by Mazzy King
I lift a shoulder. “They’re fine, really.”
He cocks an eyebrow. “You’ve been living in a furnished duplex on the blue-collar side of town for a week now, and things are fine?”
“It’s a nice little place,” I say defensively, sipping my sauvignon blanc. He asked for the meeting and the expenses are covered on the company account, so I’m indulging in a couple of twenty-dollar glasses. “So, yeah, things are fine.”
Zeb shakes his head, his shaggy black hair swaying. He leans closer to me, lowering his voice. “You publish a somewhat scathing piece about a restaurant rumored to have mob ties. You lost your apartment and almost your life in a very mysterious fire, forcing you to the poor side of town. And you mean to tell me things are fine.”
“First off, don’t be such a snob,” I reply. “It’s not the poor side of town. The people who live there work hard. It’s an older side of town. As for the rest of your points, yes. Things are fine, Zeb. Fires happen all the time.”
“They don’t, actually, no,” he says. “Sel, you and your roommate and her kid could have died.”
I take a deep breath. “I know.”
He answers with a sigh of his own, running the tip of his finger around the rim of his wineglass. “I know you know. I’m sorry. I’m worried about you, that’s all. You took a huge risk doing what you did. I really think we should pull the story.”
“Don’t you dare,” I fire back. “Look, we’ve been through this. I said what I said, and I stand by every word. Apparently, the publicity wasn’t too good, because whoever I might have pissed off hasn’t even tried to come at me. They’re probably expecting the cops to be on their asses any day now.”
“Cops tend to not want to investigate rumors.”
“Maybe it’s not just a rumor.” I purse my lips.
“I don’t like that look on your face,” Zeb says.
“What look?”
“That look you get when you’re cooking up another story idea.”
I lift a shoulder innocently. “I’m just thinking about how much of a fit they threw when I asked to see the kitchen. Restaurants always let me see their kitchens when they know I’m doing a write-up. What’re they keeping in there that they don’t want anyone to see? I’m guessing it’s not just chewy beef and canned tomato sauce.”
“Seline,” Zeb says sternly, “you’re a food writer, not an investigative journalist.”
I bat my lashes. “Perhaps I missed my calling. Besides, who says I can’t do both?”
“Me. As your editor, I say you can’t do both.”
“This is a scoop, Zeb.” It’s my turn to lean toward him, elbows braced on the table. “If I could find a way to get into that kitchen and take a look around—”
“No.” Zeb swipes a hand through the air.
“But—”
He pushes a piece of prosciutto at my mouth. “Shhh. Tell me more about your hot neighbor. That’s the scoop I’m interested in.”
I laugh even as my cheeks heat. It’s like just the mere mention of Rocco brings it on. “Would Wilson appreciate that?”
“If he doesn’t know he has my heart after seven years together, then we have bigger problems than my vicarious crush on the big, sexy plumber. So tell me more.”
“I mean, we’ve seen each other a couple of times since the pizza date—”
“Naked?”
“No!” I swat Zeb’s arm. “In a…neighborly fashion, or whatever.”
“I have no idea what that means.”
“Well, he came over and sprayed my basement for me, so I don’t have to worry about bugs anymore. And as a thank you…”
“Yes?” Zeb lifts his brows.
“I baked him cookies.”
“Wow, what a slut.” Zeb rolls his eyes. “Is there anything else on the horizon besides bug-cleaning and cookie-baking? Something a bit more risqué, perhaps?”
I smile smugly. “He’s cooking me dinner tomorrow.”
“Now we’re talking.” Zeb rubs his hands together. “Do you have your ensemble picked out yet?”
It’s my turn to roll my eyes. “Most of my wardrobe burned. I’m assuming my evening gown along with it.”
“Hey, just because you’re missing a big chunk of your clothes doesn’t mean you can’t still look cute. You have great tits. You should showcase those. And maybe get your brows touched up a little too.”
I tip my head back and laugh. “Thanks for the tips. Listen, I have to get going. My latest piece isn’t going to write itself.”
“Just as long as your latest piece isn’t an expose on the Port City mob,” Zeb mutters, but accepts my peck on the cheek. “Good luck tomorrow! Shave your legs.”
I wave him off, smiling and shaking my head as I walk out of the trendy wine bar that’s one of our favorite after-work happy hour places. I do need to go home and write my latest story, but the idea that started to germinate a little while ago grows in my mind. I really do want to get inside Angelo’s kitchen, but I’m not sure how to do it.
My car is parked inside a parking garage across the street. I ignore the elevator in favor of the stairs, taking them up to the second level as my mind whirls. I could possibly go in disguise. Or even try to break in on a day they’re closed.
The last idea makes me roll my eyes at myself. The parking garage is only about half-full now that work is done and Friday night happy hour is winding down. In another hour or so, the garage will be full again with people venturing out to dinner and a night on the town.
My thoughts shift to Rocco. I wonder what he’s doing. He invited me over for dinner tomorrow, but maybe he’d be up for that corndog tonight…
I have to laugh at myself as I head toward my car. Zeb would be so disappointed to know I mean that literally and not sexually.
Not that I’d be against it if Rocco was into it sexually. We haven’t so much as kissed yet, but if things go well tomorrow, I won’t be sleeping in my own bed.
I unlock my car and toss my bag into the passenger seat. I push the button to start the car, but it does nothing.
Oh no. The battery in my key fob must be dead. I groan, then pick up the fob and slide the emergency car key out of the plastic case. “Now, where did the dealer say I was supposed to stick the key…”
I lean over to examine the side of the steering wheel, so intent on my task I don’t notice the three tall, masked men striding toward me until their shadows fall over me.
5
Rocco
“Well, should I call her or not?” I ask Chaplin. He tilts his head at my question, his ears pricked.
We’ve been sitting on the couch for the past fifteen minutes after my post-gym shower and our nightly walk. We have a date tomorrow. But does that mean I can’t also see if she wants to hang out tonight?
Chaplin lets out a tiny whine. I feel judged.
“I know I suck at dating,” I say defensively. “But I really like this girl and I want to see her tonight too. Sue me.”
Since last week, I’ve seen her a couple of times. Once when I sprayed her basement to kill the bugs living there, and once when she stopped by with a plate of cookies as a thank you. I invited her in, but she said she was hard at work on a story and had a deadline to meet.
That was Wednesday. It’s Friday night now.
She’s not home yet. I really want to invite her over for pizza and a movie, but I don’t know how to do that without seeming desperate.
“Maybe she has more work to do, and I’d be getting on her nerves,” I tell Chaplin. “Maybe she’d rather hang out with her girlfriends. Maybe she has a date. She’s allowed to do that, after all.”
Chaplin grumbles, lowers his muzzle to his paws, and glances away.
“Yeah, I don’t like that either,” I mutter, scratching behind his ears. “Maybe I should just ask if she’s busy tonight. What her plans are. That’s an easy way to start the conversation.”
He whimpers. Dude, stop, please. You’re pathetic.
“Fuck i
t,” I grumble, grabbing the remote. Maybe I should hit up some of my pals and head out for a round of beers. Darby’s likely cuddled up with his fiancée Harlowe, but my friend Maddox is more than likely available. He’s a single loser in a duplex too. Like me.
I pick up the phone to shoot him a text. Just as I open my text app, the phone lights up with a call. “Seline” flashes across the screen. We exchanged numbers during our date—a little backward, I know. But we’ve texted intermittently since then. I really appreciate her GIF game.
I can’t keep the ridiculous grin off my face as I answer it on the second ring. “Hey, you,” I say. “I was just—”
“Hey,” she chirps in this unusually bright voice. “I could really use your help. My car won’t start.”
Something in her voice isn’t right. It’s like she’s trying too hard to act normal. What the hell? “Of course. Where are you?”
“The parking garage close to work, second floor.” She gives me the approximate address.
“All right.” I grab my wallet and keys, then whistle to Chaplin. “I can be there in about fifteen minutes.”
“Okay, thanks,” she says. “Um, can you try to make it sooner than that?”
I lift a brow. Something’s wrong. “Seline, are you okay?”
“Fine,” she replies. “Just tired. Long day.”
“Sure. I’ll be there as soon as possible.” I hang up with her as Chaplin and I head outside. He leaps into the passenger seat when I open the door for him, then slide behind the wheel. “Something ain’t right, Chap.”
He howl-barks in agreement.
I make the drive in eleven minutes, pushing the speed limit where I can. I cruise into the parking garage then head to the second level. I spot her silver sedan and see her seated in the driver’s seat.
She looks up as I pull up beside her, her face almost collapsing in relief. I hop out and walk to her door, reaching for the handle to open it for her, but she beats me to it. The door flies open and she jumps out, holding her work bag and purse.
“Hey!” she exclaims in that weird, forced, bright tone. “Thanks for coming. Hi, Chaplin.”
The Shiba wags his curly tail at the sight of her. I take her bags and tuck them into the truck’s backseat. “So your car won’t start, huh? Can I see your keys?”
Seline looks distressed for a moment, but hands over the keys. “I’m just going to sit in here with Chaplin, okay?” Without waiting for an answer she climbs up into the passenger side. Chaplin licks her chin and drapes himself across her lap protectively. Even he can tell something’s up.
She’s got a push-to-start car, where the lock is a button on the handle, and there’s a round button on the dash that starts the car. The backup, emergency key, in case the battery in the fob ever dies, is tucked into a panel on the back of it. I try the push-to-start button, then pull the key out of the back of the fob and stick that in too. Nothing. I shut the doors and make sure the car is secure, then head back to the truck, scratching my chin thoughtfully. I guess I’ll be calling Maddox after all—ever since returning from a deployment, he’s worked as the body shop manager of a family-owned auto repair place.
“Seems like it’s the battery. I got a friend who can fix that for you,” I tell her.
Her gaze is pinned to Chaplin as she strokes his thick fur. “I’m not sure I can afford that.”
I shrug. “We’ll work something out. He’s a good dude.” I peer at her closely. “Seline, are you all right?”
“Mm-hmm.” She smiles at me, but she won’t meet my gaze, and her chin is trembling.
I shake my head. “What happened?” I ask softly.
She lifts a shaking hand to her mouth. “Will you take me home? Please?”
“Yeah, of course.” I back out of the spot I’m parked in, and we coast out of the garage.
I decide not to press her as we ride silently back to our neighborhood, but I can’t stop casting glances toward her out of the corner of my eye. Something is seriously wrong.
When we arrive back at the duplex, she stares at her front door. It’s almost like she’s afraid to go in. Chaplin peers up at her, letting out a little anxious whine.
“You want to come in?” I ask her, gesturing toward my house.
“If—if you don’t mind.”
“Of course I don’t.” I open the door and hold it open for her, totally puzzled. She steps inside and I follow her, watching as she heads straight for the couch.
As soon as she sits down, she bursts into tears.
Fuck.
I’m at her side in a heartbeat. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”
“I—I—” She draws in a huge shuddering breath, wrapping her arms around herself. “They came out of nowhere. Nowhere.”
“Who? Who came out of nowhere?”
“His men,” she whispers.
An ember of fury sparks in my chest. “Whose men?”
“Angelo’s. From the restaurant.”
I tilt my head. Angelo’s is an old Italian place in the city that people either love or hate. I ate there once and left feeling like I wasted my money. “Why—”
“I wrote them a bad review,” she tells me. “And I included some things I’d heard from some reputable industry sources that said the restaurant is a front for illegal activity, which would make sense since the food’s so bad—it’s not their focus. They told me to retract the story or…”
I run a hand over her hair, struggling to keep the rage under control. “Or what?”
“Or they’d burn my new place.”
“Burn your…” I trail off, then gape at her as her emphasis on the word new takes on a horrifying meaning. “They burned your last apartment down? That’s what happened? Are you fucking kidding me?”
Seline stares at her lap. “I wasn’t sure when it happened, but I suspected.”
“Why didn’t you report it as arson?”
“Do you have any idea how difficult it is to prove arson by another party? The insurance company will find any way they can to deny a claim. It was hard enough to get the settlement I did end up with.”
I blow a hard breath between my teeth. “There’s got to be something we can do.”
“They said—they said they know where I live now,” Seline whispers.
“They won’t fucking touch you,” I hiss. “I won’t allow it.”
She finally meets my gaze, drawing a trembling breath. She’s truly frightened.
“You’ve got to call the cops,” I say.
Seline shakes her head. “The cops won’t do a damn thing. There’s no evidence. Even what happened tonight—it’s just my word against theirs. The CCTV in the garage would only show a few men—wearing masks, by the way—walking up to me, talking to me, and leaving. They didn’t touch me. They didn’t even touch my car to get it to not work—they had some device that knocked the battery out. I couldn’t even pick them out of a lineup, even if the cops did decide to follow up on it.”
I pull her into my arms without a second thought. She tenses with surprise for only a beat before she melts into me, her arms wrapping around my neck tight.
“You’re safe with me,” I promise her, smoothing her sweet-smelling hair away from her face. “I hope you know that. I’m so sorry this happened to you tonight, but it’ll never happen again as long as I’m around. I promise.”
She says nothing but squeezes me tighter.
I can understand why she doesn’t want to go to the cops—she’s terrified. But I can go to the cops. One of my best friends is a cop—Darby.
“Thank you,” she whispers finally, pulling back a little. “I do feel safe with you.”
Her fingers slide to my face, touching lightly, as she gazes up at me. The invitation, the need in her eyes is louder than words, and before I can draw another breath, her mouth is on mine.
Her lips are sweeter than anything I’ve ever tasted. I cup the back of her head, returning her kiss ferociously until her mouth opens under mine. Our tongues meet wit
h a sensual slide that makes my cock swell inside my jeans.
But I don’t want to take advantage of her when she’s vulnerable. That’d be a dick move, and I care about her too much.
I pull back, struggling for breath. “Maybe we should wait. I don’t want you to—”
“Please,” she begs. “Please. I need you.”
I need you.
I clench my jaw. “What do you need?” My voice is rough with lust.
“I need to feel you,” she murmurs. “Please, Rocco. I want you to make love to me.”
It’s all I need to hear.
I sweep her up into my arms and carry her to the bedroom. Chaplin stretches out on the sofa, bored with our antics. I nudge the door closed with a foot and lay Seline down. Her dark hair spreads beneath her like a dark halo.
“You’re so beautiful,” I tell her, running a hand lightly up her belly, under her shirt. “So beautiful it makes my heart ache.”
Her teeth sink into her bottom lip, puffy from our deep, needy kisses. I slowly pull her shirt over her head, then unbuckle her jeans and inch them down her hips. Her waist nips in, tight and narrow over beautiful round hips and thick thighs I want to sink my teeth into. I eye the mound between them, covered in white lace panties, while I pull my shirt off, and my cock weeps as I imagine plundering her with my tongue until she bursts in my mouth.
I shuck my own jeans next, and Seline’s eyes go wide as they travel all over my muscular body and the sizable bulge in my boxer briefs. I lean over her and claim her mouth again with a slow, deep, wet kiss that makes her moan, then dip my mouth to the rounded globes of her soft breasts.
“So perfect,” I mumble into her flesh, pulling off her lacy bra. Her nipples are hard, waiting for my mouth, and when I suck one between my lips, Seline lets out another soft, low moan, her head tipping back. I take my time with them, trailing back and forth, dipping down to her belly then running my tongue back up, until she squirms with need.
I run the pads of my fingers over the crotch of her panties. The skin below is puffy, soft, hot, and damp. “I think this pussy is wet and ready for me. What do you think?”
“Yes,” she says in a shaking voice.