Even Money (All In Duet Book 1)

by Alessandra Torre

  If I was a different one, the sort who had fallen in and out of love a half-dozen times, I might have laughed, scoffing at the unsure declaration.

  But in that car, and with his man … the words felt heavy and worthwhile, like a giant blow to the foundation of his life.

  Sometimes, I think I’m falling in love with you.

  I dropped my hand to his, and threaded my fingers through his, pulling it away from my knee and lifting it to my mouth. I pressed my lips to the back of his hand and inhaled the scent of his skin.

  Sometimes, I feel the same way. I swallowed the words but still, my heart soared.

  Twenty-Three

  He pulled his shirt over his head, revealing the delicious stretch of his torso. It was knotted with muscles, the thick cords pulling, then relaxing, as he tossed the navy blue shirt aside. He reached over to turn on the shower and glanced over at me. I stayed in place, one hip against the bathroom counter. He dropped his hand from the shower knob and came closer. His presence had a heat, an energy, one that lit my skin on fire before his hands even reached for me. I straightened and he skimmed his palms under my shirt and pulled it over my head.

  “You have no idea of just how much I wanted to lay you back on that poker table.” He popped the top button of my shorts and carefully pulled down the zipper, leaning forward and kissing my shoulder, his teeth tugging playfully at my bra strap. He released it and worked the shorts over my hips, crouching down to slide them down my legs.

  “One night, I’m taking you downstairs. I’m closing off VIP and I’m going to spread you wide open on the felt. I want to make you scream to the sound of slot machines and watch the footage later when I need to jack off.” He growled the words, and they poured kerosene on my need. I shivered in the bathroom’s cool air, and he quickened his movements, hooking his fingers under the edges of my panties and yanking them down. He turned me around, running his hands up the backs of my legs and over my ass, a groan coming from him as he gently slapped me. I arched my back, pulling the bra loose when he undid the clasp. I turned, reaching for his belt.

  “No.” He pushed my hands away and nodded to the shower, the glass already fogging up. “Get in and warm up.”

  I dipped my fingers under the hem of his pants and pulled, stealing a peek inside before I spun away from him and stepped into the shower.

  God, this shower. Big enough for four people, it had body jets, an overhead rain head, and two handheld massagers. I felt the water hit me from all directions and closed my eyes, stepping under the overhead, my body temperature instantly rising.

  I need this shower. This alone was almost worth swallowing my pride and moving in. He opened the door, stepped into the fog, and I remembered the other reason. More access to him. Huge shoulders, the rigid cut of muscles, deep notches of abs, his thick cock hanging, beckoning. I reached for it as he moved closer, wrapped my hand around it and felt it stiffen in response.

  “Easy there.” He pushed me away, turning me to the bank of nozzles, and hot spray peppered my stomach as his big hands rubbed in soap, massaging my shoulders and back and sliding between the crack of my ass.

  “I went fucking nuts inside when I saw you sit on that boy’s lap.” He nipped at my neck, scraping his teeth against the skin as his touch swept over my hip and moved in between my legs, opening up my thighs, his fingers teasing across my clit, a swirl of delicious pleasure. My mouth dropped open, my head fell back against his and I opened my legs wider, wanting more.

  “It made me want to take you while he watched.” He pushed his fingers inside of me, the thick insertion making me moan, my body clenching in response. “I’d make him sit there, his dick limp and useless, and see what you really need.”

  “Fat chance,” I gasped, reaching out and bracing a hand against the stone tile, my hips thrusting against the movements of his fingers. “You’d have to fuck me in order to do that.”

  He growled, and I suddenly felt the press of a wet finger, hard against the hole of my ass. He kept his other hand working, his fingers dipping in and out of me with slick and fluid precision, each mini-thrust hitting my g-spot and turning my world fuzzy, my orgasm close, the new pressure on my ass turning up the dial in a way my body might not be able to handle.

  He pressed harder, and the entry was so thick, it could only be his thumb. My world went black, my ass constricting, and the additional stimulation broke my orgasm free with blinding intensity. Waves of hot pleasure expanded and flexed my body as his fingers moved, working me over. I screamed, my hand clawing at the wall, my body fighting against him, and he held me in place, his grip biting into my flesh, his thumb diving deeper into my ass, the filthy feeling only taking my arousal to a higher place.

  The orgasm broke, the pleasure fading, and fuck. Fuck, I loved what he could do to me, the way he could play with my pleasure. He moved behind me, and I felt the bump of his cock against my thighs.

  I needed to be closer, and turned to face him, grabbing his shoulder for support. He pulled my hand from it and wrapped it around his dick. I looked up at him, the spray dancing off his muscles, his eyes darkening when they collided with mine.

  God, the way his cock stuck straight out, the way he hissed out a breath when I wrapped my hand tighter around his shaft. I ran my second hand over his balls, squeezing their heavy weight, and he groaned out my name as if in pain.

  I moved my hand, working it to the head and back down. He stumbled back against the stone of the shower, resting his weight against it and pulled me closer. “Faster,” he mumbled, and his mouth found mine as the hot water hit my back. I felt the stiff flex of him in my hand and worked it furiously between our bodies.

  He was so big. So thick. Such an impressive cock that perfectly matched his large size and ridiculous ego. Maybe that’s where that ego had come from—the confidence that, at any point in time, you had the biggest dick in the room and knew exactly how to use it.

  Or so I assumed. As deftly as he brought me to orgasm with his mouth and fingers, I couldn’t imagine how sex would be.

  “I need to fuck you. God, you have no idea how much I need to fuck you.” He pulled his mouth from mine and whispered against my lips. I kept going, my breath panting with his, my limbs still weak from my orgasm. His cock grew even stiffer, and he pinched his eyes closed, his body tensing, and I knew, in the moment before his cock flexed, it was happening. It was a moment of strength and weakness, all at once. I felt powerful, my hand stroking him through it, my fingers tight around his shaft, eyes dropping to watch the action, the water taking it away as quickly as it appeared.

  His gaze found mine, and he pulled me forward for a kiss that seemed desperate in its connection.

  He curled against me in bed, his skin hot, an arm wrapping around my chest. I clutched his forearm, pulling it against my chest and threaded my fingers through his grip. He kissed my back and pulled me even tighter against him.

  “What time do you have to be up?” As I asked the question, I thought of the first night I stayed here and waking up to the bloody sheets.

  “Not until eight.” His voice was heavy, dragging on the edges, and it was the first time I’d ever seen him let down his guard.

  “Don’t leave without waking me up.”

  “I won’t.”

  I wanted to tell him to promise me, but that seemed young and insecure. Instead, I tightened my hold on his arm and felt him clench around me, a blanket of warmth and security.

  Sometimes, I think I’m falling in love with you.

  It was the last thought on my mind before I fell asleep, a line that had me smiling, wrapped in his touch, the rasp of those words still audible in my mind.

  THE TRUSTED ONE

  “So, Bell Hartley is there now?” Robert Hawk peered at Claudia with an intensity that had once scared her. Now, it gave her a surreal sense of peace. That shift had come when she realized he would do anything to strengthen those he saw as his. And there were only two people in the world with that ownership. Herself a
nd Gwen.

  Claudia nodded at his question. “Yes, with Dario. Gwen’s alone in the condo.” She looked past him, at the monitors that showed the warehouse, individual squares displaying each woman in their cells. Only a year ago, she’d been one of them. Weak. Insolent. Unappreciative. The rumor mill had called them pets, but they didn’t understand the beauty of what Robert Hawk was doing. It was a psychology project to him. Give women opportunities. Reward those who behave. Punish those who fail. Measure loyalty.

  Of course, she had been different than the others. There was a reason Claudia was standing in his mansion, with the keys to an exotic car in her pocket. She was special. He’d told her that, after all the pain and the tests. He’d whispered it in her ear after she’d passed the final challenge and was given her freedom.

  Now, Robert Hawk stared at the photo of Bell Hartley, one Claudia had taken as they’d left The House and gotten into Dario’s car.

  It was a shame, really. Claudia had been prepared, at the onset, to protect the girl. She’d been willing to overlook the fling that would surely fizzle out. But this girl and Dario had taken things too far. The looks that passed between them. The way that Dario was chasing her around like a lovesick idiot. Overnights together, leaving Gwen alone. And the final nail in both of their coffins—the phone call that had gotten Bell on Robert Hawk’s radar. Now, there wasn’t any hope for her and Dario. She’d been forced to tell Robert everything and had watched his quiet fury ignite.

  “We need to end this problem now, before Gwen is aware of it.” Hawk eyed her as if assessing her potential, and she straightened under his scrutiny.

  “Do you want her brought to the warehouse?” She’d helped with that before. Drugged women with friendly shots at the bar, then helped them stumble to her car. This would be different. It’d be interesting to see how Robert Hawk treated a woman like Bell, who had done more than pick the wrong casino as her ticket into chains.

  “No.” He shook his head. “There’s no point in training her. I need to send Dario a message, and her dead body will be more effective than her disappearance.”

  She nodded at the decision.

  “Do you think you can handle it?”

  The question surprised her. He was a man who liked his own dirty work, especially when blood was involved. To put this trust in her… she nodded quickly.

  He leaned back in his chair and eyed her. “I can’t do it. Not without Dario catching wind and ratting to the cops. But you…” he smiled. “You can be my secret weapon. He doesn’t know you at all.”

  It was a reminder that stung. Gwen, whether she appreciated it or not, had been given the golden ticket of Hawk’s attention and pedigree upon birth. Claudia, she’d had to sweat, beg, and earn each and every step into Robert Hawk’s world.

  “After this,” Robert continued, “you can meet Gwen. Pass this test, and I’ll set up a dinner, just the two of my girls. How would you like that?”

  She nodded, emotion welling in her throat at the thought of sitting at a table with the two of them, as an equal. Finally, Gwen would know about her. Finally, Gwen would treasure her in the same way that Robert now did. “I can do it.”

  He smiled at her. “I know you can. And what’s more, I think you’ll enjoy it.”

  Twenty-Four

  BELL

  My car ate up the miles between Vegas and my parents’ house, the drive passing quickly in a mix of Beastie Boys and Sublime. I pulled up to the house around two and met my dad at the mailbox.

  “Anything good?” I put my car into park and stepped out, watching as he slowly walked toward me, his hands thumbing through the thin stack of mail.

  He finally looked up with a wry smile. “No Publishers Clearing House check yet.”

  I shrugged. “Yeah. Me neither.”

  He reached out an arm and pulled me into a hug, his shirt smelling of cigarettes and Old Spice. I lifted my chin and he kissed my cheek. “You look good, Bell. The big city agrees with you.”

  “Thanks, Dad. You’re not looking too shabby yourself. Mom inside?”

  He nodded, and we moved toward the house. I paused at the steps, letting him go ahead, and bent down, whistling to Rascal, who heaved himself out of the dirt and slowly made his way over, his back swaying, tail slowly wagging.

  “Hey buddy.” I patted his side, running my hands over his skinny ribs and up to his ears, scratching them in a way he liked, his back foot lifting and pawing at the air.

  “You coming?” Dad paused in the doorway, holding the screen door open, and I could hear the sound of water and dishes inside, the smell of fried chicken faint on the breeze. Rascal lifted his head and sniffed, and I bent down to kiss his muzzle.

  “I’ll sneak you a piece later.” I straightened, patting his head and nodded. “I’m coming.”

  Jogging up the stairs, I reached out and tugged at his T-shirt. “Happy Birthday, Dad.”

  He grunted in response. “Nothing happy about getting old, Bell.”

  I rolled my eyes, ducked under his arm, and entered the house. Across the living room, my mom turned from the stove, her face splitting into a smile, and she held out her arms for a hug.

  I didn’t have an excuse, running off to Vegas to live a life of sin. I grew up right. We attended church, ignored Dad’s drinking, and prayed over every meal.

  I didn’t have fancy things, but I had things. My clothes were second-hand or Walmart specials, but they were always relatively fashionable. We didn’t go on vacations, but we went to the movies on occasion, and to dinner enough times that I understood how to carry myself and didn’t look like a hick when presented with a salad fork or restaurant bill.

  We were good. As good as a family could be when the father passed out by eight, missed work as often as he attended, and couldn’t get through dinner without a six-pack of Coors.

  Then, that day happened.

  The stable.

  The police.

  The statements.

  The scorn.

  The disbelief.

  The shame.

  And then we weren’t good. We were bad, for months. Dad drank more, they started fighting, and Mom and I stayed at my grandparents’ house as often as our own. There was a year where I didn’t know what was happening, a year where I met with a social worker and failed tenth grade.

  And then we were better, almost better than before. Mom and Dad got back together, he quit drinking, and I started counseling. Met Elliot. Came out of my shell with the tentative steps of a newborn fawn.

  And then, two years after I graduated, Rick and Lance walked into my diner. They were full of swagger and money and fun. When they dangled Vegas in front of me, I snatched it from their grasp.

  “Pass the gravy, Bell.”

  I passed the dish and watched Mom tuck a bit of silver hair behind her ear, her eyes on the dark liquid as she spooned it out.

  “The chicken’s good.”

  She nodded. “I made plenty. Enough for you to take some home to your boys.”

  I smiled, thinking of Mom’s first meeting with Lance and Rick. She’d immediately labeled them as too thin, not properly taken care of, and in sore need of good women. Ever since then, she’d been trying to fatten them up, tame their wild ways, and get them married off.

  She’d been unsuccessful.

  Halfway through dinner, I realized something was wrong. They were uncharacteristically quiet, their questions less invasive, their conversations more on food and weather and less on nosing around my personal life. I glanced at Mom, who carefully scooped up some corn. I moved to Dad, who eyed his tea as if he wished it were stronger. “What’s going on?”

  They looked at me with the wide-eyed innocence of the guilty.

  “What do you mean?” Mom took an unusually large bite of cornbread.

  “You guys are being weird. No one’s asked me who I’m dating, or if I’m on birth control, or how my exams are going.”

  “Well, why—how are your exams going?” She asked the question th
rough the mouthful of cornbread, and little specks flew out and peppered the table.

  I waved her off and latched onto my father, a man who hid secrets as well as Rascal hid a bone. Which was to say that all you had to do was mention the item, and Rascal all but led you to it in an attempt to keep you away. “Dad. What’s going on?”

  He lifted his eyes from his drink to me, then they ricocheted off to the right. “John Wright and his son got into some trouble.”

  It was so unexpected that I sat back, a little of my breath lost with the impact of his name. “Another girl?”

  He shook his head. “No, no. Not that kind of trouble. Someone roughed him up. Roughed both of them up.”