by Lea Griffith
They’d seen some action movie, but her responses had taken it to another realm. She was the single most responsive woman he’d ever held, her body seemingly made to be his playground. It was frightening, the level of his need for her, the way his hands clenched on her soft flesh, and the way he wanted to howl to the world that she was his.
The ferocity of his need had literally scared him into denying what he needed from her. He’d talked himself into placing Ruthie in the vanilla category because the thought of his marks on her precious flesh was abhorrent to him. Hurt her?
Never.
But isn’t that what he’d always done?
And always he’d sensed her needs, hovering there beneath her skin, rolling through her muscles as she shuddered against him. She’d become everything to him, and he had determined to never visit his darker, baser needs on her body.
The one night he’d had her under his flogger, in his chains, had nearly broken Tobias. How sweetly she submitted. How freely she gave everything she was by trusting him to care for her. He’d been angry, so damn angry at first. How dare she tempt him with something he’d been denying himself?
But as he marked her, everything inside Tobias tightened and wanted more. Not even he knew how much he wanted from her, how deep those darker needs went, and it terrified him. What if more wasn’t enough? He could break her by losing himself inside her submission.
The fear had been real, with wicked claws that embedded in his heart and refused to release him. So he’d pushed her away and survived on occasional sightings when she visited Atlanta.
The closer he was to her, the more feral his need became.
As he traversed the few miles to Copeland Shipping’s main offices, his thoughts tracked from the past to last night.
Temptress. The woman had been created to be his ultimate temptation. Wide hips; long legs; full, round breasts; and a face kissed by angels, the woman was his light in the darkness. She was all the things he’d always wanted and known he would never have.
Something had been off as he’d walked out on the stage, his sixth sense telling him something wasn’t quite right, but he’d shrugged it off because Savannah had been waiting. Tobias was a Dominant and as such needed the release that playing a submissive provided. It was a way to right his equilibrium, a balancing act of sorts. The freedom he attained through exerting his dominance on a willing woman normally put his mind at ease. But he’d been denying his need more and more, uncomfortable with the lack of release he’d been getting from play.
Though he never had sex with the subs at The Underground, there was a mental and emotional release to be had from engaging in dominance and submission with them. The scenes were becoming bothersome, and Tobias recognized why—none of the women were Ruthie. Yet he forced himself at least twice a month to scene with submissives, though it was leaving him crippled inside to do so.
He grimaced as he parked at the curb, tossed his keys to the valet, and entered the high-rise complex. The warm spring sun streamed in through the huge windows of the building. The sun touched his skin, but he realized nothing warmed him like Ruthie. And he’d sent her away once again.
“Morning, Mr. Edwards,” the doorman called.
Tobias nodded. The hair on the back of his neck stood up and he stopped mid-stride, glancing around trying to locate the source of his discontent. There, to his right, sat a lone man, staring directly at Tobias, a slight smile on his face, a newspaper in his hand.
The man was large but otherwise unremarkable. Dressed in a nondescript gray business suit, he almost blended into the seat beneath him. It was his eyes that caught Tobias’s attention. Even from this distance Tobias could see the man’s eyes were black, emotionless…dead.
A memory niggled at Tobias’s brain, but he shut off that train of thought as his gaze tracked over the man once again. He wasn’t familiar to Tobias, and trying to make the man with the cold, dead eyes into Vessi Gallo was ridiculous.
Besides, Gallo had about a hundred pounds of fat on the big man across the lobby, and he’d more than likely be sitting there with a knife instead of a paper.
He nodded at the man, who nodded in return but didn’t look away, and then Tobias headed to the elevators. He wasn’t able to shake off the disconcerting encounter until he stepped into the lobby of Copeland Shipping.
Dante Shaw drew his attention then, and all thoughts of the man downstairs evaporated.
“Dante,” Tobias greeted as he extended his hand. “I hear you want to do some business.”
“That’s what he said,” Jeremiah added as he walked up. “But he could change his mind once he knows how much we charge. Let’s go to the conference room, shall we?”
All three men headed into the large conference room dominated by a long, wood-and-steel conference table. The room overlooked the city, which was hitting its spring stride. Lush, green trees blew in a slight breeze as people milled about on the sidewalks below.
“Drinks?” Jeremiah asked.
Tobias declined and Jeremiah threw him a look. He’d probably heard about Ruthie’s grand entrance into The Underground last night and was making sure Tobias was fit to engage in shipping-related talk. Tobias nodded at Jeremiah and then glanced at Dante, who stood staring out the windows.
“Scotch,” Dante responded.
The man had gone from enforcer to ruler of the Dixie Mafia in one fell swoop. A bloody takeover, if Tobias understood it correctly, that had spilled into the back alleys of Atlanta a few months ago.
Dante had always been a quiet man, but if you spent any time speaking with him, you realized quickly that he was deep and very well educated. Their paths had often crossed, and for a while, years ago, Dante had been a fixture in his and Jeremiah’s life.
Then Dante’s mother had been killed and Dante had withdrawn, pulling jobs that allowed him to operate alone. Tobias hadn’t realized that Dante aspired to running the DM. Apparently, the well was much deeper than anyone expected. He’d been a brutal enforcer for the previous regime.
Dante had never seemed the career criminal sort, though he’d engaged in just as many illegal activities as Tobias and Jeremiah back in the day. They’d all been looking to make as much money as possible for various reasons. Tobias wondered if he was trying to bring the DM into legitimacy.
Tobias would be honest with the man if he were asked. Legitimacy for Dante Shaw at this point was a pipe dream. The entire City of Atlanta’s police force was on his ass, watching his every move. Dante wouldn’t be able to take a shit without the APD knowing about it. What the man had been thinking playing with Savannah Cavanaugh last night was anybody’s guess. Had it been a calculated risk or just plain lust?
Tobias’s attention was drawn back to the present as Jeremiah handed Dante his scotch and sat down. Tobias took his cue and sat down beside him. Shaw continued to stand, sipping his scotch as a small smile curved his lips.
Dante Shaw’s mother had been Sicilian. His father had been straight Georgia Redneck. His mother’s father was a Mafia Don based in Sicily. Cosa Nostra was no joke—the roots of the criminal underbelly for the entire world might well lie in Sicily’s Mafia. Dante’s father had been a scrapper from the North Georgia area who didn’t mind committing murder for monetary gain. A hundred dollars or a hundred thousand, the amount hadn’t mattered to Dante’s father. How his parents had ever formed any kind of relationship was beyond Tobias, but Dante had his mother’s dark looks and his father’s occasional nasty disposition.
Tobias had watched Dante Shaw slice a man’s tongue from his mouth for lying to him. Crossing the Dixie Mafia, interrupting their primary business of drug dealing, was against the rules. Lying to Shaw got you defanged fast and in a hurry.
“I’ve always loved this city in the spring. The green reminds me of Italy.” Shaw tossed back the rest of his malt and placed the crystal on the table. “Speaking of Italy, gentlemen, shall we discuss shipping lanes at the Port of Naples?”
Tobias didn’t move, but his a
ttention was caught. Jeremiah sat forward and gestured for Dante to sit. The other man did reluctantly.
A minute passed in silence. “You’ve got our attention, Shaw,” Tobias murmured.
“I know three years ago you attempted to procure rights to the port in Naples. As the biggest port in Italy, it would have been a coup for your up-and-coming business. Unfortunately, Vessi Gallo nipped your attempt in the bud and left you”—he glanced at Tobias—“with a reminder not to try again.”
Anger shot through Tobias, red hot, singeing his insides and making his fists clench. Gallo had done way more than that, and being forced to remember those few weeks in Gallo’s hell wasn’t conducive to doing business.
“Be at ease, Tobias,” Shaw urged, his cadence soothing. “I’m not here to remind you of that time. I’m here to give you a chance at payback.”
Tobias reined in his rage and sat back warily. Beside him, Jeremiah was stone cold. Jeremiah was the one who’d found Tobias, cut all to hell and back and suffering from repeated beatings in one of Gallo’s warehouses. Gallo, an underboss for the Sicilian Mafia, had not appreciated anyone attempting to horn in on his shipping lanes. Especially not someone who had ties, albeit former ties, to the Dixie Mafia.
“What makes you think I want payback, Shaw?” Tobias asked in a silky voice.
Dante met his gaze, the deep black of his eyes like a bottomless pit. “Because you and me? We’re the same kind of animal, Edwards. Payback runs in our blood, weaves through our bones and muscles.” The big man shrugged his shoulders elegantly. “And I saw what Gallo did to you. That kind of thing stays with a man until he can get his own back.”
Tobias remained silent, unwilling to give credence to what Shaw said but fully embracing the fact that if he had the opportunity, he would take it. “It would start a war,” Tobias declared.
“War is nothing new to me,” Dante replied easily.
Jeremiah cleared his throat. “I believe you mentioned the Port of Naples. Let’s circle back around to that, shall we?”
Dante smiled again, and in that smile Tobias could see the youths they all used to be. “Money is all of our ultimate objectives, right? I’ve got a need for proprietary shipping lanes, mooring and dock space, along with warehouses for storage. I also have a need for ships.”
Tobias’s internal alarms were ringing. “What’s the cargo?”
Dante met his gaze head on, unflinching. “I have a way of ensuring the Port of Naples becomes a hub for Copeland Shipping.”
“What’s the cargo?” Jeremiah asked in a serious voice.
Tobias and Jeremiah had decided four years ago to go legitimate. They had the combined capital to purchase a single cargo ship—a Maersk E-series behemoth that required reconditioning after being brutalized by pirates six years ago. The corporation that owned it hadn’t wanted to do the reconditioning and willingly sold it to the highest bidders, the newly christened Copeland Shipping.
It had taken them a year to earn enough money to buy another ship, a break-bulk cargo ship that transported manufactured goods. They now had a fleet of twenty ships, doing business all over the world, transporting everything from cars to grain. Copeland Shipping was now a multimillion-dollar company, and growing every day.
Legitimacy had been hard earned, and they would do nothing to damage it.
“The cargo, Shaw—what is the cargo?” Tobias asked.
“Ensure me the ship and all the rest directly through the Port of Naples, and I will deliver the port to you on a silver platter,” Dante intoned, still not answering the question.
Tobias stood and walked to the liquor cabinet. He poured a snifter of Jack Daniel’s and tossed it back in a single swallow. The burn centered him. Outside the window, the blue of the midday sky was turning grayish purple on the horizon. Storms were brewing both inside and out.
“We don’t deal in narcotics or contraband, Dante—that just isn’t our style,” Jeremiah said in a calm voice.
His best friend knew him well. Tobias only ever drank when the devil was riding him, and then he became unpredictable. Not from the alcohol, but from the memories he tried to suppress.
“I will give you twenty-four hours to think about my offer,” Dante said as he stood up and straightened his suit jacket and tie. “Then I will look to another company and offer them what I’ve laid before you.”
“You don’t have the pull to give us Naples,” Tobias bit out.
Dante shrugged. “We grew up together somewhat, but there are many things you don’t know about me. One of those is that my mother’s father is Vincenzo Acciai, the Axe Man, the Don of Sicily. Cosa Nostra blood runs thick in my veins, gentlemen. Naples is my grandfather’s territory. Should I snap my fingers, Gallo will be put in his place and the port will be yours. Think about it. Twenty-four hours.” He nodded at them both and walked out.
“Well, I didn’t see that coming,” Jeremiah said after a long exhale.
“It explains a lot,” Tobias said, his mind reeling from Shaw’s revelation. “He comes from crazy. Even I’ve heard of the Axe Man.”
“He chose us for a particular reason,” Jeremiah mused aloud. “I’m wondering now if his request to join The Underground was a prelude to all of this.”
Tobias continued to stare out the window, watching in awe as lightning ripped the sky apart several miles away. The blue was being chased by the gray, and it reminded him of Ruthie’s eyes. “Could have been, but that seems too subversive for Dante. He was always a straight shooter, which is why I don’t understand his refusal to tell us what the cargo is. You also didn’t see the way he looked at Savannah Cavanaugh last night. That man is a Dominant to his bones.”
Jeremiah came to stand beside Tobias. “So he wanted into the club to meet his kink. I’m sure it doesn’t hurt that he knows we’ll keep his family secrets, and maybe in order to protect us he would keep us in the dark. There isn’t much honor among criminals, but there was always a shitload of it between the three of us.”
“I’m not buying that.” And Tobias didn’t. It was one thing to run drugs, but Dante had assured them when he requested entry into The Underground that he was getting out of that business. Kink and drugs didn’t mix, and neither Tobias nor Jeremiah wanted anything drug-related touching their club. Perhaps he was moving on to weapons? “I don’t know what’s in his mind, or what his true motivation is, but that port is vital to our continued growth. Being locked out of it cost us the Honda deal. Holloway Shipping’s contract is about to expire, and the Honda bid will be back up—this could be a huge move for us.”
Jeremiah nodded and took another deep breath. “We have twenty-four hours. Think about it and let’s revisit it in the morning.” He glanced at Tobias. “I heard the club was particularly interesting last night.”
“Don’t,” Tobias warned.
“If you’re going to hurt her again, please just—”
Tobias hissed in a breath and faced Jeremiah. “I said don’t. I’m trying not to fucking hurt her, Copeland. Now back off. Besides, she should be on a charter flight back to Vegas right now.”
“You sent her back home?”
“No, I sent her back to Vegas,” Tobias answered, and what he’d just said struck him like an anvil in the chest.
He’d sent her away from the only home she’d known, because he didn’t want to hurt her. Yet that was just what he was doing by taking her away from everyone she loved.
“You once told me you stood by me when Daly left the first time because even though she was your sister, your flesh and blood, she hadn’t given me everything she’d promised.”
Tobias stared at his best friend. “And?”
“Then you went on to tell me that it wasn’t Daly’s fault she left this last time, it was mine. I was the one who didn’t trust enough to give her everything.”
“Could you hurry this up, please?” Some nameless emotion trickled through Tobias at Jeremiah’s tone. If he had to name it, he’d call it fear.
“Sure, I
mean, you’ve got shit all to do, so let me hurry up. I stood by and watched you rip Ruthie to pieces last time because I was too wrapped up in my own shit to call you on yours. For someone who can dish out such sage, all-knowing advice, you goddamn suck at taking it.”
“Jesus, Jeremiah, hurry the fuck up already,” Tobias said in exasperation.
“It isn’t Ruthie who scares you, Toby. It’s you scaring yourself. My sister is the strongest woman, besides Daly, I’ve ever known. And she deserves better than some asshole not trusting her enough to give her his everything. Stop playing with her. Let her go or go all the fuck in,” Jeremiah exclaimed, then pivoted on his heel and walked out the conference room door.
Tobias hung his head, the pounding inside matching the ache in his heart. Jeremiah’s words reverberated through his mind and settled in his gut.
It was too late. He’d sent her back to Vegas, hurt her again, and all for what? To save himself?
An impossible task to be sure. The first drop of rain against the enormous glass window rolled slowly down the pane. A perfect teardrop from a sky the color of her eyes.
Tobias sat down, conflicting emotions warring for supremacy. He took a deep breath, watching as the single drop turned to hundreds, then thousands, and all the while the thunder rolled both inside and out.
Chapter 7
The smell of sawdust greeted Ruthie as she stepped into her warehouse space. The sounds of walls being torn down and shelves being installed were a comfort in the midst of her turmoil. The warehouse she’d purchased sat in an abandoned office park close to Atlantic Station. The city was always growing, and in the process certain areas became discarded when the economy tanked. The entire property consisted of three hundred acres of prime land that had never been developed.
