by Jenn Stark
Picked up? Did he have some sort of tracker—was that what he’d been doing when she thought he was fumbling around in the fridge, looking at his tech?
“Hey!” Maria yelped with as much surprise as she could muster, legitimately struggling as Warrick’s full weight came down on her. The beer bottle went crashing to the floor, and Warrick spouted off a slurred expletive. Then she got him upright—too upright. He nearly toppled over backward until he seemed to get his bearings.
“Okay. Okay, honey. I got you, sweetheart.” Maria started giggling between each word, because Warrick’s eyes were wide, almost panicked. Had he never tried to act drunk before, or was this simply part of the charade? Because he was doing a damned fine job of it. “We’re going to get you to the couch—the couch, okay? You’ll do better on the couch.” And she would do better on the couch, especially if they were supposed to end up all over each other for the benefit of someone watching them. Having Warrick stretched out in bed with her invited possibilities she couldn’t quite wrap her head around.
“Couch,” Warrick agreed solemnly, and then he started laughing too, his big shoulders shaking, his breath coming in rushing gasps.
“Hold on, hold on there, be careful, big guy, breathe in, breathe out…slow it down.” Maria kept up the patter as she guided Warrick to the couch, settling him down on it. “You all right here for a minute while I clean up the beer?”
“Get me a beer?” he asked, then dissolved into honest-to-God giggling. For a moment, Maria could only stare at him. Then she straightened.
She smiled. “Of course. I’ll be right back.”
As she turned, tossing the words over her shoulder, the reality of what was going on here crashed back home. Oh my God. Warrick had said there were cameras and bugs in the room—but how on earth could he know that? He hadn’t even really looked.
Had to be a tracker. Some sort of high tech…something, that was way above her pay grade.
“Hey, you need me to help you—”
“No! No, I’m good. You stay there.” Maria hustled into the kitchen and threw towels over the broken beer bottle, sopping up most of the liquid as she did. The towels were from Goodwill, and she had no interest in fishing the glass out of them, so they went in the trash. When she turned around, she looked out through the kitchen cutout—Warrick was up again, poking at his phone.
“Um, honey?” she asked.
“Got it!” He grinned as Ella Fitzgerald’s unmistakably warbling voice suddenly filled the apartment. Maria blinked. He was playing mood music? Or…oh. Maybe his phone held the tech he needed. That made a lot more sense.
Maria dived into the fridge for two beers, popping off the caps. She kicked the fridge closed as she came around the corner, then paused as she scanned the room. No Warrick.
Then he appeared from her bedroom.
“Hey, babe.” The voice was rough, gravelly, the body muscled and tight, and the clothes—
“Um, you suddenly get too hot?” Maria managed, setting down the beers on the coffee table as Warrick strolled back into the room. Now he was wearing nothing but a pair of pajama pants slung low on his hips, and his hipbones suddenly fascinated Maria far more than anything in her life. His body looked made for pajamas, she decided. Pajamas and—
Stop it, she ordered herself. She looked up as Warrick reached her, letting him pull her into first a hug, and then a slow dance around the cramped apartment to Ella Fitzgerald’s beautiful melody.
“You good?” he asked over her head.
“Oh, I’m good,” she sighed against him, the adrenaline dropping away all in a rush. Maybe they could sit back down on the couch, cuddle for a while, fall asleep. That could work. She was so unbelievably exhausted, and the tequila she had consumed was legitimately starting to hit her. If they could sleep, truly relax, forget about the cameras, Takio’s thugs, her own unruly reactions to Warrick’s presence…that would be good. That would—
“Fantastic,” Warrick murmured. “Because I think you’re overdressed.”
Warrick didn’t know why Maria was so stressed all of a sudden. She’d been fine in the kitchen, getting him to the couch. She had to know this was only going to go so far. He wasn’t actually going to have sex with her on the couch, especially now that they had an audience. But suddenly she jumped whenever he shifted, and her eyes as they looked back at him were panicked, unsure.
But he hadn’t been lying to her. There were two cameras in the small living room, another in the bedroom. Human tech had come a long way since he’d first walked the earth, but one of the advantages of being a demon, was—you knew when you were being watched.
And they were absolutely being watched. By whom, he didn’t know. Chances were, however, the goons doing the surveillance were expecting him and Maria to behave a certain way, or alarm bells would start ringing.
Maria apparently thought the same way. “I’ll—uh—go change.”
“Not necessary,” Warrick said, and it really wasn’t. When it came to adorning the female body, he’d never seen the need for clothing. Jewelry—yes. But flimsy lingerie or materials with soft fuzzy yarns? None of that was good. Less was far better.
“Let me help you with this,” he breathed. He eased Maria back onto the couch, offering her a smile when she lifted a hand to her head, shaking it as if she was a little tipsy. She was a little tipsy, he realized belatedly. She was also genuinely nervous. They’d already seen each other naked, so he doubted it was because of him. Had to be the cameras. Even though she was undercover—and she had a rock-solid body—Maria couldn’t be completely chill having unknown somebodies watching her strip down.
Come to think of it, he wasn’t completely chill with that either.
“You gotta trust me, babe,” he said with a leering grin as her gaze snapped to his. He kept his gaze hard and steady though, trying to communicate more than his words could convey. You are safe. You are protected. “I totally got you.”
Finally, Maria’s mouth eased into a smile. “You do, huh?” she teased. “Seems to me like you were the one who just dropped your favorite beer all over my floor.”
“But look here, there’s another one,” he said, lofting one of the beers from the coffee table. “It’s like magic.”
“Magic, huh?” she repeated, rolling her eyes. But her manner was smoother now, easier, as she—finally—relaxed. “I can work with magic.”
For a moment, Warrick wondered what Maria would think if she really understood the truth about him. He wasn’t magic, not exactly…but he was something she’d never experienced before, something she arguably should never encounter. He was a demon, the lowest scourge of God’s angelic realms…and yet, as a one-time angel, there were still things he could do, things he could teach Maria. That had been the initial command of the Fallen, after all—to teach. To show. Though the angels who had remained in God’s bright embrace had never wanted to believe it, God hadn’t initially condemned the Fallen for simply wishing to bridge the gap between humanity and the heavens. He’d let them fall, after all.
And then He’d given them their charge to share their knowledge.
It was only when they’d failed that charge that they were damned.
But here, with Maria in his arms, Warrick remembered what it had been like before…when he had been worthy of love, of hope. It truly had been magic, for all that he couldn’t share that full truth with Maria.
But he could share this moment with her, right now. And that was more than he deserved.
“I’m glad to hear it,” Warrick murmured, leaning up to kiss her soft lips. Maria might still smell like sky despite all the hours in the club, but she tasted like tequila. He’d barely registered the impact of the heady drink when he’d been in the bar, but on her lips, it became far more intoxicating. She kissed him, tentatively at first, then more deeply, then reached for his head, pulling him close as she kissed a trail toward his ears.
“We need to put on a show,” she whispered urgently.
“I know.”
As she shifted back, Warrick’s grin turned more intent. “Speaking of magic…I think it’s time we made your clothes disappear.”
“Warrick!” Maria’s surprised reply was stifled by a giggle as he reached for her shirt, pulling it over her head in one smooth movement. Her breasts fell easily in her lacy bra, and he left them enclosed in the soft fabric for a minute longer, instead going for her jeans.
“I’m going to freeze,” she protested, but only halfheartedly, as Warrick slipped down the zipper of her jeans and peeled the warm fabric down and away from her waist. The skin of this part of her body still fascinated him, its smooth surface and untouched by the weathering sun, the deep rich tan of her arms and lower legs nowhere in evidence here. He’d seen human bodies for millennia, every size, shape, and skin color. He’d also seen his share of tan lines, but once again, there was something about the feature on Maria’s body that transcended anything he’d ever seen before. She was simply—perfect.
“Yes,” he breathed as he pulled her jeans over her narrow hips, down her muscled legs. She’d already kicked off her sandals, so in short order, the jeans lay crumpled on the floor, while Maria watched him with a smile on her face that was less goofy relaxation and more ready-for-anything determination.
He didn’t know what made him do it, then. Even as his head dipped down, his lips parting, he could hear Maria gasp above him as she realized his intent. But if he was honest with himself, he wasn’t only doing this for the camera. That was what he would say later, what he might even convince himself of, but all he really wanted to do in this moment was tilt his head forward this last remaining inch and drag his lips across the soft black fabric of her lacy underwear, the section that made a delicate vee in the apex of her thighs. He inhaled the mingling scents of skin and musk and cocoa butter, and almost thought he’d pass out. Instead, he fisted his hands to either side of Maria’s hips and held himself perfectly still, tracing a line gently—so gently—along that scrap of cloth until she sighed heavily and stretched out beneath him.
“Warrick,” she practically moaned, and whether it was for the camera or not, he honestly didn’t give a damn anymore. He closed his teeth around the thin string that arched over her hipbone, pulling the fabric taut. Maria hissed, her head now resting against the cushions of the couch, her hands lifting and her fingers tangling in his hair. She shivered as he licked his way over the sensitive curve of her hipbone, along the soft curve of her belly. Though it was everything he could do not to pull her panties free entirely, that wasn’t the script here, and he knew it. He had no interest in anyone seeing the perfection of Maria’s body the way he had in the shower room. In fact, he wasn’t sure if he could handle anyone other than him ever seeing that again.
Which was ludicrous. And yet…
Warrick pushed himself higher as a keening need built up within him, the blood that drained out of his head into points south not helping his discernment. But then his face was level once more with Maria’s beautiful breasts, her long legs clamped to his sides as he paused another moment to study the symmetry of her form. The soft mounds of her breasts shifted easily under his touch, the nipples pebbling as he drifted his mouth over yet another swath of delicate fabric.
His mouth opened with a guttural growl, and he took a taut, dusky nipple into his mouth, tugging gently as Maria arched beneath him. He hadn’t touched a woman this way, so intimate, so intently, in longer than he could remember, but his body certainly remembered what could, should, must come next. Heat swamped him, practically radiating from her, and Maria purred, her legs sliding up over his hips and crossing behind him, locking her tight.
Warrick’s eyes almost crossed.
He leaned up farther, rocking into her, and Maria sighed as he shifted his body higher. Now he was even with the sensually graceful curve of her neck, and he drifted his mouth along it, resting a long moment on her fluttering heartbeat, reveling in the knowledge that he was doing this to her, that he was causing her pulse to jump, her body to relax and open to him, her skin to warm. Her hands had fallen away from his head, and she lay on the couch now without an ounce of the panic, the real fear he’d felt in her moments before.
And he’d done this. With his mouth, his touch, his skin against hers.
Him. No one but him.
Warrick edged up yet farther, pressing against Maria’s body, feeling the long, slow, languorous breathing as she sank beneath his weight.
“This is good,” he murmured against her neck, certain that the camera couldn’t pick up his voice. “Really good, no one would—”
Warrick lifted his head to gaze into her eyes. He froze for a second, then grinned.
Maria was out cold.
Chapter Ten
“This place is one of the worst hellholes I’ve ever seen,” Warrick muttered beside Maria. She couldn’t agree more.
The Citadel, as it was known to the locals, was officially Holly Hills Apartments, four towering apartment complexes of easily twenty floors each that hunched together in a perpetually dirty gray section of Compton. The sun never seemed to break through the haze of mist and smog over this stretch of blocks, and the place was eerily quiet. There was no clamor of birds or crying of babies or even screech of cars. Even the wind blew with caution around the Citadel, determined not to draw attention to itself.
When it had first been built in the 1970s, Holly Hills had been positioned as a means of escape, a luxury high-rise for residents looking to literally move up in the world. But nothing remained of either the luxury or the hope that must have attended those early promotional campaigns. Now the flat stone walls squared off in defiance like the affront to society they were, and though the apartments were full, no one admitted to living inside the Citadel. Nor did anyone bother the residents with pesky little things like census forms or tax documents.
It was an island of silence in a city teeming with noise.
Warrick and Maria had been driven by one of Cedo’s stooges, who’d let them off a good four blocks from the Citadel, the unofficial beginning of La Noche’s turf. No one emerged to stop them as they made their way casually down the street, but Maria had never felt more naked without her gun. Still, the first thing that would happen was that they’d be searched. Roughly and without dignity. It was one of the major reasons she’d opted for loose pants and a thin T-shirt atop her thick-soled running shoes, and for once, she hadn’t tried to conceal anything in the rubber soles of those shoes. She was in no mood to play around here. She had a job to do. Several of them.
She slanted a glance to Warrick. She’d woken up with his arms wrapped around her, both of them still clothed to some extent, though she couldn’t fully remember how she’d gotten stripped down to her underwear. She was pretty damned sure she’d cry with frustration if she ever got a peek at the camera feed that had been trained on them the whole night, but she and Warrick had remained cognizant of their audience throughout their prep for the meeting with Takio at the Citadel. Now, finally, out of range of the camera operator, Cedo’s driver, and anyone from La Noche, this was their last real chance for conversation.
And all she wanted to do was find out what they’d done the night before.
Warrick, however, seemed to be on a totally different wavelength. “Top of mind,” he said abruptly. “What do you know that Jack didn’t?”
The question was abrupt, but Maria rolled with it. Warrick had been almost eerily in tune with Jack’s knowledge, had shared with her things Jack hadn’t told her about the interior of the Buildings B and C of the Citadel, but there was still more information to share. There always was.
“No women in the open areas,” she said, and Warrick glanced at her. “I noticed it the first time through, and then the second. By the third, I saw a few, but they walked only with the men. La Noche doesn’t have women anywhere that matters. The apartments, sure. But not in the lower portions of the building, and not in the courtyard. So if you get bagged and then uncovered, and suddenly
you’re seeing women, you’re probably up high, somewhere in the residences.”
He nodded. “And how well do they know you? Beyond their attack on you the other night?”
“They don’t,” she insisted. “I’ve been racking my brain over it, and I’ve got nothing. The only thing that they have on me is that I shot Bonnie, and that was a fluke as much as anything.”
The next question came quickly, rapid-fire. “Why do you want to take La Noche down, Maria?”
She scowled at him, refusing to be tripped up. “It’s my job.”
“It’s more than your job. There’s something else driving you—again, it would help me to know what it is.” Warrick’s words were quiet, polite, but that didn’t change their urgency. And for some reason, walking in the gritty sunshine where she didn’t have to meet his gaze, it was easier to share the truth. At least part of the truth.
She sighed. “La Noche’s been a part of this neighborhood for a long time, since before I was born. But Takio came in when I was still a kid, and things…changed. We all knew it, even though this wasn’t really our patch. Different people showing up, spreading out into the community. They didn’t stay inside the Citadel then. They started roughing up some of the other gangs—well, we thought it was roughing up. Turned out it was more like recruiting. Guardia didn’t last long. The others fell soon after that. Once they did…” She shrugged. “Things got quiet again. At least to me. I was a kid. A little kid. Nobody much worries about a five-year-old or even a ten-year-old girl. But pretty fifteen-year-old girls? A little harder to miss. Especially when they live their lives loud and fierce and unafraid. My cousin Cara was one of those girls. First, she had the world on a string—money, swagger. Then she started talking back to her mama, even got a tattoo, and Cara had never been like that. It wasn’t her way.” Maria pursed her lips. “I think that was when she started wearing the cross pendant, ironically enough. Maybe something her mama gave her. But…it didn’t work. Eventually, she dropped out of school, though she told her mama she was staying with a friend and still going to class. Her mama was a nurse—she was grateful someone was looking out for Cara, I think. Or maybe she didn’t want to know.”
