Page 16 of King of Desire (Kings of Las Vegas #2)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Honeyeh

The room goes cold. Or maybe that’s just Triston. I’m completely exposed, practically naked, and he just stands there, not saying a word.

I shouldn’t have told him.

But he would have found out and then he might have been mad.

Or perhaps he’s angry now.

“You’re a what?”

I risk looking over my shoulder. His hand is on his waistband, his muscles bunched as though he’s about to strike.

His eyes are dark and hooded, and I shiver with dread. But I don’t move. I’m not sure why, other than he put me in this position, and he didn’t say to leave it.

I draw in a ragged breath. I don’t think I understood about myself how much I wanted a strong man to tell me what to do. How obedient I want to be. How it makes me feel safe. “Please don’t stop,” I whisper. “Please.”

“Honeyeh,” he growls, and he sounds like he’s pissed.

“Don’t be mad,” I whisper as I feel tears stinging my eyes. “I want to please you. I?—”

“Honeyeh.” This time its sharp. Hard. My lips press together to hold the words in.

And then he’s moving toward me, his hands on my legs as he grabs my thong and pulls it up my thighs. I give a little cry, feeling raw and exposed and…rejected.

He scoops his shirt off the floor and then he tugs me up to standing, grabbing one of the arms and jamming my arm through the sleeve and pulling the shirt around my back and yanking it up my other arm. “Pull it closed,” he demands, his voice a deep, hard rumble.

I do as he asks.

“Sit down.”

I turn and do as he’s commanded, feeling the first tear spill down my cheek. How did this go so wrong?

My knees press together, my chin dropping, as I hold the two sides of the shirt tightly in my fist right between my breasts.

“This was a mistake.”

I nod, like I agree. I do agree. I need this job for my brother’s sake and… My head snaps up. “Please tell me you won’t fire me over this.”

He grimaces and fear beats in my stomach, rolling like a thousand ominous drums. “I think we should talk on Monday. Get dressed and I’ll drive you home.”

And then he turns and strides from the room, the door closing behind him.

I make this choked cry I can’t seem to hold back because I’m pretty sure I’ve just ruined everything.

My body shakes as I push up off the bed and walk to the bathroom where my bag is tucked in the closet.

I can barely hold back my tears as I shrug off his shirt and pull my sweatshirt from the bag. My hands are trembling so badly, I don’t even bother with a bra, I just pull the baggy fabric over my torso and then find my leggings, tugging them over the thigh-high stockings.

Picking up Triston’s shirt, I do manage to carefully fold it and lay it on the bed. But not before I give it a sniff, breathing in his rich cologne and the woody scent that is so uniquely his.

It makes me wince, a shudder running through me. I should have never given in like that. I just wanted him so badly…

A sob threatens to break through my throat, but I clamp my lips shut, not letting it out as I pick up his T-shirt and fold that too, laying it on top of the shirt.

“Ready?”

He stands in the doorway in a fitted T-shirt and jeans. I’ve never seen him look so casual and he looks amazing in a totally different way. Like I guy I could have just met in a coffee shop.

It makes my heart ache as I nod once and sling my bag over my shoulder.

He turns and starts down the stairs and I follow, scrambling to keep up with his long strides.

Moving helps me control the panic rising, but as he stops in his kitchen to grab his keys and I stop behind him, my chest grows so tight I can hardly breathe. “Triston.”

He looks back at me, his face completely unreadable. “We’ll talk on Monday, Honeyeh.”

I jerk my chin, attempting agreement but I think I might look like I’m having a seizure. I want to say thank you for the dress, which I left in a heap on the floor, or for the beautiful evening, but it’s all been ruined now.

I swallow down the raw lump in my throat and step into the garage with him, which holds like six cars.

He hits the button on an SUV, the lights of the car flashing and then he opens the passenger door, his hand on my elbow as he helps me inside.

His touch sears my skin, and I want to sink into him, throw myself at his feet, and beg him to touch me again.

I barely keep my control as I step up into the car and settle in the rich leather seat.

I haven’t stopped shaking as he closes the car door and comes around the driver’s seat.

The silence is deafening as he climbs in, opening the garage door and backing out of the garage.

I bite my lip to stay quiet. I want to cry. Plead. I’d twist myself into a pretzel if only he’d touch me again.

God, I’m pathetic.

How can I be responsible for another human being? I close my eyes, fighting back tears. “What else are you doing this weekend?”

I look at him then, my jaw falling open. We’re going to make stupid small talk. “Nothing. Studying.”

He nods, his eyes remaining on the road.

I stare at his profile for another minute, trying to decide if there is anything I can say, ask, to make this better.

The traffic is much lighter this time of night, and he moves easily into the city, seeming to know the way to my campus apartment.

But I remain silent because I’ve tried twice to ask questions, and he’s shut me down both times.

We reach the edge of campus, and he pulls up to the curb, stopping the car. “Am I close enough to your apartment?”

“Yeah. This is great.” I don’t look at him, searching for the doorhandle instead. Now that I’m here, I just want to leave the car, go lay in my bed and cry my eyes out. Then I’m going to figure out what the hell I do if he fires me on Monday.

I open the door and start to step down, sliding from the seat. “Honeyeh.”

“Yeah?”

“We’ll talk on Monday, all right. When we’ve cooled off and reason prevails.”

“Sure,” I say, my voice cracking. “Monday. Sounds good. Goodnight.”

“Night.”

My feet drop to the ground and then I’m stepping around the door, slamming it shut. I practically run from the car, and I don’t look back, but I hear Triston pull away.

The sob I’ve been clamping down breaks from my lips as the tears start to stream down my cheeks.

I make it to my apartment, getting the key in the lock on the third try, my tears making the task ridiculously difficult. It has to be after one in the morning, but Darius is watching TV when I come in. “How was it?” he asks, his eyes on the television.

“Good.” Now is not the time to tell him that I may have just ruined the best job I’ve ever had.

I dart for my tiny bedroom, closing the door behind me before I toss myself on the bed and plant my face in my pillow, letting it swallow all my tears.

I have no idea how long I cry or what time it is before I finally fall asleep, but when my phone rings, jolting me awake, I have no idea what time it is, only that the sun is high in the sky.

I blink, not even sure where my phone is, when it rings again. Swimming out of the fog, I realize that it’s in my bag.

Stumbling off the bed, I sway as I cross the floor and then drop to my knees. Pulling open the bag, I finally find the phone just as it stops ringing.

My shoulders sag, wondering who might be calling. Was it Triston? Did he want to talk about last night?

Does he just want to fire me today and get it over with?

The phone starts ringing again and I jump, turning it over in my hand to see who is calling.

But it isn’t Triston’s name. It’s Dr. Lawrence. My breath catches as I accept the call. “Hello?”

“Honeyeh?”

“Yes. Dr. Lawrence. Hi.” I stop, not even sure what question to ask. Why are you calling me on a Saturday?

“Hi. Did I wake you?”

Shoot. “No. I mean, it’s fine. I had a late-night work event yesterday.”

He makes a noise of understanding. “I’m calling because I have some news.”

My breath catches in my throat. “What’s that?”

“This is always delicate, but a potential donor has been identified for Darius.”

I look down at the phone. “Potential?”

He lets out a heavy sigh. “Car accident last night. He’s on life support and may or may not survive.”

The air rushes from my lungs. I’ve always known that Darius’s luck is built on someone else’s heartbreak, and my stomach twists. “Oh my goodness. I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you, Honeyeh, for understanding that this is a moment for grief and understanding. And I want you to know, that if this is not Darius’s donor, we’ll do our absolute best to find a new liver for him.”

“I know, Dr. Lawrence. Thank you.” I draw in a tremulous breath. I will not hope for another person’s death.

“But that does lead me to a delicate question. If our potential donor dies, we could be performing surgery on Darius within the next twenty-four hours.”

My heart starts to pound. “That soon.”

“That’s right. Which is why I need to know if you’ve procured any funds for a down payment on the procedure. I know we discussed the necessity when you first came to see me.”

My insides tear wide open. I’ve made great strides, but I don’t have more than a thousand dollars in my bank account. Not nearly enough for Dr. Lawrence. But if this is Darius’s chance… “I’ll find the money.”

There is a pause on the other end of the line, like he might be trying to decide how I would do that. “All right. Glad to hear it.”

We finish up the call and I hang up. But I don’t move. My lower legs are tucked under me, pressing into the hard linoleum of the floor as I look down at my phone. I need ten thousand dollars by tomorrow.

How am I getting it?

I look down at my phone. I could try Triston, the man I think might fire me. Then again, I’ve got nothing to lose there if I ask. Except, if he’s on the fence about letting me go, this will definitely make up his mind. I scrub a hand over my face.

I could call Mason. It might end my friendship with Charlotte, but this is my brother’s life.

Or…I could call Brittany. Make the money myself, doing something that fills me with dread and loathing, but I could do it on my own.

There isn’t much time to decide as I close my eyes and run through the options one more time.

Then, opening my eyes back up, I touch the screen of the phone and make the call…