His Fight: The Downing Family Book 5

by Wild, Cassie

  “Nothing.” He rested his hands on my hips and slowly dragged them up.

  A gasp lodged in my throat as he cupped my breasts in his hands, working my nipples through the material of dress and bra. Against my butt, I felt the press of his cock. Already wet and aching for him, I pushed back against him.

  He pressed his hand to my belly, holding me still as he began to move.

  Heat suffused me in waves, and I groaned, my head falling back to rest on his shoulder. He slid his hand up and cupped my chin, guiding my head around until our mouths met.

  It started out a slow, sweet kiss, but soon became hungry, torrid, and wet.

  I twisted in his arms, shoving my fingers into his hair. He pulled me against him, so close now that not even air separated us, and I clung to him, hungry and desperate.

  Outside that room, the rest of the world ceased to exist. The only things that seemed real were his hands on my body and mine on his. He grabbed the hem of my dress and dragged it upward while I went to work on the buttons of his shirt.

  At some point, we’d both dropped our coats, and my purse had fallen to the wayside.

  He boosted me up the second he had my dress off, and I gasped as my back came against the cool, smooth surface of the hotel door. My sheer hose still separated us, but not for long. He tore them straight down the center, then caught my panties and dragged them aside, baring me. Air kissed my naked flesh, making it obvious how wet I was.

  I whimpered and threw my head back as he slid his fingers along my slit, teasing me. The crown of my skull hit the door hard, causing the still-healing lump to protest, but I ignored it, and the pain faded, already forgotten by the time he used his thumb to open me from top to bottom. I groaned and swiveled my hips, pushed myself against him, greedy for more.

  He responded to the silent plea and screwed two thick fingers inside me, rotating them as he pushed them up and inward.

  I cried out, the sound smothered by his kiss.

  He drove me to a quick, rough release, and as my spinning head tried to catch up with everything that was happening, he lowered me back to the ground, turning me so that I faced the door.

  “What…”

  “Put your hands on the door, Briar,” he said, voice gruff.

  I did as he ordered, then gasped as he kicked my feet apart. I was still wearing my heels and the shreds of my hose. He once more nudged my panties aside, exposing me.

  He ran his thumb along the crevice he’d bared, opening me once more.

  I whimpered, every nerve ending so sensitized now that even the brush of air against me was almost torture.

  I felt the kiss of his cock against me and whimpered, my hands curling into fists against the door.

  As he slowly pushed inside me, I tried to rock back against him.

  He gripped my hip and held me in place, limiting my range of motion.

  Frustrated, I tried to push up onto my toes, but the angle of my heels already had me in that position, and there was little I could do.

  “Be still, Briar. Just be still…let me fuck you.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut, raw hunger and emotion battering at me. Need enveloped me, yet at the same time, another part of me wanted to hear so much more from him.

  I shoved the thought from my mind and focused on the physical. On the here and now.

  He thrust up into me, and I squeezed down around him. He groaned, and his cock swelled inside me, thicker, harder. I couldn’t stop from flexing around him again, and again…again…

  His hands abruptly went tighter, fingers digging into my hips as he hauled me back onto his cock, impaling me on his length. He moved in closer on me, too, and soon I was pinned between him and the door, unable to move, unable to do anything but let him fill me, let him fuck me.

  I cried out and tried to rock back against him, wanting more, needing more.

  “Take it, Briar,” he demanded. “Take me…”

  And I did. I took everything he was willing to give me.

  Deep inside, though…I longed for more.

  Twenty-Three

  Cormac

  The phone rang a second, then a third time before I finally answered. It had been a few days since I’d talked to Marcos, and to be honest, I was surprised he’d waited that long.

  Surprised, yeah. But still, I’d hoped something else might have caught his interest, and I’d have a little more time.

  But time was up, and I didn’t have shit to tell him.

  “MacTavish,” I said in a bland voice, staring at the empty screen of the TV in front of me. I hadn’t bothered turning it on when I woke, despite the noise coming from the shop downstairs and the street beyond.

  “Cormac, my friend. How are you?”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I’m doing well, Marcos. And you?”

  “I’m good, I’m good…although…well, there is this thing. You know I’ve been counting on you to help me out with this problem I’m having.”

  “Of course.” The headache had already started. I squeezed the bridge of my nose harder, as if that alone would drive it away. It wouldn’t. I knew that. But I tried anyway.

  “Tell me you’re getting somewhere, Cormac. You know I don’t want to bring anybody else in. It will complicate matters. Besides, you and me…we’ve always had a good business relationship. I don’t want that to change. But I need results. You know that.”

  “I’m making progress,” I lied. Without blinking, I continued to pull just enough information from the ether to satisfy the bastard. “I actually spent some time talking to Declan and Sean the other day. They aren’t telling me much about the family business, but they weren’t as on guard as they used to be. With a little more time, I think they’ll start to trust me, and I’ll be able to get more out of them.”

  “You’ve already had weeks,” Marcos pointed out, his voice tight.

  “True, true.” I infused the words with faux sincerity, but I knew he wouldn’t hear the lie in the words. He was too arrogant. He’d never believe somebody wouldn’t immediately jump to follow his orders and kiss his ass. Yeah, Marcos and I had a business relationship, and I knew him far better than he knew me. “But Marcos…these men, they are much like you.”

  “Don’t ever compare me to those Downings pendejos. They are stupid cowards,” he said, temper slashing through his voice.

  I held back a derisive snort. They weren’t the only assholes I knew.

  “I know, man. I agree with you. But you have to understand…there are certain…attributes that you all share. Money, a specific sort of power…and men like you, and to some respect, men like them, don’t trust outsiders easily.” I’d always been able to charm people when needed, and I put all my effort into my next words. “Come on, Marcos. If a guy like me showed up all of a sudden, would you just start trusting me? I mean, I know I’m a charming bastard, but am I really that good?”

  “Nobody is good enough to fool me,” Marcos said coolly. After a few seconds, though, he laughed. “However, I see what you mean. You need to work your way inside slowly.”

  “Exactly.” I rubbed the back of my neck and was disgusted to find that I was sweating a little. This was a dangerous game, but it had to be played, at least until I figured out how to get out of this mess.

  “I’ve been patient this far,” Marcos finally said. “I will see this through to the end.”

  “I think that’s a wise choice,” I told him.

  “But…” His voice dropped all attempts at cordiality and friendliness. “Cormac, remember who you are talking to. You know what happens to those who fuck around with me, don’t you?”

  “Of course, I do.” Woodenly, I stared at the TV’s still blank screen. “I’d never fuck around with you, Marcos. There’s no point in it.”

  “Good. Because I’d hate for you to one day wake up and find yourself choking on your own dick because one of my men came in while you slept and cut it off, then shoved it down your throat.”

  The line went dead.
<
br />   I lowered the phone to the table and continued to stare at the TV screen.

  Somehow, I had to find a way to satisfy that crazy son of a bitch. I wasn’t worried so much about myself. Marcos would never come at me one on one, and if he did, I’d just kill him. And I knew most of his top players. Only a few of them could hold a candle to me, and he’d shown his hand with the threat he just delivered. The first thing I’d do once this was over, no matter how it ended, was take that player out, once and for all.

  But I was worried about Briar and what he might do if I didn’t find a way to make him think I’d gotten him what he wanted.

  How on earth was I supposed to do that without hurting Briar?

  Suddenly, for no reason that I could think of, I found myself thinking of my mother.

  What in the world would she tell me to do right now?

  It had been an age since I’d talked to her, and that angry kid I’d once been tried to rise up from the back of my memory and tell me just what he thought she’d say to me.

  Without even consciously acknowledging it, I swatted that angry kid’s voice down.

  Then I did the craziest thing.

  I called her.

  I punched in a number I still knew by heart…and I called my mom.

  The sound of her voice made something in my chest go crazy tight.

  “Hello?” she said a second time, her voice sounding just the slightest bit harried.

  There wasn’t a third time.

  She mumbled under her breath, the Irish accent even thicker than mine when I was pissed.

  I knew she was about to hang up.

  I should just let her.

  “Mum.”

  Her breath caught.

  “I…um. Hey. It’s…”

  “Cormac,” she said, her voice shaking. “Boy, is that you?”

  Twenty-Four

  Briar

  Sometimes, I loved Christmas shopping.

  Other times, it was little more than a chore that had to be done.

  My dad had told me more than once that I could have one of the employees do it, but that took some… Okay, no. It took away all of the thrill of opening gifts.

  I’d never tell him that, because I didn’t want to hurt his feelings.

  But if I couldn’t be bothered to go shopping on my own, I might as well not even bother.

  This year was definitely falling into that chore-like category.

  The only gifts that came even remotely easy were the ones I bought for Raisa and Anneke.

  Although I wasn’t mad at Brooks, knowing what I knew now made it harder for me to look at him—at any of my brothers—the same way. My father too. Isabel…well, I liked her well enough, but I didn’t really know her. Plus, I kept hearing her vague warning about Cormac. Knowing what I knew about her family might have been souring me, and I knew that wasn’t fair. My brothers were far from innocent themselves.

  My overall vague sense of discontent made it hard for me to focus and find the gifts that struck me as perfect.

  I’d spent half the day at it, and I still wasn’t even remotely close to making a dent in my list. I wasn’t desperate enough to head toward the malls yet, so I set out toward Northern Liberties after a quick lunch, hoping to find something at one of the more eclectic shops that might appeal to Daria or one of my brothers. I’d already resigned myself to hitting one of the high-end liquor stores and asking around for some sought-after bottle of scotch for Dad. When in doubt, fall on the basics.

  I did end up finding a sculpture that I thought Brooks would like. It was a bronze ballerina, and it made me think of Daria, but that was the extent of my luck in Northern Liberties. With four o’clock coming up and not even half of my list tackled, I was getting cranky.

  I decided to at least get my dad taken care of and headed toward the one liquor store I knew none of my brothers used. It was located on South Street, which didn’t appeal to any of them. Also, another plus, one of my favorite restaurants was there, and I was starving. The burrito I’d grabbed for lunch hadn’t filled me up for too long, and I definitely needed something to fill the hole in my belly.

  The liquor store, Franco’s, had been around for ages and it looked like it. It was old but well-kept, and it smelled of old wine. I asked for Frankie—the son of the original Franco—and spent a good thirty minutes with him trying to figure out a good gift for my father, all while trying not to let Frankie talk me into spending a grand in his store.

  I ended up spending three hundred. There was a reason he always promised to do good by me—I spent a lot of money any time I walked through his doors.

  He gave his grandson, just now old enough to work in the store, a good-natured cuff on the shoulder and told him, “Get one of the other boys, and you two carry these boxes to the car for Briar.”

  I knew from experience that objecting wouldn’t make any difference, but out of obligation, I did try. “You do realize I can carry one of those boxes just fine.”

  “Young lady…” He wagged his finger at me, thick black brows beetling down over his eyes.

  “Fine.” I slung my purse over my shoulder. My stomach growled loudly, reminding me that it wanted something in it. “Would you mind if I kept my car in the lot while I grabbed something from the pizza place across the street?”

  “That’s fine.” He patted me on the head with a paw-like hand as if I was still a little girl.

  From most people, it would annoy me, but there was something oddly endearing about Frankie. I gave him a quick squeeze. “Thank you.”

  He actually blushed, waving me away. “Go. Eat something. That hospital where you work must run you ragged. You look like you never eat.”

  I rolled my eyes. He’d been delivering some variation of that line for almost as long as I’d known him. “Don’t worry. I’m hungry enough right now to eat a horse.”

  “They don’t serve horse.” His dark eyes twinkled. “But you could get some very good Stromboli. I’ll give you a call when that scotch comes in for your papa.”

  * * *

  I’d thought I was in the mood for pizza, but the mere mention of Stromboli made me reconsider. Twenty minutes after leaving Franco’s, I was sitting in an old-style Italian restaurant with gleaming dark wood and low lights. The server had just taken my order, and not even five minutes after I’d requested a glass of red wine, she’d put it down in front of me, along with some ice water and a basket of bread.

  I practically inhaled the first two pieces before making myself slow down. As I took a sip of wine, I glanced around the room, already crowded with diners looking for a quick drink or an early dinner.

  I froze.

  The bar was less than ten feet away from me, and two familiar forms stood there. My table was positioned at an odd angle, and if I hadn’t looked around, I wouldn’t have seen either of them.

  It was the bigger man who’d caught my attention first.

  His powerful form was hard to miss, and it took a few seconds for it to click why he looked so familiar. The first and only time I’d seen him, he’d had a charming grin on his face, despite the bruises and his obvious pain.

  He looked different now. Bigger. Menacing. He leaned toward the other man, and the very air around him seemed to vibrate with a barely hidden threat.

  If anybody looked at me like that, I’d probably be shaking in my shoes.

  But the man with Jerrel Waddell didn’t look perturbed at all.

  In fact, he conveyed a specific sort of threat all on his own. I couldn’t say that surprised me. After all, I already knew the man had a streak of violence in him. He spoke with Jerrel in a calm, easy manner, holding a pilsner glass of some dark, foamy beer in his hand, the other tucked loosely in his pocket.

  Jerrel pointed at him.

  The other man shrugged.

  He went to glance around, and I immediately lowered my gaze, focusing my attention on the glass of wine in front of me.

  My head was spinning.

  The way he’d
talked, he couldn’t stand Jerrel.

  It was pretty obvious the two weren’t on amicable terms, but they were standing there, and it didn’t look like they were about to go at each other’s throats, either.

  I grabbed my wine and downed the rest of it in two big swallows while my mind whirled in confusion.

  Did I go over there?

  Did I pretend I hadn’t seen them?

  It’s none of your business, a small voice in the back of my mind insisted.

  For some reason, I latched onto that and clung. Maybe it was the memory of his rebuff back at the shop, or maybe it was the memory of the fight between us, but I was reluctant to reach out.

  Decision made, I glanced up just in time to see them both throw some bills on the bar.

  As Cormac started to turn, I dropped my head once more. It felt stupid and cowardly…and I didn’t give a damn.

  Things were still just too…unsettled between us.

  Twenty-Five

  Cormac

  I saw her come in.

  I didn’t think Jerrel did. He was pretty good at bullshitting, but he wasn’t that good.

  He would have shown some sign, had he seen her.

  I was almost painfully aware of her. I think some part of me had sensed Briar’s presence before I even saw her, some primal alertness that had my senses all but humming by the time I finally caught sight of her in the mirror over the bar. I only saw her profile, but I knew her body so well, knew every line of her face, the elegant curve of her jawline as it swept down to her neck.

  I saw the very second she noticed me. I had to fight not to hold my breath as I waited for her reaction. Only a part of my brain was tuned into what Jerrel was ranting about—same shit as always. Marcos wanted results, blah, blah.

  I wanted Jerrel to shut the hell up. I wouldn’t get what I wanted. Seemed only fair Marcos didn’t get what he wanted either, although I knew that was an overly simplified way of looking at it, just because of the type of man Marcos was.