by Shandi Boyes
“It is. Maddox and I were there only last month,” she replies, her smile matching mine. After sliding into the driver’s seat of her bomb, she raises her eyes to mine. “Maddox and Demi have a casual thing going on. We could always do a double date with them?”
“That might be a bit awkward.” When confusion blasts through her eyes, I mutter, “Trust me, Maddox won’t enjoy his meal if he’s forced to watch his sister exchange spit with his friend.” I air quote my last word like a pompous, no-dick prick. My dealings with Maddox extend further than friendship, but its best to keep that between us for now. “I never did when riding shotgun with Ophelia’s dates.”
The lust firing through Justine’s eyes shifts to sorrow. “I heard about her accident. I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Prove it. Share a meal with me without a tagalong.” Using my dead sister to get a date is wrong, but if it gives me a chance to get back my daughter sooner rather than later, I’m willing to go there.
Although shocked about my eagerness, Justine falls for my ruse. “I only have Thursday and Monday free.”
“Thursday works. I’ll arrange for a car to collect you at seven.” As domineering as I am cocky, I close her car’s door, spin on my heels, then walk away, stealing her chance to reply.
I can’t have her driving to our date in her car. Not only will it weaken the authenticity of my ruse, but her shoddy engine gives her an excuse to back out of our date. I’ve heard all the lines before—I have to wash my hair, my car broke down, I’m engaged to another man—and every one of them came from Audrey.
Chapter Two
Roxanne
As I drag my mouth away from my boyfriend’s kiss-swollen lips, goosebumps break across my skin. It’s cooler today than usual for this time of the year, but the drizzly weather isn’t to blame for the icy chill shuddering through me. Not even Eddie’s hand tracing the seam of my panties can be held accountable. There’s a weird sensation in the air, like more than an inappropriate hook-up location is set to cause trouble.
Eddie and I have been dating for two months. Even being in my second year of college won’t see my nanna bending the rules when it comes to boyfriends. Until we’re in a ‘solid’ relationship for six months straight, I can’t bring boys home. Hence the reason Eddie and I are getting frisky in the alleyway between the movie complex and our local grocer. It isn’t the ideal location, and a mattress would be more comfortable than a brick wall, but beggars can’t be choosers.
When the prickling of the hairs on my arms grows to a point I can’t ignore, I shift my head to the side. Since it’s late in the day and stormy, I can’t see out of the alleyway as clearly as normal, but there’s enough light to unearth the reason for my body’s odd response.
A man is making his way to a stretch limousine idling in the lower section of the parking lot. Despite the fact he’s clutching an umbrella, his trench coat is the only protection his pricy suit has from the downpour. He has an arrogant walk, similar to the one a quarterback does when running onto the field during State Championship weekend. It’s more teasingly paced, though, and mesmerizing.
I’m paying more attention to his cocky strut than the sneaky slip of Eddie’s hand. Instead of caressing the lace edging of my panties, his hand is now burrowed deep inside the inexpensive material.
Although this is the furthest we’ve gone, and we could be busted at any moment, for the life of me, I can’t get the word ‘stop’ to fall out of my mouth. My jaw is hanging too low from my eyes briefly colliding with the stranger’s to follow the prompts of my brain.
He’s spotted my gawk, but instead of calling for security, he slants his head to the side and rakes his eyes down my body. He drinks it all in—my black mid-thigh boots, my miniskirt and skin-tight shirt, and my bleached to within-an-inch-of-death hair.
He even takes in Eddie’s fumbling hand as he strives to find my clit.
The last part he finds more amusing than arousing. His smirk tells me this, much less the humor blazing through his expressive eyes when he returns them to my face. I expect him to wink, then walk away, too cultured to watch two teens fumble their way to third base, but he surprises me for the second time this afternoon by sticking around to watch the show.
His scrutiny should have me clamping around Eddie’s fingers in disgust, but it seems to have the opposite effect. Instead of announcing to Eddie that we have an audience, I adjust the span of my thighs to ensure he can notch the rest of his finger inside of me before breathing heavily into his neck, encouraging his pursuit.
The stranger’s dark, rain-flopped hair hides most of his face, only the tiniest snippet of blue pops out of the flattened mess, but I’m confident in saying he’s gorgeous. You don’t have the suffocating aura he does with a cat’s bunghole for a face. His whole persona screams of wealth and superiority, albeit a little blackened by haunted memories.
I guarantee he’s brutally beautiful, and the thought of unearthing his dark side has me acting wildly reckless.
A grunted moan leaves Eddie’s lips when he finally locates my clit. He thinks I’m giving myself to him, when in reality, that’s far from the truth. I’m not imagining his thumb circling the bundle of nerves between my legs. My focus isn’t on him in the slightest. I have nothing but the piercing blue eyes of a stranger on my mind, and they have me even wetter than the downpour that’s drenching the handsome stranger.
“You’re so responsive to my touch,” Eddie mutters into my ear a short time later while flicking my clit like he knows what he’s doing. He doesn’t, but my body is wired so tight from the dark-haired man’s watch, it’s happy to pretend he does. “I knew you’d be explosive. All blondes are—”
I clamp my hand over Eddie’s mouth, shutting him up. “Shh, you’ll get us busted.” I’m not really worried, his words are barely whispers, but I can’t hear him and the stranger’s shallow breaths at the same time.
Even the way the dark-haired man breathes is sexy, all rugged and unhinged. I imagine his heated breaths fanning my skin when he places feather-like kisses from my ankle to my inner thigh. Just the thought of his mouth floating over my aching sex has zaps sparking through me. I bet he gives good head, and he’d smell divine while doing it—like expensive cologne and over-priced whiskey. He wouldn’t wear shop-bought deodorant just like he wouldn’t drink bottom-shelf whiskey. He’s too refined for that, too sophisticated, so wickedly evil he’ll watch a woman be brought to ecstasy on a lazy Friday afternoon like it’s the most natural thing in the world to do.
“Yes, Roxie,” Eddie moans on a growl when the sinfulness of what I’m doing unexpectedly slams into me. He’s barely touching me, but I swan dive over a cliff, shuddering, moaning, and coming wholly undone. I’ve always been a little edgier than my friends. I don’t shy away when challenged and am willing to give anything a try once, but this, this is new even for someone with as little morals as me. “Give me the sweet nectar of your loins.”
I cringe through the remainder of my climax instead of relishing it.
Sweet nectar of my loins? Who says that?
I’m not the only one shocked by Eddie’s lack of class. I can’t hear the stranger’s laughter, but I most certainly can see it. His chest is rising and falling as rapidly as mine. He isn’t sucking in much-needed breaths like me, though. He’s struggling to hold in the laughter rumbling in his chest—laughter he loses the ability to harness when a security guard arrives out of nowhere.
“Hey, you, you can’t do that there!”
When the guard sprints down the alleyway, Eddie dumps me onto my feet so quickly, my backside is subjected to a nasty graze compliments to the brickwork he had me hoisted against. I’m horrified for the second time in under three seconds when he pivots on his heels and darts in the direction opposite the one the guard is coming from, leaving me defenseless to the angry, weapon-wielding man.
I just climaxed. I can’t run, and I’m not going to mention how my legs can’t pump in the stupid boots I bought specifi
cally to woo him. Furthermore, the security officer isn’t a standard old overweight, balding man. He’s so fit-looking, he’d be able to chase me down even if I hadn’t orgasmed.
“Eddie, come back!”
When he continues hightailing it, I realize it’s me against the world—as it always is. My wit is the only currency I have, and its rarity doesn’t make it priceless.
After flashing a quick glance to the stranger, I dash in the direction Eddie went. I’m on a scholarship to college. If I get arrested, my plans will go up in smoke like this godforsaken shithole did a decade ago. The community was supposed to rebuild. Instead, half the townsfolks packed up and left, leaving nothing but a wasteland of desecration.
I’m partway down the alleyway when the bang of a gun booms into my ears. While freezing like a statue, I survey the area. The guard’s boots no longer thud against the road surface. I can’t even hear his frantic breaths. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear I was the only person in the alleyway.
With my heart in my throat, I crank my neck back to add images to the theories running through my hazy head. The euphoria pumping through me seconds ago shifts to despair when I spot the security officer slumped on the ground. Blood is seeping through the back of his uniform, and his arms are pinned beneath him like he was struck down midstride.
When I stray my eyes to the end of the alleyway, my heart thumps out a jazzy melody. My wide-with-terror eyes make the dark-haired stranger hard to see, but I don’t need 20/20 vision to recognize the black object in his hand. He has a gun, and its barrel is pointed my way.
I blink several times in a row when the bang of a gun being fired for the second time ricochets down the alleyway. While my stomach braces for impact, my pathetically-short life flashes before my eyes. The video montage is over in less than two seconds, but disappointed is the only pain I’m experiencing. Even with the cruel sound of a bullet shredding through a hard surface echoing in my ears, I somehow remain uninjured.
Certain my mind is playing tricks on me, I pivot around to investigate where the crunching sound originated from. I grow untrusting of my legs to keep me upright when I take in remnants of a security camera hanging messily from the corner of a Publix supermarket chain. Its exposed wires reveal it’s a hardwired device, however it won’t be recording anything but brickwork right now.
Although lost on what the hell is happening, I can’t help but shift my focus back to the unnamed man at the end of the alley. I should be in fear for my life, but for some reason, I’m not. He gunned down a guard for me, I’m certain of it.
My lungs take stock of their oxygen levels when he winks at me as I anticipated earlier before he spins on his heels and enters an idling stretch limousine, leaving me alone with a dead man and no alibi.
Crap.
Chapter Three
Dimitri
Smith’s dark eyes lift to mine when I slide into the back seat of our shared limousine. “Remove all footage from before the guard commenced undoing his belt.”
Smith is my tech guy. If I want something permanently deleted from the World Wide Web, he gets it done within minutes. I want this deleted. I don’t give a fuck someone may view the footage and think I’m a perverted bastard who gets his rocks off watching a teen get fingered in an alleyway. I’m more worried I showed weakness by gunning down a man because he liked what he saw as much as me.
The security officer wasn’t approaching the blonde to make a citizen’s arrest for performing a lewd act in a public place. He wanted in on the action, and from the way he grabbed at his belt while sprinting after her, he was going to join in even if she said no.
I hate fuckers like that.
The Petrettis have been meddling in the prostitution conglomerate for as long as I’ve been born, so you can trust me when I say not all hookers cater for high-end johns. Some are willing to break a twenty depending on what you’re seeking. You don’t need to force a girl to do a sex act on you if you’re down on your luck. Go see my father, he’ll negotiate with a homeless man if it benefits him in some way.
Smith jerks up his chin, understanding where I’m going before he pulls his laptop out of his bag. He’s never without a bunch of equipment. It’s as vital to him as the blood in his veins. “And the girl?”
I drag the towel Rocco, my number two, handed me over my wet head before replying, “Listen for chatter. If they don’t rule this as self-defense, I’ll put other measures in play.”
Rocco twists his lips, shocked. Usually, I don’t give a fuck about anyone but myself. This time around is different. Not only am I forging ahead with plans to get my daughter back sooner rather than later, but I’m also the hardest I’ve ever been. It wasn’t watching what the punk-faced weasel did to the blonde that caused my cock to press against the zipper in my trousers, it was the way she stared at me while he touched her.
It takes a lot of gall to get off when the person you’re fantasizing about isn’t touching you. Imagine how quick she’ll explode if I were to touch her? The thought should disgust me. I was only in the rain chasing the ghost of my wife, but for some reason, it doesn’t. What can I say? I was raised by a mongrel of a man. Mental stability isn’t my favorable trait, and neither is chivalry—usually.
“And you?” Smith asks, shocked I left myself out of the equation. That’s as rare as my father doing something ethical because it would do more good than harm.
“I doubt the footage of me is more than a blur of black.” I know this as I strained my eyes while striving to take in the blonde’s features. “If it’s more, let them have it. The Feds haven’t done me any favors the past nine months, so I’m not inclined to cooperate with them either.”
Against my better judgment, I sort help from a contact my family had many years ago when Audrey’s ransom note arrived at my office. Although he doesn’t follow the book to the letter of the law like his pompous counterparts, he still has too many rules and protocols for me to follow. He wants to get Fien back without bloodshed.
I’d rather endure a bloodbath than endure another long nine months pass without seeing my daughter in the flesh. Our opposing opinions don’t meld well, and they often find us placed on different teams. I guess that’s expected when one side of the duo works in law enforcement, and the other is well-known for his criminal ties.
“Call Joshua.” India hands a business card to Smith like he’s her personal assistant. “He’ll have the slug removed from the guard’s body before the coroner and will keep an eye on proceedings.” With her jaw as set as mine, she slumps low into her seat before twisting her torso to face me. “What was that about?”
I arch a brow, wordlessly suggesting she check her tone. I don’t know who the fuck she thinks she is, but she’s neither my wife nor my mother, so she has no right to badger me. If I want to watch a truckload of women being pleasured by men incapable of the task on a rainy Friday afternoon, so be it.
I can do whatever the fuck I like.
That’s the joy of being me.
Either stupid or hoping to die, India disregards my stern glare. “You can’t replace Audrey and Fien. It isn’t possible.”
“I know that.” I lean so close to her, her hot breaths take care of the droplets of rain on my face the towel missed. She isn’t worried. She’s excited she forced a response out of me. I rarely give her the time of day. This afternoon won’t be any different. “But that doesn’t mean Rimi Castro won’t believe that. Look at you, all rattled and upset thinking I’m moving on. Who’s to say he won’t reach the same conclusion?”
Because she’s fighting to keep a calm head, India’s accent comes out more pronounced than normal. I’m not exactly sure of her ancestry. I just know she’s foreign like Audrey. “I’m upset for Audrey, Dimi.” Calling me Dimi puts her in my shit book, only my friends are allowed to call me that, much less what she says next, “She doesn’t deserve to be replaced with a cheap, knock-off version of herself.”
“Shh.” I push her platinum blonde hair out of
her eye before tucking it behind her ear. “No more lies. We both know you’re praying Audrey is never found.” When a flare of deceit fires through her eyes, I speak faster, “Just like you’ll forever wish we didn’t bump into her when we fumbled into your apartment after our date.” I track my thumb over her ruby-painted lips and across her jaw before stopping it at the throb in her throat. “It must have stung having her steal my attention the way she did.”
“She wasn’t supposed to be there,” India mutters before she can stop herself.
“But she was, and you were discarded… again.”
I take a second to suck in the fear slicking her skin before inching back with a smirk. India plays the role of a widower well, however her husband is only ‘presumed dead’ by her. From what Smith unearthed earlier this month, India’s husband is a foreign aristocrat with a fascination for little blonde playthings. Rumors are he tossed his wife aside with the hope his favorite whore will become the queen of his realm.
“Is that why Audrey was taken, India? Because you once again had your crown stolen?”
“Not at all,” she immediately fires back. She’s a damn good actor. Even someone trained to seek deceit would have trouble spotting hers. “I attended your wedding. I’m the one who encouraged you to get married so Audrey wouldn’t be deported—”
“And you were the last person to see her alive!” I’m back up in her face in an instant, my hand around her throat, my lips an inch from hers. “You told her to meet you at the restaurant.”
“Because I was hosting a surprise baby shower for her. I had no clue there were men there waiting for her. You didn’t even see them when you walked her to the door.” Her words are breathy and weak, strangled by the fierce clutch I have on her neck. I’m not just furious at her, I’m angry at myself. I glanced away for barely a second, and poof, Audrey was gone. “I would have never hurt her, Dimitri. She was my best friend… my only friend.”