Wretched (Never After Series)(17)

Cody makes a gagging noise. “I could have gone my whole life…”

I move forward, the roller of the mouse pressing into the tip of my finger as I press save and download the recording onto a USB drive.

“It’s just sex.” I glance at Cody. “I bet the commissioner would fuck you too if he knew you were the mysterious Oz. He’d probably come just from the thought of being able to use you himself.”

He grins, his cheeks tingeing pink. “Yeah, well unfortunately for him, I like to fuck not get fucked.”

“Semantics.” I smirk.

The computer pings, letting me know the download is complete, and I reach forward, snatching the USB. Satisfaction settles in the center of my stomach and spreads outward as I slip the drive in my cleavage, tucked into the underwire of my bra.

“For your personal spank bank?” Cody wiggles his brows.

“For insurance,” I correct.

“So who is it?” Cody asks.

“What?” Standing up, I stretch my arms above my head, the ripples and pops of my tight muscles making a relieved sigh escape me. I walk over to the red couch against the far wall and grab my jacket off the back cushions.

“Whoever it is you’re debating on murdering.”

My stomach tightens as a flash of green eyes and leather flits through my memory. “Brayden Walsh.”

Cody hums. “Never heard of him. What do you need to know?”

“Everything.” I slip my arms through the sleeves of my trench coat and untuck my hair from the collar, spinning around to face him.

“Babe, you’ll need to be more specific.”

I grit my teeth, wishing he’d stop asking so many questions and just do what I need, but I stifle the strong urge to snap because if I don’t play nice I won’t get what I want. Moving across the room, I stop directly in front of him. “I am being specific.”

His eyes flick down to my chest, and if I didn’t know he was gay, I’d bend over and give him a little show to ensure he gave me what I wanted. But unfortunately, Cody isn’t seducible, so instead I have to be friendly.

“I want to know where he sleeps, who his family is, whether he got gold stars on his fucking elementary workbooks. Everything.”

Cody’s brows rise and he lifts his hands up in front of him, palms facing out. “Sure. Sure. Give me a couple weeks.” He pauses. “You know, if you want some more help with things, I’m here.”

I stand up straight, the edge of the USB digging into the skin of my breast.

“You’ve got two days.”

It’s an hour later when I finally make it back to the estate, waving at the security guards posted outside of the gated entrance and driving my blacked-out Range Rover down the winding path that’s lined with perfectly manicured shrubs.

Running the ball of my tongue ring against the back of my lip, I park my car in the garage and walk toward the door, my leg muscles burning from how quickly I rush inside. The USB is searing a hole against my chest, and I have to physically stop myself from continually grabbing at it just to make sure it’s still there.

The door from the garage opens straight into the kitchen, and while I know I’m safe from prying eyes—nobody who lives here notices me until they need something—anxiety still creeps along my spine and wraps around my throat, urging me to move fast until I can get the drive to a safe spot.

Loud laughter rings from down the hall and my heart stutters against my chest, causing my footsteps to falter. It sounds like it’s coming from the dining room, and even though it makes no sense for me to change direction and head toward the noise, it’s what I do anyway.

I slip off my jacket and shoes, walking as light as possible, trying to ensure my footsteps aren’t heard on the hardwood floors, and when I hit the dining room off the front entrance, anger floods my system so strongly it immobilizes me.

He’s in the house.

In our lives for less than a week and already Brayden Walsh is in our fucking house.

My family is full of idiots. My heart slams against my ribs and my fingers curl into fists, nails cutting into my palms.

Ten, nine, eight…

The control slips back into place as I count down to one, and I turn, walking down the hall quickly, making a quick pit stop in the kitchen to grab a water.

It’s when I’m bent down in the fridge, my fingers grazing against the side of the bottle, that I hear him again.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

His voice skates over my skin like a thousand knives, and the way he uses sweetheart makes me want to scream.

I fucking hate that word.

“Ignoring me already?”

Groaning, I stand up straight and close the fridge door. “It’s Eveline, stalker.”

He smirks and it makes me want to punch him in the face. “Eveline.”

“What do you want?” I ask, trying to move around him. He steps to the side when I do so that I’m boxed in. Tension stretches around my shoulders.

“You’re quite the little creeper, peering around walls and into rooms,” he notes, tilting his head. “Didn’t want to say hi?”

I scoff. “I live here, genius. And I was trying to avoid you.”

“Why?” he presses.

“Because if I don’t, then I’m going to murder you.”