Rough & Rich (Notorious Devils Book 6)

by Hayley Faiman

  “You okay, brother?” Torch asks as soon as I step outside.

  “Turned down an offer from Destini,” I state, shoving my hands in my pocket.

  “Hard to do?” he asks.

  Shaking my head, I know it wasn’t hard. In fact, it was easy—too fucking easy. And that shit makes me feel shitter than anything else. Turning her down was so goddamn easy that I should have been doing it this whole fucking time.

  Torch interrupts me mid-thought, “Lot’s goin’ on in that head of yours, I’m sure. It’s different, being free and being sober all at the same time, plus dealing with feelings and the consequences of your actions when you were fucked in the head. It’s a fuck’ve a lot to deal with. Add to that what Imogen just went through,” he says, not looking at me, but instead up at the stars that fill the sky.

  “No fucking shit,” I say, letting out a puff of air from my lungs.

  “You’re handling everything really well. Really fuckin’ well. Got to be honest, we’re all kind of watching and waiting for your breakdown,” he states. I shake my head once.

  “Me too,” I admit.

  “Really fuckin’ proud of you, Soar. I didn’t know you well before you went in, but I gotta say you’re a standup brother, a good man, and I’m proud we’re on the same team.”

  “Thanks. I just, fuck,” I say, lifting my hand to rub at the back of my neck. “I’m too old for this shit. Do you know how much I missed by being a fucking douchebag for so long?” I ask angrily.

  “Yeah, brother. I do,” Torch states. I cut my eyes over to him.

  He knows because he stayed away from his wife, suffering from PTSD for years, abandoning her, thinking it was better for her that he stayed gone. Maybe at the time it was. Maybe I should have done the same thing. A more selfless man, like him, probably would.

  I’m selfish, though—born and fucking raised to be a selfish fucking prick. I kept Imogen just at arm’s length, continuing to hurt her repeatedly over the years. Hurting her so fucking badly and being too goddamn high and too fucking stubborn to change—for her, for me, or for us.

  “Imogen is thirty-five. She wants a baby, and I never wanted them. She wants a whole fucking house full, but I never gave that to her. How do I make up for that?” I ask, turning my head to look at him.

  “Cleo’s thirty-five and she’s about to have a baby,” Torch states. “Genny wants a kid, you give that to her. Now. Not later, but now. Make the second part of her life worth the pain you put her through for the first half,” he says.

  “I swore I would,” I admit.

  “Then come through.”

  I think about his words. Then I admit the truth, something I hate to say aloud. I say it anyway. “I’m scared I’ll relapse. I’m scared I’ll get blitzed and fuck whores, and she’ll be at home with my kid and I’ll go right back to that routine. Except I’ll have ruined a kid’s life—I’ll have turned into my goddamn father.”

  “Don’t let that happen,” he shrugs as he takes a step away from me and turns to go inside. As though it’s that fucking simple.

  “How?”

  “Be fucking better, Soar. Be better for her, be better for your kid; but most importantly, be better for you.”

  Torch walks back inside, and I let out an exhale before I start to walk toward my bike. Be better for Imogen, for our kids, and for me. I don’t know if I can hack this shit, if I can really be better. I want to try.

  Just as I straddle my bike, my phone rings from my pocket and I pull it out to answer it. Kip’s name flashes on the screen, and I grin. Be better for Kippy, too, I think right before I click accept.

  Turning off the television, I decide to turn on my eReader to see if there’s a book I haven’t read yet. I need something to keep me company, and to keep my mind off of exactly where Sloane is tonight. He’s down at the club for Church. He asked me to go with him, a first, really, and I probably should have just taken him up on his offer; but I’m not ready for anyone down there to see me, yet—especially not the whores.

  The swelling in my face has gone down quite a bit, but it’s not gone. It’s also a million different shades of blue and purple mixed with brown and yellow. In other words, it’s a hot fucking mess.

  No way in hell am I going to let those skinny bitch whores see me like this. Especially that one that came up to me in the grocery store. Next time I see that little bitch, I’m going to look like a ten, not a puffy disaster.

  “Sunshine,” a voice calls out. My spine straightens in surprise. Glancing down at my clock, I notice it’s not even midnight yet. “Hey, you’re up.”

  “I am,” I say with a shaky smile.

  “You all right, baby?” Sloane asks as he shrugs his cut off before he places it on the bench at the foot of our bed.

  “I didn’t expect you home so soon,” I state. Honestly, I didn’t expect him home at all.

  He grins, shaking his head. “Didn’t feel much like partying. I was missing my woman.”

  “Oh, yeah?” I ask, cocking my head to the side in wonder.

  Sloane Soar McKinley Huntington III never misses a party, not unless there’s a damn good reason.

  “Not the same anymore. I’m sober and,” he pauses as he takes his shirt off before shoving his jeans down his legs.

  I watch as he toes out of his boots and then he’s on the bed, removing his socks before he pulls his jeans the rest of the way off. He crawls up next to me. “I missed my Old Lady. I missed you. All I could think was that you were here cooped up alone.”

  “Is that all?” I ask.

  “Honesty?”

  I nod and wait for his answer, bracing myself for whatever it is that he’s going to throw my way.

  “I’m so scared of completely fucking up, sunshine. One hit, one drop of X, one line, and I’m back in the joint,” he murmurs before he turns to me and pulls me into his arms. “One whore, and I’ll hurt you, probably lose you forever. I’d die without you, baby, and I’m so scared of ruining everything we’ve got going for us right now.”

  Closing my eyes, I think about his words, about his fears. He’s right. One night with a whore, and I’m gone, for good this time. There will be no sweet words to bring me back. No matter how much I love him, I just can’t let myself be that pathetic person anymore, letting him make me feel completely worthless.

  “Sloane,” I whimper.

  He rolls on top of me, his lips brushing mine so gently that it sends chills over my body. Then he just stares into my eyes, his hips between my thighs, his elbows holding his body up on either side of my head. His green eyes bore into mine with an intensity that I’ve never felt before.

  “I love you, Imogen. The last thing I want to do is hurt you again. I think I’ve hurt you enough to last for ten lifetimes. You get honesty from me, and that’s me being honest. I’m scared, sunshine.”

  I nod at his words. I’m scared, too—terrified.

  “I’m scared, but we’re going to work, baby. You and me,” he murmurs before pressing his lips to mine again.

  His tongue slides out to taste my lips, and I moan as he slips further into my mouth. I can feel the firm length of his erection pressing against my center, and I throw back my head on a cry.

  We haven’t had sex since my accident, but he’s brought me pleasure on more than one occasion. It’s just not enough. I want to feel him inside of me, taking, owning, pleasuring me like only his cock can do.

  “I want you to ride me, Imogen,” he rasps against my neck as he kisses his way down to my collar bone. His tongue tastes my skin and I let out a long groan.

  “My face,” I whisper.

  “Is fucking gorgeous. I can’t be on top, sunshine. I’ll hurt your ribs,” he mutters against my skin.

  I nod, completely unbelieving of his kind words about my face. He rolls onto his back and I watch as he yanks off his boxer briefs. I quickly remove my sleep shorts and tank set, trying not to think about the bruises on my face or on my stomach and sides as I straddle his hips.


  Sloane’s hands slide from my knees to the outside of my thighs, the sides of my waist and up to cup my breasts. I let out a shuttered breath as he pinches my nipples and tweaks them slightly.

  “You still on your birth control?” he asks. My entire body freezes.

  “My what?” I whisper in surprise.

  “Your birth control, whatever the fuck you take, you still on it?” he murmurs, his eyes zeroed in on his fingers playing with my nipples.

  “I, uh,” I sigh as I close my eyes, relishing how good it feels when he touches me. “It’s a pill. I take it every morning.”

  “Throw that shit in the trash, Imogen.”

  “Sloane,” I whisper.

  “Sink down on my hard cock, sunshine. No more birth control. No more waiting. We’re making a baby. We’re living this life to the fullest. That shit starts now,” he announces.

  “What about your fears? Everything you just said?” I ask in confusion.

  He grins and tugs on both of my nipples before he slides his hands down to my waist, giving me a gentle squeeze.

  “I’m scared. But, baby, I’m going to be scared about slipping tomorrow and every day after for the rest of my life. Especially since the damage I would inflict wouldn’t only be on me but on you, too. There’s no guarantees, but if we sit around scared to death, we’ll never live. You won’t have your babies, and I won’t have a wife that smiles so bright she blinds me like the goddamn sun. So, no more pills, sunshine.”

  “I want you to be sure. This isn’t something you can take back or change your mind on,” I warn.

  “Almost forty years old, baby. I think it’s about time I stop thinking about myself all the time and start working on making your dreams come true, don’t you?” he asks. He tucks a bit of fallen hair behind my ear, careful not to hurt my face.

  “Sloane,” I whisper as tears fill my eyes. “I want you to be happy, too, and you don’t want them.”

  “Promised you babies, sunshine. I’m delivering that promise to you. Told you that I didn’t want them because of fear, not because I couldn’t love them. You’re going to be a beautiful mama, and I’m going to be their roughneck daddy. Now climb up on this dick, Imogen,” he growls.

  I do as he asks and sink down on his hard length, sighing when I’m fully seated down around him. I look into his eyes, and he only smirks at me before he gently bucks up, causing me to gasp slightly.

  “Ride me nice and slow, baby,” he murmurs.

  Leaning back, my fingers gripping his thighs, I do as he demands. I ride my man slow, with purpose, and with complete delight. Every roll of my hips sends shivers up my spine. When his thumb presses against my clit, I let out a moan of appreciation.

  “You’re going to make me come too fast,” I whimper.

  “You don’t get there, sunshine, and it’ll be over,” he murmurs. “The sight of you enjoying yourself the way you are, your tits swaying with each move you make; goddamn, I’m on edge, baby.”

  I smirk as I continue to move in a way that is apparently keeping him on edge. Except, with the added pressure of his thumb against my clit, I find myself in the same predicament. I shudder and cry out as I come all around him.

  My pussy pulses, and he thrusts up inside of me a few times before he lets out a groan of his own. With heavy breaths, I look down at Sloane. His blond hair is messy, but his eyes are bright and his smile is wide.

  “Love you, Imogen,” he murmurs. “Most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

  “I’m a disaster,” I whisper as he gently rolls us over so that we’re on our sides facing each other. I lose his length from inside of me, and I miss him already.

  “No matter what, Genny, you’ve always been stunning. Swear to fuck, sunshine, no matter what,” he rasps before his lips press against mine.

  “Get some sleep, baby.”

  I close my eyes and do as he asks.

  Sleep finds me almost immediately.

  A loud noise causes me to jump. I sit straight up, my hair a ratty mess, and my body bare. The loud noise happens again, and I realize that it’s someone at the door. I glance to Sloane’s side of the bed, but he’s gone. The pounding noise sounds again, and I hurry to grab Sloane’s discarded shirt from the night before and a pair of panties.

  Looking through the peephole I gasp at who is on the other side. Pulling my brows together, I answer the door just as the man lifts his hand to bang on my door again. “Can I help you?” I ask immediately.

  “Hey there, Mrs. Huntington,” he says smoothly.

  It only takes me a second to realize it’s the highway patrol officer who pulled me over. I don’t respond as I stand at the door and just look at him.

  “Sloane’s probation officer is on his way. I suspect he’s got some drugs in this place, maybe some guns too,” he murmurs as he places his hand on my stomach and pushes me to the side.

  He walks into my living room and looks around. “Alone tonight?” He smirks.

  “What do you want? There’s nothing in here, and I didn’t invite you in,” I state.

  He grins, “Sweetheart, you don’t have to invite me anywhere. Your husband is an ex-con on parole, this is his residence, and I can walk in here any fucking time I want to.”

  His cocky grin is too much, too wide, and way too sure of himself. I wrap my hands around my stomach as I press my lips together. Another man walks inside and he looks from me to the cop.

  “Tell me you did not drag my fucking ass out of bed for a home visit about a model prisoner and model parolee?” he grumbles.

  “Excuse me, what’s happening here?” I ask quietly from my place against the wall as I try to tug down Sloane’s shirt.

  “Sorry ma’am, I got a report from this officer that he has suspicions that your husband had a weapon and illegal drugs on the premises,” the probation officer murmurs.

  My eyes dart from man-to-man and I nod. He explains that he has the right to check the place. I glance at the clock and notice that it’s three in the morning.

  I don’t know where Sloane is. I watch as the two men go about searching my house. Then they request access to my bedroom. I give them a nod, even though I don’t want them anywhere near my room.

  A few minutes later, they emerge, and the probation officer shakes his head. “Sorry for disturbing your sleep, ma’am. Nothing was found.” He then turns to the police officer. “The next time you wake my ass up at two in the fucking morning, your shit better be solid.” He turns and walks out of the door, leaving me alone with the officer.

  “He’s a lucky fuck,” he murmurs as he walks closer toward me. My back is pressed against the wall. He gets so close that I can feel the heat of his body, and I shiver in disgust. “Next time I bring him back, he’ll find something. This was just a dry run.”

  “What do you want?” I whisper.

  He grins as his top teeth sink into his bottom lip, “Sweetheart, I want what was promised to me. Bayard has all but disappeared, and I’ve yet to have those sweet lips wrapped around my cock.”

  I open my mouth to say something, but no words come out. He leans forward a little more and wraps his hand around the outside of my thigh. “Your lips are going to be wrapped around my cock. Your pussy is going to strangle me, and then I’m going to fuck your ass, Imogen. Sweet little society slut like you, I bet it’s going to be fucking fantastic.”

  I press my lips together to keep from throwing up in his face. His hand moves to the inside of my thigh, and I press my legs together as my heart starts to race. “As soon as Sloane’s ass is locked back up, I’m taking what Bayard promised me,” he whispers.

  “Do you mind taking your hands off of my wife, officer?” Sloane’s voice roars through the room. The officer, Houston—according to his name badge—smirks, not looking away.

  “Yeah, I’ll take my hands off of her, convict—for now,” he grunts before he pushes away from me and walks away.

  I stay with my back against the wall as my knees shake, threating
to buckle beneath me.

  I watch as Houston walks up to Sloane, so close that their noses practically touch. Sloane doesn’t say anything. His jaw ticks and his fists clench at his sides. His green eyes track Houston’s every move.

  Houston grins his cocky fucking grin. “Watch your back, Huntington. Your wife’s got a sweet little body. Can’t wait to fuck the shit out of her when you’re all locked up,” he cackles before he walks away.

  Once the door closes, I watch as Sloane’s body jerks, then he walks over and flips the lock. I don’t move from my spot against the wall as he starts to stalk me. “What the fuck just happened here?”

  “Sloane, I-I-…”

  His hand wraps around the front of my throat, and I snap my mouth shut. His eyes are ablaze with anger. “That fuck put his hands on you. He walked into my house and he put his goddamn hands on you, and I couldn’t do a fucking thing about it.”

  I lift my hand to wrap around the back of his neck as I look into his eyes. “Sloane, he doesn’t matter,” I murmur.

  “Like fuck he doesn’t matter,” he shouts.

  Lifting up on my toes, I press my mouth against his before I whisper against his lips. “I love you. Please don’t do anything that will take you away from me.”

  His hands wrap around my waist and fist in the shirt I’m wearing before his mouth consumes mine. His tongue fills me as he picks me up and presses my back against the wall. I lift my legs to wrap them around his waist as he fumbles with his belt.

  My panties are ripped from my body, and then he’s inside of me, filling me. “No man touches what’s mine,” he growls against my mouth as he slams into me.

  “Sloane,” I gasp as my fingernails dig into his shoulders.

  He grunts, his hips thrusting against mine, his pelvis grinding against my clit, causing me to gasp with each pump of his hips. I can feel my nipples hard against the soft cotton of his t-shirt, scraping against the fabric and sending goosebumps to break out over my skin.

  Sloane’s soft grunts fill the air as his body claims mine, my back pounding against the wall with each pump of his hips. “Come,” he demands.