Page 32 of Aced (Driven 4)
Fuck if I’m not being an asshole. Like that’s something new. But at the same time, if I’m laying all my cards on the table, it has to be face-to-face. I can’t have the catfight bullshit I’m sure Ry would initiate if she were at my side: a distraction when I’m trying to call Tawny’s bluff.
I check the address once more as I walk up the concrete path, the daggers from Rylee’s glare burning holes into the back of my shoulders. The house is nothing special—a little run-down, flowers in the planters, a red wagon on the porch—and I can’t help but think it’s a long-ass way from the high-rise condo she had the last time I visited her.
I knock on the door. A dog barks nearby. I shift my feet. Take my sunglasses off because I want there to be no mistaking what I’m saying and how I mean it. Let’s get this done and fucking over with. Problem is when all’s said and done, I have a feeling I might be eating a little crow for Rylee, and I’ve heard it tastes like shit.
I should know better by now. Ry’s usually right when it comes to this kind of thing. Only one way to find out.
I knock again. Look over my shoulder to where Rylee sits in the car, window down, head tilted to the side as she tries to figure out what in the fuck I’m doing.
C’mon. Answer the damn door. I don’t have time for this shit. Wasted minutes.
Did she or didn’t she? That’s the big fucking question of the hour.
Tawny.
I grit my teeth at the name. At the person who has been dead to me. She may have been one of my oldest friends, but she tried to play me for a fool, tie me to her with her bullshit lies, and more than anything, fucked with Rylee. End. Of. Story.
My hands fist. Memories return. Temper flares.
The door swings open. I jolt seeing someone I don’t know at all anymore.
“Colton!” Her blue eyes widen in shock. The lines etched around them tell me life’s been tough. Too bad, so fucking sad. The beauty queen’s lost her crown. You fuck with people, you reap what you sow. Her hand immediately flies up to pat her hair and smooth down her shirt.
Don’t worry sweetheart, I wouldn’t even touch you with a ten-foot pole.
“What the fuck are you and Eddie trying to pull, Tawny?” I want to catch her off guard, see if I can glimpse a flicker in her eyes. Something. Anything. A goddamn clue whether she had a hand in this whole situation.
“What are you . . .?” Her voice fades as she shakes her head, eyes blinking as if she can’t believe I’m standing here. The feeling is mutual.
Cat got your tongue, T?
“Colton . . . please, come in.” She reaches out, puts her hand on my arm, and I yank it back in automatic reflex. Does she think I’m here for her? That maybe . . . fuck, I don’t know what she could be thinking, but obviously from the hurt that flashed in her eyes she sure as shit didn’t expect my rejection.
Good. At least the stage is set for this conversation. Her hopes dashed. All expectation out the damn door.
“No thanks. I’ve got better things waiting for me in the car,” I say with a lift of my chin. I then step to the side so she can see Rylee.
And so Rylee can see her. Understand why we’re here. That I listened to her, heard her, and am trying to get some answers. I just hope like hell Ry stays put so I can up the ante. Take the pot and finish this on my terms. Because I need to do that.
“Oh.”
Yeah. Oh. Glad we got the fact I’m still married out of the way. Happily. Now, back to business.
“Tell me about the tape.” Images flash in my head: Ry crying on the phone with Teddy, Ry on the patio all by herself, the vulgar comments made beneath the video on YouTube about what other sick fucks want to do to her.
“What tape?” She shakes her head back and forth, eyes narrowed in confusion.
“Cut the crap, T. I fell for your lies once upon a fucking time, and I’m a little short of change to buy them now.” I cross my arms over my chest and raise my eyebrows.
“I’m sorry, Colton, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
I’m not buying the innocent routine. “Did you watch TV at all this week? Go to the store? Read People magazine? Anything?”
“My son’s been sick for the past few days so unless you mean Scooby Doo on TV, no. Why? What’s going on?” she asks, tone defensive, and I purposely don’t answer. I want to use the silence as a way to make her nervous. She fidgets, shifts her feet, works her tongue in her cheek.
Goddamn it. Ry was right. S
he knows something. Fuckin’ A.
