Pretty Ugly (Addicted Hearts Book 2) Page 6

  The dogs finish their business and trot back in as I chuck the last of my smoke into the yard. Whatever, I’ll pick it up later. The sound of rushing water echoes through the thin walls of our home. An uneasiness sits like a stone in my stomach as I follow the sound to the master bedroom. Something’s not right. I feel it whirling in the air, but I can’t be sure.

  A piece of fancy letterhead lies balled in the corner of our room. I swipe it from the floor and smooth out the wrinkles enough to read the small print.

  Dear Mr. Chase,

  We regret to inform you that your father, Tanner Chase Sr., has passed on. He’s listed you as the executor of his last will and testament, and as such, we request a meeting with you to discuss his final wishes . . .

  “Fuck,” I whisper aloud. My gaze travels through the open doorway of the bathroom as my feet move me, the letter slipping from my fingers. “Babe?”

  Through the curtain, I see his shadow. Contorted from the strangled rays of light emanating from the vanity bulbs. Holding his lean body against the wall, his arms appear long and skinny. I quietly undress and step inside. Water sluices down his spine, his muscles taut under stretched skin. He doesn’t say a word, and he doesn’t have to. I know too well the complicated feelings that come from mourning a bastard.

  I take a step, reaching out for him to give him the only comfort I can. My hands slide across his back and around to his stomach. “I’m sorry, baby,” I whisper, pressing my cheek against his shoulder blade. His silence floats around us thick and heavy, much like the steam curling around our naked bodies.

  Without warning, he breaks my embrace and whips around. Light eyes burn a deep blazing blue swimming in a sea of pink, but his face remains hard and stoic. The ferocity of his mouth attacking mine knocks me backward. He holds me steady, his fingers biting my hips as he pushes my back against the cold tile. A feral growl rumbles in his chest. He nips my lips, teasing me with a series of licks before slipping his tongue inside to waltz with mine.

  The violent beat of his heart smashes at his ribs. It bangs against my palm as I rest it flat on his chest and push, but his mouth is unrelenting. The built-up anger from years of neglect pours off his tongue and slides down my throat. All the feelings he buries deep down inside bubble up behind it, volatile and ready to explode. When he hooks my legs around his waist, there’s nothing left I can do except brace myself for impact.

  But there isn’t one.

  “Chase? What’s going on?”

  He grunts and sets me back on my feet, then moves my hand to his only semi-aroused cock. “Jerk it a little.”

  I wrap my fingers around it, then pump my fist, fruitlessly attempting to build up friction between my palm and his shaft. Chase jams his eyes closed, a look of grim determination etching his face. I’ve heard of this happening to guys before, but I never thought it would happen to Chase. The guy rocks a chubby if the wind blows through his shorts. He’s definitely DTF every second of every day.

  . . . except lately.

  “It's okay to be upset about your father, baby. I understand.”

  He groans, pushing my hand away. “You know what, Kat? Just forget it.”

  “What?” My blood, just a few minutes ago fueled by desire, is now beginning to boil with anger. “I didn’t come in here to fuck you, Chase. I came in here to support you, you big, stupid jerk! But you don’t want me? Fine. Go fuck yourself, then!”

  The metal rings shriek as I tear back the curtain and step from the tub, only stopping for the second it takes me to grab a towel before slamming the bathroom door behind me. What a colossal asshole! I understand that letter threw his world into a tizzy, but that’s no reason to treat me like shit. I’m not his punching bag.

  I’ve barely even started drying off when the bathroom door swings back open again. I turn toward him, drinking in the sight of his beautiful, naked body. Droplets roll down his heaving chest, leaving tiny piles of water on the floor by his feet. His gorgeous face twists in a scowl, his nostrils flaring with each angry breath. “What did you say to me?”

  “I told you to go fuck yourself. If you can stay hard long enough to do it.” I try to be brusque, but my voice comes out far weaker than I intend. How the hell does he do this to me? How is it that he simultaneously makes me want to kiss him and punch him in the throat?

  He bites out a humorless chuckle, chewing the ring in the corner of his mouth. His gaze drops and mine follows, directly to the rock-hard rod standing straight at attention between his sinewy thighs. Our eyes meet, his dark and devilish, peering through my very soul.

  “Come here,” he demands with the crook of his finger.

  “No.” Heat pools between my legs. His sweet side makes me weak, but his dominant side makes me wet. I squeeze my thighs, trying to stifle the pounding arousal, but the action only ends up stoking my need for him.

  I glide my hands over my stomach, my fingers reaching the slickness below. He growls, his lips curling as I slip into my wet heat. “You want this?” Removing my middle finger, I hold it up before sliding it into my mouth, sucking off my own sweet juice with sunken cheeks. “Come get it.”

  I turn and head for the door, but even with his bad leg, I can’t outrun him. His long strides put him in front of me in an instant. He grabs me, tatted fingers curling around my hips as he drags me to the bed. I fall face first; my bare breasts squashed against the mattress.

  With one hand resting flat on my back, the other comes down on my ass cheek. My clit thrums with need. He kicks my legs apart, draping his hard body over mine. Wordlessly, he growls in my ear. It sends an immediate reaction blazing through my core. “Chase, please . . .”

  “No! I don’t want to hear you speak again,” he warns, and I’m suddenly well aware of the fact he’s not playing. This isn’t a game. I wounded his pride, and now I’m meant to take the punishment he doles without mercy.

  I struggle to escape his grip, but he holds me down, his lips still hovering close to my ear. Hot breath fans across my cheek as two fingers tease my sodden entrance. I whimper, but the sound gets lost in the bed as he forces them inside me.

  Red hot fire bursts behind my eyelids. When his thumb finds my throbbing bud, my orgasm rockets through me, shooting me into space. I’m still quivering with pleasure when he pulls his hand away and impales me with his steel erection.

  “Fuck, you’re tight,” he grunts. The barbell in his shaft slides along my inner walls as he pulls out slowly then slams back in. Husky moans lodge in my chest. I claw the sheets, twisting them in my fingers in a white-knuckle grasp. “That cock hard enough for you now?”

  Before I have a chance to answer, his hand comes down on my ass again. A tremble quivers deep inside my core. My pussy pulses around his shaft as he pistons into me with violent, angry thrusts. I feel my body tighten. That roiling ball of pleasure swirls in my gut, threatening to tear me in two. Chase feels it, too. He tangles his fingers in my hair and pulls my chest off the bed. From this angle, he hits the mark. That perfect spot that turns my knees to jelly as another release splinters through me.

  His mouth covers mine, absorbing my strangled cry, the bitter taste of anger and regret leaking off his tongue. It's not the first time my body took the brunt of his emotion, and surely, it won't be the last, but the angst he unleashes this time is like nothing I've ever felt before. The brutal way his hips smack my ass is savage. A hard, bestial pounding that renders me senseless until I’m lost in the pleasure only he knows how to give.

  He drops me back to the bed and flips me to my back. “I can’t take anymore,” I whine as he crawls over me and thrusts back inside without hesitation, but my body gratefully accepts him, sucking him in deeper.

  “Look at me, Kat.” But I can’t. Lost in a mindless sea of pleasure, I can’t stop my back from bowing and my head digging into the pillow behind it.

  When he grasps my chin, wrath rages in his turquoise eyes. It crashes through his gaze like a stormy sea, wet and wild, ready to drown us both in despa
ir. “S'agapó. Syngnómi. I’m sorry, baby.” Another bliss-filled wave crests. It drags him under, pulling him into the rising tide of my release. I cup his cheek, feeling his cock thicken and fill me with a hot blast of cum.

  Chase collapses, our sweat-slick skin sticking together, blustering breath beating to the same slamming rhythm of our hearts. “I’m sorry,” I whisper again, but he doesn’t respond. His breath only stutters in my ear, his back heaving with remorse. We lie there entwined in each other’s embrace as the full weight of Chase’s sorrow comes crashing down. He lets it go until nothing’s left, and his sobs grow silent.

  When he finally gets up, he turns his back to me. I rest my hand on his shoulder, same as he did when my own father passed. A simple token of comfort. A small gesture to let him know I’m still right here. I’ll always be right here. “What am I supposed to do, Kat?” Emotion alters his voice. It comes out deep and hollow, the void so palpable I’m afraid if I move I’ll fall right in.

  “I think you need to go to New York and deal with your father’s affairs. It will give you closure, and more importantly, it will help you stay sober.”

  Famous last words.

  Chapter 8

  Chase

  “Kat, baby, my ride will be here any second.”

  I run my knuckle down Kat’s cheekbone. Long lashes flutter before opening. She looks up at me with sexy, sleepy eyes that make me want to crawl back into bed with her, before lifting her head. “What time is it?”

  “Don’t get up. It’s early. Three a.m. I just wanted to let you know I’m leaving, and I’ll call you when I get there, okay?”

  “I miss you already,” she mumbles, curling back into our bed.

  “I’ll be back before you know it.” I drop a kiss on her temple. “I love you.”

  “Love you, too.”

  “Sir? We’re getting ready to land.”

  The flight attendant touches my shoulder with a gentle nudge. I startle, ripped away from dreams of Kat’s beautiful face sleeping peacefully in our bed. I wish I was still there wrapped in her arms instead of heading back to deal with my father’s bullshit, but she’s right. The only way I’ll ever be free is to face it.

  Yet as I soar over Manhattan at ten thousand feet, the shaking in my hands grows substantially worse. The last time I saw my father, he was throwing me out of our home for being such a disappointment. Funny how the one person unfit to carry his name is the only one he has to turn to in the end. He died a lonely pauper in prison. As angry as I am, I can’t help but wonder what went through his mind during his final days. Did he think of my grandmother? Of me? Did he regret the choices he’d made and wish he could change them? Thinking about this shouldn’t matter now. Why do I care? He threw me away to live on the street. I was trash. Insignificant to his Wall Street world. Fuck him.

  I hope he suffered as I suffered.

  I’ll never forgive him. However, as I reach for my cigarettes and saunter through the airport doors, I vow to forget. Inhaling smoke and the crisp New York air into my lungs, I make a promise to myself: I will not waste another minute thinking about this person who gave me life and nothing more. He doesn’t deserve my mourning.

  Pulling my phone from my pocket, I fire off a quick text message to let Kat know I’ve landed. It’s ten in New York, which means she’s probably in the shower getting ready for work, but I know she worries.

  A line of yellow cabs waits along the curb. I field-strip the burning cherry of my smoke and stomp on it with my boot before heading to grab one. “New York Times building, Forty-first and Eighth,” I bark as I slide into the leather seat.

  The driver grunts and pulls away. Yellow Cabs are a dime a dozen. The mini television inside flips through various news reports while the calming chant of Indian music quietly plays up front. Embedded in the protective glass panel is the driver’s ID. Ahmed Muhamed, at my service.

  Sitting back, I stare out the window watching the buildings whiz by. A New Yorker since birth, I found myself settling into New Jersey when I cleaned myself up. The best thing I ever did for myself was leave. I needed a slower-paced lifestyle and somewhere I could start fresh, but I missed the noise and camaraderie of the city. Now that I’m back, it seems different somehow. A weight tied to my ankle, memories of another life dragging me down.

  The Times Square building looms higher than all the other buildings around it. I can see it in the distance as the cab approaches, the huge silver structure gleaming in the sunlight. This section of Times Square is the hub of Manhattan. Cabs and cars and commuters bustle about. People pour in and out of Port Authority, all walking with purpose as if their destination is the most important.

  The driver veers around the piles of traffic trying to get me where I need to go. “Here’s fine,” I mumble. It’s close enough, and the short walk will give me time to clear my head. What little sleep I got on the plane was fitful at best. A handful of Oxys aided my slumber, though not nearly enough to give me adequate rest. The pounding in my head is a relentless force; my stomach is tied up in knots. I feel like shit, but now that I’m here, I desperately want to get this over with and move on with my life. Marry Kat and forget this godforsaken city exists.

  Heat hits me as I walk into the building’s vast lobby. To my left is nothing but a field of green through floor-to-ceiling windows. Planted trees and grass, a man-made atrium among glass and concrete. I sign in, then head straight for the elevator and punch the button to my desired floor. It glows like the sun as the numbers above the stainless steel doors count upward.

  It all hits me like a sack of rocks as I enter the law firm’s tremendous reception area. Memories of myself as a child drop around me like meteorites. I want to take cover, shield myself from them, knowing all it would take is one hit in the right spot to destroy me.

  My eyes gravitate to the recessed fish tank first. I used to sit for hours and watch the fish swim while my dad conducted business in the mahogany-paneled offices inside. I pretended I was Nemo swimming in the oceans of Australia. Somehow, I’d get lost, and my father would give up everything to find me. But I did get lost, and all he did was send me farther away.

  “Can I help you?” Tearing my gaze from the brilliant colors of the aquarium, I turn toward the sound of the slow Creole twang of the receptionist behind the desk. Can lights shine on her straight black bob. Immediately, my thoughts turn to Kat. With her golden skin and black eyes, the girl looks nothing like her, but, still, there’s something about the hairpin curve of the girl’s ruby lips that makes me miss her like crazy.

  “Yeah.” Approaching the large desk, I pluck the folded letter from my pocket. “I don’t have an appointment, but I got this letter from Jackson Adler . . .” My hands shake as I extract it from the envelope. Whether it’s from nerves or the fact that my last Oxy was four hours ago, I can’t say. Maybe it’s both? I know what you’re thinking, but it’s not a habit. Just enough to make life livable. I can stop taking them whenever I want—and I will as soon as I get back—but for now, I need something to keep me grounded. It’s no different than the meds Kat takes. They’re all meant to alter our moods and make things better, right?

  The ugliest lies are the ones we tell ourselves . . .

  When she takes the tattered paper from my hand, I notice her nails match her lipstick. “Tanner Chase Junior?” The sound of my full name makes me cringe, even said in her pleasant lilt. I nod, pushing down the nausea clawing up my throat. “Let me see if he’s available.” I hang back as she lifts the phone and speaks in hushed tones to the person on the other end. The backpack I brought slips off my shoulder. The rattle that comes from the secret pocket inside builds a puddle of saliva pooling on my tongue. I swallow it down, trying to ignore the nag in the base of my neck. “Mr. Adler can see you. He’ll be right out,” the girl tells me, replacing the handset on its cradle. “Is there anything I can get you? Coffee? Water?”

  “Water would be great, thank you.”

  She stands from the desk and disappea
rs through a doorway just under the names of the partners tacked to the wall in big, bold letters. Berghammer and Stein. It's not long before she returns with a bottle of Poland Spring. “Do Berghammer and Stein still work for the firm?” I casually ask before cracking the seal and bringing it to my lips.

  “Mr. Stein comes in and out from time to time. Mr. Berghammer is no longer with us, but his son holds an office in the back. Legacy.”

  I roll my eyes. Last I heard, Nathaniel Berghammer and my mother were living the cozy life out in Costa Rica. Guess she wasn’t the only one who cut bait and ran out on her family when shit got ugly. I open my mouth to ask another question, but the right-hand side of the huge set of double doors opens and in walks a man who looks no older than me. His blond hair is combed neatly across his forehead in a severe side part. Tall and skinny, his pants are a tad too short, making his argyle socks show above his shiny shoes. “Mr. Chase,” he says matter-of-factly, holding out his hand with fingers splayed. “I didn’t think you’d be here so fast. Good to meet you.”

  My tattooed fingers wrap around his pasty hand in a firm shake. He’s polished and perfect, and I hate him on sight. Jealousy. That’s what it is. Had things happened differently, this could have been me. Groomed and given a head start. A successful guy with a corner office in a gigantic professional building. I could have been somebody. Instead, I took the low road and ended up nobody. “No time like the present, right?”

  His lips spread into a boyish grin. “Come back to my office,” he says, chucking his thumb over his shoulder before turning toward the double doors. He leads me through the masculine office. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcase an incredible view of the city below. He sits at the dark wooden desk in front of them, and I do the same. “I’m sorry to hear about your father.”