Saved by the Outlaw: A Bad Boy Romance

by Alexis Abbott

  “I knew my son picked a good one,” Gerald says, sitting up a little straighter.

  “Well, we certainly don’t have any intentions of turning him over to Immigration,” Samuels says, shaking his head. “But we would like to drop in and check on him after our shift change tonight.”

  “Just to make sure,” Greene says.

  “Oh, do tell Anya ‘hello’ for us, will you?” Wanda pleads.

  “Sure thing, Mrs. L,” Greene replies with a smile, reaching over to pat her hands.

  “So how bad is this, exactly?” Leon asks, sipping his tea with a delicateness that’s almost amusing in contrast to his tough-guy looks.

  Samuels leans back and sighs. “Well, so far it’s nothin’ to get too worked up about. Especially if you’re sure the injured man is gonna pull through. The FBI’s in town, yeah, but they haven’t poked their grimy noses too far into our business yet.”

  “Give ‘em some time,” says Greene distastefully, rolling his eyes.

  “Well, we will just have to make sure we’re ready for the pidarasy when they do,” says Leon, clenching his fist. I can’t help but be drawn to the musculature of his arm, the smoldering ferocity in his face. I want to smooth away the tension and see what he looks like totally relaxed, totally vulnerable…

  There I go again.

  “In the meantime, it’s probably still best that you lay low for awhile, Leon,” advises Samuels, fixing him with a meaningful stare.

  I get the distinct impression that “laying low” is not something Leon does particularly well. He doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy who likes working in the shadows, in the background. He’s pretty upfront about the things he does, and he clearly doesn’t have a lot of concern for his own safety and wellbeing.

  “For sure,” Greene agrees. “A lowlife like Mickey is gonna blab about this to everyone he meets on the street. Luckily for us, he’s such a notorious loudmouth nobody is likely to take him too seriously, anyway.”

  “You’d think a guy who runs a liquor store in a not-so-upscale part of town would be a little more careful about not pissing off every single person who comes in contact with him, but here we are,” laughs Samuels.

  “What happened to the gun?” Gerald asks suddenly.

  “Taken care of. My right-hand man Genn took it away somewhere out of Mickey’s reach. It’s been confiscated,” Leon concludes, smiling. I know he’s remembering Mickey’s own accusation of ‘confiscating’ the weapon earlier today at the liquor store.

  “Alright. Well, I guess that just about covers it, then.”

  Both officers stand up to leave. Samuels says to Wanda, “Thank you for the tea and stuff, ma’am. You’re a real treasure to the neighborhood.”

  “For sure. Always a pleasure to see you,” Greene says, nodding.

  “Oh, stop it, you!” she giggles, swatting at him playfully.

  We walk them over to the front door, and just before the officers disappear down the steps of the brownstone, Samuels points an emphatic finger at Leon and me. “I’m serious about layin’ low, alright? Don’t show your faces until at least tomorrow. For your own good and ours.”

  Leon sighs. “Got it, Officer.”

  Once the cops are gone and we’re all standing awkwardly in the living room, Gerald puts his hands on his hips and announces, “Well, looks like you two are staying here tonight.”

  Leon starts to protest, “Oh, that’s not necessary — ”

  “Yes it is! You two will take the basement room.” Wanda insists, getting up from her chair to lay her trembling hands on his arm, a concerned and determined look on her face.

  “You heard the missus,” Gerald shrugs. “You’re our guests for the night. But I promise we will stay out of your hair. Won’t we, Wanda?” he adds, giving his wife a meaningful look.

  She opens her mouth as though to argue, but then simply sighs instead. “Of course.”

  “We’ll start on supper,” Gerald continues, gesturing to his wife. She nods and follows him into the kitchen. Leon gives me an apologetic half-smile.

  “Sorry about this,” he tells me in an undertone. “You never should’ve gotten mixed up in this. If you need to sneak out and go somewhere, check in with someone— ”

  “No,” I reply quickly, shaking my head. “There’s — there’s no one.”

  Leon blinks a couple times, a little taken aback by my response. I realize too late how pathetic it sounds. That there’s nobody waiting up for me. Nobody to worry over when I’m coming home. How depressing.

  “Sorry about Gerry and Wanda. They don’t get a whole lot of visitors anymore these days, except for when members of the Club stop by. Wanda gets lonely, you know. She’s been a little off since Henry passed,” he explains softly.

  I nod. “That’s understandable.”

  “How are you holding up?” he asks, moving a little closer.

  I frown at him for a moment, trying to ascertain what he’s talking about. Then it hits me. Obviously he’s asking how I’m feeling about my dad’s death. I must look cold-hearted. But it’s just the way I deal with things. I find ways to distract myself until I’m ready to face the problem head-on, and I’m just not there yet.

  “Oh, I’m okay. Yeah, I’m good,” I reply, trying to strike a balance between nonchalant enough not to warrant his pity and genuine enough not to look like an emotionless drone.

  “Well, if you ever wanna talk about it or — ”

  “No. Not now. Thank you.”

  Leon nods slowly, sizing me up. Then he just says, “Well, then, let’s go help the Lawrences make dinner. It’ll definitely speed up the process.”

  He shoots me a brilliant, charming grin and we join the old couple in the kitchen to chop up vegetables and beef tips for a pot roast. It’s a relief to have something to do with my hands, and I find myself wrapped up in warm, comforting banter. Gerry and Wanda clearly adore each other, and they seem to regard Leon as their adoptive son. Throughout the evening I can’t stop smiling. Despite everything that’s happened, despite what I’ve recently lost, I can’t help but feel a little bit like I’ve come home.

  “I wonder if they even know how dusty it is down here,” Leon jokes as we walk down the stairs into the basement room. It looks exactly like a typical teenage boy’s hideaway from the 90s, and I assume sadly that the couple probably haven’t even looked down here since Henry’s death. It makes sense that they would want to leave it exactly as he left it, even though he was much older than a teenager when he died.

  “Looks like a time capsule,” I comment, pointing to the curling Nirvana poster on the wall. There’s a long-abandoned lava lamp on a rickety little coffee table across the room, the blobs of wax suspended in the same place they were when the lamp stopped working probably decades ago.

  “Yeah, when Henry went off to college I think they kinda wanted to keep everything the way he had it, just in case he ever decided to move back in.”

  “That’s sweet.”

  “Not particularly well-adjusted, but yeah. I suppose it is sweet. They lived for that kid.”

  “It’s hard losing someone who was the center of your world like that,” I answer, biting my lip. I can feel Leon staring at me from across the room but I don’t want to meet his gaze.

  “Oh, hey! Look at this!” he calls out, waving me over excitedly.

  “What is it?”

  He holds up a big, dust-coated bottle of amber liquid. He rubs the dust off the label and laughs out loud. “It’s bourbon. Old as hell. I doubt Gerry even knows it’s down here.”

  “I didn’t take him for an aficionado,” I reply, bemused.

  “He’s not. In fact, he was a bit of a boozer when he was a young guy. Wanda told me once that the day they found out she was pregnant with Henry he gave up the bottle for good. That’s probably why this stuff is down here. Henry was a good guy, too. Never touched the stuff. I doubt Anya would’ve let him, anyway,” he chuckles.

  He opens the bottle and wipes the top off on his s
hirt. Then he holds it out to me.

  “Want the first taste?”

  “Oh no. Finder’s fee. You first,” I reply, grinning in spite of myself.

  “With pleasure,” Leon says, taking a big swig. He closes his eyes, swallows, and smiles.

  He passes me the bottle and we get comfortable on the floor, spreading out the massive mountain of pillows and blankets Wanda supplied for us. We spend the next hour or so just laughing and sharing stories about what it was like growing up in Bayonne, passing the bottle back and forth until it’s nearly two-thirds gone.

  “Did you ever go to that one bakery off 23rd?” Leon’s green eyes are hooded with intoxicated relaxation. He’s sitting with his legs straight out, his back propped against a wall of cardboard boxes holding God knows what. I’m across from him with my legs tucked underneath me, my hair falling down around my shoulders.

  “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “No, no, you’d remember if you did,” he laughs. “The woman who ran the counter wore the most obvious platinum blonde wig. She used to draw her eyebrows on with a Sharpie, I swear.”

  “Give her a break!” I giggle. “It was a different time. I’m sure a lot of people thought she looked damn good.”

  “Yeah, maybe it’s just me,” Leon concedes. There’s a warm, happy glow to his cheeks.

  “So, I have to ask,” I start, biting my lip. “Why are you looking into Dad’s death?”

  “Well, you know, he was starting to come around to us and our way of doing things. He was a stubborn guy, but he had a good heart. Once he realized we’re the good guys, he wanted to help. So he did,” Leon explains.

  “Was he part of the Club?” I ask, trying to remember not to call it a gang. He doesn’t seem the sort who’d be okay being associated with that word. But my heart is racing at what he just said. How could I not have known? How could so much have changed while I was off doing my own thing in the big city? Guilt seizes my heart so tightly I feel a physical pang in my chest.

  Leon shakes his head. “No, no. Just a sympathizer. He was helping us get information about his employers, as well as gathering intel about similar operations around town.”

  “And is that… why he died?” I ask quietly.

  “That’s what I’m trying to find out,” he says sadly. “I’m sorry — ”

  “No,” I interrupt, getting up to move closer to him. “I’m sure it wasn’t your fault. You, my dad, the others — I know you were all trying to do the right thing. My dad wouldn’t want me blaming the wrong people for his death.”

  “But if he’d never gotten involved…”

  “Then he would have just continued being a cog in the machine like he was his whole life. You obviously gave my dad a new perspective he was passionate about.”

  “And now you’re involved. I don’t think… I don’t want…” Leon trails off for a moment. Then he finishes, “I don’t want to be responsible for getting you in too deep.”

  “Thanks for the concern, but I’m a big girl,” I answer, staring into his green eyes. Suddenly, the electricity that’s been growing between us seems to shoot a lightning bolt through my body. I feel hot all over.

  “I — I can handle myself,” I add. Leon’s eyes are focused on my lips and my heart is racing in my chest. Without letting myself second-guess the decision, I dive in and press my mouth against his. Immediately his hands come up to wrap themselves in my hair.

  His tongue pushes into my mouth and I moan into his, climbing over to straddle him. His hands fall to grip my hips and hold me there. The taste of bourbon burns in our mouths and my head is fuzzy with pleasant dizziness. I take Leon’s face in my hands and kiss him deeply, rolling my hips against the growing bulge in his jeans. I can feel myself getting wet. Even with everything that happened today, I know that in the back of my mind, this moment has been swiftly approaching.

  He’s the one who reached down and pulled me out of the ocean when I thought I was lost forever. He’s the one who rescued me. And now we’ve found each other again. It has to be fate — some magnetic force of nature that’s drawn us back together again so many years later.

  We’re inevitable.

  Leon pushes the hair back out of my face and gathers it over my left shoulder, then leans in to kiss a trail down from my lips, over my neck, to my collarbone. His teeth graze my skin and he sucks delicious, bright-red marks into my flesh, causing me to cry out and push into him longingly. I need to feel his skin on mine. I crave the refuge of his hot, strong body.

  He peels his shirt off and tosses it across the room, his lips promptly returning to kiss me again and again. My hands rove up and down his hard, muscular chest and stomach. I can feel every single one of his abdominal muscles defined beneath my wandering fingertips. I can only imagine how powerful he must be, how strong.

  The very next moment, I find out.

  He picks me up, lifts me easily off of his lap, and lays me down on the blanketed floor on my back before climbing over me and helping me out of my top. He throws it aside and then turns back to sigh hungrily, looking down at my nearly-exposed chest. He slides his fingers underneath the lace of my bra to caress my nipples and grope my breasts. I groan and close my eyes, arching up into his touch. Wordlessly, he lifts me up just enough to reach around and unclasp my bra. Then he tosses that, too.

  Leon bends down to kiss me, his hands squeezing and fondling my breasts. I put my arms around him and drag my fingers down his back, clawing needily at him. He responds with a deep, resonant moan. So he likes it a little rough. A little messy.

  So do I.

  “Vy prekrasny,” he murmurs.

  “I need you,” I whisper back.

  He wastes no time taking off his jeans and mine and discarding them into the growing pile of our clothing. I can see the protruding shaft straining in his boxers and I suck in a tight breath at his size. Leon is huge. I can’t help but lick my lips in anticipation. I want him inside me, now. I want to feel him filling me up and closing up that void aching within. I need to be distracted, to be embraced wholly. For someone to make me feel wanted and less alone — even if just for one night.

  Leon kneels between my legs, hooks a finger under my damp panties, and slips them to one side, leaving my slick flower exposed. He pushes my thighs further apart and dives in between them, his mouth devouring my pussy. His tongue drags up and down my wet slit, flicking now and again over my swollen bud.

  “Oh my God,” I mumble, clutching at the blankets. What if the couple upstairs overhears us? This is definitely not a position I want Wanda and Gerry to find us in.

  But when Leon plunges a finger inside my aching hole I can’t suppress a cry of surprise and pleasure. He curls his finger and strokes expertly at that deep, forbidden sweet spot inside of me while his tongue works my clit. It’s not long before I’m bucking against his face, my hands making frustrated fists in the blankets on either side of me. I’m moaning and clenching, on the verge of an explosion.

  When it comes, Leon doesn’t relent, even when I have to clap a hand over my own mouth to stifle a scream as an orgasm shudders through me. It’s been ages — probably months — since I last had an orgasm. And even then, I’ve never had a climax quite like this. My whole body is trembling and weak, but Leon keeps going. He sucks my clit and pushes another finger inside of me, forcing me to keep my legs open even though it almost hurts now.

  But pain is the close cousin to pleasure, and a second orgasm comes hurtling toward me, fast. I have to bite my hand to keep from screaming again, and this time Leon withdraws his finger, continuing to gently lap at my juices until I come down. Then he tugs my soaked panties down my legs and throws them before taking off his own underwear. His massive cock springs free, bouncing and erect.

  Leon bends down and crouches over me, angling the head of his shaft at my opening and pushing inside with one swift thrust. I arch my back and my head rolls back, my eyes closing. He’s enormous and thick and just what I need.

  “Ohh, yo
u feel so good,” he groans. When I reach up to touch his face, he turns and kisses my palm tenderly, closing his eyes. Then he pins down my arms on either side of me so I can’t move them at all. The juxtaposition of such a soft, gentle gesture with this show of dominance is overwhelming, intoxicating. He is both kitten and tiger at once, prince and beast.

  He thrusts into me hard, again and again, without mercy. My aching, shuddering cunt envelops him fully, taking him in, right to the hilt. When I feel my third orgasm getting closer, he speeds up the pace, his hips snapping with an arrhythmic frenzy until his mouth falls open and he fixes me with a blazing, green-eyed gaze.

  We lock eyes just as he pushes into me and shoots a stream of hot seed deep inside my depths. He groans my name just as I whisper his, my own climax immediately following. He collapses beside me and presses his lips to mine, our arms encircling each other instantly. We press our foreheads together and pant heavily, coming down from the highest of earthly highs.

  The two of us fall asleep this way, tangled up together while his hot honey slowly leaks out of me onto the blankets.

  9

  Cherry

  When I wake up to the smell of coffee and bacon wafting from upstairs, it’s already ten in the morning. My eyes widen in shock when I see the time on my dying cell phone. I never sleep in this late. Back in New York, I used to always get up early so I could start my commute while some of the city was still asleep. It felt like a normal town with the noise level slightly decreased — well, almost normal. But here in Bayonne, I guess my body just readjusted accordingly with the slower pace of life.

  Of course, it’s also been a long time since I last had sex.

  And last night was definitely enough to wear me out for awhile.

  I close my eyes and wince at the thought. I can’t believe I slept with him. I’ve been back in town for less than seventy-two hours and I’ve already fucked some random guy in the basement of two kindly old strangers’ house. What the hell is wrong with me?

  Is there a “slutty” phase to the stages of grief?