Bond (Pierce Securities Book 6)

by Anne Conley

  Fantasies he had no business entertaining.

  He’d scheduled dinner with mom early enough so she’d hopefully be out of his apartment before the show began. Ginger had a boyfriend, or fuck buddy, and put on a Tuesday Night Show. And Slade wasn’t planning on missing it.

  He’d been watching the last two weeks, in the dark, but now that he had caught her watching him, he didn’t see any need in hiding himself. Fuck, she did it with her windows wide open; she didn’t even own curtains—none he could see, anyway. Surely, she was doing it because she got off on people watching. Some people were like that.

  As he tried to keep himself busy, he reminded himself why his mom was coming over. He had been trying to come up with enough money to pay Cecil back, so he couldn’t give it to her this time, and that would piss her off, so she would try to find it.

  He needed to find a good hiding place.

  Pulling out a butter tub from his stash of containers, Slade hid himself from prying eyes and re-counted his stash. He folded up almost six thousand dollars, wrapped in a rubber band around it, and placed it in the tub. He then put it in a plastic baggie and covered it with leftover soup from the fridge and stuck it in the freezer.

  Satisfied with himself, he waited for his mom while he finished dinner, trying not to think about the gorgeous strawberry-blonde across the way.

  Right on time, Lori swept into his apartment on a cloud of Charlie Gold, the same scent she’d worn since Slade was seven. She was fighting the aging process tooth and nail—the only way a woman with limited funds could—by dressing like it was still 1999.

  She wore a cropped, long-sleeved sweater, a jacket tied around her waist, and cheetah print pants. Her shoulder-length hair was like Slade’s, dark and curly, and she wore it wildly around her face. His mom would be pretty if she didn’t wear so much makeup, but he hadn’t seen her without the dark eyeliner and red lipstick since he was a kid.

  “Hey, Ma. Nice to see you.” He hugged her, wiped the lipstick off his cheek where she planted a big one, and led her into the kitchen to get the chicken out of the oven. Everything else was on the table. He never served her alcohol, as she was a belligerent drunk and didn’t seem to know when to stop, so he poured her a glass of iced tea.

  “I’ll never know where you learned to cook. It certainly wasn’t from me, but it smells amazing.” She sniffed the air appreciatively.

  “Yeah, well, when you get sick of frozen pizzas, you sort of learn.” He offered a thin smile. Lori wasn’t anything close to Martha Stewart. She didn’t cook, she didn’t clean, and she didn’t have a maternal bone in her body. In fact, he didn’t bring friends over since she’d tried to sleep with them as soon as they hit puberty. Another way to claim her long-lost youth.

  They sat to eat, and everything was almost like a normal family dinner—silence, with the exception of silverware scraping against plates, and chewing.

  “Your father’s dying,” Lori said, breaking the silence. Slade stilled. He hadn’t thought about his father in a while, and it was an unexpected topic of conversation. He’d been preparing his excuses to not give her money, not this.

  “Okay.” He didn’t know what else to say. His father wasn’t in his life, never had been. Lori had been one of two women; an affair Dear Old Dad had promised to turn more permanent after Lori had ended up pregnant. He’d said he was leaving his wife, promised to marry Lori, but then his wife had given birth to a baby who was supposedly going to go blind, and that had changed things for him. He’d given Lori money to leave him alone.

  Same old song, just another fucking verse.

  It had ruined his mom, and Slade blamed his dad.

  “He’s had heart troubles. I think he’s in St. David’s. I think you should go see him.” Lori hadn’t looked up from her plate, where she picked at her asparagus.

  The fact his father knew about him, yet had still chosen his “real” family, had been something that had taken Slade a lifetime to come to grips with. He wasn’t about to reopen that wound.

  “No thanks. It might upset the blind kid,” Slade said bitterly. Truth was, he knew all about his father and his family. Aside from the blind kid, they were perfect: summer vacations, nice house, everyone had their own car, dinner at the table every night, whatever. He’d even made some lame excuse to meet his dad once, under the guise of trying to sell him something, when he was seventeen. His dad had seen through the act, probably because Slade was the spitting image of his mother.

  And it hadn’t changed anything.

  “Still, you might want closure before he dies. Don’t let it fester, Slade.” His mother’s words were actually kind, and he looked up to find Lori looking at him with sadness in her eyes.

  Sadness that it had already festered into an ugly growth, and Slade’s only hope of excising it was the man’s death. He’d never really had thoughts of murder, but if the man died, it wouldn’t be any skin off Slade’s back.

  Pushing back his plate, Slade got up and started running water, putting an end to the conversation.

  And then it started.

  “Do you have a couple hundred dollars I could borrow?” His mother’s tone was wheedling. She was finished with her parent role and was now the damsel in distress, curling a tendril of hair around her finger and looking at him with wide eyes.

  “No, I don’t.”

  She fluttered her eyelashes at Slade. “This new guy asked me out and he’s taking me somewhere nice Friday. I don’t have anything. I need a new dress, and something has to be done with my hair, and I just don’t have the money.”

  “I don’t, either, Mom. I’m sorry.” He was angrier than he should be, and when dumping a pot into the sink, he splashed a bunch of water on his shirt. “Shit.” He was soaked, water dripping from him in rivulets.

  “Let me get the dishes. You go change.” Lori stood from the table, walked to the sink, and pushed Slade out of the way.

  “No. I’m fine.” He wasn’t, he was sopping wet. But whatever.

  She pushed him, her tiny hands working on his chest, wringing out his t-shirt while he wore it. That was almost as annoying as the water itself. He grabbed her fingers as they went to pat him with a paper towel.

  He didn’t exactly trust her, but he would be fast. “Mom. Sit down. I’ll get this. Let me run and go change real quick.”

  But not fast enough. As he pulled a clean shirt over his head, he heard the freezer door open. Fuck. “Mom!” When he got back, Lori had emptied the soup into the sink, stolen the money from the butter tub, and made her hasty escape. Rookie mistake. He should have hidden it earlier so she couldn’t tell what had just been put in the freezer.

  Cecil’s face wavered in his head: stupid cigar hanging out of his mouth and a shit-eating grin on his face.

  Slade was totally screwed.

  He made a mad dash out of his apartment, only to see his dear old mother peel out of the parking lot like a bat out of hell in the Hyundai he’d just bought her. He punched a fist into the wall next to him in frustration, letting out a low growl.

  Now he had to start all over to try to come up with ten grand to pay back Cecil by next week, and he had no idea where to get it. He’d been over halfway to the mark, and now it was gone.

  Back in his apartment, scrubbing dishes furiously in an attempt to focus himself, he couldn’t come up with anything. Nothing legal, anyway.

  When he’d finished, Slade plopped himself on the sofa with a beer, frustration making his heart pound as he desperately grasped at any idea to help himself out of this mess.

  The show started in the apartment across the way, and in the midst of Ginger’s imagined moans to go with the faces she made, Slade felt himself get hard and allowed the distraction to work its magic on him. The lucky son of a bitch she had handcuffed to her bed had a routine with her. He walked in the door, stripped, and went to the bedroom. Ginger handcuffed him to the bed, teasing him with her own strip show. Then she rode his face, getting herself off, and went to town with the
rest of him.

  It was a lovely show, and mostly distracted him, albeit temporarily.

  Chapter Four

  Deena Rae had her file on Cecil Hodges completed the next day—background information, credit reports, the works. It had been her specialty when she worked for Rick. He rarely let her out into the field, using her to compile reports for the men to grab the accused fugitives, making her miss out on all the action. Per Simon, Deena Rae would get to go get this guy, if the need arose. Unfortunately, it probably wouldn’t in a custody case. She wouldn’t get to capture the guy and make him eat his own balls for skipping out on child support like she would if it were her choice.

  Nope. She just collected the information and hoped Simon would let her do something more drastic if the time came. In the meantime, she knocked on his doorframe before going into his office to drop the file on his desk. He looked up with raised eyebrows.

  “Already?”

  “Yeah. All the background intel you could want. If you think of something I missed, let me know. I emailed you the files as well.”

  Simon picked up the folder, leafing through the pages. It was hilarious to her that he insisted on paper files, but he was the boss. He inhaled as he thumbed the pages and let out a self-satisfied sigh. “This looks pretty thorough. You up for some recon tomorrow at the club?”

  “Hell yeah!” Deena Rae would love to get her hands a little dirty.

  “No moves. Just eyes only at this point. Don’t go sneaking past doors and junk. Just go to the club, have a drink, look around … nothing funny.”

  “Got it.”

  He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “Is Andrew giving you a hard time?”

  She shrugged. Andrew had a hard-on for her, but it wasn’t a big deal. “I don’t piss where I fish, sir. It’s not a problem.”

  “You’ll let me know if it becomes one.” It was a statement, not a question, and Deena Rae nodded. “Good. I don’t stand for sexual harassment of any kind.”

  “Yes, sir.” She was tempted to tack on the Sarge, but decided against it. He seemed to like her; she didn’t want to push her luck. She didn’t have a shit ton of friends and wouldn’t mind actually getting along with her office mates.

  “Good. You can get a late start tomorrow since you’ll be putting in some hours tomorrow night.” With that, she was dismissed to go home.

  Deena was still high on the success of being taken seriously in her profession when she got home and set eyes on Mr. Fine Ass’s apartment door. She paused in her step, and instead of stepping right to go to her own door, she considered her choices.

  The lights were off in his apartment. It was six o’clock, and most of the residents who were employed were still at work. Full of single people, the apartment complex didn’t really come alive until the evening time. And there was a short wall near Mr. Fine Ass’s apartment door …

  As if they had a mind of their own, her feet moved to the left, and within seconds, her as-yet-unused lock pick kit was out and she was ducked behind the wall next to his door, trying to get into his apartment.

  The YouTube videos she’d watched paid off; she heard the click and got inside in under three minutes. Once in his apartment, she was taken aback by the similarities and differences. The floor plan was the same, although the colors of the carpet in hers were brown instead of the beige in his. She liked hers better. Plus, he didn’t have much stuff.

  But holy hell. The smell of him was amazing.

  It wasn’t overpowering at all. Just a simple, manly, musky undertone that spoke of clean sweat, hard work, and good cooking.

  Yummy.

  Now she was here, she wasn’t sure what to do. Except she was slightly bored, and this man was proving to be interesting. Never mind she was breaking and entering.

  Deena Rae was tired of wasting time and energy on losers like Rick. Rick had been a shitty boss, but he had a decent tongue. Once she’d quit, and they’d gotten into a groove with their sexy nights, she’d figured out what worked for her and that’s what they did.

  But Rick wasn’t a permanent thing. Not by a long shot. Neither one of them could stand actually talking to the other one. It was a shame they were so compatible in bed. Well, compatible wasn’t really the right word.

  As her eyes scanned the living room, her gaze landed on some coffee table books. People of Austin and Motorcycles. That was all. It was a rather minimalistic existence, and she wondered if he was completely moved in, or if this was a work in progress.

  She was still standing by Mr. Fine Ass’s door when she heard a key in the lock that wasn’t locked. Her heartbeat went into overdrive as fumbling at the lock preceded a muttered curse, then the knob turned.

  She was totally busted. Panicking, Deena Rae tried to get away, but her efforts were stupid.

  She wasn’t in her own place. There was no place to go.

  Within seconds, he had her tackled on the floor, facedown, her arms stretched above her head.

  His scent was stronger now, enveloping her, along with those muscles she’d glimpsed yesterday. Fear pummeled her as she realized she didn’t know this guy. His body covered hers, but she couldn’t see his face, read his expressions, tell exactly how pissed he was. His face was buried in her neck as he held her down, her face buried in the exceptionally clean-smelling carpet. He was meticulous in his cleaning. The carpets smelled like they’d just been shampooed. Serial killers were clean, she reminded herself, trying to gather the terror she knew she should be feeling. Why wasn’t she feeling it?

  Mr. Fine Ass was pretty, but he could be a fucking killer rapist clown for all she knew.

  Oh Jesus. She’d never checked the bathroom for clown makeup. That would suck.

  “What are you doing in here, Ginger?” His rough growl in her ear sent a shiver of goose bumps racing up her spine. Deena Rae bristled at the Ginger comment but squirmed to get out from under him. It was no use. She was stuck. His grip tightened on her wrists as his legs wrapped around hers to still them.

  And his other hand roamed.

  His breathing was ragged as his hand explored more than was necessary to make sure she wasn’t packing heat, which she was, but Deena didn’t think they were in the right position for him to find it.

  “You know what they say about curiosity and shit.” She shrugged, going for flippant, even as her heart raced. Problem was, she wasn’t really scared anymore. She should have been, but Deena Rae couldn’t muster the fear she needed to fight back.

  His hand was definitely doing more than looking for weapons, if the growing length at her backside were any indication. She quit struggling and lay there, limp and defeated. Maybe if she gave off a helpless vibe she could get out of here.

  “How did you get in?” His breath was hot in her ear, and if she wasn’t mistaken, his lips brushed it. She was on fire. Thank God he wasn’t looking at her face.

  A soft chuckle escaped her. “Would you believe you can learn anything on YouTube?”

  A rumble of accompanying laughter came from his chest, pressed against her back, but he raised himself and flipped her underneath him with very little effort.

  It wasn’t like she was fighting Mr. Fine Ass, but she was a tall woman. At five foot ten, she’d always wanted a man to handle her, like … well, like a man. Rick sure as hell wasn’t up to the task.

  But now she was face-to-face with him, she couldn’t really breathe. And her arms were still pinned at her head.

  His face was fucking gorgeous. A small scar under his right eye. Deep-brown eyes the color of teak wood. Full lips. Chiseled cheekbones. Dude could be a model.

  One of his crazy eyebrows was quirked up, slightly wrinkling his forehead. “Are you trying to come on to me? If so, this is a bit out of the ordinary.” He was relaxing his body on top of hers, even if he still held her wrists in a death grip above her head and had a massive growing bulge still pressing against her thigh.

  “I’ve never been accused of being ordinary,” she breathed at him,
wondering where the hell all the air in the room had gone. Her heart was still pounding in her chest, and her breathing was hard and heavy. She knew her breasts were practically in his face, but to his credit, he wasn’t looking. But they were certainly pressing against his ever-so-hard chest.

  His eyes flickered from her eyes to her lips, his free hand twining through a tendril of her hair. When they finally snapped back to her eyes, they were filled with resolve.

  “This is bad timing, Ginger. My life is a train wreck right now, or I would give this a go.” He smirked as he pressed his bulge into her thigh. “But you really should just stick to your Tuesday Night Specials.”

  Since he was relaxed, Deena Rae whimpered a bit, pretending to pout while biting her bottom lip, watching his eyes snap back to her lips. Using the distraction, she wound her legs around one of his and rolled, effectively pinning him under her. He let loose of her arms and grabbed at her hips as she stood.

  “Wow. That’s cocky, Mr. Fine Ass. But I hate the name Ginger, and train wrecks aren’t my style.” She managed to get out the door with a little dignity, even though she was embarrassed to have gotten caught and was ridiculously turned on.

  But she’d managed to walk out of there with the upper hand, and that’s what was important, right?

  Chapter Five

  Slade put the mouthy woman with the lips wet dreams were made of out of his mind as he showered and got ready for work. But it was difficult to say the least. Her parting words had hit something deep inside him, something he barely acknowledged, but it was there. He was a train wreck, especially now, with his sperm donor dying and all the resentment he felt for the life he’d never known but could have had if things were different. And there was his mother—the woman who’d endured hours of untold pains of labor to ignore him for other men, then need him for money as soon as he was able to provide it.

  Then there was Cecil, who would stuff Slade’s nuts down his throat. He was sure of it.