The Unforgettable Kind

by Melanie Munton

  The problem with that? Every now and then, I want a little risk in my life. And I damn sure want sex against the wall, in the shower, in a car, bent over a table…

  Which brings me to Kade. He’s without a doubt way more of a risk than Aaron could ever try to be. Hell, he’s practically the poster boy for trouble. Yes, I could have taken Aaron back today and sealed my secure, romantically monotone fate. But it turns out that my conscience won’t let me settle for anything less than that toe-curling, heart-melting, drop dead sexy true effing love that I feel for Kade. Playing it safe has never really worked for me in the past, so I don’t intend to start doing it now.

  Watching Kade from my position on the couch, I consider all the filthy things I want to do to him. I lift one leg and place it on the back of the couch, giving him a decent view up my skirt.

  I crook my finger at him. “Why don’t you come over here and show me just how proud of me you are.”

  His gaze heats up about a billion degrees as it focuses on my exposed legs in my garters and stockings. But he obeys and slowly ambles closer. I admire his muscled form, encased in Tom Ford’s finery. Why is he still wearing clothes, anyway? I can easily fix that.

  I stand abruptly, knocking him off-balance. I use that to my advantage and give him a good shove onto the couch.

  “I changed my mind.” I climb on top of him, straddling his chest. “I’m going to show you a thing or two.”

  That pulls a growl from him. His fingers inch underneath my blouse, rubbing circles over the bare skin. “Is that right?” he rasps. “Then consider me a willing participant.”

  I rake my nails down his torso, dipping my fingers in between the buttons of his shirt, playing with his chest hair.

  “You don’t have to do anything but lay there. I’ll take care of the rest.”

  My lips connect with his skin, sprinkling kisses across his neck and jaw.

  “I think I should return the favor, though,” he breathes, his voice all smooth and sensual.

  His hands start pulling at the hem of my skirt, revealing more and more naked skin. My garters, my cheeky panties, my ass cheek. His finger trails down my bikini line and stops right over my entrance, the mesh material of my underwear the only thing stopping him from entering me.

  He taps his finger over my clit once, twice, sending a thrilling jolt through me. “I want this on my face.”

  Arousal pulses from my center. “You know I don’t like being told what to do. But I think I can make this one exception.”

  Yeah, right. We both know I’d never be able to hold out.

  “Wait, you’re not arguing with me? Will wonders never cease?”

  Ignoring the sarcasm, I start to scoot up his chest when an ear-piercing noise slices through the moment. The window above the couch—above our heads—suddenly shatters, sending shards of glass bursting into the room. There’s a sharp pain in my arm, but I don’t have time to process what’s happening. Kade launches himself off the couch and takes me with him. He rolls on top of me, somehow managing to cushion my head’s contact on the hardwood floor with his hand.

  “Stay down!” he shouts in my ear.

  His body completely covers mine from head to toe, his arm protecting my head. I’m trying to work out the series of events that just occurred, but shock is apparently affecting my cognitive functions.

  Did someone shoot the window? Throw something at it?

  What the hell is happening?

  When nothing else comes through the window and we hear only silence on the other side of it, Kade slowly eases himself off me. His head jerks around in every direction, presumably searching for any remaining threats. Seeming to give the all-clear, he looks back down at me with the most serious—and deadly—expression I’ve ever seen from him.

  “Are you hurt?”

  Seriously, he looks like he’s about to murder someone. I might be terrified if I didn’t know that wrath wasn’t targeted at me. I’m finding it difficult to speak in light of everything. When I remain mute, he cups my face and forces me to meet his eyeline.

  “Sam. Are you okay?”

  My voice comes out as a whisper. “Yes. I’m fine. Just my arm. Are you okay?”

  He ignores my question, instead scowling when he gently grabs my arm, prompting me to look as well. My blouse is torn where a thin cut streaks across my bicep, blood trickling from the opening. Not a lot, though, and I can tell the cut is superficial. Shouldn’t even need stitches.

  Kade doesn’t seem comforted by that. Rage emanates from him like a tidal wave as he curses under his breath. He grabs a few tissues from the box on my coffee table to hold against my arm.

  “Anywhere else?” he barks.

  I shift my back and wince. “I mean, the bed of glass I’m lying on doesn’t feel too hot. But I don’t think it’s doing much damage.”

  His eyes widen with both realization and fury. “Fuck!”

  He yanks me to my feet before I can so much as let out a squeak. He does some more creative cursing when he sees the small shards on the floor where I was lying. Thank God none of the pieces were large ones. Still, he turns me around and shoves up my blouse to examine my back.

  “You have a couple nicks, but none of them look bad,” he says in a somber tone. His finger caresses the sensitive areas, as if he’s trying to heal them with his touch.

  “I’m okay, Kade. Really.”

  “Yeah, and thank Christ for that.”

  We turn to face the rest of the room, and the bottom drops out of my stomach.

  There’s glass everywhere.

  The window is completely destroyed. A shiver rolls through me, and it’s not from the cold breeze now whipping into the room from the frigid temperatures outside. The sound of glass crunching beneath Kade’s shoes echoes off the walls as he stomps across the room.

  That’s when I see it.

  A brick.

  With a piece of paper wrapped around it, secured with a rubber band.

  He grabs another tissue and walks over to it, carefully picking it up with the tissue wrapped around his hand. Fingerprints. For the cops.

  Holy shit, this is real.

  He removes the rubber band, places the brick on the coffee table, and unfolds the piece of paper. It takes all of two seconds for a reaction.

  “Goddamn motherfuck!”

  I’m almost too scared to ask. “Wh-what does it say?”

  He looks at me gravely but turns the paper around for me to see. I already know what it’s going to say, but I’m hopeful that I’m wrong. The words are written in a familiar bold script, all caps, by what looks to be a black Sharpie:

  DROP THE STORY

  LAST WARNING

  Ice cold fear snakes through me. “Oh, my God.”

  His face reddens with rage. “Shit just got serious.”

  He’s probably already wondering what the note means by “last warning.” I guess it’s time to finally tell him about the first note with the pictures. A little late maybe, but better late than never. Dammit, he’s going to be so pissed.

  He snags a blanket off the back of my armchair, wrapping the note and brick inside. My waist is the next thing his arm snags as he rushes me to the front door.

  “Let’s go. I’m taking you to my place.”

  I’m not about to protest but, “Shouldn’t we call the police and wait for them here?”

  He doesn’t slow his stride. “We’ll call the cops when we get to my place, and they can come over here. You’re not staying here with a broken window where you were just attacked. That’s easy access for the people who did this if they decide to come back. No way in fuck do I want you anywhere near this condo right now.”

  His words don’t make me feel any better, though I suspect they aren’t meant to. We step outside into the darkness, and I plaster myself to Kade’s side. I’m not too proud to admit that for the first time ever, I am genuinely afraid for my life.

  What I said earlier about wanting a little risk in my life every now and
then?

  Well, there is such a thing as too much risk.

  And I think I’ve just reached that limit.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  “Burning Heart”

  by Survivor

  Kade

  Red hot burning anger invades my body and takes complete control.

  “What the fuck do you mean someone sent a note to your office?”

  Sam is sitting on the edge of my bed, hands clutching a glass of water, refusing to look at me. “It was a few weeks ago,” she says in a shaky voice. “There was an envelope on my desk when I walked in. Door was still locked. There was no address on it or anything. No name.”

  Don’t lose your shit. It won’t help anything, and you’ll just freak her out.

  “And what was inside the envelope?”

  “A note, just like the one tonight. It said ‘Drop the story’ in the same handwriting. And…” She stops and pushes her hair out of her face, looking conflicted.

  “And what?”

  She sighs. “There were pictures.”

  Don’t. Lose. Your. Shit.

  My next breath seizes in my lungs. “Pictures of what?”

  “Me. At my condo, in the parking garage at FNN, leaving the bar. Someone was following me. And there was also one,” she finally looks up at me, “with you in it.”

  My head rears back. “Me?”

  She nods solemnly. “The night of the awards banquet, when you dropped me back off at my place. It was a message. If I didn’t drop the story, and if I told the cops or anyone else I was being threatened, they’d come after you.”

  The hands holding her glass of water begin to tremble. Fuck, this is really scaring her.

  “Sam, I don’t think—”

  “That’s exactly what they meant, Kade,” she cuts in, her voice becoming shrill. “I know because that wasn’t all the note said. The rest of it said that if I didn’t drop the story, your hand would be in the next envelope. If I went to the cops, it would be your…” She chokes on her rising tears.

  I squat down in front of her, rubbing her arms. “My what?”

  “Your…head.”

  Jesus Christ.

  That’s when she starts sobbing, and the sound kills me. I wrap her up in my arms and rock her on the bed, whispering soothing words into her ear. Sam isn’t the type of woman to cry easily. Everything is starting to get to her.

  “Baby, listen to me.” I ease her back, using my thumbs to wipe away her tears. “Nothing is going to happen to me. Or to you. I’ll never let anyone touch you. You hear me?”

  Her lower lip quivers. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I just…I didn’t want to believe it was real. If something happens to you because of me…”

  I press her face against my chest as she purges more tears. “Shh. Everything’s going to be okay, I promise.”

  Yeah, I wish she would have told me about the damn note, but I can’t be mad at her now. None of this bullshit is her fault.

  I hold her until she calms down. Then I carry her into my bathroom and draw her a hot bath—I remember how much she treasures her bubble baths. Once she’s breathing evenly again and offers me a small smile, I undress her and leave her to relax in silence while I fight to get my own roiling emotions under control.

  Shit, shit, shit!

  Some ballsy motherfuckers with death wishes are taking shots at my girl. Not literal shots with bullets, but these are threats nonetheless. That glass could have done some serious damage. And as God as my witness, whoever did it is going fucking down. They have no idea the lengths I’ll go to protect Sam. I’ll run into a hail of bullets if it means no one ever gets her in their sights again. But I’m going to see to it that that doesn’t happen and these assholes are taken down first.

  Because I have something to live for.

  And I’m not checking out of this world until I’ve spent at least the next fifty years living and loving every day with Sam.

  The cops came over here earlier to question her while another team apparently swarmed her condo, collecting evidence and clues. Clues, my ass. They aren’t going to find anything to lead them to the perps. And the only evidence they have is the brick with the note, which I highly doubt they’ll pull any fingerprints off of. I’ll have Sam tell me where she kept the first note and pictures, and I’ll turn those into the cops, too. But I have a feeling that whoever did this isn’t stupid enough to leave prints on anything.

  Time to take matters into my own hands.

  Well, mine along with the assisting hands of one Brooklyn Brother in particular.

  With Sam safely secured in her bath, I step out onto my patio and make a call.

  “I was just about to call you,” Cris says in lieu of a greeting.

  “I think it’s a little late for that,” I snap. “Someone just threw a damn brick through Sam’s window. Someone’s fucking marked her.”

  I eventually had to tell him all about Sam and how she’s involved in this mess. He can’t help if he doesn’t have all the information. Chances are he had already figured out everything for himself, anyway. Nothing escapes his attention.

  He sighs, the sound coming out world-weary. “I know. I heard.”

  I don’t bother asking how he’s already heard about it from way up in Brooklyn. The man has eyes and ears all over the place.

  “What do you know?”

  “It seems your girlfriend was right. There’s a slew of NFL refs taking bribes from Esposito’s crew. Don’t have all the names yet, but that Greenbaum interview tonight certainly has Esposito squirming. I’m already hearing that he’s locking shit down, preparing for a federal inquiry.”

  That takes me by surprise. “Have the cops questioned him? I didn’t think the authorities had gotten involved yet.”

  He grunts. “They haven’t. I don’t know that they even suspected anything before tonight, let alone have anything to charge him with. But word is that Esposito’s got a leak in his organization. I hear he’s been sniffing around for a rat for weeks.”

  Fuck. If he’s already suspicious and paranoid, he’ll be even more dangerous.

  “Sam said someone sent her a note a few weeks back, way before all this shit with the Greenbaum interview. How would Esposito have even known about it back then? As far as I know, Mike sent everything Sam gave him straight to the commissioner.”

  Cris laughs darkly. “Shit, man. If Esposito has referees in his pocket, there’s no telling who else in the league is on his payroll. He could have heard about it from almost anywhere.”

  I tip my head back and breathe through my noise. “So, who the fuck threw a brick through her window? Have you heard of any movement from Esposito’s crew?”

  “No, not yet. They probably hired some local assholes to do it. A brick through a window isn’t something Esposito sends his top guys to take care of, nor would he fly down there himself for it.”

  “I want to know the second you hear of anything stirring up there,” I bite out. “If Esposito so much as breathes Sam’s name, I want to know about it immediately.”

  “Relax, man. I’ve got every ear to the ground. We’ve kind of had our own separate shit storm up here that I’ve been dealing with.”

  I hear a click followed by a subsequent snip and assume he’s lighting up one of his Cubans. Anyone in his inner circle knows that Cris Rossetti has an affinity for high-priced cigars and top top shelf Scotch.

  “I’m trying to draw the attention away from your girl by putting it out there that we had something to do with the referee leak, in order to chip away at Esposito’s revenue stream. Given our family history, that’s not such an outlandish claim.”

  We as in the Rossetti family.

  “I can’t ask you to do that. Your family works hard to ensure your names are never associated with criminal enterprises. I know you don’t want to be linked with anything coming out of Hell’s Kitchen.”

  His exhale comes over the line. I can just picture him breathing out a stream of smoke from the ro
oftop of his luxurious Brooklyn Heights penthouse, with a stunning view of the Manhattan skyline laid out before him.

  “You let me worry about that. We might separate ourselves from the others, but that doesn’t mean we let them get away with attacking innocents. That shit doesn’t stand, no matter if it’s in New York, Atlanta, or fucking Timbuktu.” He pauses for a second. “But Kade, the damage has already been done if Esposito has an inside guy who heard Sam’s name tossed around.”

  I desperately need to release the building fury inside me on some fucker’s face.

  “If you had to guess, what do you think Esposito’s next move is?”

  “Depends on who else is involved in this. The higher up those people are, the more they have to lose, which means very little will be off-limits to them. They’ll do just about anything to keep their asses out of prison. I’ll send some of my own guys down to watch over your girl if you want.”

  Goddammit. Cris thinking bodyguards are necessary makes every muscle in my body lock up.

  “I’d appreciate it, if you can spare the manpower.”

  “Not a problem. However many favors you think you owe me, I still owe you a few, too.” He chuckles. “Besides, I respect what she did tonight in that interview. Took guts. You’ve certainly got your hands full with that firecracker, don’t you?”

  I’m somehow able to grin. “You have no idea.”

  “I’ll keep you apprised of anything I hear. Expect that extra back-up within twenty-four hours.”

  “Can they be discreet? I don’t want Sam knowing she’s being guarded. She won’t like it.”

  He outright laughs this time. “Dude, you won’t even know when they’re watching, I can promise you that.”

  But they can’t exactly stop a bullet, can they?

  For Christ’s sake, don’t think like that. No one’s going to shoot Sam.

  “I’d say thank you, but I know how you feel about that.”

  Another grunt. “Just watch your back. I’ll be in touch.”

  Rather than allay my growing concern, the phone call with Cris only serves to slake my protective instincts. And ignite my urge—my fucking vow—to commit violence against any man who dares lay a hand on Sam.