Chapter Twenty-One
Once upon a time, Alexis had been able to tell herself that if she was compromising herself, at least she was doing it for work, for the sense of closure that would come with solving the case. Sometimes she still believed that story. Other times she was certain she'd been lying to herself all along.
But whether or not that story had been true before, she was compromised now.
She stood in the locker room of a club, a new club called Dusk, mentally preparing herself for the next step, which she both wanted and was terrified of. Somewhere in this club, there would be a dominant male, and Alexis hoped he would erase the memory of the last man she'd been with.
She tightened her corset, smoothed her hair, and left the locker room. This club was considerably nicer than where Kevin worked. The lighting was both brighter and softer, and couples and playmates filled the space, dancing or chatting or playing in one of the public spaces. Alexis saw a couple nearest her. The man had the woman restrained with her ass in the air, alternately spanking her or going down on her with his tongue. Her wails of pleasure echoed through the space.
Alexis felt heat rise in her cheeks, and she made a pit stop at the bar. Two tequila shots later, the scene in front of her didn't look so intimidating after all.
A dom was sitting alone nearby with his drink. He was dark-haired, tall, and shirtless. His build was nothing like Kevin's, who must have begun putting in lots of hours at the gym since he'd gone undercover. He'd never been that ripped when they'd been dating—
Alexis shook her head. She wasn't supposed to be thinking of him. She was supposed to be forgetting she'd ever met him. "One more," she told the bartender, watching her would-be mark. The tequila burned down her throat a third time, making her wince.
She hadn't heard from Kevin since she'd left his apartment two weeks earlier. He seemed to be respecting her request to stay away. Part of her wished he wouldn't.
He'd been haunting her dreams, her waking thoughts, while she fell back into her normal routine: working long hours, channeling her emotions into chasing down cases or pummeling her punching bag, living as celibate as a nun.
It wasn't enough. No matter that it was the way she'd lived her life for almost a year after she and Kevin had broken up. It was so far from being enough for her, mentally, emotionally, certainly not physically.
Her memories of her relationship with Kevin, of her sessions with Fenton, could not have drawn a stronger contrast to her stark and empty life. Breakfast in bed, being held in his arms while he stroked her hair, him giving her an orgasm so strong she felt like it had been branded between her legs. They snuck into her everyday moments, crowding in on her as she made coffee or observed couples on the streets or tossed and turned in bed at night.
Alexis would laugh if it wasn't so goddamn pathetic.
"Another," she said to the bartender, who frowned. The warm edges of her buzz were nice, but like so many other aspects of her life, it wasn't enough for her.
"It's not safe to engage in a scene when you're intoxicated," he said.
"Do I look like I'm in a scene right now?" Alexis demanded.
He poured her another shot and she turned back to her mark, who was talking to a pretty blonde sub. So much for that. Alexis knocked back the shot, then hailed the bartender over again. She slapped a few bills on the counter. "Leave the bottle."
It was just another night in the club when Kevin got the phone call. He was in the surveillance room again, watching people pass under the cameras as he counted the stacks of bills he'd gotten from several patrons earlier that evening. He cursed under his breath. Hansen was fifty short. His eyes scanned over the surveillance footage, searching for the man in question.
The man in question was at the bar, making bedroom eyes at Tessa. Kevin rubbed his eyes, exhausted by the charade he'd been living in for the past year. It was the third time the guy had been short on his payment, which was usually the time that the difference started being made in blood in and broken bones. Kevin had never had a taste for that kind of thing, his undercover status aside.
He was considering pushing the task off on Dominic when his phone started buzzing. The name on the display sent his heart plummeting into his stomach.
A.
Alexis.
Why would she be calling him now? Was she hurt? Did she just want to chew him out again? Did she want to talk? He shook his head, and he could hear Fenton telling him to stop being a pussy and answer the phone.
"Hello?"
"Hey, is this Fenton O'Connell?" The voice on the other end was not Alexis, and it made Kevin's hackles rise. Who the hell was this guy? And why was he calling on Alexis' phone?
He slipped into the cadence he usually reserved for his persona. "Who's asking?"
"A good goddamn samaritan," the guy snapped. "Listen, I've got this redhead here, drunk off her ass, and you're the first contact in her phone to pick up."
Kevin heard a voice that vaguely sounded like Alexis in the background. Was that giggling? Or whining? He wasn't sure where to start, and none of it seemed to make any sense. He glanced at the clock. "It's three in the morning."
"No shit. I've got a bar to close up, and your friend here can't even stay upright on a barstool. You can come get her, or I'll call the police and let them help her get home."
Kevin gritted his teeth. "Don't call the police. I'll come get her. Where is she?"
After the last few weeks he'd been having, it was icing on the fucking cake that he was picking Alexis up at three-thirty in the morning, at a goddamn fetish club of all places. Most of the patrons had left by the time he found the club, though there were a few bouncers showing people the door.
Kevin made his way to the bar, where a familiar redhead was hunched over, resting her head in her arms. He nodded at the bartender. "I'm Fenton. We spoke on the phone."
"Thank Christ." The bartender set the broom to the side and gestured at Alexis' hunched form. "She's all yours." He turned to Alexis, smacking his hand loudly on the bar. "Hey, Red. Your ride's here."
Alexis sat upright, wobbling so much in her barstool that she almost fell out of it. Kevin rushed to her side and caught her arm before she could topple over. He felt a flash of annoyance at the bartender for being an ass, and then he noticed that she was only holding onto the bar with one hand. Her other hand held an empty tequila bottle.
"How much did she drink?" Kevin demanded.
"Too damn much, but not the whole bottle."
Her hair was wild, her cheeks were flushed, and she looked in danger of spilling out of her tiny corset top. Her bloodshot eyes darted around for a moment before landing on Kevin. "He's not my ride," she insisted, her voice more petulant than slurred. "He's an asshole," she said to the bartender, somewhat conspiratorially.
Kevin just shook his head, and the bartender caught his eye for a moment before turning to Alexis. "Asshole or not, he's the only one who picked up the phone." He turned to Kevin. "Get her out of here before I change my mind about calling the cops."
Kevin gently tugged on her arm. "Come on. Let's get you home."
"I'm not going with you!" She tugged her arm back.
"Alright then."
Kevin lifted her over his shoulder, fireman style. Alexis spat curses at him, punching his back with the hand that wasn't holding the tequila bottle as he turned to the bartender, who handed over her purse. "Good luck with that," the bartender said.
"Have a good night," Kevin responded curtly.
As Kevin unlocked the door to his, that is, his persona's apartment, he cursed st himself for picking up the phone.
"I don't want to be here," Alexis complained as he all but dragged her inside.
"Too bad." She'd thrown up twice already, once on the cement outside the club and again on the side of the road when she'd begged him to pull over on the car ride home. Kevin didn't feel that she could be left alone in her current state, self-induced or not. And if he was stuck babysitting his ex, then he was going to do it in the comfort of his own apartment.
He directed her to the couch, where she collapsed gracelessly across the cushions. "Stay down," he said when she tried to get up. She still clutched the empty bottle of tequila to her chest like a lifeline. Kevin had tried to take it from her twice, and the result wasn't pretty either time.
He took a deep breath as he searched his fridge for something to curb the massive hangover she'd have. Orange juice would have to do. And then probably a gallon of water.
He brought her a glass of juice. "Drink this."
"I'm not your sub anymore. Stop trying to boss me around." Still, she took the glass and guzzled it down.
Watching the movement of her pale throat, Kevin took in her appearance again. "You look like you've found someone else to boss you around." Her petulance was beginning to wear on him, and the thought of her with another man had something inside him roaring to get out. "You shouldn't let him scene with you when you're drunk. Any half-decent dom knows better than that."
She frowned, her expression pinching so much that he thought she might cry.
"What is it?" he asked, alarms going off in his head, and that jealousy morphed into fierce protectiveness. "Did he hurt you?" He looked her up and down, searching for an injury.
She shook her head and set the empty glass on the coffee table. "There is no 'he.'"
"What?"
"I went to that club tonight to forget you. And Fenton. And I couldn't even—" she sniffed, blinking back tears. "Nothing happened."
"Why not?" he asked, his voice almost a whisper.
"Because he wasn't you."
Kevin didn't have a response for that, but words were still spilling from Alexis' mouth.
"You were the best boyfriend I've ever had, and I ruined everything. I'm so sorry, Kev. I'm so sorry." Tears were streaming down her face now. "And even Fenton, he gave me what I needed. He knew what I needed even when I didn't. And he helped me feel better. He helped me forget. He never treated me like a slut. Or a screw up. And I miss him almost as much as I miss you."
"Why… why are you telling me this?"
"I'm tired of lying. I'm tired of pretending that I'm not hurting. I'm tired of pretending like I'm fine, and all I need is work to keep me going. It's a lie. All I do is lie. And I'm so tired."
She let go of the bottle and it fell onto the carpet with a thud. Then she covered her face with her hands and Kevin saw her shoulders moving up-and-down in time with her ragged breath.
"Hey. It's OK. You're going to be OK," he said, wrapping his hands around her bare shoulders. She leaned into him, resting her face in the crook of his neck. He felt her tears dropping onto his skin, and his heart broke in two.
Now wasn't the time for such a serious discussion or for him to share the truth about how he really felt. Much as he wanted to comfort her, to assure her that he felt the same way, some small, rational part of him knew that her confession might have more to do with alcohol than how she really felt for him.
It would have to wait until morning.
"I've got you. You're going to be OK. I promise." His hands stroked her hair.
She suddenly sat upright. "Where's the bathroom?" she managed, her voice desperate.
"Down the hall. First door on the left."
As soon as the words were out, she made a beeline for the bathroom. Retching sounds soon echoed down the hallway.
Kevin rested his head in his hands. It was going to be a long night.
Alexis was not terribly surprised to wake up on the bathroom floor, but she was surprised to wake up on a bathroom floor she didn't recognize. A soft blanket had been draped over her. She was still in her miniskirt and corset from the club, and makeup was caked down her arm from where her face had been resting.
Blinking slowly, her mouth dry, her head pulsing, she tried to sit up. The simple movement had her head spinning and her stomach heaving, though by the ache in her belly she knew nothing was going to come out.
She retched into the basin of the toilet, coughing and sputtering even as nothing came out but bile. Still, her body did its best to expel the poison inside her, and she clung to the porcelain bowl, retching as tears slipped down her face.
She was only distantly aware of the sounds around her, and she flinched when she felt cool hands pulling her tangled hair away from her face and neck.
"Just breathe," a familiar voice said, and her heart sank. She was in no position to argue, however, so she focused on not aspirating any of the saliva or bile she was heaving up.
When the wave of nausea had abated, reached for the lever to flush the toilet and then Alexis sat back hard, wiping her mouth. Her hair fell loose around her shoulders, and she drew in a deep breath and cleared her raw throat. "I came over last night." It was more question than statement.
"Not by choice."
She looked up in confusion, wincing at the sudden movement. The fluorescent lights were enough to make her want to bury her head under the soft blanket and try for a little more sleep on the cold bathroom floor.
He looked more like Fenton than Kevin as he stared down at her, and it wasn't just the glasses. "Do you even need those glasses?" she asked, her mouth apparently leagues ahead of her brain.
He tilted his head to the side. "Do you often get blackout drunk to escape your problems?"
She blearily blinked at him. His expression was flat, though he didn't seem particularly angry. She didn't have an answer to his question, and it didn't escape her that the last time she'd gotten this drunk was the night she'd cheated on Kevin—well over a year earlier. She shakily pulled herself to her feet. "Well, thanks for helping me out, I guess."
"There's breakfast," he said softly, sounding and seeming more like Kevin than the disapproving dom she'd woken up to. "Hangover approved."
She shook her head, her gaze stuck on the counter. "I should get going."
He stepped closer, letting his fingertips barely ghost over her arm. "Stay. I think we should talk. And you'll feel better with some food in your stomach."
Alexis grimaced. She wasn't sure that was true, and she definitely had less than zero interest in sticking around Kevin's apartment to talk.
"Please," he added. "I just want to make sure you're okay."
Something in his tone, in the earnest expression in his blue gaze, whispered to her to stay. Reminded her that for all of their baggage and all of their mistakes, part of her had never stopped loving him. And another part of her had never stopped wanting Fenton. That was why she'd gotten shitfaced in the first place.
She nodded, wincing at the dull pain that sparked across her head. "Okay."
He smiled at her, then stepped back and reached into the vanity drawer to pull out an unused toothbrush. "Feel free to, um, clean up a bit. Breakfast will be ready whenever you are."
He left her alone then, and Alexis closed the bathroom door behind him with a gentle click. Then she let out the breath she'd been holding. How had she managed to land herself in this situation?
She dared to survey herself in the mirror and almost gasped at her appearance. Her eye makeup was smudged, giving her raccoon eyes and a streak that ran down the side of her cheekbone. Her lipstick was smudged. Her hair was a tangled nest. She looked like a sad clown. She wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry.
How many different venues was she going to end up exposed and ugly in front of Kevin? She had to add onto it with her own poor decisions. It chilled her to the bone that she couldn't remember any part of the night before. Her last memory was reaching the bottom of the tequila bottle. How had she gotten from there to here? With a belabored sigh, she spent the next several minutes scrubbing makeup off of her face, brushing her teeth, and using Kevin's comb to tame her hair. She glanced down at the corset top and miniskirt. It was par for the course for a night in the club, but in the cold light of morning, hungover at her ex's apartment…. Alexis wished she had something a bit more substantial with which to cover herself.
When she face herself in the mirror again, instead of a complete train wreck she saw a pale and tired version herself. There were a few red marks on her face where she'd scrubbed a little too hard, and her lips were just this side of swollen after she'd removed any last stain of makeup. But her breath was fresh, her hair was tamed. She adjusted the corset so that it hugged her waist and bust like it was made to and draped the long ends of her hair over her chest for some semblance of modesty.
With a deep breath, her steps still swaying just a bit under the oppressive pounding of her head, she stepped out of the bathroom, following the scent of bacon to the kitchen. Her eyes landed on the couch as she passed the living room, and images flashed through her head.
Kevin's hands moving over her hair. His voice soothing. "You're gonna be OK." Tears running down her cheeks, and her nose stuffy from crying. Oh god. Had she cried last night? All over him? And he'd comforted her?
She leaned heavily against the wall, suddenly too embarrassed to finish her journey to the kitchen. Maybe she could just make a run for it now.
"You don't have to lurk in doorways, you know," Kevin said from the kitchen.
Alexis took a deep breath then stepped into the kitchen. Kevin was filling two plates that were laid out on the kitchen table. He paused momentarily, the pan still in his grip, when she came in. She watched his eyes flick up and down her form before he turned around, setting the now-empty pan back on the stove. "You clean up nice," he said in an offhand way.
"Thank you," she said quietly, not sure if he meant to compliment her or to remind her just how much of mess she'd been. Probably still was. Soap and a comb didn't change the churning in her stomach or the dull throbbing behind her eyes. She cleared her throat. "Do you, um… do you need help with anything?"
He set the pan down and began digging through one of the drawers. He pulled out two forks. "Just sit. Enjoy your breakfast while it's still hot."
She took a seat the table, nodding her thanks when Kevin handed her a fork. He'd made a basic hangover breakfast: a breakfast sandwich made of cheesy scrambled eggs and bacon, set between two thick pieces of toast. A large glass of orange juice was set off to the side of her plate. Her mouth watered at the scent coming off the plate, but still her stomach reminded her of what she'd put it through. Experimentally, she took a sip of orange juice. Then another. Soon, the whole glass was gone, and she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, surprised at how thirsty she was.
Kevin stood and refilled her glass for her. "Thanks," she said again, completely unnerved by how kind he was being.
"You should try to eat something," he responded simply, tucking into his own sandwich.
She didn't know how to quantify this: the man she loved, the man she'd cheated on, the man who had lied to her about his identity and had let her start a sexual relationship with him, that man had apparently taken care of her while she was drunk and had made her breakfast in the morning, almost as if they were lovers again.
Except, this wasn't a typical morning after. For one, she was fairly certain she'd spent altogether too much time vomiting to engage in anything but gripping the toilet bowl for dear life, and for another… she didn't feel like she'd had sex the night before. And one of apparently many things that Kevin and Fenton had in common was that when she got sexually involved with one of them, she always felt it the next day.
She took a small bite of the sandwich, savoring the greasy flavors on her tongue with sigh a contentment. She caught Kevin's gaze at that, and she felt heat blooming over her cheekbones and down her neck. She'd forgotten how amazing his cooking was now that it had been over a year since she'd been able to enjoy it. "It's good," she offered, feeling herself blush even deeper. She sipped at her orange juice then, letting her stomach decide what to do with the small bite before she added more.
Kevin's mouth twitched with the beginning of a smile but he didn't respond, and she felt that embarrassment twist into anxiety. Not for the first time, she wished she could read his mind. "Thanks again for helping me. I'm sure you would had better things to do than babysit me. Sleeping, probably." God, now she was rambling.
"I wasn't asleep when I got the call. You don't need to worry about that."
"Got the call?"
"Yeah, the bartender at that club started going through your phone to find you a ride home."
Alexis' eyes widened. He hadn't seemed that nice when she'd been sober. "That was generous of him." She looked back up at Kevin. "And you."
Again, he didn't respond.
"So what were you doing, if you weren't sleeping. I mean, I hope I didn't interrupt any big plans…"
"Are you asking if I was with someone last night?" he asked, that shadow of a smile still on his lips. There was the faintest lilt to his voice, an echo of how Fenton spoke.
"Just making conversation," she said, her cheeks hot again. She busied herself with eating her sandwich, and Kevin seemed content to let her eat. When her plate was empty, though, he took his turn asking questions.
"What about you?" he asked as he took her plate and her empty glass and placed them in the sink with his own dishes. "Did you find someone to play with last night?"
She paused, watching his face. He was completely impassive. She couldn't read him. "Um, no. At least, I don't think I did." She blinked a few times, searching through the fragments of memory from the night before. "I don't think I left the bar until you came for me."
"So you got all dressed up to get plastered at a fetish club? You didn't play at all?"
"That about sums it up." She glued her eyes to the tabletop.
"Why?"
She frowned at looked up at him. "Why, what?"
"Why did you do that?"
She searched her brain for an acceptable answer, one that wouldn't end her all the broken pieces of her heart laid bare for his amusement. "I-I don't know. I was pretty drunk."
"If you had just wanted to get shitfaced, you could have done that at home much easier. Why go out of your way?" he asked, stepping near her.
"I just wanted to, I guess," she said, the earnest tone in his voice setting off warning bells inside her. She stood up. "Thanks so much for breakfast, and for coming to get me last night, and letting me stay—"
He stood in the way of the exit. "Tell me the truth."
Alexis closed her eyes, willing herself to not flinch at his tone. He didn't sound angry, but there was a resolution in his tone that was unyielding as stone. And some part of her, perhaps the same small part that had loved handing over control to Fenton, wanted desperately to yield to him. "I am." Her voice wasn't anywhere near convincing.
He let her words linger between them, and he didn't back down. "You wanna try that again?"
She crossed her arms over her chest and forced herself to look him in the eye. Those honey-brown irises stared back at her. "What do you want from me, Kevin?"
"The truth."
She forced out a laugh, though she didn't find their situation remotely funny. "That's rich, coming from the man who's wearing a disguise."
His lips pressed into a thin line. "You know who I am," he reminded her. "I'm not hiding the truth anymore. Can you say the same?"
She paused, the confession heavy on the top of her tongue, but her fear and pride keeping her lips sealed. "Why are you pushing this? Why can't you just accept that things are ruined between us?" Her voice cracked. "They've been ruined for a long time."
He stepped close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off his skin. Mere centimeters kept them apart, and she wanted nothing more than to close the space between them. "It's not your fault," he said quietly. "And things don't have to be ruined between us."
She was at once reminded of the last time they'd spoken. When he'd told her that she was who he wanted. "You don't really want me," she replied, her eyes glued on some point beyond his shoulder.
He tilted her head up with a gentle grip on her chin. "Don't I get to decide that for myself?"
She had no response for that. And she felt her heart skip up into a new tempo when his hands closed over her shoulders and his head tilted forward; his body was slowly molding around hers, blocking out her ability to stand strong, to think. "What were you looking for?" he asked again, his tone somehow both gentle and unyielding.
"I…." she shook her head slightly, feeling that subtle dominance scatter her resolve.
Kevin's hand slid from her shoulder to the nape of her neck. His fingers twined in the thick locks of hair he found there and tugged, just hard enough to demand her attention, just gentle enough to weave that submissive headspace around her.
A tiny groan slipped through her lips, and her eyes fluttered closed. "I wanted to forget. I wanted to find someone who could help me forget you."
"Did you find someone?" His voice was a low rumble that sent heat to the pit of her stomach.
"No. I couldn't. I couldn't even really try."
"Why not?"
She hesitated long enough that he tugged her hair again. "Look at me, Alexis."
She gasped, and her eyes fluttered open.
"Why not?" he repeated.
"I…" she hesitated, then swallowed. "You know why."
He leaned closer, his nose centimeters from her own. "Say it."
"I…" she took a breath. "There's only one man I want, and he wasn't in that club last night." Heat rose in her cheeks and she was certain that he'd be able to hear her heart pounding in her chest. "At least, not until he brought me home."
Her words hung in the air for what felt like the longest string of seconds she'd ever endured. Then Kevin released his grip on her hair and closed the space between them and his lips hovered over hers, never quite making contact.
A knock at the door froze the happiness in Kevin's expression. He stepped back, his eyes dancing around the kitchen as if looking for anything incriminating. "Stay here."
He disappeared into the living room, headed to the front door, and soon Alexis heard the low voices of several men. She stood silently and tried to listen in.
"—not a good time," Kevin said.
She heard a voice that sounded suspiciously like Seth. "You have company, O'Connell?"
"That's none of your business."
"I'd love to meet your guest," another voice said in a tone that was obviously not a request.
There was a long pause, and then she heard Fenton calling her name from the living room. She took a deep breath and followed his voice. When her eyes landed on the group of men, the breath was forced right out of her.
She knew the man with Seth and Kevin. She'd met him not quite a week earlier, when she was investigating the death of one of his employees. Andres Moreno wasn't just some well-to-do restaurant owner. He was Fenton's boss. The kingpin.
And more importantly, Moreno knew who she was, too.