Stitches

by Sam Mariano

  “Donovan,” I offer, bowing my head once in acknowledgement.

  Gesturing with his hand to the edge of the curved booth to his left, he tells me, “Have a seat.”

  I look at the spot, but it’s not empty.

  Or, it wasn’t. As soon as the man seated there realizes where his boss is pointing, he swiftly gets up and finds somewhere else to sit.

  Fuck, I like that.

  I resist the pull, shake it off, and take a seat. I have plenty. I have safety and stability—I’m not going to envy the power of a man like this.

  “I must say, I was surprised to hear from you,” Donovan tells me.

  The first time this asshole sent his men in to shake me down, it pissed me off. You hear of shit like that, but you never expect to experience it first-hand. Griff was mad as hell. Couldn’t believe the gall of these guys, told me no way in hell were we going to pay it. My pride agreed with him at first, but then I thought on it a little more. It was one of those situations where I could not control the circumstances people were putting me in, I could only control my response to it. An old Irishman who owned a pub down the block had already told Donovan’s men they could go fuck themselves before they ever saw a dime from him, and when he turned up with a busted up face, a shattered ankle, and a broken arm, everyone understood why. It sent a message to everyone else that no was not an acceptable response.

  That wasn’t why I decided to pay him, though.

  I didn’t make his men come back. I brought my tax right into the club myself—the last time I stepped foot in this fucking place—because I was going to control the situation. I didn’t give the money to the punk-ass kids who thought they were something, or even to his enforcer. No. I brought my envelope of money and hand-delivered it to the boss, because I wanted him to remember me. I wanted him to know my name and my face. I wanted him to know I was handing over my “protection” money because I wanted to open up a distant but amiable relationship with him, not because I’m cowering and bullied in my office, too afraid of a broken arm to tell him no, but reluctant to pay up, nonetheless.

  You can’t always control your circumstances, but you can always control the narrative. You just have to be able to control yourself, and I’m damn good at that.

  Griff would never be sitting here in this club with this man. He would have been stubborn and resisted. If he did give in—not because Donovan hurt him, but because he went after his loved ones (the step after broken limbs, as the Irish barkeep’s college-aged granddaughter found out soon after)—he would still be salty about it. He would still think of Donovan as scum, of himself as better, and instead of using a dark connection to his advantage, he would continue to fucking struggle.

  Not me.

  I’ll lie down with dogs if I need to; I’m not afraid of a few fleas.

  Now Donovan sits here and smiles at me like we’re old pals. “What can I do for you, Sebastian?”

  I flick a glance around the crowded club. The music is blaring, and even though we’re close enough to talk, this is a matter of some delicacy and I don’t really want to shout it from the rooftops.

  Clearing my throat, I hunch forward and tell him, “I was hoping we could discuss this a little more privately.”

  He watches me for a moment, expression blank, eyes sharp. I understand his selectiveness in who he takes a private audience with—he’s a man that a lot of other men would like to see dead, after all—but after a moment, he finally nods and sits forward.

  “All right,” he says. “Roscoe, come with us.”

  The dark-haired man who accompanied me over lifts a dark eyebrow. “Seriously? You want Roscoe in there with you over me?”

  Donovan smiles, slapping the man on the shoulder. “Settle down, Sebastian’s a friend. Aren’t you, Sebastian?”

  He must be seriously hurting for friends if he thinks I’m one of his, but naturally, I nod my head. Sure, I’ll be the fucker’s friend for the next fifteen minutes.

  We walk past the private rooms lining the hall. I hear loud moans coming from inside a few of them, but I don’t bat an eye. This isn’t even a strip club so you wouldn’t expect sleazy shit like this to be going on, but there’s been plenty of speculation about his prostitution ring. That’s probably what’s going on in there.

  “How’s your wife, Sebastian?”

  I tense just hearing him mention my wife, even if he doesn’t know her name or what she looks like. I might not be opposed to the potential benefits of having an amiable relationship with him over a hostile one, but I still know he’s a shady fucking snake, and I don’t like him even thinking of Moira in a vague, conceptual way.

  “The family’s fine,” I say, vaguely.

  He opens an office door and steps inside first. I follow, and Roscoe comes in and closes the door behind me.

  Donovan stops immediately and turns to face me. Doesn’t offer me a seat, but I’m glad; I don’t want to be here any longer than I have to. “Now, what’s so urgent we needed to speak in private?”

  “I have a bit of a situation,” I tell him.

  “You’re paid through the end of the month, so I don’t think we have any business right now.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m paying you for your protection, right?” I ask, nodding at him. “I’m in need of a little… protection.”

  He cocks his head curiously. “You are? Who’s bothering you?”

  “It’s not—” I sigh, raking a hand through my hair. “It’s not a business matter. It’s personal. Someone’s causing me problems. I’ve tried to handle it through more conventional channels, but she won’t go away and she’s making my life harder than I want it to be.”

  With a knowing nod, he said, “I understand. Mistress?”

  I frown. “No. It’s Griff’s wife, actually.”

  His eyebrows rise. “You’re fucking your partner’s wife? Damn, that is a tangled fucking web.”

  I want to smile at how backward he has all this, but the less I tell him about my home life, the better. “No, I’m not fucking her. Griff is trying to divorce her but she’s making it difficult. The long and short of it is, she’s a real headache and at this point we both just want her gone. Dealt with. Permanently.”

  “I see.” His tone is solemn, but he doesn’t seem unwilling to help. “You understand, of course, that a situation like this is not included in the protection I provide you?”

  “Of course. I’ll pay separately for this.”

  “All cash, all up front,” he adds. “Once the deal is made, there’s no backing out. You get cold feet, you don’t get a refund.”

  “I understand all that. I’m not half-cocked, here. This is what needs to happen. I’ve made my peace with it, now I just want it done and over with.”

  Nodding once, he asks, “How soon do you need it done?”

  “As soon as possible. I need it to look like an accident, though. Or a suicide. Just nothing obvious. Since she’s been dragging out the divorce, Griff is the first person they’re going to look to as a suspect if anything looks off.”

  “Of course,” he says, like he’s a professional and he understands. “I’ll let you know when it’s going down so you can make sure you both have alibis. Just in case you were fucking her, you’ll want your ass covered, too.”

  “I wasn’t fucking her.”

  “Look, a man shows up wanting a woman dead, ten out of ten times he was fucking her. I’m not your wife; you don’t have to lie to me, Sebastian.”

  “I’m not…” I trail off, shaking my head. “I never fucked her. She’s causing Griff problems, so that’s a problem for me. I’m just a hell of a friend, all right?”

  He watches me for a moment, debating whether or not to believe me. I don’t know why it matters so much to him, but it seems like he doesn’t like being lied to. I bet he’s a paranoid motherfucker.

  Finally, he must decide he believes me. “I like that. Good friends are hard to come by. I look out for my friends, too.”

  Griff’s comment
about Ashley fucking around with Danny Long comes to mind, but last I knew, he and Donovan weren’t on good terms. That probably won’t be an issue, but I figure I should tell him anyway. “His wife… well, no two ways about it, she’s a whore. She’s been sleeping around on Griff and Danny Long is one of the guys she’s seeing now. I don’t know—or want to know—your business, but in case you have any crossing paths, I thought I should mention that up front.”

  Shaking his head dismissively, he says, “Nah, he’s nothing. I appreciate your honesty, though. I’ll tell you what, I’m gonna do this job for you, and I’m gonna give you the friends and family discount,” he tells me.

  “Great. Is there a punch card I can get, too?”

  He grins at me, but even his amusement is mildly threatening. “Buy the first nine hits, get your tenth free? No, but thanks for the suggestion. I’ll see what I can do about that.”

  “What exactly is the friends and family discount?” I ask, in case that’s a real thing and he’s not just being a smartass.

  “The friends and family discount means this: this is the first favor you’ve asked of me, right? So, I’m gonna cut the cost for you in half.”

  I know there’s a catch, so I wait for it instead of responding.

  Smiling faintly, he adds, “But then you’re gonna owe me a favor. Now, could be you get lucky and I never need anything from you. Maybe you’ll live happily ever after with your discounted hit and that’ll be that. Or maybe you won’t. Maybe I’ll need something from you down the line, and no questions asked, you’ll give it to me.”

  This makes me pretty fucking uncomfortable. Amiable or not, this is not a man I want to owe a favor.

  Of course, this is a mere formality. Donovan is being pleasant enough right now, but I know what he’s capable of. If Donovan needed a favor from me, he would demand it whether I owed him one or not.

  So I nod my head once and say, “Of course. I’m always happy to help my friends in their time of need.”

  A dark smile claims his lips and he steps forward, clapping me on the back. “So am I, Sebastian. So am I.”

  26

  Moira

  Peace flows through my veins as Griff’s big, rough fingers skate up and down my arm. I’m on the couch in front of him, sitting between his legs, and I swear, the man is trying to put me to sleep.

  “You’re not getting out of this movie,” I tell him, leaning my head back to look up at him. “If I fall asleep, I’ll just make you watch it tomorrow.”

  Smiling faintly, he bends to drop a brief kiss on my forehead. “I’m not trying to put you to sleep. I just like touching you.”

  “I like you touching me, too,” I tell him, running a hand down his muscular thigh.

  “Good, ‘cause I’m gonna be doing a lot of it. I’ve got a lot of time to make up for.”

  I grab his hand, bringing it to my lips so I can place a kiss on the back of it. “We’ve got nothing but time. We’ll get you all caught up, I promise.”

  Since it was his left hand I grabbed, his gaze drifts to his empty ring finger. Even though it clearly ended badly, then she dragged the remnants of their relationship over a bed of nails and made it even worse, I wonder if he feels any remorse over the ending of his marriage. He loved her once, so maybe it’s still weird for him.

  “How are you doing with all that?” I ask him, locking my fingers together with his, looking at our joined hands, at the difference in size. “I told you we could still talk about it if you needed to, and I meant it.”

  “I know you did,” he says, evenly. “You ever get to the end of a relationship and looking at the long and short of it, all you can think is, ‘what the fuck was I thinking?’”

  I crack a smile. “Yes. The minute man. The cheater Gwen wrote lipstick letters to.”

  “Yeah, well, basically it’s a whole lot of that, plus I’m gonna have to pay for the privilege.”

  “Whatever we have to pay, it’ll be worth it,” I assure him, squeezing his hand. “We’ll get you free of her clutches once and for all. Now you’ve got Sebastian to run things for you, and he would never let either one of us get into a mess like this.”

  At that, Griff rolls his eyes. “He’s your husband, not mine.”

  I shrug innocently. “I mean, if you guys felt like getting affectionate…”

  “Hey,” he says, squeezing my side.

  “I’m just saying, sharing is caring. A little kiss, a little caress. You love each other.”

  “And we both like to fuck women,” he reminds me.

  “You can totally fuck me after. I’ve had the mental image before, and it doesn’t turn me off, I’ll just say that.”

  Locking his arm around my neck, he tugs my head back and gives me an upside down kiss. “Don’t make it weird.”

  “Fine,” I concede, reaching behind his neck and drawing him closer. Between kisses, I murmur, “You can just kiss me instead, how about that?”

  “Now that I can get behind.”

  I get lost in his kisses. His hand drifts to the column of my neck and my heart kicks up, remembering keenly how hot it was when he took me without holding back. I never want him to hold back again. I want him to own me. Maybe he was cautious before because Sebastian clearly owns my ass, but hell, they’re partners in everything else, why not this?

  Thinking about the way he pushed me down into the mattress gets me hot. I reach between his legs and rub him, enjoying the way he stiffens beneath my touch.

  “Spread your legs,” he says.

  Without hesitation, my knees fall apart. I shudder with anticipation as his hand moves between my thighs and he presses his big palm against my pussy. My head drifts back against the wall of his chest. “Griff,” I murmur, my voice already full of need.

  His deep voice tinged with amusement, he kisses the shell of my ear and lightly traces my folds. “You need something, baby?”

  My gaze jerks up as I see headlights through the window. Sebastian is home.

  It crosses my mind that we should probably stop, but Griff’s thoughts go in exactly the opposite direction and he pushes a finger inside me.

  “We don’t have time,” I tell him.

  “I’m in no hurry,” he assures me.

  I should be going to greet my husband, not lying here letting Griff stroke my pussy. Griff doesn’t seem to agree though; he keeps me pinned there with his skilled fingers inside me, with his kisses on my neck, his big hand groping my breast.

  It’s hard to argue with that logic.

  A thrill shoots through me when I hear Sebastian drop his keys onto the end table in the foyer. I’m not entirely sure how he’ll like walking into this—I don’t know what kind of day he’s had or what he needs from me right now. Assuming it isn’t me spread on the couch letting Griff’s fingers explore my body, he may be mildly annoyed.

  I look up as he comes into view, wanting to see his face. As usual, he looks unaffected. Maybe a little tired. As soon as he sees us on the couch, his gaze drifts to my pussy, to Griff’s fingers playing with me.

  “Date night’s going well, I see,” he remarks casually, tugging his jacket off and hanging it across the chair in the corner. Then he prowls around to the front of the couch, dropping into the empty space on the other side, closest to my legs.

  “How was work?” Griff asks casually, kneading my breast.

  “Uneventful,” Sebastian replies, unbuckling his belt and drawing it off.

  “Get everything all caught up?” Griff asks, pushing a second finger into my body and drawing out a helpless moan.

  “All taken care of,” Sebastian says, tossing his belt on the floor and unzipping his slacks. “I’m glad to see you guys haven’t sated all of your baser urges today; I am in dire need of a good fuck.”

  I can’t help smiling, though my breath hitches as Griff thrusts his fingers deep and invites his thumb to the party, nudging my clit. “It’s been so many hours since you last had me, hasn’t it?”

  “Two hours is too m
any,” Sebastian states, lifting his hips and kicking his pants off. “Thirteen is approaching torture.”

  I feel the same way. Since I already had Griff once while he was at work, I should be less needy. Somehow I’m not. Sex with Griff is great, but he’s not Sebastian. It wouldn’t matter if Griff spent the entire day fucking me while he was gone; I always crave my husband when he comes home. “Well, I’ll be happy to work extra hard pleasing my husband,” I assure him, watching as he gets up on his knees between my legs.

  Grabbing onto my jaw, uncaring of Griff’s arm reaching down my side, his fingers still inside me, my husband comes down on top of me. His blue eyes narrow and says, “Damn right you will.”

  My heart soars, but before I can utter a word, his mouth claims mine and all my words escape. I lift my legs to wrap them around his hips, but Griff is still fingering me. It’s intoxicating, Griff still inside me in some way, my husband’s hips smashing against me. The exhilaration of having them both on me like this ratchets up my arousal. Little helpless sounds slip out of me between kisses, then while Sebastian ravages my mouth, Griff starts kissing my neck. Fireworks explode in too many sensitive areas and I can’t take it anymore. I come already, crying out, riding Griff’s hand, holding onto Sebastian, terrified he’ll abandon my mouth.

  Much of the strength leaves my body and I sag back against Griff. He withdraws his fingers from my body. I can feel his arousal pressing into my back as Sebastian pushes me even harder against Griff’s body. The raw physicality of these two men is too much to bear, but boy, am I up to trying.

  “On the floor,” Sebastian commands, tearing his mouth from mine.

  My legs are still a little shaky, but I slide on the floor anyway. I sit back on my heels and peer up at him, awaiting further direction. Licking my lips, I watch intently as Sebastian strokes his cock. God, I love that perfect instrument. I inch forward, raising big, innocent eyes at him. “Want a little help with that?”

  “I do.”