“Still not fucking me,” she pointed out. “I’m going die of old age here.” She wrinkled her nose in his direction.
“Fine.” He let her go to push his pants all the way off. She tried to slip away from the wall.
“No. Here.” He grabbed her by the waist and pushed her up higher, sliding her over his dick like a sword and a sheath.
He kept her aloft by her neck and kissed her lips as they turned blue. He slammed into her over and over. But he didn’t like the leverage, so he took her to the stairs instead, climbing her while he climbed them. He had her pinned while he pounded into her. She made him try harder when she met him thrust for thrust, biting and clawing him, surely drawing blood.
When she was this wild, he was a monster for her. He bruised her, took her blows, and fought to give her the pleasure she made him earn.
As she came, he pulled out and used his fingers on her mercilessly, making sure her clit never ceased feeling his pressure, his demands while his fingers worked miracles inside her, anywhere he could bring her sensation. She had reached the top of her climax when he put his mouth on her, feeling and tasting her as she pulsed.
Eve was useless when he was done, having to beg him to stop. But he wasn’t done; he’d never be done with her. He flipped her and took her from behind. She held on to a stair and the railing as he positioned her legs to his liking. The build was insane. The sight of her, flushed and swollen from his hands, made his cock proud.
She pulled away when he was so very close, and he tried grasping her by the shoulders, but she easily broke his hold, pushing him onto the stairs in her place.
He was just on the edge, ready, when her beautiful, sinning mouth took him and brought him beyond. His guttural screams as she finished him off could scare people, and upstairs, G began to bark.
He could do nothing more than laugh as he watched her stand and wipe her mouth, smiling at him as if he were prey.
This woman constantly surprised him. Hell, his life constantly surprised him.
Although Rodolfo Vitullo’s luxuries were opulent and copious, at his age his body was failing, and worse than that, his legacy was in the hands of a man busy whining that his newest Lamborghini was too fast.
His son, Primo, had neither his father’s looks nor his balls. His sister, Mary Ellen—now tragically deceased at the hands of that deadly, manipulative sex goddess of a woman—had been the ballsy one. He couldn’t stop picturing the blonde, January, and how well she’d held up under torture, the swift way she’d dispatched his men in the security clips he’d taken to watching in his spare time. And honestly, his emerging plan to have her bear his son’s child was probably a mistake. She was way too much woman for him.
But spare time was a funny turn of phrase, because although Rodolfo sat in one place—most frequently his study at his New Jersey estate—he was almost always ruminating around in his past. He was best at biding his time, letting weeks and months pass, then getting the ultimate revenge when his enemies let their guard down. He pondered Beckett Taylor and that mesmerizing woman’s belief that they had bested him, as well as weapons dealer and international playboy Sevan Harmon’s cruel betrayal of his daughter, Mary Ellen—all for naught, so it seemed, as he’d heard reports that Sevan’s investments had gone belly up, and the man was basically a pauper now. Such a waste, and knowing how far Sevan had fallen did nothing to soothe his anger. Mary Ellen was still dead.
His weapons manufacturing business had investors, an array of legitimate contracts and clients, and a board of directors that would see to it that the legal part of the Vitullo legacy would carry on. But the off the books, most profitable part of his empire—the shady, murky part—needed careful management that his son was far too stupid to handle. If only he could have designed his offspring…
Perhaps the woman could carry Rodolfo’s direct descendant instead. No need to sully anything with Primo. Yes, he actually liked that idea very much. If only it wouldn’t have to be so clinical—yet another way his body was failing him. But nothing to be done about that. He had to think about the future. He had a few dedicated, nursemaid-style girlfriends—one in particular, Jennifer, who would cut out her own tongue if it made him happy—who he could trust to raise the child to his exacting standards. Nurse Jennifer would live in the lap of luxury while the child grew up with a full staff to attend to any needs.
In an attempt to rekindle their relationship, as well as feel out the possibilities of this January situation, he’d reached out to Beckett several times over the past few months, but his calls had been rebuffed. The young man loved that deadly woman, Rodolfo knew that much. And he also didn’t have enough sense to show respect. He’d never seen such an arrogant bastard in all his years. No good sense of self-preservation.
When Nicholas knocked on the door to Rodolfo’s study in the New Jersey compound, interrupting Primo’s long-winded (and entirely ignored) tirade, he waved his son away. “Go buy a minivan. I can no longer tolerate the sound of your pathetic voice.”
Nicholas closed the door behind Primo, likely clipping the edge of his heels in the process, based on the way he jumped just before the slam. Nicholas turned toward Rodolfo. “Sir, I’ve found out what I can about the girl.”
Rodolfo nodded. “Let me know.”
Nicholas pulled a computer out of the bag he carried and set it on the marble table. “Watch this.”
Nicholas offered commentary while the computer showed a slideshow of January’s life. It began with her father and mother. The mother was gorgeous and, according to the newspaper clipping, had been divorcing the father when she gave birth to an Eve Lily Hartt. No real surprise January had been using an alias along with the fake hair color. A picture from a local parade was the next item of note, and a tall dark boy who was not Beckett stood with his arm around the young Eve. David and Eve had been dating for a time when they were in a car accident that killed the man and, according to the next article, their unborn baby.
“Was she injured?” Rodolfo leaned forward.
Nicholas nodded. “Quite a bit, it seems. Those details are hard to acquire because the new HIPAA rules take a little more effort to compromise. But know I’m working on it. And we both know she’s in supreme physical condition.” He paused meaningfully for a moment.
Things got more interesting as Nicholas’s sources became shadier and the documentation more illegal. Stolen police files elaborated on the accident: the car that hit Eve and David’s had been driven by a dead man—a bullet to the head had made him a shitty driver. There was speculation, but no proof, that the drive-by that killed him was ordered by a local crime organization run by none other than Beckett Taylor.
“Son of a bitch. The boy might be better than I thought if he can make her suck his dick after that.” Rodolfo sat back and crossed his good leg over his poor one. “I wonder if she knows.”
Nicholas nodded. “Not to give her too much credit, but I found that information pretty easily. We have to assume she’s aware of Taylor’s involvement after all this time.”
Details of how Eve’s alliance had formed with Beckett were sketchy. She’d lived a double life after disappearing for an extended time. She’d led her father to believe she was undecided in her profession when in actuality she quickly became one of Beckett’s most trusted enforcers.
Though Eve’s allegiance to him made no sense, Rodolfo didn’t blame Beckett for falling for her. Judging from the videos Rodolfo had hoarded, seeing her work in person would be a huge turn-on. The ensuing years were fairly flat. Taylor had left town, and the girl also disappeared for a while, then resurfaced and began working in the city. They’d reunited under unclear circumstances and all hell had broken loose, leaving Mary Ellen dead in the wake.
Though Rodolfo still seethed with hate at the thought of what Eve Hartt had cost him, he also felt a glimmer of hope. After watching her murders once again, it was even more apparent that he needed this girl. She was now the key to his future—Vitullo Weapons’ future. He
could almost kick himself because he’d had her in his possession once, and all he’d wanted to do was torture her. Mary Ellen had unwillingly delivered him the best hope he could ever have for a child who’d actually be able to wield the power Rodolfo would bestow.
Nicholas seemed every bit the professional businessman as he made his presentation, but Rodolfo knew that just under his calm façade, the man was deeply disturbed. Nothing made Nicholas happier than watching blood flow. He was wildly devoted to Rodolfo, because the work he was assigned not only granted him access to his deepest fantasies, but was considered a job, so he got paid. And there were some things Nicholas had to do, whether he wanted to or not, because his boss said so.
Rodolfo loved finding these little outcasts and creating what felt like a deep, symbiotic relationship with them. He’d lost count now of just how many had served him over the years. Because of their proclivities they were usually not long for this world.
He dismissed Nicholas so he could think, letting the slideshow replay in a loop. He hit the remote so her security camera footage moved in tandem on the larger screen.
It was time to take action. First he needed to store his semen, and that was enough of a task. He wanted her impregnated with his seed no matter what—even if he was dead. And maybe this would be his final act, because at this point waking up every morning was a genuine surprise. So much so that he made a phone call. He’d offer his generations their salvation today.
A doctor was soon on his way to what had to be the most unusual house call he’d made in a while.
2
John Blake Bridge
Looking back, they would remember that Kyle had awakened just a few seconds before the phone call in the middle of the night. But for now, they had hastily dressed and thrown two bags in the car: one with their clothes and the other with baby needs—little diapers, bottles, onesies, and jumpers zipped up tight. The car seat was as in there as good as Cole could get it.
Kyle had a couple million concerns, and she was pretty sure she was burping up her lunch from three weeks ago. The stress was getting to her. She hadn’t told her sister or father about this adoption that Beckett, of all people, had arranged. Sitting in the passenger seat now for the five-hour drive to Maryland, she was stuck right between hope and prayer. She still waited for the floor to drop out from under her—which basically seemed healthy, given the circumstances. Her previous miscarriage was the only tale to tell in her short history as a mother, despite years of trying. But now, because of Beckett and his big heart, a baby might come home in her backseat.
As Cole drove, she mentally reviewed all that had come before. Her two meetings with Chery had gone well, though at first, Kyle had been afraid the woman would change her mind. Chery was a friend and previous employee of Beckett’s from his time in Maryland. He’d stepped in when he discovered she was being abused by her boyfriend, and now the boyfriend was out of the picture—permanently, Beckett had made pretty clear. And no one seemed to want to discuss it beyond that.
At their first meeting together, at a Maryland seafood restaurant this past summer, Cole and Chaos—one of Beckett’s trusted men who’d taken a liking to Chery—had shaken hands. Chery had asked smart questions and did, in fact, seem clean, as Beckett had said she was, but it had taken more than an hour before they got around to talking about the baby’s father, Jared. Chery had seemed embarrassed, but determined to make sure they had all the information. And she was resolute in her decision not to raise the baby.
“He and I, we were in a situation,” she’d begun to explain. “I couldn’t stop coming back to him. That’s something you should know. And it wasn’t stubbornness, more that doing things differently seemed too drastic. I’d like this baby to know when to quit something.” She’d shrugged.
Kyle had smiled and looked around at all the people present before returning her focus to Chery. “I’ve done some things differently than I should have—for attention or whatever. I just needed to be in the center of someone’s affection. And until my sister and Cole set me straight, I didn’t realize how much power I had, how strong I could be. And that I had to be worth my own attention.”
Cole had taken her hand at that point. “Chery, I doubt a person can live on this planet without regret,” he’d told her. “It’s part of the experience we’re meant to have. This baby? He will be everything to us. I’ll use any skill I have to help him become a man. And Kyle—”
“I’ll make sure he stands up and knows what he’s worth,” she’d interrupted. “There won’t be a day he’s not loved. I’ll say it with my hands—making a home for him. I’ll say it with my arms—hugging him so he knows his mother is present every day. His heart will never be alone. And I’ll say it out loud every day. Because it matters.”
Chery had nodded and looked into the distance. She seemed as committed to the idea of adoption as anyone in her position could, so Kyle did her best to take her at her word. “Thanks for that,” she’d eventually said. “Do you have a name?”
Cole had smiled and squeezed Kyle’s hand. “John Blake Bridge.”
“That’s a strong name,” Chaos had said. “Blake’s after a good man,” he’d told Chery as he rubbed her shoulder.
Shrugging, Cole answered, “Yeah, we had a few other front runners, but we’re both happy with this.”
After their meal, Chery had stood, and the rest of the group followed. She’d laid her hand over her belly, patting gently. “Well, John Blake is tiring me out.”
Kyle looked down at her phone in her lap as the car sped down the highway. The number for the lawyer Beckett had connected them with was on speed dial. After some Internet searching, she’d found that the man was on the up and up—or at least his public persona as a lawyer was. Beckett had sworn he kept everything legit. Cole reached over and squeezed Kyle’s hand as he drove, clearly nervous as well.
The second meeting with Chery had been the one that inspired Kyle to buy the things for the baby that were behind her in the backseat now.
It had been Chery’s sister Vere’s birthday party, just a few weeks ago in October. The theme was dogs, and Chery had gone all out, decorating a local park with dog balloons, plates, and napkins, and strategically placed stuffed dogs.
Cole and Kyle knew Vere had autism, but Kyle wasn’t sure what that looked like. It turned out, Vere was Vere. Some of her friends were there, and they were having a blast dancing and singing to the radio. A fruit bowl shaped like a cake was the centerpiece.
Kyle had pitched in, insisting on carrying things so Chery wouldn’t have to. And she’d watched as Cole did what he did best: put people at ease. Soon enough, Vere was introducing him to her friends and her new dog, Rufus.
When finally Chery sat, Kyle sat next to her. “You did a great job. She looks so happy.” Kyle didn’t add that the party was just like what a good mother would do. The thought choked her, though.
Chery rubbed her stomach. “Thank you. It was a lot. There’s more than getting the right things for her here. For weeks we had to go through the schedule—some things strictly required, others last-minute adds. I just wanted this day to be good for her. But asking for a whole day? Probably too ambitious. So far we’re according to plan.” She stretched her arms above her head. “And then afterward, we’ll have to work to come down from it all, readjust to our regular day. But she does look happy.”
Kyle could feel herself holding her breath as Chaos began playing fetch with Rufus.
“You’re concerned.” Chery met her gaze.
“It’s just…” Kyle had bit her lips together, afraid to voice what she worried might be true.
“I’m sure,” Chery said firmly. “For this decision, I’m sure. I’m not changing my mind.” She’d taken Kyle’s hand and placed it on her stomach. “And it’s not because I don’t think the baby—John—will be amazing, because he will. I just need…” the woman searched for the words “…space from Jared. And this baby, I don’t want to put what I’m feeling on him. He des
erves a clean slate. He deserves to be the center of someone’s universe. Your universe. You won’t be looking for someone else in what he does, the choices he makes. You will only see John. That’s what I believe is best for him.”
The baby had moved just then, kicking at Kyle’s hand. “Oh my! He’s so strong.”
Chery leaned down as much as she could, “Say hi to Mommy, John. She loves you so much.” She nodded. “That’s you. Step up to the mic.”
Kyle leaned down and whispered, “You’re the best boy in the whole world. I love you.”
Still the baby kicked at her.
“Look at that, he can’t wait either. You guys are perfect for each other.” Chery had patted Kyle’s hand on her stomach. “This is right.”
And now, barely a month later it was the middle of the night, and Cole was so focused on driving they could hardly have conversation.
She checked their list on her phone, mentally repacking the bags. “Did you remember the good camera?”
“Yes. It’s in our bag.” The GPS rattled off how many miles it was until the next turn.
Kyle’s phone began ringing in her hands. “It’s Chaos. Oh my God! It’s Chaos.”
“Answer it!” Cole kept his eyes on the road.
“Hello?”
Her brain flashed with every possible horrible thing that could happen.
“Hello, Mommy! Your baby boy was born exactly ten minutes ago.” Chaos sounded like he was smiling.
“Everyone okay?” Kyle was actually impressed she could make words because she was sure she was hyperventilating.
“Chery and John are doing great. Can you hear him?”
Kyle hit speaker, and John’s robust cries filled the car. Cole met her eyes and instantly both of them were crying with their son.
“How far away are you guys?”
Cole answered, thankfully. “Fifteen minutes.”
Chaos filled Cole in on some parking procedures, but Kyle listened to the music behind him. That baby’s cries were the sound of her dreams coming true.
Saving Poughkeepsie Page 2