Fixation (Magnetic Desires Book 3) (12 page)

He growled as he slid both hands down my thighs and molded me into a split. "You don't need me. You're a con woman who doesn't care who she hurts."

"That's not true. I do need you. I want you—"

I clenched the pole tightly with both palms while he unzipped his pants and nudged my slit with his erection. "You only want this. My cock shoved deep inside your pussy."

"Yes," I moaned, the heat of him so close made it hard to think, and then with a groan he pushed into me. "No, I mean I need you to let me prove to you that you're wrong. I don't ever want to let go of you."

Gripping my legs, he held us frozen for a moment in a memorial to what should have been forever. "You can't. I see through you now. I'm letting you go and this time I'll manage to forget you."

My breath hitched as he slid out of me, only the tip of his cock nestled in my entrance. "I want you to remember your pussy was made for me, and only me, and every time you fuck someone in the future you’re going to remember what you did that destroyed us."

A single tear dashed down my cheek, but I kept my grip firm on the pole as he pounded into me. I soaked in the tempest of emotions that poured from him, his hate, and his love as he buried his face in my shoulder, his grunts coming hard with each deep thrust. My palms throbbed around the pole, only adding to the sensation already flooding me. The heat that he spun through my body surged and crashed as I pulled him into me again and again. He let go of my legs, and I held them out while he wrapped one hand around mine on the pole, and pressed the other to my clit. The thump of flesh hitting the pole accompanied our moans as his fingers eked the ache from my body until I came. He came then too, jerking behind me before he slid out of me, and I lowered myself to the floor.

I rested my head on the pole for a moment, not wanting to turn around. Once I turned around he would storm out and this thing between us would truly be over.

Over my shoulder, his breathing was ragged, heavy as he rested his hand on the back of my neck, his thumb moving in slow, tender circles. I gasped, my eyes burning as the bloom of pain in my chest exploded. He pressed his lips to the back of my head, and I shook. My tongue stuck to the bottom of my mouth while I tried to suppress the sob that was making its way up past the lump in my throat. It wasn't supposed to end like this. Resting his forehead against the back of my head, he swallowed, and his voice cracked. "You’re well and truly fucked now, sweetheart. I hope it was worth it."

His words obliterated the moment. I'd never thought to hear them again. Fear clutched at my throat and rushed through my veins, and then I was fighting the memory of Brady with everything I had.

Leo

She lashed out, her elbow hitting me square in the gut, and I let her go, bending forward as the air expelled from my lungs. Hand clutched to her throat, she spun around and scrambled away from me. My throat constricted at the pain in her eyes. I took a step toward her.

She shrank away from me, her back slamming against the wall. Her face was pinched, her mouth a thin white line in an even paler face. Darting glances about the room, she was drawn inward as though she couldn’t see anything beyond what was going on in her head.

Rooted to the spot, I watched the damage unfold in front of me. I'd planned this out. Had known there would be repercussions. But this… I had not foreseen this. Glancing at the exit I was supposed to take after her final grand performance, I no longer wanted to take it. What the hell was going on? Unable to leave her so broken, I rubbed the back of my neck. It didn’t mean anything. I’d always been a sucker for her, but the way she held stiffly to the wall, small whimpers panting from her, was more than theatrics. She fluttered a hand to her chest, and I glimpsed the rawness of her palms from where I had held them to the pole.

"Lola, shit, I didn’t mean…" My need to help her carried me forward.

"Don’t come near me," she said so low, her voice was a hiss. Shaking violently, she was barely able to hold herself up.

"Let me help you, sweetheart." I pushed every drop of calm into my voice that I could, although my heart beat wildly.

"I can’t do this anymore," she whispered, lowering her hands to stare at them. They were red from the friction of the pole, the pads of her fingers and the middle of her palm already puffing up to form blisters.  She glanced up at me, her eyes shining, and my stomach flipped at the pain etched on her face. "Get out."

I wanted to punch something; considered punching myself. "Let me take you to the hospital."

Her face mottled as the blood rushed to her cheeks, and her gaze sharpened and narrowed. Drawing her hand from her throat, she clasped them together in front of her, nursing the wounds I’d inflicted. Launching off the wall, her voice wobbled as she advanced on me. "Get the fuck out!"

I stepped back involuntarily as she came toward me. Her eyes were huge, her face crimson, and a tic fluttered rapidly at the side of her clenched jaw. Still, I had to make sure she would be okay. "Are you going to be all right?"

"I would have done anything to have you back in my life, Leo,
anything
. But you don’t have to worry now, because what you just did…" She pushed me out of the studio, a grimace on her face when her hands made contact with my chest. "Send me the divorce papers. I’ll fucking sign them."

Shutting the door in my face, she disappeared from view. I’d wanted her to hurt, I’d wanted this ending, but I hadn’t expected the finality of it to sucker punch me. For so long I had wanted to punish her for what she’d done to me. Had imagined the many ways I could hurt her. But nothing I’d fantasized about came close to the reality of what had gone on in that room tonight.

I shoved my hand through my hair and stalked over to my bike. Straddling it, I pushed it off its stand. Each move I'd made, and her reaction replayed in my head. Clamping my teeth into the side of my cheek, I took off into the night.

The ride home did nothing to shake the feeling that I’d taken things too far. Each step I’d taken tonight ran through my head, leaving me analyzing what I should have done differently, or why her reaction had been so intense. I’d wanted to destroy her, hadn’t I?

Until now... I'd been sure that was what I wanted. So why did I feel like a monster, and why the hell did the image of her cowering from me tear me apart?

I tossed and turned all night. Not even the half bottle of whisky made a dint in the conflict that pulled me apart. Not when each time I saw her face, my gut ached to believe her.

I dragged myself out of bed before the sun came up, unable to handle another minute locked in my thoughts. Giving up on sleep, I headed into the gallery. At least at work I would be able to focus on something other than her.

The gallery was quiet. Alex wouldn’t be in for hours. Sound echoed in the empty space. I stalked toward my office only to be confronted by her picture at the foot of the stairs. She glanced up at me, the old me, with a flame in her eyes, and my chest tightened. Adrenaline surged and bristled through me. My jaw clenched as I studied her, us, the what should have been over what was. God, I wanted to believe she hadn’t run. I wanted to take her at her word, but letting her in like that… I punched the wall.

A hole the size of my fist opened up at the impact and the photograph fell to the floor, the frame cracking and the glass shattering over the concrete.

"Fuck." Carefully I pulled the frame apart and slipped the photograph free of what was left of the glass. I brushed my palm over the surface and the remnants of broken glass fell to the floor like dust. Sprinkles of glass dust bit into my palm but I barely noticed as I read what I’d wrote on the back of the print. Damn foolish sap. All these years I’d kept her on the wall, a ghost trapped behind glass until she’d come back into my life and turned everything I knew upside down.

How many times would she make me a fool? I’d thought I could get over her but the truth was as clear as it was in the photograph. I’d never get her out of my system.

Lola

Stalking through to the office, I pulled the first aid kit down from the shelf, wincing each time my palms touched anything. I’d sustained bruises, friction burn, breaks, and tears during the years I’d danced. The first year had been the worst. And yet nothing hurt as much as the pain in my chest right now. The spike of adrenaline that had rushed through me when he’d uttered those words, the same words Brady had said to me that night, still blocked most of the pain in my hands, but I’d started to tremble as it wore off. Squeezing my eyes shut, I pulled in a sobbing breath.

Opening the container, I dug carefully with my fingers to find antiseptic cream and gauze. It had been months since I’d seen Brady but he’d been here tonight, in that room with me. I’d seen him in Leo. Brady’s snarl and his hard gaze on me as he gloated over how he would kill me had been in Leo as he moved toward me after he’d finished with me.

Brady’s dead.
Squeezing ointment onto my hands, I smeared it carefully over the skin before wrapping the wounds in gauze as best I could. Yes, Brady was dead. I’d seen the life leave his eyes on the blacktop beside me. That image stayed in the back of my mind as sharp as it had been the night it happened. I’d survived. Brady was in the past, and I'd moved on with my life. Now I had to leave Leo there, too.

It didn’t matter that I loved him as much as I always had, or that I had no doubt I would continue to do so. The people we were, they were gone. I hadn’t wanted to believe it. I’d fought to hold onto him despite his warnings, not willing to listen to what he was telling me. Shutting the lid on the first aid kit, I curled up in my chair. He’d made it clear that he wanted to hurt me, but I’d thought...I’d wanted him so badly I thought I could handle him. But I’d been wrong. Brady had stolen him from me, too.

My palms ached and throbbed as I tried to hold the steering wheel with trembling fingers. Already the gauze needed replacing as the blisters burst and seeped through the thin material. I carefully guided the truck into the drive as the sun peeked over the horizon.

Mike was already dressed for work when I shuffled into the kitchen. He sat reading the paper and nursing a coffee, his mouth full of toast. "Everything all right?"

"Yeah." I tucked my hands under my arms hoping to hide them from him. "I had some things to deal with."

"I know this is none of my business…" he stood up and put his plate and cup in the sink, "...but you seem run down. I have no issues with you borrowing my truck or looking after Tia, but you might want to consider what these things you have to deal with…" he put his fingers up in air quotes. "...are costing you."

Crossing the kitchen, I picked up a mug, but with my bandaged hands, I couldn’t grip it, and I jumped as the ceramic smashed on the floor. Mike turned at the noise, his gaze running over me and landing on my hands. "What happened?"

"It’s nothing." I shrugged it off. "A bit of pole burn."

He took it in his, holding it by the wrist and peeled off the gauze. "That’s a bit more than pole burn, isn’t it?"

I cringed as the pulse in his throat stood out against the tense set of his jaw. The skin on my palms had torn away, leaving me not only injured but unable to pole. "Shit."

"Come on." He tugged me over to the medicine cupboard and pulled out a tube of antiseptic lotion. Squeezing some onto his fingers, he applied it to each palm before covering them with fresh gauze. "Sorry, I haven’t got anything else here. Tell me what you need and I’ll pick it up after work."

"You’re too good to me, Mike." I pressed a kiss to his cheek. "If you weren’t infatuated with my sister, I’d take a shot at you myself."

He gaped.

"I’ve lived here for six months. It isn’t like you hide it well."

"Well, it's too bad, I guess, that you and I both want other people."

I dropped my gaze to the floor. "Yeah, it’s too bad."

Settling his hands on my shoulders, he gazed into my eyes. "Lola, you shouldn’t let him treat you the way he has been."

"Don’t worry.  It’s done. We’re done." I stepped out of his reach. Knowing that Leo and I were over and being okay with it were not the same thing. I didn’t know if I’d ever get over him, not when I hadn’t been able to yet. But I didn’t have the strength to prove him wrong. Whether Leo loved me or not, I couldn’t keep going the way we were. I’d thought we’d get through the anger and the hatred and deal with everything that was unsaid but maybe he’d been right all along.

I made for the stairs.  "I’m going to ask one of the girls to take my classes this morning and then I’ll get Tia ready for school. Can you take her?"

"Sure," he muttered, but I didn’t look back. Couldn't face the disappointment I could hear in his voice. The same disappointment I’d heard in my parent's voice every damn time I’d said the same thing to them. After I called one of the girls who’d been taking my classes since I started them, I staggered upstairs to wake Tia for school. I could barely keep my eyes open while I got her up and dressed before shooing her downstairs to Mike. Then I stumbled across the hallway and fell into bed, cocooning myself in the duvet as I let the agony of last night's events wash through me.

Leo

Shoving the pile of paperwork across the desk, I watched half of it fall to the floor. It didn’t help the frustration that curled through my body. I’d cleaned up the glass from the broken frame and then clear bagged the print before putting it into the flat file for storage. In half a mind to find Lola, I struggled to talk myself out of it, which left me antsy. Unable to get past the way she’d reacted last night, I almost had myself convinced I owed her the chance to tell me everything. Maybe I wasn’t as emotionally separated from the problem as I thought because her lies sounded like truth in the light of day. I’d been so damned convinced. Slamming down the lid of my laptop as the phone rang, I answered it with a growl. "What is it, Alex?"

"I’ve got a Mister Connors on the phone."

What the hell did Connors want? It had been years since the last time I’d heard from him when he'd told me the girl I was looking for didn't seem to exist. All his leads had led him to a teenage runaway from years before. It could have been her, but the way he laid it out had confirmed my fears. The woman I'd married hadn't been who she said she was. After the age of fifteen, Lola Albrict had simply ceased to exist. Brady O'Brien did, however, exist, though the information Connors had been able to gather had been sketchy at best, but it did include the fact that the place Lola had said she worked had not been owned by him, and the second time he'd returned to the strip club he'd found the building abandoned. None of it had added up, and I'd clung to the belief that the woman had conned me, as she had said in the note she left.

I hadn't expected to ever hear from Connors again after that. I thought I'd made it abundantly clear as I’d thumped the envelope of cash down on his desk and told him to drop the case, that I didn’t want him to pursue it further. I no longer had any interest in what happened to Lola Albrict. "Put him through."

There was a moment of silence before his rough voice filtered through. "Mr. Barclay, I thought you might like to know I have some information on your wife."

"I told you to drop that years ago, Connors." I sank back into my leather chair.

He coughed, followed up with a silence as he undoubtedly sucked back on the same cigars he’d smoked at our meetings. "I never forgot the name. People don't vanish like that. There's usually a trail of some kind."

"I know that. What's your point, Connors?"

"I came across something and did a little digging. I believe I can find her now."

"I already know where she is." I snarled and rubbed my temples to loosen the tension that started to gather at the beginning of this phone call, along with the tight fist on my gut.
She’d cowered, her hand clutching her throat, those beautiful eyes of hers huge in her pale face, when I told her I was done with her.

"Oh, that’s good then. I hope things turned out the way you wanted them to."

"Why would you say that?" I surged forward in my seat.

"Read through the file. I’m sending it to you now."

My email pinged, his name jumping onto my cell screen as he spoke. "Take a minute to go through it. Might help you put the pieces together."

He hung up and I held onto the phone while I stared at the email notification. Was it worth looking at it now? After I’d finally put her where she was meant to be, behind me. My thumb hovering over the screen, I considered whether to open the email. Things right now were as they were meant to be. So what if it hurt like hell?  I thumped the button and the email opened so that I could download the file.

The first document was a scan of a news article in the Lanston Herald.

Businessman Brady O’Brien was fatally shot in an early morning standoff with the police. Woman held hostage, critically wounded.

According to sources, an ongoing investigation into the dealings of the well-known businessman came to a head early this morning. Mr. O’Brien was fatally shot during an altercation with the police, while holding a Miss Albrict hostage. She was critically injured and raced to Lanston General where she’s been placed in the intensive care unit. Doctors have confirmed that her condition is stable.

My heart pounded as I opened the next file.

Hospital records dated at the time Brady had left her in the ICU. I cupped my chin in my hand, covering my mouth with my fingers as I studied the extent of the damage. How the hell Connors had gotten these I didn’t want to know, but she’d been so damn lucky. The fourth, fifth, and sixth rib on her left side had been broken and punctured a lung, but the damage didn’t stop there. She’d suffered a fractured cheekbone and broken nose too. But it was the line that explained how her throat had been cut that made me want to vomit. Covering my mouth, I fought the urge to hurl and shut the document. So much damage, and I hadn’t fucking noticed. I’d been too busy punishing her for what she’d done to me.

He’d slit her fucking throat, and I’d been blinded by my anger. My mind went back to last night when she’d cowered against the wall, clutching her throat. If regret had a taste, it was bitter and metallic and I couldn’t swallow around it.

"Shit." I didn’t need to read anymore to know I’d screwed up. All this time it was I who had let her down. It was me who had broken her trust. And last night when she'd shared everything with me, I'd compounded the pain, unable to see past the hurt of seeing her with that guy and my own distrust. Her shock when I'd accused her should have made me second guess what I'd seen, but I'd been too caught up in how much pain she'd caused me. Damn it, she had a twin sister. I'd been tripped up once before because they looked so similar. God, I was a fool. It had never been her. It had been me all along.

I jumped out of my chair, sending papers flying. My laptop clattered to the floor as I let the swirl of emotions detonate with destructive force. Leaning on my desk, I tried to pull myself back together, breathing through the haze of red that surrounded me. My shoulders shook as I bowed my head and exhaled forcibly. What was I supposed to do now?

I raced from the room, not bothering to right the mess while I pulled up her number on my phone and listened to it ring over and over again before being disconnected.

"Pick up, Lola, pick up," I pleaded as I crossed the gallery floor not bothering to say goodbye to Alex. I had to find a way to fix the giant fuck up that had become our lives. The line rang out again as I straddled my bike and took off to her studio. The place was closed, empty. How the hell was I supposed to find her, if she didn’t want to be found?

I tried calling Birdie. It was a long shot, but she’d been at the engagement party with that sister of hers, and that guy Mike, who seemed to be close to Birdie. Maybe she’d know how to find her. Right now that was the only thing I could do. I’d failed when she needed me most, and I wouldn’t do it again.

"Birdie." Gazing up at the sky, I thanked some unknown deity for small mercies when she answered the phone.

"What’s up, Leo?" Confusion filled her voice.

"There was a girl at your engagement party. Lola. I have to find her."

"Oh, Mellie’s sister? What do you want with her?"

I gritted my teeth, to avoid the temptation of yelling that she was my goddamn wife over the phone lines. "Do you know where she lives or not?"

"Yeah, yeah, okay, Leo. She’s staying with Mike. I’ll text you the address. Maybe call before you show up."

"Just send it to me," I growled and hung up on her. A minute later her message came through and I ripped out of the car park.