Rough Hard Fierce

by Skye Warren

  The click of shoes on wood announced the arrival of a tall man, leaner than Colin, and darker. He was dressed in a white dress shirt and black slacks, but he wore them as effortlessly as sweats. And when he stepped forward into the lamplight, I saw that his face was disfigured on one side, but it was hard to say what exactly was wrong with it. At least without staring, which I tried hard not to do.

  I must have failed, though, because the sharpness in his voice held a reprimand. “You must be Allison Winters.”

  “Allie,” I offered, shrinking into the chair even as I told my feet to stand. Colin was made of sterner stuff and stood.

  “Philip,” Colin greeted.

  Philip swung his gaze to Colin and raised his eyebrows. “You’ve been absent.” Every word was clipped, like it was cut off a second too soon.

  “You know why.” Colin spoke evenly. “Where’s Laramie?”

  “Late, as usual. I’d love to fire him for it if he wasn’t so fucking useful.” Philip grimaced and threw a nod in my direction. “Pardon my language.”

  Ha! That was a trip. If he thought I was a lady enough to watch his speech, then maybe there was hope for me yet. But this was stupid. I’d been silent this entire time.

  “Nice to meet you.” It came out as a croak. Neither man acknowledged me.

  “Any news?” Colin asked, his demeanor excluding me.

  “A few packages arrived last week,” Philip replied, “but we’re seeing delays all over the place. I’ll need you to look into it.”

  Colin nodded as if he’d expected as much.

  “Bad enough the quality issues,” Philip said. “Now with shipping trouble too. It’s gotta be a setup.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” Colin said.

  Philip inclined his head as if that settled things. I wondered if I could have as much trust in Colin as that.

  I let my mind drift while they talked shop. I’d gone to the parenting clinic for testing and contraception earlier today. The doctor had been different, but the nurse had been the same as two years ago. She hadn’t recognized me. I’d gritted my teeth against their vacant expressions and impersonal touches in my most private areas, but at least that was better than the alternative.

  Laramie joined us soon after. Laramie the Lawyer, though I kept that moniker to myself. He had soft features and kind eyes, all the better to trust him with. He, at least, was introduced formally to me. This was Drew Laramie, attorney-at-law and family friend. I was Allie Winters, the one with “the problem.”

  I had a short speech prepared. What I’d told Colin but with details. When Bailey was born, what her birth certificate read, how I’d supported her all this time. These things had seemed important in the light of day when I’d anticipated and dreaded this meeting.

  But here, in the dark, with the men settling in and throwing their words above my head, my planned words seemed superfluous, as if the details hardly mattered. Laramie sat across from Colin. Philip served us all drinks, somehow managing to not look the least bit subservient. He served me first, as the lady, I supposed. I brooded into my glass of water while the men were given an amber liquid.

  “It looks like he hasn’t filed yet, but that doesn’t mean anything,” Laramie said, finally addressing the case. “These things take time.”

  “And you know we’d rather avoid that altogether,” said Philip.

  “I understand. I have Roark looking into his background. If we can find something appropriate…” Laramie let the sentence die as he took a sip from the drink Philip handed him.

  “That’s risky,” Colin said.

  Laramie nodded. “Hard to say how a man’ll react until he’s pressed into a corner. You mentioned paying him off, but that carries its own risks. Technically there’d be no guarantee he wouldn’t file at some future date or press for more money.”

  “Oh, he’ll stick to the deal,” Philip said.

  Laramie smiled without humor. “There’s persuasion, but you don’t need me for that.”

  God, no more violence. Please.

  “She doesn’t want that,” Colin said.

  They paused in unison and looked at me.

  “Definitely not,” I said. Which seemed to work, because they resumed talking around me, about negotiations and agreements. Riddles cloaked in ordinary words. At least there was no more talk of persuasion.

  It was like I’d stumbled into some sort of Mad Hatter’s tea party. I should speak up, I knew. I should advocate for Bailey, but despite the questionable ethics of some of their suggestions, they seemed to have a much better grasp on the possible solutions than I did.

  If only Philip would look at me when he talked about me.

  Laramie did, giving the occasional sympathetic glance, particularly when he mentioned Bailey specifically. Colin also looked at me with his usual impassivity, though he directed his comments at the other men.

  Philip looked at the other men and, on occasion, at the air beside me. Never at me. After Andrew, I’d lost any claim to be a great judge of character, but everything about Philip made me nervous.

  I trusted Colin, and he trusted Philip. Colin seemed to think that was enough, but I was starting to realize trust didn’t work by proxy.

  Laramie’s eyes caught mine, an apology in them. “This man, did he ever hurt you?”

  “What?” The very worst liar in the world, my eyes widened and my hands clenched.

  “If he did,” Laramie said carefully, “it would certainly help our case. Give us leverage.”

  I stared into his gentle eyes with my mouth open.

  “Allie?” Colin said, but I couldn’t look at him.

  Laramie was silent, watching me.

  I’d thought about confessing all to Colin, but it wouldn’t be like this. I couldn’t possibly bare all my sins, all my shame in this room full of strangers. A room full of men. I was already the gold digger, the slut, the problem. I wouldn’t also be the victim.

  Besides, violence had already been discussed once tonight. I didn’t want Andrew hurt, though I wouldn’t let myself think too hard on that. And I certainly didn’t want Colin picking a fight, possibly injuring himself, possibly in trouble with the law. Hurting himself in the process because he thought he needed to fight to keep the people he cared about near him.

  “No,” I said.

  And then stronger, turning to look at Colin. “No. He didn’t hurt me.”

  The lie was a small stab to my stomach, which was good. I deserved no less for deceiving Colin, even if it was for his own good. Or maybe it wasn’t a lie, if I thought of all my date nights. Asking for sex, for pain, in a sick bid for control, but that was an illusion. I’d never had control, and this farce of a consultation only underscored it. Those men hadn’t hurt me, Andrew hadn’t hurt me, not nearly so much as I’d hurt myself.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Colin’s house was quiet. After I shut the door behind a groggy Shelly, Colin reached back behind my neck and pulled me in for a kiss. He backed me up right there, the cool wall against my shoulders a contrast from his hot hands gripping my hips and his tongue invading my mouth.

  My mind reeled from the earlier conversation. Like the flashing pictures in a slot machine, my emotions ran from guilt to fear to anger. And then frustration with myself. I was getting what I wanted; I should be happy. He pressed his mouth down the side of my neck. Should be happy.

  “God,” he muttered. “This dress.”

  Pride sparked in me, a welcomed respite. His arousal was thick, insistent. I struggled to catch up as we all but mated in the hallway, minus the intercourse.

  Colin’s hand parted my legs and stroked me.

  I shut my eyes tight as if I could lock out my thoughts and just feel. His fingers were thick at my entrance, the calluses providing a delicious friction. His body loomed large around me, shielding me from the outside world. His lips on mine were hot and hungry.

  I slickened below, just a bit. Thank God. I could do this.

  I wasn’t quite read
y. Not physically. I was barely wet; nothing close to what Colin could bring me to, drenched and supple. Not mentally. My mind was still running replays from earlier. I wasn’t in the mood right now, and my body had only begun to recognize what Colin wanted.

  Colin shook with his arousal. He intimidated me with it, looking angry and intense, though I knew by now that was eagerness. I tugged him up the stairs, past the room where Bailey slept, and into his bedroom—our bedroom—and shut the door. I slipped off my panties and kicked them aside, then bent over the bed and looked back. He understood. With quick, jerky movements, he lifted my skirt and entered me.

  I gasped as his cock stretched me. He paused. I wanted to do this for him. I needed to. I tilted my hips back to allow him deeper access, accepting the sharp pain without further sound.

  He pulled out, almost completely, and then rammed back in. My teeth gritted together and my fingers whitened on the bedspread, but I would take it. He grabbed my shoulders and set up a rhythm of deep, punishing thrusts. He seemed lost in his pleasure, unable to notice my confusion, which I was grateful for. The air was too thick to breathe. My thoughts too murky to pierce. I didn’t think I could talk—or orgasm, for that matter—if he had wanted something more than my compliance.

  Colin flipped me over. I spread my legs wide, and he entered me again with deep, rooting thrusts. He slammed into me, pushing me up the bed. His wrists were beside my shoulders, and I reached up to grasp them, to anchor myself.

  The pillow smashed between my head and the headboard. It was just a pillow. A soft pressure, especially considering the force of Colin’s thrusts. But it triggered something in me, something hard.

  Cold washed over my body. My skin prickled into goose bumps. My nipples were oversensitive, abraded against his chest. My cunt felt sore, like pulverized meat. My clit felt smashed under the thrusts of his pubic bone.

  I made no move to stop the sex. This was just a way for my body to service his. My discomfort was small and well earned.

  He noticed, though, and reached down to touch my clit. I jumped. “No. Don’t,” slipped out.

  His hand stilled, and he slowed his hips to a gentle rocking. “What’s wrong?”

  “Just keep going.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Something’s wrong.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Just…just finish.”

  Damned if the man wasn’t as contrary as I was. He froze, still inside.

  “Tell me,” he demanded.

  “It’s nothing.” As if we could have an actual conversation while his stiff cock was still lodged deep inside me. “Just do it.” I put a challenge in my voice and my eyes. “Fuck me.”

  I knew he wanted to by the way his hips rocked forward as if testing the waters. Coming up dry, he pulled out and sprawled across the bed, catching his breath.

  I felt hot and cold at the same time. And raw. As if the physical barricades had been burned away, leaving me exposed. Helpless. All I could think about was ending this night so we could get back to normal—at least our version of normalcy.

  The room was silent except for our breathing, and I had the inappropriate urge to giggle. I managed to restrain myself. All I needed was another bout of hysteria for him to peg me as crazy, not that he’d be wrong.

  Colin broke the silence. “Was I too rough?”

  “No.” And before he could ask anything else, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  For the second time in our relationship, I retreated to the bathroom after sex. I slammed the door to let him know he wasn’t invited this time. To ask him to follow me again.

  From on top of the toilet seat, I watched the doorknob. My ears listened for footsteps or the turn of the knob, but none came. I wanted for him to come, but he never did.

  I should be grateful that he’d listened to me. After feeling invisible at Philip’s, after raging for control over my body for years, the fact that he’d granted my request should be bliss.

  For the first time since I’d met him, I felt truly alone.

  Hard

  Skye Warren

  Thank you for reading the Chicago Underground series! You can join my Facebook group for fans to discuss the series here: Skye Warren’s Dark Room. And you can sign up for my newsletter to find out about new releases at skyewarren.com/newsletter.

  Enjoy the story…

  Chapter One

  “Do you want pancakes?” I asked Colin, imploring him with my eyes. Let’s be normal. Just pretend.

  His eyes narrowed, but he nodded.

  Thank you.

  I couldn’t talk about what had happened last night, not when it was so fresh. More than that, I wasn’t even sure what had happened.

  I’d gone cold during sex before. In fact, I’d been cold during every sexual encounter I’d ever had, except with Colin. Never with Colin, until last night.

  I piled three pancakes, the top one fresh off the skillet, onto a plate and carried it into the dining room. Colin sat, not at the head of the table, but near the foot, next to Bailey. Right in the syrup splash zone.

  “Waka!” said Bailey. She was coated in syrup and pancake crumbs, from the tips of her sticky hair to her grubby, outstretched fingers.

  “Good morning,” Colin replied to her, with the same gravity with which he’d accepted my offer of pancakes and peace. Satisfied, Bailey returned to sculpting her soggy pile of pancake. I set the plate down in front of Colin.

  “Coffee?” I offered.

  “Please,” he answered.

  I returned to the kitchen, which I already knew like my own, and brewed the coffee. More baby talk trilled from the dining room, but I figured I’d best let them get on without me. I would try my hardest to keep Bailey in line, but if Colin was truly averse to the mess or the noise of a child, then this wasn’t going to work.

  A string of warbled sounds. Low tones. The bang of tiny fists on the high chair tray punctuated with a shriek.

  I rushed into the dining room, prepared for the worst. Bailey fussing or throwing a tantrum. Colin angry and splashed with syrup.

  What I found was Colin sliding a handful of pancake squares onto Bailey’s tray. A slice of the pancakes from his plate was missing, now replaced with Bailey’s pancake lump.

  He turned to look at me, all seriousness. “She wanted to trade.”

  Bailey giggled.

  How in the hell he’d understood that from her garbled syllables, I didn’t know, but it didn’t matter. Bailey was happy. Colin seemed happy enough. And, dammit, if I could just figure out the trick, surely I could be happy too.

  After breakfast Colin headed out to run some “errands.” His restaurant had a general manager, but Colin still checked in, preferably around peak mealtimes. He also spent a fair amount of time at home with me and Bailey, but the rest of his time was unaccounted for. He went out, and I wouldn’t be the nagging woman to demand to know where he was going and when he’d return.

  We both knew that at least some of his time was spent working for his brother, but we didn’t talk about it. Avoidance may not be a psychotherapist-certified coping technique, but it worked for me. I wasn’t trying to get fancy. This wasn’t about true love. I didn’t need Colin to complete me. I just wanted some security, and he was it.

  An hour later Bailey and I were rescuing the doll princess from the foam block castle. The doorbell rang. I’d told Shelly to just come around back. I stood and opened the door, but it wasn’t her.

  Two men stood on the porch, dressed in identical brown suits. Cops. I knew this from years of avoiding them, not because I was a consummate lawbreaker, but because it was a well-known fact, in my neighborhood, at least, that cops only brought trouble. They’d brought a whole lot of nothing back when I’d needed them, but I suspected this was trouble.

  I tightened my fingers on the door and hugged it close to my body.

  “Allison Winters?” His face had the look of an overweight person, though he wasn’t really, and it was mottled red. It took me a second to place it�
��the look of an alcoholic. “We’re with the Chicago Police Department. I’m Detective Shaw, and this is Detective Cameron. We’d like to have a word with you.”

  How the hell did they know who I was? Or where to find me? “What is this about?”

  “It’ll be best if we come inside.”

  I glanced back at Bailey on the floor. I hated the thought of these men, with their weapons and condescension, being around her. My long-practiced avoidance demanded I slam the door on whatever bad news they brought, but it seemed that lately the cockroaches crawled out into the sunlight. There was nowhere to go. No place was safe.

  The cops accepted my deliberation without surprise. The second cop, with a surprisingly respectful demeanor and startling blue eyes, offered his badge and prodded, “Ma’am.”

  “Yes. Come in.” I opened the door wide and allowed them into the living room.

  How would someone act if she’d done nothing wrong? That’s the part I had to play. I hadn’t actually done anything wrong, but that didn’t seem to matter when my heart was hammering in my chest. Keeping secrets had turned me into a skittish creature.

  I gestured them to the couch away from where Bailey sat on the rug. She regarded them with a serenity I envied. I tried to don the confidence of my slut persona, but the props and setting were all wrong.

  “How can I help you?” I asked, a touch too loud. Damn.

  “You’ve been seeing Colin Murphy,” Blue Eyes said, more a statement than question.

  I snorted. “I’m living in his house. Yeah, we may have run into each other a time or two.”

  A slight smile tugged at his mouth—gone just as quickly. “Mr. Murphy is a person of interest in a number of ongoing investigations with the CPD.”

  My heart beat faster, mostly with worry for Colin and whatever trouble he may be in, but, to my shame, there were other emotions too. Relief that they weren’t here about Andrew. And, because I guess I’d always been selfish, fear of what this would mean for me and Bailey.

  “He’s not here,” I hedged.