Revenge 3 Read online

  REVENGE

  Volume 3

  JJ KNIGHT

  www.jjknight.com

  Copyright © 2014 by JJ Knight

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews, fan-made graphics, and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  JJ Knight

  www.jjknight.com

  Chapter 1

  I tug at the covers on Dylan’s bed and pull them higher across my chest.

  “You have a wife?” I ask.

  I can’t believe these words are coming from my mouth.

  Just moments ago, Dylan Wolf and I were locked together in passion. I’ve never felt anything like the sweet bliss of being in his arms, in his bed. When we reached the height of pleasure, we felt closer than I knew two people could be.

  Tonight, I gave him everything, and now… he just rolls out of bed and drops this bomb on me. He’s married. WTF?

  “I need to tell you about my wife,” he says. “Her name was Susan. Something about your reaction tells me you don’t know. I’m guessing your bosses didn’t tell you about my wife before they sent you to follow me out of that meeting.”

  I clutch the covers tighter. Where are my clothes? I wish I wasn’t naked right now. I’ve never felt so vulnerable in my life. I thought I was ready to lose my virginity, but I didn’t think it would feel like this. I’m exposed. My insides are aching. And now my heart… my heart is breaking. The guy I’m falling for has a wife.

  Dylan Wolf is still sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to me. He’s waiting for a response of some kind.

  “You’re married?” I ask. I’m ashamed by how stupid I sound, asking this question.

  He nods.

  A blast of emotion hits me. I feel sick to my stomach, and I want to scream and punch something. I thought Dylan was making me his girlfriend, not his mistress.

  I’m sure he’s got a million excuses.

  But I don’t want to hear any of them. I scramble to the other side of the bed and start hunting around in the dim light for my clothes.

  “Don’t be mad,” he says.

  “Too late.”

  My bra and shirt are still looped around my shoulders, where he left them. I button everything back up, and pull on my underwear and skirt.

  Dylan grabs some tissues from the dresser, his back to me, then pulls on his underwear.

  “Good,” he says, finally turning to face me. “Now we’ve got some clothes on. Come and sit on the bed and we’ll talk. You shouldn’t have serious talks when you’re naked.”

  I reach down for my shoes, but he grabs them and holds them hostage behind his back.

  “Jess,” he says sternly. “Calm the fuck down and sit on the bed.”

  “No. I don’t want to spend another minute with you. You’re married. I don’t… I can’t…”

  He stares at me, his dark brown eyes pleading. I feel myself weakening. I can’t resist those gorgeous eyes, and the powerful hold he has over me.

  My eyes move down, across his beautiful, full lips. Those lips were like heaven, raining down kisses on my neck and breasts. I can still feel him, all over my body. There’s not a bit of skin or a single nerve ending that doesn’t sing with desire when Dylan looks at me.

  Looking at his broad, muscular chest and his incredible arms… I long to feel him holding me again. Make this bad feeling go away.

  My pulse quickens as my eyes drop lower, to his dark underwear and the outline barely visible through the fabric. My head tells me to leave, but my body wants to stay and try what we just did again.

  He pats the bed next to him. I walk numbly, like a sleepwalker, and sit next to him. I’m wearing clothes now, but he makes me feel naked anyway.

  The loft bedroom is quiet. Closing my eyes, I reach down deep inside and find my voice.

  “At least tell me you’re divorced, or separated,” I say. There’s hope in my voice.

  “No.”

  I sigh and lean forward, my elbows on my knees and my face in my hands. I’m going to start crying any minute now, just as soon as the shock wears off.

  His hand lands on my back. I shrug him away, but he reaches across my shoulders and pulls me tight to his side.

  “I’m a widower,” he says. “Susan died.”

  I lift my face from my hands and stare up at him. His expression is impossible to read. I can’t tell if he’s feeling grief, or amused at himself for getting me so upset. He’s almost smiling, but not quite. And it’s a funny smile. Like he’s forcing his mouth into that shape so people won’t ask too many questions.

  “When did she die?”

  “Within seconds, we think. Seconds after her car went off the bridge.” He blinks at me, then turns to look away.

  “I’m so sorry.” I lick my lips. “I mean how long ago?”

  With his face in profile to me, he says, “Jess, I knew what you meant the first time. You asked me when, and the truth is it was a minute ago. It was this morning. Or last night. Or it’s happening right now.”

  I frown at him, feeling confused. “It’s happening right now?”

  He keeps looking away. “If you want to go by the calendar, it happened twenty-four months and six days ago. The day I met you was the anniversary of her death.” He exhales sharply and turns his face down to look at his hands. “The anniversary of her death. Anniversary? Is that the right word? I thought anniversaries were for celebrations, but there’s no other word for it. We have birthdays, but we don’t have deathdays.”

  I reach over timidly and put my hand on his bare leg. I’m still reeling with so many raw feelings. A minute ago, I wanted to punch him. Now… I don’t know what I want. Patting his leg seems weird, but I have to do something.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” I say.

  “She was the only person who mattered to me,” he says. “Her family turned her back on her during her… difficult times. But I stood by her because I knew her heart. She was better than all of them put together.”

  “Two years ago,” I murmur. I don’t mean to say it out loud, but now it’s out there. His wife died two years ago. I don’t know how long it’s supposed to take for someone to get over the love of their life dying. How about never? Something tells me there isn’t enough time in one person’s life to get over that big of a loss.

  Dylan’s still got his arm across my shoulders, and he gives me a little shake. I look over and see him grinning at me. It’s a real smile this time, all the way up to his eyes.

  “Lighten up, will ya?” he jokes. “We can’t both be gloomy. That would be a disaster. I’m sorry about laying this all on you, but the longer I wait, the harder it was going to be.”

  “Thanks for telling me.” I smile back and rest the side of my head against his bare shoulder.

  The heat of his skin is comforting, yet my muscles are still tense from the news. I’m so relieved he’s not married, but it’s like my body hasn’t gotten the message yet.

  I take a deep breath and try to relax. Everything’s okay now, I tell myself. I just had a big shock, but it wasn’t as bad as it seems.

  I adjust my head on his shoulder, enjoying the feeling of his skin under mine. My mouth curves up in a smile. With each second, I’m feeling more relieved that Dylan is single and can be mine.

  “Put al
l of this in your report,” he says. With my head connected to his shoulder, I feel the deep vibrations of his voice all through my body.

  “What report?” I ask without thinking.

  “For your bosses,” he says. “Let them know Susan is dead, and I don’t have her ‘stashed away’ anywhere. Her family paid the newspapers to keep the accident quiet. That’s why they didn’t know.”

  I don’t like the tone of Dylan’s voice, or what he’s implying. He thinks I’m only here to spy on him for my bosses at Morris Music. But I’d still be here if I worked at a coffee shop. Dylan is the only reason I’m here in this funky converted firehall.

  He chuckles. “Type this all up in your report.”

  “I don’t understand. Why would Morris even care?” I ask. “So what if you were married? That’s not exactly a scandal.”

  “It is and it isn’t. Susan wasn’t exactly an angel.”

  “What did she do? Murder a bunch of people?”

  Dylan pulls away from me and looks into my eyes.

  Oh, no. I could just die. Me and my sarcastic mouth. Why did I have to go and make a dumb joke about his dead wife being a murderer? I wish the floor would open up and I could just fall down a trap door right now.

  My eyes flick up to the shining brass firepole. A possible getaway? That would be a classy move. I could insult his dead wife and then jump on the firepole. Really mature, Jess.

  “She did shoot one person,” he says.

  I hold really still, trying not to react. Is he testing me? It feels like he is. His moods shift so rapidly sometimes, I can’t get my balance.

  “Was it you she shot?” I ask.

  “No.”

  The lofted bedroom is eerily quiet.

  I remember what Dylan said about me not asking questions if I’m not prepared for the answer. Maybe I’ve heard enough about his wife for one night.

  A ringing sound pierces the quiet.

  A second later, another ringing—a different one—starts.

  “Saved by the bell,” he jokes.

  The noise is just both of our cell phones, but in the stillness, it felt like a fire alarm.

  Dylan gets off the bed and locates his phone in his crumpled jeans. Holding the phone to his ear with his shoulder, he pulls on his jeans and walks to the firepole. Without even a glance back at me, he slips out of sight.

  My jaw drops open. The man certainly knows how to make an exit.

  My phone is still ringing.

  Dylan is now talking to someone downstairs, his voice muted. I pull out my phone and swipe the screen to accept the call.

  “Jess?” It’s a girl’s voice.

  “Who’s this?”

  She giggles. “It’s me, Amanda. It’s your roommate, dummy. Where the fuck are you?”

  “At a friend’s.”

  Her voice gets serious and breathy. “Listen. Drop whatever you’re doing. You have to come home, right now. I’ve got a big surprise for you.”

  I’m not interested in her surprise. I’m annoyed. Annoyed that she exists, that she’s my roommate, and that she’s phoning me like a crazy person instead of texting.

  “I’m busy.”

  “Come home right now. Riley’s back.”

  “So?”

  “I can’t explain. I don’t want to ruin the surprise. I can’t wait to see the look on your face. You’re going to fucking die.”

  My nerves start to tingle. I’ve had more than enough surprises for one day. “Is it a good surprise or a bad surprise?”

  “Jess, you’re the worst. I told you to come home right now. Just do it.”

  She ends the call without even saying goodbye.

  Chapter 2

  It’s not every day I have the chance to slide down a fireman’s pole. I stare at the brass pole for a minute. Normally I would, but my legs are a bit shaky, so I take the stairs.

  Dylan is just finishing his phone call downstairs, in the kitchen. He sets the phone on the counter and gives me a puppy dog look. The sweetness in his expression makes my heart ache. He’s already taken me to his bed, but I want more. So much more.

  An hour ago, he promised that having sex with him would brand me. I think it has. I feel his imprint on me now, like a fingerprint shadowing my own.

  I point to my phone in my pocket. “Roommate,” I say. “Nothing important.”

  He glances at his phone.

  My heart sinks with every second of silence. I don’t need to know who was on the phone, but the fact that he won’t tell me makes me sad. He’s drawing boundaries and keeping me on the outside.

  Finally, he says, “That was my… patron. Like a sponsor.”

  “Sponsor? Are you in AA?”

  He laughs in a way that makes me feel dumb and awkward. I look down at the wood floor, my cheeks flushing. “Sorry,” I mumble.

  He walks over to me and hugs me to his bare chest.

  “Don’t be sorry,” he says, stroking my hair.

  I close my eyes and enjoy the scent of his skin. The smell is stronger now, because he worked up a light sweat upstairs. His warm skin gives off a heavenly, manly smell.

  “Can you keep a secret?” he asks.

  Snuggling my face against his bare shoulder, I say, “Definitely.”

  “You can’t tell your bosses at Morris Music. This isn’t like what I told you about Susan. That’s the sort of thing that’s public record. I don’t care about them knowing that.”

  “Okay.”

  “Don’t talk to Morris about my phone call just now.”

  “I won’t. They’re jerks, anyway. They never tell me anything. I’m working in the basement archives scanning in dusty old photos, all day, every day. I wouldn’t tell them anything, even if they actually talked to me and asked.”

  “Okay, good.”

  Suddenly, I remember the cameras inside the loft. My coworker, Nick, owns the building and has his so-called security system running. I was going to unplug his cameras, but didn’t have time when I got here an hour ago. Dylan swept me up in his arms and took me upstairs before I could.

  Damn it. Now I’m worried Dylan is going to say something that will get back to Morris Music because Nick is spying on him.

  Dylan is opening his mouth to tell me something, so I move my hand and quickly cover his mouth.

  He gives me a look that says I’m crazy.

  “Let’s go for a walk,” I say. “We’ll get some fresh air and you can tell me everything.”

  I pull my hand away, and he gives me a sideways look. He knows I’m up to something, but he’s amused.

  “You’re so cute,” he says. “Hang on while I grab a shirt. Are you sure you’re fine to go for a walk?” His eyes roll down to my lower stomach. “How are you feeling?”

  My chest pinches with emotion. He’s so sweet to be thinking about me and how I might be feeling after having sex for the first time. I may not be experienced, but I can tell Dylan is a special kind of guy.

  I put on a big smile and tell him I’m just fine. He disappears upstairs to get a shirt, and I go over to use the washroom to clean up.

  When I come out of the washroom, he’s standing by the exit door, looking worried.

  “Everything okay?” he asks.

  I laugh. “A little sore, but you didn’t wreck me.”

  He looks relieved. He pulls out his phone, checks something, and tucks it away. “Let’s go for that walk. Are you going to be okay dressed like that? Do you want to borrow a jacket?”

  I assure him that I’m fine, and lead the way out the door.

  We walk down the sidewalk, past other industrial buildings and a few apartments.

  The area changes quickly, becoming more residential as we walk away from the main street the firehall’s on.

  This neighborhood doesn’t seem scary at all, with Dylan at my side. He’s big enough that he makes me feel safe, but not so big and aggressive that he’ll attract guys looking for a fight.

  He’s perfect.

  His fingertips gr
aze the back of my hand.

  I look over and catch him smiling down at me. He leans toward me and scoops my hand in his. This is amazing. Just walking down the street, holding hands.

  “Who’s this sponsor person?” I ask. I want him to open up to me, so I can get to know him. And I’m curious. He’s not just an ordinary street musician. I’ve seen him with bodyguards.

  “My sponsor is sort of like a patron of the arts,” he says. “Actually the whole thing is a little unusual. It all started about three months ago, when I came down from the mountains.” He chuckles to himself. “Don’t worry, I shaved off my beard so I didn’t scare the villagers with my wolf-man face.”

  I laugh, then say, “What on earth are you talking about?”

  “Oh, you don’t know anything? Your research on me really sucks.”

  “Dylan, I have zero research on you. All I know is what you tell me. If you ever actually, you know, tell me.” I squeeze his hand.

  We walk for a minute, then I say, “You could start by telling me why you changed your name.”

  “Shit went down in my life,” he says, his voice choking. “And then there was… some drinking. When I sobered up, I’d legally changed my name to Dylan Wolf. My friends didn’t care. They were sick of Brandon and all his tragedy. They welcomed the new guy. Dylan.”

  “That’s intense. No offense, but were you drunk when you changed your name? I thought that was a legal thing.”

  He chuckles, nodding for me to cross the street with him. We’re heading toward a small park, brightly lit by street lamps. It’s past nine, and the only people in the park are some teens on the swings.

  “Are you going to ask questions, or let me explain?”

  I squeeze his hand. “Keep going. I’ll hold my questions until the end like a good student.”

  “Where was I? The new name. Well, it turns out I was still the same guy, even with my new name. Getting drunk at funerals and knocking over tables. That sort of thing. It all came to a head the Christmas before last. One of these intervention things. Are you with me so far?”