Holly Madison (Sins of the Father, 2) Read online

  “You mean to tell me that you don’t want him in your panties? Because, hun, I’ve seen him and I want him in MY panties.”

  “You’re not helping!” I bark.

  “Puuuh-leeeeeese. I have eyes and I’m gay. Of course I’m not going to be any help.”

  I glare at him.

  He winks at me. “Okay, hun. Here it is. Sure, he’s hot. Anyone with a pulse can see that. What he is not is worth you sitting here in your office when you look like that”—he wags his finger at me—“wasting your life away on piles of endless files. Now, grab your shit. We’re going out for a drink—or two. Or twelve. But regardless, you are not sitting around here anymore.”

  I let out a groan because I know he’s absolutely right. Nodding, I shut down my computer and follow him out the door.

  Ten minutes later, we’re in Curtis’s favorite bar, sipping margaritas, and laughing at his latest dating disaster.

  “Girl, and then he asked if I was into whips and chains, leather and ball gags.” He dabs his finger at the corner of his eyes, wiping away the tears spurred on by persistent laughter. “Shewww! Now, if he was that hot little piece that you’re running around town with, well—I’d be into whatever he wants.”

  I choke on my margarita.

  “What? He’s tatted, he’s hot, he rides a motorcycle, and he runs his own little fight club. What’s not to like?”

  “Fight club?” I giggle. The tequila flows through my veins and straight to my brain.

  Curtis deepens his voice. “The first rule of fight club is you do not talk about fight club.”

  “The second rule of fight club is you DO NOT talk about fight club!” Curtis and I yell in unison.

  “What do you know about Fight Club?” I ask.

  “Again, I have a pulse, and to have a pulse means that you can appreciate Fight Club. Whether you’re gay, straight, boy, or girl, it has a little something for everyone. I mean, hello? Brad Pitt?”

  He has a point.

  Curtis drains the rest of his margarita. “You feeling any better now, love?”

  I nod. “Yeah. I am. Thanks, baby.”

  “Any time. Now, let’s get another round. This queen isn’t ready to go home yet.”

  Our next round is taken back with ease, and the juke box kicks on, playing Lady Gaga’s Born this way.

  “Oh my god!” Curtis shrieks. “That’s my jam! Girl, knock back that margarita and let’s hit the dance floor.”

  I do exactly that and take his hand. He guides me onto the dance floor, lifts my arm, and twirls me around like a rag doll. He needs to lead because that last margarita is clouding my head. He spins me out, stops, then brings me to him, his arm around my waist, the other clasping my hand between us. I’m laughing, squealing, and just having a blast when I see him through the window riding down the street on the back of his motorcycle.

  I don’t have enough time to wonder what Tristan is doing so far out of his way before I am being whirled around and dipped by my dance partner.

  Who cares what Tristan is doing? He is none of my concern. Like I said, I’m done with him.

  I can hear the screams, his moans, and the car horn blaring into my subconscious. The smell of something metallic fills my nose. There is a warmth trailing down my cheek, across my chin, and onto my neck. My hand hurts like a mother.

  I tilt my head to the right and gaze out the window, seeing trees and darkness. I move my eyes to the left, having a hard time turning my neck, and there is my father. He’s crying out in pain. Blood is all over his head and face. I can’t clear the fog from my brain, so the severity of the situation has yet to hit me.

  The pain becomes more intense. It feels like my face is on fire, like someone is peeling the skin right off me. It hurts to breathe, but I push myself to fight the overwhelming urge to freak.

  I take in the destruction around us. The glass from the windshield is shattered and barely hanging together, the engine is smoking, and the hood looks like the bent-back top of a soup can. My head gets with the program and I am snapped out of my little daze. I can’t help but freak out. My mouth gapes wide and a scream rolls out. I am unable to stop it. More screams and inhuman noises leave me in waves. Each breath becomes more difficult to take as I frantically gulp for air.

  “Quiet, Holly. Quiet. I can’t think with all of that racket.” He sounds so far away, almost like on the opposite side of an immensely large tunnel.

  I look at my father while taking shallow breaths and trying to regulate my heartbeat, tears streaming down and stinging my face. His brown hair is now streaked with red from the gnarly gash on his head. I watch in a state of shock as he unfastens his seatbelt, leans back, and coughs, wincing and holding his side.

  “We have to go kid. Now!”

  “I want my mommy,” I cry. “I want my mommy! I want my mommy! I want my—“

  “Shut up!”

  I sniffle, turning my head slightly and leaning on the door next to me to calm myself. Daddy never did like it when I showed such feebleness. No child of his would ever be so pathetic as to show emotion. Emotion was a fault, a weakness.

  He reaches over and unbuckles me. “It’s time to go.”

  I jackknife out of bed, screaming like a madwoman. My hair is sweaty and sticking to the back of my neck. I gasp for air, holding my middle, trying desperately not to puke. It’s not working. I run straight to the toilet and empty my stomach.

  I rest my head on the seat. God! Why the hell am I having these dreams again? It’s the same nightmare I lived through nightly as a child after the accident. Only it wasn’t just a nightmare. It was my life. They went away about the time that Emma moved in with me and returned when she and Braden got back together.

  This is my curse. Guilt over what happened has settled into my soul and latches on to me, ensuring sleepless nights. The scars on my face and hand aren’t enough. Those scars are nothing compared to reliving the horrifying events of that evening so long ago over and over. Sometimes, I feel like I should be in jail with my father and sharing that cell. Sure, I was a child. I was only nine years old when it happened, but I left the scene of the crime too. To this day, I wonder if I had told the truth sooner to the police, then maybe, just maybe, there would have been more survivors.

  My body jolts at a knock on the front door. I stand, pull down my tee, and slowly walk through my bedroom. I peer at the clock on my nightstand, which flashes two twenty-five in the morning. The knock repeats, only louder this time. Who the hell is banging on my door in the middle of the night?

  I lean into the door and peek through the peephole, not believing my eyes.

  Are you kidding me? I open the door and pull my shirt down farther to cover my thighs. It didn’t occur to me to maybe, oh, I don’t know, put some pants on before answering the door. Tristan’s dark-brown eyes stare at me with such intensity that it sucks the air right out of the room. My mouth goes dry at the sight of him. I avert my eyes when I feel the heat creep into my cheeks.

  He takes advantage of my discomfort by walking right into my apartment, stopping to close and lock the door before he strolls through to my living room. I can do nothing by stare at him in disbelief.

  “Do you have any idea what time it is, Tristan?”

  “Why aren’t you returning my calls?” he asks back, completely ignoring me.

  My body locks up tight. Are we really going to do this at two thirty in the morning?

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’ve been calling you and texting. You’re not returning my calls. I wanna know why.”

  This man is so damn infuriating. I straighten my shoulders, ready for a few rounds in the ring. “I haven’t returned your calls because you’re a whore.”

  His lips thin and he glares at me. I open my mouth to kick his ass out, but he holds up his hand and speaks.

  “I saw you tonight at that bar. Made me jealous as hell watching you dance with that man and smile at him the way I want you smiling at me.”

  Holy shit.<
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  “I can’t stay away, cupcake. I tried to walk away like you wanted, but I just can’t. I swear to you that I tried,” he goes on, squinting his eyes as if that were the most painful revelation he has ever had to admit.

  My heart hammers against my chest at his words. I have no idea what to say to him. He huffs out a loud breath, running his fingers through his hair in a swift, jerky motion. Then he turns his back to me, placing his hands on the sliding glass door that overlooks the parking lot. His back is solid and his shoulders are broad. Tristan’s head hangs low.

  “I don’t want other women, Holly. I want to see where this goes with you. Take my time with you, cupcake. I want to build this thing up and give you the romance and sweetness you require. I want to be all of the things that make you smile, not that make you cry yourself to sleep at night.”

  If I thought my heart was erratic before, I was sorely mistaken. Now, I can’t catch my breath. This is what the man does to me. I am almost always reduced to a blubbering pile of mush.

  “Tristan,” I murmur past the lump in my throat, but he holds up his head and turns, stalking towards me.

  He cups my face and bores his gaze into my eyes to silence me. It worked.

  “I need you in my life. I’m not good at this relationship thing. Never have been, never wanted to be.” He shakes his head and flashes the dimple.

  Oh, Lord, help me.

  “You did something to me. I don’t know why, I don’t know how, but you’ve gotten under my skin and I need more.” He leans in closer, brushing his lips to mine for a brief moment. Then he pulls back slightly, remaining in my space so that I can see only his intense eyes. “I want to be the one who takes you to your limit, reels you back in, and makes you come with such intensity that your neighbors will know me on a first-name basis.”

  I bite my lower lip to stifle the moan I feel rumbling through me at his declaration. I fight the need to jump him, wrap my legs around his waist, and beg him to take me right here. Then I see the flash of knowing in Tristan’s eyes. He knows that he’s said all of the things I needed to hear, and it is what he says next that almost takes me to my knees.

  “I need you, Holly.” His voice is low and filled with pain.

  He continues to look at me with uncertainty in his eyes. I am just as ambiguous as he is. I look up at him through my lashes and turn my head, closing my eyes. He is making my resolve quake. I didn’t want it to be so easy for him to be able to work his way back in. I am weak when it comes to this man.

  “He’s gay!” I blurt out.

  “What?”

  “Curtis. The guy you saw me dancing with earlier. He’s gay. He thinks you look awesome on the back of your motorcycle, and if you asked, he would totally let you chain him to a bed and gag him.”

  He nods and goes on as if I didn’t just go on a ridiculous mini rant about how gay my assistant is, which is a good thing, because at this point, it’s probably wise that I keep my big mouth shut.

  “I know that I have work to do to gain your trust, and I’m sorry for that. I never meant for you to see what you saw the other night.”

  I back out of his hold on me and cross my arms over my chest. “You didn’t mean for me to see you fucking Giggles the other night? That’s it? This is all because you got caught in a compromising situation and you feel bad about it?”

  He holds his hands up, palms out in surrender. “Not what I meant.”

  “No? You know what? Never mind. Just get the hell out of my house.”

  He takes a step toward me. I hold my position and flash my eyes at him in warning, which stops him in his tracks.

  “Okay, clearly, I’m fucking this up.”

  I tip my head to the side. “You think?”

  “Cupcake, you showed up at my gym with no word, walked in on me and…Giggles, is it? Then you punch me in the face—which, by the way, was impressive. Not many women have a right hook that could damn near bring me to my knees.” He clears his throat for the hundredth time. “Anyhow, we never put a name on this thing and—“

  “No, Tristan, you’re right. We never did put a name on this, but I had hoped that it was unspoken that we were exclusive. I came to your gym to surprise you because I thought you would like that. I was so stupid. Why would I ever think that someone like you would be interested enough in someone like me to forget about all of the others?” A sob bubbles up and I bite my tongue to contain it—a little too late.

  It happens so fast. I am being enveloped in Tristan’s arms.

  “I fucked up, but I’m going to do my best to redeem myself.”

  “Get out, Tristan,” I mumble against his chest.

  His arms tighten around me. “Not until you agree to go out with me tomorrow night. A real date. Let me spoil you, open doors for you, and all of that other chivalrous shit you women like so much.”

  I lean back, peering up at him, not quite sure of his intentions. “Chivalrous shit?”

  “Chivalrous shit,” he repeats.

  “I think that—“

  “No. No more thinking. Just go with it. Date me, will ya?”

  “Am I dating just you, or am I dating you and Giggles and whoever else you’re sticking that demon dick into?”

  “Did you just call my dick a demon dick?”

  “I did.”

  “Jesus, woman. No, I won’t be sticking my dick in Giggles or any other woman but you,” Tristan states with certainty.

  I’m having a hard time believing this sudden change in attitude. “So what happened between last week and now that has sprung this on? Giggles holding out?” I ask him with steel nerve. If I’m going to even consider letting him back in, I need to make sure that I have explored every possible notion.

  “No, cupcake. Giggles—or how about we call her by her real name, shall we?”

  I hold my hand up to silence him before he tells me. I prefer to think of her as Giggles. “I don’t need to know her name.”

  He nods. “Okay. I told Giggles that I couldn’t engage in any physical activity with her any longer. I also told her that I had my eye on a bigger prize.” Tristan reaches out and tags me by the back of my neck, bringing me in toward his warm body. I inhale his scent, which is a mixture of soap and spice mixed with all things Tristan. I love it.

  “Dinner, tomorrow night. I’ll pick you up at six. Wear something sexy for me.”

  “Fine! I’ll be ready at six. But I expect a ton of chivalrous shit and hand holding. You touch my ass, I cut off your demon dick.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Don’t be so cruel. He didn’t do anything to you.”

  I let out a small giggle. “Oh, and Tristan?”

  “Yeah, cupcake.”

  “You wear something sexy for me.”

  I give myself a once-over in the mirror at the latest purchase I picked out specifically for tonight. Tristan wants sexy? He’s going to get sexy. I’m already running a little behind schedule. My bed is covered in clothes that are strewn haphazardly all over it. Even though I already have a clear idea of what I want to wear, I still felt the need to try on every article of clothing I own. Just in case.

  I check my reflection one last time to make sure that not a single hair is out of place, my makeup is daring, and my cleavage is bare just enough to leave a hint for the imagination. Not like he hasn’t seen the goods already. I am sporting an electric-blue tank with spaghetti straps, white capris, and my favorite black, knee-high boots. I applied just the simplest amount of makeup. I have never had to wear a lot of makeup. Just a little bit of eye shadow, some mascara, and gloss. Since it is summer, I’ve been spending a lot of time out in the sun, so I don’t need blush or bronzer.

  At six o’clock, there is a knock at the door. When I open it, the sight of him almost takes my breath away. He is in a nice pair of jeans and a black, button-up shirt, the top two left undone to give just a peek at his chest tattoo. He is beautiful, handsome… No, no. He is sexy. Straight-up, all-out, holy-shit kind of sexy. My heart rate takes a hit and ja
cks up as he walks into the apartment and kisses my cheek before handing me a beautiful bouquet of flowers.

  Oh my god. He is pulling out all the stops for this date.

  “Hey, cupcake.” He flashes his lopsided grin and I feel it straight in my belly.

  “Hi.” I smile back at him. “Let me go put these in water and I’ll be ready to go.”

  Tristan nods, and I head to the kitchen, snag a vase from over the refrigerator, filling it with water. I peel the cellophane from the flowers, neatly placing them in their new home on the top of the breakfast bar. I’m still arranging the flowers when I catch his reaction to my outfit.

  He rounds the bar, wraps me in his arms from behind, and whispers into my ear, “Your ass looks amazing in this.” He sucks the bottom of my earlobe into his mouth and my eyes roll back in my head. Then he swats my ass and says, “Come on. Let’s get this date started.”

  I lock up the front door before dropping my keys into my purse, and we make our way out to the parking lot. Tristan puts his hand in mine and leads me to his motorcycle.

  Ummm…what?

  He hands me a helmet and commands, “Hop on.”

  “I’m not getting on that thing. We can take my car.”

  Oh my god. He picked me up for our date on a motorcycle. I examine the helmet that he placed in my hand, trying to think of how the hell to get out of this. Maybe I’ll tell him that I am coming down with something? I have to wash my hair? I forgot that I had offered to volunteer for the nuns to feed sick orphans and—

  “You’ve never been on a bike before, have you?” He smirks up at me from the seat.

  “No, and I don’t plan on getting on one tonight.”

  “What’s wrong, cupcake? Live a little.” He grabs me, pulling me close, and growls, “I like the fact that you’ve never been on the back of another man’s bike.”

  “I won’t be getting on the back of yours either.”

  “Get on my bike, and if you’re lucky, you’ll be on my dick later.”

  Did he just say that? I mean, seriously? What guy says that to a girl he is trying to impress? Well, I guess a guy who has already test-driven the merchandise.