by RC Boldt
They’d done a study where they administered treatment methods to various prisoners, be it a daily, month-long meditation intervention combined with nutritional supplements.
Groups that received a placebo and didn’t introduce a form of exercise intervention had no change whatsoever. But the prisoners involved in meditation classes who were given supplements showed better control over their tempers and had considerably decreased violent offenses.
A shadow that drifts over my table has me glancing up, prepared to decline another drink offer from my waitress.
Except it isn’t my waitress.
“That’s some heavy reading for a Saturday,” she says with a smile, clutching a few menus in her hands. At first glance, I assume she’s striking up a friendly conversation while killing time between seating customers. It takes a second before recognition rolls through me.
With perfectly styled blond hair and wearing a casual sundress, her appearance would incite no recognition from me except for one thing.
Her voice. She’s the same woman who’d given me the obituary that day in the café.
Nonchalantly, I shrug with a polite smile. “Professional development never ends.”
“Ah, yes.” She glances around in a manner that doesn’t come off as suspicious, and I’m certain she’s perfected it to be so, before returning her focus to me. The way she surveys me is eerie, leaving me with the feeling that she can see through me and detect all of my secrets. Lowering her voice, she says, “Sunday will be difficult.”
I narrow my eyes on her. “Whose side are you on?”
The edge of her lips tilts up. “My own. But I caught wind of”—she waves a hand casually—“all this and decided to do some digging.” I study her features and note that her eye color isn’t real. The green is much too vibrant. “You’re the most innocent in all of it, aren’t you? Yet you’re still pulling the wool over their eyes.”
I wait her out, and she sighs as if I’ve somehow disappointed her. “You didn’t let what happened in college derail you from aiming high and obtaining your current job, so I don’t anticipate you jeopardizing that now. But it bears a reminder. Be prepared on Sunday, Olivia.”
Her features turn fierce, mouth pinched. “No one will play by the rules, and when that happens, it’ll be a free-for-all.”
She turns to leave, but I rush out with, “Why did you give me that obituary?”
When her eyes meet mine, they appear almost unguarded, and her words are spoken with unexpected gentleness. “Because we all deserve to know the truth.”
The woman weaves her way past tables and booths before I lose sight of her. I’m left with her words lingering in my mind on a loop. We all deserve to know the truth.
“Thanks for letting me drop by my office, Marcus. Sorry to have you make another stop.”
The man offers a grunt in response, but I’m hoping he doesn’t suspect anything by the unexpected request. He didn’t ask about the woman who stopped by my table, thankfully. Since the interaction had been brief, and she’d appeared to be one of the hostesses, I’m assuming it didn’t raise any red flags for him.
If Nico ends up suspecting anything about my request to stop by my office, I plan to say that I’ve decided to tweak my lesson plans. It’s a completely plausible reason to collect the necessary materials from my office.
But that isn’t all I plan to do.
I dial the number I’d memorized and wait for someone to pick up. It rings for so long I toss an antsy look at my locked office door, half expecting Marcus’s fist to hammer against it and order me out.
When someone finally answers the call, my shoulders slump in relief.
“Ah, mi hija. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
I don’t waste time with useless pleasantries but dive right in, my tone possessing an urgent appeal. “I can ensure the other players are eliminated, so you can step in and take over all operations.”
Greedy interest intermixes with suspicion in her voice. “And how might you do that?”
“That’s where my talents come in.” I pause. “But I get something in return.”
She chuckles. “What do you want? Money?”
“No. I want the opportunity to be by your side. To stand proud with you when we take Alcanzar and his men out of the game.” My voice cracks with emotion when I lower my voice. “I want to be a part of a family. A real one.” With a meaningful pause, I add quietly, “With you.”
I’m catering to her ego and using Nico as leverage to entice her. To guarantee she shows up on Sunday, I need to gain her trust.
Silence greets my words, but I don’t panic. I know I’ve hooked her. I’ve pressed every one of her buttons, ensuring she’ll be thinking of my father who shunned her criminal ambitions. The man who took me from her and had others raise me.
Once she responds, her voice is worlds away from the caustic, arrogant quality it normally holds. In its place is a softer tone. “Mi hija,” she sighs. “I’ve been wishing for that for years.”
I close my eyes briefly before studying the clock on the wall. Then I calmly tell Johanna Santilla, La Madre de la Muerta, Nico’s biggest competitor he’s been wanting to eliminate, the details for his next shipment and who’s expected to oversee it.
Later, I sit quietly in the back seat while Marcus drives me back to Nico’s. My insides twist, wrung out by anguish and regret, when I realize his house has become a home to me. I’m comfortable here. I look forward to seeing Nico each night—sleeping beside him and waking up in his arms.
Tomorrow, everything will change. I won’t simply be walking into the lion’s den. No, I’ll be inserting myself in the midst of a bitter rivalry where traitors lie in wait.
I may be going into this alone, but at least I know I’ll be sticking to the original plan.
Regardless of how much it eviscerates my heart.
56
Nico
Saturday night
“Don’t need any of that, gorgeous.” Leaning against the doorjamb of the master bathroom, I watch Olivia apply her makeup.
Looking more vibrant with her darker eye shadow, her eyes lock with mine in the mirror. “You’re a smooth talker.” She turns her attention to her makeup bag, shuffling through it in search of something, and mutters without glancing up. “Bet you say that to all the ladies.”
An odd sensation hits me dead center in my chest. “Why? Would you be jealous?”
She rolls her pretty eyes and leans in close to the mirror to apply mascara. “Tell me you’re not looking to get your ego stroked.” Her tone is laced with humor, but it’s still not an answer.
I wait for her to finish before stepping up behind her to drop a kiss to her bare shoulder. “Kinda like you bein’ jealous. Means I’m somethin’ to you, right?”
I tip my head, gesturing to her makeup on the counter. “Ain’t lyin’ when I say you don’t need any of that. If I’m bein’ honest, I like you better without it.” The edge of my lips tugs up. “And in my shirt.”
Her expression transforms into one I’ve never seen before. This is… Hell. It’s like I’ve just given her the biggest motherfucking diamond ring on earth, her eyes bright with happiness and a content smile on her lips.
She turns to face me and loops her arms around my neck. “So, I should change?”
I grin. “Nah. Got reservations tonight. Wanna take my woman out to celebrate.”
Curiosity is written all over her face. I battle against the pit of my stomach that tells me it’s the bad kind while my goddamn heart says the opposite. “What are we celebrating?”
I pull her snug against me and dip my head to dust my lips lightly over her slick pink ones. “You. Me.” Tracing a finger over her forehead, where her bangs nearly meet her dark eyebrows, I memorize the way she looks. Unguarded. Beautiful.
Mine.
Of course, reality rushes back in with a motherfucking vengeance. The words feel like they stick in my throat. “It’s an early celebration ’cause tomorrow ni
ght, another job’ll be completed.”
Stepping back, I turn away because fuck if I don’t want to ignore everything else tonight and just be with her. To ignore my churning gut instincts.
“I’ll wait for you in the foyer, Professor.”
I only make it a step when she calls out softly but with an underlying urgency in her tone. “Nico?”
“Yeah?”
“I…” She trails off, and my lungs stop for a millisecond before she finishes with, “I want to thank you. For taking time away to spend it with me tonight.”
Damn if I wasn’t hoping she was going to finish that differently.
Disappointment assaults me, sending me into a fucking spiral of self-recrimination. For a split second, I hoped her response would be something different.
Nico, I love you.
“Tonight was perfect.” She smiles at me from the passenger seat of the car as I pull into the driveway. Drawing to a stop beneath the covered overhang at the entrance of the house, I turn off the ignition and take her hand in mine.
“Feels pretty damn perfect anytime I’m with you.”
Her eyes soften, and her smile… Damn if her beautiful smile isn’t making me commit it to memory right now.
“Let’s get you inside, Professor. It’s late.” I slip out and circle the car to help her out. Leading her inside the house, I can’t bear to release her hand. Her delicate fingers lace with mine so damn perfectly as we head to our bedroom.
This woman robs me of breath with a full face of makeup and a hot-as-fuck dress the same as she can in workout clothes. But what I really look forward to is the sight of her in one of my T-shirts with no makeup on. When she lets me see her like that… Fuck if I don’t ache like hell to make her mine over and over again.
Once we’re ready for bed, she curls up beside me with her cheek against my chest. For now, I’m content to just finger the strands of her hair and feel her body close to mine.
“Hey, Nico?” she asks softly.
“Hm?”
“Do you think we could go away somewhere? Just the two of us?” She lifts her head to peer at me, her expression hopeful. “To get away from it all for a bit?”
If I could break free from the impending time bomb, I would. I’d gladly bury my head in the motherfucking sand to have more time with her. But I can’t.
“Once things calm down after this big job, maybe we can…” I trail off as soon as I realize what the hell I’m saying. Fuck. I’m in no position to make promises or even hint at them.
Something flickers in her gaze—unease? Nervousness?—but it’s gone in a flash, replaced with the affectionate warmth I’ve become familiar with.
She ducks her head and places a kiss to the center of my chest, and I swear it settles deep inside me.
Swallowing past the growing lump in my throat, I tighten my arm around her. I cradle her face with my other hand, raking my thumb along the curve of her cheek. “You’re my woman. You know that, right?”
Her eyes crinkle at the edges the way they do when I amuse her or when she thinks I’m getting too cocky. But beneath it, I swear I see a trace of fear. “You say that now.”
Swiftly, I tug her body fully on top of me, banding an arm over her to hold her tight. Cupping the back of her head, I steer her mouth to mine and stamp a kiss to her lips. “Ain’t lyin’ to you, baby.” I will her to believe me. If a small percentage of what I say is truthful, this sure as hell is part of that. “I’m yours, and you’re mine.”
A soft vulnerability edges its way into her features. “You mean that?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“For how long?” Sadness flickers in her eyes, but it disappears in a blink.
I skim my lips against hers. “For as long as you want me.”
Her lips form a sweet smile, and she plants a soft kiss to my mouth before drawing back. Planting a hand on the mattress beside me, she gazes down at me with an indecipherable expression and skims her index finger over my lips. It takes me a moment to realize she’s humming a familiar song.
Her lips part to whisper, “And I think to myself…” But she trails off, not finishing the song’s chorus. What a wonderful world.
To think that someone like me could inspire her to think of that song… My heart feels like it climbs straight out of my chest and launches itself at her. And, in this instance, it’s true: it is a wonderful world. With her, I can shut off the bullshit and focus on this woman whose touch makes me feel more alive than I have in years.
She makes me feel like a different person. A better one.
A shudder rolls through me, and I close my eyes, fighting the urge to grab her and hold her even tighter, knowing I’d probably crack one of her ribs with my desperation. I want so damn badly to have the ability to block out the world a little while longer. To plug my ears against the sound of the proverbial ticking clock.
Her fingertip skates along my jaw and over my forehead. I open my eyes to find her studying me with a slight furrow between her brows and a touch of sadness lingering in her features.
Her eyes lock with mine, and the emotion in the depths has me reaching to cradle her face in my hands. A wave of fierce possessiveness overtakes me, and I’m a starving man as I fuse our mouths, kissing her like my life depends on it. She lets me tilt her face to deepen it, claiming her with every stroke of my tongue. I wish her taste would embed itself, so I’ll have a more tangible memory of this time with her.
A unique brand of agony and ecstasy plows through me. Each time she lets out a tiny whimper and fits her mouth more securely to mine has my heart torqueing painfully, and if it could speak, it’d be repeatedly chanting the words I can’t bear to say—words I don’t fucking dare let hang between us.
I love you.
She deserves more—she deserves better—but I’m too much of a goddamn bastard to tell her the truth.
When she lets me ease her onto her back with an expression free of fear, I slowly drag her shirt up her body, and she helps it the rest of the way, tossing it aside.
Burying my face in her neck, I rake my teeth along the skin just beneath her earlobe and leave a trail of hot, openmouthed kisses. Fuck if I don’t crave to leave my mark on her. To show that I’m the man she lets touch her, the man she wants touching her.
For there to be visible proof that she’s mine in some way.
Skimming my mouth lower, I take her nipple between my lips and flick it with my tongue until she clutches at my biceps, digging her nails into my skin. After sucking the tip hard, I release it and move to the other.
Eyes glazed with lust, she lets out a tiny whimper when I trail my fingertips along the flat of her stomach. Easing her panties aside, I nudge the tip of my middle finger inside her. When it’s greeted by a flood of wetness, I murmur, “Fuck,” around the nipple in my mouth.
My voice sounds hoarse to my own ears, so full of need for this woman. “This pussy needs me, don’t it?”
Breasts rising and falling with panting breaths, the way she grows even slicker around my finger is all the answer I need. When I add another finger inside her, her inner muscles clutch at me so damn tight my cock jerks in my pajama pants. I watch my fingers glide in and out of her sweet pussy, and she fucking drenches them.
When she gasps my name, I look up to find her lips parted, cheeks flushed, and it’s the moment I know that I’m fucked. I’m so goddamn fucked.
Olivia Wright will take my motherfucking heart and soul with her.
57
Olivia
Nico’s touch is different somehow. It holds an odd gentleness that contrasts the feverish longing in his brown eyes.
“This pussy needs me, don’t it?” His voice is raspy, and it sends a surge of explosive heat licking through my veins. His fingers slide in and out of me.
“Yes.” My voice is reedy and breathless, drenched in desperation. “Nico…”
With movements so quick they’re a blur, he tears off my panties before shoving his pajama pants down and ki
cking them off carelessly. It isn’t until he hovers over me, braced on his forearms, condom rolled down his erection, that I realize our positioning. It dawns on me suddenly that I haven’t been cognizant or concerned about it.
I trust him. That I trust a man like him not to hurt me and handle me with the utmost care is an oxymoron that would baffle even the most intelligent individuals.
Nostrils flared, his gaze bores into mine, eyes possessing a wild desperation. His voice is raw, as if he’s dismantling all his defenses and allowing me to see him—the real Nico. “Gotta be inside you, baby.”
With his fist wrapped around his thick cock, he drags the flared head along my slit, gathering my wetness, but doesn’t nudge inside. He waits for me to grant him permission.
If this man hadn’t already created a home for himself within my heart, this would secure it.
I cup his muscled ass and yank him to me, our collective groans mingling as he sinks inside me. Locking my ankles around him, I memorize the sensation of my body stretching to accommodate him as he sinks deeper, filling me. My needy, frantic hands mold the curves and cuts of his muscled body.
He never tears his eyes off me, his strokes deep and languid. Careful. For some reason, he’s holding back.
“I need more.” I lift my head and capture his lower lip between my teeth, giving it a gentle tug.
He grunts, a crease forming between his brows. “Just wanna take my time.” Blazing eyes drift over my face as if committing it to memory.
A tiny disgruntled sound escapes me, and I nip at his jaw. “So you won’t forget me?”
He rears his head back, a thunderous frown fixed in place, which mars his handsome features. “Like I could ever forget you.”
My breath catches at how he shoves the words out with such forceful vehemence. His tone makes it seem like the idea of him forgetting me is preposterous. But I understand it on a molecular level, with every pump of blood that travels through my heart, within the marrow of my bones, and with every cell in my body. There’s no way I’ll ever forget him. Even if I attempted to scrub my brain of his memory, it would still prevail because he’s ingrained in my soul.
