White Knight

by Meghan March

  “Jesus, baby. You’re already wet,” I murmur into her ear as I slide a finger inside.

  Memphis’s moan fills the room as I pump my finger in and out, teasing her clit with my thumb and loving how her inner muscles tighten every time I hit the right spot.

  And just like that, she’s ready to go.

  “Please, hurry. I want—”

  “I know what you want, and I’m the only fucking man who’s going to give it to you. Wherever I want. Whenever.” I stare down into her blazing aqua eyes as moisture soaks my hand. “You like that.”

  Challenge lights up her face. “Seriously, what I need most right now is you inside me. Hurry up and fuck me.”

  A smile tugs at the edges of my mouth from her bossy words. “You’re going to get everything you need. Right fucking now.”

  I lift her other leg to wrap around my hips, and using the door to brace her ass, I slowly lower Memphis onto my cock. Inch by goddamned perfect inch, I slide inside her tight, wet heat. Fucking perfection.

  Her nails dig into my shoulders.

  “Hold on tight, because this is going to get rough.”

  Memphis’s teeth dig into her bottom lip, and I circle her waist with my hands and lift her up only to slam her back down on my cock. Over and over, until her cries and moans and whimpers bounce off the walls.

  My orgasm is already tightening up my balls, and when Memphis screams my name, I can’t hold back any longer.

  “Fuck me, Cannon.”

  And I explode into her with a strangled yell.

  Which is when I realize . . . we didn’t use a condom.

  Well, hell.

  Our chests heaving and foreheads damp with sweat, we stare at each other. She must have realized the exact same thing because her color fades.

  “I’m sorry. I should’ve grabbed a—”

  Memphis interrupts, saying, “It’s my fault.”

  “It’s not. But I’m clean. I promise.”

  “Me too. And for the record, on birth control. We should be fine.”

  But I already know that too. Not the fact that she’s on birth control, but that we’ll be fine. No matter what happens, I would never not be a part of my kid’s life—or their mother’s. My mom raised me better than that.

  “I know. Everything will be okay.” I lean down to press my lips against her forehead. “But it’s going to get a little messy for a second. You ready?”

  Memphis nods and uncurls her legs from around me, and I lift her so she can find her footing.

  I grab my pocket square, more decorative than functional, and hand it to her so she can clean herself up. Then I crouch down to grab her purse and the file, including the pictures that scattered all over my floor. I hate that her first instinct was to run, but I know that the shit she’s been dealing with is heavy. Whether she expects it or not, I’m here to lighten her load.

  “No running. We’re going to talk about this because we need to get a few things straight.”

  With her lips pressed together, she nods, and I move back to the couch.

  I drop the file on the coffee table and wait for her while she ducks into the bathroom to clean up. When she reemerges, she crosses the room to stand a few feet away from me, and it’s too fucking far. I want her closer. I always want her closer.

  “Come here.” I pat the seat beside me on the leather sofa.

  Although I’m sure she hates being told what to do, she obliges without hesitation. I’ll do damn near anything to make sure she always knows she can come to me.

  However, there’s still one thing we need to clear up when it comes to getting her vengeance.

  “I’ll help you find whoever took out your father, but you’re going to promise me that we make the decision together as to what we do with that information.”

  Her lips press together, and she stays quiet for a solid thirty seconds before replying. “Okay. But what if you’re wrong and Dom did it . . .”

  “He didn’t. He hasn’t pulled a trigger or done wet work in over a decade, Memphis.” To her credit, and probably due to her research and investigations, she doesn’t ask what wet work is.

  A single eyebrow raises, and she tilts her head. “But if he gave the order—”

  “Let’s find out what the evidence shows first, and then we’ll go from there.” I push a stray lock of her dark hair over her shoulder. “If I told you right now that I’ll put him away no matter what we find, you’d know I was full of shit. Right?”

  She inclines her chin, and I keep going.

  “But I’m not full of shit. I’ve lived on the edge my whole life. The edge of crime. The edge of respectability. I know how to walk that line between two worlds, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do with you. Let me be your guide to this shit. Because I swear to God, I won’t let you risk yourself by rushing to Dom right now, demanding to know if he had anything to do with it.”

  Looking for any way I can to ease her stress, I slide my hand to the back of her neck and knead her muscles. Her eyelids flutter for a second, and her body relaxes enough to confirm it was the right move.

  “But what are you going to do if we find out he gave the order?” Her voice is strong, although her eyes are becoming hazy from my movements.

  I’m glad she’s not cowed by me, because that’s the opposite of what I want. I want her to have every goddamned thing she wants, but only if we can do it safely. Her head rolls when I add a second hand and massage her collarbone and upper arms as we sit face-to-face.

  “Then we’ll go to Dom, and I’ll give him an ultimatum.”

  One curious eye peeks open. “What kind of ultimatum?”

  “He turns over the name of the man who pulled the trigger, and that man will face justice one way or another. Then Dom steps down and retires.”

  “Or else what?”

  “Baby, the mob doesn’t give you options. If we make a move on Dom, that’s his only option.”

  Memphis’s shoulders jerk back. “And you think he’ll go with it? Retire and turn over a name that we can hand to the DA? And whoever pulled the trigger goes to prison?”

  Memphis only retreated a few inches, but I pull her back and continue working on her knotted muscles. “Let’s go through the evidence first. We’ll answer all those questions once we know exactly what we’re working with.” I give her a jostle to make sure she’s really listening and add, “And no more fucking running away.”

  She bites down on her lip for a beat before replying. “I shouldn’t have done that. I . . . It’s been a lot lately. I . . .”

  When she trails off, I clasp her hand between both of mine.

  “You what?”

  Her whole body shudders before she replies. “I lost the battle between fight or flight.” Her gaze drops to her lap. “I didn’t want you to see me break. It’s not something I’d want anyone to see.”

  I swear to Christ my heart clenches, and I can’t help it—I haul her into my lap and tilt her chin up to meet my eyes.

  “I can handle anything you throw at me. Anything. If you think you’re gonna break, you tell me, and I’ll hold you together. That’s what this is. You and me. The real thing.” A tear tilts over her lid, and I sweep it away with my thumb. “I can even handle your tears.”

  I place a kiss on her lips and soak up the moment. Holding her against me. Feeling her heat. Knowing she’s mine.

  Against my shoulder, she whispers, “You’re better to me than I deserve. Thank you.”

  I pull back so I can meet her gaze once more. “No. This is exactly what you deserve. I’m on your team. I got you. Now, let’s look at the pictures and see what we can figure out so we can put this to rest and move on with both our lives. Deal?”

  A ghost of a smile tilts her lips. “Deal.”

  I seal it with another kiss, and in a matter of minutes, the coffee table is hardly visible as I rifle through the stack.

  “Your dad had quite the interest in Dom. I’ll definitely give you that.” There are dozens of
photos just of him. I lay them out in a line to my left. Dom getting in and out of cars. Dom in public places. At restaurants. His wife’s funeral.

  “You can see why my suspicions brought me here,” Memphis says, looking sideways at me before glancing back at the table.

  “Absolutely. But did you notice that the camera angle and style is always the same? Like the same photographer took a lot of these pictures?”

  Memphis scoots closer to me and I lean in closer, catching the scent of her skin.

  “Wait. You’re right.” She shifts to meet my gaze. “I always thought my father had cobbled together pictures of Dom from whatever source he could find, but—” She picks up the next photo on the stack, one of Dom walking into a restaurant, and then the one of Benny Romano on a street corner. “These were totally taken by the same person. What does that mean?”

  The age of the photos is what has me wondering. Over half of them were taken over twenty years ago, and then there are some outliers that look like they were added within the last few years. “Could your father have inherited the file from someone? Picked it up off a friend who left it to him? A lot of these photos are really dated.”

  Leaning into my side, she reaches for another black-and-white print as the knuckles of her left hand turn white from squeezing it so tight. “Where did you get these, Dad?”

  I cover it with mine, brushing my thumb over her strained hand. “I know you wish you could ask him, but I promise, we will find out the answer.”

  She groans, releasing her frustration. “You’re right.” And then she forges on.

  One by one, we look at every single print. I give her location information, confirm the names of guys I recognize, and correct a few she got wrong. We make a pile of the pictures that caught a side profile of someone or something we can’t identify.

  “Do you care if I take pictures of these? I have an idea who we could ask for some help. Maybe get some context and answers.”

  Memphis turns, her knees bumping into mine as she surveys me. Even though the question should seem innocuous, I know it’s much bigger.

  It’s a test. Do you trust me?

  Sooner than I expect, she asks, “Can you do it safely?”

  “I would never put you at risk.”

  Her brows dart together. “Not me. You. I don’t want to put you in danger, Cannon.”

  Everything that’s been growing and forming inside me furls open. I lift a hand to her face to sweep my thumb across her cheek. It is dangerous, but I love her.

  She’s worth the risk. Worth everything.

  “What did I tell you about danger, baby?” When I wink, she remembers, and I love how some of the worry in her face disappears.

  Playfully, she rolls her eyes. “Oh yeah, it’s your middle name.”

  “That’s right. Besides, whatever happens next, I swear I won’t let anything happen to either of us. Call me selfish if you want, but I need a hell of a lot more time with you. It’s going to take a lifetime for me to peel back all your juicy . . .” I place a wet kiss at the crook of her neck, and she squeals. “Sexy.” A hmm gets her another kiss. “Mouthy.”

  “Hey!”

  I chuckle but finish my point. “. . . beautiful layers.”

  Her eyes meet mine, and the love there is stunning. “I want more time too, Cannon. A lot more.”

  Even though the next week is a madhouse at the club, and we’re still waiting to hear back from the police about the break-in, Memphis and I somehow settle into a routine.

  Work. Sex. Italian food. Research. Dead end.

  I can’t complain about business being good, but it only leaves us with scraps of time here and there, and we’re not finding anything new.

  On the other hand, the sex is fucking magic. She’s as hungry for me as I am for her.

  Every night it’s new. On the counter in the kitchen. In the shower. In the back seat of my Chevelle parked in the garage—and I can attest to the fact that that’s what my car was really made for.

  Memphis Lockwood, the sable-haired, turquoise-eyed bombshell, has barreled into my world, and for the first time since my mother’s murder and my falling-out with Creighton, I have a semblance of peace despite the amplifying tension between us and the Rossettis.

  Something is in the air, and war is coming.

  For now, I stare up at the ceiling and run my thumb up and down my woman’s arm, push the dread aside for another night, and just focus on how fucking gorgeous she looked when she listened to her friend Ariel gush about her new baby over the phone.

  With that image on a loop in my mind, I fall asleep to fight another day.

  18

  Memphis

  “Salud, chindon!”

  A drink is shoved into my hand as soon as I walk in the door. Even though we arrived on time, apparently we’re late, and people are already toasting to Dom’s continued good health.

  When Cannon said he had an idea of who we could ask to get some more information, I didn’t expect it to coincide with our attending Dominic Casso’s seventieth birthday party, which is being held in an Italian restaurant that might as well be straight out of The Godfather.

  The room is full of people I don’t recognize, but I quell the urge to adjust my wig. I’m firmly in the role of Drew Carson tonight, even though being in disguise grates. All I want is to be me. Whoever that is.

  But with Dom being such a big part of Cannon’s life, I don’t know if I’ll get to shed my disguise anytime soon. Especially if people are toasting Dom another hundred years of good health.

  Wait. Why do I know what that toast means in Italian? I don’t speak Italian. Obviously, everyone knows what salud means, but I must have picked up the other word somewhere along my career through osmosis or something.

  I lose my chance to think about it any longer as Cannon is engulfed by the crowd. Men and women come forward to hug him, kissing both cheeks, and I wonder if they’re straight from Italy or really just that effusive in their greetings.

  Cannon introduces me to everyone as Drew, and I file their names away as they come at me. Gina. Anthony. Rudy. Elisa.

  I sip the drink in my hand—a Bellini, I believe—as I smile, shake hands, and make small talk with people who come from a completely different world from the one I know. A world I planned to tear down to its very foundation.

  Planned? As in past tense? I question my own thoughts as I scan the crowd for any familiar faces.

  One pops up right next to me, but there’s no smile on her face.

  “He really brought you here? Wow. That’s quite the statement,” Tanya says with a wry smirk. It’s hard to tell if she’s friend or foe.

  “How is Teal?” I ask, because it seems safer to deflect rather than talk about the very public turn my relationship with Cannon has taken.

  Instead of giving me a look that could kill, Tanya’s expression softens. “She’s . . . she’s getting the help she needs. Finally.” Tanya glances at Cannon as he exchanges one of those handshakes that turns into a backslapping hug with a gray-haired man.

  “I’m so sorry, Tanya. I had no idea what you were dealing with. I—”

  “You just thought I hated you for getting hired. I know. Teal’s not the only one who has amends to make. I’ve actually been meaning to talk to you because I did want to say I’m sorry for being such a bitch, but we’ve been so busy. Regardless, none of it was your fault. You just stepped into a shitty situation when my life was falling apart.”

  She shrugs and takes a sip of her drink.

  “It was easy to blame you.” Her hair falls into her face as her lips form a rueful smile. “I hope you’ll forgive me. Maybe we can start over or something.”

  All of her body language tells me she’s at least trying to be sincere.

  “Thank you, Tanya. I appreciate that. And, of course I forgive you.” I glance down at the bead of condensation streaking down the side of my glass. “My mother’s an alcoholic. I get how hard it is to deal with addiction. It can be like a m
onster that just won’t die. And when the person isn’t willing to get help or even admit they have a problem . . .” I trail off. She knows that life as much as I do.

  Tanya nods gravely. “Total clusterfuck. I’m really sorry you’ve had to deal with it too. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone, especially someone who doesn’t totally suck.”

  The corner of Tanya’s mouth lifts, and I wonder if we’ve just bonded. Although I suspect we’re light-years away from braiding each other’s hair and swapping recipes, friendship between us isn’t the worst thing that could happen.

  “Same. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help with Teal. I really mean it.”

  She nods and lifts a glass to her lips to take another sip of what looks like ice water. “That means a lot. Have fun here. If you need to be rescued from some awkward conversation about how quickly you and Cannon are going to get married and start popping out perfect little bambinos, signal me and I’ll try to help.”

  Before I can thank her for the surprising offer, she disappears into the crowd.

  Cannon’s arm slips around my hips, and I forget what I was going to say to her anyway. He pulls me into his side and lowers his head to whisper in my ear.

  “Did I just hear Tanya apologize to you?”

  “Are you as shocked as I am?”

  He kisses my neck quickly enough that no one even sees him do it. “Not at all. She’s good people. It was my fault that you got caught in her bitchy web over firing Teal. She would’ve hated anyone I hired. And then add in the fact that you’re gorgeous and I pretty much couldn’t stop myself from falling for you, it would give any woman in a shitty situation a reason to be pissed off. I shouldn’t have put the target on your back for her.”

  “All of these apologies in one night. I’m not even sure what to do with them.” I roll my shoulder into his chest and inhale his addictive scent.

  “I would say put them in your pocket, but I suspect that dress you’re wearing wasn’t built to hold any more cargo than it’s already got. You look fucking amazing tonight, baby. Just wait until I get you home.”