Page 14 of Aced (Driven 4)
In the parking garage.
On the hood of Sex.
And in case I wasn’t sure, the concrete wall of the parking garage is painted with the hotel’s name. There is no mistaking the where or the what. Or the whom.
Both of us lean in closer out of reflex as we watch the video unfold, second by second, thrust after thrust, and I’m not sure if I’m more mesmerized or horrified at first before the realization sets in with what exactly this means. There is no audio on the security cam’s footage so the office weighs heavy with the silence until the clip goes dark and the video ends.
We’re both stunned, unsure what to say, not certain what to do. I feel like a thousand-pound weight has been lifted from my shoulders because Colton was right: he wasn’t cheating on me.
That weight has been replaced with an anvil teetering on the edge of a cliff, waiting to fall off and harm anyone in its path.
And we’re standing in that damn path.
Someone has footage of Colton and me having sex.
I think even if I watched the video replay one hundred times I still wouldn’t believe it.
“They’re on crack if they think I’m going to pay them three million dollars for that,” Colton says, breaking the silence, voice resolute, and staggering me in more ways than just one. Dumbfounded with my hand over my mouth, I force myself to look away from the black square on the computer screen and over to him.
And if I thought he was angry before, he’s livid now.
“What did you just say?” I finally stutter, not sure if I’m more shocked at the three million dollar figure or that he doesn’t care that a video of us having sex has been made.
“You heard me,” he growls at the walls. He shoves off from where he’s sitting atop the desk and starts pacing the room. I need to understand what he means, but I’ll wait him out . . . wait for him to temper his anger. There’s no way in hell we’re not paying this. That’s me. And him. Naked. Having sex. For anyone to watch. Oh my God!
He doesn’t answer me, just keeps muttering to himse
lf as he paces, working something out in his head. I’d much rather he shares than remain silent. After a few minutes, he waltzes back to the computer and frames his body above mine as he reaches over the back of the chair. “Watch it again.”
“Did you call the police? Did you—”
“That’s futile,” he snaps at me. “It’s not our property. Wasn’t stolen from us or our house so it’s not ours to claim.”
“But it’s us!” I reiterate my voice breaking and eyes widening.
“Play it again,” he demands, in a voice I’ve only ever heard when he’s at work. It’s the do-not-fuck-with-me tone that tells whoever he’s dealing with to do as he says without question.
I hesitate, confused as to why he wants to watch it again, prompting him to move his hand over mine on the mouse and click the play button. Our images spring to life once more and again I’m transfixed. It’s like a car accident: I know I need to look away and yet I’m mesmerized. As much as I’m appalled, there is something about watching the two of us together, stepping outside of the moment, and seeing how fluidly we move in sync. Undeniable proof we were meant to be together.
“CJ believes it,” he murmurs, more talking to himself than to me. I try to follow his train of thought, but replaying it has caused deafening panic to strike again. Every single breath—each thought—takes an enormous amount of effort. How we are going to fix this? “So will everyone else.”
Exactly, I want to scream at him. Everyone will believe it’s us. How could they not?
Colton turns my chair around so I’m facing him. “Do you trust me?” he asks, and I’m already shaking my head no because that gleam in his eye means he’s about to tell me something I don’t want to hear. And God yes, I trust him, but this isn’t a normal, “can you trust me?” type of question. “CJ watched this. He believed what they said.”
“Huh?” I’m not following him.
“Don’t you get it, Ry? They have no clue the woman is you. Your face . . . it’s not identifiable in one single frame.”
“But every other part of me is,” I shriek, as the sudden knowledge of where he’s going with this forms in my head. He can’t be serious. My stomach knots, forcing me to focus on breathing for a moment as my eyes look deep into his and question what I see there.
“Watch it again.”
“I don’t want to watch it again,” I shout, shrugging his hands off my shoulders and not liking what he’s suggesting one bit. “And I refuse to entertain whatever idea is in your head.” Panic returns with a vengeance.
“Hear me out, Ry,” he says, getting down to eye level with me as I avert my eyes to where my hands are resting on my belly. “Please look at me.” I take a moment before I raise my eyes and I’m glad that when I do, he seems as conflicted as I feel. “Do you really think that if we pay off whoever this person is they won’t keep an extra tape for insurance? That they won’t get their money and accidentally let the tape end up on the Internet?”
“Colton . . .”
