by Layla Frost
“Nah, too contained,” Jury pointed out. “It’ll be a torched building on Main Street.”
They debated the possibilities as they stationed themselves outside the door.
I pushed it open. “Knew it was gonna be a good night. Felt it in my fuckin’ dick.”
Victor Jones sat tied to a chair, his eyes wide and his mouth gagged. Of Nash’s extensive crew, Vic was in the top ten—though that wasn’t saying much since Nash liked to be alone way up at the top.
It was his biggest downfall—besides his love of drugged-up whores. He was greedy. He paid his team shit. He cut corners, hired quantity over quality, and pocketed the savings.
But people who worked for cheap were stupid. And they did stupid things.
Like return to the scene of their crime.
Knowing this, Glitch had wired Ophelia’s apartment with security cameras and silent alarms. It’d taken longer than we’d expected, but they’d been triggered earlier. Nox had been closer to do the pickup, taking him to a warehouse to wait for us.
No, wait for me.
‘Cause if this was about Gus, Nox would be furious if someone took away his chance to make a motherfucker pay.
But first, I wanted any answers the piece of shit was willing to spill in an attempt to save his worthless life.
Nox leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest and his feet at the ankle.
Casual.
Like we were there to shoot the shit.
The bastard was tied to the chair, knowing his life was on the line, and we were unfazed.
Either it’d rile him into talking or insult him into it, his ego hit that he wasn’t under our skin. That his life meant that little to us.
He looked the second type, so I gave him my back as I talked to Nox. “Been thinkin’ about getting season tickets to the Bs for next year.”
“Cost a dime.”
“See Chara slammin’ bastards into the glass two feet in front of me? Worth the price.”
“Aye, that’s true. Dair’s been on my ass to get season tickets to the Sox even though that asshole doesn’t even live in the States, but Bs might be better.”
“Can’t go wrong either way. Or Celtics for that matter. Pats are good, but you’ll freeze a nut sittin’ out there all winter.”
There was muffled talking behind me, the metal chair creaking and scraping across the concrete floor.
Nox and I ignored him and continued our conversation until there was so much movement, I worried he’d knock his chair over, smash his head on the floor, and takeaway my fun.
“Didn’t your ma ever teach ya it’s rude to interrupt?” I moved to him, pulling the dirty gag away and then immediately dodging the loogy he tried to spit my way.
Predictable.
So much for a challenge.
“Fuck off,” he bit out, stretching his jaw side to side.
“Man,” I started, circling the chair, “isn’t it Criminal 101 to not return to the scene of the crime?”
“Aye,” Nox agreed. “But ya know they always do what Nash orders.”
“That’s bullshit. I’m no one’s fuckin’ dog.”
Ignoring him, Nox rubbed his beard. “What do ya think Nash was looking for?”
Vic’s cocky smirk fell when I said, “Nothing.”
Predictable.
A-fuckin’-gain.
I looked from Vic to Nox. “My money says Nash refused to pay this dumbass for the first job since he failed.”
“Fuck off,” Vic said, but it lacked the anger it should’ve held.
This isn’t about the money.
“Interesting,” Nox muttered, picking up on the same thing. Stepping away from the wall, he studied Vic and his flop sweat. “He went back ‘cause he wants back in Daddy Nash’s good favor. Shit shaking up over there?”
“Fuck off,” he repeated, that time looking pissed—and not just at us.
“Oh, damn.” I smirked, slowly shaking my head. “You’re already out. Cut off. We make a call from your phone, he’s not answering.”
“He would,” he tried.
A thought hit me, and disappointment sank heavy in my gut. “If he’s cut you off, that means he’s not worried about you talking ‘cause he’s been phasing you out longer than you know. You’ve got jack-fuckin’-shit to tell us.”
And I dragged myself from drunk, happy O for nothin’.
The rest of the color drained from Vic’s face. “That’s not true.”
Nox cursed. “That’s his M.O. Otherwise, Nash would’ve had Vic’s replacement put a bullet in him.”
“No, no, no,” Vic chanted.
“What were ya looking for in the apartment?”
Gulping, he choked out, “None of your business.”
“He doesn’t even know.” Pissed I wasted my time, I asked, “Did you just tag along with who he actually sent?”
“No, I know what he’s after. We can work together. I can report back to you, tell you everything I hear.”
Using my anger at him, at Nash, at the fucker from Rye, I pulled back and punched him hard enough to tear his cheek. “I fuckin’ hate liars.”
Vic shook his head, but he wasn’t disagreeing.
He was clearing the cartoon birds flying around his head.
“It’s true. I only went back ‘cause the chick who lives there is hot,” he tried, lying again.
Or half-lying.
My voice was calm. Cold. “What?”
He went alert but wasn’t smart enough to keep his mouth shut. “I—I think she works for Nash. He’s got some high-price whores who work a different market than his clubs. I figured she’s one of them. I left a surprise on her panties last time and—”
“Well, that was fookin’ stupid,” Nox said, his tone indifferent.
“Seriously.” Taking out my gun, I pulled the trigger, barely glancing at Vic as his worthless life drained out of him.
Once the ringing in our ears faded enough to talk, Nox said, “Beck’s here.”
“Saw him.”
“Looking like a lad at Christmas?”
“Yeah.”
Shaking his head, he asked, “How’s the lass?”
“Got drunk at Rye tonight, kicked a dude in his balls ‘til he puked, and is probably passed out now.”
“So, good then.”
I grinned thinking about how my violent, ruthless princess kept me on my toes. “Fuckin’ perfect. How’s Gus doing?”
As if on cue, his cell rang and the smile on his face said exactly who it was before he answered on speaker. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Gus said with a laugh. “You still doing Batman things?”
“Just finished. What do ya need?”
“Uh, the baby is demanding tacos. And Twinkies, but not the kind in the box—the packaged ones from the bodega. If that’s okay?”
“The baby wants it, she gets it, mo chuisle.”
“We don’t know it’s a she.”
“Aye, I do.”
She gave a sigh. “Miss you.”
I gave him a flick of the wrist wave and left before I heard whatever obsessive shit he said to his wife.
And so I could hurry home to my own obsession.
_______________
Putting my fists on my bed, I leaned down to see Ophelia in the dim light of my phone on the bedside table.
Fuck, she’s beautiful.
Her face was soft and relaxed in sleep, her hair spread around her like a damn sunrise. My already hardening dick thickened fully when I noticed she was sleeping in my tee. It jerked when I saw her hard nipples pressed against the thin fabric, no sign of a bra.
I didn’t give a damn that it made me a scumbag, I knew I’d be using the image to jerk off.
Before I could do that, I needed to do what she’d asked.
“O,” I whispered, brushing her hair from her face.
“Don’t call me that,” she whispered back groggily. Stretching, she blinked a few times before smiling—sma
ll and sleepy but real.
Fuckin’ killin’ me.
“You’re home.” She tried to sit up a little but must’ve decided it was too much work because she flopped back. “Everything go okay?”
“Fine. Waste of time, but fine.”
“Good,” she said softly, closing her eyes.
“Get back to sleep.”
I shifted to straighten, but before I could, she reached out and gripped my shirt without looking. “Come to bed.”
“Just gonna change.”
“No, sleep with me.”
“Princess—”
“I’m not drunk,” she said before cracking one eye. “Okay, I am. But even if I wasn’t. Just…” Her words trailed off but she tugged at my shirt as she scooted over.
Weak when it came to her, I climbed into the bed. I hadn’t even settled when she rolled back and threw her arm and bare leg over me.
“Good night,” she whispered.
I was in my jeans and tee.
I was hard, my dick curved at a painful angle.
And I had O’s body half on mine, torturing me.
It wasn’t a good night.
It was the fuckin’ best.
CHAPTER TWELVE
___________________________
OKAY
JUDGE
“DID YOU GO shopping for Sunday yet?”
“I’m going this afternoon,” Swedes told me. “Need to add to the list?”
“I’ll see what O wants.”
He didn’t look surprised. “She know she’s coming with?”
“Not yet.”
Raising his brows, he stood and muttered, “Now’s your chance.”
Looking over my shoulder, I saw Ophelia standing in the family room doorway. Her hair was messy, her shoulders were slouched, and she looked exhausted and hungover.
But still so fuckin’ beautiful.
Trudging over, I thought she’d take her seat next to me—or shove breakfast off the table and climb up to sleep there. But when she reached me, she nudged at my shoulder until I pushed my chair back.
Then, proving I could spend every damn day of my life with her and still not know what to expect, she climbed onto my lap.
Resting her head on my chest, she reached her arm toward the table. I didn’t catch on fast enough, so she wiggled her fingers.
I took a stab in the dark and put my coffee cup in her waiting hand.
It was the right choice.
Only moving enough to take a sip, she gave a soft moan and sigh.
Tonight.
Tonight it’ll be me making her make those noises.
Unless she freaks about the travel plans, and I spend the night protecting my balls and guarding the exit.
“Gotta talk—” I started before she reached up and covered my mouth.
“Too loud. And can you tell your heartbeat to quiet down, too?”
My lips moved against her fingers, muffling my words. “Not when you’re around.”
“No being sweet when a marching band and mariachi band are having a battle in my head.”
“Hungover?”
She barely moved her head to nod.
“Hungry?” I asked.
Her nod was a little bigger for that.
Before I could ask what she wanted, Swedes came back, the smell of greasy bacon filling the room. He set a plate of bacon, eggs, and hash in front of us before handing her pain meds and the big cup that’d become hers.
“You’re an angel,” Ophelia told him, a look of adoration on her face.
And she’ll look at me like that, too.
Not even trying to move off my lap, she scooted closer to the table and dug in.
“You made me toast,” I pointed out the unfairness, tapping my plate that had one piece left on it.
Swedes shrugged. “Scythe said she knocked ‘em back like she had a hollow leg. That calls for grease.”
“Doing the Lord’s work,” she said between bites of bacon.
If there was one way to get on Swedish’s good side, it was enjoying his food. He’d worked in some of the best kitchens in the city before retiring early. He still cooked, but only for friends and family who appreciated food for being food, not fancy statement pieces of deconstructed bullshit.
Food was his gift, and someone eating it without restraint, showing how much they enjoyed it, was the ultimate thanks in his book.
He grinned at her.
“Toast,” I repeated.
“You know where the kitchen is,” he shot back. “I’m taking off. Let me know what needs to be added to the list.”
“Got it.”
“Thanks for the breakfast,” Ophelia said, blocking her mouth with her hand so we couldn’t see what was in it.
Which, based on the crust in her other hand, was my toast.
After Swedes had left, Ophelia’s plate had been cleaned, and she’d finished off her coffee and mine, I asked, “Feeling human again?”
“Mostly.”
“Good. Then we gotta talk.”
She tried to look unfazed, but her poker face was as shit as her shit-talk. “Nothing good comes after that.”
“You ever been to Tennessee?”
Her brows lowered as she drawled, “No… why?”
“We’re going Sunday.”
“As in, two days from now?”
“Yeah.”
“To Tennessee?
“Yeah,” I repeated.
“You know, when people runaway on impromptu trips, it’s to, like, Vegas. Or the Bahamas.”
“Name the place and time, and I’ll take you wherever you wanna go. But this is a work thing.”
“The big weekend thing you’ve all been talking about,” she muttered. “How long will you be away?”
“We’ll be gone six days. Maybe seven.”
“I can’t go out of town.”
“Why?”
“Because…” Ophelia started before giving a half-assed, “I can’t.”
“P.O. won’t let you cross state lines?”
“No!” She rolled her eyes before casually adding, “He’s cool, but the state of Tennessee isn’t. Neither are the other fourteen states I’ve been kicked out of.”
Laughing, I couldn’t stop myself from pulling her closer and burying my face in her neck.
Dropped a stack on all that girly shit, but it’s worth double for how fuckin’ good she smells.
I forced myself to sit back, otherwise I was gonna put her on the table, drop to my knees, and eat the best meal of my life. “It’s that violent streak.”
She shrugged, but as our eyes locked, I knew we saw the same thing.
Want.
No.
Need.
Ophelia broke the contact first, picking up her empty cup before setting it back. “I can’t stay at Nox’s place?”
“Want you with me.”
“Have things gotten worse?” she asked, going alert. “Was that what last night was about?”
“No, it’s the same as before,” I answered honestly since Vic had been a waste of space and time.
“Then why—”
“Want you with me where I know you’re safe, but I also just want you with me.”
“Is this trip about the medicine?” She looked almost gleeful at the idea of participating in a drug delivery.
Fuck, she’s perfect.
“Sorry, badass, not this time.”
Her face fell. “Oh.”
I’d have told her that I’d set one up just to get her smile back, but it would’ve been a lie. No way was I bringing her on a delivery. They were so smooth, they were boring, and I didn’t wanna think about what femme fatale shit she’d pull just to spice it up.
“Then what is this trip for?” she asked.
Shit. Hoped like hell she’d opt for her own Ophelia-Clause.
“I can’t tell you.”
OPHELIA
That’s not good.
Judge had always been forthcoming. Honest to the poin
t of blunt—especially when it came to me. After all he’d shared, him drawing the line must’ve meant it was bad with a capital holy shit.
My mind went wild, jumping and leaping to conclusions like it was a superhero.
He gripped my chin again, tilting my face up. “This is one of those things that aren’t about me.”
“Will you eventually tell me?”
His eyes went hooded and his lips curved into a smile that was as charming as it was wicked.
I had no clue what’d caused it, but the view of it did things to my heart—and regions farther south.
Seeing the crack in my resolve, he broke it open by promising, “Soon as I can, I’ll tell you everything.”
“Okay,” I relented.
“Okay,” he echoed, his eyes dropping to my mouth.
And, stupidly, impulsively, needily, I tipped my head farther.
Biting out a quiet but harsh curse, he moved his thumb from my chin, stroking it across my bottom lip.
And even more stupidly, impulsively, and needily, I parted my lips and darted my tongue out to taste his skin.
A groan rumbled from his chest and his control was gone. Snapped. Fervently, he rearranged me so I was straddling his thighs before hauling me against him. His thumb slid from my lip to under my chin, his long fingers curling around the side of my neck.
And then he kissed me.
Like he’d been starved and dehydrated, and my mouth offered all he needed.
Like I was the breath in his lungs.
Like I was his to kiss and feel and take.
And maybe I was.
Because when his tongue pushed in, I opened wider and gave.
His arm around my waist loosened as he rubbed down my spine to my ass, gripping it. Using his hold, he ground me against his hard cock, lifting his pelvis off the chair in an attempt to get closer.
The only way that could happen was without our damn clothes in the way, so he yanked my shirt up, breaking the kiss just long enough to pull it off. Once it was gone, he deftly undid the clasp on my bra before that joined my shirt on the floor.
I thought he’d go right for my breasts. Hoped he would. I was ready to beg for those deft fingers on my sensitive nipples.
But he took it slow. His mouth roughly worked mine—bruising kisses and a branding tongue—but his hand was gentle. It tenderly skimmed my side, his fingertips grazing the side of my breast before sliding down again.