DAIR
Authors: R.K. Lilley
DAIR
R.K. LILLEY
Copyright © 2014 R.K. Lilley
All rights reserved.
ISBN-13:
978-1-62878-012-3
All rights reserved.
This book may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.
This is a work of fiction.
Any resemblance of events to real life, or of characters to actual persons, is purely coincidental.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction.
DAIR (THE WILD SIDE #3)
ARE YOU READY FOR THE TRUTH?
I’d started writing everything about her down.
I didn’t want to forget.
The color of her hair.
The depth of her eyes.
The stubborn shape of her jaw.
The way her lips shaped words with such expression.
The way her voice made my chest ache.
The way she gave advice beyond her years.
The way she listened like she cared about every word.
The way she made me feel—Alive.
Every curve and hollow of her body was recorded, in my mind, and now my hard drive.
There was a bit of truth in every lie, and even if it had only been fed to me in the smallest increments, I wanted, needed to remember the real Iris.
Because in the end, there was one irrefutable thing that he couldn’t deny.
Hostage or hustler, sinner or saint, whatever she was or wasn’t, whether she lied to my face or taunted me with hints of the truth, all of this seemed always to defer to the more pertinent fact at hand.
She was mine.
Inconceivably.
Undeniably.
Mine.
After yet another shocking discovery, followed by a disturbing letter, Dair is almost certain Iris has left his life for good.
He tries his best to move on.
Easier said than done, and when an unexpected and dangerous opportunity arises for him to find out what happened to her, he doesn’t hesitate to take it.
As usual, with Iris, the answer leaves him more lost than the question.
Every revelation is shrouded in mystery, and every disclosure leaves Dair more in the dark than ever.
And when finally, the messy truth is revealed in its entirety,
will he be ready for it?
This is the final installment in Iris and Dair’s story
This book is intended for readers 18 and up.
BOOKS
BY R.K. LILLEY
THE WILD SIDE SERIES
THE WILD SIDE
IRIS
DAIR
TYRANT - COMING SOON
THE OTHER MAN - COMING SOON
THE UP IN THE AIR SERIES
IN FLIGHT
MILE HIGH
GROUNDED
MR. BEAUTIFUL - AVAILABLE OCTOBER 15
TH
, 2014
LANA (AN UP IN THE AIR COMPANION NOVELLA)
AUTHORITY - COMING SOON
THE TRISTAN & DANIKA SERIES
BAD THINGS
ROCK BOTTOM
LOVELY TRIGGER
THE HERETIC DAUGHTERS SERIES
BREATHING FIRE
CROSSING FIRE - COMING SOON
TEXT LILLEY + YOUR EMAIL ADDRESS TO 16782493375 TO JOIN MY EMAIL NEWSLETTER.
Visit my website for news and new releases here
.
For email updates from Amazon, like my page
here
CHAPTER ONE
I tried it again.
Tried moving on from her by keeping busy.
But this time was so different, the weight of her absence heavier with the grief of permanence attached.
Still, I tried.
I kept up my newfound social calendar, at first.
I went to Turner’s twice a week, to talk and vent.
It did help; his company was good for me, but only until I was alone again, with my own thoughts, and this crushing sense of
loss
.
It was a Tuesday, a few weeks post-letter, and we were drinking coffee while he talked too much (to distract me) and I let him.
He was wearing sweatpants and a red muscle tee with a picture of Tyrion Lannister on it that read ℗imp, his arms tan and bulging big enough to make me want to hit the gym again as soon as I left his house.
“Now you can barely even come to my house,” he complained after Candy finally left us alone and went back to her office.
She’d been sitting beside me on the couch in front of Turner’s desk, trying out more of her blatant come-ons for a solid five minutes.
I brushed them all off without so much as blushing.
I was getting used to her.
“You’ve managed to get Candy fucking crushing on you.”
“
Me
?” I asked, incredulous.
“You’re going to blame
me
for that?
You’re the one that asks her all those hypothetical questions about fucking me.”
He looked thoughtful.
“You make a good point.
From now on, all of my new assistants will be required to prove that they understand the word hypothetical before they get the job.”
“Is Candy on her way out already?”
“I think so.
She hates her job, and she’s terrible at it.
I give her two more weeks before she quits.”
I just shook my head, laughing.
Not for the first time, he started throwing out theories about what had happened to Iris, and so did I, but we were both writers of fiction, so it was clear, if unspoken, that we shouldn’t trust our own far-fetched ideas.
“It’s something with the sex trade, I bet.
She’s owned by some sheikh, and the fucker in the Jag has been hired to keep track of the property.”
I
really
didn’t like that theory.
He’d thrown out several, and I didn’t like any of them, but that was definitely my least favorite.
In fact, my overactive imagination had painted it into a picture that made me slightly ill before he’d even finished.
So ill that I found myself forming an argument against it.
“That wouldn’t make sense.
It’s something
with
that guy.
He hates me, and I saw her kiss him on the cheek once.
And he touched her hair.”
“Well, fuck.
Maybe she’s FBI, CIA, some shit like that.
That kick she used on Tammy was pretty badass.”
“Maybe.
I just got the very distinct impression that whatever she’s involved in, she doesn’t seem to be a willing participant.
It felt like she was running away from it.
And she was scared.
She admitted that to me.
And according to you, she is barely legal, which is too young to be FBI or CIA.”
“Not necessarily, but I concede the point.
How about she’s been forced into a life as a high-priced prostitute, and that blond guy is her pimp?”
“You think she kisses her pimp on the cheek?”
“Stockholm syndrome.”
“I’m telling you, it’s something personal with him.
He hates my guts.
I could tell with a look.”
“Well, I’m sure he could tell you hate his guts.
Can’t blame the guy for reciprocating.”
“Whose side are you on?”
His bright blue eyes were laughing at me even as he tried to keep a straight face.
“Yours.
Sheesh.
Just trying to find answers, and possibly brainstorming for a new book.”
I pointed at him.
“Don’t you dare write about this.”
He grinned like he was planning to do whatever the hell he pleased.
He always did.
“Maybe she’s involved with the mob.
Hey, I know.”
He snapped his fingers, and his face got animated.
He was way too excited about this.
“Her dad is a mob boss, that blond guy is her bodyguard, and he’s in love with her.
She left because she doesn’t want you getting mixed up with ‘the family.’
Her dad would probably kill you if he knew about you.”
Of course I didn’t care for that one bit, but it seemed like as good of a guess as anything else, though that was all that it was.
A guess.
It was frustrating as all hell, because I was starting to doubt that I would
ever
get any real answers.
He shook his head, giving me a mock pitying grimace.
“And you, you poor bastard, you’ve fallen for some wild young thing who was only taking her daddy issues out on your enthusiastic cock.”
“I have to say, I never thought I’d fall for someone again.
Didn’t think I had it in me.”
I saw his raised brows.
“Oh stop.
You’re one to judge.
The notion of being in love and staying in love, the idea that two people can get so wrapped up in each other, and have that be a sustainable feeling, I don’t know, I just lost the belief in it somewhere.”
“That’s fucking depressing, man.
What the fuck?
And, hello?!
It doesn’t take a detective to figure out where you lost it.”
I blinked at him, waiting for him to continue.
He grinned, clearly about to say something outrageous.
“In your ex-wife’s stingy, slutty pussy, is the subtle point I’m trying to portray.”
The stunned look on my face seemed to prompt him to add, “You lost your belief in romantic love after twenty years in that bitch’s used up snatch.”
“That is so fucked up,” I gasped.
I couldn’t stop shaking my head and laughing.
The man had no filter, either to his twisted brain or his outrageous mouth.
“Turner, you’ve got Pepper on line one!” Candy shouted from the other room.
He rolled his eyes.
“You want to talk about fucked up.
Here’s some fucked up.
Pepper is an old assistant, calls me at least once a week, to tell me that I lost out when I ended things with her.
I shit you not, she’d lecture me for hours, every week, if I let her.
Watch this.”
He put the phone to his ear, listened for a few beats, then said, “Candy could use some of your advice.
Want to talk to her?”
He put his hand over the mouthpiece, yelling, “Candy!
Pepper on line one for you!”
Candy let out an undignified screech in the other room.
“You fucker!” she shouted, but then, mere seconds later, I could hear her talking on the phone to what I could only assume was Pepper.
Turner was grinning.
“Works every time.
Women love to turn on each other.”
“Pepper?
Why’s she called Pepper?” I asked.
“Trust me on this:
You don’t want to know.”