His Fight: The Downing Family Book 5

by Wild, Cassie

  “What brings you in here?” I caught the thin fabric of her sweater between my thumb and forefinger and rubbed it. “And dressed like this. Not that you don’t look pretty, but it’s cold out.”

  “You’ve got thin blood.” She wrinkled her nose at me. “This doesn’t really count as cold yet. It’s in the forties.”

  “So, why were you shivering?” I teased her.

  She rolled her eyes. “I had something I wanted to ask you. I was going to text you, but I had time, so I figured I’d swing by.”

  “Okay.” I glanced at the time, then sought out Franklin, the big guy who handled security when I wasn’t at the desk. He was one of the artists, but he was still building his client base, so he wasn’t as busy as some of the others. “Franklin, you got any appointments slated for the next hour or so?”

  “Nah, man.” He shook his dark head. “We cool. Go on if you want a break.”

  I took Briar’s hand and tugged her outside.

  She glanced back behind me at the shop as the bell jingled, signaling our passage through. “You didn’t have to take your break. It’s only going to take a minute or two.”

  “I’m hungry anyway. You got a jacket or should we just drive?”

  She made a face. “Of course, I’ve got a jacket.”

  We paused long enough to get it, and once she’d pulled it on and buttoned it up, I took her hand, folding my fingers around hers. Her skin was soft under my thumb as I swept it over her wrist, and I could feel her pulse rabbiting under my hand.

  “Are we going anywhere in particular?” she asked, her voice light and easy.

  I grunted. The place I had in mind was a little hole in the wall that served Vietnamese fare on the opposite side of the block. I glanced down the narrow alley that ran between Rudy’s building and the next. Running my tongue across my teeth, I moved toward it, tugging her along behind me.

  “I don’t think there’s anything to eat down there,” Briar said tartly.

  “There could be.” I stopped once we were ten feet down, taking a quick look around to make sure we were alone—and that nobody was watching us.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  I backed her up against the wall, using my own body as a shield as I slid my hand down the front of her body, freeing the buttons of her long jacket, letting my fingers dance across her skin as I went. “I was thinking about having a taste of dessert first.”

  Without waiting for an answer, I freed the top button of her jeans, pulled down the zipper and pushed my hand inside her panties.

  She gasped as I thrust my fingers inside, her eyes going wide and blank, mouth falling open.

  I took her mouth in a rough, hungry kiss, sweeping my tongue past her lips to taste her.

  A ragged moan escaped her as I pulled back.

  I didn’t dare let myself get completely distracted. Not in some place as exposed as this. But even with half my focus on our surroundings, I was able to enjoy the moment as Briar’s cunt softened around my fingers and went wetter and more welcoming with every passing second.

  Soon, she was moving back and forth on my hand.

  She reached down and caught my wrist, pumping her hips furiously.

  “That’s it, baby,” I muttered against her ear. “Fuck yourself on my fingers. Just like that.”

  She whimpered.

  Somewhere off in the distance, a car door banged, and I lifted my head, giving the alley another cursory glance. Nothing, save for the way Briar was riding my hand, seemed out of the ordinary.

  Her pussy was slick and wet, and I was dying for a taste. I was tempted, so tempted, to drag her pants to her knees and thrusts my tongue through her folds, taste her, really taste her, but I wasn’t going to risk somebody coming up on us. Wasn’t going to risk doing that to her.

  Hungry little moans fell from her lips, and as her body tightened, I pumped my fingers more roughly. Sinking my teeth into her lower lip, I whispered, “Come for me, honey…you know you want to…”

  She gasped and went rigid just as I traced a circle around her clit.

  A moment later, she sank back against the wall, her hips still jerking with the force of her climax.

  I pulled my hand from her panties. Still watching her, I lifted my fingers to my lips and licked them.

  Her face flushed. I could see it, even in the dim light.

  “You ready to go eat?”

  Eight

  Briar

  I should have just ordered the appetizer in English, but I tried to pronounce it in Vietnamese and slaughtered it. Nobody said anything, but I knew I slaughtered it. The server nodded politely and wrote it down, but from the corner of my eye, I could see Cormac hiding a grin behind his hand.

  I ignored him and went on to order some pho, figuring the noodle soup would hit the spot on a chilly night like tonight. While I wasn’t exactly freezing, there was no denying winter was definitely on its way.

  I put my menu down and turned to Cormac expectantly, ready to mock his pronunciation, only to be forced to practically pick my jaw up as he ordered everything in what sounded like near-fluent Vietnamese.

  He was grinning at me as the server walked off. “What’s the look for?” he asked.

  “Do you speak Vietnamese?” I demanded, stunned.

  “Better than you do, I’d say.” Then, with a laugh, he shrugged. “No, I don’t. I know a fair amount of Spanish, some French and a bit of German. I’ve worked odd jobs, and I pick up words easily. Comes in handy.” He winked at me. “Also makes ordering food a lot easier.”

  I acted like I was going to throw my chopsticks at him.

  He held up his hands in mock surrender.

  I couldn’t quite keep myself from smiling at him.

  “So what did you want to talk to me about?” he asked, reaching for the beer he’d ordered.

  I figured he either wasn’t concerned about his work finding out he’d been drinking during lunch or that they just didn’t have a policy about such things. I had a feeling it was a bit of both.

  I’d stuck with water. After the wine I’d had at my dad’s, I figured I’d had enough alcohol for the day. Just thinking about my dad made the butterflies in my belly take flight all over again.

  Feeling Cormac’s gaze on me, I reached for my glass and took a drink, buying myself a few more seconds. I was nervous. I hadn’t expected that, and when the nerves had come on back at the tattoo shop, they’d caught me by surprise.

  I almost chickened out, almost blurted out something lame about going to see a movie or something, but I didn’t let myself.

  Instead, I fixed a smile on my face and asked, “Do you have plans for Thanksgiving?”

  “Plans? No.” He snorted like the idea was ludicrous. “Probably find someplace open that delivers, order a pizza or something and watch one of the games on TV.”

  “That’s it?”

  His eyes softened on my face. “Darlin’, I don’t much keep in touch with my family. We haven’t talked in years. Doubt they’re looking to have me drop in for a bit of turkey and mashed potatoes.”

  He said it in a kind enough voice, and there was no animosity in his eyes. I didn’t know why, but somehow, that made it even…sadder.

  My family wasn’t perfect, but I knew if I needed them, they’d be there for me.

  How much must it suck to not have that?

  As quickly as they had arrived, the nerves faded, and I found myself reaching across the table for his hand.

  “Come have Thanksgiving dinner with me and my family,” I said.

  I think I could have sprouted a second nose and surprised him less.

  He blinked, then shook his head as if to clear it. After a few seconds, he said, “I’m sorry, Briar, but I’m not sure I heard you right. You want me to join you and your family for Thanksgiving? Me?”

  “Yeah, you.” I smiled at him, self-consciousness stirring under his intense, puzzled gaze. “I mean, it’s just a meal, Cormac. A big meal, sure, fancier than what we
normally eat, but a meal nonetheless.”

  Several seconds passed without any response from him, and just as it started to be awkward, the server appeared.

  She put down a plate, and in heavily accented English, she announced, “Xíu mai. Pork and shrimp dumpling.” She swept off to deliver plates to two more tables, and I used the appearance of the food as a distraction.

  Scooping one of the steaming dumplings onto my plate, I cut into it. My belly rumbled at the scent of it, but I didn’t take a bite just yet.

  “Why are you inviting me over, Briar?” Cormac asked softly.

  I glanced up at him. “Because I’d like you to come with me.” I shrugged. “There’s nothing complicated about it. If you’d like to come, then come. But if you don’t want to…it’s not a problem. I’ll understand.”

  He narrowed his eyes slightly, leaning back in his chair. “Do I have to like…wear a suit or something?”

  “No.” I couldn’t keep from laughing. “A decent pair of jeans and a nice shirt that isn’t a t-shirt will suffice. Is that doable?”

  He made a big show of grumbling, but after a few seconds, he nodded. “I guess. Fine. I’ll come.”

  I managed to keep my expression rather somber as I replied, “I appreciate the sacrifice.”

  “You should. I only break out my good jeans for important people.” He nimbly used his chopsticks on one of the dumplings and winked at me before taking a bite.

  * * *

  I walked with him back to the shop, carrying the rest of my pho in a plastic container tucked into a paper bag. I hadn’t been able to eat even half of it.

  Cormac, on the other hand, had demolished three of the dumplings, a cup of pho, and a dish of stir-fried beef curry. As big as he was, I’d imagined he could pack away some serious food, but seeing it in action was something else.

  “You sure you don’t want me to take care of the rest of that pho for you?” he asked, giving me a polite smile.

  “I think I can handle it,” I said. “You eat enough for two people, you know.”

  “Hey, I’m a growing boy.” He patted his flat belly.

  “Whatever.”

  Outside Rudy’s, I put my food into the car, which was, thankfully, still exactly where and as I’d left it.

  After closing the door, I turned to Cormac.

  He stood closer than he’d been when I turned to open the door. A little off-balance at his nearness, I reached up and grasped his jacket to steady myself.

  “Don’t let the pretty doc fall, Cormac,” somebody said.

  I looked up at the sound of the saccharine sweet voice and saw Melia striding our way. She held a paper sack with a familiar logo on it in one hand. The neon lights of one of Philly’s most popular sandwich joints glimmered in the night about halfway down the block.

  In her free hand, Melia held a cigarette. A few feet away, she stopped and cocked her hip, lifting the cigarette to her lips as she studied us.

  She took a long drag, then exhaled, her eyes shifting toward me. “Aren’t you one of the Downings?”

  My mouth went dry. My heart started to hammer away inside my rib cage. That question was almost always followed by insinuations or outright condemnation.

  I gave a short nod, bracing myself. I didn’t let myself look at Cormac.

  “Interesting family you have, doc.” Her mouth formed a sneer on the last word. “My daddy always had some choice words about yours, you know.”

  My face flamed.

  I didn’t want to know what kind of choice words her father might have to say about mine, or why.

  My brain, always so quick with a response, failed me, and I struggled to form an answer.

  My reaction seemed to amuse her, and she slanted a look over at the man still in my arms. “You’re new in town, Cormac. You know anything about the Downings? Honey, the stories I could tell you…”

  I felt sick. I thought I just might hurl up the meal we’d just shared, right there on the sidewalk, in front of Cormac, Melia, and anybody else who might be watching.

  Cormac’s hand came down on my shoulder, and he squeezed.

  I barely heard him over the roaring in my brain. But I did hear him. And gratitude burst through me.

  “Melia, what gave you the idea that I was interested in any bloody story you might have to tell? From you or anybody else? Especially about somebody’s fucking father. Last I checked, I was spending time with Briar—not her father.”

  Melia shifted her angry eyes to his face for a moment, then looked back at me, her gaze hard and ugly.

  “Toddle on back into the shop, Melia,” Cormac said, his tone dismissive.

  She gave us both a dirty look, then turned sharply on her heel.

  As she disappeared through the door to Rudy’s, Cormac turned back to me. He lifted a hand to my cheek. The touch drove back some of the noise in my head, and it got even better when he kissed me. His lips moved.

  I half-expected him to start asking.

  But all he did was say, “Thanks for coming by, love.”

  Nine

  Cormac

  It was a call I’d been dreading.

  It was Tuesday, later in the afternoon, and if it had come earlier in the morning, or even five or six hours later, I could have ignored it and pretended I was asleep.

  But that wasn’t the case.

  When the phone rang, I was sitting in front of a TV that should have been thrown out a good ten years earlier. The picture was so fuzzy, it was all but impossible to see, so the damn thing served more as a radio than an actual television—and the sound was pure crap too.

  I used the telly more for background noise than anything else, so the fact that it sounded like shit wasn’t a real problem for me.

  I had a can of lukewarm soda open in front of me and the remains of a sandwich as I skimmed the info on the screen of a used laptop I’d bought a few days ago. For the past couple of hours, I’d been digging around online, trying to convince myself I was working.

  The ringing of the phone distracted me, but not in a good way.

  Before I even looked at the display, I knew who was calling.

  With dread gripping my insides, I answered, fighting to keep my voice neutral, “Hello.”

  “Cormac. My friend.”

  I wanted to tell the son-of-a-bitch that I was no friend of his, but it wasn’t worth antagonizing a man like Marcos over something so trivial, especially when I knew I’d end up antagonizing him over something a lot more important before our association was over.

  “Hey, Marcos. How are you doing?”

  “I’m well enough. Annoyed by this stupid probation, but it will be over before too long.”

  I flicked a look at my computer. Yeah, I knew about his arrest. He’d had his goons break into the condo where Briar’s brother- and sister-in-law lived. He’d been with them and had been charged as well. His smooth-talking hadn’t been able to get around the fact that Brooks Downing had off-site video surveillance.

  I suspected Castellanos money would get Marcos around the worst of the charges, but I was still amused that he been charged. I’d been curious enough to do some digging, and the judge had agreed with the prosecuting attorney that Marcos posed a flight risk, so Marcos had been ordered to surrender his passport, and he’d been ordered not to leave the Philadelphia area until his trial was complete. To make sure he was complying with those orders, he had to check in, personally, with his probation office every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday—and if it was discovered he was flying anywhere, he could spend the rest of the time between now and his trial date sitting in jail.

  “I bet,” I said, slumping back in the seat. “That whole probation thing’s a pain in the ass. Guess it’s not making things any easier for the business with you and your family either.”

  A taut silence passed. It only lasted a second, but it was enough. I let myself smile a little. I’d wondered if there was something…unsettled between Marcos and his father. It appeared, on the surface at le
ast, that the Downing and Castellanos family had decided to go into business together. Having Marcos fuck all that up wouldn’t make the head of the Castellanos family very happy.

  I’d only had limited dealings with Basilio, but my opinion of the man was that he was incredibly…traditional. He might get bored with his partnerships and decide to take action then, but to do something when they were just starting out would probably be bad manners in Basilio’s opinion.

  It was entirely likely Marcos was flying solo here, not just without his father’s approval or backing, but in direct defiance.

  That could be useful information later on down the road.

  “I’m seeing to my father’s business matters here in Philadelphia, as well as tending to my own,” Marcos said in a voice decidedly cooler. “I’m hardly pining away for lack of things to do.”

  “I imagine you’ve got a lot of things to keep you busy.” Self-important toad.

  “Jerrel tells me that Briar Downing seems to be rather…fond of you.”

  There was something sly about the way he said it. He almost made the word fond seem dirty. I clenched my hand into a fist, then relaxed it, knowing I had to be careful how I spoke, how I sounded. “We get along well enough, yeah.”

  “Hmmm. I know I wanted you to find an in with her family, but it seems to me this is actually the ideal in.” He paused a moment before adding, “You’re following me, aren’t you, Cormac?”

  “I believe I am.”

  “I don’t want some lukewarm statement, Cormac. I want you to commit to it. You’ve got a chance to get close to Briar, and I want you to take it. I want you to get as close as humanly possible. Fuck her ten times a day, more. Make her beg you for it. Hell, if you have a chance, get it on video. I could sell that shit and humiliate not only her but her entire family. She’s their little princess, and they’d lose it if she fell from her pedestal. Are you following me, Cormac?”

  I forced my grinding teeth apart. “I get what you’re after.”

  He kept going, and it was a good thing because he was too distracted to notice the thread of temper in my voice.