by Bethany-Kris
Promise?
Always.
Eight Months Later …
Cross sipped from a glass of water as Zeke shuffled the deck of cards across the table.
“Fifty-Two Pickup?” Zeke asked.
“If you throw those cards all over the table, I’m going to make you pick them up with your teeth.”
His friend scoffed. “You’re no fun anymore, Cross. I miss when you were fourteen, and—”
“Still would have made you pick those cards up with your teeth.”
Zeke didn’t deny it, and went back to shuffling the cards. Cross kept one eye on his friend, and another on the meeting happening just across the dimly lit bar. Being eighteen and just three days away from his high school graduation, Cross wouldn’t have thought that watching a drug deal go down was what he would be doing.
Well, he wasn’t so much watching as making sure bad shit didn’t happen.
Rick—the enforcer that never used to leave Cross the hell alone when he was younger—laid out six bricks of wrapped methamphetamine to the table. Side by side, the bricks sat untouched by the gang leader wanting to buy the drugs.
Although, Rick wasn’t an enforcer anymore. As far as Cross understood, being that he was only a foot soldier who wasn’t supposed to know the inner family business of made men, Rick had earned a better title. A Caporegime, or just Capo, to people like Cross and anyone under the guy.
“Cutting it close for time here, aren’t you?” Zeke asked.
Cross ignored his friend’s question, and what it meant.
Eyes on the table, Cross, always.
Zeke was not like him, in a lot of ways. He’d spent the majority of his younger and teen years doing whatever the hell he wanted, instead of being mentored by his father to be a made man. Cross was pretty sure his mentoring started when he learned to walk and talk.
The bar was a regular place for drug deals and other business. One of the many places Wolf owned, alongside Cross’s step-father. Every Capo in the Donati family owned their own businesses to do work out of, too.
The bar usually opened around twelve in the afternoon, and didn’t close until three in the morning. It wasn’t unusual for a couple of people to be scattered around inside, drinking or watching the shitty television up in the corner that always had one piece of the screen that was black.
Cross and Zeke sitting in the corner certainly didn’t look suspicious to the gang leader, or it probably didn’t make him concerned. They were the only two in the bar that afternoon, though. Zeke was old enough to be inside drinking, hence his bottle of beer. Cross, on the other hand, simply looked old enough to be a patron.
He drank water because he had to drive.
“Cross,” Zeke said, “seriously, look at the time, man.”
He wasn’t looking anywhere but at Rick and the gang leader from the corner of his eye. Rick tapped the wrapped meth bricks with one finger, and nodded when the other man shrugged. The gang leader bent down to grab something from the bag at his feet, and from the other side of the table, Rick likely couldn’t see what the guy was going to pull out.
Cross could see, though. That’s why he was there. To watch a made man’s back.
Nothing more.
“Four G’s?” he heard the man ask.
“Four,” Rick confirmed.
Money, Cross thought. The gang leader should have pulled out money.
Cross saw a gun come out instead. He didn’t even think about it. He just reacted to what he knew was going to be a bad situation for all four men in the bar, and the old barkeep snoring away on his stool behind the cash register.
The gold-tinted Eagle his step-father had given him for his eighteen birthday months ago came out from behind his back, and pointed across the room at the threat without him really considering the actions. It was second nature—instinct. Cross flicked off the safety, and cocked back the hammer just as the gang leader lifted his own gun to point at Rick.
A single bullet plugged into the guy’s temple barely even a half of a second after Cross pulled the trigger. The Eagle was one vicious weapon, with a kickback that could injure a weak wrist, and a force that could send a body flying.
That’s exactly what it did.
The gang leader’s temple blew apart, blood gushing, and brain matter spraying.
Zeke slammed back into the chair he sat on at the same time the barkeep fell off his stool with a painful grunt as he hit the floor.
“Holy motherfucker,” Zeke said low, his eyes stretching wide. “How can you be that fast, and with that good of an aim? Jesus. You get to be one or the other, but not both, asshole. It’s not fair.”
Practice. And a really good appreciation and understanding of guns. Years’ worth of both things.
“Can’t help you’ve got shit for aim,” Cross said instead of explaining his skill.
Rick’s gaze slid to Cross’s from the other side of the room, appreciation and thanks being conveyed without actually saying it. He didn’t need to say it, really. Rick was the Capo, and Cross was the solider. He was given a job to do, and so he did it. He didn’t have to like the prick he was working for, but he did have to respect him.
That’s what Wolf taught him. That’s what men like him did.
“You made a mess, principe,” Rick said.
Cross tucked his weapon into the holster at his back. “Yeah, seems so.”
The barkeep poked his head over the bar top.
Rick chuckled at the sight of the man. “All’s good, Roger. Cross took care of it, go back to napping.”
“There’s a body on the floor, Rick.”
“I’ll have the boys carrying it out the back, no worries.”
“There’s brain on the wall,” Roger mumbled, looking green in his cheeks.
Zeke hid his laughter by taking a drink of beer.
Cross smirked into his own glass.
“I’ll get it cleaned up—go back to sleep.”
Roger pulled down whiskey from the shelf instead, and started sipping straight from the bottle.
“Check that bag,” Cross said, “and see if he actually brought cash, or if this was his plan from the jump.”
Rick pulled the bag out from under the weight of the dead man’s legs. “There’s a bit in here, but not enough for what he wanted to buy.”
“How many deals have you done with him?”
“A few.”
“This spot for each pickup?” Cross asked.
Rick sighed. “Yeah, principe, what the fuck about it?”
“He’s just one of several that’s going to start trying to pull shit on you, man. They’re noticing that you’re using the same place for a pickup, and that you either don’t have much backup, or the place is usually empty. They don’t follow rules like us—there’s no morals in this business when you’re supplying street gangs. If they think they’ve got an opening on you, then bet they’re going to take it. That’s all I’m saying.”
Rick’s jaw clenched.
Cross shrugged. “Probably should change venues a bit, or mix it up. Also, have someone else do the deal once in a while. Keep it fresh, and then it messes with them so they can’t make plans like that fucker tried to do today.”
Zeke shot Cross a look across the table.
“What?” he asked his friend.
Rick was waving at Roger to pour him a glass.
“Nobody likes an arrogant know-it-all, man, especially not in this business,” Zeke said.
Whatever.
“Let his ass get killed, then,” Cross said, pushing away from the table.
He had better places to be, anyway.
Cross did his job, so …
“Where the fuck are you going, principe?” Rick asked from behind Cross.
He kept heading for the bar’s front entrance. “Places to be, Rick.”
“You’ve got a mess here to clean up.”
Cross passed the body a look, unaffected. His first kill had been Derik in the winter, and this was his s
econd. He had seen people get shot, once when he was just a kid, and a couple of times in his teens when bad shit went down while he was with Wolf. That was just the nature of this business.
Sure, the sight of the corpse with the side of his head blown apart was grisly, but it didn’t bother Cross all that much. He was still going to go on with his day, eat dinner, and sleep just fine when night came.
That was life.
Their life.
“I’m not cleaning that up,” Cross said as he reached the door. “Like I said, places to be.”
“Like where?”
“Got a girl to take to prom.”
And he was already running late as hell.
Cross shrugged on his tux jacket, and kicked the driver door of the Range Rover closed at the same time. He bit the plastic container with Catherine’s corsage safely inside to keep hold of it as he did up the button on his jacket, and jogged around the front of the vehicle.
Catherine came out of the front door of her family home like a bat out of hell, making his smile grow. He grabbed the corsage container out of his mouth, and opened his arms wide to catch flying chiffon and silk in his embrace.
The silver, flowy gown Catherine wore was cut low in the front and back, the color matching his tie and vest, and the flower pinned on his jacket. Sleeveless, sweetheart cut, and showing off all kinds of skin, with her hair free and loose, she looked perfect. The extra-large crystals and beads covering the top half of the dress sparkled under the sunlight, sending reflective spots scattering over him, her, and the driveway. Her lips pressed to his quickly, and her laughter echoed over the yard.
“You’re late,” she said as he set her down.
“Yeah, work,” he offered, saying nothing else.
Catherine raised her brow, but didn’t ask him anything more. Cross appreciated it.
“You know I’m supposed to put the boutonniere on you, right? It’s already on.”
“I just fixed it on at the house. We’re already late.”
He snagged her wrist to slide the matching corsage bracelet down her hand.
“Turn around and smile, please,” called Catherine’s mother.
Cross slid his arm around Catherine’s waist, and they turned for the click of a camera. And then another, and another. Catherine’s father came to stand behind his wife, with crossed arms and a blank expression.
The man still didn’t like him.
For Cross, it was mutual.
“So, we’ll be here for breakfast tomorrow,” Catherine said, already heading for the passenger side of the Rover.
“Make sure of it,” Dante said, passing Cross a look. “And be safe.”
Cross simply waved two fingers and spun on his heel to leave. It was what it was. They were never going to be particularly likeable—never mind bearable—to one another. They managed to sit in the same room sometimes without glaring back and forth, and Cross figured that was progress.
He was all about the progress.
As long as it made Catherine happy …
He was all about her, too.
Cross was behind the wheel of the Rover, and backing it up while Catherine stuck her hand out the window and waved.
“Ready to dance?” he asked.
Catherine flashed him a sexy smile. “You know better than to ask.”
Shit, that was the one and only reason he was going to his prom, frankly. Because she liked to dance, and he liked to watch her do exactly that. Also, she looked damn good in a gown, with her lips painted red, and her hair down for him to tangle his hands in.
She always looked good, though.
That wasn’t new.
“Step on the gas, Cross, we are late.”
“Get your hands on my fucking gears, and maybe I’d have a reason to drive faster,” he shot back, cocking a single brow in challenge.
He was not talking about the Rover’s gears, either.
Catherine’s cheeks flooded with sweet pink. “You’re terrible.”
“Yeah, it’s a gift.”
They were hot, and they were cold. They were on, and then they were off again.
That’s how his entire final year of high school played out with Catherine Marcello. Sometimes, they were more on than they were off. Sometimes, she was pushing him away more often than she pulled him in. Sometimes, he felt like they were playing games with one another because once they got back together, it was so much fucking better.
He tried to keep an eye on her when they weren’t together, but she made it hard. It was made more difficult by her continuing to deal with her cousins, but that was just one aspect, really. He could almost deal with the supplying drugs because he knew she was taken care of and safe with Andino or John. It was what she did when her cousins weren’t looking that messed Cross up sometimes, and made him raging pissed.
Not to mention scared.
Her partying picked up a lot over the last few months, but even more so when they weren’t doing their thing together because they kept splitting up again and again. He hated those calls at night when she was drunk, but he went and saved her ass every single time. He snuck her into his house, hid her in his arms and blankets, and waited until she was sober, before taking her home to her father.
And fuck it all because that probably didn’t help with Dante. The guy likely thought Cross was a big reason for Catherine’s new difficult nature, her rebellion, and all the other trouble she was causing. Sure, she was seventeen, and her parents could lock her down if they wanted, but their approach to Catherine’s behavior seemed to be a wait and see type of thing. Including where Cross was concerned. Like if they waited long enough, he’d be gone, too.
It didn’t matter.
Cross took the shit.
He brushed off the dirty looks and comments. He accepted blame and fault, even when it wasn’t his to take.
For Catherine?
Always.
She was his, in any case.
Cross wasn’t really sure what he and Catherine were doing together, except for this week, and maybe for the entire month of June, they might actually stay on. He liked it a hell of a lot better when they were on again, and she was just his.
Sometimes they were nothing.
Sometimes they were a thing.
Most times, they were just them.
On or off, they were still just them.
Catherine’s breathless laughter picked up as she unbuckled her seat belt to lean over into Cross’s seat. Her cherries and sweetness scent soaked into his lungs like a drug as her demure gaze looked up at him from his lap.
“Don’t even,” he warned, glancing down.
Cross had been kidding earlier about getting her hands on his gears, sort of …
Her painted red lips pouted, but her fingers still reached for his zipper. “Don’t you know how good you look in a tux, though?”
“What’s that got to do with you sucking my dick right now?”
“Uh, because.”
“Catherine, I am driving.”
“Keep your eyes on the road, then.”
Fucking hell.
His cock was in her hand before he could tell her she was being crazy, and then he was hard in three tight strokes of her palm. He lost his ability to breathe and speak when she took him into her mouth, all tight and hot and wet.
Her cheeks hollowed, her lipstick left red stains down his shaft, and her teeth grazed along the throbbing vein on the underside of his cock just the way he liked.
And …
“Fucking Christ,” Cross grunted, his hands tightening on the wheel. “I’m going to kill us both here, Catty.”
Her hum reverberated around his shaft, and vibrated in the best way possible. It also sounded like she was laughing at him.
Taunting him …
Catherine sucked harder, her hands slipped in to grab the base of his shaft while her other went under to find his balls. She stroked, sucked, and squeezed all at the same time and he damn near went off the road.
&nbs
p; Yeah, fuck this.
That was enough of that.
Cross pulled over to the side of the road just as he came with a shout that made his throat raw. Catherine’s cleaned him off with a teasing tongue before her head popped up, wicked green eyes met his, and she smiled in that way of hers. When she sucked him off, he turned into a fourteen-year-old boy with no control over how fast he came. She liked pressing that button of his just a little bit too much.
“That’s a new record, Cross,” she teased. “You didn’t even make it to the highway this time.”
“Yeah, well, your mouth is evil.”
Catherine pushed up and pressed a sweet kiss to his mouth. “Yep, but it’s good, too.”
So good.
“Fix me here, would you?” he said, nodding downward as he pulled out onto the road again. “You’re making us later than we already were.”
“Like you care.”
“I’m going to care a whole lot if I don’t get to see you dance.”
Catherine preened in her seat. “Talk sweet to me again, baby.”
“Keep thinking I’m being sweet. Mostly I consider it foreplay.”
She stuck out her tongue.
He didn’t mind.
It had just been on his cock, after all.
Cross carried a laughing Catherine over his shoulder through the halls of the Marriott hotel. “Stop squirming, or you’re going to flash your ass to everyone in this hall.”
“It’s empty!”
Just to tease him, she kicked her chiffon skirt out, making the billowy material cover his vision. She had said her feet were sore, and she didn’t want to walk all the way up to the top floor where their room was, even after he pointed out there were elevators.
So, fine.
He carried her.
Catherine kicked her skirt at him again.
“Keep doing that,” he warned, “and I will rip the damn thing off.”
Her fingernails dragged through the hair at the nape of his neck, and he felt her lean up and over more to bite his shoulder. “Why are you so mean to me?”