Page 57 of Primal
Braken
My phone pings just as I leave The Vault to head home. I’m exhausted. The incident with James in the cannery took all that was left out of me. I’ve been working nonstop, and when I’m not working, I’m trying to get to the bottom of a god-damn murder. My nerves are frayed, and the only thing that sounds good to me right now is showering, pouring myself a stiff drink, and then possibly jacking off to Fiora as I watch her in the security footage she has somehow not figured out is hidden everywhere in her cottage.
I need to see you right now.
I smirk. It’s only been a day, and Fiora wants seconds? Based on how hard she shook when she came, I knew it wouldn’t be long. But a day is a new record, even for me. My cock twitches when I remember how her pussy clenched around me and how she tried to keep herself from screaming my name. I certainly won’t say no to a replay of last night, especially since it’s so early in the day. Gives me plenty of time to make my name the only thing she can think of.
I’ll come over now,I text back.
Her response is immediate.
I’m in Seattle catching the ferry. So give me time.
I try not to lose my shit. What the fuck is she doing in Seattle? And why don’t we know about this? Although flashbacks of my morning where the three of us were distracted rush in.
Go to the helicopter. I will tell them to expect you. It’s quicker. I’ll come by your place once you’re home.
I stare at my phone as Jasper opens the door for me. It rings with a different call. My father. So far, he’s been leaving me to do the investigation on my own, but it’s been only a matter of time before he’s wanted an update. I gesture to Jasper to close the door so our conversation stays private.
“Any updates, Braken?” my father says in lieu of a greeting.
“We’re getting closer.” I glance out toward the sea. “We found the hitman. Just not the person who hired the hit yet. It won’t be long until we’ve cleared our name and know the answers.”
“Good. Hector asked me about it last night, and I told him you’d have answers soon. Hector also mentioned there has been no formal engagement announcement yet and that he’d be speaking to his daughter on that.”
“Yeah, we’ve been letting the dust settle after her brother’s death. Doesn’t exactly seem right to announce something joyous during a time of grieving.”
My father huffs. “I seriously doubt the Godwins are capable of grieving. That would require them to actuallyfeelsomething.”
I would have agreed one hundred percent if it weren’t for the fact that Fiora has been surprising me with just how much depth this little rich princess has. Her charitable donations sent me spinning.
Generous is not a word I’d use to describe a Godwin. And yet… she is. Not only that, she is giving without expecting or even wanting recognition and validation.
“I need to get going,” I say. “I have work to catch up on, and I’m heading over to meet with Fiora in a bit. We’ll talk wedding some, and I’ll keep you updated on that as well.”
When I hang up, I signal for Jasper to take me home so I can get some work done there.
I still need a shower, a drink, and I’ll have to save the jacking off for another time.
I can hearmusic blaring from the TV before I even knock on the door. Knowing there is no way she’d hear me anyway, I step inside the cottage without waiting for an invite.
Fiora is dancing around the living room to the Spice Girls, singing at the top of her lungs to “spice up her life!” Her dark hair is pulled up into a messy bun, and she holds a glass of nearly finished wine. One glance at the bottle on the coffee table shows it’s half gone.
She wears a university sweater and a pair of drawstring shorts. It’s baggy as hell, faded in a few places, but surprisingly looks great on her. Who knew a hot mess could be so enticing?
Fiora doesn’t notice me as she finishes her drink then throws her hands over her head to keep dancing. It’s only when I pick up the remote on the side of the couch and turn off the TV that she spins toward me.
“Oh, hello,” she greets with wide eyes. “Just let yourself in, why don’t you.”
“You said you needed to see me,” I say as I throw my trenchcoat and suit jacket over the couch. “How much have you had to drink?”
“I’m not drunk,” she argues, though her flushed cheeks offer a different story. “I’ve just had enough to have fun.”
“Have fun?” I unbutton my cufflinks and begin to roll up my sleeves. “In Seattle? Should I even ask with who?”
“Jealous?” she bites back with a laugh. “I don’t know why you care. This is all for show. And arrangement. Because that’s all I’m good for, isn’t it? A little whore getting married for the good of her family.”
What the hell happened? Between her text message and her current state, obviously something big came up, but she’s not making any damn sense.