by Celeste, B.
And again.
And again.
“I want it all with you,” he whispered into my neck, sucking my skin. My eyes watered from the sensation, from his words, from the sincerity in his tone as he entered me. Each thrust became harder, but slower, like he didn’t want it to end. I could feel the brink of my orgasm as he rested a palm against my chest and laid me down so my back was flat against his desk. I grabbed onto anything, accidently knocking over files stacked on the side of his desk. The loud crash of them against the floor should have made me embarrassed but it didn’t. All it made me was crazier for the man who listened to my whimpered pleas and started fucking me until I bit the side of my arm and came harder than I ever had before.
“You’re fucking clenching me so tight,” he grunted, slamming into me twice more before grabbing my hips and sliding me to him so there was no space at all between our bottom halves as he came inside of me. The feeling of him spilling into my sated body had me hotter than ever, but not as much as when he caressed my inner thigh, kissed my exposed scar from where my shirt rode up, and pulled out letting his cum drip out of me and onto his desk.
“Oh my god,” I whispered, still trying to catch my breath as I stared up at the light brown ceiling.
Theo must have grabbed something because his hand was between my legs cleaning me up with something soft, making me moan when he brushed the tender bundle of nerves that were still firing.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath before letting him help me sit up. When we were eye level, I leaned forward and kissed him softly, which he returned with fervor. Our lips and tongue and teeth played off one another in slow strokes before he pulled away and rested his forehead against mine.
“You’d do anything for me, Della?” he asked again, his breath caressing my lips.
“Yes.”
I’d barely pulled away, my lips grazing his again briefly, when he said, “You need to get help, sweetheart. I’ll be here for you whenever you need me, but I think you should see Ripley more often.”
I tensed, feeling my face pinken for an entirely new reason other than overexertion. I’d expected a lot of things coming from his mouth, but… “You think I need help?”
“Della, I don’t mean that in a bad way. You said she helped before, right? What just happened shouldn’t have, even if seeing me leaking out of you makes me want to do it again. You look like you haven’t slept in weeks. You’re skinnier. I’m worried about you.”
All I could do was stare, still feeling his cum inside of me, still reeling in the delicious ache he’d gifted me with just moments ago.
“Whether you want to admit it or not, you’ve lost weight. You can tell me it’s because you’re dancing again and going to yoga with Tiffany, but it’s more than that. I’m not stupid, Della, and I know you know that. What did I tell you before?”
Before. What he was referencing was before my father had been arrested. They’d had an intervention for me when I’d gotten home from a walk. I was embarrassed and silent the entire time they spoke to me until Theo followed me into my bedroom where I’d stalked off when I’d had enough. I’d been in skimpy pajamas heading toward the bathroom, unaware that Theo was going to follow me there too. He’d grabbed the sheet that covered the mirror and gestured at it. Making a point. Making me see what I refused to while I shriveled into nothing the months prior.
My father had told me he didn’t know what else to do. He was a lot of things, but a quitter wasn’t usually one. I should have known then that something was up with him. He’d been withdrawn, tired, easily worn out and unwilling to put in the effort it took to handle what I was going through, and I hadn’t made it easy for him to understand.
He’d already been in too deep at that point, which made sense. It was only a month or so later when the feds came knocking on our front door. A door that I had answered in confusion, which morphed into more when they explained why they were there. And my father? He let them read him his rights without assuring me anything. Maybe he couldn’t.
The day they had an intervention had to have been Theo’s idea. My father wasn’t the same man who promised my mother to be better. He was a shell. Lost. Scared. Waiting for the inevitable. It was Theo who had been there, who had demanded I admit what I wouldn’t.
“All I’m saying,” he continued without me even trying to cut in, “is that you should reach out to Ripley and try making another appointment sometime soon. It’ll be good for you, Della.”
To that, he got a muffled scoff. “Good?” It was a win for him, I wasn’t telling him no right away. Realistically, he was right. Part of me was crying for help, for something. Someone. Not an escape. A cure. But I knew even after talking to Ripley, it would always be the same because there was no cure for self-hate that the anorexia and body dysmorphia had left me with.
“What did I tell you before, Della?” he repeated, voice firmer and giving me no other choice but to answer.
With a shaky breath, I looked up at him and whispered, “You told me I’d fall and fail and break but that I wouldn’t give up…”
“But you will also rise, succeed, and put yourself back together because only you can.”
I remembered every word he said to me over the years, but those especially. I knew there’d be a day I needed to hear them again because what I battled wasn’t a one-time thing. It was lifelong and that meant there would be fights to face when the time came. I saw my skin, my eyes, the way I held myself right now, and knew, just knew, I was falling. Theo knew too.
This was his second intervention.
It was the one thing he told me that day that stuck with me most. Right next to what my mother had told my father on her deathbed. I murmured, “Only I can put myself back together.” I spoke it so softly, I wondered if he heard. But it hadn’t been for him to hear. It was for me. Like when I said the two little words be better under my breath in no more than a broken whisper, like I’d been summoning the determination to honor that.
Theo didn’t ask about it though because those words gave me the strength I needed. It was probably easy to see in the way I straightened my shoulders and glanced up at him like I was going to agree. I didn’t though. Not verbally.
Before I could, Abigail knocked on the door again, before hesitantly calling out, “Mr. West?” There was an awkward pause, a moment where Theo and I stared at each other. “I’m sorry, Mr. West, but there’s a gentleman here to see you who insists it’s important. I’ve never seen him before or…”
Theo nodded once, his eyes not leaving mine. “Thank you, Abigail.”
When she left, all I did was look up to him and say, “She prefers being called Abbie.”
Chapter Seventeen
Theo
I dropped the file onto the glass desk that was too flashy for me but perfect for the egotistical asshole sitting behind it. He looked down at the manila folder in front of him for a microsecond then moved his eyes upward with an arched brow that held amusement more than confusion. For someone in his early fifties, the fucker’s speckled gray hair was faker than he was, like he thought it made him look more distinguished.
“I was wondering when you’d pay me a visit,” The Dick said all too casually. I didn’t sit in the seat he gestured to or reply when he’d offered me a drink. I didn’t want to stay longer than I needed to, and I certainly didn’t want to drink whatever he handed me.
“Anthony Saint James,” were the only words out of my mouth.
The other eyebrow raised to join the first as he leaned back in his chair. I didn’t like the way he draped his arms on his lap or how he cocked his head to the side for me to continue without so much as a question as to why I was bringing up a dead man. We both knew the reason. He just didn’t think he’d have to hear about him again. Plain and simple.
I pointed toward the document. “I don’t know who’s cock you had to suck to try getting those documents destroyed, but clearly you’re shit at a decent blowjob since it didn’t take much to collect inf
ormation on what you’ve been up to over the years.”
The moment his face turned red, I smiled. Tendons in his neck tightened and my anger grew for the bastard who acted like he didn’t give a shit about anything or anyone. Least of all a man he hired somebody to get rid of. “You come into my office and—”
“It’s annoying, isn’t it?” I cut him off. Shrugging, I leaned my hip against his desk. “I’m curious, though. What made you think that getting Rodney Scott a new gig over in the San Fran area was going to get him to keep quiet? Was it threatening his reputation? Or his sexual orientation? Fuck, maybe it was the dirt you dug up on how his marriage was fake. Deidra Scott took that money you offered her real quick, didn’t she? Can’t say I blame the woman. It must have been challenging to watch your husband parading men around her all the time knowing she was the last person he was giving his dick to.”
His nostrils flared. “You want to explain to me why you’re bringing up Saint James’s defense attorney? Seems a little pointless at this point, doesn’t it?”
That made me laugh. Loud, deep, rumbling laughter escaped my previously pressed lips, only flattening his more in reaction. He loved watching people when he played the game, but he was shit at taking it. “I’m sure you’d like to think so considering the circumstances of his untimely death.” His jaw ticked as I pressed on without giving him time to argue. “It’s not a secret that Rikers Island is known for their unjust brutality. In fact, with the right amount of money, anybody could get away with a few crimes inside. You already know that though, so I’ll skip ahead to the good stuff. Phone records. Video recordings. Oh, and one very talkative guard with an overbite. Officer Johnson? I’m sure you know the one I’m talking about because you padded his bank account with over $100,000 dollars just weeks before Anthony was beaten to death in the section he was supposed to be monitoring that night.
“Come to think of it, the video alone says plenty. But you didn’t know that because the money you gave him was blood money to ensure the cameras were turned off during the attack. The phone records may not reveal a lot in the grand scheme of things because Scott wanted one on one time with Saint James without being recorded to go over their meetings, but your name was said enough to make the federal judge question why you weren’t more involved in questioning during the trial. You and Henry Murphy sure were lucky all this time. Must have been a relief knowing you two could keep living your lives knowing somebody else was taking the fall.”
Slowly, Pratt stood up with a deadly glare on his face. He didn’t even touch the folder I dropped in front of him, much less look down to figure out what was inside. I’d wanted him to, to see what kind of evidence was stacked against him so he knew he wasn’t the invincible asshole he thought he was. Money talked. Counterfeit money talked louder. Other businesses Pratt was known for, drugs, weapons, sex trafficking, practically screamed. As did the audio of Rodney Scott and Anthony Saint James discussing appeal tactics by gathering names to help prove Anthony didn’t act alone. “I’m giving you ten seconds to get the fuck out of my office before I call security to escort you out themselves.”
I figured he’d say that, but I didn’t give up the smile I’d had since seeing his eyes glaze over with the fear he pretended not to feel. “You know George Malik, right? Real standup guy, that one. He was arrested and put on trial for stealing government funds while he was in office, remember that? Got away with it and to a lot of people’s shock. There was a great writeup on it in The Times by Nicholas McAllister. From what he told me, he had a great approval rate because of that piece. Was even offered a hefty promotion that came with a raise The Times couldn’t afford to pay out. Seemed fishy to me. So did the interviews with Malik that nobody else could get besides him. He said he had connections to get him on top, make sure he told the right story. Not the truthful one.”
He picked up the phone and held it to his ear pressing one of the buttons leading out to the front desk I passed when I stormed in. “Daphne, I need you to call sec—”
“Nicholas McAllister had connections beyond you though. Slimy motherfucker was working both sides. Playing you. You don’t even know that do you? Michael Flamell ring a bell?”
He dropped the phone back into the cradle with force before narrowing his eyes at me. “What game are you playing here, West? Don’t think I won’t play it right back. I have—”
“What?” I challenged, stepping forward and crowding his space. “What do you have on me that’s as bad as first-degree murder on top of a slew of other charges which are coming your way? Whatever hold you think you have on me is worthless compared to what’s in that folder right there, and the folder in Flamell’s hands as we speak.”
“Who the fuck is Flamell?”
I chuckled. “Your problem, Richard, is that you only care about power. You think the more people you control, the more money you can make, and the more authority you have over everyone else. What you forget, though, is that you’ll never be able to control everybody that works under those you blackmail. People talk. Things get out that you don’t want out. Like the operation you got in the south side of the city on 10th. Or how about the one three places down from the old warehouse on 5th? I remember you at Anthony’s funeral looking like you actually gave a shit for about two seconds before someone came over, whispered in your ear, and you both left. You went to the old shoe factory, right? Makes sense given what’s made in there. There’s plenty of space, lots of filtration so the people you hire don’t die from the toxins of the drugs you have people produce and distribute.”
He paled.
“Back to your question. Michael Flamell is a friend of a friend. A trustworthy friend, unlike the jackasses you pretend are yours. Can’t exactly be friends with the people you blackmail into giving you control of their businesses to use as strongholds for your dealings. That tends to piss them off.”
I’d hired Dallas for a lot of reasons, but one of the biggest being his former background in criminal justice. He worked for the police force upstate before moving to the city and retiring when his wife and him decided to expand their family. He was offered a gig working for the NYPD because of his reputation, but he turned them down. He’d gotten calls from the chief asking to help with a few profiles, which was how he got into tracking. He accepted smaller jobs along the way which led him to me. I knew the tasks I’d given him weren’t what he was used to, but I paid him well and offered him plenty of incentive when the situation called for it. And the best part? He came with connections. A lot of them.
Not to mention, he cared about Della. That reason alone made me pay him more than most so he’d stick around and look after her.
“This friend told me about Flamell a while ago, said I’d be interested with the intel he had on a high-profile case right here in the city. Wasn’t quite sure why the fuck I’d care, frankly, but when your name was mentioned?” I didn’t hide the shit-eating grin on my face. I relished in it—relished in the fact his lips turned downward, how his face drained of color, because he knew. He knew where I was going with the story, knew who my friends were. I didn’t have many, which meant targeting the ones that were around wasn’t hard. Which also meant he knew who Dallas was, including his background. He had people for that too.
“Flamell wears a badge now for the feds. Made real good friends with McAllister from what I learned after our conversation. In fact, between him and McAllister, I found out you and Flamell have a lot of mutual buddies. He enjoys talking to them as well. And guess what, fuckface?” I grinned. “They like talking to him too.”
“You’re lying.” He didn’t even believe that, but it was about time he tried acting like the powerful man he made himself seem. He knew he didn’t have any of his men here to get past what I was laying down. He had nobody.
“Am I?” I challenged. “If I’m lying, you wouldn’t hesitate to open that folder to prove me wrong. You’re a coward, Richard. Always have been and always will be. See, you may be able to scare other people into
doing your bidding, but unlike the other scum you keep around, I don’t get mixed up in the dark side of the city. So, you can threaten to out my feelings for Adele all you want but it won’t make a difference.”
He stepped up to me with hard features like he was willing to throw down. The fucker was a few inches shorter than me, leaner, and had barely any muscle because he let everybody else do the fighting for him. I could take him down with one punch, but I knew I wouldn’t need to. “How do you think people would react if Adele were caught with drugs? Do you think they’d leave her alone knowing she was starting where Daddy Dearest left off? Just because you don’t want anything to do with the dark side of things doesn’t mean your little young pussy doesn’t.”
I wanted to hit him—to cave his face in with one blow. But he was expecting that. It’d look bad, even with Dallas and Flamell in my corner. They wouldn’t be able to stop me from getting arrested if they knew I threw the first punch and I wasn’t about to let The Dick get to me like that. “She doesn’t do that. You’ve been talking out of your ass about her for months and have no goddamn proof, so I suggest—”
“What do you think the police will say if they knew how much time she spends in the south side? It seems convenient she’s been seen there at night. What else would somebody her age, with her reputation, be doing there? All it takes is one little call, West. One.”
My fists clenched. I knew everything he spouted was bullshit, like usual. The warehouse was the one place I wished Della would have stopped going to a long time ago, but the least I asked of her was to take Dallas when she decided to ignore my concern. Dallas may have liked her, but he would have told me if there was something more going on than I was aware of.
She was always by herself there. She painted. She sometimes even fucking danced—I’d seen it, watched it on more than one occasion before she even started practicing again with the Anderson girl. Della wasn’t there because she was into the things her father had gotten pulled into.