Dom stares back at me, irritated. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice the man who murdered my parents?” He scoffs. “You think I’m still too busy playing video games and jacking off?” The look in his eyes is one of an old soul, not a kid inching toward sixteen.
“We aren’t positive it was premeditated. And before we make a move, I want solid proof.”
“The two fucking headstones at the cemetery aren’t enough?” Dom snaps, underlying rage in his tone. He’s angry—in the quiet way—which means he’s been simmering about this on his own. Glancing out past the clearing it’s then I notice some of the field has been unearthed. “What’s going on here?”
“Speak of the devil, and he appears.” Dom nods toward the newly vacant land. “Roman’s decided to move into our neighborhood. He’s building a fucking mansion where those trucks are sitting.”
Seething from the idea that he’s so close to my place—to our place—I curl my hands into fists. “Un-fucking-believable.”
“Believe it. I’ve seen the blueprints.”
I glance at my brother. “Do I want to know how you came across this information?”
“Building permits. He was approved for them last week. He owns everything now up to that flag post.”
Fury sets in that I’ve had my head so far up my ass—in truth, up Antoine’s ass. I’ve been so distracted carrying out his orders, I’ve dropped the fucking ball on my own agenda. My time in Paris now only takes away from my progress at home. I can feel some resentment coming from Dom as I soak in that realization. My priorities are in Triple Falls, and this is where I need to be—not playing errand boy for a French gangster. But even with the need to erase Roman from the board, the image of his little girl trailing behind him toward the parking lot today remains front and center. The look of defiance in her eyes with their exchange damn near makes me smile. That combined with the clear rebellion in her words and posture before she trailed behind him and I followed. I’d been in the know about his daughter for years, but she’d never been part of the picture until today.
In all my plans to bring him down, I never considered bystanders. I’ve seen the carnage that comes in wars like these, mostly territorial, and I refuse to let that innocent kid suffer for her father’s mistakes. In a game made of criminals bordering psychopaths, many have no regard for innocents, especially when at war, but being a bystander myself, that man will never be me.
I wasn’t sure if Dominic noticed Roman or thoroughly researched him to the lengths I have, but it’s clear he knows a lot more than he’s let on.
Even at their age, with no shortage of dick jokes and immature behavior, they seem to comprehend the importance of hammering out the details. After a lingering silence, I finally speak up.
“We’re going basic with our strategy.”
“Meaning?” Tyler asks.
“We’ve got to play this just right. The only way to defeat a man like Roman is to play sleeping giant.”
“Think Helen of Troy,” Dom voices, reading my line of thought before glancing at Sean and Tyler. “But it seems like a lot of trouble to go through when we can just eliminate the problem.”
Alarm shoots up my spine as I weigh his words, “I know you’re not fucking suggesting we kill the man in cold—”
“Eye for an eye.” Dom shrugs. “Our parents burned to death. Don’t you think that calls for aggressive action? You, yourself, told Delphine you were sick of all the talk. The meetings are a joke, filled with nothing but pussies who like to bitch while she refills their coffee. Might as well be a book club for all the fucking good it’s doing.” Dom looks straight at me when he speaks. “You know, if we boil down enough tobacco and dab the right amount of concentrate on his fucking car door handle, within minutes of it seeping into his skin, it’s game over. Heart attack on the autopsy report. Presented with the right opportunity, it’s a hundred percent untraceable.”
All the blood drains from my face.
“He’s not a smoker, so there’s the first hole in that stupid idea, and that’s not who we are,” I grit out, terrified that these are the thoughts running through his mind. “And not who we will be, Dom. That’s not what Mama and Papa wanted. There is a better, more diplomatic way to handle this, less merciful than death.” I shake my head adamantly, “No, what we’re going to do is change things for the better.” I think of Antoine and how he represents everything I hate. He—like Roman—thinks himself indestructible. But I’ve learned a lot over the past year. More than that, I’ve learned what not to do. “Once we take Roman down, there’s a hundred like him to take his place. They exploit people like our parents and discard them once they become a liability.” I glance between the three of them. “What are we going to do about them?”
Sean shrugs. “Not our problem.”
“We’re going to make it our problem. That’s the whole point of all of this. It’s not just about our family, or this town, not anymore.” I shove my hands in my pockets. “We’re going to do this in a way that will honor them.”
Sean produces and pops the cap off another beer. “This seems ambitious. I mean, come on, man. Look at where we’re at—bumfuck nowhere.”
“That’s exactly the point,” Dominic snaps. “You want to end up just another line cook at Daddy’s restaurant? What’s going to happen when they call in that bank loan?” He glances at Tyler. “Are you going to be a career soldier?”
“This is exactly why we’re here,” I interject, “to get our priorities straight.”
“My priorities are perfect,” Sean lifts his hands and begins to tick off his fingers. “Pussy, pussy, pussy, pussy, and…” he holds a finger on his thumb, “yup, I’m going to have to go with pussy.”
Tyler and Dom laugh, and I reel on the three of them. “This is another reason why I called this meeting. You want a girlfriend? Have one, but pillow talk and this fucking club are never to go hand in hand. What the other birds do is not my business, but as far as we are concerned, women don’t have a place at this fire, not yet. And not until they are vetted by me personally. End of.”
“I thought you said women are a sanctuary.” This comes from Sean, who tests me with the lift of another beer, a smirk in place.
“They are. Away from business. Personal attachments are the greatest liability. And the first one who fucks up on that front will pay dire consequences,” I give each one of them a pointed look, “no fucking exceptions.” I again snatch Sean’s beer, just as he lifts it. “I’m not dealing with another fucking alcoholic.”
Sean’s smile disappears. “Since when is a sense of humor a crime? I consider it a necessity. And who the hell do you think has been cleaning up the puke off your aunt’s fucking face for the last five years?”
Tyler snaps to, glaring at the side of Sean’s head. “You aren’t the only one looking after her.”
“No, we all are,” he nods toward me, “but he sure as hell isn’t.”
With that admission, I dart my gaze between the three of them and wrack my brain for the right words, but they would all sound like excuses. In this moment, I don’t have any good enough. I can’t make up for what I’ve missed and will continue to miss. In a blink, they’ve gone from kids to teenagers bordering men. But if I can come through for all of them, there may be a chance of redemption. A chance they might see my sacrifice as worth it. It’s all I’m working for. In the meantime, all they feel is my absence and a growing bitterness that comes with my arrival and the demands I make.
They need laughs, they need these stolen moments, they need to experience their youth in the way I couldn’t.
“You’re right,” I admit, handing Sean his beer. “Just, take it easy, okay?”
Sean nods, cautiously taking the beer from my hand, mild surprise on his face.
Tyler stands and grabs some of the logs from the ground, his posture hostile as he tosses them into the fire. Something is…off with him, and I’ll make it a point to take him aside and try to figure out what it is.
&
nbsp; “So, if I’m getting this right,” Tyler drawls, “we need a wooden horse to recruit an army to hide inside of it and the opportunity to slip into the city.”
We all stare into the flames as he continues. “I’m going to be a third-generation Marine, it’s a given, and if there’s one thing I know how to do—it’s build an army.”
Sean speaks up next. “Me and Dom will cover the garage, and once it’s up and running, I’ll figure out a way to get us through the gate.” He ruffles Dom’s hair. “And we all know this asshole’s going to Harvard or Yale or some shit.”
“Guess that makes you the horse,” Dominic adds tightly, his eyes on me. But his true irritation tonight is due to our earlier fight and my refusal to let him return to France with me. He’s been begging for months, insisting he can follow in my footsteps at prep and finally join me there. I’d take him with me in a heartbeat if it weren’t for Antoine. I want my brother nowhere within reach.
“No, little brother,” I say, as flashes of my own blueprints flit through my mind, and I reveal the true reason as to why he’s needed here. “You’re the horse. And,” I give them all a pointed look, “as of this moment, I no longer exist.”
The three of them look back at me with unguarded surprise. But beneath the layers of resentment and mild confusion, all I see is blind trust. “From this point on, not one new recruit will know who the major players are. You can give them an impression, but our goal is to confuse them.”
“We’re going to confuse the men working with us?” Sean asks, unable to see the logic.
“It’s the only way,” I insist and glance back at the construction as the sky goes dark. “Leave Roman to me. With him, we’re going to have to bide our time, and you’re going to have to trust me.”
“What about Helen?” Dom asks, joining me where I stand. We stare off for lingering seconds.
“We’re leaving Helen out of it.”
But we didn’t leave her out of it, and it played out as I expected it would once she was brought in. Complete and utter fucking disaster. Despite my role of protecting her, Helen hasn’t stopped punishing me for it.
Eleven days.
Eleven fucking days of flannel pajamas.
And just to pour salt into my weeping dick, she leaves the door open when she showers, when she changes, and when she slathers her insanely toned body in a scent so alluring to me, I get hard when she breezes by.
Well played, queen.
Most days, I wake up alone, and for the majority of them, I’m left hanging in the wind without direction—without any indication of how this will play out between us. Since I’ve been here, I’ve been stuck in a place of reflection, reflection I once managed to suppress with the constant aftermath over the years.
Now, in this silent place, without plans to make and orders to pass out, I’m helpless to the constant surfacing of all I’ve compartmentalized. Especially the most recent years, the agonizing years I forced myself to exist without her.
She wasn’t wrong, but boredom isn’t a word I’d use to describe my current state. It’s more a combination of restlessness edging toward paranoia with every day I willingly forgo being in the know to sort out my relationship with her. She tried to tell me she’s okay with me going back in, but I know that I can’t do it halfway.
I’m an all or nothing man, and I don’t know how to be any other way.
I keep hoping for her emotions to kick in and take over to help bridge the gap, but her sensibilities seem to be winning over her feelings. A skill I taught her—that emotions have no place for an objective player—a lesson she’s clearly taken to heart and has turned against me. There’s a hard edge to her that wasn’t there before, in her scrutiny, in her voice, just throughout her that makes her even more alluring—but that much harder to reach.
When I do manage to catch her before she flees for the café and pin her with my lips, she’s receptive, sometimes playful, but the look of fear I despise is still there. The look that lets me know she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. Apparently, assuring her that we’ll be looking over our shoulders for the rest of our lives isn’t enough.
And I admire and respect her so much for it considering the carnage she witnessed after living a mostly sheltered life.
Over the years, as I resurrected myself and what was left of my army, she’s reinvented herself as an army of one—armed to the teeth. But I don’t want her smoking gun anywhere near me. What I need is a long drink of her strength, of her love, and a little submission.
Fat fucking chance.
Without trying too hard, she’s been dangling her sweet pussy carrot in front of me since I arrived. It’s been eight hellacious months since I’ve had her, and before that—years, and I’ve never in my life been so hungry.
The last time we were together is not the way I want to remember having her.
I ridiculed her for loving me.
I shamed her that night for being the soldier I no longer was.
I did my best to strip her pride, to save her from this type of life, to selfishly save myself the worry, but she wasn’t having any of it.
I left in awe of her, in awe of who she became without me.
Even more so, guilty for the way I couldn’t step up.
She told me then that love makes the danger worth it.
I’m just going to keep believing her. Even if my biggest fucking fear is seeing it unfold all over again, this time with her as the sacrifice.
It’s only a matter of time until we go head-to-head again, but it has to be the right time. I want no fear in her eyes when I claim my queen for good. I want her fighting back, and more so, I want her certain about me the way she was—of my place in her heart, by her side.
She’s chosen her personal armor in the way of fucking flannel pajamas.
Grabbing my newly delivered dumbbells, I do another set of reps to try and rid myself of restless energy. Facing out her bedroom window, I note the painstaking lengths she’s gone to replicate her father’s garden. Between hedges and rows of empty vines is a reading nook. Above the wooden canopy hangs branches of deadening wisteria.
The sight of it brings me back to the morning in Roman’s garden, where I all but blurted out my love for her. Dropping my dumbbells, I walk over to the window and reflect upon our shared past. It wasn’t the first time I took her in a way that conveyed physically what I was feeling, but it was that morning in particular that I felt it most, that I knew I was irrevocably in love with my enemy’s daughter. With a shared look and with a confession I felt to the depth of my soul, I broke my own creed and gave in to the deepest part of me, and my soul-deep ache for a connection with her. Within seconds of recalling those minutes, I surrender to the heat coursing through me. My arm braced on the window as I grip my cock in my mesh shorts.
Stroke.
Her exposed throat.
Stroke.
Her breathy moans.
Stroke.
The unguarded love in her eyes.
Stroke.
Her perfect tan thighs spread out before me, tight pink pussy glistening.
Stroke.
The feel of her wet heat on my fingertips.
Stroke.
Her pebbled peach nipples.
Stroke.
My first desperate thrust inside her.
Jaw tensing, spine tingling, heat emanating from my every pore, I’m just about to grunt her name when the bedroom door opens, and Beau comes barreling through with Cecelia behind him, her eyes widening when she sees me.
“Oh,” she whispers, darting her eyes away before palming the handle to close the door.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” I hiss, which freezes her movement. I release my angry grip on my cock and stride toward her, leaving it untucked from my cheap sports shorts as her eyes widen a little further with every step I take. When I reach her, I crowd her at the door, gripping her hand from the knob and cover my raging dick with it.
“You.” I wrap her fingers around me
, gripping her hand and lead it along my length to stroke, “that’s what I’m thinking about. You.” I bend eye level as her breath picks up and her dark blue eyes pool. “I saw the wisteria in your garden, and it reminded me of that day. Remember that day, Cecelia?” My cock jerks in her hand. I run her curled fingers along the length of my shaft, and we move together as her full lips part. I lick along her lower lip. “You.”
“Tobias—” She tries to release her palm, and I jerk my chin, tightening it around me.
“I didn’t come here to play fucking roommate.”
Inhaling her scent, I continue to guide her hand down my length, cupping her palm over the head before pulling it back down, a curse full of pleasure leaving me on exhalation as I show her my need.
“I know,” she rasps out.
“Do you remember that day?”
“Of course, I remember.”
“Have you come thinking about that day?”
“Yes,” she replies hoarsely.
“Then you remember how good it felt the second I pushed inside you.”
“Tobias,” she whimpers as I lick along her lips, drawing them into a responsive kiss. She grips me even tighter, eliciting a groan from deep inside of me as we get lost in the past, summoning that morning into her bedroom. Veins thrumming with the need to claim, possess, and destroy her hesitation. I rip myself away to watch the rise and fall of her chest before my gaze rolls down the rest of her.
The Finish Line Page 15