Right Kind of Wrong

  “Thanks for the lift,” I say, turning to Jenna.

  “No problem.” She frowns. “And you’re sure you have a place to stay for the night?”

  The honest answer is no. I know a few people in New Orleans, but none well enough to crash on their couch. But Jenna needs a break from all my chaos and I’d hate to ruin her night out by bunking up with her family.

  God, I can’t believe I pulled her into all my drama. I’ve walked her into one crazy situation after another—and all the poor girl wanted to do was drive to New Orleans to visit her sick grandma.

  I’m an asshole.

  Jenna deserves way better than me, on all levels. So my plan is to check into one of the many hotels in the Quarter after I’ve talked to Clancy.

  “Yep. I’m good.” I smile and get out of the car before ducking my head back in. “Are you still planning to leave on Saturday?”

  She nods. “I was, but if you don’t find Drew by then—”

  “I will,” I say with more confidence than I feel.

  “Okay,” she says slowly. “I’ll text you later this week and we’ll figure out a meeting place. Sound good?” I nod and she lowers her voice. “Text me when you find Drew, okay? Just so I know he’s okay and that… that you’re okay too.”

  The concern in her eyes pulls at my gut. I like that she cares—that she’s not afraid to care—about my safety. If only she were fearless enough to admit she cares about more than just my well-being, then maybe she and I could finally be on the same page about us.

  “I will,” I say.

  With a quick wave, she drives away with her cousins.

  Turning around, I stare up at the flashing lights surrounding Crowns and crack my knuckles. Time to face my latest opponent.

  The Royals.

  Clancy.

  My one shot at finding Drew.

  * * *

  In his purple suit and alligator boots, Clancy looks like a comic book villain, complete with a polished black cane and a white fedora crowning his head. He’s more colorful than a grown man should ever be, especially one who should be keeping a low profile. But I learned the hard way not to underestimate the outlandish stylings of Clancy.

  I absently run a finger down the very thin and very faded white scar trailing from the back of my jaw to the top of my collarbone. The business end of a steak knife left me branded by the man long ago. Someday I hope to return the favor.

  “Jack Oliver,” Clancy says, rising from his seat in the back room of Crowns. A single gold tooth glints among his other white ones as a slow grin curls up the corners of his mouth. “I certainly wasn’t expecting to see you anytime soon. Or ever, for that matter. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

  As I step farther into the room, two of his watchdog minions casually reach for the guns in their belts. “Trust me, Clancy. Nothing about visiting you is pleasurable.”

  He cocks his head, his smile still in place but growing sharp. “All business then? Funny. I thought you no longer wanted anything to do with our line of work.”

  “I didn’t,” I say. “Until my brother went missing.”

  He eyes me for a long moment. “So you don’t know where he is either?” A loud sigh blows out his lips. “And here I thought you’d come to negotiate.”

  I cross my arms. “I try not to negotiate with enemies.”

  He grates out a dark laugh. “Now, we both know that’s not true.”

  “We had a deal, Clancy. You agreed to stay away from my family.”

  “And I did.”

  “Then why is there a price on Drew’s head?” I grit out.

  “Because he’s done some irrevocable damage to the Royals.” He steeples his fingers. “The kind of damage that cannot be repaired.”

  “Damage he wouldn’t have caused if you’d just left him alone,” I bark. “What did you get him mixed up in?”

  His nostrils flare. “I didn’t get him mixed up in anything. If you want to blame someone for your brother’s sins, I would suggest you track down your father.”

  My blood instantly boils—not just with anger, but also with gut-wrenching fear—as I narrow my eyes. “My father? What does he have to do with any of this?”

  “Everything,” Clancy says. “He’s the one who brought Drew into the fold. Do you know where your brother is?”

  I jut my chin. “I already told you. No.”

  “Do you know where your father is?”

  “No.”

  “Then this conversation is over.”

  “I don’t understand—”

  “And you don’t need to,” Clancy snaps, walking toward me. “You came into my bar, my place of business, demanding answers, and you have nothing to give me in return. So this conversation is over.” He waves a hand at the watchdogs, who in turn crowd in on me until I start backing up.

  “If anything happens to Drew,” I say, sinking my eyes into Clancy, “I will find you and then you’ll know what real damage looks like.” Walking backward, I step out into the balmy Louisiana night with the watchdogs still in my face.

  “If you see your father,” Clancy says with cold eyes, “tell him I’m looking forward to the next time we meet.”

  If I see my father…

  He’s supposed to be on the run. He’s supposed to be in hiding—or even dead.

  He’s supposed to be gone from our lives forever.

  Jabbing emotions cut through me at what my father being back in the picture might mean. So many things. None of them good.

  Clancy’s watchdogs slam the door in my face and I’m left standing in a dark alleyway with one thought racing through my mind.

  I’m going to kill my father.

  19

  Jenna

  Shockingly, Grandma decided not to join my cousins and me for a rough and rowdy night of terrible-song karaoke. Not because she wasn’t feeling well, but because she already had plans to play bingo with some of her book club friends.

  I swear that old woman has more of a social life than I do.

  So here I am, wedged between Callie and Alyssa at a sticky bar table as a very drunk Becca wobbles up to the stage in her five-inch heels and takes the microphone.

  The four of us wore matching strapless shirts—per Becca’s request—and each one is a different color. My mom said it was perfect because it made us look like a flock of peacocks. I informed her that colorful peacocks are always males and are notoriously mean and obnoxious, to which she responded, “So what’s your point?”

  Alyssa chose a blue top. Becca chose yellow. Callie, green. And I went with red. Because it matched my newest piece of jewelry.

  Glancing down at the red-stoned ring shining on my right hand, I can’t help but smile.

  Jack loves me. No question.

  How is it that I can accept that Jack loves me, but not trust that he does? No wonder the guy gets so frustrated with me.

  The opening notes of “I Will Survive” play through the cheap speakers propped up in the corners of the smoky room and everyone cheers. Becca takes her stance on the stage and dramatically gears up to sing her heart out—and maybe our ears.

  If I were drunk right now, I’d probably be having more fun. But my stomach has been unsettled all night, so sick with worry about Jack and Drew that I haven’t been able to consume any alcohol.

  My cousins, on the other hand, haven’t had any trouble tossing ’em back. They’re still going hard, while all I want to do is check in on Jack and see if he found out anything from that Clancy guy.

  Excusing myself from the horrible performance Becca is subjecting the bar to, I slip out onto Bourbon Street and call Jack.

  He answers immediately. “Is everything okay?”

  I blink. “What? Yeah. I was calling to see how things were going with you.”

  A horse-drawn carriage goes by with a drunk couple inside holding a megaphone. Through the megaphone they shout, “HELLO, BOURBON STREET!” and fall back laughing.

  I wouldn’t think much of it, except I hear
d the couple’s craziness through my phone, and not just my ear, which means Jack is somewhere nearby.

  “Where are you?” I ask, searching the street.

  “I’m headed to a friend’s house for the night.”

  Spying him through the window of a hotel lobby across the street I frown. “Oh yeah? You’re not checking into a hotel?” I hurry across the street and slip through the hotel’s front doors.

  He heads for the elevators. “What? No. That would be silly.”

  I duck inside the elevator, just as the doors close us inside. “Gotcha.”

  He sees me and looks startled. “Where are you doing here?”

  The elevator starts heading up.

  “Well, I saw you lying to me from across the street so I thought I’d come catch you in that lie. Busted.” I scowl and gesture at the elevator. “Why would you stay at a hotel? Why not just stay with my family?”

  He sighs and runs a hand through his disheveled hair, pieces falling into his face and across his cheekbones. “Because you need a break from all my craziness, Jenn.”

  I furrow my brow. “No, I don’t. That’s why I was calling you.”

  The elevator dings and the doors open. I follow him out and walk beside him down the hotel corridor, passing one red door after another.

  “You might not think you do, but trust me,” he says, coming to a stop in front of red door number 2323, “you need a break from me.”

  He won’t look at me and a sliver of rejection pierces my heart.

  “Well at least tell me if you found anything out about Drew,” I say. “I’m dying over here.”

  “Go home, Jenna. You don’t need to be mixed up in this.” He slips his key inside the door and enters the room.

  He doesn’t invite me in, but I follow after him anyway. I don’t like this not-being-wanted feeling. I know we’ve spent a lot of nonstop time together these past few days, and it would makes sense that maybe Jack wants some space, but I don’t want space.

  And hell, that’s new for me.

  I always want space. Freedom. I always want to get away.

  Until now.

  “No,” I say. “I want to know what you found out.”

  The door closes behind us with a loud click and I stare at him with pleading eyes. The idea that Jack might be getting sick of me is… well, it’s heartbreaking. I want him to keep me around. To let me in. To want me—to trust me.

  “Please?” I say.

  He studies me for a moment then scrubs a hand across his jaw with a heavy sigh. “I found out that my father is in on all this.”

  I stand with my mouth open for several long seconds. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry, Jack.”

  He laughs bitterly. “Me too. All this time, I thought I’d saved my brothers from my dad and his mess but here I am, trying to clean up after him again.”

  I place a hand on his shoulder, my heart sinking with all he’s probably feeling. “I really am sorry, Jack.”

  He looks at me with broken, gray eyes. “I’m sorry I dragged you into all this, but I’m glad I have you at the same time, you know?”

  I nod, energized by the affirmation of his words. “Of course.”

  He wants me. He trusts me.

  Am I crazy not to give him those very same things in return? Am I insane to continue pushing him and us and the possibility of love away?

  I have my reasons, my future. But there’s a fine line between sticking to your guns and shooting yourself in the foot. And sometimes I feel like I’m trying to outrun myself. Like I’m fighting against my own heart. Not my dreams. Not my fears. My heart.

  I’m racing in circles—fleeing a storm of my own making—while Jack waits patiently, ready to catch me when I collapse of exhaustion.

  I glance at his beautiful face and bite my lip. “Jack, I…”

  What if I gave in? What if I let the storm consume me? What if I braved the wild torrents and crashing waves that come when Jack and I collide and just let go?

  I try again, “I…”

  Sensing the shift inside me, he leans over and kisses me on the forehead. It’s an innocent kiss, but my eyes fall shut at the touch and I realize I want nothing else than to just let go.

  I want to drown in the unknown. Flail in unruly winds.

  I want to surrender to the storm until I’m a piece of it. A willing tempest.

  I want—

  I want—

  I want to just… let… go…

  I lift up on my tiptoes and press my lips to his. Pulling back, Jack looks down at me with desire in his eyes and then takes my mouth in his. It’s rough and sudden and I claw at his back for more as he yanks me against him and holds my tongue hostage. Our kiss is savage and hungry, and I moan and whimper because he tastes so good and being away from him for even a few hours was too long.

  I want him, I realize. I want him and he’s taking me. This is different than last night. I’m different. He pulls away, giving me a chance to change my mind but I don’t move.

  My eyes fix on his mouth, tracing the curves of his full lips as hot breath flows in and out. His broad chest rises and falls with the rhythm, the wide collar of his shirt shows the thick muscles that wrap and layer around and beneath his collarbone.

  In the dim light of the room, every shadow is exaggerated along the lines of his shoulders and throat, seducing me silently as my gaze travels up and over his jaw and to his piercing eyes. Gunmetal gray rimmed with pale green and cut with sharp silver fills my vision, slowly pulling me in and taking me captive. And I, the willing prisoner, absently lean closer as if he’s a magnet and I’m helpless metal pieces.

  The tips of my breasts brush against his hard chest, sparking a white-hot flame deep inside me at the touch and causing my eyes to flutter as I tip my chin up to see him more fully. My lips part of their own accord, the pieces of me coming even more undone than they already are as I stare up at Jack in desperate want.

  All feeling leaves my fingers as I give in to the great weight of desire I’ve been pushing back all this time and press my lips to the base of his chin. Heat washes over my body as I kiss him gently then move my mouth to his bottom lip and set my lips there as well. I want him against me.

  I want to play at his mouth and slide against his skin. I want to draw pleasure from his body and look down on him as ecstasy ignites in us both. I want to conquer him until I’m exhausted and sated.

  But I know better.

  This is Jack and he will not be conquered. Jack will not be owned. Jack will not be taken. He is the victor and king. With him, I am not the hurricane. He is the storm and I am the ravaged.

  His force will destroy me; wrap me up in the fierce wind of his passion and the heavy water of his love. And that’s what it is: love. Undeniable and irrevocable love. And it is his stormy love that terrifies me most of all.

  The storm will come, flatten me completely, and I will never be the same.

  But I’ve been lying to myself all along. The storm hit me last winter and I’ve been a fledgling in his unsettled waters, pointlessly thrashing against the wind and rain, all the while knowing I’ve already lost.

  Jack pulled me under last year. The only thing left to do now is throw myself into the tempest and let the chaos that is Jack take me where it will.

  His large hands go to my legs, laying against the sides of my upper thighs as my mouth stays softly against his lower lip; not kissing, not moving, just waiting. He moves his palms up the sides of my hips, rolling along my curves until they reach my waist. He grips me there and pulls me against him, clutching me to his body in a possessive way that leaves no question as to who’s in charge. This is it. If I don’t slink out of his embrace now there’s no going back.

  But I’m already in the storm, wet and undone, lost and sailing.

  I gently set my teeth around his bottom lip and softly tug him into my mouth.

  There’s a split second where his fingertips sink into my waist and a deep sound rumbles in the back of his throat but th
en all sanity is lost and his chaos sweeps me away.

  One hand snaps to my back to keep me in place against him as the other grabs my face and brings my mouth to his more fully. He kisses me without reserve, crushing his lips against mine just once before parting them with his strong tongue, which he slips inside with hot entitlement. Like the very flesh of my mouth is his, and his alone, to touch and taste. And that he does.

  I meet his tongue with equal aggression and desire. Our mouths work against each other for the same cause and with the same greedy desperation. I curl my hands around his upper arms, unable to clasp him as fully as I’d like due to his large muscles. I sink my nails into his skin, scratching him briefly before moving my hands to a more satisfying grip around his neck.

  In response to my clawing, he grabs my hips and roughly yanks me against him as he bites the corner of my lip.

  “If you’re going to scratch me like a feline,” he says between ragged breaths as he unbuttons my pants and rips them open between kisses, “I might have to handle you like a tiger.” He spins us around and shoves me up against the wall, towering over me like a hungry shadow as his hands squeeze my ass.

  I nip his tongue and undo his pants, tearing the fly open. His erection is still hidden in his jeans but since he has no underwear on I get a healthy view of his bare pelvis. I pull back from his hungry mouth just long enough to sharpen my eyes on his silver irises.

  “I’ll scratch you where I damn well please,” I say, tucking my hand into his open jeans and setting my fingernails against the hot skin far below his belly, where I slowly scrape them up to his treasure trail.

  A low noise tumbles from his throat as he kisses me again, his hands slipping over the tight material of my shirt and the curves of my breasts. He sucks my earlobe into his mouth, twisting it around his tongue before running his teeth down my jaw. My eyes roll back as I tip my head, exposing my throat to his claiming kisses as he sucks at my skin.

  He tucks his fingers inside the top of my strapless shirt before tugging it down to bare my breasts. My nipples tighten in the cool air then harden even more under his gaze. His eyes rove over my naked curves as his hands cup my breasts and his thumbs flick over the erect peaks. I gasp, watching the pads of his large thumbs continue to run back and forth over my aching nipples as I arch my hips further into him.