The Enforcer (The Gafanelli Mob series Book 4)

by Natalie Wrye

  Her face is twisted into an unspoken grunt as she lugs two large pails off the side of a small garden and sets them down carefully on the dirt floor. Her ears must hear the rhythm of my goddamned heart because the second I see her, her stare diverts and smacks right dab into mine. Her glacial eyes are wide and penetrating.

  Something unseen takes place within our silent exchange, our eyes doing the talking for us. Del stares at me, her cherry mouth wide, and an already tight thread within me snaps, drawing me towards her, my legs light as feathers as I cross the long distance between us, abruptly stomping towards Del, who releases her grip on the now-insignificant buckets of water at our feet. She backtracks slowly, reaching for the door through the back porch, and I follow closely behind, watching her like a predatory hawk as she walks towards the side entrance of the cabin.

  I stop Del from going any farther, grabbing her arm and enclosing her against the wooden side of the rickety house. I use my arm to trap her against the wall, still afraid that if I let her out of my sight, she will disappear.

  Through my rising rage and the strain that’s in my throat, I can only voice one word.

  “Explain,” I say, looking down into her crystal eyes, using the heat from my own glare to melt the ice that resides in hers.

  Smacking a raw hand over her head, I lean in close to Del and the wooden wall, but she doesn’t flinch. Feeling the heat of her tiny body hot against mine, I lose what little control I have left, launching into an indestructible rant, roaring a bevy of curses and words, growling each from my lips in a furious rush. I drill my eyes into her slight form, my stare driving silent daggers into her pretty face. My heart picks up pace into attack mode.

  “Are you fucking insane, Del? You’ve risked everything! My life. Yours. Melanie’s.” I grind my tightened teeth. “I never knew anyone who could be as goddamned irresponsible as you are. You don’t think shit through, do you?! You’re reckless. You’re careless. You’re hasty. It’s no wonder you lost that goddamn journalist job. You fuck away every firing neuron in your brain.”

  I regret my words instantly, silently chiding myself for such a low blow. But fuck, I’m mad. Goddammit, I’ve never been so mad in all of my life. Delilah closes her eyes for an instant, and when she raises them once again, there are tears on her lashes, chunky drops of water that cling to the dark hair, making them large and spiky. Magnified like never before.

  It’s the first time I’ve noticed her appearance since seeing her again, and now I let my eyes get their fill. Hair deliberately mussed. Long waves tossed back. The strands are separated as if she’s run her fingers through them, and with her cheeks flushed, her skin slightly tanned from what looks like extra exposure to the sun, she looks fucking delectable.

  Her nose is slightly red, and her lips – those lips – are caught between her teeth and are so bright that they almost glow against the background of the rising sun above our heads.

  I squint my eyes, trying to harden my resolve.

  “I could wring your neck right now,” I growl.

  “Yes.”

  “Choke the goddamned life out of you.”

  “I know.”

  “You’re too stubborn for your own goddamned good. And I’m tired of this shit, Del. I’m done playing games with you.”

  “I get it,” she says finally, dropping her gaze back to the ground, causing my eyes to do the same.

  It gives me the opportunity to take in her entire frame, and I’m able to skim my eyes all the way down her delicate neck past her perky breasts and down to her tiny, bare toes.

  Heat crawls up my chest and I feel it fan its way to my face. I’m so angry. So fucking angry. I open my mouth to say more, to tell her the news about Marco’s escape but instead I grab the nape of Del’s neck and plant her lips where my next words would be.

  I can’t resist her.

  Nothing—no anger or rage—can replace my relief knowing Del is alive. Try all I want to mask it, my body has other plans, and kissing Del is the only thing it wants to do.

  The rest of me simply obeys.

  I put my lips where her teeth just were and suck her bottom lip into my mouth. I taste her tongue, stroking it with mine, needing to make her moan, wanting to see if the flavor of her full mouth matches its seductive cherry color.

  Angling her lips, she lets her tiny pink tongue enter the recesses of my hungry mouth, stroking my suddenly numb tongue. Her kiss is a full caress. Taking. Daring. Pleasing. And it makes my cock harden without mercy. I grind my lips and hips into the hollows of her body, pressing her length-wise against the outside wall of the sturdy, wooden house.

  I want her clothes off. Need them off. Right now. But she’s still swathed in a t-shirt and shorts. I sink my hand into her shorts, unfastening the string at the waist. I cup the mound between her thighs with the palm of my hand, and she gasps beneath my touch, stroke the soft hair between her thighs, the padded part of my thumb slipping between her silky slit. I circle her clit with my fingers, pulsing them there, and I feel her wetness along my palm, the dampness against my skin driving a need in me I’d forgotten existed.

  A need to make Delilah come. Again and again and again.

  And then my name escapes from her lips. It floats on a soft sigh that’s almost imperceptible, and my last bit of control is blown to fucking bits. I sink my fingers into the waistline of Delilah’s shorts, lowering the fabric with my hand… when the back door to the cabin swings open.

  I look up just as a heavy footstep lands. Del and I shoot apart like magnets, and soon after, I discover a set of storm-gray eyes staring in my direction, casting a withering look in my direction. The old woman to which that stare belongs to speaks.

  “Delilah,” she croaks, coughing briefly. “Are you out here?”

  Del emerges from against the wall. “Yes.” Her voice cracks on the small word. “Yes, Aunt Reba, I’m out here. I was just coming in…” Del gazes at my furrowed face. “With a friend.”

  I hear the old lady groan, her steps slow and deliberate as she turn back towards the door. She throws the next words over her shoulder as she walks.

  “I see. Well, you might want to invite your… ‘friend’ in since he’s here. It’s a little cold out this morning to be getting so frisky. And we haven’t even had our breakfast yet.”

  Belong to You

  DELILAH

  Twelve hours later, after breakfast and cleaning, after Aunt Reba’s long-winded stories and Melanie’s bath, I can’t get my clothes off fast enough, throwing them to the side almost immediately.

  I shut the bathroom door softly behind me and the second I’m inside, I strip off my shirt, shucking out of my shorts. I unclasp my bra and send my thong skidding across the room in a lacy heap.

  The water’s finally hot. And I can’t wait.

  I want to burn away every nerve-ending on my body. To get rid of the feel of a man who’s not my own.

  I wait silently in the room alone, too afraid to run into Javi out there, too scared to even risk a second encounter. He will kiss me again; I know it. And I won’t do a damn thing to stop it if he does.

  I scrub my body slowly, thinking about where Javi’s hands have just been. I lean into the hot tub, hoping the water will sear away all the wanton desire that still simmers on my skin, and as I dip my hair into the tub, I remember what it felt like to have him clutch it in his hands, his long fingers trailing down my breasts and sides.

  Every thought, every touch makes me think of him, and by the time I climb out of the newly ice-cold bath, my body is ten times hotter than it was when I first entered.

  The temperature of the small cabin dips as the evening sun starts to set, and the cool spring air and smell of the hot gas stove slam into my nostrils the second I make my way out of the bathroom, and I am enticed into Aunt Reba’s den with a seduction that is as carnal as any sexual temptation. It’s been so long since I’ve felt safe—felt warm, and my mouth waters at the thought of making rolls from the fresh dough waiting in th
e kitchen, my hands itching to be put to use on anything besides Javi’s body.

  I can’t stop thinking about him. Or his hands.

  I remove my towel, sliding myself into clothes. I slip a long-sleeved shirt over my shoulders, wriggling into a pair of Wrangler jeans. I pull my hair out of a towel, slapping it into a ponytail and before I can leave Aunt Reba’s spare bedroom, the sound of laughter, loud and long greets me, a bubbly giggle floating through the air.

  I open the bedroom door, turning the corner. Ambling into the living room, my fingers fidgeting endlessly, I find Javi there, dancing across Aunt Reba’s living room floor, his long strides wide, hips swaying as he swings a tiny Melanie from the tip of his colossal hands. My three year old screams with delight as she pivots through the air.

  Blonde curls bouncing, face as ruddy as a ruby, she is nothing like the normal toddler she was just a week ago—tiny and tense, a permanent pout on her face as her loony mother dealt with a family that was falling apart. Even right now, I am barely holding onto my sanity.

  The only part of my life that makes any sense? The feelings for the gorgeous man in front of me. And the laughter of the greatest love of my life…

  My daughter.

  I watch them—the two of them together, and a warmth enters my heart that I haven’t felt in years, a yearning for this level of love surpassing everything else in the world.

  Even the anxiety that eats at me at every turn.

  For once, the worry, the one that’s plagued my soul since my parents died, the one that took root when I was seven and held on for twenty-six years, is suppressed by something stronger than me. A need that tightens like a noose around my aching heart.

  I hear a soft footstep behind me suddenly. I look up towards the open doorway past the kitchen and find Aunt Reba there, her eyebrows raising high. Her steps are slow, and I watch understanding dawn on her jovial face, both eyes widening in surprise as she shuffles towards me. She watches an unsuspecting Javi and Melanie over my shoulder, her words just as quiet as her footsteps. She breathes into my ear.

  “He’s not Darren, ya know.”

  I nod to the air, not looking back. “I know.”

  “Then what are you waiting for?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t know… A sign, maybe. A whisper from God. Lightning to strike and zap some sense into me.”

  “Sounds like waiting to me. And if you’re waiting for perfection, child, I’ve got news for ya… It doesn’t exist.” She inhales softly. “And a man like that… A man willing to love you and your child. A man willing to put everything on the line is a man you don’t throw away.” I look back at her and she smiles. “Yes, I recognize this boy. The same one I found you with when I caught you throwing that party here at sixteen. The one who held you on the back porch.”

  I blink. “I can’t believe you remember that.”

  “I’m blind. Well, nearly,” she retorts. “Not stupid.”

  “No,” I sigh, feeling my shoulders sag. “I had a choice. Fifteen years ago. And I think I may have chosen wrong…” I hug myself. “I think I was hell-bent on a fairytale.”

  “Yeah, well, most times, the fairytale has twists and turns. These are yours. Just make sure you work on navigating those curves.” She looks over at Javi. “What I wouldn’t give to navigate his curves.”

  My bottom lip falls. “Aunt Reba.” I snort out loud.

  “Hell, guess I’m not as blind as we both thought, huh?”

  And with that, she shuffles back to her bedroom doorway. The door closes behind her, clicking quietly, and I smack a silent hand against my forehead, cursing myself, the frustration building once again within me, made stronger and more solid by the attraction between Javi and I that lays each additional brick.

  I contemplate the magnetism between this impossible man and me, pondering what exactly it is that brings us together. Two replicas of each other, somehow aligned.

  I’m the North to his North, South to his South. Nature ordained that we never attract, but we do… and the contradiction of it all—the broken princess and her knight in shining bullets, almost makes me wish that he never touched me…

  And somehow that thought conjures up a fate almost worse than death.

  That familiar itch in my fingers begins to prick, and I head back towards the ambient heat of the kitchen, soaking in the warmth. I grab for the levers at the sink and as the lukewarm water ekes out from the leaky faucet, I wash my hands quickly, drying them before placing my digits around the coffee-colored dough on the counter and when my fingers sink themselves into the soft, pliable mixture, I sigh, kneading the ball of flour slowly, slipping into the sanctuary of my second home like I never left.

  Cooking. Making something out of practically nothing. Shaping a work of art, creating an instrument of life that only I can envision.

  Food. It’s as sensual as it is life-bringing, and crafting it with my own hands is an act that gives me control in a life peppered with bits of chaos.

  I let the simple act bring me to back to life. I pound the ball of fluffy mix with my fists, my former frustrations melting away. I flatten the ball of squish, slapping at it with my palms when I feel a set of hands slide over mine, the scent of sandalwood and weathered leather wrapping itself around me along with a pair of arms, sturdy and strong. I shudder when I feel his breath on my neck, blowing steadily, a breeze against my skin. I feel his grin.

  “Let me help you.”

  I shake my head. “You’ve helped enough. With Melanie. With… everything.”

  I hear him sigh. “Melanie’s asleep. I put her to bed twenty minutes ago. You’ve been in here for a while, pounding.” Somehow I hadn’t noticed. “As for ‘everything’? Well, I don’t exactly know about that, but I do know I can help you beat the hell out of some dough. The least I can do, after letting you take a beating back in New York.”

  I stare down at the counter, my fingers still seeping into the dough. I watch Javi’s own do the same. I shake my head, my skin tingling as the scruff of his beard sweeps against my neck. Javi leans in close and I can feel him everywhere. My legs go weak at the knee as I try to keep the words on the edge of my teeth from rattling, despite the fact that the whole kitchen just got a hell of a lot warmer.

  I squeeze my thighs, squirming under Javi’s embrace. I lick my moistened lip, struggling to talk.

  “Don’t think anybody’s given me more of a beating than the one I’ve given myself.”

  I scoff. I turn in his arms, unable to help myself and soon we are staring at each other, face to face, our eyes merely inches from each other as we glare one another down. I shrug.

  “Why me?”

  His reply is swift. “Why not you? Delilah…” His words trail off before they return again. His dark brows draw together, his tone as menacing as his frown. He traps me against the kitchen counter, enclosing me.

  “Del… Do you even know how special you are? How deserving you are of everything that is fucking good?”

  Deserving. It isn’t a word I hear often outside of my own head.

  Some days I knew I deserved better than what I’d allowed myself to have and there were other days—days where doubt took the front seat and started driving. On those days, I no longer felt in control; I was nothing more than a spectator. Unsuspecting. Completely submissive.

  They were words no one who knew me would ever use to describe me… but it was true. I was submissive—captive in my own life, and fuck, what I wouldn’t give to never sit on my own sidelines again… I press my thumbs to the kitchen counter at my back, biting my lip so hard it starts to bleed. Tears fill my stinging eyes.

  “How do you know this?”

  Javi is infinitely patient with me. He touches my chin, tipping it towards him.

  “Because I see you, Delilah. Maybe in a way that no one else does. There’s no goddamned vanity on which to rely, no pretense on which to pretend. I’m not worried that you’ll survive your life; I’m worried that you’ll settle in it. You’re
not meant to be someone ‘normal’; you never were. You worried so much about saving everyone around you that you’ve forgotten what it means to need some saving of your own. Let someone else be the hero sometimes, Del. Even when you stop believing in them.”

  I laugh softly, a sound without humor. My head feels light, and my skin feels tight. I can’t think with Javi this close, barely touching me, his breath a caress against my body. I suck my teeth, breathing in his scent, becoming intoxicated by it. I can smell the smoky citrus on his olive-toned skin, an aroma that traps me to the spot.

  “Is that supposed to be you?” I ask.

  I watch as he shakes his head. “I’ve never been a hero, princess. Just a villain. The type of heroes you’re thinking of are best kept in movies and sappy sitcoms. Nobody’s ever going to mistake me for a Hemsworth.”

  “Why?” I counter. “Not blond enough?”

  He snorts. “No. Not ‘good’ enough.” His emerald eyes darken. “Because if I were, I wouldn’t be here right now. Thinking of touching you. Taking you. Tonguing you over every inch of your body and making slow passionate love to you until you can’t move.” His nose almost touches mine. “If I were good, I’d be a better man than this…” He whispers slowly. “But I’m not. And so with that, princess, I’ll say ‘good night.’ I’m nobody’s hero. Much less my own.”

  He withdraws from me, walking quietly away, and I almost fall from the effort not to chase him, my feet nearly refusing to keep me upright.

  I sneak a peek over the length of the room at Javi, my eyes gliding over his muscled back and arms. His hand is balled, fisted at his side, and suddenly I wish it were on me, my body overriding my brain, my overactive imagination thinking of all the ways that Javi can violate my reclaimed virtue.

  The earlier fire that was snuffed briefly is once again reignited, and it burns with a renewed force that licks and leaps higher and higher in intensity. And I am not talking about the flame that crackles within Aunt Reba’s gas stove.