Truth About Tequila: Believe in Me (Surviving Absolution #4)

by Nikki Belaire

  “That’s your one pass motherfucker. One. You’ll be dead before you can even think a second is worth asking for.”

  Matteo swallows hard from Max’s gravelly voice. As aware as much as she is that her fiancé will keep his promise.

  Max points to Bart, the strategist of the group. “It's time to pull the trigger on the scandal for the DA. Once she resigns, the governor will appoint the Assistant DA as interim DA. Then we’ll bankroll his re-election campaign. That will get them off our back for a long while.”

  “Already on it, boss.”

  Suck ass. She rolls her eyes from Bart’s subtle concession to Max’s authority. But Max remains expressionless, focused on business and ignoring the petty power games. Obvious he owns them, not the other way around. Absolutely no doubt.

  This time Max’s tone is gentler, still respectful of the woman who can gut a man from brains to balls in only a few seconds. “Diane, were any of yesterday’s shipments short?”

  One by one they give their updates. Seemingly thorough and methodical as Max doesn’t interject. Must be the normal routine. Any thoughts of a coup crushed before they could begin.

  She stretches out her arms, attempting to relax the taut muscles, waiting while they wrap up. Max doesn’t play host, remaining seated while they file toward the foyer in silence. Nonchalant and unwilling to show them out.

  As soon as the door closes behind them, Andy strides to Max. Speaking so low she can’t make out the clipped words. Yeah, he’s pretty shitty too. Max nods and shakes his hand. Their relationship as strong as ever. She hugs herself again. Not as confident in her own. Almost wishing the bodyguard didn’t just hustle out the door too. Because now they’re alone.

  And she’s scared.

  Max stalks to the kitchen and slams open the swinging door. The handle gouging the drywall from the force. She hops up from her seat. He would never hit her, but the fury inflaming his face kicks in her fight or flight response. All instincts telling her to fucking run.

  Scrambling backward, she bumps against the table, and can’t move before he’s on her. His towering body even more intimidating with only a few inches between them as he glares down at her.

  “What the fuck were you thinking?"

  "Carrie and Blade are with Shae, and I—"

  "I don't give a damn about anyone else right now but you. Why the fuck are you here after I told you to stay at the mansion?”

  "I thought you might need my help." Shuddering under his merciless stare, she lifts her chin. Fuck his anger. She’s going to fight. She did what needed to be done. "You only have Andy. What if that's not enough? What if you..."

  She stumbles over her own words. Even with all her crazy bullshit, she's never seen him this furious. A shiver rolls through her from the rage in his eyes. Suddenly, freezing she rubs her arms, trying to warm herself. Useless when the frigidity comes from him.

  His eyes widen as if he realizes something and his huge hands stroke over her convulsing shoulders and down her arms. She stiffens before he circles her stomach, terrified of his response when he finds what she’s hiding in her back waistband.

  "A gun? Son of a bitch, Gina." His infuriated gaze drops lower, and he runs his hands down her favorite wide leg pants, checking for more. "What the fuck are you doing here with a gun?"

  Now it’s her turn to be enraged. Doesn’t he understand how much she loves him? How frightened she is for his safety? "Fuck you! If you think I'm not in this too, that I’m not going to help you, then you don’t know me at all."

  Surprise opens his mouth from her outburst. A few seconds pass, and all the fury leaves his face. His expression falls blank and he steps back, shaking his head. Pain blasts through her chest from hurting him.

  But he doesn’t give her the chance to say anything else. Laying the Glock on the counter, he turns on his heel and marches to the windows covering the entire west wall. Away from her. Choosing to face the looming darkness outside rather than the blackness engulfing the two of them.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Of all things she could accuse him of, that’s the most untrue. No one loves or understands her more than him. And he deserves so much better than her insolence.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.” No response to her words or her hand on his twitching forearm. Blowing out a deep breath, she tries to calm her racing heart. And fix what she’s so stupidly broken. “I just meant that you can’t be mad at me for wanting to protect you.”

  His gaze never leaves the horizon, curtained in twilight, the lights from the city streaking out over the streets and glass buildings like iridescent fish bobbing through a shallow river. She slides in front of him, fisting his shirt, but he refuses to let her pull him closer. Rejecting her attempt to rebuild their connection. Shutting her out. Scaring her more than he ever has. “Max? Please?”

  “Damn it, G.”

  His huge hands glide under her ass, and he thrusts her up to his eye level. Her body winces from the cold glass on her bare skin in her backless blouse and his heat blazing through the thin fabric covering her stomach.

  "I'm barely hanging on from losing Nick. I can’t lose you too."

  Shame engulfs her from the terror in his tone. She was so wrong. Not anger, but fear driving his actions. Her Max. Huge. Dangerous. Deadly. And now vulnerable. Because of her. Showing her the side of him no one else gets to see. "You're right. I fucked up coming here."

  "Yeah, you did." He whispers in the shared air between their coupled bodies. "And I love you for it."

  His tongue strokes the seam of her lips, and he plunges inside. Cupping the back of her head to keep her from denying him as he grinds his dick into her already drenched pussy.

  Raw. Savage. Punishing.

  Her fingers lift from his chest to coil around his neck but he grasps her hands and pushes them over her head, both wrists captured in his huge hand, while the other slides under her shirt cupping her breast. Her pebbled nipples painfully straining under the sheer material to feel his touch.

  He breaks away from her mouth and taps his forehead against hers. His hooded gaze hungry for her. “I was rock hard almost the entire meeting.”

  Her pussy clenches again from the longing straining his voice. “Because of the power?”

  “Because of you.”

  His grip tightens around her forearms, almost painful in his possessiveness. Demanding her submission. To let him ravish her. Insistent on taking her right here. Right now.

  “Tell me now if you can’t handle me. Because once I’m inside you, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.”

  There’s no way in hell she won’t give him what he needs. When what he needs is her. “I’m yours.”

  He growls against her throat and slides his free hand down her trembling stomach, past his name, and strokes her soft folds. She gasps from the pleasure radiating through her. Fuck, this man knows how to push her to the brink with a single touch.

  “You’re so fucking wet already.”

  Even on the verge of losing control, he still takes care of her. Making sure her body is ready for him. Her desire growing to an inferno from his constant tenderness with her.

  “What do you mean already? I’m always fucking drenched for you, you arrogant bastard.”

  He is a bastard. Scaring the hell out of the woman he loves like an asshole. Fucking her when his best friend is dead. Giving into his urges when his other best friend is shattered, unable to comprehend their loss.

  But he can’t fight any more. Can’t pretend to be okay. He fucking needs her. Only her touch saves him from drowning. “I like it when you talk dirty to me.”

  Because she's his anchor. The only person who makes him feel normal. When the rest of their world spirals out of control. Her smart mouth and brave ass attitude keep him sane.

  “Then take your clothes off and fuck me.” She wiggles against him, ready to be released and naked.

  God he fucking loves this woman. He sets her on her feet and yanks down her pants and thong. T
he gauzy material pooling at her tiny feet. Only her red tipped toes peeking out.

  He drops to his knees and gently kisses the lily at her hip. Proof of the hell she’s survived. A reverent touch reminding them both of all they’ve been through to make it here. And, that they'll continue to make it no matter what.

  Her fingers drive through his unruly hair when he nips at his brand on her pussy, her hips flexing toward his face. Lavender fusing with her sweet natural essence that he can’t resist. His tongue darts out to explore her folds before sucking her throbbing clit between his teeth.

  The cry from deep in her throat twists with pleasure and grief. A torrent of emotions flooding him in unison with hers. Inundating him with the absolute certainty of her love for him.

  He lays his head against her stomach, encircling her hips to pull her closer. His grip so tight she bends over him, unable to keep her balance. “Forgive me.”

  “Always.”

  He kisses up her sobbing body. Over her belly button, between her breasts, the hollow of her throat, to her heated cheeks. Catching the tears dropping from her satin skin. The saltiness on his tongue a bitter reminder of their anguish. That this tiny woman remains stuck in. Yet she’s so fucking brave she’d battle every one of these bastards to save him. Which makes him so fucking hard despite their turmoil.

  Delicate fingers slide to his waistband, while he yanks off his t-shirt. Needing to feel her completely. Almost exploding from the groan in her throat when he turns her around, grasping her narrow hips to lift her up, and press her warm body against the cool glass. Giving her exactly what she likes.

  Melding her into his body, he strokes his cock, straining almost of its own accord to reach her. Understanding the joy she gives both of them. She palms the window, tilting her hips to meet him as he slides inside her. Thrusting long and deep to seat himself completely. So fucking perfect.

  One arm snakes around her torso while his other hand roams. Desperate and urgent to touch her. Everywhere. Brushing over her tiny wrist and up her shaking arm, the tricep twitching from holding herself so tight against him, cocooning her body in his. Stroking her smooth thigh, tickling her soaked lips filled with him. Plunging as deep as her sweet pussy can accept him, his dick sliding between her firm ass cheeks.

  Madness almost overtaking him to know that something this beautiful belongs to him. That she loves him enough to open herself to him while they mourn. Dirty and wrong, but he doesn't give a damn. Not when she's the only bright light in his darkness.

  He glides his fingers to her delicate throat, tugging the orange stone before gripping her tighter. The pulse in her neck racing under her skin, and he tips her ear to his mouth. "I fucking hate that I can't give you what you deserve right now. But I swear to God I'll find a way. I'll fucking do everything I have to do to make sure you're happy."

  "All I..." Her fingers entwine with his, curling his knuckles against the pane while she clenches around him. "...all I need is you."

  Fuck! He can't hold back, emptying himself inside her as she cries out. Her teeth bearing down into his wrist as they both tumble to the floor.

  16

  Chapter SIXTEEN

  Max stands up and digs the pads of his fingers into his lower back. Kneading out the kinks from sitting for too damn long. Reviewing the mundane details of his plan to purchase empty strip malls and turn them into phony business fronts. Low risk with eager county councils who want to tout revitalization of derelict properties to their constituents, while his team launders money through dog groomers, high end clothing consignments, and housewares outlet stores.

  But it's the other file on his screen that makes his chest hurt more than his back. Gina's list of potential surrogates. She was so fucking excited, reading through the profiles of women who love being pregnant but don't want any more children of their own. Now her chance to have a baby has been put on hold. Indefinitely. Fucking better not be permanent. That's a lie he tells her as well as himself. Guilt for letting her dream wither swirls with the shame of not keeping his promise to Nick to always protect Shae. Both failures enough to destroy all of them.

  Papers rustle on his desktop from his vibrating cell. Adrenaline pumps through his muscles to hear Marta's ring tone at this hour. He's turning into a pessimist – automatically assuming something's wrong. But sadly he knows it is.

  "Hi Marta."

  "I sorry it is so very late." Her worry pulses through the speaker. "But Shae she no sleep. I find her in office. She lay on sofa and stare at Nick's chair. I try to help her but she no let me."

  He massages his forehead, the beginning of a headache starting to take hold. Imagining how pitiful she must look. How broken she must be. "Maybe she just had a bad dream or something."

  "No. Every night like this. She wander around house. She make me promise not tell you but I worry."

  Fuck. He blows out a deep sigh and grabs his keys off the credenza. "Me too, Marta. Me too."

  "I call Carrie but she no answer."

  Probably asleep. Like they all should be. "It's okay. No sense waking her now. I'm on my way."

  Shoving the phone into his pocket, he strides to the bedroom. Not at all thrilled to have to let Gina know he's going out so late. Again. Seems like anymore he's always apologizing, and she's always forgiving him. Understanding the ceaseless dedication needed to reinforce his authority. And keep her and the girls safe.

  He pushes the door open, and damn it if his dick doesn’t stir to life. Gina's curled on her side, gorgeous eyes closed, lips slightly parted. Limp hand resting on her favorite sketch book, still grasping a blue pencil. She's fucking breathtaking. With little purple boy shorts that don't completely cover her sweet ass. Her shirt bunched high around her torso, revealing just a hint of the luscious curve of her breast with each gentle breath she takes.

  Damn. Nothing he'd love more than to slide in behind her and hold her all night in her contented slumber. But neither of them can enjoy that luxury tonight. He flips off the overhead light and wraps the comforter over her body. Only a fucking fraction of the tenderness he wants to give her.

  Twenty minutes later, he climbs off his bike. His stomach drops from Marta's lined face, her urgent wave to get him inside. Guilt eating at him for not talking to Shae for days and then showing up when her life has sunk even lower.

  “I glad you here. Nothing right. Nothing at all.”

  Oh how he knows. "Where's Shae now?"

  "The nursery."

  He nods and drags himself up the steps, pausing in the baby’s doorway. Zombies. That’s what they've become. He fucking feels like one, and Shae looks like one. All the light in her eyes extinguished. Only a flicker returns when she holds Evie. But that must hurt her too. As much as that baby reminds her of Nick.

  He steps closer. Not wanting to startle her as she stares down into the cradle. Sheer pink fabric adorning the white bed rustles from the air-conditioning. The only movement in the room. Actually, the entire fucking house. All of them swallowed up in a quicksand of weariness. None of them strong enough anymore to claw their way out.

  She’ll stand here all night if he doesn’t do something. Say something to convince her to get the rest she needs. But that’s a lie too. Not like lying down will actually make her sleep.

  “Shae?”

  “I don’t think I can do this anymore.” Exhaustion floods her cracking voice. No surprise with the hell they've been through. “I promised him I would be strong. That I would be able to keep going without him.”

  Fuck. He never thought about them having these conversations. About Nick preparing her for his death. As inevitable as his murder might be. But for his friend to admit the truth to her, force her to face the possibility of life without him, probably the harshest torture Nick could endure. Only worse would be him losing her.

  “But I don’t think I can. I don’t know how to survive without him.”

  “You don’t have to do it alone.”

  She turns and burrows against his chest.
No tears come. Too many shed in grief already. Now only rawness remains. All she seeks is strength. Which he barely has himself, let alone any to share. "Gina and I will help you."

  Her long hair rustles his shirt from her nod. A small sign of acceptance that maybe they can give her comfort. That somehow they will find a way to get through a life dimmed without the man responsible for their bond in the first place. Unaware at the time that humoring Nick's obsession with a seemingly fragile pop star would turn into one of his deepest friendships.

  “Mrs. DeMarco, I need a moment.”

  Her body stiffens from Blade's voice behind them, arching away from Max’s embrace before he can respond.

  “Yes, Blade. I’m coming.”

  Doubt slithers through his core and coils around his belly. Not sure what’s worse, this bastard issuing commands or her jumping to follow them. “Wait. Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Yes. I’m g-good. Thank you.” She brushes past him, almost running. Almost as if she’s frightened. What the fuck? As soon as she’s within reach, Blade’s huge fingers slide to her elbow, guiding her down the hallway. Away from him. He’s fucking spent, but swears to God she flinches under the pressure of the bodyguard's grip.

  He jogs up behind them, catching only the last few words this motherfucker angrily whispers in her ear. “…so don’t fuck this up.”

  Oh hell no. All his drowsiness evaporates from the bullshit playing out in front of him. He’ll be god damned if this asshole is going to speak to her like that. “What the fuck did you just say to her?”

  Blade jerks around, his body taut. Forcing Shae to palm the wall to keep from tumbling backward from the momentum. “Fuck you. I don’t have to explain a damn thing to you.”

  “Yeah, actually you fucking do. Because she’s my best friend’s wife, and I’ll fucking kill you before I’ll let you talk to her that way.”