Page 69 of Bear
I wishwith everything in me that I hadn’t drank that entire bottle of water, because the guys have been gone a while and no one has texted me to say how much longer I’ll be waiting.
I have to pee, dammit. I’ve held it, crossed my legs, jiggled up and down, but nothing is working to take my mind off it. The knowledge that there are toilets right inside that building is enough to make me want to scream. Relief within reach… but not an actual option.
The pressure on my bladder increases, becoming an issue of epic, emergent proportions. Biting my lip, I come to the conclusion that I have two choices.
One, deliberately disobey. Go inside. Find the bathroom.
Or two… my eyes flick to the huge bushes lining the side of the building… do the most embarrassing thing ever and cop a squat in the bushes.
Ugh. Fuck my life. I don’t want to flagrantly go and do exactly what they asked me not to by sneaking in to find a toilet. So I let myself out of the SUV, and after a quick look to see if anyone is watching me, I dart to the bushes. As I shove my leggings and panties down around my knees, I practically moan with relief as my bladder empties. Remembering where I am, though, I clamp my lips shut. I stay there doing an awkward shimmy and shake before I call it good and stand, pulling my clothing back into place. I feel so much better, it takes me a moment before it registers that there’s a window above the bushes.
A gasp heaves from my throat when my eyes lock on the people inside the room. It’s kinda dark, but there are two figures I can make out—Tristan and Duke. I have no idea what they’re saying, but their words are obviously heated. Angry. One second, they’re in each other’s faces, and the next, Tristan backhands Duke. He must have really packed a wallop because Duke’s head snaps to the side.
I gasp again, my eyes widening in horror, as I stumble away from the window. I want to distance myself from this, but I can’t tear my eyes from the scene before me. They continue to lock horns, and my heart is pumping so hard it hurts. When the second hit lands and Tristan goes in for the kill, I don’t think, I don’t hesitate.I run.
Desperation streaks through me, and my bloodwhooshesthrough my head so loudly, I can hardly hear a thing. I race to the nearest door and slip inside despite Duke’s warning and the promise I made him. I have to get to him.
The door opens to a long corridor somewhere deep in the bowels of the country club, and it’s strangely gloomy. I don’t see a light switch anywhere, but a light flickers from a room at the end of the hallway. Dread slithers down my spine the farther I go. This place has a distinctive, aromatic smell—mossy and earthy. Dense and pungent. It makes my stomach pitch and groan.
Shuddering hard, I take a few cautious steps toward the light. There’s something about this place. Something I don’t like. My mind reaches out to grab hold of a memory that floats the surface, but then it’s gone. A rumble of voices has my heart clenching hard, as if someone has reached into my chest and is intent on viciously squeezing it with every beat. Fear coats my skin like an unwelcome lover, its hands all over me, and terror lances through my body, keeping me in its tight grip.
My breaths heave from me faster and faster. I’m in trouble and I know it but can’t do anything to stop it. Dark whispers fill my ears. I spin around, becoming disoriented, so dizzy I might throw up. My vision tunnels until all I see is a black void and the twinkling of silvery stars.
THIRTY-ONE
BEAR
“Fuck this.We should get the hell out of here,” I growl, glancing around the dimly lit room. I trace my finger over the rim of the tumbler of whiskey in front of me. We’ve never been invited to the country club before for poker night, then again, we aren’t truly invited guests on this occasion, either, which is probably why I’m not keen on sticking around any longer than we have to.
We’ve been summoned.
This is yet another of the prestigious Bainbridge alumni events that my father runs. High-stakes poker. Men with very deep pockets and no care of blowing thousands of dollars in an evening for entertainment. I recognize a few of them, but there are new faces, too—possibly alum from other frats. It’s a pay-to-play situation, so anyone with a fat stack of cash would merit an invitation. Old money, new money, dirty money. Doesn’t matter. All this kind of shit is right up my dad’s alley, and I’m positive Derek Pierce makes it lucrative for himself.
Upon arrival, we’d been ushered into a room where several poker games were already in progress. We were told to sit and have a drink, that someone would be out to get us shortly. After five minutes, a guy I recognized as one of the many goons on my father’s payroll came out but said only Duke was to follow.
“I don’t get why we’re here.” Mason shakes his head, throwing back the vodka he’d requested before leaning toward me and whispering, “Where the fuck do they get these girls? They can’t be more than fifteen or sixteen.”
The muscle at the back of my jaw twitches and jumps. “I don’t know,” I grit out, surveying the large room. The club has always had an air of wealth, and I suppose tonight is no different—there’s a haze of cigar smoke, free-flowing alcohol, raucous laughter, and plenty of testosterone. But there’s also something prickling along my spine that my subconscious mind is picking up on. Maybe it’s the underage waitstaff. Or, more specifically, the way these old bastards follow the girls with their eyes.
I have zero desire to be here. We have a fuckin’ early afternoon away game before I can even think about the auction tomorrow night and the mess that will be. And now, not only do we have to deal with whatever they’ve deemed important enough to command our presence tonight, but I also have to have a conversation with my drug-supplying father. He knows I need more oxy to get through the game tomorrow, but he hadn’t immediately said yes, just that he’d see what he could do. While it’s highly doubtful he’s had a crisis of conscience, I also can’t figure out why he’d change his tune.
I take full responsibility for taking the pills from him in the first place. I was the one who ingested them. No one forced me. But fuck, now he’s making me nervous because without anything to help me through the game, it’s doubtful I’ll be able to fight Sunday. And wouldn’t you know it, some badass from Sigma Iota Nu is scheduled. It’s a huge fucking deal. The entire thing is getting to me. Releasing a heavy sigh, I hang my head. I never should have gone back down this fucking road.
A moment later, Mason nudges me. Another one of the lackeys has shown up and is beckoning us to follow him. Mason gives me a wary look, and I can’t deny I feel the same. I leave my whiskey on the table, untouched. Booze and oxy don’t mix well. Maybe I should pat myself on the back for not being too out of control that I don’t recognize that. I scrub my hand over my face.Fuck.I grit my teeth and follow the man with Mason at my side.
We’re led down a hallway and around a corner before being brought into a large room lined with bookshelves. All the furnishings are plush and expensive, exactly as I expected them to be, the lighting soft and low.
Duke glances at us out of the corner of his eye without turning his head. I frown.What the fuck is going on here?He’s seated on a couch across from two armchairs. My father is seated in one of them, Tristan in the other. They are every inch what I’d expect of them—cool, calm, and collected with secrets hidden behind their eyes that they may or may not deem us worthy enough to know.
I step past Duke, as does Mason, and take the far cushion, leaving Mason to sit between us. When I look back toward Duke, I notice the redness on his cheek, like a bad sunburn … or the rosy hue left by a smart slap to the face. Mason must see it at the same time because he lifts his hand, as if he’s going to touch him. Before Mason can follow through, Duke gives him a severe look and jerks his head. I let out a steadying breath.Fuck.How awkward would it be for Duke and Mason if their fathers were to find out about their relationship? The only reason it flashes through my mind is because I know what they demand of their sons. They’re expected to marry nice girls and supply their families with the new generation of bastards to keep the dirty-as-hell legacy going strong.
Dad clears his throat, shifting to cross his foot over his knee while eyeing Mason. There’s a faint smirk on his lips that I don’t care for, and in the next moment, I know why. “Nice to have both Mikaelsons under the same roof for a bit.”
Oh, fuck.
Mason tenses, his eyes immediately scanning the room, like an animal that senses a predator is nearby. His fists clench on his thighs. “Hunter’s here?”
Hunter.Fucking apt name, if you ask me.
