Pretty Dirty (Dirty Bad Things Book 2)

by Madison Faye

  We move faster, but it’s still not fast. We let it build, our lips seared together and our bodies rocking against the other’s as the pressure rumbles. Every cell in my body starts to tense up, my skin starts to tingle, and the aching heat between my legs begins to roar hotter.

  “Come for me, love.”

  The orgasm hits me like a bomb when his words tease through my ear. I scream into his neck, clinging to him so damn tightly as the climax explodes through me. Gray follows right after, his powerful hands holding me tight as he buries every inch of his cock inside of me and lets go. I can feel his hot cum splashing so deep inside of me, filling me up entirely until it leaks from where we join, making my thighs slick with both of us.

  And we stay just like that, moving slowly, until we do it all over again.

  “I have to go work,” he finally groans, his fingers tracing up and down my back. It’s later, after our second round of the morning, and we’re lying in a heap in his bed.

  “Well, someone has to to keep this roof over my head,” I grin mischievously at him. “I mean, I’m becoming quite accustomed to a certain standard of living and I—”

  I burst into giggles as he starts to tickle me, rolling on top of me and teasing me mercilessly until the tears are streaming down my face and I’m begging for mercy. He stops, and pulls me into a slow, long kiss, letting it linger until I never want to leave those lips.

  “Are you okay here while I’m gone?”

  I nod, a big dopey grin on my face.

  “There’s food in fridge, and the place is all yours to do whatever you want.”

  “I was thinking about jumping online and making some quick cash on this cam website you might’ve heard about.”

  He arches a sharp brow at me, and I grin widely. “Teasing.”

  “I’ll try and make it a quick office trip. I won’t be gone long.”

  “You mean your office with the mob?”

  He groans. “Don’t remind me.”

  “How’d you end up with them?” I say quietly. “The Morettis.”

  A darkness crosses his face, and I quickly shake my head and take his hands in mine. “Sorry, that was pushy. You don’t have to tell—”

  “My dad worked for Gino. He never told me the details, but I’m pretty sure they had something on him. He was always pushing for me to go get my law degree too and then get the fuck out of Vegas.”

  “I didn’t realize you were from here.”

  “Oh, born and raised on roulette and Daddy-O’s pizza.”

  My jaw drops. “How the fuck did I not catch that!”

  “Catch what?”

  I roll my eyes. “Big Daddy Vegas? As in, Daddy-O’s Big Vegas-Style Pizza?”

  He grins and I groan. “Oh my God, that should have been a dead giveaway who you were. That fucking delivery guy gets off at my floor all the damn time before realizing you’re the top one. And the smell makes me want to murder someone for a slice.”

  He chuckles, pulling me close. “How about we skip the premeditated homicide and I just get you a pie tonight?”

  “I’m ready to kill if you don’t.”

  He chuckles.

  “Sorry, you were talking about your dad.”

  He shrugs. “Well, I did get away. Got my ass into Stanford, and then joined the Marines.”

  My brows shoot up as my jaw drops.

  “Afghanistan. Three tours,” he says quietly, nodding down at some of the scars he still hasn’t talked about on his chest.

  “I didn’t know…”

  “I didn’t tell you yet.” He winks at me. “When I got out, I was all set to go anywhere but here and start my own practice. But then my dad passed a little more suddenly than I ever would have expected. My mom was deep into Alzheimer's by then too, and I was about to come home anyways to help settle her somewhere that could take care of her, but then Gino dropped the bomb on me. Apparently, my dad ‘owed the family’ and guess who got to inherit that bullshit?”

  I squeeze his hand and nuzzle into him. “I’m so sorry, Gray.” I sigh heavily. “Seems like ‘owing a debt’ is a recurring theme with the Morettis.”

  “You have no id—” he stops himself and grimaces. “Well, I guess you do.”

  He kisses me slowly, and I get lost in him all over again.

  “I really do have to go,” he whispers. “But stay put, relax, and tonight we’ll get some of that Daddy-O’s pizza.”

  “And get me some clothes?”

  “Do we have to?”

  I grin. “Nope.”

  I miss him when he’s gone. Badly, and in every way I suppose you can miss a person. I’ve never really missed anyone before. This is new. All of this is new.

  I lounge in bed for a while before I finally get up. I grab a t-shirt of his and a pair of boxers — both of which I’m swimming in, but then, I don’t really care. They smell like him, and really, that’s all I care about at the moment.

  I explore his place, looking where I haven’t yet, my jaw dropping more and more at the size and glamor of the place. He’s right — he might work for some really terrible people, but it seems to pay insanely well.

  In his study, there are pictures on the wall. Some are of him and an older man who must be his dad. Others are him and two other guys, in Marine fatigues in the desert. Next to the pictures is a law degree from Stanford.

  I’m snooping, but I can't help it. I want to know everything about him, and not in some creepy psycho way, but just because I’m falling for him so hard, I just want to know what layer comes next. I open drawers, glancing over files and small trinkets here and there — a collection of fishing lures in drawer in the hallway closet, poker chips from casinos that don’t exist anymore in one of the kitchen drawers.

  I finally find myself in a spare room that might be a guest room if there was a bed in here. There’s a chest of drawers, and as I’m poking through old sweaters of his, my fingers suddenly brush something glass.

  A picture frame.

  I pause, pulling it free from beneath the sweaters and blankets, and when I see it, suddenly everything slows down.

  Oh my God.

  The picture is of a woman…and a small child with dark hair and dark eyes.

  The room spins around me. My chest feels tight, and I’m dropping the picture back into the drawer and staggering out of the room in a daze. My head spins, and it feels like there’s a weight pressing down on me that I can’t shrug off.

  He has a family. Or had, or….fuck, I don’t even know. All I know is, I can’t breathe and I need air.

  I slip off the clothes of his that only moments before made me melt, and instead yank on a pair of jeans and a shirt that we bought yesterday. There’s a set of keys on a hook in the kitchen with a “PH1” tag on them — Penthouse 1, Gray’s unit number — which must be spares. I snag them in a blur as I stagger out of his place and hammer the button for the elevator.

  I have no right to be snooping like I was, but the picture I’ve found is burning a hole in my heart. I want to ask why he has it, or who they are, or why the little boy in the picture looks just like him. I want to know why it’s hidden in a drawer, and I want to ask myself why finding it feels like someone’s stabbing me in the chest.

  My nerves are jangling being outside of his place like this, and my eyes flicker up and down the hallway as I push the button for the elevator. Running off like this, without Gray around, is stupid, what with the whole thing with Joey. And I know how crazy and paranoid it is for me to be looking for him, like he might jump out of a shadow, but I can’t help it. I can’t help that I’m freaking out, because the fact that I’m completely falling for Gray is making me freak out.

  Who’s the kid in the picture, Gray?

  Or, fuck, who’s the woman? Someone he had a kid with? I’m both furious with him for not telling me, but also furious at myself for thinking that he should have. It’s none of my damn business, and I’m sure it was buried in a drawer for reason. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t s
till burn.

  Badly.

  The elevator descends, and when it stops at the ground floor, the chime dings. The doors open. I’m still completely drowning in my thoughts as I step out, but when I hear the sound of the gun hammer being clicked back, the whole world cracks around me. My head snaps up, and the scream chokes in my throat as I look down the barrel of the gun right to Joey Luco’s sneering, furious face.

  Oh, God…

  “Come here,” he hisses, lunging into the elevator, grabbing me by the wrist and yanking me close as he jams the door close button.

  “You little fucking ungrateful bitch,” he spits out. He glances down at the spare keys in my hand with the “PH1” tag on them, and suddenly, I can see a light going on in his eyes.

  “You're staying here? Jesus H Christ, bitch, whose place is that?”

  “No one’s! Joey, please—”

  “Don’t you fucking Joey please me, you little slut,” he roars, slamming me up against the wall of the elevator and shoving the gun in my face. I cry out, shuddering as the cold metal presses into my neck. He turns and jams the “penthouse” level button, and the elevator stars to rise.

  “You know your new guy likes to hit people when their guard ain’t up. Like a little bitch.”

  He leans in close, and his grin turns downright wicked.

  “But you know what? I can do that too.”

  The punch comes hard, right in the stomach. I gasp hoarsely, the wind knocked out of me and my whole body doubling over in pain. The doors open, and Joey yanks the keys out of my hand as he drags me by the wrist from the elevator. He eyes Gray’s door and jams the keys into the lock.

  “Why don’t we wait here for your little sucker-punch bitch of a man, huh? How about we wait here, and when he shows up, I put a bullet in him. Not to kill him, but so that he bleeds out while he watches me take my fucking time with you.”

  When he goes to open the door, I try and lunge away from him, but his hand yanks me back hard. I scream, but he covers my mouth as he drags me into Gray’s place and slams the door shut.

  Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck.

  He punches me again, knocking me to the ground as I cry out weakly. Gray’s landline phone starts to ring, and I know it’s probably a sales call or someone looking for him. But as the pain aches through me, I fantasize that it’s him, calling to check in on me.

  Joey’s fist hits me again, and I grunt as I hit the floor again.

  Gray’s not watching this time. He’s not on the camera, a floor away and and ready to come save me. This is just me and Joey.

  …And I’m not sure I’m walking away this time.

  15

  Gray

  Fuck.

  I’m missing her. A lot.

  I sit in my car for a solid five minutes, just thinking about her. Zoe. My Zoe. The girl who came out of nowhere and landed in my lap. The girl with the broken past and the shadows behind her eyes that I’ve never seen in anyone’s besides my own. My pretty little bad girl. My dirty little secret.

  Mine.

  There’s never been a girl who made me feel this way. Never. I’ve been close, I suppose. There was Michelle, but that just left a bitter taste in my mouth. Michelle was years ago, and it turns out, Michelle wasn’t looking for love, she was looking for a roof and stability. Michelle was looking for a father figure for her son, Jason. And the fact that he looked damn near just like me was a bonus for her I guess. Jason was a sweet kid, for sure, and Michelle was a sweet enough woman, but that wasn’t love. That was me grabbing at normalcy after Afghanistan, and her seeing that and jumping on the opportunity.

  I was mad about it all before, for a little while. When she was pushing marriage, and pushing for me to adopt Jason — all that shit when it turns out she was still fucking Jason’s deadbeat dad. I was pissed, sure, but I didn’t hold onto it. Michelle wasn’t what I was looking for, and in spite of all the bullshit, I hope the she’s found whatever stability she was looking for. For Jason, at least.

  But again, that was years ago.

  Eventually, I sigh, get out of my car, and head inside. I work from home a lot, but I do keep an office upstairs from Gino Moretti’s restaurant, The Venetian. I know, how fucking mob cliche, right? I slip in the back door by the kitchen, and say hi to Lincoln, the chef, who makes a fucking mean cacio e pepe. I shoot the shit with him for a second before I head up the stairs to my office. I just need to file some shit for Gino, and then I can get back to—

  I swing the door to my office open, and they spring apart.

  Oh what the fuck.

  The strikingly beautiful, red-haired woman is Quinn Moretti, or you could also call her Mrs. Moretti, as in Gino Moretti’s wife. No one knows how he swung that. I mean, he’s rich, but she’s not the gold digger type. She’s also insanely out of his league, and if we’re being honest, Gino has the personality, charm, and sense of humor of a piece of roadkill.

  Gorgeous, much much younger, smart, and sharp. It makes no sense that she’s with a sixty-year-old degenerate like Gino. But then, it’s not my boss and the head of the Moretti crime family that she’s springing away from, panting with flushed cheeks and swollen lips.

  …Its Roman, my buddy.

  Gino’s security detail.

  Her bodyguard.

  We all freeze — Quinn looking away, Roman looking right at me, and me looking right back at the two of them.

  “Roman was just helping me find my earring,” Quinn says quickly, chancing a look at me.

  “Yeah, he’s…” I clear my throat. “Yeah he’s good at that I guess.”

  Roman looks away.

  “Especially when those earrings are in my office.”

  My buddy whips his head back and glares at me. I just smile thinly.

  “You guys find what you were looking for?”

  “Yep,” Roman says quickly. Much too quickly.

  “Fantastic.”

  I want to laugh, but this is also no laughing matter. I didn’t see them, but c’mon, I know what I would have seen if the door had opened a second sooner. One of my best friends, with his hands all over and his lips kissing our mob boss’s wife.

  Yeah, that's bad. That is real bad. That’s “you become part of the foundation of a new casino and no one ever fucking hears from you again” bad.

  “Well, I should go.” Quinn smiles quickly at me. “Nice to see you, Grayson.”

  “Ma’am.”

  I nod brusquely as she steps past me, red faced and avoiding my grin as she steps from my office. Roman makes a move to follow, but him I stop with a finger to his chest.

  “Sit your ass down,” I hiss.

  “Fuck off, I have to—”

  “Now.”

  I shove him back into my desk chair and he glares at me.

  “Don't give me that look.”

  “Fuck off, Gray.”

  “Are you fucking insane?!” I hiss at him.

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “The fuck I don’t. Quinn fucking Moretti?” I slowly shake my head at him. “There are four fucking million girls out there on the Strip with all sorts of issues who’d be willing spread their legs for a guy like you.”

  Roman says nothing, his glare hardening.

  “You got a thing for redheads? Fuck it, that takes the pool down to like, what, one and a half million? Jesus fuck, Roman!”

  “Leave it,” he growls with a warning tone.

  “I can’t.”

  “You should.”

  “I don’t want to see you die, man,” I say quietly, glaring right back at him.

  “I know what I’m doing.”

  I laugh. “No, you don’t. Or if you do, you don’t know the consequences of what you’re—”

  “Trust me,” he hisses. “I fucking do.” He shakes his head at me. “And where the fuck have you been the last few weeks man? I could’ve used some of this fucking lawyer wisdom then, you know.”

  “Don’t blame me for you being a fucking mo
ron.”

  He chuckles. “You’ve been a ghost, Gray.”

  “Busy.”

  “Bullshit, what’s her name?”

  “Don’t turn this around.”

  Roman groans. “This isn’t another Michelle is—”

  “No,” I snap viciously. He shuts up and I sigh, shaking my head.

  “Drink?”

  Roman nods. “Yeah, actually.”

  I pour us some scotches from the mini bar in the corner of my office and slide a glass this way across my desk.

  “So, this Dylan thing. With the fuckin’ porn movie.”

  I groan, shaking my head. “Yeah, I know.”

  “Can we stop it?”

  “Not sure. Nico seems dead set on making it happen. The guy puts the scum back in scumbag.”

  “Quinn went and met with the girl — Rose. Dylan’s co-star I guess.” His face darkens. “She’s young, man.”

  “I heard,” I growl.

  “And not a porn actress or anything. They’ve got her on the hook for some shit, and they’re forcing her as much as they are Dylan. Quinn says it’s going to be her first time.” Roman looks at the floor with rage on his face. “The whole fucking porn is about her ‘losing it’ on camera.” He suddenly swears viciously, and it looks like he might put his fist — scotch glass and all — through my wall, before I reach out and put a hand on his arm.

  “Easy, Roman.”

  He takes a breath, but I know why this is hitting him deep. Roman’s sister, Delilah, got into some bad people young too. Probably around Rose’s age. Heroin, crack — you name it. And then she went the way a lot of girls with issues and addictions go in this town — porn. Not a real studio either, some shady fucking “just some guys with a camera” shit.

  She OD-ed the night after the shoot.

  “I’m good,” he finally says, looking up and smiling thinly.

  I slowly shake my head. “How the fuck did we get here?”

  Roman shrugs. “I drove.”

  I snort a laugh. He knows what I mean.

  “Life is fucking weird, man,” he growls, sipping his drink. “Who could’ve guessed we’d ever end up back in this damn town?”

  We’re silent for a moment, when I clear my throat.