Mafia Romance
Page 13
“Anything except that,” Sterling replied to Patrick, before turning my way and adding, “One day you’ll learn to refrain from making uninformed demands. Obviously, today’s lesson wasn’t enough.” With that he turned, and with his long strides, disappeared from view.
With a quick nod, Patrick followed one pace behind his boss.
Fuck them both!
Sterling 18
“Sir, I apologize you didn’t know sooner. We tried numerous times to reach you,” Patrick said.
“I was…occupied.”
Was that an acceptable excuse?
No.
Araneae McCrie had been in my presence for only a few hours and already she was diverting my attention and messing with my head. The last few hours flashed before my eyes in less than a second. Everything about her set my soul ablaze, from her apprehension when she boarded the plane to the defiance burning in her eyes when she refused to cover the dress.
Apprehension was expected, but what woman would refuse to cover a cum-stained dress?
The answer ignited my skin and brought my half-mast cock back to life.
The kind of woman who was stubborn, outspoken, and proud. A kick-ass woman who refused to be anything less than the person she’d been born to be, even if she didn’t know what that meant. Araneae’s regal attitude radiated about her as if she’d been raised to understand her place in this world, which she hadn’t. Whether working at Sinful Threads, protecting her friends, or standing in a stained dress, she fascinated and intrigued me like no other woman.
My head shook as I recalled her making demands—of me.
No one did that. No one told me what to do. My father had tried.
The thought of him prompted me to glance down at the ring on my right hand, the one with the family crest. The difference was that with my father I strived to possess what he flaunted. With Araneae, my desire was for her to share it.
Nevertheless, I needed to stay focused—and not on her.
My goal—her—was accomplished.
I had her. It was time to think about business. I hadn’t gotten to my status in this world by letting anyone or anything distract me. I needed to push her out of my brain, if only until the current emergency was handled.
Out of my brain was difficult—out of my re-hardening dick was impossible. Just the thought of her bent over that bed…the light-blonde trimmed hair near her core. I was glad she wasn’t bare. Some men liked that, but not me. It was like fucking a child. No, Araneae was not a child. She was all woman, an intelligent, determined, beautiful one at that.
It took every ounce of self-discipline for me not to take her when she was there, bared to me. I wanted her more than I’d wanted any woman—ever. Her pussy was wet, so damn tight, and quivering. She was on the edge. We both knew it. Araneae wasn’t the only one. I was there, too, hard as steel and ready to blow.
One pinch of her swollen clit and she would have begged to have me inside her.
I would have rather come in her tight pussy than over her tits and dress. A small smile tugged at my lips. I’d marked her—made her mine. It may be animalistic. That didn’t mean it wasn’t true. She could use whatever she wanted: shower, lotions, or perfume. None of it mattered because the moment I showered her in my cum, I’d secured what had been promised to me almost two decades before. I’d claimed what was mine.
As that slide show of memories replayed, I knew she was going to be a handful. Fuck yes. Each tit fit perfectly in my hand. Her ass was made to cup and hold. With each step it was clear; I was up for the challenge.
Gritting my teeth, I stormed through the cabin of the plane. Everything that happened in that bedroom was her doing. She wanted it. Araneae made her decision to avoid fucking. No matter how much punishment it was on both of us, she’d gotten what she’d requested. Eventually she would learn to be definite and certain before making demands—of me or anyone else.
Regaining her name as well as being my wife will give her more power than she’d ever dreamt of having. That kind of authority required self-control.
While the emergency was serious and required my input, I was thankful that Patrick interrupted us when he did. As accurate as my thoughts were in trying to teach Araneae a lesson, my restraint when it came to her was about gone.
Her scent lingered as I ran my hand through my hair, a million questions coming to mind. My feet continued determinedly until I reached the round table near the cockpit of the plane. I hit the button on the table as a computer screen rose before me, and a small panel opened to a keyboard and mouse.
My fingers began typing as my lips simultaneously demanded answers. “This wasn’t the flight we had originally booked?”
“No, sir. It’s the one that Ms. Hawkins was changed to this evening.”
“Tell me that Reid is on this.” Reid was still in Chicago, on one floor of my apartment that was devoted to the Sparrow outfit. He had every resource at his disposal.
“He is,” Patrick said, taking the seat to my right and activating his computer.
“How many people on the flight?”
“One hundred and thirty-seven seats plus crew. The manifest hasn’t been released to know if the plane was full.” Before I could comment, Patrick continued, “Reid is looking into it. You know he’ll get it.”
I did. He was the best. “What happened?”
“The official statement is that the crash is still under investigation. Some sources are speculating birds. The aircraft was flying lower than normal to avoid a building weather system. However, at that stage of the flight, their altitude should have been too high for a bird encounter. Those usually occur at takeoff or landing. The airline isn’t willing to claim aircraft or technical malfunction or even pilot error without a thorough investigation.”
My chest tightened at the thought of the emergency landing that jeopardized over a hundred lives. “The pilot saved them.”
“Like the miracle on the Hudson. He and his copilot landed in a cornfield in north-central Iowa. Thankfully the area was unpopulated and open. The closest town has a population of less than a thousand people at last census.
“The crew evacuated the plane immediately. Moments after the captain disembarked, the plane exploded. The wreckage is still burning and too hot to get near. It will take the NTSB years to sift through the debris.”
“I want a complete list of passengers, the ones who were scheduled and missed their flight, those on the flight, and whose luggage was on board. I want to know if the flight was transporting anything else—packages, mail, commerce. Anything.” A thought punched me in the gut. “No casualties?”
“Not yet. There were a few injuries with the landing and evacuation. They’re being transported to hospitals. Des Moines is a thirty-minute drive. It’s taken some time to get enough ambulances to the crash site.”
“I want the names of every passenger who is injured and a detailed description of the injuries. What about…our decoy?”
“She’s safe. I received a coded message as soon as she was released. She made a statement to the authorities and refused medical attention. I hadn’t gone to the trouble of assuring similar blood type, just that she visually appeared to be Ms. Hawkins.”
“Whatever she earned, double it. Be sure she keeps quiet.”
“She’s a professional and would like to work for you again. She won’t say a word. Her decision to refuse treatment was the best option and demonstrated her ability to think on her feet. Their likeness is truly remarkable. It’s my opinion that she could be useful in the future.”
The screen before me came to life with live reports from outside Maxwell, Iowa. The chaotic scene flashed with a multitude of lights from the sirens of police and ambulance vehicles as, in the background, the wreckage of the 737 continued to burn. The reporter was speaking about the topography of the land. While known for its open fields, this area of Iowa also had a large portion of uninterrupted forest.
While most reports were hailing the pilot a hero,
“Unless the pilot works for McFadden or is connected in some way.”
My gut twisted at Patrick’s words. I was off my game, not thinking about every possibility. He was right. It was too early to make assumptions. “Learn everything you can about this man and his copilot, too. I want to know about every investment, every cent they have, their properties, their debts, and their fucking children’s debts. I want to know if their spouses like to shop, play the ponies, or go to casinos. I want to know if there’s any connection to anything that sends up red flags: dark web, porn sites…anything. I want to know the last time each of them took a drink and when they last took a shit. I want everything.”
Patrick didn’t answer verbally; however, the way his fingers flew over his keyboard told me that my orders were being communicated through our secure network to Reid and his team. I’d have answers soon.
Both Patrick’s and my screen dinged with the announcement of an incoming message.
My eyes grew wide at the new newscast Reid had sent our way. It was the crawl at the bottom of the screen: Two confirmed dead in four-apartment blaze, Boulder, Colorado.
The table creaked as my fist landed hard upon its surface. “That’s her building, where she lived up until today. This is war. Full-out fucking war.”
Patrick’s expression was one I’d seen before, one I’d seen as bullets flew and IEDs detonated around us, as men and women we knew were sacrificed for a cause we were told to believe in. The Sparrow name wasn’t a cause we had to be told to believe in. Sparrow and all it meant was how we were here, flying in this plane, communicating on networks that exceeded the technology used by our own government.
Word had gotten out that McCrie was found. The implications were widely speculated, and it appeared that there were powers willing to do anything to stop her.
“Do you think you should tell her?” Patrick asked.
“She’s not ready to know it all.”
He shook his head. “About the fire. The two people were her neighbors. I’ll find out their names. Our research showed that she was friendly with an elderly woman who lived below her.” His fingers continued to type. “Powell…Jeanne Powell.”
“Is she one of the casualties?”
“Reid is looking into it. There’s that whole not releasing information until next of kin are notified. That won’t stop him, though. He’ll find out.”
I let out a long sigh. “She may think she does, but Araneae McCrie doesn’t have any friends. Kennedy Hawkins may have, but that life is over. She isn’t ready to know that either.”
“One thing at a time,” Patrick said. “Should you tell her about the apartment?”
I hated the idea of telling Araneae that her home for the last few years was gone. I hadn’t wanted her to pack the things she had. I’d wanted her to rely solely on me. Fuck, I could buy her anything her heart desired.
The ring on my hand grew heavy as I stared for a moment at the crest. It was the same ring that bruised my cheek as a child, the one that glistened as my father conducted backroom meetings and ordered unimaginable atrocities. It was the same one that was visible from the podium as Allister Sparrow announced his candidacy for mayor.
It was the one I was wearing when the police informed me that my father was dead.
My neck straightened.
No. I was glad Araneae disobeyed me and packed anything and everything that meant something to her. Mementos gave us roots. Hers had been severed by the cutting edge of more secrets than she was ready to face. She deserved to keep what she could of a time when her life seemed…normal.
Because that time was gone forever.
“Find out everything,” I said. “I’d suspect that soon her phone will receive a message from someone telling her what happened, not about the plane—there’s no way they’ll know that was connected to her—but about her apartment building. When that happens, I want to be able to fill in the blanks.”
Patrick’s gaze met mine. “Do you still plan to make her public?”
“He needs to know I have her and she’s under Sparrow protection.”
“It’s a risk.”
“No. My men and women won’t let me down. Call your informant in Boulder—the woman. Find out what happened at the apartment. We both know that fire is used as a cover-up. Find out who was on the premises prior and how the fire started. My guess is that someone was looking for her or for something else.” Another thought occurred to me. “And double the protection on Jason, Louisa, Winifred, and the Nelsons.”
“Even the girl in Boston, the sister?”
“All of them. They’re not dying on our watch unless we learn they need to.”
Araneae 19
Clean and showered for the third time in twenty-four hours, wearing ripped jeans and a light sweater from my suitcase as well as a comfortable pair of ankle boots, I was ready to get out of the flying mansion. I hadn’t rewashed my hair, but the style from before was gone, transformed to a low braid and my makeup was minimal. Mr. Sparrow’s diamonds and necklace were back in their box.
A knock came on the bedroom door. “Ms. Hawkins?”
When I opened the door, I found Jana. We were about to land, and I needed to take a seat with a seat belt. As I entered the cabin area, voices seeped from the round-table area; however, with the partitions shut, the meaning of their words was muffled and undistinguishable. Though the content was out of my reach, the tone wasn’t. Whatever caused Patrick to interrupt Sterling and me earlier was resulting in heated discussion.
“Will Ster—Mr. Sparrow be joining me?” I asked Jana.
“I believe he and Patrick will complete the flight where they are. They’ve asked not to be disturbed.”
I recalled Sterling making the same request earlier regarding the two of us.
The idea that I wanted him with me as we landed was preposterous. After what had happened and what he’d done, my thoughts were all over the place.
I hated him but was attracted to him. I loathed his arrogant attitude and superior declarations yet yearned for his powerful and dominant ways. My feelings and misgivings weren’t restricted to him; I also despised myself. I was angry for allowing the intimacy we’d shared, yet my body craved more of his touch.
I didn’t know him, and yet I’d allowed it—and more than that, I’d wanted more.
The image of him stroking himself replayed constantly in my mind. It was playing behind my eyes as I held tightly to the bar in the shower with one hand, while using my other to take matters he’d left unfinished to completion. I was certain it wasn’t as earthshaking as Sterling could make it; nevertheless, by the time I stepped under the hot water and the vision of him finding satisfaction came to mind, I was without options.
Each replay of that scene made it more difficult to despise the man or even the action. After all, I’d drawn the line in the sand by declaring punishment over sex.
Was it fair to be angry that he’d listened?
Was it even possible to harbor rage when he was so fucking beautiful, his handsome face so full of emotion as his large hand moved over the tight skin, and his cock glistened as angry veins came to life?
Stop it, Kennedy, I said to myself—most likely inaudibly. I couldn’t be sure of anything.
This man was danger personified. There was obviously more than real estate to his wealth and power. What had he said? Only the information he wanted to be found was visible on the internet.
His claims to own me—or have me—were ridiculous. He’d threatened everything and everyone whom I loved. It wasn’t unacceptable to find him attractive. There wasn’t a woman alive who wouldn’t. Nevertheless, finding him attractive and willfully submitting to him were two different things. First and foremost, I couldn’t submit to his arousing control without trust, and so far, he’d given me no reason to believe that he can be trusted.
Or had he?
Was what happened in the bedroom more accurately a reason to trust him?
He did as I demanded.
The questions and answers and internal dialogues hadn’t stopped since I stepped into the shower. As much as my feelings were scattered, it all came back to one thing: Sparrow was the name my mom had warned me about.
The plane pitched and stilled, giving that uneasy sensation of an aircraft slowing in midair. Whether flying in this crazy pimped-out private plane or commercial, it always felt as if the engines were stopping when in descent. Gripping the arms of the seat, I hoped that wasn’t the case.
Like each time before, the plane didn’t fall. It continued its descent.
Beyond the windows, blue lights illuminated the otherwise vast blackness. Wherever we were landing was remote. Other than the runway lights, no other light pollution existed.
Once we were on the ground and stilled, Jana again joined me, minus her customary smile. “The helicopter is ready for you, Mr. Sparrow, and Patrick. Keaton, Marianne, and I will follow with the luggage.”
I swallowed as I looked at her, expecting her to say she was punking me, this was a joke, a bad dream, or perhaps fill the cabin with laughter. I wanted her to say that she was mistaken; I wasn’t really getting into a helicopter in the middle of a pitch-black night. When she didn’t respond, I did. “A helicopter? Are all of you going to the cabin too?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Many questions came to mind, such as why? Don’t you have a life? Can one man really change the plans of six on a whim?
Just as quickly, the answers came to mind.
Jana’s lackluster expression meant that she did have a life and plans, as did possibly others on this flight. None of that mattered. The most crucial answer was to my final question: yes, one man could change everything, especially if that man were Sterling Sparrow.
“Are you flying in a helicopter?” I asked.
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