“George,” she gasped when he pulled out. He fucking hated hearing her say that damn name. It wasn’t him. If he was George to her, then it wasn’t them. He needed it to be them.
“Zio,” he corrected. She frowned at him, her eyes fogged with desire. “Call me Zio,” he finished as he sat in his chair, and pulled her ass off the end of the desk. He lined up his cock to the entrance of her pussy and stopped.
“Say it.”
“Zio,” she moaned, rolling her hips. He closed his eyes. Music. Absolute music to his ears. He lifted in the chair, and slid back inside. He braced her legs on either side of the chair and held her hips angled downward. Each motion took him up inside her, and he could watch it. Every glide. The way her body swallowed his and gripped it when he pulled back. The sensitive pink flesh inside that couldn’t quite let go. He fucking loved it.
He pushed her harder, sinking in. The sight of her breasts bobbing which each thrust, her hands gripping the edge of the desk tight, her neck arched as she bit her lip to stay quiet, and her silk covered legs topped off with heels drove him on. He’d never seen anything more beautiful in his life.
“Zio,” she cried, and he saw stars. This was them. He was real to her, with her. He groaned. Closer. He needed to be closer. He leaned forward and pulled her until she was sitting on him. Her legs hung on each side of the chair, but she wouldn’t need the support, he’d take care of that. He held her close, sucking a nipple back into his mouth as she wrapped her arms around his head. She pulled him closer as his hips rose and fell.
He felt how she breathed, and changed position. How she twitched and kept going strong. He felt her tremble and went harder. Softened when she clenched tight around him. He held her on the edge, pushed them both farther than he thought he could go, and loved every minute of it. He sucked at the skin around her nipples, wanted to mark her. He wanted her to see the evidence of his possession every time she looked at herself in the mirror. Wanted her to feel him inside of her every time he moved.
“Please,” she gasped out.
“You won’t walk away again,” he answered.
“No,” she groaned, body clenching.
“You want to come so bad you can taste it. You want to scream my name when you do. When you do, you’ll know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, what you’ve been missing all your life.” He stood on shaky legs and stumbled with her to the wall to his right. He braced her against it.
“Me.” With that he let go. Of all the emotion, everything he’d been feeling. The need of her. The want. The craving. He tore loose, pumping hard into her. He buried his face in her neck, muffling the sounds of his cries. She clawed at his back, and he wished he’d taken his shirt off so he could feel it. Wished they were in his home, and his bed. Wished he could take more time with her.
“Only me,” he whispered into her neck. “Only Zio,” he finished.
“Zio” she cried out, muffling his words, and he took them over the edge. Sliding down to the floor, with her in his lap, at the end. They held each other, breathing heavily in the aftermath. Scratch didn’t think he’d be able to walk for a week.
“The flowers were still unethical,” she said. He burst out laughing as he pushed her hair off her face.
“Yeah? But did you like them?” he asked.
“Yeah,” she whispered, with a small smile.
“Then I made the right choice. What we have doesn't have to be ethical. It just is.”
He kissed her softly, and she felt her heart clench in her chest. Yeah, what they had didn’t have to be ethical. Hell, she didn’t even know what they had. But who was the accountant who had a temper like a street thug, loved like Casanova, and asked her to call him Zio, when George Hines didn’t have anything to do with that name? And why did that name sound so familiar?
Chapter 12
Monica
“I’m fine Axe, really. I just think the sushi from lunch isn’t sitting right. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Bye.” Monica ended the call before he could object. Roderick Axe was a damn good agent and a great partner, but that’s all he was to her. She wished she could get him to understand that and stop trying to worm his way into every crevice of her life.
She hooked her phone up to its car charger, and placed her hands on the steering wheel of her agency issued vehicle. They were shaking and hadn’t stopped ever since she tried to put her clothes back on in George’s office, and he brushed them aside and dressed her himself. No, Zio. That’s what he told her to call him. Oh God! She’d screamed it so loud she was certain that security was going to bust in on them at any moment. She didn’t care enough to stop.
How had she gotten into this mess?
What was it about that man that made her lose all the good sense that had gotten her everything she had in life? She was known for always ‘using her head’ and never letting anything deter her from her goals, but the day she saw George Hines walk into that Hawk Global conference room, she knew in her gut that he was going to be a problem—albeit an amazingly sexy and irresistible problem.
And it wasn’t just his looks, because the man was gorgeous. His features didn’t quite match, but they came together to create perfection. His eyes were icy blue, but turned Bahama blue when his emotions flared. His nose wasn’t straight nor bulbous, but a combination of the two—possibly even broken a time or two. But it was his mouth that had her hooked. Both lips were full, and always just slightly puckered. Made for kissing. Sometimes he reminded her of a Norse Viking, and at others, a Roman statue.
It was his swagger that had gotten her attention, at first. The way he half skulked, half sauntered into the room had her unable to look away. But there was something behind his outward bravado. Something behind his eyes. Monica knew the look of a tortured soul, and she could see it in him. It seemed to call out to her, and she found herself unable to let it go unanswered.
The thing that was nagging her with both her common sense and her gut in agreement was that his manner didn’t match his profile. George no middle name Hines was a straight-laced, ivy league type with almost ten years of accounting experience. The man that had her world tilted was like an exotic animal, beautiful but still wild and dangerous. His torso and arms covered in all kinds of artistic and provocative ink. Those weren’t the kind of tattoos a quiet boring accountant would get. Not the kind that you get after a drunken night out. That night in the hotel, after he’d fallen asleep, she sat up in bed when she noticed them. It was hard not to when it seemed like he was covered with more ink than skin. She examined each one she could see without moving or waking him.
There were lots of different symbols, everyone having some sort of meaning that she didn’t understand. The largest one was of the Virgin Mary with a prayer to his mother underneath. She wanted to ask him what they meant, but that was the moment she realized she was in over her head. So she got out of there.
As she rode the elevator down to the lobby, the realization hit her that she didn’t know anything about him besides that stupid company profile, and it was obvious that a few things were missing. This man wasn’t average. The altercation he had with Axe proved that. Monica couldn’t believe the razor-edged wit, and suppressed threat of violence he exuded that day. Other than that he was funny, charming, and the most attentive lover.
No. Something was up. He was hiding something, and she had to figure it out. The way he had her investigated pointed to a person who had secrets of his own. Another thing Mark taught her from his time at the agency—before he was assigned the case that would change everything for him. The case that made him walk away from his lifelong dream. The same case that compelled Monica to become an agent.
An agent. Yes. She was an agent of the law, and she was risking throwing it all away on a man who wasn’t what he seemed. Banging her head against the headrest for clarity, she considered calling Mark, but didn’t want to trouble him in the middle of the day. Instead, she pulled herself together enough to drive home to Brooklyn.
Besides, she hat
ed lying to her brother, and there was no way she could tell him that she was sleeping with the target of her latest case, and that she also suspected his profile was a sham. While Hawk Global and its shady business practices were the focus of the investigation, somehow the responsibility seemed to be placed on George. Something was up there, too. It was clear that he wasn’t the accountant assigned to that particular contract; Pierce Eaglemorh had insisted that he be the point of contact. It just didn’t make sense, and that’s why she hadn’t made a bigger stink of the pile of crap that George had given her.
Finding a spot near to her Park Slope brownstone was easier than usual since she was home early. It was quiet and calm as she walked the tree lined street to her building, which made her thoughts seem even louder. Looking up at the home that she’d worked hard to purchase, Monica questioned her priorities. How close was she to losing everything?
After a long, much needed soak in her refurbished Roman bathtub, Monica made herself a pot of coffee and powered up her laptop. She resisted the urge to crawl into bed and rest her tired and sore body. She still hadn’t recovered from the first night they spent together. For a moment, she became lost in thought as she visualized their latest indiscretion. The way he commanded her to either come to him or walk away, had set her pussy on fire. Her heart began an erratic thump, and as much as her mind screamed at her to walk away, she couldn’t bring her feet to move in any direction but toward him.
She forced herself to push thoughts of Zio to the side. If she let her emotions rule, she wouldn’t get anything accomplished, and wind up in a world of trouble and out of a job. One of the things she liked to do was organize her hunches. When her gut was speaking to her, she made a list of action items to follow, and lined them up with relevant cases to compare them to. Her first question was, why George? Was he secretly involved in this TopSec business, or was he being used as a scapegoat? It hit her instantly. The last case Mark worked that had turned him off and made him lose faith in the system was very similar.
The FBI had been tipped off, given a lead on a long pending investigation of a Russian crime family. One of the easiest ways to bust any gang, mob or illegal operation, is to follow the money trail. In this case, Evgeny Vikhrov owned and operated several lucrative businesses, all legitimate, but the mistake he made was to allow his brother to operate a heroine ring out of the family bakery. Once the trail had led them there, a subpoena of the business was issued.
The case was long and bothersome. Vikhrov’s books were cleaner than a fresh load of laundry, and he had friends in high places that served to slow down or block the agency’s progress. But Mark wasn’t one to be messed with. He had a reputation for being able to see things no one else could. He focused on the heavily intertwined links between each business entity and was able to decipher actual revenue from dirty money that had been poured in. During the case, the point of contact was Vikrohv’s son, who was the family accountant. He was still a kid, just out of college, but had been handling the family’s books for years.
Once Mark had enough evidence, charges were drawn up, and the agency was buzzing with the excitement of bringing down the notorious crime boss. Then came the curve ball. Vikrohv denied any knowledge of illegal activity, and claimed his son was the one who had been laundering the drug money for his own personal gain. Several key witnesses corroborated his statement, and Jr. was tried and convicted, sentenced to twenty-five years in federal prison. While it was still considered a win for the agency, it made Mark sick to his stomach to watch the younger man have everything taken away when he knew that it was a lie. That family had been involved with crime for years, before Jr. was even old enough to read or write. Watching the smug look on Vikrohv’s face as he walked away free, while his only son was carted away in an orange jumpsuit, was one of his biggest failures. Mark did everything he could to expose the truth, including pissing off some very important people. He couldn’t even help the kid, who refused to turn on his family. So that was it. Case closed.
He left the agency after that case. His spirit was broken, and he was facing some heavy backlash from some crooked higher ups. Their family had been devastated, and Monica remembered her parents angrily lecturing Mark over his rash decision. She was the only one who sided with her brother, in secret at least. It was already ordained that she would follow in his footsteps, so she decided she would always make sure to fight on the right side of justice—to succeed where Mark had given up. Somehow she would avenge his honor and make him proud.
She couldn’t hold it anymore. Locating the burner phone she used to chat with him about her cases when she needed advice, she called her big bro. Now the operator of a community outreach program that provided special extracurricular activities for high school aged kids, his hours were pretty flexible, and unless he was involved in a class, he would always answer when she called. He picked up on the second ring.
“What’s up Biggie?” Monica laughed at the silly nickname he’d given her years ago when she stopped growing at five foot three inches.
“Hey there genius,” she chuckled.
“What’s up? You sound out of it.” That was the reason she could never lie to him. He knew her too well.
“Well, I sort of am. I’ve got a new case that’s already full of drama. It reminds me of your case.”
Mark took a long breath on the other end of the line. She knew this wasn’t his favorite topic, but he had eased up on that stance over the years, so she didn’t feel too bad for bringing it up.
She jumped right in and gave him all the details. A shady CEO, convoluted financial reports, and a confusing point of contact. Mark listened to her explain, and then they began to dissect the similarities and differences in the two cases. The entire time, Monica couldn’t help but wonder what happened to the younger Vikhrov.
“So whatever happened to Vikhrov?”
“That fucker got his. I heard he was gunned down in a nightclub he owned a few months back,” Mark announced without any sympathy. Monica was confused by his response.
“A club he owned? Did he get early parole or what? I thought he was sentenced for a quarter?”
“Oh,” Mark laughed at the miscommunication. “You mean Inzio. No, I don’t know what happened. He pretty much made it clear that he didn’t want my help. In or out of jail.”
Monica’s chest tightened. She didn’t know if her heart had stopped beating, or was beating so hard it hurt. She absently rubbed the spot through her t-shirt as she tried to catch a breath. It couldn’t possibly be. No, she just needed to calm down until she could confirm her fears.
“Monica? Hello?”
“Sorry,” she let out a fake chuckle as if she was all good. “I was finishing my last sip of coffee.”
“Damn addict. I keep telling you chai tea is where it’s at,” he teased.
“Yeah, well when they can make your chai tea taste as good as coffee, then I’ll convert.”
“You drinking coffee at home in the middle of the day? Are you sure you’re ok?”
“Yep. Just working on this damn case, and I needed a break from Axe.” She was glad she was at least able to tell the truth about something.
“How’s that working out?” Mark had been a mentor to Axe, which was one reason why her partner felt like he had to be her protector too. He thought since he was in good with her family that they were a match. Not.
“Ugh. He’s the same. But let me talk to you later. I’ve got something I wanna look into.” She hated to rush him off that way, but curiosity was killing her.
“Uh, OK. I’m here when you need me. You know you can tell me anything, right?” The concern in his voice made her feel guilty as hell, but she couldn’t tell him anything until she knew the truth.
“Thanks bro. Love you.”
“Love ya sis.”
She tossed the phone away from her like it was in flames. All it would take was a few strokes to clear things up. With VICAP, the FBI search engine up and ready to go, she typed in the name. I
nzio Vikhrov. It took a few seconds for the inmate data to load. Once the picture appeared on the screen, all the air was knocked out of her, again. She didn’t want to believe her eyes. It was him. Same eyes, same lips, same tortured look in his eyes. He was much younger, his hair longer, but it was him. She poured over the information on the page, trying to understand how this could be. When she came to the details of his release, she stopped short. He served two years, and then his sentence was vacated. That’s it. No notes, no conditions of release. Apparently, he must have received one hell of a get out of jail free card.
Monica leaned back in her chair, unable to tear her eyes away from the computer screen. The man had a larger than life presence even through a damn picture. She was trying to make sense of it all. Why had Inzio Vikhrov been released from prison, and why was he now parading around as George Hines? And how did Hawk Global play into all of this? The urge to pick up her phone and share this new development with her partner was strong. That’s what she was supposed to do. But she wouldn’t until she had more answers. She had an idea of what she could do, but one thing was for sure. She needed to keep her distance from Zio. He scrambled her brain and she needed a clear head to get out of this mess. Trouble. She was in trouble.
SCRATCH (Corporate Hitman Book 2) Page 8
