Page 36

Timber

T he adults-only Homecoming party at the Speakeasy is in full swing.

Henry is slinging drinks like nobody’s business. The exhausted staff of WHFS are unwinding from weeks of floats, court elections, student infighting, angry parents, and inter-school rivalry. Every single teacher and administrator has withstood outrage and wrath over pranks and hair pulling—both literal and figurative.

“Nice job, Boone! Our boys took those Rebels downtown tonight,” says the shop teacher.

I haven’t bothered to learn his name, and I feel bad about that, but most of the teachers have sided with my choir of detractors. It hasn’t made for a lot of friendly relations with my colleagues. I eat lunch in my classroom and use the staff lounge to prepare copies when everyone has left for the day. When I was young, alienation from the surrounding people would have made me sad and lonely, but now I have support.

Or I did.

Jekyll butts my hand with his head as if he heard my thoughts, and I hear a laugh across the room that makes me smile. Presley and Wolfie have the rest of the pack over at our usual booth, holding court over a group of people from work who won’t talk to me most days. I watch Teddy chat with the weasly auto repair guy. His stubbled jaw stretched as he takes his praise and back slaps with a grin.

Grabbing my bourbon, I toss it back, letting the burn warm my insides. It’s my fourth—no, fifth—since we arrived. The haze of alcohol is soothing the sharp edges from the past month.

Despite the efforts of my lovers, I’m feeling the pinch of being berated by students, dismissed by parents, and abandoned by my best friend. I still don’t know why Wolfie is so enamored with the mysterious chick who stole my only confidant, and I’m no closer to figuring out what the hell any of the shit in the trunk means. While Teddy’s team is a success, the school is victorious, and those closest to me are celebrating, I’m an utter failure.

I sit the rocks glass on the bar, shooing Jekyll back to the crowd as I walk towards the door. A little fresh air might help my morose attitude. I don’t want to ruin the night for my sexy Coach or drag down my doc sandwich by telling them how low I’ve been feeling. They deserve a night of fun, especially because they’ve been working so hard.

Teddy’s been practicing with the team every free second to earn this win. The sheikh has had Wolfie focused on Mehdi at the farm, as his visit seems to stretch on forever. Presley has had a parade of young patients, waking him at all hours of the day and night with some bacterial infection that’s making them act insane.

That’s why I haven’t told them about the problems at the school or my studio. They’ve been working so hard, and my petty grievances with my friend or colleagues aren’t worth whining about. Besides, I don’t want them—or anyone—to feel sorry for me.

I just want things to go back to normal.

Walking out into the crisp fall air, I wonder how such a picturesque town can be so full of hidden pitfalls and venom. The quaint street, gas lamp streetlights, and cobblestones would make a visitor think this is the perfect little American town full of happy, friendly people with matching lives. But like everything else in the world, the gorgeous outer layer hides an insidious rot underneath.

Apparently, I’m a morose idiot when I don’t get laid often enough because of scheduling conflicts.

A wry chuckle escapes my lips as I walk down the street, studying the storefronts absently. The silly names don’t phase me anymore, so I pass by without a thought until I come to the space with the blacked-out windows. No one has ever mentioned what this place is or why it remains empty in such a prime location. I wonder why it’s here and who owns it. Like so many things I’ve seen or heard since I moved home, it’s an unspoken mystery.

“Evenin’ Tíogair. Out for a wee constitutional? Where’s your entourage?”

The lilting voice echoes out of the alley between the blacked-out window space and Bound Together . A plume of spicy scented smoke leads me into the shadows of the small access area, and when my eyes finally adjust, I see my grocery store leprechaun smirking as he leans against the bricks. He’s staring at me with an intense emerald stare I could swear is glowing in the dim light.

“Did anyone ever tell you it’s creepy as fuck to lurk in dark alleys?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest.

“I’m sure they have, lass. It’s not a day ending in ‘y’ if someone hadn’t scolded me at least once. Pity for them; I enjoy it.”

A throaty chuckle escapes before I can stop it, and I toss my hair over my shoulder. “Ah, I see. Naughty boy doing bad things for attention. Well, you’re not the first, and definitely not the best I’ve known…” I let my sentence trail because he never gave me his name.

Clutching his chest dramatically, he gives me a pained look. “You wound me, Tíogair. I would have thought my reputation preceded me.” At my blank look, he winces again. “Doyle Aloysius Haggerty, at your service, milady.”

I blink. People have mentioned Doyle to me in passing—he’s responsible for the crazy business names—but I didn’t realize I’d met him. I can’t think of a thing to say except, “I don’t have an entourage.”

“You have felines and birds and dogs and bullies and white coats, lass. The trail of admirers behind you is longer than the Queen’s attendants.”

“Oh, piss off,” I grumble, walking closer as he draws on the thin cigarette in his long fingers. “And who smokes cloves unironically? Those things are the worst.”

He shrugs, his eyes flashing as he grins. “Just another one of my bad habits, I’m afraid. I’m too old to be taught new tricks—many have tried.”

Something about the way he says it feels like a dare, and it makes my stomach tighten. The fire in my veins rushes forward, and I stalk closer, plucking the clove from his fingertips. Pitching it, I watch the cherry skitter across the pavement before I lean in to look directly into his eyes. “You, Doyle Aloysius Haggerty, couldn’t handle my efforts were I to try. There’s…” I inhale for a moment, closing my eyes to feel the sensations running through me. “... fear running through you right now. I scare the hell out of you, but you like it.”

The redhead doesn’t move, save for his smirk deepening. “Aye, Tíogair. You’ve got me nailed like a fence post. The question is, what are ye planning to do with that information? What scares you ?”

I’m not scared of much, but I doubt he means things like spiders or gang violence. No, Doyle is asking me about my deepest insecurities, and it’s not something I share with people.

In all my years of friendship with Seer, I’ve never admitted to feeling like a stranger in my home as a child or the gnawing pit in my stomach when I think I’ll lose someone I care enough about to consider an ally. Alienation and abandonment are root causes of the path my life took once I left the Hollow, and I’ll be damned if this cocky asshat is going to get that out of me with a sexy pout. “I’m not afraid of anything.”

“Liar,” he hisses, reaching out to brush a hair off of my face. “You, Jolene Athena Whitley, project an air of untouchable confidence, but underneath, you’re hiding rage, fear, and heartbreak. Your armor may fool the Dublin heiress and the platoon of gooey centered boys who follow you like lost pups, but not me. I’ve been around far too long and seen more than you can imagine—I can practically taste your desires.”

Inching closer to him, I force his body against the brick he was lounging against, and my hand comes up to rest on his throat. The claws in my gut dig deeper, and I squeeze hard with my thumb and forefinger on the column of his neck. I can feel his pulse jumping in his carotid—which I’m careful to avoid because I don’t think I want him dead at the moment. “You don’t know a damn thing about me, Lucky. What gives you the right to play armchair therapist?”

His laugh is full of delight. There’s not a trace of fear in his expression as I continue to put pressure on his airway, only hooded eyes and that fucking smirk I’d like to knock off his pretty face with my fist. “I don’t ask for permission, Tíogair—never. If you want me to kneel, you’ll have to do better than a snarl and a mean face. Give me the heat, and I’ll consider it.”

I open my mouth to respond, but a rush of cold fury fills me. No one tells me what to do without my permission, and he’s giving me orders like he owns my ass. My breath escapes in a sibilant sound as I increase the pressure on his throat reflexively. A sexy rumble vibrates in his chest, and my lips curve up a bit before I smash our bodies together, using the wall for support. “I don’t take orders; I give them.”

“Ah, there she is,” he croaks. “I’ve been waiting. Go on, then. Let it take charge—do it.”

The words make little sense through the red haze in my mind, and I tilt my head as I try to puzzle them out. Leaning in, I run my nose over his Adam’s apple, and the scent of his skin triggers another flood of energy that shoots straight to my pussy.

A fleeting thought about the boys whispers in my head, but my body overrides my brain. Something dark and hungry and icy is slowly taking over, and I don’t know how to stop it anymore than I do the black outs. Before I can even process that, his hand snakes around me to squeeze my ass, and I’m done.

There is no Jolene, only a horny Domme.

Holding his throat, I hook my ankle around his and use my shoulder to flip us around. The bricks scrape my skin as our position changes and I’m flush to the wall, but the scratches will be worth it. His eyes glow that eerie green as he waits, not giving up his power because I was rough. My eyebrow arches and I push harder, using my free hand to put pressure on his shoulder as well. The command comes from the bottoms of my feet when I growl at him. “Kneel!”

A satisfied smirk stretches across his handsome face as he slowly lowers to his knees, looking up at me with a mixture of defiance and compliance that is both hot as hell and infuriating at the same time. He tucks his hands behind his back, spine straight and chin up despite my continuing kung fu grip. I only have a few more seconds before that becomes dangerous and we both know it. It’s time for me to make a bigger decision than playing chicken with a hot guy in a dark alley.

“Tíogair, I’m waiting.”

His voice is raspy, and I relax my hand before I do unintended damage. The weird lusty rage slithering through me doesn’t like my choice, but I ignore it. I’ve been in the scene far too long to ever let my weird psychological problems cause me to damage another player in the game. “What are you waiting for? An engraved invitation?”

“There’s what I needed—voiced assent, milady.” His hands grip my hips roughly, yanking them forward as he buries his face in my stomach and inhales.

The hungry thing inside of me practically shivers with pleasure and I groan.

I think this is going to be a rough ride.