Although I’d give anything to pretend what just happened didn’t, I can’t. What Raquel said weeks ago is true: I’ve spent a majority of the last nine years with my head in the sand. I’ve lived a full life, but it was nothing close to the one I could have if I let go of my past and embrace my future.
I never thought I would say these words, but they’re the most humble ones I’ve ever said: I deserve to be happy.
At one stage, I thought that meant having Alex in my life.
Now. . . I’m not so sure.
Twenty-Eight
Alex
My fist indents the steel floor Regan’s back quivered against mere minutes ago when she darts away from the van as if her ass is on fire. I know she heard my whispered apology because the vein in her nape worked overtime the instant it escaped my lips, but she didn’t speak a single word.
No acceptance of my apology.
No apology of her own.
Nothing.
While raking my fingers through my hair, I take in the scene. My trousers are huddled around my knees, and Regan’s arousal is glistening on my cock, but I feel like the biggest fucking asshole in the world.
I honestly don’t know what my game plan was tonight. I wanted to bang my chest and act moronic before hurting her as badly as I was hurting, but instead of doing that by manning up and acting like the adult I am, I used her attraction of me against her. I should have relished the fact she couldn’t deny me, even while fuming mad, but instead, I gathered it as intel before using it in the ugliest manner.
As if that wasn’t bad enough, I threw Luca into the mix for good measure. I didn’t mean to drop his name like I did. I was just so caught up recalling Regan’s kiss with Isaac again and again and again that it fell from my mouth before I could reel it back in.
I guess in a way it could be seen as both good and bad. Bad because I hurt Regan more than I ever intended. Good because it forced her to be honest about her feelings. I’ve been dying for the day she’d tell me she loved me back; I just wish she could have said it in a less hostile environment. Seconds after admitting she had once loved me, she looked at me as if she’d never feel that way again. In all honesty, that gutted me more than witnessing her kiss Isaac.
This may be stupid of me to admit, but I believed her when she said she didn’t sleep with Isaac, but why kiss him tonight? If they have no connection, and no intention to pursue one, what was tonight’s escapade about? Did she do it because she knew I was watching? Or was it a spur-of-the-moment decision to teach me the repercussions of snooping?
Realizing I’ll never clear the fog from my head sitting in a sex-scented surveillance van, I tuck away my half-masted cock then exit the van. Regrettably, this time around, there isn’t a frustratingly beautiful blonde waiting for me.
Well, there is, just not the one I’m hoping for.
“Your resignation was forwarded to the head of our department this morning. As of 5 PM this evening, you were no longer an agent on my team.”
Brandon moves into my path when I attempt to sidestep him. Stupid move. Reid is gone, and my anger is beyond frayed. Now is not the time to mess with me.
“I stepped out of line.”
I throw my head back and laugh a hauntingly painstaking chuckle. “You think? You not only risked my unit’s investigation, you might even do time. Do you realize that? One word, and your entire fucking career will circle the drain.”
He nods, understanding every word I speak is true. He’s lucky I’ve been so tied up gathering the evidence he left scattered throughout my department I haven’t had the chance to discuss his deceit with higher counterparts at the Bureau, or he may have spent the Thanksgiving/Christmas holiday period behind bars.
“If you don’t want that, I suggest you take a step back.”Or ten before you lose some teeth.
As stubborn as he is stupid, Brandon maintains his ground. “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important.” His words are stronger than the weak step he takes so he can hand me the printout he’s holding.
I shouldn’t take it. I should tell him to fuck off, or better yet, use him to defuse the anger still thickening my veins, but the plea in his eyes reveals there’s more than just anger at stake here. He’s put both his life and his position on the line to confront me, so whatever cards he’s holding must be important.
With that in mind, I snatch the paper out of his hand, nearly ripping it in the process. The unnatural rhythm my heart’s been beating jumps up when I scan the document so recently printed it smells of fresh ink. It is a flight manifest for a takeoff scheduled at the Ravenshoe private airstrip for early tomorrow morning.
Although none of the names on the manifest seem familiar, there’s only one man in Ravenshoe wealthy enough to own a private jet: Isaac Holt.
“Isaac takes trips like this all the time. He has a comped room at Caesar’s.” I toss the document back Brandon’s way before pushing off my feet.
I freeze midstride when Brandon shouts, “Then why would he schedule the transfer of millions of dollars to an off-shore account before his visit?”
I can think of a million reasons why any man visiting Vegas would hide such an exorbitant amount, but none are legitimate for an unmarried man who doesn’t need to hide his side dish from the wife he married without a prenup.
