Total Trainwreck (23 page)

“I’m coming!” she announces to anyone in a mile radius. It echoes down the damn canyon. Jamie reaches up and claps a hand over her mouth to silence her. I put a hand over my mouth to silence the laugh that bubbles from my throat. Holy shit. What a crazy fucking bitch. I elbow Maria. Her face is frozen in a dumbfounded look. Slowly, she turns that look to me and huffs a disbelieving laugh, her phone still held stock-still recording the public porn.

Jamie comes with a giant, manly sounding grunt. Maria bites her shirt to keep from laughing out loud. We turn and slide to our asses back against the cement garden wall, unable to believe what we’ve just witnessed and trying our damnedest to keep a lid on the schoolgirl giggles threatening to out us. For a few seconds, we sit there composing ourselves. Maria checks her phone to be sure the video is there and I scroll through my pictures. At this moment, our phones are easily worth a million dollars each. To me, though, it’s worth so much more. This video is our happily-ever-after. I upload my photos to the cloud and tuck my phone safely into my pocket, patting it for good measure.

I thumb toward the trail and Maria nods. On our hands and knees we crawl from our hiding spot so we don’t get caught. We’re silent, sprinting up from the valley floor as fast as we can. Neither of us says a word until we’re back in the car.

We pile in and Maria takes off as fast as she can get the key in the ignition. Two streets over, she pulls to a stop. We look at each other and start squealing. No words need to be said. We both know exactly what we have on film and exactly what this means. Devon and I are home free.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Sweating is so not my thing, but when the glisten of just-fucked-silly perspiration dampens my skin I love it. What I love even more is the warm body that slides against mine when he rolls off and pulls me into the nook under his arm. A breathless kiss finds its way to my forehead and I greedily inhale the smell of our love. God, I relish everything about this man. He takes my hand in his and traces the line of veins running down the back of mine.

Sitting on the bedside table, my phone is impossible to ignore without the distraction of sex. I’m slightly mind-fucked to think a small rectangular device can hold the kind of damning evidence that will undoubtedly bury Heather. I should tell him. I have to tell him. He’s going to be so pissed at me, but maybe the lingering orgasmic euphoria will calm his rage. Here’s hoping.

“I want to show you something,” I say, leaning up and reaching for my phone. He grunts his disappointment at having our post-coital moment interrupted, but sits up and stuffs pillows behind his back. “Don’t be mad.” I fix him with a serious gaze and drop the phone in his hand. Heather’s pictures are already on the screen.

He gives me a playful side-eye before turning to my phone, ridiculously unaware of what he holds. I can’t watch. He’s going to go ballistic. I know he is. Sliding from the bed, I scurry to the bathroom and shut the door. I sit on the toilet, peeing as quietly as I can and listening for any sound on the other side of the door. Nothing.

Slowly, I emerge, peeking around the door to get a glimpse of his face and judge his mood. He sits on the side of the bed, phone clenched in white knuckles, shaking his head, nostrils flaring. This is not good.

“What the hell were you thinking? Do you have any idea how dangerous this is?” He holds up the phone like he wants to throw it. Standing, he marches toward me, his cock slapping against his thigh with each step. “I cannot believe you! Is this what you were doing all morning?” he demands, inches from my face.

I slink around him, moving away from his rage. “Yes.” I force confidence into my voice.

“How did you even...?” He throws his hands in the air, totally at a loss by what I’ve done.

“Sit down,” I say, throwing his pants at him and pulling on a shirt. He rips the pants up his legs and starts pacing, eventually throwing my phone on the bed.

“You better have a damn good reason for this!” His voice is beyond livid. I clear my throat, certain I’ve got seconds to explain my side before he completely loses it.

“Jamie told me to meet him this morning. Gave me an address.” I bite my lip.

“When do you talk to Jamie?”

“He caught me hiding a camera in Heather’s room. Turns out he’s just as desperate to get rid of you as we are to rid of Heather.” I try a laugh, hoping he’ll find the irony amusing. He doesn’t. My explanation only angers him further. “Maria and I went there this morning.”

“You brought Maria into this?”

“Of course I did.” I smirk at his accusation like he’s a fool for even asking. “I didn’t know what to expect. We followed them into the canyon and...well, Jamie gave us everything we need. Maria’s got it on tape. Those pictures are tame.” I point to my phone so he knows how much worse it gets.

“Exactly how much does she know?” Devon’s face goes slack, fearing how much I’ve shared with my BFF.

“She knows nothing more than how desperate I am to get rid of Heather so I can be with you.” My answer pricks his anger. The lines of his face soften. He turns away.

“What have you done?”

“What have I done?” I repeat his question like he’s mad, unable to believe he’s doubting me, that he doesn’t see what we’ve finally got. “Devon, this—” I wave my phone in front of his face “—is your bargaining chip. Heather’s now got a sex tape. With Jamie. No way she’ll want that to get out. She’ll have to be reasonable about a settlement.”

“No. What you’ve got is one more reason for her to twist the screws.”

“No.” I cross my arms defiantly. “This is our ticket. Either she comes to the table with a reasonable offer, or we release it.”

“It’s a sex tape, Carly.” He emphasizes the point with balled hands. “The Kardashians are built on one of those. But what she has would
destroy
me.”

“It’s something,” I argue, refusing to admit my plan is crumbling.

“It’s not enough.” He falls into a chair and takes his head in his hands. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but until Dylan’s tape is out of Heather’s hands, we’re dead in the water.”

I sink to the floor beside the bed, grabbing my own head. He’s right. It’s not enough. Sex tapes don’t mean much in Hollywood. A tape of Devon overdosing Dylan means everything.

The body bag zipping over her pale face is an image I’ll never forget. It plays in my mind at will, the shaky recorded image on a phone’s small screen. A single TV hung against a black glass wall.

“Is there a glass wall anywhere in the Malibu house?” I know I’ve seen that TV before.

He shakes his head. “Why?”

“The video she showed me, she was recording the security tape playing on a TV. She must have the original copy.”

“Probably. More copies means more chance of it leaking, but she’s too smart to store it in the house. Or on her phone. I could have that wiped clean with one call to Moretti.”

“No, I know that. The TV was familiar to me. I’ve seen that glass wall somewhere.”

“A glass wall says business office to me.” He shrugs.

“Black glass,” I say absently, chewing my lip as I think. Black glass. A faraway memory of a familiar glass wall with a wet bar and a bitch just as evil as Heather comes flying in from nowhere.

“India,” I whisper, leaping to my feet. “India has the tape.”

* * *

I reheat a cup of coffee in the microwave hoping it will clear my thoughts, and make my way to the porch for a smoke. After I figured out who had Devon’s tape, he made one call. Ten minutes later, Mr. Moretti’s slick Crown Vic pulled into the cover of my garage. Devon got in and I haven’t seen him since.

He was a mixture of angry, hurt and shell-shocked when he left, unable to believe the agent who made a career out of building his would betray him like this. To me, it makes perfect sense. Heather couldn’t keep the tape. Devon would’ve found it by now. She needed an accomplice. India has just as much to lose as Heather does if Devon decides to walk. She needs the insurance, too. Of course those two snakes would share a den.

As happy as I am to finally find our resolution to the whole Heather issue, it sucks to see him hurt by India’s betrayal. Devon’s circle of trust is small. She’s been with him from the beginning. It’d be like learning Tiny is a traitor. The only silver lining to this storm cloud is that Devon is so pissed off by it all, he’s letting me decide what to do with Heather’s sex tape. Once he has his tape in hand. The idea of buying commercial time during the Super Bowl is very appealing.

“Sunshine.” He whispers my nickname low and sweet, not a trace of lingering anger. It’s a relief, but I’m so consumed in my own thoughts, I didn’t hear him come in. Startled, I drop my coffee. It splatters over the flagstone at my bare feet. “Don’t move!” Devon leaps to action, kicking the broken glass away from me. “Hop on,” he says, bending down and offering me his back.

“What are you doing on my porch?” I ask, climbing on and letting him carry me inside. He puts me down and finds my lips. I love it when he finds my lips. Soft and sweet and gentle, the way a lover’s first kiss should always be. This mood is such a one-eighty from when he left, it can mean only good news.

“You really need to upgrade the security around here. Your gate doesn’t even lock.” His look alone tells me how disappointed he is in my lack of safety. I roll my eyes at his stall tactics.

“Did you get it?” I ask, fisting his shirt sleeve, unable to keep the smile off my face. We are so close. So fucking close. I can taste our freedom.

He sticks a hand in his back pocket and produces a small VHS, the miniature kind security systems used back when dinosaurs roamed the earth. “It’s all right here.” My eyes flare with disbelief, staring at the cassette in his hand.

“And India?”

“Surprisingly, she gave it up without a fight. She had it buried in a vault. Thought she was guarding it for us. She seemed genuinely shocked to learn what Heather’s been up to.”

“You’re sure there aren’t other copies?”

He shakes his head. “Moretti scanned it. It’s clean.”

“And her phone?”

“He’s wiping it as we speak.”

Sweet relief sings so loudly into my limbs I lose control. Limply, I fall against a couch. Devon grins like a schoolboy—fresh and free and just as dumbfounded as me. It’s the look of a ten-thousand-pound weight lifting off his shoulders. The storm clouds are clearing. Our living hell is over and happily-ever-after is finally here.

I grab my head in my hands, slowly running my hands over my hair, unable to believe this is it. This is actually it. I hold out my hand. He drops the tape in it. I death-grip the hard black plastic. I cannot believe how quickly the tides have turned. Now that we have this, the sex tape doesn’t even matter. Heather has zero control over the situation. She has to walk away.

“What are you going to do with it?” I ask.

“Burn it,” he says with zero hesitation.

“I’ve got a fire pit.” I point outside toward the stone structure.

“And I’ve got a match.”

“But first...” I give him a naughty look that needs no further explanation.

This calls for celebration sex. He sits and lands a kiss on the spot right below my ear that drives me crazy, obviously thinking the same thing. This spot makes me forget every thought that has ever taken up space between my ears, which is exactly what I want.

“Devon.” I chastise his bold moves like they shock me, but turn to him for more. Sometimes I like to think there’s the tiniest bit of lady inside me, even though everyone here knows what I slut I am where he’s concerned. For some reason I’m feeling bold and adventurous. Unstoppable, now that our number one problem is solved. Devon starts to sit up, and I know he’s going to lead me down the hall so we can have safe sex in my bed that won’t in any way jeopardize our situation. Fuck that. I stand, but pull him back to me when he starts to walk away.

“What?” he asks with a playful grin.

I step in front of him, my grin equally playful. I run my hands over his chest and down to his crotch. He’s already straining against his pants. I nibble at his lip and make quick work of his fly, whipping his pants and boxers down to his ankles before he can stop me.

“Carly!” he says, eyes wide with shock.

“Devon?” I answer, eyes brimming with lustful promises. He’s still trying to figure out what I’m doing, when I place my hands on his chest and push. He falls backward against the couch, legs spread on either side of me. He has zero time to protest before I rip my shirt over my head, exposing the huge breasts that have bloomed on my chest the past week. He inhales sharply at the sight of my new and improved bootylicious body. Never have curves been so dangerous. I sink to my knees, taking the time to rub these fabulous new tits all over his torso.

He’s rock hard and ready for action by the time my lips find their way between his legs. Softly, gently, I swallow the length of him, knowing no man, not even Devon Hayes, can say no to a woman when his dick is in her mouth.

* * *

I know curiosity killed the cat and that I’m a total masochist for watching this, but I had to see it one time for real—no squirrelly, fast-forwarded cell phone recording—before sending it to its fiery grave. It’s held too much power over me for too long. It only seems appropriate. Devon has found a way to know and love everything about me. I want to have that same level of connection and support for him.

He thinks I’m certifiable. A hot shower is more appealing to him. I don’t blame him for that. The night holds nothing but bad memories and years of guilt for him. Luckily, my state-of-the-art security system has a dinosaur backup system that fits the tape perfectly. I’ve pulled a chair up to the closet full of TVs, ready for the action. I insert the tape, press the sideways triangle button and wait. A TV up top flares to life. The black-and-white image of a girl fills the screen. My stomach rolls so violently I almost turn it off. But, I can’t. I need to see this. No matter how badly it hurts. I tell myself I’ll turn it off before the body bag shows up. That’s one scene I don’t need to see again.

In larger format and with better resolution, it’s beyond striking how much Dylan and I favor each other. My hair is longer than hers, but she has a nose ring exactly where mine used to be. I rub the old scar absently. She’s partying with a group of people in the VIP room. One looks like a young Heather. Devon is MIA.

The group passes a mirror and a rolled bill. Each one beams a rail up their nose or passes. Dylan takes two lines and passes. I swallow hard, knowing exactly what’s happening to her body in this moment. How much she savors the feeling of losing control.

She studies the table, letting her high sink in. Then grabs her drink, sits back and becomes the life of the party. I can see why Devon loved her. She’s fun. She’s flirty. She doesn’t give a damn what anybody thinks. In no time, she and the person I’m assuming is Heather are on the table dancing like strippers, using each other as a pole. I fast-forward through the night, stopping every few seconds to be sure I’m not missing something. Dylan takes down a massive amount of blow, but she keeps going, not once stopping or looking like she’s out of control.

The party clears, but she stays. She waves goodbye, and it is now that the drugs hit her. She sways and falls to the couch. Minutes pass. I assume she’s out cold until she pops up like the Energizer Bunny.

Devon appears. My heart sinks, knowing what’s about to happen. I watch the next painful minutes through my fingers, nerves flying through me. Devon leaves and returns. They argue. There’s the needle. The vein. The pass-out. Devon rolls her to her side to sleep it off. I should stop it. I know what’s coming next.

I’m fumbling for the stop button when a familiar figure comes back on-screen. She’s searching for something. While I watch her rummage through the couches Dylan begins to convulse. She’s shaking and foaming at the mouth. The other person rushes to her side, grabs her shoulders, slaps her a few times and then lets her fall. She pushes a veil of black hair over her shoulders. In the next second, the camera focuses clear as day on Heather Troy.