by Shel Stone
In a way, he understood the kid’s hunger. That had been him not so long ago, but he’d been a lot smarter in getting what he’d wanted. His predecessor was doing fifty-five years in federal prison, and Palmer would be lying if he said he’d had no part in it. It had been a silent coup, and everyone had greeted him warmly as he’d stepped into his new role. Conners was running roughshod over everyone, making noise and taking heads.
What remained to be established now was exactly how stupid this kid was.
Taking his shoes off, he rose from his seat and walked over to the bar. The marble was cold under his soles as he poured himself a drink and sipped it. Trials and tribulations were a part of the job. Being good at this meant being good at quietly removing problems.
Again, he wished he could sit out on his balcony, remembering he had to inform Nook. Drink in hand, he moved to the door. “The balcony—” he started, but saw her curled up asleep on his bed. Her hair framed her face and her hand rested by her mouth. Gone from this world, clearly exhausted. Traveling was hard on the body and they’d had some hard days.
Laying down next to her, he crossed his ankles and rested his drink on his abdomen. Her breathing was deep and slow, her face looking so young and innocent when she slept. She was a tough girl, but she melted when he touched her.
It startled him how angry he felt at the thought of Conners trying to get to him through her. Having her around was a weakness, a means of getting to him, but he couldn’t bring himself to wish he was alone in this apartment.
He wanted to show her every restaurant in town worth its salt—to see her melt with pleasure as she had in New Orleans, discovering the delights of French food. Maybe teach her about wine. She clearly found pleasure in her senses.
There were so many other things he wanted to do to her—right now, but he let her sleep. He’d join her in a minute, but he needed some time to wind down from the day.
Maybe her punishment was to stay with him, remain his hostage. Obviously, someone like him didn’t do girlfriends, and the kind of women who wanted to be his girlfriends were ones he was naturally wary of. A kingpin would be the last person Nook would want to be tied to, and her punishment was to be just that. Beholden.
But it wouldn’t be the finer things in life that would keep her there. It was her guilt that had her here in his apartment, and what he was punishing her with. The guilt would eventually fleet away. By then, she might just be hooked by what he did to her. There was no distance in her when he pushed inside her, no defenses or barriers, just raw access to her soul.
It made sense now why she guarded her freedom. But she was no longer going to be free. He was going to keep her.
Chapter 29
IT WAS COLD WHEN she woke on top of the bed and warmth lay beside her as she reached out. Unwittingly, she shifted toward it and sank back into sleep with the comfort of his body. Had no idea where she was, but he was there and that was all she needed to know.
A kiss woke her again, but it was light now, morning. She was warm and comfortable, unwillingly drawn out of sleep. “Morning,” she said and smiled.
His hand stroked down her cheek and she refused to open her eyes. Taking off her t-shirt, she snaked her arms around him and pressed her bare chest to his. It was the most glorious feeling. “Good sleep?”
“Mhmm,” was all she could manage, snuggling down into the warmth between them. Lips pressed a kiss to her forehead and she reached up and claimed those lips. The scent of him surrounded her, his arm resting on his waist.
The gentle comfort was replaced by urgent desire and her hand ran along the skin of his abdomen and fire ignited inside her. It was relentless. It had been agony sitting next to him in the car, wanting him every single moment. She’d never had it this bad for a guy before.
Reaching down, her land slipped into the soft material of his pants and found him half ready. He responded in her hand, growing rock hard. Yeah, she did it for him too.
Pulling away, she pushed down the boxers she’d appropriated, then shifted back, bringing her leg up the side of his thigh, until his cock pressed between them. His shallow breath deepened as she worked him into the right spot at her entrance. Her insides were clenching with anticipation.
“So eager,” he teased.
“I’ve waited hours.”
Slowly, he pressed in and glorious heat filled her. Her breath faltered. It wasn’t the easiest position, but it felt that bit naughtier, as if it was stolen. His hand held her thigh at his hip and he worked in and out of her, in no rush at all. But he needed more. This was too agonizing.
With her body, she pushed him back until she straddled him, bringing him deeper inside her. Nook moaned at the feel of him fully inside her. Now she could take what he needed and she pressed her hands down on his chest, while his thumbs teased her nipples mercilessly.
Wringing every sensation, she rose and took him to her heart's content, trying to stop her body from taking too much too fast. She wanted to enjoy every exquisite moment. Loved seeing him underneath her. Loved… him.
She faltered for a moment. No, obviously, that couldn’t be. She barely knew him.
“You alright?” he asked.
“Yeah, of course,” she said. His eyes glittered and his lips parted and a renewed sense of needing more overcame her.
Rolling her hips, pleasure intensified, swelled inside her. Her insides were tightening, growing stronger with every roll. His hands were now guiding her, grinding her down on him.
“God, I can’t stop wanting you,” he said. “From the moment I saw you.”
“What?” she asked, confusion clouding her mind, but it was overtaken by her orgasm crashing down on her, spearing through her body, again and again. His arms now around her, he pulsed deep inside her, joining her in this exquisite agony.
Finally, it released her from its fierce grip, and he relaxed his grip on her too. Leaning on her arms, she supported herself.
His hot and heavy breaths contracted every muscle of his chest as he recovered beneath her. This was too comfortable to move.
“You can’t go out on the balcony, by the way,” he said.
“What?” Nook said in confusion, trying to get her mind working.
“It’s off limits.”
“Oh, okay. Anything else?”
“Well, you can’t sleep with anyone but me, but that goes without saying, I think.”
“Does it?”
“Withstanding the fact that you ask while my cock is literally inside you, yes, it is part of your punishment. And you can’t go out.”
“Fuck off. I never agreed to be a prisoner.”
“That one is actually for your safety.”
“That’s what all creepy boyfriends say.”
He gave her a warning look. “No messing. There is probably someone out there right now looking to snatch you to use against me.”
“Maybe we should have a conversation about your lifestyle.”
“I am not your boyfriend,” he said.
“And yet, your cock is literally inside me right now.” Shifting her hips, he groaned and shuddered.
“I don’t do girlfriends,” he said.
“Well, that works out well then, because I don’t do boyfriends.”
Finally, she got off him, missing the warmth of him already. “How can any of this be worth it if you can’t even go outside?”
“It is temporary,” he said, pulling on a t-shirt.
Grabbing the t-shirt she’d slept in, she pulled it on too. She’d grabbed it out of his closet and it was much too large. “My clothes need to be laundered.”
“Just go online and buy whatever you want,” he said. “I’ll make breakfast.”
“And you cook too,” she said with a smile.
Nook followed as he walked out into the open plan part of the apartment, around to where the kitchen was. Clear blue water surrounded them, islands out in the distance.
Sitting down on a stool, she watched as he started making omel
ets for them. She’d never been with a guy who knew how to cook before. He went about it with a seriousness in which he did most things.
“Are you local?” she asked. His accent suggested not, but she’d never actually asked.
“Yes. Not originally. My mom brought us down here for the climate. I came from Portland originally. “But I haven’t been back since.”
“You have no family back there?”
“No one that agreed to care for me when she died, so no.”
It suggested there was someone, but she understood him refusing to acknowledge someone who hadn’t stood up when the chips were down. Family couldn’t always be trusted. She knew that as well as anyone else.
Actually, it had been a while since she’d called her mom. There wasn’t really any need to hide things from her now.
Palmer placed down a plate of omelet with peppers and mushrooms. It was gorgeous, both silky and firm. “You’re not a bad chef.” Something to fall back on in case this drug kingpin thing doesn’t work out, she thought tartly. Speaking of. “So what do you have to do now, with this coup thing?”
“Far better that you don’t know.”
It hit home the seriousness of it all. This stuff that he did was illegal. FBI level stuff that could all come crashing down. She could be interviewed by the FBI one day, forced to tell what she knew about him. It creeped her out a bit, if she was honest.
There was something so very awesome about him, but then also something that wasn’t. It was the most flawed compromise she’d ever been presented with, because on some levels, he suited her so well. He understood where she came from and the things she did to protect herself. He didn’t mess around with dumb shit. Alright, she did a bit when she was partying, but she never lost control.
Why did Mr. Perfect have to come is such a shitty wrapper?
Because he wasn’t Mr. Perfect. This thing between them just couldn’t be. This could not be where she stayed. Moving on was what she’d eventually have to do.
The lovely omelet had turned to cardboard in her mouth.
He’d chosen this profession because it was an avenue he could succeed in—and he had. This was how he’d chosen to prove himself to the world. It was perhaps rich of her to judge him for it. She, after all, made her living working in tittie bars. Shitty options available, and they’d both chosen the best they could.
Eating faster than her, Palmer went back to the bedroom and returned a short time later wearing a suit. He looked so different like this, from the guy she’d snuggled with just before in soft cotton pajama pants. Although she had seen him more like this, but she wasn’t sure which was the real him.
“As I said, happy for you to order what you want.” Reaching for his wallet, he pulled out a credit card. “But please don’t go out. It’s not safe at the moment, not until I sort this out. Please,” he finished. “I am asking you.”
“Fine, I’ll be a prisoner,” she conceded.
“It’s only for a while.”
As was this relationship, but she left it unsaid. It didn’t feel that way, deep inside, but it had to be. And they both knew it.
For now, though, she would wait for him to return, so it could just be the two of them for that little while longer.
Chapter 30
IN HIS MASERATI, Palmer drove to the office of his flooring company. His team was meeting that day, primarily to discuss Conners and how to deal with him. It was part of their normally scheduled business, and that was how he wanted to treat Conners. A loose cannon in the organization that had to be dealt with.
The sun shone brightly and the breeze was warm as he drove with his windows down. It was nice to be back home. Despite the trouble he’d arrived home to, he was in a good mood, but Conners wasn’t the cause of it. And it wasn’t strictly the sex, because sex was available—as much as he wanted. This was something else. This thing with Nook—Alicia—was something else.
This girl that had come into his life in the most violent way, but had featured within it since the moment she’d appeared. Even now, he wanted to call her, but there wasn’t a SIM card in her phone—he’d destroyed it. On the way home, he’d drop into a convenience store and get her a new one.
Inside his jacket pocket, his phone rang and he pulled it out, seeing the number of his contact from the mayor’s office.
“Donny,” Palmer said jovially as he answered. Donny wasn’t his real name—they used fake ones just in case someone was listening in. “What can I do for you?”
“You able to meet for lunch today?”
“For you, Donny, I’m sure I can rearrange my schedule.” Palmer didn’t like being called to a meeting, but expected that there would be some ruffled feathers.
“Usual place?”
“Sure.”
The conversation ended, and Palmer put his phone down on the passenger seat. Soothing frayed nerves seemed to be a more onerous task than usual, but it had to be done. This period would end and everything would calm down again. It was his core mission right now.
Arriving at the office, he got out and scanned the street. No forlorn looking van sitting around, which was a good sign. Searching for surveillance was ingrained in him at this point. This meeting with ‘Donny’ was obviously not to tell him he’d drawn attention—or rather Conners had drawn attention to the whole operation.
People assumed they were gun happy people whose injured pride had them whipping out their pieces on whim, but that was far from the truth. The last thing anyone wanted was attention. Pulling out a gun—well, nothing short of imminent death would justify it. Nothing gathered attention like gunshots, and any perceived violence linked to the trade sent people into a panic. Really, people were more likely to die by mugging than getting caught in the crossfire of a drug war. At the lower end of the scale, where gangs dealt, nasty shit happened, but it was part of his job to ensure they didn’t spread across the city. The street dealers were a fact of life, but they rarely got ambitious, and any single one of them never lasted long.
More of the worry were the gangs coming in from down south. No one wanted the mess happening south of the border to spread north, and cooperation was the key to make sure it didn’t.
“What’s new?” Palmer asked as he walked into the boardroom. The techs were finishing their swipe for bugs and everyone waited patiently until they left.
“Well, from what we can gather,” Rosa started, “Conners is holed up in a house over South Beach way. Has brought in some hungry low lives to work his distribution for him. Amateurs. They’re bringing in supply from the Del Dia gang in Mexico.”
“Those fuckers?” Palmer said with surprise. An MC gang on the periphery, known for their psycho leader. Palmer sighed. Getting into business with a psycho was a new level of dumbfuckery.
“As far as we’ve seen, none of the Del Dia boys have turned up on the streets,” Carlos added. Well that was something, at least.
“Conners isn’t getting much traction in the clubs. People don’t trust him.”
“No shit,” Carlos grumbled.
This coup had no traction and it showed from the start. “So now we shut this down. Let’s pick up some of these low-lives that surround him—quietly,” Palmer said. Conners was a bigger problem to deal with, because he was the nephew of an important man up the supply chain—who had asked Palmer to take the kid under his wing and show him the ropes. Unfortunately, Conners bit everyone around him, and his uncle was now seeing it. Still, taking him out would cause disgruntlement. If there was a way of removing him without taking him out, gratitude would be earned. Conners would, of course, never been seen in Miami again. If it had been anyone else, they would’ve already quietly disappeared to be found somewhere so to send a message to anyone even contemplating something similar.
If unable to find a satisfactory solution, Conners would meet that fate, nephew or not. For now, Palmer would wait and give Conners’ uncle a chance to make him toe the line. This consideration was simply a courtesy to a man Palmer respect
ed.
“Alright, keep the info coming in. We’ll reassess as things change,” Palmer said before they changed the discussion toward more mundane operational issues. This couldn’t, after all, interfere with normal operations. The show had to go on.
The meeting finished up and Palmer looked at his watch, seeing he had to go meet with the mayor's office. Inwardly growling, he begrudged the time this would take. There were more interesting things he could be doing right now than a clandestine meeting with a staid official.
*
The apartment was cool when Palmer walked into it around six in the evening, finding Nook sitting on the couch, watching TV. She was wearing the same clothes he was used to seeing her in, freshly laundered.
She rose as he walked in. “Hey,” she said, shifting where she stood, seemingly a bit awkward. “How are things?”
“Sure you want to know?”
Biting her lip, it drew his attention and fired his imagination.
“No, probably not,” she replied.
“How about going out to dinner?”
“I thought it wasn’t safe to go out.”
“In light of how things are right now, we’ll have to take some guards.”
“So, date night with bodyguards. Sexy.”
“This time will end soon.”
“Yeah?” Nook said. “I don’t really have anything else to wear.”
“Shopping didn’t go so well?”
“I’m not really the kind of girl who wears like cocktail dresses and stuff.”
Palmer smiled. “Are you saying you’re too badass to wear a dress?”
“Probably not the kind of dresses people who go to these restaurants wear.”
“So you don’t want to go?”
“I’m not saying that. Just don’t expect me to know what kind of fork goes with what.”
“How about we go to a restaurant where you get one fork?”
“Works for me,” she said with a smile that was almost shy. Some of these things were pushing her out of her comfort zone. Not that she’d done too badly in New Orleans, but then New Orleans didn’t bat an eyelid at much.