by W Winters
I can see in my periphery that Derrick’s lips kick up in an asymmetrical grin at “fellas.”
Leroy’s from down south and he needs shipments coming in. We can provide that. We have in the past, but these should be steady, or so he claims. Shipments come into the dock, we collect, we deliver. Like Derrick said, should be simple.
“You know our take,” I tell him and then my gaze is pulled past Leroy when one of his crew reaches behind him. My hand burns with the need to go for my gun when I see the quick motion, but the guy is just reaching for a smoke. With the cigarette in his mouth, he takes out a lighter from his back pocket and passes it to the guy next to him. “Fifteen percent,” I tell Leroy, keeping my expression easy, even though adrenaline is scorching through me.
I know you need trust in these relationships. At least trust that they need the partnership and can’t afford to fuck you over. I have that with Leroy. I have for a year now although this proposition is new. I just can’t shake this feeling though.
Not everyone is an enemy. But damn does it feel like they are sometimes.
Leroy shifts his focus to Derrick, who’s silent. The gravel under his feet crunches noisily while we wait. “What if I increase the load, can your boys handle that?” he asks me, and I nod.
“We got it covered.”
Another second passes. “If I increase the product per shipment, seems like it should be dropped to ten percent, doesn’t it?”
“How’s that?” Derrick pipes up. I roll out my right shoulder, watching Leroy’s men talking. A freight truck rushes by on the highway above them and two of them turn to look. It’s not a high-tension situation, but negotiations at the last minute aren’t welcome.
“More product, more money, but you’re still only doing one run,” he explains to Derrick.
“We agreed on fifteen,” I tell him.
Leroy puts both of his hands up, a move that makes the men behind him still, their eyes focused solely on us now. Thump, thump my heart pounds and the back of my neck pricks. His hands are lowered as quickly as they went up, and his men settle. They’re watching closely now though.
“I got a call yesterday. I may have more product than I thought. Terms for me have changed,” Leroy says then sniffs and thumbs the tip of his nose. “Like I said, it’s more product, more money, still one shipment. Ten percent of this load is more than fifteen percent of the previous.”
“How much more?” I ask him.
“Forty.”
Forty thousand.
I still hesitate and he adds, “How long have we been working together? Two years now? I don’t want to work with anyone else. You’re my guy.”
Another truck goes by as I take in what he’s saying. I don’t like changing arrangements.
“We’ve got the cash in the car,” he says. As he moves to call over one of the guys, I see a familiar car pull up to the gas station. It’s an old, light blue Mustang. The paint is worn out, but I think Jackson likes it that way.
“We got company,” I murmur and nod my head for Leroy to see.
“He’s not one of yours?” Leroy’s brow arches.
“We have him contained, but he doesn’t get a paycheck,” I explain.
“No exchange then?” he questions. I eye Jackson, parked at a pump and sitting there, not even bothering to get gas. Fucker.
“No, we still exchange. We have a deal at twelve percent because it’s more work for us, more heat too if anything happens.” I hold out my hand for Leroy.
It takes a few seconds, but he agrees and his handshake is just as firm as it was when he first pulled up. “It’s always nice doing business with you.”
Turning to Derrick, I tell him to get the details and the cash—all twelve percent of it. “I’ll take care of this.”
“Until next time,” Leroy says, giving me a nod as I walk off. Dust kicks up from the parking lot as I walk the twenty feet or so over to Jackson.
The highway’s louder at the front of the store than on the side where the parking lot is. A car beeps on the bypass above, quick and short, but in multiple successions and it aggravates me just as much as the sight of Jackson does right now.
I could fucking snarl, remembering how he got into Laura’s head.
It takes everything in me not to grab him by his throat and slam him up against his car. The only reason I don’t do it is because of the deal going on behind me. If Leroy thinks I’m in over my head with the cops, he could back out. Shit, I would if it were me, but we need this cash. We need everything we have right now. The twelve percent from Leroy with a higher take? That’s good for us. I probably would have taken the ten given it’s still one run. A steady cash flow is what we need while we get the bar up and running.
With my jaw clenched, I stare down at Jackson. My shoulders are tense and I breathe in the dusty air just to keep from screaming at this asshole.
“Come to tell me you’re worried for me?” I raise my voice as I speak so he can hear, not changing the expression on my face.
“Worried for you?” Jackson keeps his door open, standing with it between him and me and that makes me uneasy. I want his hands where I can see them. Which is ironic, given who he is.
“Get out and shut the door,” I demand and he cocks his head, staring at me like this is a showdown.
“You want to have this conversation while I’m thinking you’re hiding a gun between the two of us?” I question him and that gets him moving. The door shuts as another round of cars rushes behind us, below us. We’re surrounded by activity.
Jackson’s my height and my build. Ever since we were kids, we were built the same. At least physically. Mentally, we were always opposites.
Before he’s finished taking the two steps it takes to get close enough to talk, I tell him, “Don’t ever go to Laura again.” The threat in my voice is clear as day. I don’t do subtleties when it comes to her.
Jackson isn’t fazed. It should piss me off, but instead I find myself questioning things.
“She deserved a heads-up and so do you, which is why I’m here.”
“You leave her to me,” I tell him again, gritting the words out between my teeth.
“A moment of weakness,” he says and then glances at the pavement before looking me in the eyes. “I apologize.”
My muscles twitch; my back feels like it’s tighter than a coiled rope ready to split and unravel.
“Wright is a snitch,” Jackson says, changing the subject. My mind is still on Laura, still on the stress he caused her. Hearing Wright’s name though, the source of our intel and a lower-level mule for Mathews, catches my attention.
“If he snitched to us, you don’t think he told Mathews?” Jackson questions me.
“Told you what?”
“You stole half a mil in product—at cost.” He emphasizes cost and it takes a lot for me to stay calm in this moment. I have to keep my voice low and even, show no emotion. Leroy’s men are watching.
With that in mind, I look over my shoulder. Derrick’s at the corner of the store where I can see him. The car’s parked in the back. I imagine he’s having Roman do the bitch work of moving the cash from one car to the other. As long as Derrick’s in view, I know everything’s going as planned.
Other than what Jackson just told me. Wright’s a snitch.
“It wasn’t us and I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Jackson shakes his head and sucks his teeth. “Don’t do that to me. Not with all the shit I’ve covered up for you. Don’t fucking do that to me.” I don’t expect the anger, or the hurt. That’s what it is in the way he looks at me with his nostrils flared. He’s hurt.
“We’ve known about them coming down here. We grabbed Wright. We had him spilling everything. Then you go and fuck with them?” Contempt laces his last line.
Clenching my fist and cracking my knuckles with my thumb, I take a moment. Letting this information sink in as I watch Leroy and Derrick shake hands before our respective crews part ways. Mine stay
s where they are, waiting for me while Leroy and his men take off in two vehicles, one after the other. Jackson and I both watch in silence.
“These guys like Mathews don’t just get angry; they make examples of the people who steal from them.”
“And you were going to stop him?” I question him. I remember when we were just kids. This is a small town and I knew all the neighborhood kids. We’d play cops and robbers back then. He was always the cop and I was always the robber. The “bang” of our toy guns didn’t come with the same kick back it comes with now.
“We were getting the intel we needed to get the feds involved.”
“Are they?” I ask him.
“Are they what?”
“Involved?”
His gaze drops and I already have my answer. No. Mathews must not be big enough. Either that or Wright didn’t give them good enough intel.
“What do you want from me?” I ask Jackson, wanting this conversation to be over so I can figure out how we’re going to handle this.
“Come in—get protection. Especially for Laura. It doesn’t have to be like this.”
Protection? I scoff at the very idea that Jackson would be bringing this shit up. “You remember what it was like. It does have to be like this.”
“This is too much. They’re too big. The collateral—”
“Is my problem,” I say, cutting him off. “I can handle this.”
His expression falls when I raise my voice. I can feel the words still ringing in my throat long after they’re spoken.
Opening his car door, he tells me grimly, “Then, at least I warned you. You know where I am if you change your mind.”
Laura
I hear Seth before he says a word to me. The door isn’t shut quietly; it’s practically slammed. Gripping the edge of my nightgown, for a moment I wonder if it’s him or someone else since it was shut so hard. But then I hear the jingle of the keys as they hit the bowl we keep in the kitchen. It’s an old ceramic bowl my grandma gave me. At least he didn’t throw the keys in there hard. I’d have to kick his ass if he ever broke it.
I must have dozed off; the clock on the nightstand tells me it’s nearly nine. When I check my phone, still hearing Seth slamming what sounds like the fridge door, I see a handful of messages Cami sent. Shit, we were supposed to go out. She gathered, in the series of texts I’m reading, that I forgot or that I was busy.
Writing her a quick reply, I tell her I’m sorry. I never miss our dates. Ever. I feel like complete shit that I fell asleep.
I answer the two questions she asked me as well. They’re questions about birth control. I promise in the next message I’ll make it up to her.
She’s quick to tell me it’s okay. She’s already replaced our date with one with Derrick.
I would feel relief, but Seth’s still out there.
There’s a little nagging piece inside of me. Digging and clawing, making me feel that something really is wrong. It heats my skin; it sickens my stomach. It tells me to worry. This is what he does when I’m not looking. He bangs shit around and lets out his stress that way.
As I’m walking in the hallway, not trying to be quiet, but quiet nonetheless, I hear the slam of his fist on the counter. My heart jolts in my chest, seizing for a moment until I peek out from the threshold and see my towering man hunched over, both forearms resting on the counter, his head laying between them. His broad shoulders stretch the white t-shirt he’s wearing tight over his muscular back. Every muscle ripples as he breathes in deep in what looks like an attempt to calm himself.
“Everything okay?” I ask a little quieter than I’d planned, feeling that aching whisper scream inside. My fingers twitch with the need to hold him, to come up behind him and comfort Seth as he’s done for me so many times. But I wait.
Some nights are bad and he doesn’t like to be touched then. Not when he first gets home. Maybe it’s because he wanted to throw shit around like he is now, but he couldn’t because I was home.
He lifts his gaze to me and instantly softens. His exhale is short as he stands up straighter, running his hand over the back of his head. “Sorry, Babygirl. I didn’t know you were home. Thought Cami and you were going out?”
Seth clears his throat and then opens his arms, urging me to come over to him. I don’t waste any time molding myself to the side of his body, feeling his heat. With one arm around my waist, he hugs me back and then lifts the beer on the counter to his lips with his free hand.
“You okay?” I ask once the glass clinks on the counter, noting he takes his time with the swig, probably to get his thoughts in order.
“Fine,” he breathes out although stress is prominent in his answer. “How did the studying go?” he asks me, changing the subject. He does that a lot, but I can still see the torment that clings to him. Maybe he thinks he hides it well, but he doesn’t.
“So you don’t want to talk?” I ask him, hoping maybe all he needs is a push.
All he gives me is a weak smile though. I already knew he wouldn’t confide in me. It’s just not who he is. Grabbing both of his hands and making him leave the beer on the counter, I tell him to come with me.
His fingers barely grip mine until I give his hand a squeeze.
“You all right?” he asks and a new worry rips through his expression. It’s fresh, not tired. And fear, not stress.
I have to laugh a little when I answer him, “I’m better than you are.” I’m still walking him to the sofa in the living room when he gives me a huff of a masculine laugh in response. Seth’s house is larger than my grandma’s. Nicer in a lot of ways simply because it’s new and in an up-and-coming part of town. The sofa though, it’s my favorite. The entire living room really. Probably because I picked out every piece.
The sofa is a soft cream chenille with a pale blue paisley pattern on the outsides of the armrests and all the way around the back of it. When I picked it out, I was thinking of myself and thought for sure Seth would say no. Instead, he told me to get whatever I wanted to go with it. So I got a thick, plush royal blue rug to go with the sofa, covering the hardwood floors, solely so I could get on my knees like I’m doing now, unbuckling his pants and helping Seth relax.
I can give him this. Freely. He gives me so much and never asks for a damn thing. So this? I can give him this.
He spears his hand through my hair as the sound of the zipper mixes with my faint moan.
“Laura,” Seth protests weakly and my response is to grip his jeans in both my hands, ripping his pants down as I stare up into his heated gaze. He’s already hardening. I can see his length get stiffer by the second through the thin fabric of his boxer briefs.
“Sit down.” I give him the firm command while keeping our eyes locked, and he smirks at me. From this angle, he’s even more handsome, which doesn’t make any sense. He’s just towering over me. Maybe it’s the rough stubble, the way he smiles, or the lust in his eyes. But my heart does that little pitter-patter, the beat that’s out of rhythm. Maybe it really is all because of him. He makes my heart skip a beat.
“Let me do what I want to you,” I whisper and inch my fingers up to the waistband of his boxer briefs. His hand is still in my hair, and he scratches his blunt nails against my scalp before wrapping my hair around his wrist. Pulling my head back, I’m forced to look at him, rather than his hardening cock that’s barely contained by the thin fabric in front of my face. He doesn’t pull hard, not enough to give me any pain, but it’s authoritative.
I think for a moment he’s going to say something; his gaze is so penetrating and he stares for so long. All the while, my core heats, my heart flutters, and I can barely breathe.
Seth releases me without a word, letting me strip him down, dropping slowly to the sofa, spreading his strong legs wide for me.
His cock is ready, standing tall when I reach out and stroke him. My fingers nearly don’t wrap around the entire thing. I run my thumb up one of the thick veins all the way to his head. Spreading a bead of precum over
the velvety top of him, I almost lick my lips.
“I like it when you blush like that,” he murmurs. Looking up at him, I hold his gaze as I lean forward and let the tip of my tongue slip through his slit while holding him with both hands to keep him where I want him. He hisses and the S sinks deep into my heat, forcing me to clench around nothing.
I wrap my mouth around the head of his cock and hum a sweet moan as I taste the saltiness of what little cum is there. Opening my jaw as far as I can, I sink down his length and feel his smooth skin massage my lips as I bob. It’s only a tease, only to get a little moisture on his cock. Releasing him with a pop, I look back up at Seth, whose lips are parted as he breathes ever so slowly. His hips thrust in my hand the next time I lean down, teasing his head with a gentle suck.
I could worship his cock like this for hours, but he doesn’t let me.
A squeal leaves me when he reaches down, grabbing me by the hips to sit in his lap. “Seth!” I object, but that doesn’t stop him from ripping my nightgown over my head. I’m mid-laugh when his open-mouth kiss lands on the dip in my throat. The giddiness in my voice is quick to morph to a strangled moan when he touches me. His hands grip my flesh, and his mouth devours my sensitized skin.
I anticipate him maneuvering me onto my back upon the sofa, with him on top. That’s how he likes it most of the time. But he doesn’t. Instead he places my back to his chest, still kissing my neck, and spreads my legs so my thighs are resting over his.
“Seth,” I moan as his cock presses against my folds. The head slips against my clit and I writhe against him, my breath hitching.
He’s not merciful as he pushes himself inside of me with a single stroke. My back arches, and my front feels cold without him here. Seth keeps my neck at his lips by gripping my throat with his hand. I’m staring at the ceiling, wide eyed, feeling the sweet stretch that lingers with pain when his other hand meets my throbbing clit.