“Why?” Orson said. “He could be bluffing.”
I found three surfboards lined at the back, standing upright with our names written on pieces of paper and slapped on them with a thick load of sex wax. “Because I’m not willing to bet on Jade.”
Orson silenced.
Storm reached for his board. “I’m with Royce.”
“I didn’t mean it like that—” Orson attempted to clarify. “You’re right. We’ll figure this shit out back on shore.”
All three of us grabbed our boards, dove into the ice-cold water at the still of the night, and awaited the first wave to come up so we could catch it and ride all the way to the shoreline.
When I got home, I wish I could say he was bluffing.
“What’s happening?” Storm asks, closing my front door behind himself as he enters. “Man, can you light a fire or something? It’s cold in here.”
“Because Duchess has been here, that’s why.” I watch him move into my sitting room where he falls down onto the single lounge chair, his hair ruffled from his flight.
“Are you going to explain why you called this meeting? I was in the middle of something important.” Storm had always been the level-headed one out of us all. The one who used his brain more than he used his mouth. It was helpful. Real fucking helpful. Especially when you have Orson and me in a group of three. But over the years, Storm has opened up a whole fucking lot. I shouldn’t blame that on his wife and him becoming a dad so young, but I know it does have something to do with that. He knocked up the first bitch he found straight after we left and although he’s one of the wealthiest computer software engineers in the United States of America and runs the most exclusive computer science business on the side, I can’t help but resent her a whole fucking lot.
Mainly because she’s a gold-digging bitch.
“I’ll wait until O gets here,” I say, pointing to the corner where all the liquor is housed. A few minutes later, Orson is walking through the door, dragging his suitcase behind him.
“Yo, I had to catch the fucking red-eye last night just to make it on time. This better be important,” he grunts, shutting the door.
I pour him a glass of scotch and hand it to him, removing my vest and placing it on the sofa. When I’m with the three of them, the cut comes off. My club will always come first, but not when it comes to this.
“I need to ask you both a question and I need you to answer it truthfully.”
Orson sighs, flopping onto the L-shaped couch that overlooks the ocean. “You couldn’t ask this question through FaceTime? Like damn, I missed you too, but it’s off season and me and the family are gearing up to go to Aspen.”
I ignore him, leaning against the mantle of the fireplace.
“Have either of you veered off track?”
They all pause, their eyes coming to mine.
Storm is the first to answer. “I haven’t needed to. He never asked me to do anything more than leave town.”
“Same here.” Orson lifts his glass, swallowing the expensive whiskey in one swig.
“You?” they both ask, brows raised.
“I wasn’t asked to do anything either.” I squeeze my eyes closed. “Any of you been sent a video?”
They both answer in unison. “No.”
I pull out my phone and flick through my photos until I find it, tossing my phone onto the sofa beside Orson.
He picks it up and I watch as his face contorts into confusion. His lips pinch, his eyes narrow, and his head tilts. “Who is she?”
I shrug. “Don’t fucking know.”
Storm refuses to look, his eyes remaining fixed on the wall in front of him. “Maybe he’s testing us by using bait this time instead of each other.”
My mouth snaps closed. I don’t want to reopen that wound and double the healing time.
I glare at him. “I’m pretty sure he made it clear the first time.” Shaking my head, I take a seat on the sofa in front of me, running my hands through my hair. “Nah, this is something else. We’re missing something.”
Silence wraps around our memories as I’m sure all of us block them out. Memories are the stain that either good or evil leave on your soul well after departure.
This one is evil. So very fucking evil.
“What about Wicked?” Orson asks, his eyes on mine. “Asked him anything?”
So fucking Wicked.
Twisting my hair onto the side of my neck, I ignore the music playing in the background and the heavy stench of sex. Fingers stretch out over my belly, covering the black tight dress that I’m wearing. It’s long in the back while cutting short at the front. I paired it with black thigh-high boots and braided my hair into a messy French braid. I don’t know why we’re here again so early.