Wasted Love with You (Wasted Love 1)

Oh my god…

My legs shake and waves of pleasure travel through every nerve-way in my body.

I come apart with his name on my lips, with him staring deep into my eyes.

He doesn’t let me pull the wand away until he’s certain I’ve reached the height of my climax—until he’s certain I can’t take anymore.

Catching my breath, I shut my eyes and fall back against the top cushions.

As I’m coming down, I feel Ryder moving over me and adjusting my dress.

Then I hear him whispering into my ear.

“It’s two hundred and fifty-thousand dollars a year, depends on what you make of it, and I’ve never heard any complaints.” He pauses. “Courier or carrier tasks. Depends on what I need for the week.”

What? I slowly regain my senses.

“There’s no need for benefits since several professionals are a call away if you ever need anything.” He doesn’t say another word.

“What are you—” I open my eyes and see him heading toward the door. “I’m not sure that I followed anything you just said.”

“You previously spoke to two different people on my staff, wanting more information about the position,” he says. “I just answered every question you asked. Did I leave one out?”

I shake my head.

I’m completely stunned.

“Good. Come see me whenever you’re ready to start.” He turns away again and opens the door.

“Wait.” I stand to my feet, wobbling slightly as I move closer to him. “What if I do need help with my divorce? If I asked you for a little, what would you say? And how much would it cost me?”

“I’d happily give you more than a little,” he says, pressing a finger against my bottom lip. “And it would cost you nothing. As far as what I’d say, I’d tell you to consider it handled.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.” He’s staring into my eyes all over again. “Is my help what you want, Autumn?”

I hesitate for a few seconds, wanting to weigh the ramifications of what this might mean for Nate, but he’s using every weapon in his arsenal to harm me. With no regard for my pain at all.

“Yes.” I nod. “I want your help.”

“Say less.” He doesn’t ask any further questions. There’s no “Give me his phone number,” “Show me what law firm he’s using,” or “Tell me everything I should know about him,” statements either.

Nothing.

“I think you should go to bed now,” he says.

“I can’t. I need to return my neighbor’s license plate first.”

“You need to do what?” He raises his eyebrow.

“My car isn’t legally registered yet, so I borrowed his plate to drive without the worry of getting pulled over.”

He looks half-amused, half-disturbed. “And you’re worried about me being potentially dangerous?”

“You’re far past ‘potentially.’”

“I’ve never stolen anything.”

“I’ve never made an Uber driver cry.”

“I’ll handle this license plate situation for you, as well.” He offers nothing more on the Uber subject. “Get some sleep, Autumn.”

“I will in a minute, after you leave.”

As if he doesn’t trust me to ever follow his suggestion, he clasps my hand and leads me into my bedroom.

Pulling back the sheets, he motions for me to climb onto the mattress.

Stubbornly, I take my time.

When I’m flat on my back, he slides a hand between my thighs and yanks off my panties, tossing them onto the floor.

As if he knows that I’m tempted to fight for the last word, he pulls a blanket over me and shakes his head.

“Don’t waste your energy.”

I stare at him as he smooths the covers. Then he whispers, “It’s not Mister R or Mister Ryder for you, Autumn. It’s just Ryder.”

“Okay.”

“Pick up when I call you tomorrow. Don’t ignore me again.” He takes the last word before hitting the lights, and I drift into a much-needed sleep.

In the morning, I step outside and see that Ryder and his Lamborghini are long gone.

My car is sparkling under the morning’s early light, and it’s freshly washed and detailed, down to its silver hubcaps.

I circle it in awe, noticing a temporary sticker on the back window with a new license plate number. And there’s a beautiful green gift box resting on the center console.

Intrigued, I unlock the driver’s side door and pick it up.

Slowly tugging at its ribbon, I tear off the top once it gives way.

What the…

My stomach falls to the ground once I come face to face with what’s inside and my knees buckle beneath me.

My heart beats wildly inside my chest—begging me to run like hell all over again—and a part of me refuses to believe that I’m in reality.

I can’t be.

If I am, I’m unsure of what color to paint Ryder’s newest flag.

“Red” doesn’t seem quite dark enough.

End of Episode 13

Episode 14

Autumn

Bloodstains.

Bright red and dark brown bloodstains.

They’re splattered all over the walls and trickling down my former lawyer’s shirt via the Polaroid picture that sits inside the box.

With his sleeves pushed up to his elbows and pure fear radiating from his face, Mr. Walsh is sitting at a table with two blackened eyes and a mouthful of blood.