"I don't know," I said honestly, my voice sounding almost shaky to my ears.
"What'd he look like?"
How the hell did he expect me to recall something like that when he was all up in my personal space, causing all kinds of chaos in my system that had gotten used to fantasizing about him while I self-completed over the past few days? I took a slow breath, pulling in the slight spicy scent of his cologne and his skin and knowing nothing else had ever smelled quite so erotic before.
I pushed the thoughts away, drawing up the image of the night before. "Um. Tall, but not as tall as you. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Built but not as big as that other guy who chased me the other night. He wasn't too distinctive. Except he had... a scar..."
"Scar?" he repeated, pulling back just far enough so that our foreheads weren't touching and his eyes could look into mine.
"Yeah, here," I said, my hand raising and touching the space above his upper lip, resting there as I spoke. "Like maybe it was a cleft lip repair?" I surmised, but my eyes were suddenly on his lips. I felt my own part slightly, like an invitation.
"Keep looking at my mouth like that and I'm gonna have to kiss you," he said, calling me on my staring and making my eyes snap up. "And, babygirl, it won't be no lame ass two second meeting of lips this time," he said, referencing the kiss that had still managed to make me tingle for hours afterward. "No, this time," he went on, hand curling slightly into my skin, his other hand with my scarf in it raising and cupping my jaw at the other side of my face, "it will be long and deep and you'll feel my lips on yours for a fucking week afterward."
I swallowed hard, my lady bits thrilling at the notion, trying to convince myself to tell him to step away. But, in the end, my hand dropped from above his lip and onto his bicep, curling in. "All talk," I said, giving him a small smile.
"You sure you want this? Babygirl, I kiss you, I'm gonna have to fuck you. Maybe not tonight, but it's definitely happening. I get another taste, I'm gonna want more. I'm gonna want it all."
"Paine..." I said, need clear in my voice and I was too far gone to care.
"Warned you," he said, hands tightening on the back of my neck and jaw as he tilted my face up and dipped his down, pausing slightly before our lips met, making my belly swirl in anticipation as my eyes fluttered closed. Then his mouth pressed into mine and my legs felt instantly wobbly, making my hand curl harder into his bicep and the other go around his waist and pull him against me. His head slanted, a hint of his teeth grazed my lower lip and I felt my mouth open slightly. That was all he needed. His tongue slipped inside and claimed mine, moving over it with exquisite precision, making a small whimper escape my lips. His hand left my jaw and snaked around my hips, hauling me upward and against him, making my heels lift up out of my shoes.
His tongue released mine and his teeth sank into my lower lip hard, drawing out something that was in no way a whimper, but a full-blown moan. Paine made a growling sound deep in his chest that made my sex clench as a rush of wet rushed to dampen my panties. As if sensing this, he twisted our positions so his back was to the alley opening and his hand released my neck and moved between our bodies and up my skirt to cup my sex over my panties, fingers crooking in and making my lips pull from his on a gasp.
His eyes were already open and on me, looking as heavy lidded as mine felt. "No one can see," he said in a sexy, rough voice that made my stomach flutter as his forefinger moved to press between my folds and find my clit, pulsing against it in a fast, unrelenting pace. I bit into my lip to keep my sounds in, leaning forward to bury my face in his neck as he kept up the perfect torment. "Knew you'd be wet for me," he said, his lips to my hair.
"Paine," I whimpered into his skin as I felt myself tightening, getting close.
"Not yet. Not like this," he said, pressing in hard for a moment before I lost his hand completely as he yanked my skirt back down, shifted so my back was against the wall, and wrapped the scarf back around my neck.
"What?" I asked, my body feeling too frazzled from the interruption of an orgasm that was going to make my world splinter apart to fully understand what had just happened.
"Not here. Not like this," he said, his eyes on his task as he knotted the scarf and pulled it tighter.
My sex was pulsing in a way that was just shy of painful, begging for the orgasm it was denied. And, to my complete and utter horror, I felt tears sting at the back of my eyes. It was just the final straw. I had a shitty freaking week and the last thing I needed was to be toyed with sexually by the guy I had been fantasizing about for days. It was all just too much.
Paine shifted the scarf to how I had it before he pulled me out of the bar and his eyes went to my face again, his eyes taking in the pools in my eyes threatening to spill over. His mouth parted as if on a silent gasp, brows drawing together. "Babygirl..." he said, his hand resting on my cheek just as a stupid tear slipped out and slid down, catching on his skin.
"Don't," I barked, jerking my head to the side.
"Elsie, if you need me to finish..."
I jerked away, shoving hard at his chest as I moved into the mouth of the alley. "I'm not crying because you're a tease. I'm crying because I've had a shitty week that has involved being chased by thugs, being scared half to death by you showing up uninvited to my house, watching someone I know get beat half to death, and then had my hair yanked out of my head and was strangled. I don't need your pity orgasm. I need you to leave me the hell alone," I said, realizing I was yelling at that point and turning to flee back into the bar.
I swatted at my cheeks to get rid of the tears before Bea could see as I made my way back toward the group.
"Else..." Rome said as soon as he saw me, mid-sentence talking to someone I didn't know, his smile instantly falling.
"Alcohol," I barked at him as he walked toward me. "Rome, I want this entire night to be a vodka-soaked blurry memory."
Rome took a deep breath, like he didn't agree with my method of coping, but snagged the closest waitress and ordered a round of shots and another cocktail for me.
Three rounds later, I watched as Paine caught my eye, shook his head, tossed money on the bar, clapped his hand on a young, attractive guy with a scar down his cheek and a Henchmen emblem on his leather jacket, turned and left.
Another two rounds after that, everything was a swirling, happy, numb nothing.
And I almost, but not quite, managed to forget about Paine and the kiss and the... everything else in the alley.
There were some moments in life that not even vodka could erase.
Damn it.
SEVEN
Elsie
Sunday morning brought the hangover to end all hangovers. I rolled over in bed, still in my dress and scarf, sans shoes and jewelry, and vaguely aware of the memory of Roman half-carrying me up to my room, laughing as I recalled a couple particularly stupid adventures he and I had embarked on as teens, doing so with the grandeur and giggle fits only a true drunk could. I even blearily recalled him rolling me onto my back and pulling out my earrings and gently slipping my ring off my finger. I closed my eyes as I remembered his hand closing around mine for a second and squeezing.
I sat up in bed, cradling my head.
God, I was so stupid.
Poor Roman.
How long had he been showing obvious signs that he had more than friendly interest in me? As I made my way toward the bathroom, I ventured a guess that it was most likely since he came back from college. It was then that his gaze seemed to linger and his touches felt less like the brotherly jabs I had known all my life.
Years, I had been unwittingly leading him around for years.
"Oh that's lovely," I groaned at my reflection, my eye makeup smeared half down my face, my hair a tangled puffy mess. I washed my hands and pulled out my too-dry contacts, then threw myself in the shower with every ounce of admittedly small energy I had.
I chugged water, but forewent the over the counter pain medicine because, well, if I was going to do the crime,
I was going to do the time. Meaning, I was going to suffer my way through a hangover. I got into light wash skinny jeans, tan bootie wedge heels, and a tan heavy knit sweater, tying a scarf around my neck, then heading out.
I stopped at a coffeehouse and a florist, unsure what the hell I was supposed to bring a near stranger to the hospital after they took a beating because they were working for you.
Barrett was on a normal hospital floor in a room by himself at the end of a hall. I felt a swirling of anxiety in my stomach as I stepped into the open doorway and saw a very sunken, bruised, and sutured Barrett Anderson lying in a hospital bed. Sitting on the windowsill, leg up, back against the window, looking somehow casually arrogant in jeans and a black long-sleeve tee, was Sawyer.
I felt my eyes roll at the smirk he gave me.
"See you met my brother," Barrett's voice called to me, sounding at once resigned and amused.
"I didn't think it was possible given how anti-social you are, but you seemed to inherit all the charm genes in your family," I said, giving him a small smile as I placed the vase on the nightstand beside his bed.
Sawyer's laugh followed me as I moved to hand Barrett his coffee. I realized this because he was suddenly at my side, taking my coffee out of the tray. "You shouldn't have," he said, bringing it up to his mouth and taking a long swig.
"I didn't. That was mine."
"Yeah, bet it would really help that hangover you got going on. Too bad it's mine now."
I turned back to Barrett who gave me a 'what can you do?" shrug. "Have I mentioned how glad I am that I hired you and not him?"
"Babe," Sawyer snorted, reaching out and snagging the side of my scarf, pulling it down to look at and show his brother my bruises. "Sure about that?"
I saw Barrett wince and felt double guilty. "I'd take getting strangled over dealing with you any day."
"Too bad I'm gonna be the one you're working with. At least until Barrett is out of here," he conceded and it was the first hint of kindness I'd seen in him.
"No. That's actually why I came. Just forget it. The case is over."
It wasn't over, not really. I mean I was going to take a step back and make sure I kept myself out of actual danger, but I wasn't done trying to find some answers. I would never be done, not until I found them. But I wasn't involving other people who could get hurt. Of course, common sense said I should probably let Sawyer get involved. He'd quickly dispatched of the guy who had attacked his brother and me. And while he was a dick, he definitely was intimidating. But, well, I didn't want to have to be in a room with him ever again if it was possible.
"Ever hear that phrase about trying to bullshit a bullshit artist?" Sawyer asked, sipping the full fat, sugar-filled coffee I bought myself as a treat. "You aren't over this case and I ain't letting you wade into the Third Street gang on your own."
"Third Street gang?" I asked, feigning innocence.
"Cory is one of their enforcers."
"Cory?" I asked, not able to help the laugh that escaped me. What kind of thug enforcer guy was named Cory? That was the name of a five year old boy, not some muscled, mean-spirited bully.
"Yeah, babe. Cory. And you can take that innocent act and shove it. You know damn well that what you're wrapped up with involves the Third Street gang. And don't think it's escaped my notice that you sent my brother on a job without giving him the information he needed to keep himself safe. That shit won't play. So real soon, you and me, we're having a sit down and you're spilling."
"Sawyer, enough," Barrett said, moving the bed to sit up straighter.
"Show up at my house or my work, I will call the cops. Stay the hell away from me if you value your freedom," I snapped, turning back to Barrett. "I'm sorry I got you beat up. I will have a check sent to you for your services. I hope you feel better soon." I turned and stormed out of the room, my heart slamming so hard in my chest I felt like I was choking on it.
It really was a lousy freaking week.
And it was only about to get worse.
--
"You're seriously not going to talk to me about it?" I asked, crossing my arms over my chest at my father's massive dining table, having just finished the last course and waiting for the coffee to be served. Coffee meant another fifteen minutes of tense conversation before I could finally hightail it the hell out of there and curl back into bed like I had been wanting to do since the moment I woke up that morning.
"There's nothing to talk about, Elsie. The matter is closed."
My father was intimidating in all ways. He was tall and kept up his body, despite most men his age deciding to 'let themselves go'. Those weren't words he even understood. He wore expensive suits from waking until sleep, only ever changing to get into gym clothes. His hair was cut expertly and was an attractive salt and pepper color that gave him the silver fox, not old man, look.
"How can the matter be closed, Dad? We can't just act like..."
"That is exactly what we will do. Is this all you have going on in your life? Get a hobby, Elsie. Work more hours. Get yourself a husband already. Stop harping on non-issues."
Anger for me was an extremely uncomfortable sensation of bugs under my skin, like I wanted to claw them out, like if I didn't, I would go insane. Very few people were capable of bringing out that feeling. My father, unfortunately, was one of those people.
"It's not a non-issue!" I shrieked as my dad's butler brought out the coffee on a cart and poured us each a cup.
"No need for the hysterics, Elsie," he said in a calm voice that made me want to reach across the table and slap him. That was his MO. He got all firm and demanding, got his opponent riled beyond reason, then accused them of being irrational. It worked every God damn time.
"You know what... fuck this," I said, standing so fast that my chair turned back and knocked into the coffee cart, splashing the liquid everywhere.
"Sit down," he said, his voice low and clipped.
I felt my body jolt, wanting me to do what it was told, what I was trained to do my entire life. But, for once, I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction.
"No. When you decide to find that shriveled little heart of yours and inflate it back to an acceptable human-size, then we can talk. Until then, you can take these Sunday dinners and shove them up your ass, Dad," I yelled, moving toward the door.
"Just like her," his voice followed me and I felt myself freeze.
I knew what he was doing. He was trying to rile me. He knew exactly how to push my buttons. But if I went back at him, if I lost my cool again, in his eyes, he would win. I was done losing to him. I curled my hands into tight fists at my sides and turned. It took an effort to make my voice calm, almost hollow.
"I know you like to think you control everything. I know that's your thing. But you don't control me anymore. And you never will again. What could you possibly do now, Dad? Ground me? Take my trust away. Have at it. I don't need anything from you. I hope you enjoy your big, empty house. And I pray to God nothing truly awful happened because there is no coming back from that. That guilt will follow you to your grave and into hell afterward."
With that, I grabbed my purse and jacket and exited with an exaggerated calm I most definitely did not feel.
Again as I rounded my car, I felt the tears stinging my eyes.
I was not a particularly overly-emotional person. But everything was screwed up. Nothing was going to plan. I'd had a week from hell that culminated in an argument with my father that was a lifetime overdue. My entire world felt like it was holding on by a thread and I had no one to turn to.
I couldn't go to Rome for two reasons. One, he would be absolutely infuriated and devastated that I had kept it from him for so long. And two, because I felt weird leaning on him now that I realized he had different intentions than I did.
And, well, there was no one else in my life that I was close enough with to involve.
Never, not once in my life, had I ever felt truly alone like I did as I drove back home, swatting at my ch
eeks, cursing the tears and everything that had taken place to make them appear.
I went in through the garage that brought me into my kitchen, yanking off the scarf that felt like it had been strangling me the entire day. I flicked on the light and went straight for the coffee machine, despite the fact that all I wanted to do was curl up in bed and sleep away the traces of my hangover and all the emotions I didn't want to face.
"Barrett and Sawyer Anderson, babygirl?" Paine's smooth voice asked from my side, making me screech and fly back several feet, the stainless steel coffee carafe raised like I planned to strike with it. I guess the couple of close encounters I'd had over the past week was altering my fight or flight response.
"Jesus Christ, Paine," I gasped, slamming the carafe down as I spotted him leaning against the counter. "How the hell did you get in here?"
"When you punch in your code, Elsie, make sure no one is watching."
"How about you don't be a creepy stalker who looks over my shoulder, how about that? What is it about our society that teaches 'don't be a victim' rather than 'don't be a criminal'?"
"Not here to debate society with you. I'm here to figure out why you are involved with the Anderson brothers."
I lifted my chin, grabbing the carafe and going back to making the coffee just to have an excuse to not look at him. He was looking way too good in dark jeans and a black sweater. "The night we met, you advised me to get out of what I was in. I'm not stupid. I got out. I got someone else involved for me."
Savages Series Boxed Set Page 53