Four Seconds to Lose ttb-3

by K. A. Tucker

  chapter twenty-eight

  * * *

  CHARLIE

  I’ve given up all pretenses that I’m leaving today or tomorrow. It might be in a week from now, or three weeks from now. But I’m not leaving until I absolutely have to.

  I thought the night on the pier was intense, but last night felt somehow . . . binding. Cain showed me just how much more demanding yet gentle, how much more passionate yet considerate, he could be. Raw emotions—feelings I can’t even comprehend, let alone verbalize—passed through each intimate touch, each time we surrendered ourselves to each other.

  I don’t understand how or why I’ve garnered Cain’s interest, but I’ll hold onto it as long as I can.

  Every inch of me is sore. And yet, if Cain needed more of me, I would give it to him right now. I’ll give him everything that I possibly can. Which doesn’t feel like very much, especially compared to what he’s so freely offered to me.

  My heart aches with that knowledge. I don’t know what to do. I don’t see how this can go on indefinitely. And yet no part of me will allow the thought of leaving right now.

  Perhaps he senses my presence because Cain suddenly turns to lock eyes with me, pulling a light gasp from my lips. His gaze drifts down my body, that deadly curl touching his lip. “I hope you don’t mind me going through your dresser.” My fingers stretch the plain gray T-shirt of his that I’m wearing as I make my way down the steps. I found it folded neatly in his top drawer and I couldn’t help but put it on. It reaches my thighs, it’s soft, and, though obviously laundered, it still somehow smells like Cain.

  He places the cup in his hand down on the side table and silently strolls over to wait for me on the landing. By the sudden tilt of his head and his focus, I’m thinking the shirt isn’t entirely long enough to cover the fact that I have nothing on underneath. When I reach the landing, his hand grabs onto the front of it, hiking it up around my waist as he pulls me into him. “I would prefer you without this.” His hands slide down along my back to get a solid grip of my bare ass.

  “What, like some sort of sex slave?” I tease as I inhale the scent of soap. Cain has showered. I, most definitely, have not. After last night’s bedroom marathon, I’m regretting this fact right now. It doesn’t seem to bother him, though. He pulls me into him tighter.

  “I tried to wake you up this morning but you sleep like the dead,” he says absently, a soft smile on his lips as his attention roams my face.

  I scrubbed my makeup off before I came down. I also took out the contacts. I can do that much for him, at least.

  “I could use a slave,” he murmurs. Then he leans down and lays one of his knee-buckling, thigh-tingling kisses on me and I silently thank God that I at least used his toothbrush to clean my teeth.

  “Hmm . . . I thought you said you weren’t a pervert,” I tease against his mouth.

  His dark chuckle sends shivers skittering along my skin. And then suddenly I’m being turned and my feet are moving backward to keep my balance as his powerful frame overwhelms me. Before I know what’s happening, my T-shirt is gone and I’m falling into the couch, just as Cain’s track pants hit the floor.

  The smirk on his face is downright dangerous. “I lied.”

  * * *

  “I really like waking up to you in my home,” Cain says as he slides a cup of coffee across the counter to me.

  “I can tell,” I murmur dryly, letting my eyes roll over Cain’s arms, his chest, down his stomach—memories of what all those muscles looked like straining above me only twenty minutes ago firmly entrenched in my skull. With a glance up, I see him watching me with an amused smile, as if he knows exactly what I’m thinking about. I quickly distract myself with a fake itch on my thigh, focusing intently on it.

  He could make it easier on both of us by throwing on a shirt.

  But he won’t.

  I think he likes me gawking at him.

  It’s not bad enough that Charlie Rourke is a drug trafficker and a retired stripper. Now I’ve turned her into a sex fiend.

  With a chuckle, Cain states rather than asks, “You must be hungry. I’ve got . . .” He opens the fridge and peers inside. “. . . condiments . . . orange juice . . . bread.” He sighs. “Sorry, Karina—my housekeeper—comes in twice a week to clean and replenish staples. I’m rarely here to eat a meal. But I’ll get this stocked.” Throwing the door shut, he pulls a piece of paper and a pen out of a drawer and asks, “What do you like?”

  Cain is making a grocery list. For me.

  I hesitate for a second and then grin playfully at him. “Frosted Flakes?”

  I get an arched brow in return. “Really?”

  “Childhood vice.”

  “Okay . . . children’s cereal. That will spark Karina’s curiosity, no doubt.” A slow smile touches his lips as he jots it down. His penmanship is exceptionally neat. “Ten pounds of coffee . . . your own damn toothbrush, so you don’t use mine again.”

  I feel the sheepish grin touch my face. By the wink he throws me, I think he’s only kidding.

  “Brass pole for my bedroom . . .”

  “They have those at the local grocery store?”

  His phone starts ringing as he adds while scribbling, “Ten economy boxes of condoms.”

  “What?”

  He answers his phone with a chuckle and I use that opportunity to snatch the paper out from under him. He actually wrote that down.

  “Nate,” I hear him say as he dumps the rest of his coffee in the sink and places the cup in the dishwasher. “Yup . . . good.” His gaze flickers to me. Listening for a moment, his eyes absently settling on my bare legs, Cain’s face suddenly turns serious. He stands up straighter. “Seriously? Fuck . . . Why didn’t you call me? . . . Yeah. I’ll have to deal with her tonight.” Another pause as he listens, his hand scratching his chin. Finally, he heaves a sigh. “Yeah, I’ll be in by four. I’ve gotta take Charlie back to her place . . . Yeah.” I can hear Nate’s deep rumble on the other line but I can’t make out what he’s saying. “See you later.”

  I sense the atmosphere in the kitchen shifting as Cain’s mood sours.

  And I hate it.

  “I should get you home, Charlie,” he mutters, now focused intently on the granite pattern. I can tell his thoughts are elsewhere, moving out the door to head back into his own reality. Everything about him—his body language, his facial expression, his tone—feels like it’s closing off. Shifting back to the Cain that I first met. It’s as though he’s pulling a door shut to leave me and whatever this is between us on the other side. Separated from that other part of his life.

  Cain and I have a lot in common.

  I dive for that doorway to wedge myself in. “What happened? I assume it involves Penny’s?”

  After a pause, “Yeah.” He leans down onto the counter and I don’t hesitate to reach forward and begin rubbing the muscles in his back, knowing that his body is tense again. I’ve noticed that the longer he’s away from the club, the more he relaxes. “China and Kinsley were at it again last night, fighting over a customer like two alley cats.” He shakes his head. “China threw a drink at Kinsley that accidently hit a customer. Now the guy’s threatening to sue.”

  “Shit,” I groan, silently piecing together the conversation. “What does that mean? You’re firing China?”

  He scowls. “No . . . Kinsley.” His eyes drift off toward the window.

  Wow. I don’t doubt that Kinsley is at least half-deserving, but . . . even with China physically abusing customers and putting his business at risk, he won’t fire her?

  His bottom lip pulls into his teeth. “I’m really starting to hate that place.”

  I lean in to press my lips against his shoulder, wishing I could help him somehow. “But you can’t walk away from it.”

  “But I can’t walk away from it,” he repeats with a slow nod, more to himself. Breathing in deeply through his nostrils, he mutters, “I hate firing people.”

  “Want me to do it?” I offer
casually, letting one hand settle against his chest while I gently run my index finger of the other hand down his spine. “I can pretend to be a mean-ass bitch boss for you.”

  I get a weak chuckle, but I’ll take it. After a pause, he turns to look down at me. “I was serious about that management job, when I offered it to you. You want it?”

  “I don’t know, seeing as . . .” Should I be accepting this, given the situation? Or, the situations. Not only am I leading this secret life that will force me out of Miami eventually, now I’m having ridiculously hot sex with the owner of the club. A lot of it. And he clearly intends to have a lot more, based on the scandalous shopping list he’s preparing for what I picture is a sweet old lady.

  And better not be a hot young tramp in a French maid outfit.

  I’ll ask him about that later.

  “Well, you’ve been giving me blow jobs every night before the club opens for weeks, so I don’t see what the problem is,” he teases dryly. And those rumors will likely become reality . . . “You’re not going on the stage anymore, so it works out well for both of us. In fact,” he says, suddenly standing up straight and turning to face me, “I don’t want you behind the bar, either.”

  I frown at him, trying to figure out if he’s joking.

  Cain heaves an exasperated sigh. “Just because we haven’t talked about that fucking asshole the other night doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten about him, Charlie.”

  I avert my eyes but feel Cain’s harsh gaze still on me. “I’m trying to respect your privacy and give you the chance to tell me about it when you’re ready. That doesn’t mean I won’t do whatever I have to do to keep you safe.”

  Panic stirs as my brain processes his words. What does that mean? Swallowing the small scream in my throat, I ask in a decidedly shaky voice, “What did you do to him?”

  Cain studies me—more likely, my reaction—for a long moment. “Made sure he knows never to lay a hand on you again.”

  “That’s a little vague.” It frightens the hell out of me. The last thing I need is a face-off with a vengeful Bob at a drop. If I do another drop. “Did you threaten him?”

  He pauses as if deciding whether to answer me or not. “Nate can be an intimidating guy.”

  Something tells me there’s more to this story. “What if he comes back and hurts you?” I’d die if anything ever happened to Cain or Nate because of me.

  Cain’s soft chuckle only increases my anxiety. “Don’t worry about me, sweetheart. It takes a lot to knock me down.”

  I set my forehead against the bar. Fantastic. Cain has a Superman complex. And now I know for certain that Cain can’t ever know anything about Sam. I can’t have him and Nate tossing around threats if Sam were ever to show up unexpected.

  Because Sam wouldn’t bother trying to knock down Superman. He’d simply kill him.

  “So?” Cain waits expectantly, though his tone has softened. “The job?”

  “Can you afford me?”

  “Oh?” He rolls on his elbows to face me, his smirk widening. “What’s the going rate again?”

  “A thousand an hour is what some are willing to pay.”

  “Right.” Cain starts to laugh. “You’re going to rob me blind, aren’t you?”

  I shrug. “Why else would I be here?”

  Cain plants a kiss on each cheek, followed by one on my nose, and then he lays a deep one on my lips, pulling a moan out of my throat. “You’ll be well taken care of, I can promise you that.”

  A twinge of guilt pricks at me. “How about we see how it goes. Temporary assignment, okay? We might not be able to stand each other after a week.”

  Cain shakes his head. “Sure, Charlie. But somehow I’m highly doubting that. Come on.” I get a playful slap across the ass and I beam, silently commending myself for keeping that dark, broody Cain from shutting me out. “Let’s get you some clothes and then we can go out to eat.”

  * * *

  “Hey, Kyle!” The slightly awkward security guard offers me a crooked smile as I walk through the revolving door of the extended-stay motel, as I have every Monday morning for months now, a coffee in hand and a low-cut T-shirt on person.

  “Hey, Charlie.” He watches me walk up, his eyes appraising me. “I didn’t think you were coming in.”

  Deliveries arrive by nine a.m. and I’m always here at exactly nine fifteen. Glancing at my clock, I note that it’s almost ten thirty. It’s the first time I’ve ever been late.

  I had to get away from Cain, something I haven’t done in days. He’s been within arm’s reach the entire time and I’ve loved every second of it. Most of the time, we’re either at Penny’s or at his place. I’ve even started using the gym in his building.

  I couldn’t have him coming with me to pick up the latest burner phone, so I used the excuse that I needed clothes from my apartment. He told me to just pack my suitcase and bring everything over.

  Cain was telling the truth. He doesn’t know how to date and he sure as hell doesn’t take things slow.

  “I know. Traffic. Biscayne Boulevard is backed up with all the construction.”

  “Huh . . . that might explain it. Maybe the delivery guy is stuck in it too, because there’s no package yet.”

  My stomach clenches. He can’t be stuck in it because there isn’t any construction on Biscayne Boulevard right now, as shocking as that is.

  So, why isn’t there a package for me?

  Trying to appear calm, I let my eyes roam the lobby area, looking for something suspicious. Something dangerous.

  Like Jimmy.

  Or Sam. Would he break his rule and fly down here for me?

  “Maybe. Oh well!” I give my best ditzy girl giggle as I hand him his coffee. What does this mean? I’m sure it means something. Do I still pitch my current burner phone? Do I call Sam? I haven’t spoken to him since confronting him about the real Charlie Rourke and I have no idea what he’s going to say.

  Do I run as if the building is about to explode?

  Suddenly I feel like an easy target, as if I’m standing in the middle of an open field with a slew of guns trained on me.

  Kyle happily takes a sip of his coffee, oblivious to the danger and pretending not to be checking out my chest. I start babbling some nonsense about a party I didn’t go to on Saturday, pretending not to notice.

  All I want to do right now is get out of here.

  I don’t know that I can last the compulsory fifteen minutes. I don’t know that I can last five minutes. Luckily, I’m not forced to find out, because the trill sound of the burner phone in my pocket starts to ring.

  “I’ve got to take this, Kyle. I’m so sorry,” I offer, abruptly turning and heading toward the revolving doors as I root through my purse. The second I step out onto the sidewalk, I’m scanning my surroundings, looking for some indication that I’m being followed. I see nothing. I’ve seen nothing for a week now and I’ve been watching closely for any signs of a tail.

  On the fifth ring, I answer, clenching my muscles to avoid peeing my pants.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello, little mouse. How are things?” His greeting is much more pleasant than I had anticipated. It’s as though our last conversation never happened.

  “Fine. Except the delivery didn’t arrive this morning.”

  “Yes, I know. I meant to call you earlier about that. I’m sorry if that worried you.” This is odd. He’s acting so . . . considerate. I see flashes of gymnastics trials and school plays, of Sam standing with armloads of flowers, garnering attention from parents around as the doting stepfather. Of hoisting me up onto Black Jack’s saddle with a twinkle in his eye.

  The warmth of those memories spreads through my chest, reminding me that there was a time when nothing tainted our relationship. When I thought I was the luckiest girl on the planet.

  “There are some issues with competition and we need to lay low for a while. Jimmy will sort it out, but until then, you just enjoy yourself. I see you’ve put a good dent into the mo
ney I sent to you.”

  “I bought a few new dresses,” I lie. I went back to the bank last week to drain my secret account and a chunk of the one Sam knows about, dumping it all into a safety deposit box that I can access at any time.

  “Good. I’ll send you some more money to keep you busy. There won’t be any more deliveries of any kind for a while.”

  There’s dead silence on the phone as he waits for my response.

  “For how long?” I dare ask.

  “Months. Or longer. I may need to find another way in. It’s getting risky.”

  Another way in? What does that mean? Another way in that doesn’t involve me, perhaps?

  No more burner phones, no more drug drops, no more deceiving Cain?

  Could this really be happening? With my free hand, I pinch my forearm. I’m still here. My phone is still in my ear.

  In the back of my mind, I can’t help but wonder if there’s something else at work. If it’s not this easy, if Sam is in fact reacting to his suspicions about me. Either way, it sounds like I won’t be doing a drop for a long time. Maybe ever again.

  That life could truly be part of my past.

  And then I could actually look at Cain as part of my future. I’ll have to tell him about this one day, of course. But, by then, maybe he’ll actually love me. Enough to be able to forgive me.

  * * *

  I don’t walk through Cain’s door.

  I float. On a fluffy white cloud of shock and confusion and possibilities and hope that never existed before, I float through the condo, in search of a possible new future. I find it on the balcony, stretched out on a lounge chair with a book.

  Cain looks up to see me standing over him. “Charlie?” He watches for a moment and then frowns. “What’s wrong?”

  Pushing the book free from his grip, I force myself onto the chair to lie atop him, taking in his bewildered expression.