When Garry Smythe had approached me back then, I’d thought he was joking. I was out on the street, heading home from work. At the side of me, a black car had driven in from the lane of traffic, just to park, or so I’d thought. As he’d held out his hand with a card, one of the car doors had opened up, and I’d been ‘invited’ inside.
Had I been scared?
At first.
But when Garry had told me my country needed me, I hadn’t been sure whether to laugh or tell him to fuck off. He hadn’t shuffled me into the car, though, hadn’t tried to coerce me. He’d just asked if I’d voted for Senator Alan Davidson in the elections, and because he was one of the only politicians out there who wasn’t a complete douche, and that was the name printed on the card in my hand, I’d shuffled into the back of the car.
Where the Senator himself had been sitting.
Now, when I thought about that day, I realized how fucking naive I’d been to get into the back of a limo for such a vague reason. But I’d been fortunate. Alan had been waiting for me. Waiting to tell me with a story that shook me to my core.
I’d made a promise to my dad that I wouldn’t tell anyone. He’d offered me money, and I hadn’t accepted it. I guess I should have, but back then, I’d been haughty and proud, and because the good guy I’d thought him to be hadn’t been so good when he tried to buy my silence, I’d told him to fuck off. I’d been disappointed in him, frightened by the lifelong lie I’d been living, and equally hurt that the man who’d sired me was just concerned that I was a threat to his campaign.
I’d walked out of that car never expecting to see my dear old Dad ever again.
Then, the day after he’d been elected, he’d been sitting in the booth of the cafe where I worked part-time to get me through culinary school.
Seeing him, I’d almost handed that table off to one of the other waitresses, but I hadn’t. Not when every time I’d passed the table, he’d caught my eye, a patient smile on his lips, one that said he’d wait for me all day if he had to.
Ever since that second meeting, I’d been catching up with him every three weeks.
And this bastard thought he could use our limited time together against my father? The one politician who could make a difference in the White House? One who didn’t have Big Oil up his ass, a pharmaceutical company sucking his dick, or any other kind of corporation so far up his rectum that he was a walking, talking lie?
No.
That wasn’t going to happen.
Which meant I was going to have to sleep with this stranger.
Before this conversation, hell, that hadn’t been too disturbing a prospect. Because, dayum, what woman wouldn’t want to sleep with this guy?
Even with an ego as big as his, he was delicious. Better than any cake I could bake, that was for fucking sure.
More than that, I knew him.
And I now knew that the life Fiona would never have wanted for her son was one he’d been drawn into.
The Mob.
The Five Points were notorious in these parts. Everyone was scared of them. I paid protection money to them, for God’s sake. I knew to be scared of them, and having been raised in their territory, it was the height of stupidity to think paying them wasn’t just a part of business.
Still, Fiona had never wanted that for Finn, and her Finn was the same as the one standing before me here today. In my tea room, which looked far too small to contain the might of this man.
She’d be so disappointed. So heart-sore to know that he was up to his neck in dirty dealings with the Five Points, and as he’d pointed out, the cost of his shoes, his clothes, and his jewelry, was enough to speak for itself.
If he wasn’t high up the ladder in the gang, then I wasn’t one of the best bakers of scones in the district.
Like Jenny had said, I had five star ratings across most social media platforms for a reason. I was good. But apparently, this man wasn’t.
Before I could utter a word, before I could even cringe at how utterly sorrowful Fiona would be about this turn of events—not just about the Five Points but what her son was making me do—the door clattered open.
Like he’d predicted, a team of people swarmed in.
Finn motioned to the floor. “Want anyone to see those?”
With a gasp, I dropped to my knees and collected the shots, stuffing them back into the envelope with a haste that wasn’t exactly practical.
Two shiny shoes appeared before me, followed by two expensively clad legs, and I peered up at him, wondering what he was about. He held out his hand, but I clasped the photos to my chest.
“You’re making more of a mess than anything else, Aoife.” His voice was raspy, his eyes weighted down by heavy lids.
For a second, I wondered why, then I saw why.
He had an erection.
An erection?
I peered around at the staff, but they were all men. Not a single woman in sight, well, save for the seventy-year-old with a clipboard who was barking out orders to the guys in what sounded like Russian.
So that meant, what?
The erection was for me?
The blush, the dreaded, hated blush, made another goddamn appearance, and to cover it, I ducked my head, then pushed the photos and the envelope at him.
For whatever reason, I stayed where I was, staring up at him as he calmly, coolly, and so fucking collectedly pushed the photos back into the torn envelope—it was some coverage. Better than none at all, I figured.
Being down here was. . . .
Hell, I don’t know what it was.
To be looked at like that?
For his body to respond to me like that?
It was unprecedented.
I’d had one sexual experience with a boy back in college, and that had not gone according to plan. So much so I was still technically a fucking virgin because, and this was no lie, the guy had zero understanding of a woman’s body.
Craig had spent more time fingering my perineum than my clit, and every time he’d tried to shove his dick into me, he’d somehow managed to drag it down toward my ass.
I’d gotten so sick of him frigging the wrong bits of me, that I’d pushed him off and given him a blowjob. It had been the quickest way to get out of that annoying situation.
Yeah, annoying.
Jenny, when I’d told her, had pissed herself laughing, and ever since, had tried to get me to hook up with randoms, so I could slough off my virginity like it was dead skin and I was a snake. But life had just always gotten in the way, and I’d had no time for men.
Shortly after that had happened, we’d lost Fiona. Then, I’d graduated, and after, Mom and I had set up this place thanks to some insurance money she’d come into after her husband had died. It had been crazy building the tea room into an established cafe, and then mom had passed on, too.
So, here I was. Still a virgin. On my knees in front of the sexiest man on Earth, a man I knew, a man whose mother had half raised me, one who wanted me in his bed as some kind of blackmail payment.
Was this a dream?
Seriously?
I mean, I’d been depressed before Finn O’Grady had walked through my doors. Now I wasn’t sure whether to be apoplectic or worried as fuck because he wasn’t wrong: you didn’t mess with the Five Points.
God, if I’d known they’d been behind the development on this building, I’d have probably signed over months ago.
The Points were. . . .
I shuddered.
Vindictive.
Aidan Donnelly was half-evil genius and half-twisted sociopath. St. Patrick’s Church, two streets away, had the best roof in the neighborhood and the strongest attendance because Aidan, for all he’d cut you into more pieces than a butcher, was a devout Catholic. His men knew better than to avoid Sunday service, and I reckoned that Father Doyle was the busiest priest in the city because of Five Points’ attendance.
“I like you down there,” he murmured absentmindedly.
The words weren’
t exactly dirty, but the meaning? They had my temperature soaring.
Shit.
What the hell was I doing?
Enjoying the way this man was victimizing me?
It was so wrong, and yet, what was standing right in front of me? I knew he’d know what to do with that thing tucked behind his pants.
He wouldn’t try to penetrate my urethra—yes, you read that right. Craig had tried to fuck my pee-hole! Like, why?
Finn?
He oozed sex appeal.
It seemed to seep from every pore, perfuming the air around me with his pheromones.
I hadn’t even believed in pheromones until I scented Finn O’Grady’s delicious essence.
It reminded me of the one out of town vacation we’d ever had. We’d gone to Cooperstown, and I’d scented a body of water that didn’t have dead bodies swimming in it—Otsego Lake. He reminded me of that. So green and earthy. It was an attack on my overwhelmed senses, an attack I didn’t need.
With the envelope in his hand, he held out his other for me. When I placed my fingers in his, the size difference between us was noticeable once more.
I was just over five feet, and he was over six. I was round and curvy, and he was hard and lean.
It reminded me of the nursery tale Mom had sung to me as a child—Jack Sprat could eat no fat, and his wife could eat no lean.
Did it say a lot for my confidence that I couldn’t seem to take it in that he wanted me? Or was it simply that I wasn’t understanding how anyone could prefer me over Jenny?
Even my mom had called Jenny beautiful, whereas she’d kissed me on the nose and called me her ‘bonny lass.’
Biting my lip, I accepted his help off the floor. My black jeans weren’t the smartest thing for the tea room, but I didn’t actually serve that many dishes, just bustled around behind the counter, working up the courage to do what Mom had done every day—greet people.
I wasn’t a sociable person. I preferred my kitchen to the front of house, hence the jeans, but I regretted not wearing something else today. Something that covered just how big my ass was, how slender my waist wasn’t.
Ugh.
This man is blackmailing you into his bed, Aoife. For Christ’s sake, you’re not supposed to be worrying if he likes the goods, too!
Still, no matter how much I tried, years of inadequacy weighed me down as I wiped off my knees.
“Do you have a coat?” he asked, and his voice was raspy again. “A jacket? Or a purse?”
I nodded at him but kept my gaze trained on the floor. “Yes.”
“Go get them.”
His order had me shuffling my feet toward the kitchen, but as I approached the door, I heard his strong voice speaking with the old woman with the clipboard: “I want this all cleaned up and boxed. Take it to my storage lot in Queens.”
With my back to him, I stiffened at his brisk orders. Was I just going to let him do this? Get away with it?
My shoulders immediately sagged.
Did I have a choice?
If it was just him, just Acuig, then I’d fight this, as I’d been fighting it since the building had come to the attention of the developer. But this wasn’t a regular business deal.
This was mob business, and it seemed like somehow, I’d become a part of that.
FML.
Seriously, FML.
Chapter Three
Finn
She wasn’t as fiery as I imagined.
Did that disappoint me?
Maybe.
Then I had to chide myself because, Jesus, the woman had just been coerced out of her business. What did I expect? For her to be popping open a champagne bottle after I’d forced her to sign over her building to me?
Sure, she’d made a nice and tidy profit on her investment—I hadn’t screwed her that way. But this morning, she’d gone into work with a game plan in mind, and tonight? Well, tonight she was out of a job and knee deep in a deal with the devil.
Of course, she hadn’t actually agreed to my other terms, but when I guided her out of the tea room and toward my waiting car, she didn’t falter.
Didn’t utter a peep.
Just climbed into the vehicle, neatly tucked her knees together, and waited for me to get in beside her.
Like the well-oiled team my chauffeur and car were, they set off the minute I’d clicked my seatbelt.
The privacy screen was up, and I knew how soundproofed it was—not because of technology, but because Samuel knew not to listen to any of the murmurs he might hear back here.
And if he was ever to share the most innocent of those whispers he might have discerned? We both knew I’d slice off his fucking ear.
This was a hard world. One we’d both grown up in, so we knew the score. Samuel had it pretty easy with me, and he wasn’t about to fuck up this job when he was so close to retirement. If he kept his mouth shut, did as I asked, ignored what he may or may not have heard, and drove me wherever the fuck I wanted to go, Sam knew I’d set him and his missus up somewhere nice in Florida. Near the beach, so the moaning old bastard’s knees didn’t give him too much trouble in his dotage.
See?
I wasn’t all bad.
Rapping my fingers against my knee, I studied her, and I made no bones about it.
Her face was tilted down, and it let me see the longest lashes I’d ever come across on a woman. Well, natural ones. Those fucking false ones that fell off on my sheets were just irritating. But as with everything, Aoife was all natural.
So pure.
So fucking perfect.
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.
She was a benediction come to life.
I wasn’t as devout as Aidan Sr. would like me to be, but even I felt uncomfortable thinking such thoughts while sporting a hard-on that made me ache. That made my mental blasphemy even worse.
“Why did you let him touch you? Was it for money?”
I hadn’t meant to ask that question.
Really, I hadn’t.
It was the last thing I wanted to know, but like poison, it had spewed from my lips.
Who she’d fucked and who she hadn’t, was none of my goddamn affair.
This was a business deal. Nothing more, nothing less. She’d fuck me to make sure I kept quiet, and I fucked her so I could revel in the copious curves this woman had to offer.
Simple, no?
She stiffened at the question, and I couldn’t blame her. “Do I really have to answer that?”
I could have made her. It was on the tip of my tongue to force her to, but I didn’t really want to know even if, somewhere deep down, I did.
“You know why you’re here, don’t you?” I asked instead of replying.
Her nostrils flared. “To keep silent.”
I nodded and almost smiled at her because, internally she was furious, but equally, she was lost. I could sense that like a shark could scent blood in the water. This had thrown her for a loop, and she was in shock, but she was, underneath it all, angry.
Good.
I wanted to fuck her tonight when she was angry.
Spitting flames at me, taking her outrage out on me as she scratched lines of fire down my spine as she screamed her climax. . . .
I almost shuddered at how well I’d painted that mental picture.
“When you’re ready, you have my card.”
“Ready for what?” she asked, perplexed. Her brow furrowed as she, for the first time since she’d climbed into the car, looked over at me.
“To make another tea room. I’ve had them move all the stuff into storage.”
She licked her lips. “I want to say that’s kind of you, but I’m in this predicament because of you.”
A corner of my mouth hitched at that. “Honestly, be grateful I was the one who came knocking today. You wouldn’t want any of the Five Points’ men around that place. Half that china would be on the floor now.”
Her shoulders drooped. “I know.”
“You do?”
�
�I pay them protection money,” she snapped. “Plus, I grew up around enough Five Pointers to know the score.”
That statement targeted my curiosity, hard. “You did, huh? Whereabouts?”
Her mouth pursed. “Nowhere you’d know,” she muttered under her breath.
“I doubt it. This is my area, too.”
She turned to me, and the tautness around her eyes reminded me of something, but even as it flashed into being, the memory disappeared as I drowned in her emerald green eyes. “Why are you doing this?”
“Why do you think?” I retorted. “You’re a beautiful woman—”
“Don’t pretend like you couldn’t have any woman under you if you asked them.”
I wanted to smile, but I didn’t because I knew, just as Aidan had pointed out to me earlier that day, that Aoife wasn’t exactly what society considered on trend.
She’d have suited the glorious Titian era. She was a Raphaelite, a gorgeous and vivacious Aphrodite.
She wasn’t slender. Her butt bounced, and when I fucked her, I’d have some meat to slam into, and her hips would be delicious handholds to grab.
If I smiled, I’d confirm that I was mocking her, and though I was a bastard, and though I was enough of a cunt to blackmail her into this when it hadn’t been necessary—after all, before I’d told her who I was, I could have asked her out and done this normally—there was no way I was going to knock this glorious creature’s confidence.
“Some men like slim and trim gym bunnies, some men like curves.” I shrugged. “That’s how it works, isn’t it?”
Her eyes flared at that. “But Jenny—”
“Would you prefer she be here with me?” I asked drily, amused when she flushed.
“Of course not. I wouldn’t want her to be in this position.”
I laughed. “Nicely phrased.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Leaning forward, I grabbed her chin and forced her to look at me. “It’s supposed to mean that you can fight this all you fucking want, but deep down, you’re glad you’re here. Your little cunt is probably sopping wet, and it’s dying for a taste of my dick. So, simmer down. We’re almost at my apartment.”
Screw You: A Screwed Duet (Five Points, Hell's Kitchen Book 1) Page 4