The Hustle (Irreparable #4)

by KJ Bell

  I stroke my chin as I do my best to not feel happy. Where was this girl years ago when all I wanted was a nice girl and a white picket fence? “Oh, Peyton . . . I wish I could say yes, but . . .”

  “Oh, wow. Okay stop. Seriously, this is so embarrassing. Forget I said anything.”

  “I don’t want to forget. It’s cute.”

  “Oh, God, that’s even worse . . . Cute? Kittens are cute, babies are cute . . . gah . . . it’s fine. I get it . . . You have a type and I’m more like that type’s cute little sister. So, let’s stick with the professional relationship bit before I completely die of embarrassment. K . . . sound good?”

  “Whoa . . . that was a mouth full . . . If I was looking to date, you’d definitely be my type, but I recently left a bad relationship and . . .”

  “Of course, and . . . Oh, your son . . . too.”

  Her voice drifts off and all that remains is a faint hum in the line. For what feels like forever, I remain quiet and think about all that I’ve lost and who I really am. I’m not sure I know who Aidan Hunter is. All I know for sure is he’s not good enough to go on a date with a woman like Peyton.

  Finally, Peyton says, “So, the loft will be ready tomorrow morning, and I’ll be here to do a walk-through whenever you arrive.”

  I end the call without another word. She’s exceptional and smart and everything I love in a woman. She’s also one heartless bitch and a huge mistake too late.

  On the way home, I think about Peyton as I did most of the night. She shouldn’t have asked me out. I should have asked her. That’s what a man does when he’s attracted to a woman, like I am to Peyton. Maybe if I quit trying to control things in my life, I’ll find peace. I chuckle out loud. Right . . . fucking peace might be a stretch, but I am going to ask Peyton out on a date. A typical, ordinary date that doesn’t involve her lips on my dick—where for one night, I pretend I’m normal.

  I know I should leave Peyton alone, but I can’t fight the attraction pulling me to her. There’s a sick feeling in my gut that won’t go away, a sensation that can only be soothed by getting to know this woman. It’s more than physical, more than my dick pointing in her direction and enthusiastically shouting, “Yes . . . Her!” I like Peyton as a person. She makes me laugh, and more so, she makes me feel good. In truth, when I talk with Peyton, I actually like myself. She obviously has magical fucking powers.

  I park and practically run to the elevators. Now that I decided to ask her out, I can’t wait to get to her. I tap my foot anxiously as the elevator stops on what seems like every floor to let people out. Once at my floor, I sprint down the hall as a smile forms. Maybe this can actually work. Perhaps Peyton is the woman I’ve been waiting for all along.

  Or not . . .

  The door left ajar to the loft heightens my senses, but when I hear sniffling inside, panic sets in. I push the door open to find Peyton rocking on the couch, holding a small box in her trembling hands. With quick steps, I cross the room to check on her. Her mouth opens, but instead of words, she sobs and drops the box on the table.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, surveying her from head to toe. Physically she appears to be fine.

  Her body shakes violently as I sit next to her. She scoots away, her face ashen and frightened as she points to the box. “What did you do?” she screams, but I don’t understand. “Who are you?”

  The child’s shoebox is heavier than I anticipate as I lift it. The stench of rotting flesh reaches my nostrils before I get a glimpse of what’s inside. I cover my nose with one hand and use the other to lift the lid. Fear consumes me, compressing my lungs as I expect the female hand to belong to Maria. Immediately, I seek out the small heart tattooed on Maria’s right hand between her thumb and index finger. Relief rushes out of me when I don’t find it. Peyton continues sobbing as I lift a small piece of paper from the box. I unfold it and read the note.

  Mr. Hunter,

  Cross me and this will be her hand.

  E

  Eduardo obviously didn’t believe that I no longer harbor feelings for Maria.

  “They said they’d kill me. Who are those men?” Peyton screams, her words murky as my mind races with thoughts of murder. “How do they know who I am?”

  “What did they say?”

  Peyton blinks rapidly, but doesn’t speak. I curl my hands around her arms and give her a gentle shake. “What did they say?” I ask again with a firm tone.

  She swallows, holding in a breath before she says, “They said if you cross Mr. Montez, the item in the box will belong to me.”

  “Fuck!” I stand, fishing my phone from my pocket. With one ring, Sid answers. “I need protection detail . . . No, not for me . . . Send them to the loft and I’ll text you the details.”

  I slip the phone into my pocket as I stare at Peyton with an overwhelming sense of protectiveness that confuses me. It’s more than a feeling of responsibility for dragging her into my fucked up life and putting her in danger. This woman has gotten under my skin with her playfulness and confidence and I don’t want anything to happen to her. The stress of my trip still weighs on me, and I have shit to do, but this woman fucking needs me.

  Her wide eyes peer up at me and glow with a trepidation I somehow have to relieve. Like it or not, easing her fear is my responsibility. “I have some men coming to take you home. They work for me and they’ll stay with you until this is resolved.”

  I nod, wanting her to nod too, so I know she’ll be okay, but she doesn’t. “Until what’s resolved? What did you do?”

  Fuck, where would I even start to explain what the hell I’ve done. How would I go about telling her, I started a war with a cartel leader and she’s just another casualty? “I can’t tell you.”

  “I’m calling the police,” she shouts, reaching for her cell phone.

  “There’s nothing the police can do.” My large hand engulfs her small wrist. “I’ll protect you. You’re not in any danger.”

  “Are you crazy? Those men came right into your home. They pushed me down and . . .” Her head turns to the side as all of her strength evaporates. The confident woman that barged into the loft a week ago is gone.

  As much I wish I didn’t give a fuck, a fierce rage surges through me. “What did they do?” I ask firmly, kneeling beside her. She refuses to look at me, rubbing her arms and sucking in quick gasps of air. I glance down and notice a bruise on her inner thigh that I missed earlier. My teeth hurt as I grind them tightly together. “Did they . . .”

  “No.” She shakes her head rapidly. “They would have,” she cries. “They were going to . . . but one of them got a phone call and they left. Two minutes later, you showed up. Tell me what the fuck you did god dammit! I’m scared.”

  “You’re safe . . . I promise.”

  “You don’t understand. Those men were . . . Oh, God.”

  I sit next to her, fighting anger and the desire to go to Monterey and end all of this with one bullet to Eduardo’s head. If I thought I could get to him without getting myself killed, I’d do it. I try to smile to reassure Peyton, but I can’t force it as anger keeps my teeth gritted. “None of those men will ever lay a fucking finger on you. They only wanted to scare you.”

  “They succeeded. Who is Mr. Montez?”

  I sigh, leaning forward on my knees. “He runs the Torrente Cartel, and we have a business arrangement.”

  “You’re a drug dealer?” she shrieks.

  “No!” I lower my voice when she flinches. “No . . . I’m helping Mr. Montez with an investment. That’s all, but he doesn’t trust me. He doesn’t trust anyone. Intimidation is just how the cartels operate, but I swear you have nothing to worry about. This was a message and I promise I will take care of Mr. Montez.”

  Her features relax, but her body still trembles. I get up and pour her a glass of scotch, which she accepts and drains immediately. She spins the empty glass in her hand absently staring at the floor. “I was terrified.”

  Although I want to reach across the couch and
comfort her, my heart resists, wanting nothing more than to protect itself. I stay grounded and stare at her, doing my best to look right through her, so I don’t have to really see her. So I don’t have to think about how I almost caved and invited her into my life. Imagine if Eduardo found out I in fact like Peyton. She’s a weakness I can’t afford. “I’m sorry this happened. I never thought he’d come after one of my employees or I would have hired security.”

  We make eye contact and a hint of a smile touches her lips. “I’m definitely not in Kansas anymore.” She releases an awkward laugh, pulling on the hem of her skirt. “I’ve been in San Diego for over a year, and despite some drunk bum trying to steal my purse, I like it here.” I turn my head when she frowns. “But he was easy compared to this. I thought those men were going to kill me.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say again, which sounds distant and cold and cowardly. Because I’m all of those things.

  My insides melt when she smiles brightly. “I beat the bum over the head with my purse until he begged me to stop.”

  I release a quiet laugh, realizing she’s going to be okay, and that like I would do; she’s using humor to ease stress. “Where are you from?” I ask.

  “Up north, a tiny town called Shingle Springs . . . a cartel-free kind of town.”

  “A boring town?” I joke.

  “Yes, although at this point, boring sounds heavenly.”

  “I’m sorry, Peyton, but I swear nothing is going to happen to you.”

  She gives me the softest of smiles before standing up. “Come on, I want to show you what I’ve done with the loft.”

  There hadn’t been an opportunity to tell her how much I love the front room with steal-blues and browns and coordinating abstract paintings . . . not pink.

  I take her offered hand and let her lead me down the hall. My wood bedroom floors have been stained with a black finish and the wall behind my bed is black. A leather padded headboard stretches halfway up the wall. It’s a bit dark, but edgy and rough and far from the baby blues Maria had decorated with. It’s a new room for a new me and free from any reminders of my past.

  “I love it,” I tell Peyton.

  “Good.” She smiles. My hand still rest in hers as we cross the hall to Javier’s old room. The warmth of her skin soothes me and terrifies me. This is a woman I could fall for, another woman who could ruin me. I release her hand as she opens the door. Javier’s old room is decorated as drab as I’d hoped with sage-greens and tans, a plain guest room as I’d requested.

  “Acceptable,” I say with a stiff nod.

  “Follow me,” she requests, spinning and leaving the room.

  I spot something peeking out from under the queen bed. As I bend down to pick it up, I recoil and fall onto my knees. The small wooden train engineer makes my blood boil. I pick it up and throw it against the wall. It ricochets and lands an inch away from me, taunting me with moments I’ll never again have with my son. I swear to god that little fucker does a dance while laughing at me.

  “Are you coming?” I faintly hear Peyton through the rage clouding my thoughts.

  With a long inhale, I rise to my feet and pick up the toy before slipping it into my pocket.

  The glow of pink filters through the crack of my office and I hear Peyton giggling from inside. Her laughter eases my anger as I enter the room. “You think you’re quite funny, don’t you?”

  “Little bit.” She nods with a smile so gorgeous I have to fight the urge to bend her over my desk and fuck her until I’m numb.

  “I thought I told you this had better be painted over?”

  She shrugs. “You did.”

  “Yet, it’s still pink.”

  “You also said to surprise you . . . Surprise!” She claps her hands in front of her chest with the jubilancy of a teenage girl.

  My lip twitches and I can’t hold down the laughter bubbling up in my throat. Peyton’s lack of intimidation when it comes to me is comical and sexy and other emotions I don’t want to feel, but they’re there, tempting me to move beyond my anger and hurt.

  “It’s perfect,” I say, putting on a serious face.

  “You’re so full of crap.” She laughs, hopping up on my desk. “The painters will be back next week to paint it ecru.”

  “Ecru?” I ask, lifting an eyebrow. “Bleh. Nope . . . I’m keeping it pink.”

  “Stop it. What color would you prefer?”

  “This one, so every time I come in here, I’ll remember this moment. I haven’t laughed in a long time. Thank you, Peyton.”

  She purses her lips, shaking her head as though doubting my sincerity, but I meant every single word. Although it’s possible I may not see her again, I want to remember a woman that made me smile and one I knew wanted nothing from me.

  “You’re quite a character, Mr. Hunter.”

  “Please, call me Aidan.”

  “Okay, Aidan. If you change your mind, you know how to reach me.”

  “Oh, I won’t. I’m quite positive you can call me Aidan.”

  She rolls her eyes, her angelic laugh filling the room and me with a pleasure. “The color,” she clarifies.

  “Yes, I know, but I couldn’t resist.”

  She leaps off my desk and launches forward right into my arms. Her perky breasts press into my chest. I’m not certain if it’s her heartbeat or mine beating furiously. As I steady her to her feet, there’s a moment when I feel something more for Peyton than I’ve felt for any woman since Maria. Our gazes lock and her cheeks turn a bright shade of red.

  “I’m so clumsy,” she says, smoothing her long blonde hair. “I’m sorry.”

  I step back, keenly aware of how attracted she is to me and me to her. Any other girl and I’d have her naked by now, but there’s something about Peyton I don’t want to spoil with a quick tawdry fuck and send-off. I want to shield her from Eduardo, but I also want to protect her from me.

  I reach up, cupping her cheek in my hand. For a split second, I visualize feeling her lips against mine. “You should go.”

  “You’re right,” she mumbles, her cheeks still the color of red rose petals and just as soft. “But I thought you were sending me home with an escort?”

  I lower my hand and frown. “They’re downstairs.”

  “Oh.” Her gaze falls to the floor.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m scared.”

  “Would you feel better if I drove you?” She lifts her head and nods. “Get your things.” With a smile of relief she turns and leaves.

  I lean against the desk, staring at the ceiling. Why did I offer to drive her? What the hell am I doing? I once believed it was the chase I enjoyed, but it’s women like Peyton that weaken me. Women who I believe need me.

  Tori needed me to make her laugh and to ease her sorrow whenever her disease consumed her. Maria needed me to protect her from Eduardo, to help her make a better life for Javier. The truth, though, was that neither of them truly needed me. I needed them to appease some deeply rooted psychological problem. They both used me and fucked me over in the end. Yet, here I am considering taking Peyton out on a date. I’ve opened up just a smidge and she’s nudging her way inside.

  It’s my mother’s fault. She never needed anyone and could handle her own issues. I guess I want a woman who is everything opposite of that bitch.

  My hand falls on the toy as I reach in my pocket for my keys. I pull it out and stare at the goofy expression on the engineer’s face before tossing the last reminder of Javier in the trash.

  Peyton’s waiting at the front door for me, her expression still worried. As she steps into the hallway, I grab the box off the table from Eduardo. I frown at her as I enter the hall and lock my door. The mood between us is stoic as we ride the elevator down and I can’t decide when it changed, or if it was me that changed it.

  When we reach her car, I take a moment to fill Mike and JT in on what happened with Eduardo’s men and what I expect. They’ve been with Sid for many years and I’m confident they
’ll look after Peyton until this situation is resolved, but I can’t help feeling like it should be me taking care of her. I give the box Eduardo sent over to Mike to dispose of.

  “I need your keys,” I call over to Peyton. She digs around in her purse and then throws them at me. JT takes the keys to follow us in Peyton’s car to her house.

  I open the passenger door to my Porsche and wait until Peyton is inside to close it. As I sit in the driver’s seat, Peyton asks, “What’s he going to do with it?”

  “What?” I ask at the same time I understand she’s asking about the box with Eduardo’s warning. “Oh, he’ll dispose of it.”

  “Dispose if it? How? 1–800 Got Old Body Parts?”

  I laugh, loving that she’s choosing to find humor in the situation. “I didn’t ask and I prefer not to know.”

  “Okay.”

  The entire ride to her place, the voice in my head screams at me to pull over and let Mike and JT take her home. Every minute with her is a mistake. The more time I spend with her, the more I want to get to know her, which means giving her an opportunity to sneak into my life. And then what? My history with women is proof I should keep Peyton at a distance.

  As I drive, the only words spoken by Peyton are directions to her place. I should offer her some sort of reassurance that she’s safe, but like the asshole I so often am, I hold back and stare out the window. Talking leads to feeling and feeling leads to me getting fucked. I’m not certain how far we’ve driven until she instructs me to pull over in front of a two story four-plex in Logan Heights.

  I glace around, noticing bars on the windows of most the homes, although the neighborhood is typically suburban and the surroundings are clean. “You live here?”

  “Well, I know it’s not a swank loft downtown, but it’s comfy and affordable and I have great neighbors.”

  She gets out of the car and I send a text to Sid, telling him I want an alarm and new locks installed on Peyton’s place. When I get out, I see Peyton staring at her front door, but it’s her trembling hands that peak my worry. Without hesitating, I run up the small path, splitting the lawn.