day. Unfortunately. God knows I’d love to not have to get up at the buttcrack of dawn to go to the gym five days a week before work.

  Work…crap. I have to call Juan back.

  “You have this annoying habit of mistaking me for the door.”

  My archnemesis crosses his arms and my eyes fall to the tattoo on his bicep. It’s large but far too detailed to ascertain what it is from where I’m standing.

  As if sensing my curiosity, he pulls a shirt over his head, covering it. Then, he points. “It’s that way, Bishop. Don’t let it hit that sweet ass of yours on the way out.”

  “I know where the door is, jerk. Answer the question.”

  “Fine.” He gives me a lewd smile that makes me feel all kinds of uncomfortable. Jesus, even his dimples aggravate me. “What I’m about to tell you is important, so you need to pay close attention, got it?”

  I nod, and those dimples deepen. “Good.” His smile falls. “Because it’s none of your fucking business. Now get the hell out.”

  Oh, that’s it. I am done trying to be civil and cordial to this brute. I don’t know why I even bothered in the first place.

  “I had a gun pointed at me because of you. That makes it my business,” I yell, shaking with irritation.

  “Well maybe if you had minded your own business instead of walking over and involving yourself, you wouldn’t have,” he yells back. “Seriously, what the fuck were you thinking?”

  I look down, feeling both vulnerable and chagrined. “You wouldn’t understand. Besides, I was out of it, remember? So it doesn’t matter.” I look up at him. “I just don’t want whatever trouble you’re in to fall back on me or anyone I care about, okay?”

  He crosses his arms. “What makes you think I’m in trouble?”

  My eyes zero in on the scratches marring his neck and the deep bruise on his jaw that’s visible under the dusting of dark stubble, before settling on the knuckles of his left hand which are swollen and discolored.

  “You mean aside from them chasing you and whipping out a firearm? How about the fact that you fought them back when they attacked you? Anyone else would have given up the stupid bag, but not you. No, you almost lost your life because of it. It’s safe to assume whatever was in it was a big deal.”

  A shudder zips down my spine because something tells me if I wasn’t there…Preston might not be here now. Not that I should care, but I can’t take another death on my conscience.

  His jaw tics. “They won’t come after you, they got what they wanted.”

  “You don’t—” Juan’s ringtone cuts me off mid-sentence.

  “Are you trying to give me a heart attack? What the heck is going on?” Juan screeches when I pick up. “Wait, don’t answer that. I don’t want him to snap and kill you. Just tell me if you want pepperoni on your pizza or not.”

  My stomach rumbles at the mention of food. “You can put the pizza on hold, everything’s okay. He’s not a murderer, he’s…” I clear my throat because I don’t think telling Juan that Preston’s a giant asshole will ease his concern. “I’m leaving in a few. Tell Jess I’ll be there in time for the second workshop.”

  “Are you sure?”

  I’m sure I’m not going to let them fire me without a fight. I’m finally good at something and have a career, I don’t think it’s fair I end up heartbroken and unemployed.

  “Positive. And in case I forget to say it when I see you, thank you for being a good friend.”

  With that, I hang up and look around the room for my purse and whatever else I might have come here with.

  Preston’s jaw works. “You’re going to continue working for a boss who took advantage of you?” His tongue finds his cheek. “Man, some things never change.”

  I find my purse tangled in the bedsheets. “It’s called being a responsible adult. Unlike some people, I confront my problems head on, not run away from them.”

  Not anymore.

  I locate my shoes under the bed. “And she’s not technically my boss now. There’s been a merger between…” I pause, glaring at him. “You know what? You’re one to talk. Here you are living in a shithole and mixed up with bad people.” I walk over and poke him in the chest. “Do you have any idea how much you upset Asher when you left and never contacted him? Some people would do anything to have a family member who gives a shit, and yet you disregard your brother who does, like he’s yesterday’s paper. Not cool, bro.”

  “Wasn’t aware you were such a fan. Last I checked, you hated him.”

  “I never hated him. I thought he was a heartless prick who wasn’t good enough for my best friend.”

  A quality that seems to run in the Holden family.

  “And now?” For a fraction of a second, I see something resembling concern in his eyes before they turn to steel again.

  I think for a moment before I answer. “He’s still a bit of a conceited jerk sometimes, but he loves the shit out of Breslin and Landon, and they love him. They’re really great together, hap—” I bop him on the nose with my finger. “No, I’m not doing this. If you want to know about your brother, I suggest you pick up the phone and call him yourself like a big boy. Or do one better and drag your stubborn ass to Louisiana. I don’t know if you’re aware, but he did just lose the biggest game of his career, I’m sure seeing you would cheer him up.”

  The stubborn ass scrubs a hand down his face. “It’s not that simple. It’s better for us both if I stay away, trust me.” He walks over to the mini-fridge and takes out a beer. “If you really want to thank me for last night, you can do it by not telling him where I am or that you saw me.”

  Lord almighty, I’m certain advanced physics is easier to understand than the inner workings of P
reston Holden’s psyche.

  I stomp my foot in exasperation and look up to the heavens, asking whatever higher power’s currently listening for the strength to get through to this jackass. “No matter what you two fought about, he doesn’t deserve to be shut out permanently. He is your brother. Your brother who loves you. It would kill him to see you living in a crappy motel and being beat up by men with guns. How can you not understand that?”

  I grab him by the shoulders when he starts to object. “Good God, man. Stop being so obtuse and reach out to him. The lad just bought three freaking Ferraris on a whim last week. Heck, I think the dog would have gotten one too if he knew how to drive and stopped peeing on his lucky jersey.”

  He peels my fingers off his arms. “Did you really just refer to him as lad?”

  I rub my temples. “Focus, grasshopper. You’re missing the point. Asher will have no problem helping you get back on your feet and out of this dump. But more importantly, you’ll have your brother back in your life.”

  His glare is cutting. “No.”

  “But why?”

  He gets close to my face. “Because I don’t want to.”

  “Why not?”

  I jump when he hurls the beer bottle and it shatters against the wall behind me. “Get out.”

  I stand my ground. I can be stubborn too. “No. Not until you tell me why you won’t talk to your brother or what was in the bag. The choice is yours.”

  His expression is so hard, it’s like he’s carved from granite. “This is your last warning, Bishop. Get out, or I will make you. You don’t want that.”

  I hold my arms out wide. “Go right ahead.”

  “Kit,” he growls through clenched teeth.

  “I know you won’t hurt me.” I take a step in his direction, determined to chip away some of his shell. “Not physically anyway,” I amend. “You might as well tell me, so I go away. I can be very persistent when I want something. I once camped outside the local Walmart for three whole days for a chance to win Demi Lovato concert tickets. I thought Breslin was going to kill me for making her poop in a bag.”