“How’s that possible?”
“A friend alerted me to the oversight. I looked into it, and he was right. I thought her parents were killed on 15th Street, but they were actually killed on 15th Avenue. 15th Street didn’t have street cam footage in 2004, but 15th Avenue did. And I need that footage.”
“If there were anything of value on that footage, don’t you think the police would’ve found it during their investigation ten years ago? The case is closed for a reason. Please stop wasting my time.”
If Angie knew anything, she knew taking the police at their word was a mistake of epic proportions. The NJPD was notoriously crooked, and not to be trusted in any capacity. Their word was as good as the dust under her fingernails, as far as Angie was concerned. Jessica Borgia was the only exception to that rule, and at the moment Angie was reconsidering that as well, only because Jessica was really pissing her off.
“I need the footage, Jess. I need to see it for myself. Please, can you do me this favor?”
Jessica held her eyes for a long moment before rolling her own. She looked off to either side of her, then back to Angie. “I’m not saying yes, because this isn’t happening.”
Angie’s heart leapt with glee. “Thank you so much.”
“Don’t thank me, because this isn’t happening.”
Angie instantly straightened up, playing along. “Right, of course.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me.”
“This isn’t happening,” Angie said, backing up to the elevator quickly, afraid Jessica was going to change her mind.
Frustrated, Jessica watched as Angie damn near skipped to the elevator. “And tell my brother he’s fucking fired.”
***
“I remember you from high school, you know. You’re the creepy chick that wet her panties every time Roman showed his face in a room.”
Angie looked across the pool table she was currently bent over, and locked eyes with Henry Eastly, Roman’s best friend, and apparent partner in crime. She’d convinced herself she’d been imagining the subtle antagonism that dripped from Henry’s every pore from the moment she met him that night at Roy’s, but now he’d all but confirmed it. He didn’t like her.
Still frozen over the table, pool stick in hand, Angie glanced back at the bathroom. She said a silent prayer of thanks that Henry had waited for Roman to go to the restroom before embarrassing her like this. She’d managed to make it home in time to shower and separate herself from the Backstreet Boys t-shirt she’d been wearing all day, but even in the swingy sequined top and jeans she’d changed into, she still felt like a kid with a crush. Apparently, Henry could see right through her.
“I had a little bit of a crush,” she admitted, going back to the table and banking the eight ball with ease. She heard Henry sucking his teeth from the other end of the table as she beat his ass for the second time that night. Angie was observant, however, and she knew that Henry’s distaste for her had very little to do with the fact that she could kick his ass at pool.
“Best two outta three,” he grumbled, switching his slim hips as he went from one pocket to the other, emptying the balls with unnecessary force. He pushed a piece of his choppy yellow Mohawk behind his ear with a toss of his head before sucking his teeth again.
Angie circled the table in time with him, keeping herself on the opposite side at all times as she smiled coyly across at him.
“Would it be safe to assume I’m not the only one who was in love with Roman in high school?” she asked, preparing a fresh rack.
Henry hit her with a pair of blazing hot brown eyes, and sucked his teeth again.
She nodded. “And our dear Roman isn’t a big fan of the cock, I’m guessing?”
Henry tossed his head back as if he had Rapunzel-length strands, but all he managed was an uneven bob of his Mohawk. “He might fuck you, Miss Thang, but he’ll never make you official.”
“Is that what you tell yourself at night, when you’re tugging it to Roman?”
For the first time that night, Henry smiled at her.
And, just like that, Angie had cracked him. It rarely took her longer than five minutes to figure out a person’s weakest points. It was a huge part of her job. Figure out what makes them tick, exploit it, and then use it to her advantage. Now she knew Henry’s.
Henry liked abuse. To abuse and--even more so--to be abused.
With her newfound ammo in her back pocket, Angie pressed on. “How many socks did you soak stiff in high school while picturing that gorgeous face of his?”
Henry howled out a laugh while throwing his head back, slamming the bottom of the pool stick against the floor.
“Too many, bitch,” he answered, his eyes lighting up as they met Angie’s.
Angie heard the playfulness in his voice and couldn’t help a smile crossing her own face as she lifted the rack.
“Well, step aside, bitch,” she laughed. “You’ve had several years to turn him. Now it’s my turn.”
“He’ll destroy you,” Henry decided, placing the cue ball in the middle of the table. “That’s all he knows how to do. Especially with sweet little lambs like you. And he moves in silence.”
Angie watched him take his shot, amused that Zoey had said those exact words to her the other day. Had her best friend been trying to warn her?
She frowned when, in the midst of her thoughts, Henry dunked three separate balls with one shot.
He stood tall. “You won’t even see him coming until your heads been chopped clear off.”
Though her heart sped up, Angie was able to keep a cool face. “I think I’ll take my chances.”
That suck of his teeth permeated the air, once more. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, little lamb.”
4
Midnight passed quickly. Henry, along with a few more of Roman’s friends, came and went, hanging for as long as they could, each one peeling away with every new bar they hit until Angie and Roman finally found themselves alone at a seedy lounge on Christopher St.
A bottle of cheap vodka sat between them, and was directly responsible for the stupid smiles on their faces.
“Never have I ever…” Angie’s eyes widened across the dark booth. An orange light flickered above their heads. “Smoked weed.”
With a widening of his own eyes, Roman wordlessly picked up his shot glass and emptied the vodka down his throat.
Angie refilled his newly empty glass with a shake of her head. “You smoke weed?”
“Not anymore. I quit in high school. Why do you think I smoke cigs?”
“So you traded one disgusting habit for another. Makes total sense.”
“Cigarette’s aren’t disgusting.”
“Are you joking? I would never kiss a smoker.”
Something in Roman’s eyes darkened. “You wouldn’t kiss me, Angie Colt?”
Her heart sped up. “Not if your breath smelled like cancer, nope.”
Roman laughed heartily. “Smells like cancer… I’ve never heard it worded quite like that before.”
“Think about it.”
“Alright,” he said. “Never have I ever… climbed a tree.”
Angie cocked her head back. “Not even as a kid?”
“Never. What’s the point? It’s ridiculous.”
She was truly perplexed. “Who hurt you?” she asked, genuinely concerned, before swallowing down her shot.
He drank in her laughter as she refilled their shot glasses. It was their second bottle of vodka that night. He’d never been a vodka fan, especially not this low-grade garbage that Angie had insisted on, but he’d drink anything for her. Inviting her out that night had been on a whim, a thank you for her investigative services—a service that she refused to charge him for. If she wouldn’t allow him to compensate her financially, he figured a night out on the town was an appropriate way to show his appreciation.
He hadn’t expected to enjoy her company as much as he was.<
br />
She was funny, adorable, honest.
She’d even won Henry over, and Henry didn’t like anyone.
He couldn’t help smiling at her across the booth. She was tiny, couldn’t be an inch over 5’1”, maybe a hundred pounds soaking wet, but was doing an impressive job holding her liquor. A little nerdy, sure, but still a spitfire. Smart as hell.
Even Never Have I Ever, an insipid game that he’d always hated, seemed almost tolerable, just because he was playing it with her. The rules to Never Have I Ever were simple. One player had to name something he’d never done before, and if the other player had done it, they had to take a shot, and vise versa. He really hated this game with a passion, but with her, he damn near loved it.
“Never have I ever…” he began. “Been to Europe.”
Angie took her shot, watching as he refilled her glass. As he poured, she slammed her palms against the table between them with unnecessary force, a drunken lag preceding each move she made while she searched helplessly for the piece of notepaper they’d been using for a scorecard, which seemed to have completely vanished.
“When did you go to Europe?” he asked, just as she gave up her search. It didn’t matter where the score-sheet was. They’d stopped keeping track nearly an hour ago.
“An old client flew me out there to spy on a business partner he suspected was stealing. I trailed him from London to Rome to Venice to Paris.”
“And was he stealing?”
“Yes, amongst many other highly illegal things,” she gargled.
“Sounds dangerous,” he said.
“Driving a car is dangerous. That hasn’t stopped anyone, now has it?” Angie swayed in her seat.
His gaze fell to her smiling lips. He imagined this tiny little thing following grown men from city to city, country to country, and something shifted in him. It was the same shift he’d felt when he’d nearly broken Drew’s neck a few weeks ago.
His gaze continued to travel her face unconsciously. She had to have the smallest, cutest nose he’d ever seen. It barely held up her glasses, which had slowly fallen to the tip, hanging on to the upturned slope by a hair. Her eyelashes were long and thick, leading a path down to her cheeks, where a barely discernable forest of freckles trickled along her jawbones. She looked like a living doll, like the sweet girl he’d always imagined her to be.
“What’s your nationality Angie?”
Angie looked up, surprised by the question. “My mother is Spanish, and my father is Black.”
Roman nodded.
“Yours?” she asked.
His eyes rose to hers.
And Angie jammed hers closed. “I’m sorry.”
Sensing her embarrassment, Roman held up a hand of peace. “Nah. Once upon a time I was Russian and Italian. Now I’m just Russian and…” He held his hands out. “Who knows?”
“I’m guessing Irish, or maybe… Icelandic?”
“What? Just because my skin is see through, I must be from Iceland?”
“I’m just saying….” Angie drawled. Happy to hear his laughter, she asked the question that had been burning in her mind for a while “What did you say to Drew the other day?”
Roman fought a smile. She wanted him. Bad. It radiated. His cock could smell her a mile away. He’d always had a gift for reading women, but Angie was more wide open than any woman he’d ever experienced. If he hadn’t witnessed the exchange with that snot nosed punk who’d dumped her in the street, he’d have guessed she was completely untouched. He surprised himself by wondering what her pussy tasted like, immediately shifting the moment the thought hit his brain.
“I told him what he needed to hear,” he said.
“Oh, wow.” Her cheeks tinged red.
“You’re hammered.” He smiled. Her w’s were slowly transforming into r’s, going in and out. He knew it was only a matter of time before the English language failed her completely.
“I’m fine,” she said. “How’s a guy with your money never gone Europe?”
His brain somehow deciphered her jumbled words. “Never had anyone to go with. My family’s not especially interested in travel. In fact, they’re not interested in much anything outside of this island. We went to Asia once, but that was a disaster. Since then we’ve kept our asses right here in America where we belong. Us Romanovskys are simple creatures.”
“Tell me something I don’t know. Zoey says Val still takes her out for fast food.”
“Val is very cheap.”
Angie laughed gently. “I’ll warn her.”
“She knows.”
Her laughter grew as she leaned forward on the table. “I guess that’s how he keeps his money in his pocket,” she said.
“He’s a better man than me.” His eyes went back to those lips, that nose, those fingers, that lone curl in her face. She was drunk, but he realized he didn’t want to leave. Leaving would mean going back to his empty apartment, alone, just him and his thoughts.
He pondered asking her to come home with him. Angie Colt had never been a blip on his radar, but he wouldn’t kick her out of bed. Not by any means, especially if it meant not going back home alone. He’d happily show her things that punk Drew never dreamed. He almost asked.
“Let’s go, it’s your turn,” he said, instead.
“Okay,” she said. “Never have I ever... stolen. Anything. Ever.”
Roman drank.
“Wow,” she beamed. “You don’t strike me as the thieving kind.”
“We grew up poor as hell, Ang. Pop emptied every dollar in his pocket to keep food in our mouth, a roof over our head…”
“And in the best schools,” she offered. For her entire high school career, Angie’s mother had never stopped complaining about the private school’s sky-high tuition, which seemed to only soar higher with each year that passed. The fact that Angie hadn’t even gone to college after all that money spent was enough to send her parent’s blood pressure to dangerous levels, and it had, on several occasions.
Roman nodded. He didn’t elaborate. He wondered if she was aware of the slow sway her body had adopted. It was part of the reason he was watching her as closely as he was. He was waiting for her to, inevitably, topple right over.
Roman’s cheeks grew rosy. A nice buzz had settled in on his end, as well. While she’d been away in the bathroom, he’d secretly dumped most of the vodka and diluted it with water, but even that wasn’t keeping her level. She wasn’t drunk enough for him to call it a night yet, but she was close. He knew she wouldn’t end the night until he did, and he could tell she was enjoying him almost as much as he was enjoying her, so he kept a close eye on her wobbly little body as he leaned forward.
“All right. Never have I ever…” He placed his hands in a prayer position in front of his lips, contemplating whether he should continue. He couldn’t help himself. “Given a blowjob.”
Angie’s mouth fell open. From inside her shocked, parted lips, a nervous laugh escaped.
Roman’s smile was glorious as he pointed both hands at the shot glass in front of her, raising his eyebrows. “I think that’s your cue.”
Taking the shot glass in her hand, she brought it to her lips, giggling.
“Go ahead and drink,” he prodded.
She swallowed it down, cringing. “You know, I just realized how unfair this game is. You’re nearly twice my size, Romanovsky. A larger BMI and a higher volume of plasma in the body contribute to the ability of larger people, like you, to consume way more alcohol than tiny people, like me.”
“You’re drunk, but not drunk enough to stop spewing random facts, percentages and details about every topic that comes up.” He leaned into the table. “Clearly, I haven’t gotten you drunk enough yet.”
“I hate to break it to you, but that facet of my personality only gets worse the drunker I am.”
His eyes shone. He didn’t tell her that he actually loved that facet of her personality. She was easily the most intelligent woman—hell, person--he’d ever met. Being with
her fascinated him. There wasn’t a word that had left her lips yet that bored him, or even annoyed him.
“Your turn.” He nodded toward her.
“Never have I ever…” Angie shrugged. “Gone down on a girl.”
Roman drank with zero hesitation. “Never have I ever had a threesome.”
Angie smiled coyly at him, then drank.
“You’re lying,” he instantly accused.
“I don’t lie.” She shook her head.
“You’ve had a threesome, but you’ve never licked pussy?”
She cringed. “I tried. I really did.” She shook her head, again, more rapidly. “Nope. Couldn’t do it. It was awful.” She watched as he refilled her glass with a laugh. “Never have I ever… had an orgasm.”
He slammed the bottle down. “You’ve never had an orgasm?” They both knew it was time for him to drink, but instead he just stared at her. “That’s a damn shame, Colt.”
Angie motioned to him. “I think you’d better drink, my friend.”
“Honestly. You’ve, honestly, never had an orgasm?”
“I don’t think so.”
“You don’t think so? Mama…” He licked his lips and blinked lazily. “You would know.”
She smiled at Mama. Coming from any other man, she’d be waiting patiently for a hunka hunka burning love, or have mercy to follow such an endearment. Somehow, though, coming from him, it was simply perfect.
“I figured,” she said.
“Have you even come close?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Not even from oral?” He watched her face like a science hypothesis he couldn’t decipher.
She squinted one eye at him, throwing him a look. “Are you stalling?” She motioned to his glass. “I think you’d better drink, my friend. I’m sure you’ve had more orgasms in the last week than I will have in my entire life.”
With one last long, earth-shaking squint of those eyes, he finished off the shot glass, leaning forward on the table once more as she refilled it. His head was finally getting hazy, and it felt good. Angie was way farther gone than him, proving it when she succeeded in emptying half of the bottle onto the table, instead of into his shot glass, with her wobbly hands. His eyes gleamed with adoration when she clutched the bottle in both hands, attempting to steady it. Some distant voice in his head screamed at him to help her pour, but he was too busy being both amazed, and alarmed, at the brand new information he’d been blasted with. He knew Angie was far from a sex fiend, but never having an orgasm? That was simply tragic.
Claiming Roman Page 5