Crooks & Kings: A Wild Bunch Novel

by London Miller

  Her heart nearly beating out of her chest as adrenaline thrummed inside her, she yanked off her apron, tossing it and everything else inside her apartment before storming upstairs to Christophe’s apartment.

  She didn’t do anything as polite as knocking. Instead, she balled her fist and banged on the door until it swung open, Christophe taking up the mouth of it with over six feet of angry Romanian.

  Another time, she might have appreciated the sight of him like this, worked up because of her, but now, she was too angry to feel anything else as she narrowed her eyes at him.

  “Are you insane?” she asked, pressing her hand against his chest to push him back into his apartment.

  He had an unlit cigarette resting in the corner of his mouth, but he grabbed it and tossed it aside. “You come here shouting and shit, and you’re asking if I’m insane?”

  The sarcasm dripping from his tone only ratcheted her anger up another level. “I don’t need you to protect me,” she reminded him.

  Without looking away from her, he pushed the door closed with the heel of his boot. “You sure about that? Because you sure as shit couldn’t handle that.”

  “It’s none of your business, Fang! I don’t need you fighting my battles. Do you understand that?”

  One second, he was standing across from her, fury burning in his eyes, and the next, his hand was buried beneath the fall of her hair to cup her neck and drag her forward, smashing his lips against hers.

  He kissed her like he wanted to ruin her.

  This wasn’t her first kiss, nor her fifteenth, yet it was new and unforgettable.

  His kiss was dangerous—the way he chased her tongue with his and tilted her head back the way he liked for better access. She could easily get lost in this—lost in him—and the anger she’d clung to on her way to his place drained away as a new, darker emotion took its place.

  A shudder ran through him as her fingers sunk into the thick, silky strands of his hair, urging him on, but he didn’t remain there for long. His lips dipped lower, skimming across the curve of her jaw, then pressing against the pulse point in her throat.

  Nothing could have topped that feeling until his teeth replaced his lips.

  After several breathless moments, he pulled away, just far enough that she could see the way his pupils were blown. “Say yes.”

  It wasn’t just his words that made a trail of heat slide down her spine until she was practically curled against him. It was the way he said it, as though that one word was the only thing keeping a hold on his control.

  The thick erection hidden behind his jeans was hard to ignore, and already the desire to get him undressed was the only thing she could think of.

  “Yes.”

  How could she ever say no?

  That was the only answer he needed before a muscular arm slid around her waist and he was pushing off the door, effortlessly carrying her back to his bed.

  He went down to a knee before releasing her, a breathless gasp leaving her as she hit the mattress. Her hair whipped forward as she landed, temporarily blinding her, but as her vision cleared, she watched as he gripped the hem of his shirt in one hand and dragged it up and off, every muscle in his upper body flexing with the motion.

  She couldn’t take her eyes off him, not when his own dropped to her parted thighs like a man possessed as he pushed her skirt up around her hips, revealing the lace she wore beneath.

  A moment was all he had given her before his fingertips were brushing over her inner thigh, goosebumps breaking out over her skin. A look of pure male satisfaction lit up his face. “I won’t be gentle with you.”

  Those words should have scared her—at least, more than they already did—but they only managed to make her suck in a breath, need coursing through her.

  She didn’t even get the chance to revel in the sight of him kneeling between her legs before he was shifting back to the floor, gripping her thighs with both hands and dragging her down the bed until her back was flat and her legs were spread further for him.

  The position exposed her, and it all became too much. Her cheeks blooming with heat, she tried to close her legs, but his hand caught at the meatiest part of her thigh and pushed it wider, using his own body to keep her as she was.

  His mouth was on her a moment later, first on her instep then venturing up at a languid pace. But even as he kissed his way up her leg, his fingers curled into her panties, yanking them down with enough force that she felt the slight burning sensation as the fabric rubbed over her skin.

  Biting her bottom lip, she tried not to let the needy, broken sounds she made escape, but no one had ever touched her quite like Christophe.

  No one had ever taken their time, drawing this out for all it was worth.

  Each pause between kisses made her heart beat a little faster and made her startle the next time his lips were on her.

  His hands were rough, but God, she loved the feel of them as they skimmed below the tank top she wore, tugging down the cups of her bra before he was cupping her breasts and squeezing in just the way she didn’t know she liked.

  She could feel him the moment he got close, his breath fanning out over her slippery pussy, little pulses of sensation starting up before he had even touched her.

  “Please, Fang,” she begged, acutely aware this was what he wanted from her.

  “I’ll give you what you want,” he promised then his mouth was there, and she forgot what she was going to say.

  Her fingers didn’t hesitate to tunnel in his hair to keep him exactly where he was. He gingerly slid the flat of his tongue over every inch of her until his lips closed over her clit and sucked.

  She nearly came off the mattress.

  Before she could even come down, though, two fingers pressed against her entrance before sliding deeper, his name coming out on a high whine, her toes curling.

  Christophe made a low, appreciative sound in the back of his throat. His mouth hot and eager, his fingers thrusting in time, she didn’t know how much longer she could hold on before she spontaneously combusted.

  “Come on,” he urged, sliding those maddening fingers out of her and rubbing over her clit fast and hard, his eyes glued to her face. “Give it here.”

  Mariya had no choice but to obey as the sensations climbed so high, she broke, a keening whine escaping her throat as her back arched.

  It was too much.

  It wasn’t enough.

  She was blinking the black spots out of her vision as he tugged at his belt then undid his jeans with quick jerks of his fingers. Once he had them off, he didn’t do anything as simple as easing his boxer briefs down his thighs. Instead, she watched in utter want as he shoved his hand inside.

  The already impressive outline of his erection was enough to make her pussy clench, but it was something else entirely to watch him stroke himself, his fist making a slow glide up and down.

  The veins running along his arms stood out in stark relief, and she was sure she could get off just watching him do this.

  Grabbing for his jeans, he ripped out his wallet, pulling a condom free and tearing it open with his teeth.

  It took him no time at all to roll the latex over his cock. He loomed over her, fisting himself as he pressed tight against her slit, then rubbed himself there, making her eyes fall shut as her head fell back.

  The second crest was already building, but as she was sure one more slide over her swollen clit would send her over, he thrust inside her in one smooth stroke.

  His name exploded out of her as her nails dug into his shoulders. Feliks hadn’t been small, but he was nothing compared to Christophe.

  “Shit.” His tone was apologetic, and he immediately stilled to allow her a chance to get used to his size, but she could feel it in the low groan vibrating in his chest that not moving was difficult.

  Seeing his visceral reaction made her wetter in a rush, and she could practically feel the thick length of him jump in reaction.

  Gradually, as her hands lo
osened the grip she had on him, he eased back, making her moan as it shifted his angle inside her.

  “Does that feel good?” he asked, his voice a rumble that had her nodding earnestly. “Let me hear you say it.”

  “Yes.”

  It felt good.

  It felt so good.

  He grinned, easing his hips back, his gaze never leaving her face before he was thrusting back in, the pain quickly replaced with a keen pleasure that had her toes curling into the bed.

  It rose inside her, stealing her breath and making her open wider for him until he was sliding inside her with ridiculous ease.

  “Easy,” he said, whether for her or himself, she wasn’t sure.

  But she got her answer pretty quickly as his next thrust came harder than before. It was like whatever tether he had over his control snapped as he gave another powerful jerk and that was all it took before he went up on his knees and dragged her with him.

  With one hand splayed across her ass, and the other buried in her hair, he kissed her, a wet and inviting and dirty kiss that had her moaning into his mouth.

  While he kept her mouth glued to his, he used the other hand to squeeze and work her flesh, moving her up and down on his cock, practically using her to fuck himself.

  She knew she would have bruises in the morning, but she looked forward to them as he fucked her like a man possessed.

  Like this was the last time.

  As his grip tightened in her hair, he forced his mouth from hers. “I’m not going to fucking last,” he said with so much conviction, she wanted it.

  She wanted to feel him come.

  See him ripped apart as he so easily did to her.

  Breathless, she begged him for it, asked him to give her everything. But her words were affecting her just as much as they were affecting him and before she knew it, she could feel the wave building again, and just as he cursed, giving another brutal thrust of his hips, she came apart.

  Her arms still wrapped tight around him, Mariya didn’t realize she’d squeezed her eyes shut until she came back down, but as she looked at Christophe, she saw the hunger still burning in his eyes.

  She knew it wasn’t enough.

  It would never be enough.

  Once could be considered an accident.

  Getting lost in the moment was understandable, especially once everything she’d been feeling for him had finally taken over, but after the first, it wasn’t an accident anymore.

  After spending hours late into the night stoking a lust she’d thought would never end, they had both passed out as the sun rose.

  When Mariya woke up the next morning, tucked snugly against Christophe’s side with his heavy arm thrown over her waist, this definitely went beyond an accident. At some point during the night, or morning, she’d pulled on his shirt to sleep in, and he pushed his hand beneath it, fingers splayed over her stomach.

  Even in his sleep, he was possessive.

  Carefully disentangling their limbs, she shifted out from under him, slipping into the bathroom and closing the door so as not to wake him then leaned back against it.

  Breathing deeply, she blew out a breath as she thought about their night together. In those minutes before she had passed out from exhaustion, he had whispered Romanian words to her, lulling her until she could barely keep her eyes open.

  Christophe was so much more than she’d thought. How easy it would be to tell him her secret, to confess to everything she was too afraid to say.

  He made her want to give him everything.

  Realizing she was just standing there staring at her own reflection in the mirror, Mariya cleaned herself up, turning off the light on her way back out.

  Christophe was as she’d left him, though, at some point, he’d rolled over, the sheet tangled around his legs, leaving his chest bare.

  Of course, the late day sunlight highlighted his still form like he’d been a gift from God.

  In all his scarred, magnificent glory, he kind of was.

  Feliks had learned to use his attractiveness as a weapon, but it had never worked on her, easily bending people to his will because most were far more willing to accept what an attractive man said over an unattractive one, but she had destroyed that with one swipe of her wrist.

  She wondered if Christophe knew just how good looking he was?

  “You know I can feel you staring,” he said, nearly making her jump a foot in the air as his gravelly voice broke the silence.

  “How long have you been awake?”

  The fact that he had been pretending for so long was a bit surprising. He’d still looked like he was sleeping peacefully until he spoke.

  “I’m a light sleeper,” he said by way of answer, stretching his arms out until the bones popped audibly before relaxing again. “Why are you up so early anyway?”

  A surprised laugh escaped her as she looked from him to the time. “It’s five thirty.”

  “Wake me up when it’s eight. Someone kept me up all night.”

  “Yeah, you. You just had to know whether I could bend that way.”

  His satisfied grin made her want to hit him. “We should try that again—maybe it was a fluke.”

  “I have to be at work in an hour.”

  He lifted his arm to look at her. “Is that a challenge?”

  It was.

  It really, really was.

  Chapter 8

  July 24, 2017

  Christophe had never understood the sensory training he’d endured with the Lotus Society, especially when it came to identifying and differentiating between smells. Not once over his lengthy career had he ever needed to rely on it, but today, it seemed like it would come in handy.

  After spending more than five months in this place, he knew the second he walked into the building something was off. A scent lingered in the hallway, one that was vastly different from the others he had grown used to, but familiar all the same.

  Instinct had him reaching for the weapon he usually kept on him—an H&K 30L handgun that had saved his life a number of times before—but it was packed away with the rest of his things from that life.

  It didn't matter, though—he'd always preferred his fists.

  Once he reached his door, it might have looked unscathed, but he wasn’t surprised it was unlocked.

  Many people didn’t understand the art to picking locks. It wasn’t about how quickly one could get into a locked room. Instead, it was far more difficult to do it without leaving a trace.

  Then again, the man seated in the lone chair Christophe had in his apartment wasn’t an ordinary man. He wasn’t just an assassin—he was the assassin.

  “There a reason you couldn’t call before breaking into my place?” Christophe asked, shoving the door shut with the heel of his boot then twisting the lock.

  Nix, who was in the middle of sending a text, smiled, though he didn’t look up. “Had I done that, you wouldn’t have answered. I think this way saved us a little time.”

  Unlike Christophe and his brothers, Nix’s accent was polished, refined even, from years spent at boarding schools. While he’d spent his formative years begging for scraps in the orphanage he used to call home, Nix had more money than God.

  And that was before he’d joined the Lotus Society then became The Facilitator.

  Now? His net worth was in the range of too fucking high.

  “So why are you here?” Christophe asked, not bothering to deny what he’d said.

  “Luna was worried. I promised I would check in on you personally.”

  Luna—or Calavera as she was usually called on the job—had Nix wrapped around her finger, whether he wanted to admit it or not. The way his handler had changed after marrying the woman he’d trained was comical.

  “As you can see, I’m alive.”

  Nix didn’t look amused. “I also came to see if you were still punishing yourself.”

  “I’m not.”

  Nix blatantly looked down at the bottles littering the floor near his fee
t—bottles Christophe had meant to throw out. “Are you quite sure?”

  Scrubbing a hand down his face, Christophe was reminded why he’d avoided Nix—and the others though they weren’t here to annoy him for so long. He didn’t want to think about what happened, let alone discuss it.

  “I’m not drunk now, so that should be answer enough.”

  “Everyone deals with loss differently, Fang.”

  “As much as I’d love this pep talk, Dad, let’s not.”

  Nix might have been almost ten years his senior, but sometimes, he acted older, and Christophe had gotten into the habit of calling him ‘Dad’ whenever he felt a lecture starting.

  It was the easiest way to get the man to change the subject.

  “Would you rather discuss the girl—is she a friend of yours?”

  “Fucking hell, how long have you been watching me?” Nix just smiled, which only annoyed him further. “You need to cut that shit out.”

  It wasn’t much of a surprise. The man dealt in the business of information. Undoubtedly, he spied on everyone. But he was more annoyed that he hadn’t realized Nix was around.

  He wanted to believe Nix was just that good, and this was arguably the case, but he also knew that Mariya had distracted him.

  “No one expects you to mourn the rest of your natural life, Fang. Even me.”

  Even him, because if there was one person who had felt even a fraction of the love he’d had for Aidra, it was Nix. He would even go as far as saying his love might have been just as much.

  Aidra had been in Nix’s life well before Christophe had come along. In fact, she had been one of his first recruits, back before he was ever a trainer with the Lotus Society.

  “I’m working through it,” he finally answered, and this time, there was truth to the words.

  He’d been saying he was fine since the moment he pulled Aidra from that tank, figuring if he said it enough, it would eventually be true.

  He expected Nix to push him on this, but to his surprise, he changed the subject. “What’s the girl’s name?”