Bona Fide (Illusive Duet Book 2) Page 16

  She stares straight ahead. “Let’s not.”

  “Reagan,” I warn. “I told you—”

  “This is my life,” she snaps. “And since when do you use your driver?”

  “We’ll need you to take the street behind Miss Shelton’s house,” I announce to my driver.

  “Yes, sir.”

  I return my attention to her. “Since I picked up stalking.”

  Returning my focus back outside my window because I can't compose myself into a placate manner, I never thought I'd make such a monumental mess out of all of this. I didn't believe Demi would come back so soon, at least not until I was announced as the Democratic candidate. I had plans in place to keep her across the pond but didn't have them locked down yet.

  She knew what she was doing. She waited for her moment to strike.

  And she blindsided the fuck out of me.

  When we reach a street that I’ve never been down, Reagan scoots up and points to a house with blue shutters and white brick for my driver to stop at.

  Opening the car door, I round the truck to let her out, but she’s already outside and halts when she sees me in front of her.

  “Now, what are you doing?”

  “Walking you to your house.”

  Her nose wrinkles, and it's cute as fuck. "I don't need help climbing."

  “What if you close-line yourself on top of the fence?”

  “Then it’d add on to my already awesome story of sneaking out like the whore I am.” I hit the back fender of the truck, sending my driver to throw the car in drive and take off. “Are you insane?”

  The corners of my lips lift. "You haven't noticed?"

  She pivots around my body. “You’re not coming in.”

  Oh, yes, I am.

  “Don’t you have things to do?”

  “Don’t ask such an open-ended question, Shelton,” I reply, following her up the driveway of some random person’s house.

  My eyes flick down to her ass that Grant probably eye-fucked the whole time they were walking out.

  Reagan likes to learn the hard way, apparently, so do I.

  When we arrive within the shadows of trees and a wooden privacy fence, I gesture for her to climb on over. “After you.”

  Reagan peers up, there is no way her ass is getting over it without some assistance.

  She lets out a weighty sigh. “I need a boost.” My smile is immediate as I pull her towards me.

  Her chest against my chest, I lower myself, inches from her mouth. "You're not going to plan a thing for the Hardisons, or I'm going to walk out on my front porch and call this whole presidency thing off.”

  “You don’t have one,” she mutters, hands splayed on my chest. “And don’t be dumb.”

  "Then we'll take off to that island I was telling you about." My fingertips roam up her ribs, extracting a weak shutter from her frame, but I still feel it.

  “I have people here that depend on me,” she retorts.

  “Does your ma like the sun?”

  “Help me up, Lockwood, and stop trying to order me around.”

  My fingers insert themselves into the loop of her jeans. “Sounds like you need a favor.”

  “Sounds like you want to join me in some bullshit and be kneed in the balls.”

  I shrug. “I deserve it.”

  "Help. Me. Up." Leveling my knee to the ground, I let my fingers slide down her thighs—innocently, of course.

  Standing on my knee with one foot, I place my palms under her ass and stand, pushing up her body weight to get higher on the fence. “Take your time.”

  Hoisting a leg over, Reagan has a hold on the top of the fence and jumps. A soft thud lands on the other side, followed by a chuckle.

  “You good?” I ask.

  “Yes,” she yell-whispers.

  Digging the tips of my shoes into the wood, I climb it, heaving a leg over to place a foot on one of the beams. Reagan is sitting in the grass, waiting patiently for me to figure out how the hell I’m going to get off this damn thing with one leg over and the other still dangling on the other side.

  “You have to jump,” Reagan advises.

  Son of a bitch.

  I wasn't looking to break a fucking leg tonight. More like spend hours in Reagan's bed, the kitchen island, the couch in her front room, the floor—I wasn't picky.

  Inhaling a quick breath, I spring over, my feet hitting the hard ground, but the rest of me topples over. Reagan's silky chuckle permeates through the air as she crawls over to me.

  “You alright?”

  "Yep." I straighten my spine to stand, but Reagan beats me to it, holding out a hand for me to take. Yanking me up, she promptly drops it to hit me on the shoulder.

  “Have a good night, Governor.” She begins to turn towards her house, but my arm wraps around her waist.

  “I gave you a ride,” I tell her. “So, don’t I get a goodbye kiss?”

  “No.”

  I inch closer, brushing my fingers down the column of her neck. “Are you going to make me beg?”

  “We both know what happens when you’re on your knees, Governor.”

  I smile, we sure do.

  She turns to walk away again, and I let her, following her to the back of her house. It's cold tonight, our breaths making white clouds as she bustles quickly to the sliding door.

  When she starts to mess with the lock of the sliding door, my chest hits her back, making her motions slow as she tries to focus on opening it. I want to keep her away from the cold. I need to feel her heat against me and protect her from anything that might negatively hit her.

  The cold.

  The press.

  Her business.

  Stress.

  Frustration.

  Pain.

  Demi.

  A faint click sounds as Reagan slides the door to the right, taking a step inside. She flicks on the lights immediately and tosses her keys on the island.

  “Can I make you something since you’re forcing yourself into the rest of my night?” A hum breaks through my chest, what I wouldn’t give to have that on a daily basis. To come home to her, to give up every single fucking thing I don’t like in my life anymore.

  It’s my career.

  I don't want it anymore. That's been evident since all this shit went down. I want Reagan Shelton, and that's all.

  “Sit down,” I tell her, pulling out one of her stools from the island. “I’ll make you some coffee.”

  “You don’t know where it is and—” My hand finds her lower back as I give her a light push towards the chair.

  “I know how to open drawers, Reagan.”

  She jerks her head to the side. “Do you think you can find your way out?”

  I hit her with an exasperated look. “Sit.”

  Slowly, for added effect, she does, eyeing me going through her kitchen like a stranger, or better yet, someone she doesn’t want here.

  “Creamer is in the fridge,” she says.

  “Would’ve hoped so.”

  “Cups are in—”

  “You’re not used to someone taking care of you, are you?” I turn on my heels to look at her, catching her fidgeting with her fingers.

  She shrugs. “Not really. Not for a while anyway.” I can’t help it—my eyes slit into a glare.

  "Grant?" His name is a gut-wrenching twist to my fragile conscience. I could've beat the fuck out of him for not keeping his damn eyes to himself at the restaurant just on the principle that he knows how it feels to be inside her.

  And that she’s mine.

  “My brother,” she deadpans.

  My hands ball into fists on top of the cheap granite countertop, and I'm glad it's between us because I'd pull her into my arms and keep her there.

  “When does he come home?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She straightens her spine. “Don’t be.”

  “I want to be that for you.”

  She scoffs and shakes her he
ad, averting her attention from me. “I want you to go home, Lockwood. You shouldn’t be here.”

  “But I climbed over a fence, so, here I am.”

  Her eyes narrow. “I just asked you for a boost.”

  “And what would you have done if I wasn’t outside of the restaurant?”

  “Figured it out like I do everything else.”

  “Speaking of that,” I snarl. “I told you not to quit.”

  She rolls her pretty eyes. “And here we go…” I stand there because I’m done playing around.

  I’m finished living this life.

  I’m tired.

  I want to be free.

  “I’m not running for president anymore.”

  Her face twists as she slices her brows. “What?”

  "Better health care was on my list of things to do," I reply. "I can help you get some hearing aids if you'd like."

  “I think you’ve lost your entire shit, Governor.” I lift my shoulders and pull a k-cup out of its box, placing it in the Keurig. “You can’t do that.”

  “I can do whatever I want.”

  “If you think it’s going to save us, it won’t,” she snaps. Her words hit my gut, but I keep my frame straight and assertive.

  She's seen me sweat, I've poured my heart out to her, and I haven't done that with anyone in years. If she thinks I'm going to beg, I will, but not when she's being a fucking brat.

  “Who said anything about you?” I shoot back over my shoulder. “Maybe I’m tired of this shit.”

  “And you want to give up now?”

  “Better now than never.”

  I hear her shoes hit the tiled floors. “You’re not a quitter, Lockwood,” she quips at my side. “I’ve listened to your speeches, the country needs someone with your passion. Someone who can lead them in the right direction and make—”

  “My passion is gone,” I voice, reaching for a mug out of her cabinet. “It’s been sucked out of me for years. Running was just a vice to keep myself sane, and now you ran away with my sanity.”

  “I’m not to blame for this.”

  “Never said you were, Shelton. But I will say you’re the reason I saw the light.”

  She shakes her head. “You can’t do this.”

  “It’ll be done in the next forty-eight hours.”

  “Does Emmy know?”

  Nope.

  “She’ll follow along with whatever I plan,” I reply. Reagan’s hand finds my bicep and turns me to look at her.

  Peering up at me, she’s upset. She wants me to succeed, and I know that, but I’ll never be the man I want to be without her. Nothing in life will be what I need it to be if she’s not in it.

  “Wade,” she says softly. “I know shit sucks right now. But you’re not going to let Demi win and take your dreams, are you?”

  "Why?" I challenge. "You did." Reagan gapes at me, and, dare I say, I rendered her speechless. "You left because I didn't tell you the full story, and then Demi showed up; she fucked us both. But I can't continue living this lie and wait months until I possibly get into the White House to get rid of her. It's pointless, Reagan. And meanwhile, you're hurt, regardless if you want to admit it or not. And I'm still miserable, over one person. So, I want to get rid of her now, and she won't have a campaign to ruin."

  “But you said you...bought votes.”

  I nod. “I did.”

  “That’s still going to cause shit.”

  “Don’t really care. There is only one thing in this world that I want right now, I’m sure you can guess who and what.”

  Her hand falls from my arm, and I miss it immediately. "You can't do this. You need to show her—"

  “I don’t need to show her shit,” I gripe. “She knows what I’m capable of doing and what I do when I’m mad.”

  “But she still did...this.”

  “Because of the campaign, she knows I won’t be able to do much.”

  Reagan shakes her head. “This is crazy.”

  “This is reality, for just a little longer. She’s done things to my family that she won’t get away with. And I can’t take it anymore.” I brush a knuckle down the side of her face and lock our gazes together. “Whether you decide to stand by your decision to stay away from me or not, I need to do this.”

  Her lips part, but she doesn't say anything, I think I've shocked the poor woman into shell shock for once. However, I don't need an answer right now. I need to protect Lucas and Phoebe. I have to fix what’s already been done, and I need to end her.

  Plain and simple.

  I force a grin to form off my lips, but I know it falls short because I don't feel it. I don't feel happy at this moment, but I am grateful that I'm standing in front of the woman I love today without her screaming at me.

  “The first and probably the last time, I made you speechless.”

  Reagan cracks a similar grin and clasps on to one of my hands, giving it a small squeeze. “I’m sorry it’s come to this. That...I can’t fully belong to you or forget this. That you need support and...I’m not sure I can get there when she’s around. I understand that she’s done things, I just can’t be involved when she’s already…”

  “I get it,” I reply even though I don’t like anything about her answer. “I’ll get going and get back—” She tugs on my hand.

  “No...you can stay—for tonight. But after…”

  After, everything goes back to what it used to be. Not seeing her in the office, not coming by her house to bring her food, not staring into her violet eyes, and falling more in love with her.

  Nothing.

  Reality is a brutal existence when everything around you falls apart. I never thought things could get worse. I didn’t believe that I would ever be where I am and feeling now.

  Reagan is my death sentence and resurrection.

  But the latter isn’t promised at all.

  Reagan releases my hand and pushes herself up onto the countertop before tugging at the lapels of my suit. Standing between her legs, my hands clamp on to her upper thighs as she lowers her lips to mine.

  “For old times’ sake,” she mutters before our lips mold perfectly together. Her fingers lace through my hair, gently pulling me into her.

  Exactly where I want to be.

  ♫ I’m So Sick — Flyleaf ♫

  A soft vibrating stirs me from my sleep before one of my eyes peak open to see the screen of my phone light up. The bold numbers on my alarm clock tell me it’s well after four in the morning. Wade’s arm wraps possessively over my abdomen as I reach for it only to find an unknown number displayed on it.

  Recluntately, I answer in a groggy tone. “Hello?”

  “Get out of bed with my husband, Miss Shelton, you need to go.” My eyes squint in the dark, letting my brain pick up—at a very slow pace—who and what was just said.

  “What?” It’s all I got right now. Wade and I fucked so slow last night that it lasted for well over anything I’ve ever done before. Then he spent the rest of the night feeding me snacks and watching Scandal.

  “Bed,” the female voice snaps. “Get out of bed, Miss Shelton.”

  “Demi?” Wade stirs in his sleep, pulling my ass closer to his stomach.

  “I suggest you get in your car and make your way to Riverview. There’s a nasty fire starting and—” I shoot out of bed, almost tripping in the process from my leg still being caught within my comforter.

  Mama lives in Riverview.

  “What the fuck did you do?” I rage, stepping on a shirt and quickly snagging it off the floor.

  “Lint in the dryer, maybe? The stove could’ve been left on—does your mother drink tea?” I rip a pair of jeans or leggings, shorts—I don’t know, up off the mess of Wade and my clothing and put them on and sprint down the hallway.

  “Bitch, I swear to fucking God if you touch my mother, I will—”

  “I didn’t touch her, Miss Shelton,” Demi professes. “I swear it.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

 
“Look at your text messages,” she replies casually. “And you might want to hurry. She hasn’t come out of the house yet.” My phone is away from my ear as I scramble through to my texts, my heart hammering into my ribs.

  I can’t breathe, my fingers shaking so vigorously that the simplest thing to do is the hardest right now.

  Finally, getting there and clicking on the anonymous, blue siding is radiated by reddish-orange flames. The short shrubs and blooming tulips—it’s Mama’s house.

  Flames illuminating from the inside of her living room through the windows and out. Smoke rises in a black mast into the lit sky, and my phone lands with a thud on my hardwood floors.

  The next thing I know, I’m at the front door, trying to slip my shoes on.

  Fuck, my keys.

  Pivoting around, I slam right into a hard chest, hands gripping my arms.

  “Reagan, what the—”

  “Mama’s house—” I jerk out of his grasp and round him, sprinting towards my kitchen to grab my keys. “—it’s on fire.”

  “What? How do you know—” I’m on him with seconds, giving him a shove because I need to hit something.

  I’m panicking, I’m fucking terrified, and I don’t know what to fucking do.

  Mama’s house is over thirty minutes away, and I’m not going to make it before the flames get to her.

  I don’t remember moving, but I’m running to my car before I’m jerked back around by giant hands.

  “I’m driving, give me your keys.” I slam them into his hand and start back towards the car. Wade beats me inside, turning my car on and backing out of the driveway as soon as my door slams.

  “Put her address in my phone, baby,” Wade says, handing it over to me. “That way you don’t have to worry about telling me where to go.”

  My eyes are blurred and overcast with tears that make a threat to fall. Trying not to blink and key in Mama’s address, Wade blows through stop signs in the subdivision to get to the main road.

  I tell him to make a left while I finish setting up his GPS app and perch it on the center console for him to see. His hand attains mine, letting them rest in my lap as he allows me to have my silence.

  My panic.

  Even if he wanted to, he’d never pry that from me. Mama means everything in the world to me, along with Marty.