by E. M. Moore
Security steps forward, and he gives me a sheepish look, but lets them run their metal detecting wands over me. “There’s a knife in my bag,” I inform them, dropping it to the ground.
One of the men runs a wand over it, and the thing lights up with several beeping noises. They look up at Johnny who’s smiling. “I told her to take it in case that asshole detective came around again.”
They chuckle, handing the bag to Johnny so he can make the final decision. When they’re done running the wand over me, Johnny hands the bag back to me. I take it from him, trying to keep my distance. If I can feel Brawler on me, I don’t want Johnny to. “Glad I’m back,” I say as we head toward his suite. “I need a shower in the worst way.”
His chest rumbles appreciatively.
He opens the door to the suite, and I walk in and stop. Candles flicker on the square dining room table tucked to the right of the room. He never uses it as far as I can tell, but today, fancy white plates are laid out with heaps of steaming food. An ornate vase lies in the center, beautiful white roses bursting out of it in bunches perfectly arranged.
He grabs my hand in his, pulling it up to his face so he can kiss my knuckles again. He loves to do that. Always has. It reminds me of some debonair character from the old South. A true gentleman. The kind us girls only read about in books. It’s such a sweet gesture that’s so unlike him—but also very much like him.
“What is this?” I ask.
“Just a little something,” he preens.
I turn toward him, and although I don’t regret Brawler’s touch on my skin, I’m burning from the inside out. Brawler doesn’t know I care for Johnny and Johnny doesn’t know I care for anyone but him. Telling them isn’t an option.
“Speechless? That doesn’t seem like you.”
“I’m just…wow.” I shake my head. “I’m underdressed. I smell like sweat.” The need to take a shower remains in the forefront of my brain, even though whatever is on the plates smells absolutely delicious after all that training and sexing. My stomach growls in hunger.
Johnny chuckles. “Let’s just eat. I happen to like the way you look after a workout.”
He doesn’t know the half of my “workout”, which is a good thing.
I rise up on my tiptoes and kiss him on the cheek. “Just give me a minute,” I say. Not giving him a chance to respond, I walk quickly to the bathroom and shut the door behind me. He won’t give me enough time to take a shower, so instead, I take a washcloth, wet it down with warm water and wash my arms, neck, and chest. It’s ludicrous to be thinking about Johnny detecting Brawler on me, but I have to keep Brawler safe. I can’t bring him into this mess that way.
I pull my hair out of its tie and it streams down my back and over my shoulders. I reach for my hairbrush that’s usually on the sink and stop. It’s not there. I pull the drawers out, but still can’t find it, so I settle with running my fingers through my hair until it looks presentable. When I come out through the bedroom again, I look for the bag of clothes I have, but can’t find that anywhere either. What the fuck? When I actually want to change into something nicer than training outfits, Johnny—or his cleaners—have gone and done something to my shit.
Shaking my head, I walk back out into the main room only to find Johnny at the door. A hand pushes his chest, and he moves backward with the pressure. My hackles rise, ready to step in, but then a voluptuous redhead walks in, lips stained bright crimson. She giggles. “They told me I was needed.”
Anger and jealousy whiplash through me. “Um, what?”
“Oops,” the woman says, glancing over at me with a coy smile. She’s older than I am, but she’s acting like a giddy fucking schoolgirl, which infuriates me even more.
Johnny nudges her hand away from his chest. “There’s been a mistake.”
She shakes her head. “Don’t think so,” she singsongs, running her hands up him again like I’m not even fucking here. “Your dad sent me.”
Well, this is fucking rich. “Your dad sent you a…whore?” I implore, crossing my arms and staring Johnny down.
The girl turns glittering eyes on me. “I’m not a whore.” She flicks her hair over her shoulder. “I’m an escort. A pricey one too. Rocket and I are well acquainted, aren’t we, baby?”
I stand there, hands fisting. I keep glaring at Johnny to see what his move is before I push this bitch out of the place. Or worse.
“It’s a mistake, Clarissa.”
Acid sours my stomach. “Oh, goodie. You’re on a first-name basis,” I deadpan.
Dagger-like eyes pierce me when he looks at me over his shoulder. “Clarissa, you need to leave.”
Her mouth drops.
“Now,” he says, pushing her out the door and closing it behind her.
“What the fuck, Johnny?” I explode as soon as the door is shut.
He turns a heated gaze on me. Rationally, I know I have nothing to be upset about considering Brawler’s cock was just inside me but what-the-ever-loving-fuck! He dives a hand through his dark hair. “You heard her yourself. I didn’t order her.”
“Order her?” I laugh hysterically. I guess we’re in a world where we can just order up whatever we want. Sex. Food. Murders. At least, that’s how Johnny sees it. “Right,” I say. “Your dad…hired you an escort. Well, isn’t that…fucking insane?” I end. I’m too pissed to try to tiptoe around their father-son dynamics. What kind of father fucking does that?
“He thought he was helping.”
I laugh again. I’m totally jumping straight into the deep end on this one. “Helping? That doesn’t even make any fucking sense. He knows you’re with me.”
“Enough!” Johnny roars, shoulders tightening, muscles popping out of his jaw and arms. His ice-blue eyes cold and unfeeling.
I take a step back. The old Johnny just peeked his head out of the sand. Again.
If I was having an argument with a normal boyfriend, I’d get the fuck away. I’d take a walk. I’d calm down. I’d get the hell out of his face before I smashed it, but Johnny Rocket isn’t a normal boyfriend. I glance around the suite and realize there’s nowhere to escape. I can’t get away from him. I’m just here to do whatever he feels like with me.
He moves toward me, and I back away. “Kyla,” he growls out, a warning if I ever heard one. He takes another step toward me, and I do the same, getting just out of reach of his fingertips. He stops, glaring at me. “Don’t.”
I press my lips together, arching a brow in challenge.
He steps forward again, and I retreat. He makes a noise of pure exasperation, taking several quick steps forward. Each step he takes toward me, I take one back until my legs hit the side of the couch, and I end up planting my ass on the cushions, Johnny following after me. I try to push him away now, but he takes my hands and pins them over my head while he straddles my lap.
My chest raises and lowers with every rapid breath I take.
“Let me fucking explain.”
“You can explain without touching me.”
“No, I can’t. Because I need to remind you of the connection we have.” He lowers himself over me, his chest grazing my nipples. They peak to attention despite the fury brewing inside me. “Now, if you’re settled,” he says, placing both of my hands in one of his and using his other to cup my cheek. “…I’ll fucking tell you what just happened.”
Unwillingly, my heart skips a beat. Despite the fact that I’ve just worked out all my sexual frustration not an hour ago, desire returns between my legs. I try to stop it in its tracks. “If this is about you fucking other women, I already told you how I felt about that.”
His touch circles around to cup my chin. His fingers bite into me a little before letting go just as quickly. He rubs his thumb over the sting and then cups my cheek again. “I wanted to have a nice dinner with you because we need to discuss things.”
I swallow. His close proximity cages me in. I’m wrapped up in him again. He was right that we have this crazy connection. I just can’t unde
rstand it.
“After what happened between us the other day,” he starts, voice calming by the second. It’s taking him great restraint, but the more he talks, the more relaxed he and his body become. “I had a talk with my dad. I asked him to explain the stipulations of his rules regarding us, specifically our romantic relationship. I told him that we both want to take it to the next level, but that we both didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize his faith in me.”
I couldn’t give a rat’s fucking ass about his pathetic excuse for a father and his archaic rules. I look away.
Johnny patiently moves my face back to look at him. “I reiterated that I want you more than ever. Not sexually, but in life. He suggested we move into separate rooms.”
I blink, everything coming to focus. My hairbrush and clothes. I don’t even need to look around to know that my shit isn’t in this suite anymore. “That’s why my things are gone?”
He nods.
My temple throbs. I’m constantly trying to stay ahead of the curve by making plans, but sometimes, I’m just too fucking tired. I never thought it would be this hard, but since real feelings have entered the picture, I’m constantly having to war against them. What’s best for me and what’s best for my ultimate goal are sometimes so completely at odds it’s enough to drive me fucking insane.
However, anger has gotten me here now, so I lead with that. “So, because your daddy says we have to live separately, you’re going to follow along? You moved me out of your place without even telling me, or hell, asking me?”
His icy blues flare at me again. I’m prodding the beast, but with Johnny, maybe I sometimes like it. Subconsciously, maybe I’m trying to make him into the terrible person I want him to be so I can completely write him off.
Or maybe I do just get off on this shit.
“You’re the one who threw yourself at me.”
“I’ve never had guys complain before.”
He gets in my face, noses touching. My heart stops for a second. “Don’t ever fucking talk about you with other guys again,” he seethes. “You’re mine.”
Theoretically, getting out of Johnny’s suite is a good move. More freedom, maybe. But I’m used to having someone around again. When I was at my aunt and uncle’s, it was just me. Now I have people who care, and just because this one is psycho, doesn’t mean he doesn’t care. “It’s not right,” I tell him. “You’ve told me before that your dad wouldn’t be in our sex life, but he is. You told me we’d have freedom, where is it?”
“Give it time.”
“Johnny…”
He strokes my chin then trails his fingers down my neck. “I’ll try to move up the process,” he says, fingertips grazing my chest. He pinches my nipples, and my thighs clench.
“What’s the process?”
“It’s best you don’t know.”
I lock eyes with him. “If I’m going to be yours, I can’t be left in the dark.”
He gives me a taunting grin, pinching my other nipple. Johnny must like to torture himself too because he’s rapidly growing thicker between us. “Give it time,” he promises. He lowers his head, pulling my shirt down to nuzzle in my chest, licking the curve of my breast that Brawler had his mouth on earlier. For some reason, that skyrockets my need, and I push my hips up to meet his. He groans. “I hope you understand how much I want you.” He pulls my sports bra down, tongue rolling over my nipple.
“Don’t you just want to fuck the rules?” I ask, voice breathy with want.
“I want to fuck a lot of things. This pussy.” He lowers his hand, finding my clit to rub through my training pants. “This mouth,” he adds, suddenly moving his head up to kiss me, making my head spin. He dives his tongue into my mouth, and I let him, kissing him back with as much ferocity as he’s kissing me. His chest rumbles, and he pulls away. “You’re like the sweetest drug,” he murmurs. He moves backward, keeping my hands in his before pulling me to my feet after him. “Everything happens for a reason, Kyla. You’ll see. I may not like the rule, but I understand it.”
He’s the only one, because I have a hell of a lot of frustration and damp panties that say otherwise.
17
I hate to admit it, but it was difficult sleeping by myself. I’d gotten used to Johnny wrapping his arms and legs around me as we drifted off. He’s only a floor above me now. Over dinner, he promised he wouldn’t take his father’s offerings of escorts or any other devious way his father would try to get him to stay away from me. I’m not naïve enough to be positive that Johnny will stay true. His past is evidence otherwise even though I think he’s changed, at least somewhat, in our time together.
I don’t see him for breakfast, and when I text him, he doesn’t respond. It’s possible that after I left, he had to go to another meeting with his father. I guess Big Daddy K wants a sharper eye on the strip club and Joe Dunnegan. He doesn’t have any proof he’s doing anything wrong, only a gut feeling. Listening to Johnny talk about it over dinner only reinforced the fact that he is completely and utterly blind to anything bad his father could be doing. I guess that’s not necessarily a shock considering it’s been him and his father for a long time. The gang raised him, and his father has been at the top of that gang for a lot of those years. Of course, he would end up having some weird sort of relationship with him.
A knock comes on my door, and I assume it’s Magnum because it’s about the time he comes for me every morning to take me to school. Opening the door, I find him leaning against the frame, arms crossed. “I take it you probably knew this was happening,” I say.
He looks behind me. The suite is set up a lot like Johnny’s, but it’s a little smaller. The decorating is the same. Everything is pristine with clean lines. The cupboards, medicine cabinets, and refrigerator were already filled with my stuff. All I had to do was plop my ass in bed.
He nods. “I didn’t think you’d mind.”
I shrug because I do…and I don’t. Growing up with my aunt and uncle, I hadn’t realized how much I craved the kind of relationships I have now. Relationship by fire. It’s like throwing people into a shitshow and daring them not to get involved with each other. It’s impossible. Relationships are formed, melded, and set to stone.
“Just so you know, I’m right across the hall, so don’t hesitate to reach out if you need anything.”
I look around his imposing figure. His door is shut, but I’m desperately curious to see what kind of place Magnum has. Is it black? If that’s the case, it would be different from the bright whites and grays of the other rooms I’ve been in in the tower. Black seems to be Mag’s style though.
“You ready for school?”
I roll my eyes. “That makes me sound like I’m a little kid.”
Magnum grins. “Well, you are young.”
“I disagree. Age is just a number. We should be judged by our past, maturity, and wisdom. In that case, I’m probably older than you.”
He wets his lips, and my body reacts.
I drop my stare to his mouth. “You don’t agree?”
“I agree you’re beyond your years, but you’re not older than me.”
“I guess we’ll just have to agree to disagree. How old are you, anyway?”
“Twenty-five.”
“All things combined, I’m like thirty, so I got you beat.”
He chuckles. “You should grab your book bag, so I can take you to high school.” He reaches out to pat my head, and I pull away from the chastising touch. It only makes him smile wider. “I’ll give you a couple of years for your badassery in the ring, how about that?”
“We can keep discussing,” I tell him, pulling my bag up on my shoulder.
We share easy conversation all the way to school, where I try to convince him I’m actually older than what my real age would lead people to believe. I can’t share many of the reasons why I think that way, so I tell him losing my parents aged me because I didn’t have them to fall back on. He counters, telling me I play with the ripped holes in my jea
ns every day while he takes me to school. We go back and forth, him telling me why I’m still young and me coming back with reasons why, even though I’m eighteen, I should be older.
“You can’t drink,” he adds when we pull into school.
I laugh at him. He’s already seen me drink. He’s just trying to pull out anything he can think of. “Who says? Laws are for pussies.”
He grins, pulling the car to a stop. Oscar starts toward the vehicle, and Magnum puts his hand over mine on the seat. “Be careful, and don’t try to grow up too fast.” All the banter dies between us while things get serious again.
I nod, not realizing what he’s trying to say until I get out of the car and come face-to-face with Oscar. He gives me a smile, but I can tell by the shadows under his eyes, he’s tired. He hasn’t gotten much sleep.
Everyone grows up fast in the Heights.
I forget myself for a moment, reaching up to touch his cheek. “What’s wrong?”
He dodges me, taking my fist in his grip and moving his head out of the way. He does it so fast it looks like I was trying to punch him. “There, there, Princess,” he says loudly. “I’m just doing what I’ve been told to.” He glares at me, and I instantly want to kick myself. The drive over with Magnum was just too normal, I almost forgot what world I was living in.
For what it’s worth, Magnum is completely wrong. I’m definitely older than eighteen when we’re talking about maturity. I’ve already gone through things in this life that some people never will. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad they won’t. I don’t want anyone to live through the hell I’ve lived through. No one should have to do that.
“Sorry,” I whisper, but I pull my fist out of his grip like I’m actually pissed.
We turn to walk away together, still feeling Magnum’s gaze on us all the way as we bypass security. No one’s alerted to the fact that I have a knife in my bag. I need to ask either Magnum, Oscar, or Brawler to get me a gun. My first instinct is Magnum since hello, his name is Magnum, but at the same time, things are up in the air with him. I’m sure Oscar or Brawler could get me a gun, no questions asked.
