by Winters, W.
“Whatever gave you the idea that I’m a gentleman… I take it back. You should know I’m practically a savage.” My joke is rewarded with a sweet laugh and a complementary blush coloring her cheeks.
Laura rests the pool cue against the table so she can take another sip of beer before telling me, “I may have picked up on the savage part.”
“You like the beer?” I ask her and she shrugs.
“So far I don’t hate it.”
I wait, taking my time for my next comment until she’s lined up and pulled back.
“I heard you liked something else today,” I start and watch her ass sway, her hips rocking as she teases the cue, letting the slim wood thread through her fingers as if she’s a pro with it. I’ve got a full hard-on just from watching her, and I might be a bastard, because I’m not ashamed of it in the least.
“What’s that?” she asks, squinting just so and ready to strike.
“Heard you told your girl Cami that you like my ass,” I confess just as she pushes her weight forward, barely hitting the cue ball and bumping into the table as well. With her mouth hung open, although it comes with a smile she can’t contain. A vibrant rose hue colors her chest all the way up to her cheeks. The balls smack against one another and only three break away, not giving her a damn thing.
“Speechless?” I question when she doesn’t say anything, the butt of the pool stick hitting the floor as she holds it against her body.
My lips are on my beer, but my eyes stay on her as I drink.
“You’re not a savage,” she finally responds with more confidence than anything else, “you’re an ass.” She says it all with the most beautiful smile. I belt out a laugh, holding my hand out for the cue. She’s resistant, pursing her lips, but gives in, passing me the stick.
Our fingers brush one another when she does. Electricity strikes me, coursing through my arm and then down my body. It’s hot and the heat lingers long after she’s sulked back to sofa, sitting on the armrest with her arms crossed against her chest. I want to feel that all the time. The way she makes me feel with such a simple touch.
“I don’t remember saying a damn thing about your ass by the way,” she says and shrugs. I make my hit quick, lining up an easy pocket shot. Crack. I move to the other side of the table, lining up another that should break up the rest of the balls. It’s a more difficult setup, requiring a little more strength.
“Is that memory of yours selective?” I ask her and immediately pocket another ball. With the stick in my right hand, I round the table, daring to look back at her.
She’s seething but the embarrassment, or anger, whatever’s got her panties in a bunch, is mixed with desire that’s been coming to the surface more and more with every passing day.
It’s quiet until I pull back.
“You do have a nice ass,” she mutters, and I look over my shoulder to see her shrug, bringing her beer to her lips, her eyes focused on the ass in question.
“Glad I can give you a good view,” I offer and just miss the next pocket.
Laura’s giddiness is accompanied by a squeal of “my turn” and her quickly coming up behind me while her left arm brushes against my back and her fingers dance over mine. Every touch is deliberate, seductive, and I am drowning in all of it. I don’t let go of the stick at once. When she tugs it, her eyes meet mine and the air sparks between us, getting hotter and lighter.
“My turn,” she whispers, and I let go, not saying a word. I back up to the other end of the sofa, memorizing every curve of her body. She calls the side pocket and with a soft touch, the ball rolls lazily into the pocket. I have to wait until her back is to me to adjust myself. I’m uncomfortably hard, my cock pressing against the zipper of my jeans.
“We didn’t come up with a bet,” she reminds me when she misses her next. We trade places with little conversation, but the heat between us is there, and when she hands me the pool cue, she hesitates, forcing me to look into her eyes and see the smoldering heat that stirs in them.
“Right,” I nod when she hits the cue ball, misses, and makes her way back to the other end of the sofa, handing me the pool stick. I’m still standing where I was, watching her. Instead of going back to the table, I make my way to her, planting the stick down right in front of her, both of my hands around it as I ask her, “What is it that you want, Babygirl?”
Her beautiful blue eyes drop to my lips in a heartbeat. I know it’s one heartbeat because my own pounds in my chest with lust and need.
“I can have anything?” she questions in a breathy whisper, slowly raising her gaze back to mine.
I lean in closer until my lips are only inches away from hers. “Anything you want.” The tension sizzles between us.
Her chestnut hair falls in front of her, draping around her shoulders and I reach forward to tuck a lock behind her ear. I don’t get the chance to though, because Laura’s small hands reach up, grabbing on to mine. There’s desperation in her touch, want and need swirling in a deadly concoction in her eyes.
“Seth,” she says, trying to speak my name easily, but lust mingles with the single syllable. She closes her eyes, breathing in deeply, letting her chest rise and fall.
All I have to do is lean forward. That’s it.
But the door whips open and Derrick’s voice booms in, startling Laura.
She gasps and backs away, leaning deep into the sofa as I glare at Derrick.
“Oh shit, sorry,” Derrick says and looks between the two of us. “I didn’t mean to…”
“It’s fine,” I answer but my tone denotes that it’s anything but fine. Clearing my throat, I ask him, “What is it?
“We need you. Some,” he pauses and glances at Laura who looks down and away, like she’s not listening as he continues, “information just came in.”
I know exactly what he’s referring to and it can’t wait. Fucking figures.
“I have to go,” I tell Laura rather than answering Derrick. “I’ll drive you back.”
“You don’t have to,” she answers sweetly, not at all bothered that our non-date ended as quickly as it began.
“It’s not about what I have to do. Do you want me to?” I regret asking her that the moment the question slips out. Derrick’s still here watching and I’m on edge waiting for her answer.
“Yes… please. I want you to.”
Derrick butts in, responding to both of us. “We have to go that way anyway.” He speaks to Laura this time. “So even if you said no, I’m sure Seth would have insisted.” He’s friendly toward her but I can see the warning when he looks back at me, the politeness when he looks at her. He still hasn’t changed his mind.
I haven’t changed my mind either.
* * *
“I hate your fucking guts,” I mutter to Derrick and he only chuckles in response. Like all of this is some joke to him. The evening sky is already black, not a star in sight and with no streetlights in Laura’s neighborhood, the only lights are from the windows lining the rows of townhouses.
“No you don’t,” he finally says, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. “I was surprised you brought her to The Club. Didn’t even know she was back there with you.”
Nervousness pricks down my neck. I know exactly why he wouldn’t think I’d bring her there.
“She wanted to do something this weekend. I offered to take her.”
“Of all the places?” he questions, but doesn’t say anything else as I put the car into drive and make a right, driving back to the highway.
“You kiss her yet? Or was that your first and I completely cockblocked you?”
“The latter,” I answer, tightening my grip on the wheel. My palms heat talking about this with him. He’d given up all the warnings for weeks now.
“So no kiss?” he asks like it’s unbelievable.
“No kiss,” I answer him, not bothering to hide my resentment toward him for interrupting us. I’m not just taking it slow. I’m letting her lead. Which is taking a longer time than I’
d hoped. It’s fucking torture but that’s what I get.
“If that’s not a sign, I don’t know what is.”
“What are you talking about?” What sign?
“That I just happen to walk back there and stop it. You’re in too deep with her. And you know it.”
“This again?” Anger forces my muscles to coil. “I told you, it’s none of your business.”
“It is my business, because you’re my friend. My best friend. I’d give my life for you,” he stresses in a pained statement.
“I’d do the same for you and you know that,” I say and pause, making sure he accepts that as fact, “but she’s not up for discussion.”
“Could you even love her? Knowing that she doesn’t know.”
She’ll never know. I’ve already decided that. She will never know the truth. It’ll kill her. I won’t allow that to happen. An intense wave of protectiveness jolts through me, leaving a cold sweat to cover every inch of my skin. Having to slow down at the stop sign, I look Derrick in the eyes and say, “There were only five of us in that room. They’re all dead now except for you and me. She will never know.”
“They could have told someone else. You don’t know.”
My head shakes in anger, denying what he’s saying. No one else knows. They can’t.
“I’m just saying, are you sure you want to go after her and not end this? It’s not too late to walk away. She’ll be all right, man. I’m telling you. She’ll be fine if you walked away.”
“I’m not walking away, Derrick. It’ll be best for us if you never bring that shit up again.”
He starts to apologize, but I cut him off, easing into traffic and aiming to end this conversation, “I made up my mind on how this is going to happen. If anything gets in my way, or threatens to get between me and Laura, there will be hell to pay. I want her, and I’m going to have her.”
I know if she were to find out the truth, she’d hate me. I’ll do everything I can to keep it a secret.
“She’s going to fall for me,” I speak out loud, wanting Derrick to know it, to accept it and get the hell over his reservations.
“Are you going to be able to give her that back?” he asks in a calm, even voice riddled with true concern. “Can you really fall for her, knowing what you did?”
If I were a better man, I’d keep her away because I don’t know the answer to Derrick’s question. I wouldn’t dream every night for her to kiss me. He has it right. It’s selfish of me to want her to be with me.
I’m not a better man. She makes me feel like one, though. That’s why I can’t stop.
I don’t answer his question, and he doesn’t bring it up again.
All I need is for Laura to kiss me. One kiss, and then I won’t hold back a damn thing anymore.
* * *
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Sneak Peek at Merciless
From USA Today bestselling author W Winters comes a heart-wrenching, edge-of-your-seat gripping, romantic suspense.
I should’ve known she would ruin me the moment I saw her.
Women like her are made to destroy men like me.
I couldn’t resist her though.
Given to me to start a war; I was too eager to accept.
But I didn’t know what she’d do to me. That she would change everything.
She sees through me in a way no one else ever has.
Her innocence and vulnerability make me weak for her and I hate it.
I know better than to give in to temptation.
A ruthless man doesn’t let a soul close to him.
A cold-hearted man doesn’t risk anything for anyone.
A powerful man with a beautiful woman at his mercy … he doesn’t fall for her.
Chapter 1
Carter
War is coming.
It’s something I’ve known for over two years.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
My jaw ticks in time with the skin over my knuckles turning white as my fist clenches tighter. The tension in my stiff shoulders rises and I have to remind myself to breathe in deep and let the strain of it all go away.
Tick. Tock. It’s the only sound echoing off the walls of my office and with each passing of the pendulum the anger grows.
It’s always like this before I go to a meet. This one in particular sends a thrill through my blood, the adrenaline pumping harder with each passing minute.
My gaze moves from the grandfather clock in my office to the shelves next to it and then beneath them to the box made of mahogany and steel. It’s only three feet deep and tall and six feet long. It blends into the right wall of my office, surrounded by polished bookshelves that carry an aroma of old books.
I paid more than I should have simply to put on display. All any of this is a façade. People’s perceptions are their reality. And so I paint the picture they need to see so I can use them as I see fit. The expensive books and paintings, polished furniture made of rare wood… All of it is bullshit.
Except for the box. The story that came with it will stay with me forever. In all of the years, it’s the one of the few memories that I can pin point as a defining moment. The box never leaves me.
The words from the man who gave it to me are still as clear as is the memory of his pale green eyes, glassed over as he told me his story.
About how it kept him safe when he was a child. He told me how his mother had shoved him in it to protect him.
I swallow thickly, feeling my throat tighten and the cord in my neck strain with the memory. He painted the picture so well.
He told me how he clung to his mother seeing how panicked she was. But he did as he was told, he stayed quiet in the safe box and could only listen while the men murdered his mother.
It was the story he gave me with the box he offered to barter for his life. And it reminded me of my own mother telling me goodbye before she passed.
Yes, his story was touching, but the defining moment is when I put the gun to his head and pulled the trigger regardless.
He tried to steal from me and then pay me with a box as if the money he laundered was a debt or a loan. William was good at stealing, at telling stories, but the fucker was a dumb prick.
I didn’t get to where I am by playing nicely and being weak. That day I took the box that saved him as a reminder of who I was. Who I needed to be.
I made sure that box has been within my sight for every meeting I’ve had in this office. It’s a reminder for me so I can stare at it in this god forsaken room as I make deal after deal with criminal after criminal and collect wealth and power like the dusty old books on these shelves.
It cost me a fortune to get this office exactly how I wanted. But if it were to burn down, I could buy it all over again.
Everything except for that box.
“You really think they’re going through with it?” I hear Daniel, my brother, before I see him. The memories fade in an instant and my heart beat races faster than the tick tock of that fucking clock.
It takes a second for me to be conscious of my facial expression, to relax it and let go of the anger before I can raise my gaze to his.
“With the war and the deal? You think he’ll go through with it?” he clarifies.
A small huff leaves me, accompanied by a smirk, “He wants this more than anything else,” I answer him.
Daniel stalks into the room slowly, the heavy door to my office closing with a soft kick of his heel before he comes to stand across from me.
“And you’re sure you want to be right in the middle of it?”
I lick my lower lip and stand from my desk, stretching as I do and turning my gaze to the window in my office. I can hear Daniel walking around the desk as I lean against it and cross my arms.
“We won’t be in the middle of it. It’ll be the two of them, our territory is close, but we
can stay back.”
“Bullshit. He wants you to fight with him and he’s going to start this war tonight and you know it.”
I nod slowly, the smell of Romano’s cigars filling my lungs at the memory of him.
“There’s still time to call it off,” Daniel says and it makes my brow pinch and place a crease on my forehead. He can’t be that naïve.
It’s the first time I’ve really looked at him since he’s been back. He spent years away. And every fucking day I fought for what we have. He’s gone soft. Or maybe it’s Addison that’s turned him into the man standing in front of me.
“This war has to happen.” My words are final and the tone is one not to be questioned. I may have grown this business on fear and anger. Each step forward followed by the hollow sound of a body dropping behind me, but that’s not how it started. Y can’t build an empire with blood stained hands and not expect death to follow you.
His dark eyes narrow as he pushes off the desk and moves closer to the window, his gaze flickering between me and the meticulously maintained garden stories below us.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” his voice is low and I barely hear it. He doesn’t look back at me and a chill flows down my arms and the back of my neck as I take in his stern expression.
It takes me back years ago. Back to when we had a choice and chose wrong.
When whether or not we wanted to go through with it meant something.
“There are men to the left of us,” I tell him as I step forward and close the distance between us. “There are men to the right. There is no possible outcome where we don’t pick a side.”
He nods once and slides his thumb across the stubble on his chin before looking back at me. “And the girl?” he asks me, his eyes piercing into mine and reminding me that both of us survived, both of us fought, and each of us has a tragic path that led us to where we are today.