Aston's Story (Vanish #2) Read Online Free Page A

“Give
it to me, Mr. Moore.”
    “Take it all--you--fucking--sluuuh,” I empty and lay back
into her, our sticky bodies pressed together. My heart’s pounding, but through
the thumping sound, I hear her giggle and pur. She turns her head over her
shoulder and kisses me once, a brief, soft peck.
    “Did you enjoy that, Mr. Moore?” she asks with a smile.
    “Auna,” I start. I’m breathless. “Where did that come from?”
    “You never roleplay? It’s fun.”
    I kiss her perfect shoulder. “Yes,” I agree. “It is.”
    It’s fun, she says. Is that what she thinks of me? “Auna,” I
repeat.
    “You like my name? You say it an awful lot.”
    “I think if I believe in it, it will summon you.”
    She laughs, which settles into, “Mmmm.”
    I think if I believe in it, your name will keep you with me.
    A buzzing steals the moment. My phone rests on the marble
counter and when the plastic shakes against it, the whole room fills with the
obnoxious sound. I grunt as I stand, careful not to disrupt her repose. She’s
beautiful there, laid naked across my couch with my cum smeared across the
astounding skin stretched taut over her ass. I’ll hold this image in the
forefront of my thoughts until the taunting thought of still not owning her
burns it. Will she stay? How can I make sure?
    I nearly trip over myself thinking as I rush over to my
phone to shut it up.
    But the screen reads a name I can’t ignore. Nate Hardy. My
best friend Nathan. Auna’s ex Nathaniel. Westwood Valley Deputy Hardy. My rat.
Pig rat’s don’t make erroneous calls to the drug dealers they’re secretly
supporting.
    Shit. I have to go.

 
    4.
     
    The blood’s still wet, pooled around the head of a puffy,
purple face I can’t stop staring into. There’s a hole almost perfectly in the
center of his forehead and his eyes have this wide stare going on that’s
quickly replaced the image of Auna on my couch. I feel like swinging my leather
shoe into it, if it weren’t for the distinct possibility I’d smear flesh and
blood and godknows across the underside of my dress shoe. I think I’m entertaining
the idea for the sake of levity. There’s a dead fucking body laid out in front
on me, for the first time in my life, save for a handful of funerals. Those
bodies were cold and grey. He’s young, fresh, and murdered. I feel my hand
start to shake so I stuff it into my pocket.
    The room is a disheveled collection of drug paraphernalia,
shitty old porno mags, and a random assortment of likely stolen clothing. A
handful of bills leave a crumb trail through the kitchen to the backdoor. This
was a drug den. Here, on the outskirts of Westwood Valley, the collected
assortment of outcasts live out their exile. Mostly, they’re harmless. But now
there’s a wolf in their midst. A backstabbing brute of a bouncer by the
deceptively simple name of Al.
    “Tip got called in maybe a half hour ago. They weren’t even
sure it was a gunshot,” Nathan says. He’s standing beside me, close enough for
the work of a whisper, but he dispenses with discretion. He knows no one’s
listening. At least, there’s no one that matters, not here. I’ve never been
here. I’m itching to leave. “I’ll put the call in for the body when you leave.
We’ve got all the time in the world.”
    “Great,” I say, imagining all the time in the world spent in
this shithole must be the center ring of hell. The air smells toxic. I shove my
hand deep into my pocket, nearly tearing at its seams.
    “You wanted to know,” he comments.
    I look over at his face. He’s a tall guy, I have to look up
to meet his line of sight. His big nose protrudes above his small mouth, and
light stubble stretches across his cheeks, then down his throat. He’s thin, and
hunched. I think he’s probably depressed, the way he carries himself and how
his words come slurred together and monotone as they slip through his
tight-jawed mouth. Who wouldn’t be after losing Auna? It’s been a year, but