Montreal (International Guy Book 6) Read online

“Got that. ’Preciate it too.”

  He nods and purses his lips. “Still doesn’t change why we’re here. Your girl fuckin’ you over. How are you dealing with that?”

  I close my eyes and inhale full and deep, trying to squash any visions of her with Johan before they ever enter my mind. It works, thank fuck. I shrug. “Not sure what I feel. Anger is at the top of the list.”

  His lips flatten into a thin line. “You talk to her yet?”

  I shake my head. “Got nuthin’ to say to that woman. It’s over.”

  “Brother . . .” His words are left dangling.

  “It’s over.”

  “Park . . .” He continues undaunted. “Know you fell hard for her. Know she fell hard for you. Could see it in every line in her face and body when we met her at Lucky’s. You don’t just give that up and walk away.”

  “She did,” I sneer, tightening my grip on my beer.

  Royce nods slowly and runs a hand over his knee. “With the way you were feeling in San Francisco, maybe you ought to give her a little time to explain.”

  I jerk my gaze to his. “You think anything she says is going to make it okay that she betrayed me? She fucked that piece of shit the same night I was sleeping alone in her bed.”

  Royce lifts a hand. “Now, hold up. You don’t know what happened in that hotel room.”

  “Don’t I? Woman jumped me the first fuckin’ night I was in her penthouse. She was with Johan for close to two years.”

  “Doesn’t change the fact that he was blackmailing her, she was scared, and you were out of town.”

  “So that gives her the excuse she needs to betray me?” I counter, my voice laced with fury.

  His head jolts back, and he groans. “Fuck no! It means shit was swirling around in her head. Bad shit. Her man wasn’t there. Maybe she thought because of their time together, she could handle the chump herself. Stupid, I admit, but knowing Skyler, that’s more likely than her going there and offerin’ her goods up on a silver platter. You need to look deep inside yourself, inside that heart of yours that made you fall for her, and tell me . . . do you think she could betray you? Really?”

  I grind my teeth and let his words sink in. “What do you think?” I ask right as Bo and Wendy walk in with two plates apiece, each loaded with pizza.

  “I think there’s got to be more to this story than what a filthy manipulator spews out his trap.” His tone is resolute and convincing.

  “Oh, are we talking about what happened with Sky? I’m all over that. Ran her credit cards, her phone records, everything before I came over.” Wendy hops into action, digging into the satchel she set near the entertainment center. Once she has a hold on her thin laptop, she opens it and sets it on the table.

  “Tink, not sure Park wants the comings and goings of his woman right this second.” Bo sets a hand on her shoulder.

  I sit up and put my feet on the floor, cradling my hand. My heart starts pounding hard at the mention of finding out anything about Skyler. “Actually, I do. What do you have?”

  She nibbles on her pizza, then sets it indelicately on her plate, licks her fingers, wipes them on her napkin, and takes to the keys. Once she swallows her bite, she lays it out. “Yesterday she was at the set. I have her phone tracker on. Made sure to do that when she visited us last time. Keep tabs on all of you”—she twirls a finger around all of us—“just in case something goes down—”

  “Seriously, Wendy? What the fuck you think is going to happen to us, girl?” Royce interjects, shaking his head tiredly. “Woman is too damn smart for her own good. Brothers better watch yo’selves.”

  She ignores him completely. “Looks like she got to her house yesterday, then made a call to a number I found out was Johan’s. They had a very short—as in two minutes—conversation, and then she used her credit card in a taxi that took her to the St. Regis, which is where she stayed the night, though she didn’t pay for a room.”

  I clench my teeth and toss my plate of pizza on the table, no longer hungry. “That’s enough—” I start, when Wendy waves her hands and shakes her head frantically.

  “No, no, it’s not. That’s when things with her finances get crazy.”

  I frown, and Royce stands and walks around to crouch where Wendy’s got her computer set up on the coffee table. The word finance to Roy is like waving a juicy steak in front of a dog.

  “How so, girl?”

  Her eyes light up with excitement. I swear if Wendy were a cartoon she’d be a part of the Scooby-Doo crew. She looks more like Daphne, but she’s definitely got Velma’s intellect.

  “Here and here.” She points at something I can’t see on her screen. “Bank transfers to the tune of a lot of zeros. I’ve traced one to a Miguel Fuentes, who’s some highfalutin businessman, but in reality, the guy’s a top-notch loan shark. The kind that looks all rich and professional, but word on the web is that he has no leniency with people who go for a long time owing him. They end up missing. Never found again.”

  “Come on, this isn’t The Godfather . . .” Bo eases back in his seat, his brows furrowed.

  “Kind of is. Miguel Fuentes is known for being connected to the Mexican mob,” Royce adds flatly. “I know a lot about the money market, and there is word that Miguel has some shady attachments. Hence the reason only the rich, powerful, and unlawful tend to do business with him. Problem is, cops have been trying to get a lock on Miguel and his backdoor dealings for ages but can never pin him down.”

  “Shut the fuck up!” I growl. “And he’s got Sky into this?”

  Wendy’s fingers clack against the keys faster than before. “Only in that her account wired money to his account. A lot of money. Ten million to be exact.”

  “Jesus Christ.” I run my hand over my sweaty forehead. The meds and the beer are kicking in, and not only am I starting to feel woozy, my train of thought is slowing down.

  “Also, she sent at least fifteen other wire transfers. Credit cards. Bank loans. Mortgages, and a few other payments to shady individuals.”

  “Fuckin’ hell, woman!” Royce rubs at his mouth and chin.

  “Goddamn it!” Bo grits through his teeth.

  I don’t say anything. My heart, mind, and body have lost all will to move, exhaustion lying heavily in my bones.

  “With all of those, the strangest one is the last payment she made last night.”

  I frown. “W-what, ish it?” I slur, even my tongue feeling heavy.

  All three of them look up at me, different worried expressions flitting across their faces. “Just finish.” I wave my good hand in a hurry-up motion.

  Wendy licks her lips and bites down on the bottom one. “According to this . . .” She points it out to Royce and Bo, who can see her screen.

  Bo’s eyes widen, and he closes his eyes.

  Royce shakes his head. “Shee-it. What kind of play is he making?” he murmurs, still looking at the computer.

  “What?” I blink away the sleep trying to invade my mind.

  “Skyler paid for what looks like a three-month stay in a rehabilitation facility for one Johan Karr.” Her voice is steady, but her eyes are huge and bright blue against her pale-white skin.

  That seals it. She’s paying for him to be rehabilitated so they can get back together.

  Fuck my life.

  “On that note, I’m-I’m-I’m gonna g-go lie down.” I stand, and my knees start to weaken. I catch myself against the arm of the couch as Bo jumps up from his seat and wraps an arm around my waist.

  “Lean on me, brother.”

  I smile and make a kissy face at him. “Aw, Bogey, who’da thought you cared.” I start to close my eyes, but Bo moves me around the couch toward my room. When we get there, he leads me to the bed and pulls back the covers. I fall to my ass and back, curling to my side, where I tuck my bad hand against my chest.

  “Dude, sleep it off. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

  “Go-shh home. ’S okay. I cool,” I mumble as sleep starts to invade.

&
nbsp; “Sweet dreams, punk ass.”

  It’s the last thing I hear before I see nothing but black.

  2

  I wake later that night to find Bo in the kitchen making pasta. I cradle my hand, which feels as though it’s getting repeatedly slammed into a car door. I swear it aches and throbs along with every single heartbeat and every shaking breath I take.

  Breathing.

  Breathing without her is unthinkable. Except I have to, so here I am, holding my hand at a ninety-degree angle, fingertips to the sky as I shuffle onto a stool in the kitchen.

  Bo spins on a heel, gets a bottle of water, opens it, and sets it in front of me. “You need to hydrate on those meds, bud,” he informs me while motioning to the bottle.

  I slam the bottle back, draining half of it in one go. The cool liquid eases my dry throat and perks up my sluggish brain.

  “Turned your phone on after the charge. Seems as though you have a dozen texts and calls. Pretty much from the same person.” Bo gestures to the phone that’s connected to the charger about two feet from where I’m sitting.

  For a moment, I take in a deep breath and try desperately to calm my instincts to rush for the phone. Whatever lies she plans to say aren’t going to work. They don’t matter. The deed has been done.

  “Not sure there’s anything she could say that would fix where I’m at right now.”

  Bo frowns while stirring the mixture he’s got going in a skillet. It looks like a light red sauce, bordering on white. Frankly I don’t care what it is, because the scent of tomatoes and garlic bread is entering my nostrils, and my mouth salivates. I didn’t get down much of the pizza before the conversation took a turn to Skyler and her finances, which had the added effect of me losing my appetite. At this point, nothing could make me lose my hunger. I’m freakin’ starving.

  “Is it possible, brother, the shit that went down with Kayla is coloring your version of events, which may or may not have happened with Skyler?” Bo eases into the fray, voicing what I’m sure Royce thinks as well.

  I run my hand through my messy hair and sigh. “Honestly, I don’t know. All I know is I’m fucking hurt. It’s as though there’s a hole in my gut that won’t mend, and she’s the cause. I don’t remember feeling this jacked up over Kayla.”

  Bo snorts. “You were a goner back in the day, although it could have also been losing Greg at the same time as your fiancée.”

  My phone buzzes where it sits charging, and I can’t hold out any longer. I’m curious, and if I’m being straight with myself, there’s a shred of hope the situation can be explained, but my subconscious is not letting that part of me come to the surface.

  I unhook the cord and pull up the text. Bo was wrong. There are actually fifteen texts since this morning. Six voice mails. Four from Skyler, one from Sophie. Another from Ma. I ignore the voice mails and go right to the texts. For a single moment I close my eyes and take a breath, and then I start to read.

  From: Peaches

  To: Parker Ellis

  Baby, please pick up. You’ve got it all wrong.

  The next one:

  Parker, please. I’m begging you. Answer your phone.

  Another text:

  I need to explain. You don’t understand.

  Again:

  Call me when you get off the plane.

  And another:

  It’s not what you think! I swear.

  Again:

  I wouldn’t hurt you like that. Never. Not ever.

  The messages keep going on in that similar vein . . .

  Fine. You’re not going to respond to my texts. CALL ME!

  This is insane! I know what you’re thinking, but you have it all wrong.

  Baby, please. Trust me. Trust in us.

  Each text digs deeper and deeper into the wound that she’s made in my heart. She wants me to trust her, but how can I? She spent the night in that bastard’s hotel room. The entire world knows she was with him overnight, or at the very least suspects it. She didn’t take her security team, putting herself in grave danger. Johan Karr is unstable. That much I could easily glean from our discussion. The fact that she put herself in such a perilous position . . . For what? What did she think she could get out of it? I keep reading the rest of her messages.

  Parker, call me. I can’t make this right until you do.

  Why are you ignoring my calls? You’re hurting me, and you don’t even know the truth!

  I tried the IG offices and got voice mail. Wendy isn’t returning my calls either. Please, please, call me!

  I cringe at the need I can feel pulling at my brain with each of her requests.

  Honey, I know you’re mad. I’m sorry. I was stupid. So stupid, but I had to try and fix it myself.

  I run my good hand over my stubbled chin and lips as I read the last two.

  Parker, I need you to trust me. If there is any hope for us, you have to believe I would never betray you. Never ruin what we have.

  The last message guts me, and I have to bite down on the inside of my cheek in order to not let the overwhelming emotion building inside of me pour out like I were a weak, pansy-assed wuss. I’d have to give up my man card if I let the feelings that are making my nose drip and my tear ducts sting have their way. I read it again and let the full force of her words slam into my chest and heart, right down into my soul.

  You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Parker. If nothing else, believe that. Please give me the opportunity to explain what happened. I’ll give you some time, a few days, to think about everything. Call me when you’re ready to talk.

  I rub at my tired face and set the phone down. Bo turns off the stove and dishes out a fusilli pasta with a creamy reddish-white sauce over the top and fresh-cut shreds of basil.

  “Dude, when did you learn to cook?” I stare at the food as if it materialized from magic fairy dust, not because my best friend just slaved over the stove to make it for us.

  He grins. “Momma Sterling has been teaching me.”

  “No joke?”

  He smiles and pulls out a sizzling half loaf of buttery garlic bread from the oven. “Nope. She said if I wasn’t going to have a steady woman in my life, and I couldn’t always get to her house to eat a real meal, she was going to teach me a few staples to keep me fit and fed.” He snickers, putting two thick slices of bread on the side of the plate next to the pasta.

  Once he’s plated the meal for both of us, he comes around the bar, gets situated in his seat, and pokes away at his food, forking up a giant bite.

  I sample my own and am happily surprised at how good it is. “Bo, this is the shit.” I chew and swallow it down, forking up more eagerly.

  “True dat.” He smiles. “So . . . about those texts?” He gestures to my phone. “Anything interesting?”

  “Fishing for info?” I smirk.

  “Absolutely. I want to know if this woman played you. Hell, brother, I want to know if she played us all. See, cuz the woman I met, the one I took pictures of back in New York, the one that sat in my brother’s lap while we broke bread together at Lucky’s, a spot that’s fuckin’ sacred to all of us . . . that woman is who we all started to care about.”

  I shake my head. “She seems upset. Begging to talk to me. Wants to explain. Says whatever I’m thinking I’ve got it all wrong. Doesn’t change the facts. She skirted her security team and stayed the night in a hotel with a man who was blackmailing her. Not only that, according to Wendy’s super sleuthing, she paid off all of his debts and set him up in rehab, for Christ’s sake! What am I supposed to think about all of that?”

  Bo chews thoughtfully before responding. “All true. However, those facts do not mean she slept in a bed with him or fucked him. Do you think you could forgive her for the other as long as she didn’t sleep with him?”

  I spend a solid five minutes mulling over his question. Bo knows when I need the space to think, and he doesn’t push for an answer. Instead, we sit in companionable silence, eating the dinner he’s ma
de.

  Can I forgive her if she didn’t betray me physically?

  Yes. I believe I can. It doesn’t fix what happened, and I still don’t know the details, but the real hurt, the betrayal, would be her cheating. The hows and whys of that wouldn’t matter.

  I set down my fork and hold my chin up with my hand, elbow to the counter. “Yeah, I could forgive her for going to him when she should have waited for me. In my opinion, she should have avoided the bastard at all costs. Regardless of the reasons, it was a stupid thing to do.”

  Bo nods. “So what are you going to do about it?”

  I shrug and run my good hand over my arm. “I don’t know yet.”

  “You need to talk to her. She’s the only person who’s going to be able to give you the answers you seek, brother. This you know.”

  “Yeah, I’m just . . . fuck. Straight up, the thought of her going there, spending the night, even if he was on the couch or vice versa. The entire thing is . . . man, it’s eating at me.” I punch my chest, needing to feel something, anything, other than the hurt in my mind and heart.

  “Heard that. Can see it all over you. Proof is staring me in the face. The hole in the wall, the stitches in your hand, your broken bones. You’re bleeding for her, inside and out. Only way to stop that flow is to find out the truth. You’re not going to be able to rest until you do.”

  I rub at my head, my hand pounding a violent, painful rhythm as I consider his words. I grip my wrist and hold it tight, trying to stave off the unbelievable ache.

  “Hurt?” he asks.

  “Fuck yes!” I growl.

  Bo gets up off his stool, goes into the living room, and comes back with a pill bottle. He opens it and shakes out two pain pills. “Doc said you can have two at night before bed but only on a full stomach and with plenty of water. Drink up, eat up, wash those down, and we’ll get you back to bed. I’m going to sleep on the couch, as I mentioned before, in case you need me.”

  I clap Bo on the back. “You don’t have to do that. I can call you. You’re only down the breezeway.”

  He shakes his head. “Would feel more comfortable if I were here in case you have a bad reaction or some shit.”