by LP Lovell
I want to tell him to go fuck himself, but I'm not about to crucify myself for Gabriel. Groaning, I shake my head and pull my phone from my pocket, glaring at the pale fucks in the shadows. I dial Gabriel's number and wait.
"Si, amigo?" he answers.
"Ronan fucking Cole's in my backyard." I glance up and Ronan smirks.
"That's unfortunate."
"He's here looking for you, you fucking asshole."
A string of Spanish curse words fly over the line before Gabriel clears his throat. "Tell the Russian puta to suck my dick."
A smirk works over my lips as I eye Ronan who's brushing an invisible piece of lint from his suit. "You sure about that, Gabe?"
"What the fuck does he want? Is he sweating his balls off in that suit of his?" He laughs.
"So you know him?" I sigh. "God, you are a fucking idiot. Where are you so I can send the Russian fucking devil to you and get him out of my fucking yard?"
"Fine. Fine. Send him to the bar."
"My fucking bar?" I hear people yelling in Spanish in the background.
"Si."
"Who the hell is that? Are those your guys? I swear to god, if you—"
Ronan snaps his fingers and my blood pressure shoots through the motherfucking roof. "Tell him to get rid of his men," Ronan says, "or I kill them all."
"He just snapped his fingers at me, Gabriel..." I drag in a breath. "Get your fucking men out of there." I glance up at Ronan and point. "And I swear to god, you two have a cartel slash mafia shooting in my bar..." I shake my head.
Ronan holds his hands up, smiling. "Never." He crosses himself. "Cross my heart."
"Well, good fucking luck with this shit," I say before I hang up and look at Ronan. "He's at my bar. And let me guess, you already know where that is?"
"Of course." He smirks. "And I know Gabriel has a house on the island, but I wanted to meet you as introductions are so very important." I narrow my gaze at him, imagining what it would look like to put a bullet right through his fucking skull. "I will leave you to your evening with Victoria and Cayla," he says as a dangerous smile graces his lips, causing my heart to stutter.
Ronan steps back into the shadows. Moments later I hear car doors close and headlights bounce over the gravel road. How the fuck do I manage to get dragged into shit like this? I pull another cigarette from my pocket and light it, watching, waiting.
My phone rings. I don't even check the number before I pull it to my ear. "Yeah?"
"My friend,” Ronan says, “how rude of me, I forgot to thank you for your help. I like you American. I do..." And then the line goes dead.
How the hell did he get my number? I stand at the foot of the stairs, my mind going ninety-to-fucking-nothing. Sweat collects in my palm and on my neck, dripping down the collar of my shirt. This is fucking bad and I'm not sticking around to put my family in danger. Fuck this. Gabe can deal with his shit on his own.
6
Tor
The bedroom door opens, slamming against the wall. I peer around the doorway of the bathroom as Jude barrels into the room, his eyes landing on me. "Pack your shit, now."
I frown and walk into the bedroom. "What? Why?"
He stops midstride, his jaw clenching. "Because I fucking said so."
I place my hands on my hips. "Why?" I repeat through clenched teeth. "What did you do now? Who was that dead guy?"
"I haven't done shit and that dead guy has nothing to do with it." He groans. "Now, pack your stuff, woman."
"Jude, it's nearly eleven o' clock at night. Cayla is sleeping. Why does everything have to be so cloak and dagger with you?"
He steps toward me. "I know what fucking time it is, and I don't have the patience for this shit." He yanks a drawer open and grabs some of my clothes, throwing them to the floor.
"You're impossible." I know Jude well enough to know that if he's spooked it's for good reason, but shit, the last time we ran it was because of Joe. My stomach knots just thinking about what it would take to make Jude move us again.
He bursts out of the room and I hear him open the door to Cayla's bedroom. Sighing, I crouch down on the floor, dragging a suitcase out from under the bed. I put clothes in it before going to the chest of drawers and grabbing clothes for Jude.
Jude comes back in the room with Cayla crying and clinging to him. "Shhh," he whispers brushing her hair from her face. "It's okay. It's okay." He hands Cayla to me and walks back out of the room yelling for Marney. Cayla grips my shirt in her tiny fist and I wipe the tears from below her eyes. Part of me wants to kill him for putting us in whatever situation he's put us in.
"What in the shit, Jude?" I hear Marney shouting from the hallway. "The Russian mafia?"
My lungs falter for a second. I clutch Cayla to my chest, pressing my palm over her ear as I storm from the room. "Did you just say Russian mafia?" I shout.
Jude and Marney both look at me. "Not the fucking time, Tor," Jude says, glaring at me.
I walk over to Marney, my temper at boiling point as I hand Cayla to him. I turn to face Jude. "Bedroom. Now!" I snap.
"Jesus, what?" he growls as he heads into the bedroom. I follow him and close the door, and he immediately turns to face me. "Yes, Tor, I said fucking Russian mafia, because that is who just showed up at our house looking for motherfucking Gabriel." He drags his hands down his face. "So we are leaving."
I fold my arms over my chest. "Was that so bloody hard? Jesus. Words, Jude. Use your words."
"Don't talk to me like I'm a two-year-old.”
"Don't insult Cayla. She doesn't grunt half as much as you do," I say calmly.
He doesn't say a word to me, just snatches another drawer open swearing under his breath. I walk out of the room and go into Cayla's room. Jude has half attempted to pack a bag, but it's all wrong. I empty it and start again. A few minutes later, a throat clears and I glance over my shoulder to find Jude standing in the doorway. "It's just a precaution," he says.
I whirl to face him, a humuorless laugh slipping from my lips. "Of course it is. I can't even be mad though, can I? This is all par for the course with you." I go back to shoving things in the bag. "I mean, I got a peaceful two years. I should be grateful, right?"
He exhales a hard breath before stepping toward me and taking both my arms in his large hands. "Don't be pissed." He swipes a finger over my cheek. "It's just to make sure we're safe. I promise, this had nothing to do with me."
Sighing heavily, I meet his gaze. "Promise?"
He nods. "Promise."
"You're lucky I love you," I grumble.
He cups my face and tilts my head back. "I don't care if you hate me, doll. As long as you're both safe." He kisses me gently, his thumbs swiping over my jaw.
Part of me hates this life because there was a time when I was a doctor, when I had a future. I was willing to sacrifice love and passion for a good career, a stable life. And then I was thrust into Jude’s world and I ended up losing everything to gain a love that burns so bright it blinds me. Jude gives me a passion the likes of which I never even imagined, and he gave me Cayla. I was wrong. Love is all there is in this world, the only thing that matters. If I leave this world having never accomplished anything more than loving him and our daughter, I'll die happy. That is my reality but his love—this love—comes at a price. There is always a cost to loving a man like Jude Pearson.
I meet his gaze and slowly nod. He'll protect us no matter what. I must trust that.
"I love you," he breathes against my lips. I stroke over his jaw, my nails scratching across his stubble. He checks his watch. "Ten minutes and then we're leaving."
****break***
Jude's gripping the steering wheel so hard his muscles strain with the effort. The dim light from the dashboard plays over his face that’s set in a hard mask. I glance back at Cayla fast asleep in her car seat, her lips parted as she breathes heavily. Sighing, I turn my gaze back to Jude who is anxiously looking at the mirrors, his brows pulled together in a frown. It's no
t the first time we've run, not the first time we've had a potential threat looming over us, but it is the first time we've run with Cayla. And that makes it completely different.
The tension rolls of Jude in waves so I place my hand on his thigh, rubbing my thumb in circles over the material of his jeans. I stare out the window, watching the darkness outside rush by the window. Jude's hand slides over mine, our fingers threading together before he lifts my hand and brushes his lips over my knuckles. We sit in silence as we fly over the bumpy track, Marney following behind us in my Range Rover.
After nearly an hour, the bars to a large metal gate cut through the beams of the headlights. The gates glide open and Jude drives the car along a driveway that snakes up a steep incline. We follow the curve of the drive and a white villa comes into view. The two lights on either side of the wooden door are on, but other than that the house lies in darkness. Jude cuts the engine and gets out without a word. He opens the back door and unbuckles Cayla just as Marney parks beside us.
"Where are we?" I ask as I climb out. Gravel crunches beneath my feet as I round the front of the car.
"A house,” Jude says, already halfway up the porch with Cayla asleep in his arms.
"I can see that Jude. Whose house is it?" I roll my eyes and sigh, following Jude to the front door. It's going to be one of those nights.
"Our house." He pulls a key from his pocket and shoves it into the lock.
"What the fuck?" I hiss, trying not to wake Cayla. He looks at me and I shake my head. "Put her down and then we are talking about this."
The door swings open into a foyer and Jude immediately makes his way up the stairwell. Marney stumbles inside, dropping bags to the floor before he wanders off to another part of the house.
I follow Jude through an already decorated and fully furnished house—of course it is. He disappears inside a room that has a little white bed and dressing table, just like the one at our other house. He gives Cayla a quick kiss, sweeps his hand over her head, then turns and walks right past me and into the hall.
I step out of Cayla’s room. "Jude, come back here!" He keeps walking. "I swear to god…" I growl.
He disappears into another room and I follow, ready to bloody hurt him at this point. It’s a bedroom, and again, the bed, the furniture—it all matches our home. He flops back on the bed, placing one hand behind his head as he turns on the massive flat screen hung on the wall, flipping through channels. "Jude!"
"Tor!" he says and keeps flipping channels.
"Why do we have an entire house just ready and waiting that I had no fucking idea about?" He glances at me. "And do not say; 'we just fucking do'."
"You never know when you may need one." He smirks.
It’s a simple statement. One I should expect. One I know to be true, but it bothers me. Maybe two years of bliss have made me soft, or perhaps it was just easy to forget the world that Jude came from before all this…until right now. If Jude feels threatened, it means I’m threatened. Cayla is threatened. I’ve always accepted Jude’s transgressions, but this is the first time any kind of danger has come near my child. And this is a horrible feeling. This very real fear continues to wrap around me, growing tighter and tighter until I feel like I can't breathe.
"You coming to bed?" he asks.
I turn and storm out of the room straight into Cayla’s. My gaze scours the room, landing on the dressing table by the window. I slide my hand along the underside, and just like at home, my fingers bump against a gun tapped to the wood. I yank it away and tuck it into the back of my jeans before I go to Cayla’s bed and brush my fingers over her soft cheek. I swallow the lump in my throat and take a seat in the chair in the corner, resting the gun on my lap as I watching Cayla sleep.
I wish I could protect her from all the enemies that would wish to hurt her. These enemies though, they aren't hers or mine, they're Jude’s. Two years. We had two years of reprieve. The calm before the storm. And as corrupt and illegal as Jude is this feels different. This is dangerous enough that Jude moved us to a house I didn't even know existed. I chew on the inside of my cheek as thoughts swirl through my mind so fast I can barely grasp onto them. I love Jude, but what kind of mother does this make me?
A shadow on the wall outside Cayla’s door catches my attention. "Tor," Jude groans before stepping into the room. His eyes fall to the gun in my lap. "What are you doing?"
I focus my attention back to Cayla. "I'm thinking."
He swipes a hand down his face before walking toward me and holding out his palm. "Give me the gun."
Glaring at him, I flick the safety off, wrap my fingers around the hilt, and allow my finger to linger over the trigger. "No."
"We're fine." He shakes his head, "You didn't even know about this fucking house, Tor. Ronan Cole sure as shit doesn't."
I didn't know about this house because Jude didn't tell me. My guess is a mob boss can find anything he wants if he's looking. I wasn’t looking. Or maybe I’m just a stupid woman and would never have found out regardless. I shake my head, glancing at Cayla again. She's so innocent—too innocent for this shit, just like I once was. I wanted Jude though. I wanted his brand of corruption. She's just a baby. "Just go to bed, Jude," I whisper.
"Tor..." I can hear the agitation in his voice.
I drag my free hand through my hair, leaning my head against the back of the chair as I sigh. The exhaustion is making my head pound and I close my eyes for a moment. I don't want to talk to him about this right now. I don't want to hear his bullshit about how he's protecting me. I can cope with most things, and I will deal with the shit as it comes...if he tells me. But the second he stops talking to me is the moment I start to doubt him. Jude and I have been through hell and back together and come out the other side. If he's not telling me things, then I have to expect the worst.
"I'm fucking going to bed," he says. And with that he walks to Cayla's bed, leans down, kisses her head, and leaves the room.
Two days. I'm going to give him two days to make me feel safe, to make me feel like my daughter is safe. And if can’t do that then I'm leaving. I can't have Cayla in danger. I won't.
7
Jude
Tor glares at me as she walks into the bathroom and slams the door. She won’t say shit to me. She’s been pissed all morning. I push open the door to the bathroom, catching sight of her long legs and ass as she steps into the shower and closes the glass door. Without a word, I pull my shirt over my head and drop my pants, stepping out of my boxers and fisting my cock as I grab the door and yank it open.
"Jude..." she starts. I step into the warm stream of water, grabbing her hips and spinning her around to face me. "You can fucking put that away," she says, eyeing my cock.
I nuzzle her neck and playfully nip at her. "Oh, I'll put it away." I press her against the tile wall, my hands roaming over her body.
"You don't get to fuck your way out of this, Jude Pearson!" She shoves against my chest.
"And you don't get to tell me what I can do." I sink my hand between her legs and smirk because, of course, she's fucking wet.
Her hand slides over my chest. Her fingers wrap around my throat and her nails dig into my skin. I clench my jaw on a groan and press my body harder against hers, the perfect feel of her tits sliding against my slick skin as her fingers tighten on my throat. "Sure you want to try that?" I arch a brow, burying my fingers deep and fast inside her.
"I hate you," she moans.
"I bet you do." I slam my lips over hers, grabbing her hair and fisting it. Her nails rake over my neck, the pain making my dick swell. I hiss out a breath and bite her bottom lip.
"So much," she breathes. Her back bows and she rolls her hips, grinding her pussy over my fingers.
"You fucking like it," I whisper against her ear before pulling my fingers out and slipping them between my lips. The way that woman tastes...fuck. I grab her leg, hook it over my arm, and ram my cock inside her wet and waiting pussy.
Her eyes shut and she
throws her head back against the tile, my name falling from her lips like a fucking prayer. Her fingers dig into my biceps. Her nails scratch over my skin as she moans and begs with every thrust.
I grab her by the throat and drag her face toward me, pressing her body hard against mine as I brutally thrust into her. She moans. I press my thumb along her jaw watching as she gasps and pants, as her brow wrinkles with each moan, each thrust. I lean down, gently kissing over her neck before I sink my teeth into her flesh.
"Shit," she breathes, struggling against me.
"I don't know why you fucking fight it, Tor," I say in a groan as I pound into her.
A long moan falls from her lips, the sound of it echoing around the shower and nearly driving me to the fucking edge. Her pussy clenches around my cock, squeezing and gripping. Her fingers tug at my hair and every fucking one of my muscles draws tight.
"Jude..." she pants, desperate and helpless. I love watching her fall apart for me and she does. Every fucking time. She's trying to pull away from me, but I hold her to me, burying myself deeper inside of her. All the tension that’s been building inside me uncoils and unwinds in an explosive heat, and when I come down, I press her against the shower wall, both of us breathing heavily underneath the warm spray of the shower.
Tor places her hand against my chest in an attempt to shove me away. "I'm still pissed at you," she says. "Just so you know, the fact that you cornered me in the shower changes nothing."
I laugh as I step under the water and run my hand through my hair. "Like you tried to fight it?"
"You're a cunt." She shoves past me, opens the shower door, and steps out.
"Not even gonna wash my come off?" I smirk
"Fuck you, Jude!" she calls as she leaves the bathroom.