Trouble Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  For the misfits...

  Trouble

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Epilogue

  Also by Colet Abedi

  About the Author

  T R O U B L E

  COLET ABEDI

  COPYRIGHT © 2020 by Colet Abedi

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental. The Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, with- out the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.

  Photographer: Nick Butler Photography

  Model: David Forstadt

  Formatting: Shanoff Designs

  For the misfits

  The rebels

  And the troublemakers…

  I’ve been watching you.

  I feel like I’ve been watching you forever.

  It started as revenge. You were a means to an end, a way to pay your father back. To avenge my sister. Her death. Her fucking life.

  But it’s turned into something else.

  An obsession.

  An addiction.

  Dangerous. Unwanted. But maybe, inevitable.

  So here we are.

  I’m sorry, Kerri. I didn’t want this.

  I didn’t want to shatter you.

  But you should know…

  You make me weak.

  -Trouble

  Prologue

  Kerri

  Sometimes you meet someone, and they own your soul from the moment your eyes touch.

  Sometimes they turn out to be everything you want them to be, surpassing even your greatest expectations.

  But sometimes, it’s all a lie.

  Every move.

  Every conversation.

  Every touch.

  The spell that grabbed you, trapped you in its erotic, painfully beautiful, dark- dark web, was nothing but a dream.

  That’s how I’d describe it. How I’d describe him.

  Trouble.

  I turn up the volume. Neil Young’s haunting voice echoes in my car as I speed down California’s infamous Pacific Coast Highway. “Harvest Moon” speaks directly to my soul.

  It’s late in the night, and the dark ocean stretches out into oblivion beside me. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so empty. Or alone.

  I don’t want to cry. I can’t cry.

  I’ve survived much worse. So much worse.

  I won’t let him be the one to destroy me. Not him. My hands clench the steering wheel as I fight to stay strong.

  He was supposed to protect me.

  He said he always would.

  I thought he loved me. I thought that after years of emptiness, I made him feel whole again.

  But he was lying.

  About everything.

  Every word. Every moment. Every touch.

  It was all a lie.

  He played me from the moment we met.

  Four Months Ago

  Chapter One

  Kerri

  The club is packed tonight. Unusually so.

  Men and women are out in droves, looking for a way to appease the hedonistic desires they hide from the outside world. If there’s a place to satisfy those cravings, it’s here. Gorgeous, scantily clad, or even naked women can be found in every corner, nook, and cranny. Some have bodies runway models would envy.

  As far as you can see, they’re hooking up in plain sight. And by “hook up,” I don’t mean first base. This place is about what comes afterward.

  And after that.

  It’s place of sin… and pleasure. A place where fantasies come to life. Where any sexual desire you crave is yours for the taking.

  I feel my heart rate pick up as I look around the sea of faces. The atmosphere of the club can be summarized in one word—sexual.

  Butterflies twirl around my stomach as excitement floods my system.

  This club gives me life. It’s the only place that makes me truly feel something in my body, the only place I feel safe to be as I am.

  Because my life is a mirage. Like a knockoff designer handbag, it’s not real.

  On the outside, my life looks perfect. I have every advantage a twenty-four-year-old woman can ask for. I’m attractive, smart, healthy, and thanks to my dad and enormous trust fund, I’ll never have to worry about money in my life.

  Pretty lucky, huh?

  I know it.

  I know how blessed I am, but sometimes knowing doesn’t matter. Sometimes knowing is irrelevant because the dull, empty hole inside completely swallows all logic, and instead of feeling gratitude, I’m spiraling down a chaotic abyss of darkness.

  This has been my state of being for as long as I can remember. For me, finding real happiness and fulfillment is akin to the quest for the Holy Grail. None of the roads I’ve taken have brought me either.

  So what do I do to feel that moment of pleasure? Or fulfillment?

  I play games.

  I like to see how far I can push people, or even myself. And the game I like the most is the one I play here. Cat…and mouse.

  I’m the mouse, and the big, bad cat is tucked away somewhere dark and hidden, just watching me.

  He understands me. What I need. What I want. What I crave.

  I pretend he’s in the shadows, following my every move.

  He’s waiting for the day he’s ready to finally pounce. Because as my father always says, the most satisfying prizes in life are the ones you’ve waited the longest to attain.

  It’s a mind fuck of a game I enjoy, but everything I do in this club is for that mystery man. Every move I make is an act for the fantasy in my head. Is it crazy?

  Who knows, but maybe I’m hoping one day he might just come to life…

  My stomach clenches at the thought. Adrenaline rushes through my veins, excitement flooding my system like an electrical surge.

  Something feels different tonight.

  I’m unusually restless. Anxious. As though something big is about to happen. I try to shake the premonition and tell myself it’s nothing.

  Just nerves.

  “Holy. Shit.” Wylder’s barely decipherable gasp brings me out of my reverie as a naked beauty with an ass I can bounce a quarter off of walks past my best friend and me.

  I look at Wylder and have to hold back a giggle. The look on her face can only be described as priceless. It seems that by bringing her here, I’ve successfully shocked the shit out of her.

  I’m glad.

  I did promise her a night she’d always remember at a club she’ll never forget.

  “This place is like something you’d read about in a naughty book.” Her face lights up in fascination as she looks aroun
d the secret club I’ve been a regular at since I was in my teens.

  I feel a tingle on the back of my neck and turn around. My gaze sweeps over the crowd, and I get a few curious glances, but nothing that would stop me in my tracks. The club is just as it always is. But I swear something feels different. As if someone is watching me, just like I always picture in my fantasy.

  I try to shake the feeling gripping my body and look over my shoulder again.

  Nothing.

  “Wow,” Wylder whispers as a seriously hot piece of ass gives me a once-over.

  Right. Tonight isn’t about me. It’s about Wylder. And I want it to be perfect for her—everything she’s ever imagined. She deserves it.

  “And remember, Wyld, anything goes,” I tell her. “If he or she approaches you and you want some, take it. No judgment. No rules.”

  It’s hard not to laugh when I’m staring at such a shell-shocked face.

  “You haven’t seen anything yet,” I say with a conspiratorial wink as we link arms and I guide her through the space. “Wait until we go upstairs. That’s where the real fun happens.”

  “Real fun?” she asks in disbelief.

  “I’m not going to spoil the surprise,” I say with a smile.

  “Kerri, how the hell did you even hear about this place?” she asks, her voice laced with more than curiosity. I sense a little bit of awe as well.

  Wylder already thinks I live an over-the-top life filled with excess and luxury. She’s not exactly wrong. My dad is crazy rich and powerful, so I’ve pretty much always had anything I’ve ever wanted at my disposal. Good or bad, it’s the life I’ve always known. But as I said, it’s a mirage.

  And those always look good from afar.

  Wyld persists. “Who invited you?”

  I’m not surprised by her question. This place is the town’s best-kept secret, a club where the who’s who of Hollywood, Silicon Valley, and other industry giants love to frequent. And whatever happens in the club stays hidden in the club from the outside world forever, or the consequences are dire—at least that’s what I hear.

  “It’s a secret,” I tell her with a conspiratorial smile.

  She rolls her eyes but doesn’t prod.

  It’s one of the things I love about her. She never pushes too hard. She never asks too many questions. She just goes with the flow. Wyld is low maintenance, and in the world I come from, that’s the best thing you can ask for in a friend. I’ve been around demanding people my entire life. Hell, my own mother can even be relentless and too hard to handle, qualities I definitely don’t seek in friends.

  “Here,” I say as we make our way upstairs.

  Once we’re safely on the second floor, I pull Wyld into one of the VIP rooms. The soft light illuminates the space, casting a romantic and sexy ambience. A beautiful woman gyrating around a pole holds the four men in the room captive. They’re seated on a black velvet couch with drinks in their hands, unable to take their eyes off the creature whose flexibility is clearly turning them on. I cast a discerning eye over them—their clothes, their unassuming stances…

  They’ll do.

  I make my way to the bar and leave Wylder by the couch to take it all in. I know she’s going to need a minute to absorb the scene and a drink to adjust to her new surroundings.

  I think about her question, who invited me here…

  The funny thing is I still don’t know why I received an invitation in the first place. It just sort of came to me out of thin air. I was minding my own business, having lunch alone at The Farm in Beverly Hills, when a woman who looked as if she could have been a supermodel came over and handed me a black-boxed invitation to the club, a large gold key atop it. Given my age and tendency to rebel, you could say I was more than intrigued.

  I attended for the first time that very weekend.

  Six years later and here I am. A regular.

  “Two gin and tonics,” I tell the bartender, who silently takes my order.

  The people who work here are known for their discretion and ability to blend in and disappear. Given the sexual activity going on in the club and private rooms, that’s no easy task.

  He’s done in record time and I take a long sip. It hits the spot—times five. I walk back to Wylder for the handoff and notice with some amusement how she takes the drink and barely casts a look my way.

  And then I see why.

  Can’t say I blame her.

  She’s eye-fucking an unbelievably hot and strangely familiar-looking gentleman. With his jet-black hair and green eyes, he is serious eye candy. I stare at him long and hard, trying to place his face, but I can’t seem to remember where or if I’ve seen him at the club before. In any case, it doesn’t matter. Wyld needs to lose that V card like it’s nobody’s business, and from the look of Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Handsome, I’m thinking he’ll do the job just fine.

  I leave my friend and make my way to the couch, where I sit between two blond men. They’re a safe bet since they’re not my type at all.

  Innocent flirting is all I’m here for.

  Let me clarify. It’s all I’ve ever been able to do here.

  Even though I’ve tried some first-base and second-base activities, I’ve never really been able to hit it out of the park. I’ve made out with a few men here and it was torture, but I made myself do it because I needed to get over my fear.

  My fear of intimacy.

  That’s my big secret.

  The real Kerri is the exact opposite of the Kerri I portray to the world. Wyld thinks I’ve slept with more men than I can count, which is actually laugh-out-loud funny because it couldn’t be farther from the truth.

  I am not promiscuous.

  Despite what everyone thinks, I’m not easy. I may act it and tease it, but it’s all fun and games.

  I certainly don’t shy away from dressing provocatively. Even now, I’m in a rather skimpy, tight blue strapless mini dress. I love to push the envelope and make outrageous comments because watching the look on someone’s face after I say something totally inappropriate is truly priceless. It gives me a rush. But it’s all talk.

  I’ve only really had sex with one guy.

  Technically two, but the first doesn’t count because I didn’t ask for it. He stole something that wasn’t his to take, but it happened. It’s over. It’s a moment from my past I’ve compartmentalized and stored away in a secret box, never to be opened or relived again.

  I’m a survivor, not a victim, and I’ll be damned if I ever let that single act define me.

  He was my dad’s friend and partner, a man Dad continues to do a lot of business with and, unfortunately, someone I still see. I was seventeen and dating a college freshman I planned on giving my V card to, but the asshole who assaulted me took that choice away. He was drunk. I had caught him staring inappropriately at me many, many times, and he’d always given me the heebie-jeebies.

  Rightfully so.

  As my luck had it, he caught me by surprise in the den at my parents’ house. He was so fast and violent, I didn’t even have a chance to really fight back. He caused a lot of damage, making me live through the horror many times in the different types of therapy I put myself through. But I survived because there was no way I would ever let him break me. Or let that assault define me.

  I’ve never told a soul other than my therapist.

  Wylder doesn’t even know, and I feel like I could trust her with my life. But this…it’s different. It’s mine. My attack. My pain. My memory. My story. It’s etched into my armor for me to gain strength from, because if I could survive that, I can survive anything.

  Every year on Thanksgiving, I’m tested because he’s always there, a painful reminder of what was brutally stolen from me. I suffer his touch when he leans in for a friendly kiss. I politely answer his inane questions about my life, and I’m quietly tortured by his small talk, never letting on how much he makes my skin crawl. How much I detest him.

  The one thing I do make sure of is that I’m never alone w
ith him.

  Because one day, I might snap and kill him.

  It is the reason I came so willingly to the club when I received the invitation. My therapist told me I need to embrace what I fear the most.

  And I fear sex.

  I fear intimacy.

  Because I fear myself. I fear what I’ll like. What I won’t. When I had sex with my boyfriend in college after my attack, I felt nothing. No pleasure. No pain.

  Nothing.

  And to this day, no one has been able to ignite that fire, that piece of me I’m so afraid the asshole stole—or worse, killed in me forever. The part of your soul that makes you feel something, be it excitement, desire, lust.

  It’s just…gone.

  “Has anyone ever told you that you look like a hotter Charlize Theron?” the blond to my left whispers in my ear.

  “All the time,” I reply without batting an eye. I think it’s because of my own blond, pixie-cut hair, but I’ve been stopped many times over the years by people asking if the actress and I are related.

  It’s a comparison I’m definitely not mad about.

  “Want to make my fantasy come to life?” he asks with what I know he believes is an irresistible smile. Maybe it is for most women, but I’m sure as hell not most.

  His inane question is my cue to leave.

  “Not tonight, Thor.” I nod pointedly at his long hair.

  He smiles. “You’re quick.”

  “I know.”

  He looks as if he’s going to give it a go again, so I get up and make my way out of the room. I down the rest of my drink and place the glass on a table lining the hall as I make my rounds. I love to walk the club and just watch people.

  I love to see their uninhibited passion, the freedom to do as they please in any way they want. I love to watch the way people move, the natural ease with which they touch each other, the longing for release.

  I find that most of the time, they’ll do anything to attain it.

  And I mean anything.

  I take my usual, safe route through the nooks and crannies of the second floor, walking past different rooms and stepping in to check things out when the door happens to be open.