by J. Kenner
“Hey,” she said, a sensual smile playing on those beautiful lips. “Where are you?”
“Here. With you. Always.”
“Good answer.” She wiggled her hips. “But I was wondering where your mind had gone.”
“I was thinking about you. I was thinking about how much I love you. What a miracle you are to me.”
“What we are to each other, you mean. Such a short amount of time in the calendar of my life, but now I can’t even imagine a life without you. How weird is that?”
“If you’re weird, I am, too. Because I can’t imagine life without you.”
She laughed. “Are we becoming sappy? I don’t think that’s part of my job spec. I’m supposed to be a hard ass.”
“I won’t tell if you won’t.”
She laughed, and he took advantage to flip her over so that he was on his back and she was riding him.
“I like this,” she said. “I like being in charge.”
“I like letting you be in charge. Just don’t expect it all the time.”
“I think we’re going to have to get a coin that we flip. See who gets to be on top.”
“I have a better idea“
“What’s that?”
“Right now? I just want you to ride me.”
She laughed, but complied, her body rocking with his, their pleasure rising together. It felt so good to be deep inside her. To have that connection. To be able to watch her face as they went over the edge together.
For a few more moments, he thought about how lucky he was, but then the capacity of rational thought left him. He was only need and lust. His lust. Her need. And a little bit of vice-versa.
As she arched back, her hips rocking as she rode him toward an explosive climax, he slipped his finger between their bodies, so that she was stroking her clit on his hand as she moved. He watched her breasts bounce—and dear God, wasn’t that hot—and felt how wet she was. How tight. And then, as she spiraled over, he felt her pussy clench around him, the power of her orgasm squeezing him like a vise so that he bucked and moaned and exploded inside her.
Sated, she fell forward, their bodies still connected. He’d deal with the damn condom later. Right now, he just wanted to feel her heat against his skin.
“That was amazing,” she murmured as life flowed back into her. “You’re amazing.”
“I think we’ve already had this debate,” he said, making her laugh.
“I like working out our differences in bed. Maybe next time we should arm wrestle.” He laughed, then rolled over on top of her, holding her down. “You might be a bad ass, Ms. Tucker, but I think I could take you.”
“Oh yeah? Let’s see.”
He was about to take her up on that challenge. The idea of having her trapped in his arms was almost too good to pass up. But they were distracted by the ringing of the phone. He reached for it and when he saw that it was Quince, he hit the button for the speaker.
“We’ve got it,” Quince said. “The Serpent gave up the address for Clyde Morgan. We’re putting a team together. All we need is you.”
“A small team. Emma and I go in. You and Liam are back up outside. Denny in the van on communications and tech.”
“That’s what we thought you’d say,” Quince said. “Be ready in fifteen. We’ll come by to get you.”
“Where’s The Serpent now?”
“His name is Nicol Vartac, and he’s been remanded to the SOC. Seagrave is taking him into custody. I imagine he’ll be living under the government’s hospitality for a very long time.”
“And good riddance to him,” Tony said. “We’ll be ready when you get here.” He ended the call, then frowned at Emma’s expression.
“What’s wrong?”
“I need to tell you something. I shouldn’t, but I don’t want any secrets between us.”
Now it was his turn to frown. “I’m listening.”
“I told you that our missions aligned, remember? When you came to my house after the island. Because your father—well, you know.”
“Right. Was that not true?”
“No, no. Completely true. I just kind of left off the part about the rest of the mission lining up, too.”
“The Serpent,” he said, and she nodded.
“He’s been on my radar for years. He was the central figure in a case I worked on in Texas about a billion years ago.”
Tony frowned. “Okay. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Nothing to do with him or with you. But—well, you’re joining Stark Security. We’re together. And I don’t want you to find out accidentally.”
“I’m still listening.”
“I didn’t say anything because it’s Winston’s secret more than mine. We had an overlap on our cases. And The Serpent was right there in the middle of it. Some really bad shit went down and Winston—never mind.” She shakes her head. “I’m sorry. I’ll share most anything with you, but I can’t share someone else’s story. I’m sorry.”
He shook his head. “Sweetheart, you don’t have to be sorry. Believe me when I say I understand about secrets.”
“Good. This one’s a hard one. Not even Eliza knows.”
He laughs. “And yet you told me. I guess you really do love me.”
“Guess I do.” She rose up and kissed him. “I really do. Now let’s go see what the story is with your asshole of a father.”
“From what Vartac told us and what we could pull together quickly, it seems that your father went under the knife a lot to change his appearance.” Liam shook his head. “Not for the squeamish, that’s for damn sure. And apparently the surgeries didn’t sit well, because infections have been eating away at him for years.”
Quince nodded. “That and plain, old-fashioned ill-health. He’s not that old. But from the photos the man looks to be well over ninety. And apparently his days are numbered.”
Tony nodded, taking it all in, wondering if it made him a bad person because he really didn’t give a shit if his father lived or died. No, correction—he’d rather Clyde Morgan were dead. The world would be that much better.
“So he set this house up under a dozen or so shell accounts, moved in, and hired private nursing care,” he guessed.
“Got it in one,” Denny said. “Only not nursing care. A nurse. Singular. Your dad’s not the most trusting guy.”
“Don’t call him that.”
“Right. Sorry. Morgan’s not too trusting. He has one nurse who looks after him. Nine to seven. She’ll do overnights if he’s in a bad way, but right now, I guess he’s chugging along because she left fifteen minutes ago. I had Mario sit on the house while we went and got you two.”
“So what’s the plan?” Quincy asked. “Are you here to arrest him for the conspiracy to murder your mother and uncle? Vartac confessed. He was a bit looped on chemicals, but I’m sure we could arrange a signed, drug-free confession.”
“That’s the plan,” Tony said, even though of course it wasn’t the plan. Which Quince had to know. Liam, too. They’d all worked together at Deliverance. His friends knew that there was no way Tony was letting that subpar excuse for a human live another day.
As for Denny, he seriously doubted her morals would be tweaked by his intentions, and he knew Emma’s wouldn’t.
And yet they all still played the game.
He looked at Emma, now dressed in black denim and a black long-sleeve shirt. She looked sexy as hell, and more like a cat burglar than an intelligence officer.
“Ready?”
“Lead the way,” she said.
The house had an alarm system, but it was a piece of shit that Denny had hacked through in less than ten minutes. Apparently, Morgan didn’t think he was on anyone’s radar.
The fact that they were breaking in, though, was further proof that everyone in that van knew he wasn’t coming to arrest Morgan. People with the intention to put legitimate cuffs on a criminal didn’t break and enter. Plus, they tended to bring someone in law enforcement. Not private security, n
o matter how prestigious.
At any rate, he was grateful for Denny’s skills, and they were in the house in under three minutes.
“Comms check,” he whispered, and got a soft Roger that, in response.
He checked his weapon as Emma did the same. Not that he expected a firefight with a decrepit old man, but you never knew. If all went as expected, he’d be using exactly one bullet.
Morgan’s bedroom was on the first floor, and they found it more from the stench than the floor plan Denny had worked out. The hall was putrid, stinking of human waste and bodily fluids.
“It’s like somebody dumped a truckload of used diapers,” Emma commented. “Then sprayed them down with liquefied rotting meat.”
“Thanks. If my stomach hadn’t already been flipping, it would surely be now.”
She didn’t answer. Probably so she could go a few more steps without breathing.
The door to Morgan’s room was open. He lay like a wraith in a twin-size hospital bed, his frail body barely making a dent under the dingy gray sheet. His face was turned away, and he was looking out a window at a backyard aviary. Maybe wondering if one day he’d have the chance to fly away.
“Father.”
Morgan’s head turned slowly. As if it took all his strength. His face was lumpy with pustules, his eyes red and runny, his lips cracked and sneering. “You,” he rasped. “Why the fuck would anyone think I’d want to see you?”
“I could ask myself the same question about you.” He put his hand on his gun as Emma stepped up beside him.
But, dammit, he couldn’t bring himself to pull. He knew damn well there’d be no consequences. If anyone could commit a crime and get away with it, he was that man.
But suddenly, he just didn’t want to.
Not that he didn’t have the stomach for it—he’d still happily dance on his father’s grave whenever that celebratory moment came.
No, he was changing his plan because the man was already in hell.
“I just came by to tell you that I’m doing great. Incredible job. Great friends. Smart, beautiful girlfriend. And that’s all in spite of you, not because of you. Just so we’re clear on that point.”
He turned to go, because really, why would he stay? Emma was standing there staring at him, a small grin tugging at her lips.
“He’s not worth it,” Tony said.
“No. He really isn’t.”
She started to turn, too, and that’s when he heard it. The odd rustling sound. Not like skin against a cotton sheet but something else. Something—
Shit.
He whirled back at the same time Emma did, both with their weapons out, both firing at the old man.
He took Tony’s in the chest and Emma’s in the head. And the gun Morgan had pulled from beneath the sheet fell from his hand before he got off a single shot.
“He wasn’t worth it,” Emma repeated. “And now he’s no trouble to anyone.”
Tony nodded, then took her hand. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s go home.”
They stepped through the door together.
And Tony never looked back.
Epilogue
I’m pretty sure my bungalow has never had this many people in it. Not that I mind. After all, everyone is here to celebrate my sister and Quincy at their official engagement party.
It’s been three weeks since Quince finally proposed, but I’d wanted to be the hostess and Tony wanted to get his things from storage in New York.
So in addition to having more people than the fire code allows, I also have a garage full of boxes. It’s wreaking havoc on my obsession with keeping a clean house. And I am absolutely loving it.
“Everyone’s having a great time,” Tony says, sliding up behind me and wrapping his arms around my waist. “Although I think it’s time to cut Quince off.”
I’d been looking into the kitchen, wondering if I needed to order another alcohol delivery. Now I turn around to find Quince stumbling onto the hearth, his glass lifted in what I think will be his third—no, fourth—toast to my sister. Everyone turns politely toward him, but nobody’s really listening. He’s already sung her praises so many times we could all recite them.
To her credit, Eliza doesn’t look the least bit embarrassed. And when she turns to beam at me, all I can think is that she looks like a woman in love.
We have that in common now, too.
With Tony’s arms around me, I take stock of our lives. Leah is huddled deep in conversation with Cass, and I wonder if maybe there’s something there. Damien, Ryan, and Jackson are standing with their wives, Nikki, Jamie, and Sylvia, and since they’re laughing I’m assuming it’s not business that they’re discussing.
I find Mario hunkered down by my stereo system and roll my eyes. But if he wants to suggest upgrades, I won’t push him away. And Liam and his girlfriend Xena are on the back patio, watching the rays from the setting sun break through the leaves on the trees.
Mason and Denny are in the kitchen where Mason is making her something non-alcoholic to drink, and from what I can tell, Winston is supervising. As I watch, he pulls out his phone, then frowns as he takes the call.
He moves to the side, then looks up, his brow furrowed as he meets my eyes.
“Trouble,” Tony murmurs.
I shake my head. “I don’t know.” I turn in the circle of his arms to face him, then give him a quick kiss. “I’m going to go check on him.”
“I’ll mingle. And by that I mean I’ll see if I can get Quince off the hearth.”
I laugh, then give him one more kiss before heading to Winston. He meets me halfway, then pulls me aside.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“That was Seagrave,” he says, his eyes dark and haunted. “Looks like I need to go back to Texas.”
I hoped you enjoyed Tony and Emma’s story! And I hope you’re excited to meet WINSTON in Destroyed With You!
Be sure to subscribe to my newsletter or Text JKenner to 21000 to subscribe to JK’s text alerts and be among the first to know about new books, sales, free content, and other fun stuff!
The Stark Security books are set in the world of Stark International, a world that first came to life for me in Release Me, Damien Stark and Nikki Fairchild’s story. But several of the characters in Ruined With You have their own stories, too.
You may have already met Quince and Eliza in Shattered With You or Denny and Mason in Broken With You or Liam and Xena in Wrecked With You.
But did you know that you can find Jamie and Ryan’s story in Tame Me?
And as for Dallas and Jane, their trilogy begins with Dirtiest Secret. I hope you check it out!
And be sure to keep turning page for a sneak peek of my upcoming release, MY FALLEN SAINT!
JK
My Fallen Saint
Sneak Peek!
“J. Kenner knows how to deliver a tortured alpha that everyone will fall for hard. Saint is exactly the sinner I want in my bed.”
Laurelin Paige, NYT bestselling author
The wind stings my face and the glare from the afternoon sun obscures my vision as I fly down the long stretch of Sunset Canyon Road at well over a hundred miles per hour.
My heart pounds and my palms are sweaty, but not because of my speed. On the contrary, this is what I need. The rush. The thrill. I crave it like a junkie, and it affects me like a toddler on a sugar high.
Honestly, it’s taking every ounce of my willpower not to put my 1965 Shelby Cobra through her paces and kick her powerful engine up even more.
I can’t, though. Not today. Not here.
Not when I’m back, and certainly not when my homecoming has roused a swarm of butterflies in my stomach. When every curve in this road brings back memories that have tears clogging my throat and my bowels rumbling with nerves.
Dammit.
I pound down the clutch, then slam my foot onto the brake, shifting into neutral as I simultaneously yank the wheel sharply to the left. The tires squeal in protest as I make a U-tu
rn across the oncoming lane, the car’s ass fishtailing before skidding to a stop in the turnout. I’m breathing hard, and honestly, I think Shelby is, too. She’s more than a car to me; she’s a lifelong best friend, and I don’t usually fuck with her like this.
Now, though…
Well, now she’s dangerously close to the cliff’s edge, her entire passenger side resting parallel to a void that boasts a view of the distant coastline. Not to mention a seriously stunning glimpse of the small downtown below.
I ratchet up the emergency brake as my heartbeat pounds in my throat. And only when I’m certain we won’t go skidding down the side of the cliff do I kill Shelby’s engine, wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans, and let my body relax.
Well, hello to you, too, Laguna Cortez.
With a sigh, I take off my ball cap, allowing my dark curls to bounce free around my face and graze my shoulders.
“Get a grip, Ellie,” I murmur, then suck in a deep breath. Not so much for courage—I’m not afraid of this town—but for fortitude. Because Laguna Cortez beat me down before, and it’s going to take all of my strength to walk those streets again.
One more breath, and then I step out of the car. I walk to the edge of the turnout. There’s no barrier, and loose dirt and small stones clatter down the hill as I balance on the very edge.
Below me, jagged rocks protrude from the canyon walls. Further down, the harsh angles smooth to gentle slopes with homes of all shapes and sizes nestled among the rocks and scrubby plants. The tiled roofs follow the tightly winding road that leads down to the Arts District. Tucked neatly in the valley formed by a U of hills and canyons, the area opens onto the town’s largest beach and draws a steady stream of tourists and locals.
As far as the public is concerned, Laguna Cortez is one of the gems of the Pacific Coast. A laid-back town with just under sixty-thousand people and miles of sandy and rocky beaches.
