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“You’re giving him time and space. He’ll come back around.”
Another shrug. He didn’t know if Simon would or not. Even if he did, Nick didn’t know if things would ever be the same as they’d once been. Between him and Simon, or with Oblivion.
But that was for tomorrow. All of it was.
“Any of those things you did would be above and beyond the call, but all three together…” He gestured behind him at the wall. “You get that.”
She pressed her lips together and slipped out of his arms to return to the bed. She crawled across it and traced the words he’d carved into the wall. “You need to give me one of these.”
He kneeled beside her. “One of what?”
“Whatever you used to carve in the words.”
Heart beating way too fast, he leaned over the bed and felt around on the floor until the corkscrew he’d used jabbed him in the palm. He handed it over and watched her curse her way through printing her own declaration.
When she’d finished, she flipped the corkscrew into his hand. He caught it one-handed, still riveted by what she’d written just below his message.
Nick Crandall loves Lila Ronson. Forever.
Lila Ronson loves Nick Crandall. Forever.
“Now that that’s out of the way…” She gave him a light push and he fell back on the bed. Hiking up her skirt, she crawled over him and yanked down his zipper. “You owe me a fuck.”
He glanced up at the ceiling. “I don’t know what I did to deserve her, but thank you.Thank you,” he repeated fervently as she laughed.
Then he rolled her over onto her back and paid what he owed.
With interest.
If you missed the origin story of Nick and Lila’s please readShattered, Fused, and Owned.
Read the complete Lost in Oblivion series or visit quinnandelliott.com for more details about our Oblivion World!
FIRST RHYTHM: MALACHI AND ELLE
A FOUND IN OBLIVION EXTRA
Did you ever want to know how Malachi and Elle first met?
Around three years ago
In the darkness,all the women looked the same.
Wavy hair, big eyes made up with too much eyeliner and shadow, slinky dresses intended to reveal more than conceal. Pouty lips that begged for something, whether it was alcohol, or pills, or a cock.
Another night, another party. He’d been to so many of them that they blurred. But not here, not this area. His own playground was farther north, away from the glitz of LA and the seedy underbelly that crept in around the edges of Carson. This was a different dynamic altogether. The danger was hidden under booming music and fake smiles. And the weapons of choice were the kind that you armed yourself, intended for your own destruction.
He moved to the closest corner and slouched against the wall as he scanned the crowd. His expression made it clear he wasn’t looking for conversation—or more. But only an idiot would turn his back on these people.
Without looking at his phone, he hit the speed dial he’d set up just yesterday when she’d first called him. It wasn’t as if they were close. In fact, it had been a long time since he’d spoken with Lila Shawcross—now Ronson, since she’d recently shed herself of her marital entanglements to his father. Then she’d broken that lovely streak by calling him out of the blue, and not for a social call. That was one of the things he’d always disliked most about her. She was always searching for angles, always on the hunt to play the game.
He didn’t fucking play. Money meant little to him, and fame and attention even less.
But there were always other ways to barter. Other kinds of currency to trade.
Lila was a button-pusher from way back, and she’d known what screws to turn with him before she even picked up the phone.
“I’m here,” he said without preamble. “Now what?”
