Truth in Pieces

by RC Boldt

  I stare back at him, at the man who I swear masks a deeper, more compassionate side. Idiotically, I wait for a crack in that steely façade of his, but the longer the seconds tick by without any change, the deeper my stomach plummets.

  Even though I know better, a hidden part of me still aches to try to rescue his wounded soul. I recognize it beneath those thick layers of villainous intimidation and arrogance.

  It’s true, what they say about damaged souls recognizing one another.

  He never once tears his eyes from mine, the frigid look taking permanent hold. There’s so much more to this man, and I’m damn determined to uncover it. I refuse to go down without a fight. I refuse to let him use me as a disposable bargaining chip easily tossed aside like yesterday’s trash.

  I have too much at stake here. Far more than he could begin to realize. This fact spurs me into action. I desperately need the tide to turn in my favor, even the barest inch.

  Pressing the release of my seat belt, I ease it from my body without breaking eye contact. When I reach for his seat belt, my actions finally coax words from his lips.

  The tic in his jaw is at odds with his lazy drawl. “The fuck you doin’, Professor?”

  Without answering, I ease the unfastened seat belt past him, then reach for his seat adjustment. The low din of the automatic movement has Nico’s seat moving back as far as it can, granting more space between him and the steering wheel. His features may be placid as though I don’t pose any threat to him, but his rigid posture gives him away.

  He’s just as unsure about this—whatever this is between us—and unsettled by it.

  Scooting over to straddle him in his seat, I brace my hands on each side of the headrest. Grateful for the vehicle’s blacked-out windows, I rock my hips against the ridge of his arousal that grows harder beneath me.

  “Don’t you care, even a little?” I taunt while I remove my tank top. Smoothing my hands over my breasts, my nipples pucker in response.

  Ducking my head to his ear, I capture the lobe between my teeth, tugging, before soothing it with my tongue. “You’d give me up to her, just like that?” I whisper, rocking against his length that prods the quickening ache between my thighs. “I thought there was a good man somewhere inside you.”

  Leaning back, I hold his eyes while I lift my sports bra to bare my breasts and then toss the fabric onto my empty seat. Cupping myself, I toy with my own nipples while I try to keep my wits about me.

  I refuse to fail at this. Too much depends on it.

  “I thought”—my breath hitches when his hips jerk upward, pressing his hard arousal against my needy core—“maybe you’d—”

  So rapid the movement is almost a blur, one hand moves to my hip while the other fists the back of my hair, bringing my breasts flush against his chest. Lips hovering against mine, he forces out words from between clenched teeth. “You think there’s a good man inside me, huh?” His grip tightens in my hair, yet he doesn’t instill fear in me. Instead, I’m turned on, as if every molecule of my body has been electrified.

  “A good man wouldn’t wanna rip off your clothes and slam you down on my dick so hard you’d still feel me days later.” Nico’s eyes grow hotter as he nips at my bottom lip. “Good man wouldn’t be wantin’ a taste of this pussy you’re rockin’ all over his dick, gettin’ it hard as fuck.”

  Using his rigid flesh to prod where I ache, he releases a groan against my lips, and it co-mingles with my whimper. “Good man wouldn’t be doin’ this, would he?” Tightening his fingers in my hair to angle my head, he captures my mouth for a searing hot kiss. His tongue dives inside, and his taste sends fiery lust licking through my veins.

  He tears his mouth from mine, his eyes glittering with scorching heat. Gaze drifting down my body to where I writhe against him, his jaw tics before he settles his attention on my bare breasts. “You gonna let me taste these nipples, Professor?” Dark eyes flick up to mine. “Ain’t gonna take what I’m not given.”

  My back arches as unbridled need surges through me. I’ve never felt anything like this with a man. Powerful. Seductive. In control. It’s heady and addictive.

  Skimming a hand up my body, I cup the underside of my breast and bring my nipple to his lips. He doesn’t hesitate to latch on to my puckered flesh.

  His eyes never leave mine, and with each pull of suction, my mouth parts for choppy breaths. I grasp his head, his short hair soft beneath my fingers, and shamelessly arch into his touch.

  He releases my nipple to lave it with his tongue. “You ain’t such a good girl, are you?” Scraping his teeth against my sensitive flesh, his lust-filled eyes hold mine captive. “You gonna give me more? Or is that all I get?”

  Both of his hands move to my ass, cupping it, pulling me down while he thrusts upward.

  “You want more?” I manage to say, nearly breathless.

  “Yeah…think I’m gonna need a lot more.”

  Cupping my other breast in hand, I bring my nipple to his lips, breath panting past my lips when his mouth secures around my puckered flesh. While he suckles me, he guides my movements, punching his hips upward, creating the friction my aching flesh demands. His fingers dig into my ass, encouraging me to use him to find relief from the pressure building inside me.

  A gasp is ripped from my throat when I pump my hips hard, bearing down on him, uncaring that I’ve likely soaked through my panties and the thin fabric of my shorts.

  “Ah, fuck,” he groans against my breast, the vibrations sending pings of sensation through my nerve endings. “You’re gonna soak me, ain’t ya? That needy pussy’s gonna come all over me.” Using the flat of his tongue, he flicks my nipple, then gently rakes his teeth over top. “Yeah, you ain’t a good girl. Good girl wouldn’t be tryin’ to use this pussy on me like that.” He sucks my nipple so hard that it has me arching near violently before he releases it.

  His hold on my ass grows firmer. He drives his cock up into the juncture of my thighs where I’m so wet, I’m certain the fabric molds the outline of my outer lips. Peering at me with heavy-lidded eyes, his voice sounds like it’s been raked over thick gravel. “Imma let you take what you need.”

  With an upward punch of his hips, his hard length hits where I need it most, and I can’t stop myself from moving wildly over him. I drag my core over his rigid flesh while my hands grip the top of his seat for leverage.

  My thighs grow tense with each pass I make, my nipples pebbling painfully, and I know I’m close.

  “Nico,” I breathe.

  Something shifts in his eyes, and one hand moves swiftly to fist in my hair, bringing our mouths together in a wet, greedy kiss.

  A moan breaks free, rising from deep in my throat when I grind against him once again, setting off my release. Body moving on its own accord, I work myself over him, riding out my orgasm. Our mouths meld, tongues tangled, groans intermingling.

  He thrusts hard against me, prolonging my release. A shudder ripples through him, and I don’t think anything of it until I feel wetness seeping through my shorts.

  Breathless, we break the kiss, our foreheads resting together. The car windows are coated in steamy condensation. He peers at me with heavy-lidded eyes, head resting lax against the seat.

  “Gonna spook on me now?” he murmurs.

  I glance down at our bodies, giving in to curiosity. At the sight of the visible proof, shock and a heady dose of satisfaction roar through my veins. He came in his shorts because of me.

  “Yeah.” His voice drops to a husky whisper. “You did that, Professor.”

  Grasping wildly to regain balance from what just happened—from losing myself in the situation—I carefully ease off him. I settle back in my seat, tugging my bra and tank top against my chest with sudden self-consciousness.

  The more time I spend around this man, the more I lose sight of everything else—what drives me to stay strong and stand my ground.

  I’m scrambling to put distance between us, to put my proverbial armor back in place. �
�So. You think I bought myself some extra time before you turn me over to her?”

  When silence greets my question, I brave a glance at him. He stares straight ahead, jaw tight, hands now clenched on the steering wheel. I don’t dare glance down at the damp spot on the front of his shorts.

  A muscle in his jaw flexes as he adjusts his seat and roughly tugs on his seat belt. “Guess we gotta wait and see.” As he reaches forward to hit the button for the defrosters, I rush to put my clothes back on and buckle in.

  The ride to the house is spent in silence.

  20

  Nico

  Jesus, fuck!

  The entire drive home is in pin-drop silence, but the thoughts in my goddamn head are deafening. This woman’s got me twisted to hell and back. One minute, she’s shell-shocked about her mother, and the next she’s playing seductress on my lap.

  But after she came all over my dick, something happened. It seemed like she got embarrassed. Uncomfortable.

  “So. You think I bought myself some extra time before you turn me over to her?”

  Her words speared me like the sharpest knife to my gut. Was that all it was to her? She was trying to buy time by using her body on me?

  Fuck that.

  No way in hell that’s all it was. People let down their guard when baser instincts come into play. I know what happened between us was hot as fuck, and she loved every goddamn second of it.

  There’s more at play here. My professor’s got secrets, and maybe they’ve got nothing to do with her real mom, but they’re there. I sense it.

  I just don’t know if they’re the kind of secrets I’ve got.

  The kind that can get you killed.

  21

  Olivia

  For the past two weeks, Nico’s been absent, evidently “takin’ care of some business.” I hate that I still check to see if he’s in his office when I leave for work. That a part of me yearns to hear his barely audible voice drifting from beneath his office door.

  It’s for the best. I went too far that night in his car. I didn’t just dip my toe in impropriety; I damn near drowned myself in its ocean.

  What makes it that much more difficult to process is when I arrive home from work on Monday to find the remainder of my clothes neatly hung in the closet along with a few new pairs of wedge heels. That he detected my preference for these types of heels has the tiniest thread of gratitude weaving its way around me even while I recognize the danger it poses. I can’t afford to let my guard down with Nico. It’s far too dangerous.

  Angela has an egg white omelet waiting for me in the warmer each morning and my favorite coffee brewed in the pot. I’ve taken my dinner plate up to my room, choosing to eat alone. As much as I wish to claim that Nico’s absence hasn’t affected me, it would be an outright lie. In an attempt to displace Nico from occupying such a large plot of my mind, I’ve taken to working later in my office, tackling grading papers on personality theories so I don’t fall behind.

  My other evenings are spent in one of the reserved rooms at the gym while I try—unsuccessfully—to burn off the memory of Nico’s touch. While I spin on the pole, I’m haunted by his watchful gaze. It lingers over me, blanketing me in an unsettling layer of both arousal and distrust.

  I can’t help but wonder if his absence is a trap. If he’s waiting for me to do something he deems suspicious. But all has been quiet.

  No odd visits from strangers demanding I meet them somewhere.

  No outings, quiet dinners at the house, or escorts to the gym by Nico.

  Life has been remarkably uneventful.

  It’s been rainier than usual up until today, so I’ve been running on the treadmill in the house gym to break up the monotony of my poleology workouts. Plus, it gives me something else to do with my time other than work. I’ve also been trying to dig up as much information on Johanna Santilla as I can.

  I refuse to call the woman my mother, especially after what I discovered in my search on the desktop computer in my office.

  Aside from what I’ve already heard about her running the cartel—smuggling a variety of drugs from Cuba to Miami—she’s allegedly been the mastermind behind drive-by shootings and the murders of drug-dealing rivals. Yet she has evaded arrest for years.

  Once Goliath shows up to collect me, I lock my office door. A tight knot of stress has settled at the back of my neck in the past hour, so I’m relieved to be calling it quits for today.

  Goliath offers to carry my laptop briefcase, but I politely refuse. He studies me with unnerving assessment. “You look tired.”

  “Thanks, Goliath.” I force a half-hearted smile. “Just what every woman wants to hear.”

  After I hitch the straps of my briefcase and purse over my shoulder, he matches my shorter stride as we exit the building. Nearing dusk, the orange-yellow streaks in the sky paint a beautiful greeting as we venture down the sidewalk.

  Amusement colors his tone when he grunts, “Don’t normally like nicknames, Professor.”

  I dart a glance at him and notice his mouth hitches slightly upward. “No?”

  “Nope. But I like the one you gave me.”

  I practically gape at him, startled by his admission. Perhaps this tiny thread of a connection between us can be utilized to gain some insight and possible information on my situation. I’ll have to tread carefully.

  Out of nowhere, someone slams into me, sending me reeling, and I lose my balance, landing on my hands and knees. Rough concrete abrades my skin while the contents of my purse scatter along the sidewalk, my briefcase landing nearby.

  A masculine voice rushes out with, “I’m so sorry!” as a young man attempts to gather what’s spilled from my purse and shove it back inside. “Let me help you—”

  “Back off.” Goliath glowers at the young man who now looks as though he’s about to wet himself. “I got this.”

  Straightening jerkily, he hikes his backpack over a shoulder, offering another, “I’m so sorry!” before sprinting away, likely late for an evening class.

  I accept Goliath’s hand, allowing him to hoist me to my feet. My knees protest, and I glance down to find them embedded with tiny pieces of concrete and spotted with blood.

  “Dammit,” I mutter. Carefully, I dust off my hands which made it through the ordeal with minor abrasions.

  Goliath hastily scoops everything back into my purse, which now shows visible scuffs in the leather from the rough concrete, then grabs it and my briefcase in one hand.

  “You okay?” Concern etched on the intimidating man’s features has me softening.

  “I’m fine.” With another glance at my knees, I attempt a lighter tone. “Nothing a little peroxide and Band-Aids won’t cure.”

  He scowls in response, silently taking my upper arm in his gentle grasp to guide me the rest of the way to the vehicle. As he scans our surroundings the entire way, his scowl deepens. “Swear he came outta nowhere.”

  I peer up at him. “It’s not your fault. Accidents happen.”

  His brow furrows, but he says nothing.

  It isn’t until the evening that I discover accidents may happen, but this definitely wasn’t one of them.

  22

  Nico

  “What do you mean, she got hurt?” The confines of the office barely contain my roar.

  Rafe shakes his head. “Guy came outta nowhere. I’m tellin’ you, I was watchin’ for everythin’.”

  “How bad’s she hurt?”

  “Just scraped knees when he knocked her down. She didn’t seem too worried about it.”

  Scraped knees because some asshole knocked her to the ground. Possessive fury floods my veins.

  “It wasn’t suspicious to you?”

  Rafe considers it for a moment before answering. “Don’t think so. But with what we’re dealin’ with now…” He trails off with a shrug.

  Yeah. What we’re dealing with is Santilla casting a net to see if her daughter is not only reeled in, but if she’s trustworthy, too.

&nb
sp; He tosses a glance at the closed office door but still lowers his voice. “Same plans still hold?”

  I grip the tense muscles in the back of my neck, rocking back in my leather desk chair. I’ve got to carry out the plans. Olivia’s given me no other option. I know she’s hiding something, and even though nothing leads me to believe it has to do with her and Santilla, I can’t take that fucking chance.

  Santilla needs to be taken out of commission.

  For good.

  23

  Olivia

  After a shower, which included a good deal of hissing when the water hit my skinned knees, I pull on a pair of cotton shorts and a loose-fitting T-shirt. Then I get to work applying some antibiotic ointment and bandages over the worst of the scrapes on my knees.

  Heaving out a breath, I decide my next task will be switching out my purse for a different one. The leather is badly marred from my earlier “adventure.” Although, today was a good lesson in not being in such a rush and forgoing zipping the closure. I ease onto my bed and dump the contents onto the comforter, preparing to sort through everything and place the necessary items in my other purse.

  “Of course,” I mutter sarcastically under my breath. “Everyone needs to carry four damn nail files.” As I tuck the items back where they belong, I pick up the blue thumb drive and put it—

  Every muscle in my body freezes as I stare down at the thumb drive between my fingers. All oxygen leeches from my lungs while my heart beats erratically.

  Because I don’t carry a blue thumb drive.