Wagering On Wendy (A MFM Ménage Romance) (Playing For Love Book 4)

by Tara Crescent

  “What do I need to do?” I’m surprised at how calm my voice sounds.

  “Get him rattled,” she says. “Get him talking.”

  “Okay.” I take a deep breath. “Wish me luck.”

  There’s a ghost of a smile on her face. “You’re the Barracuda, kiddo,” she says to me. “You don’t need luck. Go get the asshole.” Her grin fades and her expression turns serious. “Before Hudson and Asher snap, and do something really stupid.”

  I make my way to the top floor. There’s no one in sight. It’s two days to Christmas, and almost everyone is trying to do some last-minute shopping. All the offices on the executive floor are empty and dark, except for one. Thorne’s office.

  Stone Bradley, the detective that Asher and Hudson use, has been tailing my half-brother since the accident. He’s reported that Thorne’s spending twenty hours a day in his office, searching for a way out of the mess he’s found himself in.

  He’s there now. His door is closed. Courage, I remind myself. You have to do this. For the baby, for Hudson, for Asher.

  Without knocking, I push it open and march in. Thorne’s behind his desk, reading something on his monitor. He’s aged in the last week. His eyes are bloodshot, and his face is pale. When I enter, he almost jumps out of his chair in alarm. “You,” he exclaims, outrage replacing fear when he realizes it’s just me, “What are you doing in my office?”

  “It won’t be your office for very much longer, will it?” I smile mockingly before sitting down opposite him and leaning back in my chair. My heart hammers in my chest, but I keep my expression even. I can’t let Thorne sense my fear. He cannot know I’m bluffing.

  He snarls with rage. “You insolent bitch,” he growls. “You think that because you sold a few units in your precious complex that you’ve won? We have a long way to go before the year is up.”

  I raise an eyebrow in his direction. “But you don’t have a year, do you, Thorne?” I smile pleasantly at him. “You’ve made a string of bad decisions, and they’re all catching up with you.”

  Thorne’s scowl deepens. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He waves a dismissive hand toward his door. “If you don’t mind?” he asks. “I don’t have time for your crackpot theories. Some of us have work to do.”

  I’m getting to him. Sweat beads on his brow, and his hands clench into fists. I have him exactly where I want him. I just have to keep pushing at the cracks, and sooner or later, he’ll blurt something incriminating.

  “A string of bad decisions,” I repeat. “It started with Barbados, didn’t it? You shouldn’t have bid on that bridge; everyone warned you that it was a disaster from the start. But no, you thought you knew better.”

  His face pales. His gaze narrows, but he doesn’t say anything. Damn it. I need him to talk.

  “So you involved the Russians.” I shake my head. “You made a deal with Mikhail Vasiliev. What were the terms, Thorne? He loaned you money, and in return, you turned a blind eye while they laundered their dirty drug money through Hancock Construction?”

  Thorne grows still. “You’re playing a dangerous game here, Wendy,” he says. “I don’t think you know what you’re sticking your nose into.”

  “But I have proof,” I lie calmly. “Jean Nakashima was onto you. When she drowned, you thought you got lucky, didn’t you? All you had to do was delete her emails and appoint one of your cronies to her role. Of course, you had no way of knowing that she had backup copies of all her work.” I twist the knife a little more. “Backup copies that I have access to.”

  Of course I’m lying. Jean Nakashima was careful to destroy all the evidence before faking her death. Even if she hadn’t, Miki warned me we couldn't make this charge stick. I need Thorne to confess to hiring the guy who slammed into our car.

  But I’ve done what I’ve intended; I’ve succeeded in unnerving Thorne. There’s a trapped look on his face; he looks around the room as if he’s searching for a way out.

  “So what?” he says. “What are you going to do—talk to the Feds?” He sneers in my direction. “You’re going to give them evidence that incriminates the Russian mob?” He laughs mockingly. “Please, be my guest. I didn’t think you were stupid enough to make a move against Vasiliev, but I seem to be giving you too much credit.”

  Time to play my ace. “Mikhail Vasiliev won’t hurt me.” I lean back, holding Thorne’s gaze. “He warned you not to harm me, and you didn’t listen, did you?” I shake my head sorrowfully. “That was a bad move, Thorne. When the Head of the Bratva tells you to stay away from me, and you hire someone to drive a snow plow into my car…” I pause for effect. “You blew it.”

  “He’ll never know,” Thorne yells, his control snapping at last. He lunges out of his chair and comes for me, murder in his eyes. “I paid for the hit in cash. He’ll never find out.”

  He grabs me by the throat and squeezes. I can’t breathe. Spots of light flash behind my eyes, and the room starts to go dark.

  Then the door slams open and Hudson and Asher rush into the room, fury etched on their faces. They pull him off me and send him flying across the room. I draw in a shaky breath.

  It’s over.

  Asher:

  I keep hitting him, over and over. Blood spurts out of his nose, and his face is a pulp, but I don’t draw back. I aim punches at him, my fury unquenched. Partly for what he did to Lauren ten years ago, but more so for what he did to Wendy and her mother, for putting her in danger, for the moments of mind-numbing fear I felt as we drove to the hospital, not knowing if she was alive or dead.

  Through a fog of red, I feel Wendy tugging at my shirt, trying to pull me away from Thorne. “Asher,” I hear her scream. “Please, stop. Enough.”

  I ignore her. I’ve made up my mind.

  There will be no mercy this time. Thorne Hancock will never hurt us again.

  He tries to put his hands up to block my punches, but he’s no match for me. I aim another blow at his face, and then my hands lock around his neck. This fucker grabbed Wendy by the throat? He’s going to learn what happens when someone threatens the woman I love.

  My fingers tighten and squeeze, the way I’d fantasized about during those desperate hours at the hospital. His face is turning red; his breathing comes in gasps.

  Then Hudson pulls me off Thorne and sends me flying across the room. I land with a sickening crash against the outer wall and blink up at my best friend, who looms over me. “She’s pregnant,” he says softly. “We’re going to be parents. Don’t you think you should stick around and be a father to our child?”

  At his words, my haze lifts and my anger rushes away.

  Hudson’s right. I have a bright future ahead of me. I grew up without knowing my parents; I won’t let it happen to my child.

  The police arrest Thorne and take our statements. “Did I do okay? Is there enough evidence to charge him?” Wendy asks me anxiously.

  “You did better than good.” I wrap my arm around her waist. “You did great. We have Thorne on tape confessing to ordering the hit on you. That’s more than enough to send him away for a long time.”

  And if the justice system can’t take care of Thorne, I’m sure Vasiliev will act. The head of the Russian Mafia rules by fear. He won’t allow Hancock’s infraction to go unpunished. Thorne doesn’t know it yet, but jail’s the safest place for him.

  “What now?” she asks.

  “Well,” I mutter, nuzzling my lips against her neck, “I finally have my apartment to myself again. There’s a soft bed waiting for you there. The doctors will probably discharge your mother tomorrow, so we’ll move her to my place and hire a nurse to help out. Once she’s ready for rehab, we’ll arrange that too.”

  Hudson puts his arm around her waist too, linking the three of us together.

  “About the baby,” Wendy says, her voice nervous, “I don’t want to find out which one of you is the father. As far as I’m concerned, you both are.” She lifts her chin up and gives us a challenging look. “Is that ok

ay?”

  “Fine by me,” I say promptly.

  “Me too,” Hudson says. “My realtor left a message for me earlier today. The apartment next to mine is coming up on the market. If we buy it, we can have the whole floor to ourselves.” He kisses Wendy’s cheek. “You are moving in with us, aren’t you?”

  She laughs breathlessly. “I guess I am,” she agrees.

  Happiness fills my heart. I give her a wicked grin as I move her hair out of the way and kiss her on the back of the neck. She shivers in pleasure. “Let’s go tell Miki she’s going to have the place all to herself,” I whisper in her ear. “And then, let’s go somewhere private, shall we?” My hand slides down her body and cups her ass. “Hudson and I have plans for you. Lots of plans. We’re going to keep you busy for the rest of your life.”

  Epilogue

  There are two great days in a person's life - the day we are born and the day we discover why.

  William Barclay

  Wendy:

  Non-alcoholic champagne tastes like swamp water.

  Hudson’s lips twitch as he catches my disgusted look when I see the bottle of fake champagne sitting next to the good stuff. “I know you prefer the Krug,” he teases. “Are you sure you don’t want a sip of the real thing?”

  I shake my head. My obstetrician assures me that an occasional glass of wine will not harm the baby, but she’s French, and I’m skeptical. “I’m good.”

  It’s a hot, humid July afternoon in Staten Island, and we’re finally ready to break ground on our project. We should have started building in May, but we ran into a delay getting a permit, and we’re already behind eight weeks. Jeff Choi assures me that delays are part of the construction process. “Should you be stressing?” he keeps asking me when I start panicking over our timelines. “Isn’t the tension bad for the baby?”

  He’s right on all counts. Delays are part and parcel of the business, and I’m getting much better at figuring out which issues are important, and which ones are trivial.

  Asher frowns. “What’s the delay?” he grumbles. “Jeff, it’s close to a hundred degrees today. I don’t want Wendy standing in the sun for hours. Can we get this show on the road?”

  “Oh for heaven’s sake. I’m pregnant, not dying. The heat won’t kill me.”

  He ignores me and stalks off to yell at someone. I gaze at him fondly. My two men are polar opposites about the pregnancy. Hudson is protective but laid-back. Asher, on the other hand, is a worrier. It’s quite funny watching him fret.

  Of course, I wouldn’t have it any other way. The last six months have been magical. I’m the luckiest woman in the world.

  Once she was discharged from the hospital, my mother moved in with us. She was in rehab for three months for her broken leg. I was afraid she’d never be able to walk again, but I didn’t need to worry. Janet Williams has always been a fighter. She pushed through her physiotherapy sessions without complaint, and she made astonishing progress.

  A couple of months ago, she announced her intention of moving to New York. “Don’t worry,” she’d said with a grin, “I’m getting my own apartment. But I’ll be around to babysit my grandchild.”

  “Spoil the baby rotten, you mean,” I’d retorted with a grin.

  I’m thrilled for my mother. Her decision to move to Manhattan shows me that she really did get the closure she needed from Paul Hancock. My mother’s always wanted to live in the city. She’s started to see someone too, a nice guy called Ben. It’s still a new relationship, but Ben treats her like a queen, and I’m optimistic for her.

  If there’s anyone who deserves to be happy, it’s Janet Williams.

  “Ms. Williams?” Ricardo Baresi, the foreman of the project, comes up to me holding a silver shovel in his hand. “Are you sure you’re up to digging in your condition?”

  Kill me now; I’m surrounded by over-protective men. “Ricky,” I say patiently, “I’m not actually doing any work here. There’s a patch of dirt. I’m going to move a handful of it around. I think I can manage that just fine.”

  His expression is unconvinced, but he hands me the shovel anyway. “You’re the boss,” he says. “We’re ready to get going.”

  My baby presses against my bladder at that moment. “In a minute,” I reply. “First, I need to pee.”

  The thing I didn’t know about being pregnant? I’m horny all the time. Thank heavens Asher and Hudson like my baby bump, because I crave sex twenty-four hours of the day. I’m some kind of nympho-monster. Let’s just say I’m very, very glad there’s two of them.

  Take this morning, for instance.

  I wake up with Hudson’s hard cock pressed against my butt. Asher is sleeping on his back, his face peaceful, and I decide to be a good girlfriend and let him sleep. As quietly as I could, I turn toward Hudson, but his eyes are shut as well.

  Damn.

  So I do the only thing I can. My hand slips between my legs, and I start to lose myself in a favorite fantasy, one that involves Asher and Hudson and the great outdoors.

  Evidently, pregnancy makes me want to be an exhibitionist.

  “What are you doing?”

  I jump at the sound of Hudson’s voice. “You startled me,” I accuse him with a grin. “What does it look like?”

  His hand closes over my wrist. “I don’t think so, princess.” There’s a wicked gleam in his eyes. “It’s our job to make you scream with pleasure.”

  Asher’s awake as well. His finger slides between my tank-top and my shoulder, and he moves it out of the way before kissing my skin. Heat prickles in my body.

  Hudson moves closer too. I’m trapped between their hard bodies. “I like the way you’re doing your job,” I whisper, shivering with desire as I respond to Hudson’s predatory tone.

  Hudson’s finger dips into my core. “Wet already,” he says, proud male arrogance in every syllable.

  Well, yeah. Of course. “I have to be at work in an hour.” Unfortunately. “We only have time for a quickie.”

  “You better follow instructions then,” Asher replies with a nip against my neck.

  I groan and grind my ass into him. “I will,” I promise. Meeting or not, I need to satisfy this craving that pulses through my body.

  “Take off your clothes,” Asher orders.

  I wriggle out of my tank-top and my thin cotton shorts, loving the look of desire in their eyes, knowing from their swift, sharp inhale of breath that my need isn’t one-sided. They want this as much as I do.

  Asher moves over me, his muscles flexing, and I watch greedily. I can’t get enough of this sight. His abs ripple as he moves, then his hands and mouth are on my tender nipples, and I shut my eyes as pleasure overcomes me.

  “Open your mouth.” This time, the order comes from Hudson. He’s hard, ready. “Suck my cock.”

  I turn on my side. My belly makes missionary uncomfortable, but that’s made no difference in our sex lives. I’ve taken to studying the Kama Sutra—hey, I said I was horny all the time, didn’t I?—and insisting that Asher and Hudson and I try out every sex position in the book. Of course, they’re not complaining.

  Asher slides into me as I suck on Hudson’s hard cock. His clever fingers find my clitoris and strum on it steadily. I can’t last. My limbs tighten and clench, and I moan as my climax hurtles toward me.

  “Fuck,” Hudson grinds out. “When you moan with my cock in your mouth…” His voice trails off, and his face contorts as his climax approaches. I pump him with my hand and suck harder, and he explodes in my mouth.

  His orgasm sets mine off. Blood pounds in my head and desire sweeps in waves over me. Every muscle in my body twists and strains. Asher grabs my ass as he comes, and then the three of us collapse in an exhausted, sated heap.

  Back at the construction site, Amanda, who is the newly appointed head of public relations, directs the company photographer. I see her look around for me, and I waddle as fast as I can. “Where’s Wendy?” I hear her ask Jeff as I walk up.

  “Here,” I reply.

  “Oh good. Let’s start?”

  The ceremony doesn’t take long. I make a short speech, praising the team for the hard work they’ve put in. Then I stick the shovel into the ground, move a small patch of earth, and we’re done. Jeff Choi pops open a bottle of champagne with a wide smile on his face, and he starts filling plastic cups with the beverage.

  I watch, sipping my non-alcoholic swill, feeling a warm happiness in my chest. Less than a year ago, my life was completely different. As a divorce lawyer, I watched relationships collapse in the most bitter and acrimonious ways possible. Now, I preside over creating buildings, not tearing them down, and it feels remarkably fulfilling.

  Thorne’s in jail. His confession was enough to convict him, but Miki wanted to make sure there were no problems, so she used her ninja-hacking skills to find the guy who drove the snow plow into our car. Facing the prospect of life in prison for attempted murder, the guy cut a deal with the prosecution and identified Thorne as the man who hired him. My half-brother received a fifteen-year jail sentence. He won’t be bothering us for a long time.

  I was furious with Thorne for what he did to my mother, but once it was clear that she was going to be fine, I realized that I didn’t want Thorne to die at the hands of the Russian Mafia. So I sent Mikhail Vasiliev a message, asking him to spare Thorne’s life.

  If I do this, he’d replied, that will be the last favor. After this, you’re on your own.

  I’d agreed without hesitation. I didn’t want the Russian mob anywhere near Hancock Construction, and besides, I don’t need Vasiliev’s protection. I have Hudson and Asher watching over me.

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