Four Letters (The Lust List: Devon Stone #3)

Copyright © 2015 Mira Bailee

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

NoMi Press

www.mirabailee.com

Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

The Lust List Series

by Mira Bailee and Nova Raines

The Lust List: Devon Stone
by Mira Bailee

First Taste (The Lust List: Devon Stone #1)

Second Chances (The Lust List: Devon Stone #2)

Third Degree (The Lust List: Devon Stone #3)

Four Letters (The Lust List: Devon Stone #4)

The Lust List: Kaidan Stone
by Nova Raines

One Condition (The Lust List: Kaidan Stone #1)

Tangled Trust (The Lust List: Kaidan Stone #2)

Stolen Desire (The Lust List: Kaidan Stone #3)

Scandal Exposed (The Lust List: Kaidan Stone #4)

For Nova,

Couldn’t have done this without you, Hayley, and Kaidan

Devon

Nothing better than speeding down a highway after spontaneous, semi-public sex. Never mind the fact the drunk girl I’m driving home isn’t my girlfriend.

Heh,
girlfriend.
I’m getting used to the sound of that. Olivia’s not like any of the others—thank-fucking-god. Kennedy, Brooke, Layla, the one with the tongue ring and hot-ass side tattoo—what was her name again?

It doesn’t matter. I think—and shoot me if I admit this to anyone out loud—I think Olivia could be the real thing. She’s got a spunky side, and I can trust her.

Her roommate, Maddie, groans in the passenger seat. She’s hunched over, leaning her forehead on my dashboard.

“You gonna make it?” I ask. Girl needs to learn her own boundaries with alcohol, and I’m going to be pissed if she pukes all over the leather interior. People aren’t allowed to drive my Camaro, let alone desecrate it with vomit.

“I’m fine,” Maddie says, leaning back into the seat and closing her eyes. “Can you slow down? You drive like an ass.”

“I’m doing you a favor. You know that right?”

“And I appreciate it, but please,” she rubs her temples and exhales loudly, “drive like less of an ass.”

“You’re nicer when you’re sober.”

“You probably are too.”

What’s that supposed to mean? I barely drank tonight, hence the reason I’m the one tasked with getting Maddie home so Olivia can enjoy the rest of the gala. Is she talking about the drugs? Did Olivia tell her?

Clenching my jaw shut to avoid an argument, I press harder on the accelerator. No offense ladies, but neither of you can possibly know what I’ve been going through. If I knew how to explain it to Olivia, I would, but if her best friend is going to jump down my throat? No thanks.

“She’s in love with you, you know,” Maddie slurs.

I almost swerve the car into a guard rail at the sound of the “L” word. “Yeah right. We haven’t known each other long enough to…” I look over. Maddie’s eyes are closed. It’s no use discussing it with her. “Trust me,” I say quieter to myself, “I wish it were that easy.”

“Just tell her,” Maddie mumbles.

Fuck. I thought she was passed out. “She wants me to work on myself. I’m trying. No need to complicate it more with…other promises.”

No response from my drunk passenger.

“Hey,” I say again.

Still quiet. I cough loudly.

Definitely passed out now.

I grip the steering wheel tighter, focusing on the road. The shaking in my hands is getting worse. This is the longest I’ve gone without some sort of fix. The coke, the pills. Hell, even liquor’s acted as my vice for years. And when one girl tells me to stop, I’m supposed to just give it all up?

Not
one
girl.
The
girl.

If it was anyone else telling me what to do, I’d tell them to fuck off.

We pull into Olivia’s apartment complex and park. Stopping the car doesn’t wake Maddie. Shit, I have to carry her in?

I get out and go to her side, opening the door.

“Hey,” I say again, this time nudging her shoulder.

She groans but stays sleeping.

“You’re home.”

She flings her arm out at me, smacking me in the gut.

Sighing, I reach down for her bag. The keys are probably in here. I find them and warn her, “No more hitting. I’m taking you inside.”

I lift her out and help her find her feet. One arm supporting her, the other holding her stuff, we stumble to the door and make our way into the apartment.

Dropping her off in her bed makes me feel more uncomfortable by the second. What the hell do I do in this situation? Tuck her in? Leave her leg dangling off the edge? Being near a woman in a bed usually implies a different scenario—one where Olivia is involved, preferably. This is just…weird.

A quilt hangs on the back of a chair, and I cover her with it. There, I’ve been the good guy. Now get me out of here.

After I run back out to my car to grab my duffel from the trunk, I go back in to Olivia’s room. The quicker I get out of here, the quicker I get my beautiful woman into my penthouse for an unforgettable night. I toss the bag onto her bed and take a look around.

Yeah…I should’ve asked her what she’d need.

Going a night without anything is easy for me—well, just about anything. I look at my hands again. Still shaking. I hate this bullshit. The jittery feeling. The headaches. The way everything feels like it’s going to hell. One thing could fix it.

I shake away the thought. Let’s start in the closet. Olivia needs something for tomorrow. Opening it, I scan the options, not knowing a thing about fashion and what goes with what. A little dress catches my attention. It’ll show off Olivia’s sexy curves, so I grab that and toss it onto the bed. That’s it for the closet, yet I can’t help but look up at the top shelf before I close the door. Some shoes. And a box.

What’s in the box?

How many times have I argued with her for snooping around? And yet… I reach up and grab the box. Just a peek.

Inside are papers, photos, a journal. I flip through the pages, but even I’m not a big enough asshole to invade her privacy so I put it aside. The first photo in the box seems to jump out at me. A teenaged Olivia, dyed black hair with blue streaks. Too much makeup. But the same sexy smile. She’s got her arm wrapped around some kid, but it looks forced. I look on the back:
Liv and Jared - J’s 14
^th
birthday.

Shit. It’s her brother. The dead one. I can’t imagine what it must be like for her. Sure, my own brother’s a pain in the ass most of the time, but I’d hate to lose him.

Guilt punches me in the stomach, and I replace everything in the box and stuff it back up in the closet.

What else does she need? Underwear and stuff, right? I move to her dresser and pull open the top drawer. Now
this
is what I like. Skimpy little thongs and see-through lacy things. This is what dreams are made of. I pick the most revealing one I can find and toss it toward the bed, then find an equally sexy bra. Whether it’s functional or fashionable, whatever, I don’t know. I’m going with what’s hot. If she didn’t want to wear it, it wouldn’t be in here, I assume.

She has a hairbrush on her dresser, so I add that to the pile. That’s got to cover everything. This room smells like her. Sweet, a little floral. It eases my pounding headache and makes me hungry for the taste of her. I have two cravings. Olivia. And cocaine. And fuck my life that the two can’t co-exist.

I zip open the duffel, flipping the flap open to toss her things in. My heart stops. This bag hasn’t been used since Oregon. Since I’d disappointed Olivia to the point she didn’t want to see me again. I was such an asshole up there and should’ve listened to her. Considered her feelings. It’s only sheer luck she didn’t ditch me for good.

But this is why I almost blew it.

I reach down and lift out the only thing I’d left in this bag. A little blue tin. The answer to all my problems. My stash.

Inside, a little bag of white powder seduces me. It’s as beautiful as… as… no.
Forget about all this shit, Devon. Come on, man.

I lift out a small pill bottle, shaking it and watching the assortment of pharmaceuticals dance inside the amber-colored plastic. My pulse races. I feel energized. Just one of these.

Just one line to snort.

Just one.

And I’d feel better.

“Fuck.” I slam the lid shut on the tin and thrust the thing down into a side pocket. I run my hands through my hair, yanking at the roots.
Fuck
. I can’t do this. Throwing Olivia’s things into the duffel, I let out a frustrated growl, zip the bag closed, and leave her room, slamming the door behind me.

Is she worth all this trouble?

I stop at the bathroom intending to grab her toothbrush for her. There are two of them, and I don’t know which is hers. Never mind. We have brand new, unopened ones in the penthouse. I smile at the reason behind that. Once, I’d gone on a magnificent fucking binge. A one-night stand every night for two weeks. I learned fast to keep the penthouse well-stocked with the essentials. The girls seemed to appreciate it.

And now, look at me. Letting one woman turn my life upside down.

Is
she worth it?

I leave the apartment, making sure it’s locked when I go.

Fuck yeah, she’s worth it.

Driving even faster to get back to the hotel, I battle with the throbbing in my skull. I want to do a line. My mouth wants to swallow a pill. Just one. But more than any drug, I want Olivia.

I toss the keys at the valet as I quickly get out of the car. Grabbing my duffel bag, I jog up to the big double doors. I’m seconds away from devouring my girl. My plan is to get up there, not say a word, and push her on the bed. Our bodies will do the rest.

Olivia’s got my key, so I pull out my spare and get the elevator moving. Up and up to my girl. Heart racing, hands shaking. I don’t know if it’s anticipation or drug withdrawal, but who fucking cares right now? I’ll forget all about my addictions in Three. Two. One.

The elevator dings and opens. I rush to my door and unlock it, unable to keep the smile off my face at this point. I waltz in, tossing the bag toward the dining area, and turn toward the bed expecting to find my goddess.

“What the fuck?”

On the bed—correction:
Handcuffed
to the bed, is a woman—if you can call her that—I was ready to kill two years ago. Natasha Vorhees. The craziest stalker I’ve ever met.

“What the hell are you doing here? Where’s Olivia?”

I don’t even want to face this chick, but Olivia’s nowhere in sight. How’d she get in here? What part of restraining order doesn’t she understand?

She’s a damn whore on the bed, wearing red lingerie and attached to the headboard with fuzzy black cuffs.

“Don’t talk about your girlfriend. Totally kills the mood. Just get over here.”

Natasha shifts her legs, spreading them wide. I cringe and turn away. “Like hell I will. Where is she?”

“She’s gone. Out of the picture. You’re out of excuses, so stop lying to yourself. I’m stuck here and only you can free me.” She motions behind me, and I turn and spot the handcuff keys on the floor. What? Did she throw them? And how? With her foot or something? She lowers her eyes and grins a mischievous grin. “I think I can free you too. You look so tense.”

“I should’ve fucking killed you when I had the chance.”

Two years ago, she stalked me, threatened my family, and attacked Kennedy— Wait. Where
is
Olivia?

I walk to the side of the bed closest to Natasha’s repulsive head. She smiles at me, batting her eyelashes. “I knew you’d give in—”