by Raen Smith
She pulled his jeans down slowly exposing just the top of his black boxer briefs at first. She tucked her finger inside the waistband, running her finger along his warm skin. Then she tugged his jeans down and threw them onto the floor. She wiggled out of her shorts and dropped them on the floor next to his.
“God, you’re sexy,” he said, admiring her standing next to the bed. He held out his arms. “Come here. Don’t make me wait any longer.”
She climbed on the bed and crawled on top of him, grinding her hips lightly as she sat on him. He played with her breasts, making her nipples harder. Warmth flooded through her body as they rocked against each other.
“I want to know you, Charla,” he said as he squeezed her ass lightly. He slipped his hand inside her underwear and pulled her tighter against him. “I want to know every single inch of this body. I want to know what’s in your head. I want to know what you’re feeling. I want to know what you want.”
“I want to feel you inside me,” she whispered as she raised her hips off him. He slid her underwear to the side and slipped inside with his fingers. She moaned as she rocked against his hand and slid her hand into his boxer briefs. They pulsed against each other until she whispered, “I need all of you.”
He groaned as he slid open a drawer in his nightstand and pulled out a condom. He ripped it open and slid it on as she pulled down his underwear. She guided him in, feeling the warmth of his body fill her up. She rocked her hips against him slowly at first, feeling every inch of his thrust. He held her hips, pressing her down against him.
“You feel amazing,” he groaned as she moved faster, his body moving with hers. Waves of ecstasy rolled over her as she felt him stiffen inside her. He moaned again and thrust one last time, their bodies shuddering against each other. She collapsed onto his chest and pressed her face against his slick skin. They panted against each other, Charla feeling the fall and rise of his chest beneath her cheek. Liam rested his hand against her head and ran his fingers through her hair.
She bit her lip, her body still reeling. Telling Liam he was the best she’d ever had seemed cliché and depressing at the same time. How had she managed to almost get married and never experience this?
“Can I tell you something?” he asked, twisting the strands between his fingers.
“Sure.” She held her breath, wondering what he could possibly say next.
“That was amazing,” he said, resting his hand on her head.
“Here I thought I was pathetic thinking that.” She let out a small laugh as she leaned up to look into his eyes. “I guess that means we’re compatible.”
“I don’t care what it means as long as we get to do it again sometime.” His lips curled into a smile as he put his hands behind his head.
***
Charla settled into Liam’s pillow, feeling her body melt into his bed. She hadn’t slept in any other bed than her own for the last three years. She had never wanted to leave Jack, even in the early days when he was still relatively coherent. Rex had pleaded with her several times, but she always ended up back in her own bed with Jack sleeping soundly in the room next to her. Going back to the cottage every night felt right. But tonight, things were different. Lying in Liam’s bed felt right. It was relaxing and freeing, something she hadn’t felt in as long as she could remember.
“You really thinking about taking up Jerry’s offer?” she asked, curling her hand beneath her head.
“Does it matter to you?” he responded, trailing his finger along her hip.
She paused, thinking of the response about to come out of her mouth. She didn’t want to seem like the overbearing type of woman who would nag every time he went on a bounty run, but the thought of him getting entangled with the mafia was terrifying. Mafia. The word seemed like it belonged in a world other than her own. The mafia wasn’t real. The mafia only existed in movies and television. They were the guys scheming with pencil-thin mustaches and toting machine guns and cigars. They weren’t in Blackwell, Illinois. She closed her eyes as she thought of Jack. A mafia errandboy. Maybe it was time to tell Liam. If Jack had told the truth, it was the reason that tore their family apart. It was the reason Jack lived in seclusion in the middle of nowhere. It was the reason why he didn’t enter himself into a care facility and why he paid her in cash. If the mafia destroyed his life, it could destroy Liam’s, too.
“It does,” she said carefully, biting her lip. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt, that’s all. It sounds really dangerous. And it’s not like you’re that hard up for cash. At least, not that I can tell anyway. Your bar is packed with people downstairs, and you don’t exactly drive a beat-up Corolla…”
“It’s not about the money.”
“Then what is it?”
“It’s about the thrill of it. It’s about this feeling that I get when I take someone down. I know I’m doing something good to clean up the city. I’m making it a better place for people like you,” he replied, his hand grazing up her arm. The soft murmur of his voice was lulling her to sleep. She felt her eyes get heavy and her body sink deeper into his mattress. “I don’t want criminals even remotely close to you. If I can do my part and get rid of them one-by-one, then that’s what I’ll do.”
“Wouldn’t it be safer to be a police officer or something?” she whispered, her voice trailing off.
He let out a low chuckle. “Probably. But it wouldn’t be half as fun.”
“So, you’re an adrenaline junkie…” She could barely finish her last words.
“Maybe,” he whispered and then lightly kissed the back of her head, “Or maybe I just love feeling alive.”
Chapter8
Charla’s eyes slowly opened, taking in the unfamiliar sight of a black case with a heavy duty lock on it. It was tucked against the wall and stood about four feet high. The material was thick like a safe. Jack didn’t have a safe and neither did she. Her eyebrows furrowed down as she tried to place herself.
She shifted her legs, feeling her naked skin against the sheets. She panicked momentarily before she inhaled and smelled the scent of a man. It wasn’t any man, it was him. Liam. The thought of last night brought a wide smile to her face. His sweet kisses. The soft touch of his hands. The words he whispered to her. Everything about it was exactly what she needed. She hadn’t felt that safe in years, maybe ever. She closed her eyes and realized her step-father hadn’t plagued her nightmares like he had every night in the past week. Then she inhaled again, this time smelling something sweet teasing her nostrils. The smell was followed by the sound of a soft clatter in the kitchen.
She hesitated for a moment, taking in the softness of his pillow and the blanket covering her. She typically slept with the blanket tucked around her stomach. He must have covered her when he got out of bed. Perfect, she sighed. Too perfect. She knew men like Liam didn’t exist, and she wondered what was going to break his perfect streak. She wondered when it would happen and what it would be. There had to be something. There always was. Her eyes drew back to the safe. His guns. She finally flipped onto her back and glanced at the doorway to see Liam standing in it.
“Sleeping beauty is awake,” he said, leaning against the door frame. He was fully dressed in jeans and a fitted white t-shirt and looked as though he had already showered. He took a sip from a mug and then smiled.
Now that’s the way to start a day, Charla thought. She was used to seeing Jack’s wrinkled ass when he’d forget to put on his bathrobe some mornings.
“What time is it?” She sat up, holding the blanket over her chest. She ran her other hand through her hair, suddenly aware of how awful she must look compared to him. She was unshowered with a mass of snarly bed head and dragon breath. She wasn’t even remotely close to being a sleeping beauty.
“I thought maybe you’d forget to hold that blanket up.” He smiled, holding the mug just under his lips. “It’s eight.”
“EIGHT?”
“Yeah,” he laughed. “Is that a problem?”
“N
o.” She shook her head and smiled, holding the blanket tighter against her chest. “I just can’t remember that last time I slept past seven.”
“Well, it’s definitely just past eight. I have coffee, eggs, and cinnamon rolls ready if you’re interested,” he replied. “I could use some company.”
“Yeah, sure,” she replied, swinging her legs out of the bed while still holding the blanket around herself. She scanned the floor, looking for her clothes. Embarrassment flushed her cheeks as she realized she had no idea where they were.
Liam let out a small laugh and pointed to the end of the dresser where her clothes were neatly folded in a stack. Her purse sat on top. “If you don’t want to put on your clothes from yesterday, t-shirts are in the top drawer.”
“Thanks,” she muttered, looking down at the blanket tucked beneath her armpits.
“You sure are shy this morning, Ms. Taylor.” He lightly tapped the door frame before turning toward the kitchen. He called over his shoulder. “Something you definitely weren’t last night.”
Charla’s cheeks flushed a brighter red. He was right; she hadn’t been shy. Coincidentally, it also happened to be the best sex she’d ever had, but she wasn’t about to tell him that. It’d only be more fodder for his ego, which didn’t seem to need any more stroking. She peeked out the door to make sure he was gone and dropped the blanket back on the bed. She slipped on her clothes from yesterday, trying to smooth out the wrinkles on her tank top. Both the armpits and front of the tank top sagged to expose her bra, so she pulled it back over her head and pulled open to the drawer to reveal neatly stacked black and white t-shirts. She took out a black one and slipped it on. It wasn’t great, but it was an improvement.
Satisfied, she turned back to the dresser to grab her purse. Next to it was a card for Marian just as he promised. She slipped it into her purse, wondering if she was the last shot Dotti needed. If she was as good as Liam said she was, it was worth a try.
“Do you like creamer in your coffee?” Liam yelled from the kitchen.
“Sure,” she called, looking down at her purse. “I’ll be out in a sex. I mean sec.”
Shit.
She cringed when she heard him break out in laughter. She shook her head and opened her purse, fishing through it for her phone. She grabbed it and slid through the screens to see several texts from Jill.
WHERE R U?
U SAFE?
ANSWER ME DAMNIT.
TELL ME YOU WORE THE LACE.
Charla smiled and typed back a response. Wore the lace. Call u later. Rex who? Jill was going to love this. There was nothing more her best friend wanted than to see Charla date again.
She slipped the phone back in her purse. Just as she was about to walk out of the bedroom, her eyes caught a familiar face in a frame. Jack. It was the picture of Jack and Helen she’d given Liam at the cottage. She picked up the picture and ran her finger along the edges.
“What are you hiding, Jack?” she whispered before setting it back down and leaving the bedroom. A plate of eggs and fresh fruit were waiting for her at the empty spot at the table. Liam looked up from the stack of papers he was sifting through as she pulled out the chair.
“That shirt looks good on you.” He glanced up from the papers, looking amused. His eyes moved back down as he added quietly, “Although it’d look better on the ground.”
“Already starting this morning, huh?” she said, sliding into the chair. “I guess I can’t complain though. This is the second meal in a row you’ve cooked for me.”
“And won’t be the last,” he added without looking up.
Charla smiled and grabbed the mug. She didn’t doubt Liam could talk his way into anything. She took a sip of coffee and then noticed the yellow envelope beneath the papers. “So who does Jerry have you scheming over so early this morning?”
“You really want to know?” he asked, meeting her eyes.
“Sure, why not?” She grabbed a fork and put a mouthful of fluffy eggs in her mouth. Damn, this guy is good.
“You know if I tell you, I’m going to have to kill you,” he said with a serious face.
She chewed her eggs slowly and swallowed hard, then pointed the fork at him. “Not if I don’t get to you first. You and Jerry spend too much time together.”
He cracked a smile. “Now that’s the Charla Taylor I met last night.” He slid the papers to her. “Mickey McGrath. There’s not much more information here than what Jerry told us last night, other than he might be hanging around The Blarney Stone.”
“Isn’t this the kind of information the FBI should know?” She flipped through the photos. Mickey McGrath definitely fit the part of mafia drug lord. He was in his early sixties, she guessed, with a face that looked to kill. He had a mane of slicked red hair and wide, deep-set eyes. “Wouldn’t they be better at catching some guy like this? Bring in a whole team?”
“Not always,” Liam said, leaning back in his chair. “The FBI has been looking for him for ten years. They haven’t caught him yet. Plus, if we do it ourselves, it’s a big pay day.”
“So what makes you think you can catch him?” she asked, sliding the papers back to him. She tried to push Jack’s final words out of her mind. Maybe he wasn’t as crazy as she thought. She tried to find the right words to ease into the conversation with Liam. She had to tell him.
“Because I’m good at what I do,” he answered quickly. “Plus, we have the element of surprise. I don’t want to go in with a huge team. I want to go in with a few guys. Go in quietly, exit quietly.”
“I doubt Mickey is ever by himself. I’m sure he has a group of guys with him almost all the time,” she replied, taking a bite of a strawberry. Like errand boys.
“Almost is the key. We’ve got to get him alone,” he said, looking through the papers again as he nodded his head in calculation. She could see the wheels turning in his head. “That will be the only way.”
Charla cleared her throat. It was now or never. She needed to get this off her chest, and more than anything, she wanted Liam to know about the dangers of dealing with the mafia. “So, I don’t know how exactly to say this…”
He looked up and grabbed his mug of coffee. “Say what? Say that you don’t want me to do this? Tell me how dangerous it is?”
“Well…” She put down her fork and exhaled. “Not exactly. Sort of.”
He furrowed his eyebrows and then set down the papers. His voice became serious. “What is it?”
“I didn’t want to tell you at first because I didn’t believe it myself,” she started. “Patients with Alzheimer’s say a lot of crazy things. I mean, a lot of crazy things. I talked to one of my instructors from nursing school, and she said it was totally normal to have delusional patients who can’t discern between reality and fantasy. Pair that with a patient on his deathbed who is trying to make peace before he passes on, and well, you have a shit storm of crazy.”
“What’s a shit storm of crazy?” he asked, his voice suddenly changing.
“Some of it doesn’t even make any sense…” She felt a bead of sweat drip down her back. Her face suddenly flushed, and she stuttered trying to find the words. “I don’t think I believe it now, but it just seems a little strange. You know, Jack dying. Me delivering the note. You coming back to the house. Jerry delivering the note about the mafia guy.” She waved her hands back and forth, trying to make sense of it all. Was it possible Mickey McGrath had something to do with Jack? If Jack was in seclusion, how did he know about his death?
“Charla, what doesn’t make sense? Did Jack tell you something?” He leaned in toward her and grabbed her hand. “If he told you something, you have to tell me. I need to know everything.”
“It’s not much,” she started, finally making eye contact with him. She swallowed hard one last time, wondering how crazy it would sound finally coming out. “Jack said he used to be an errand boy for the mafia.”
Liam’s face pinched into a look of confusion and disbelief. He opened his mouth, but did
n’t speak at first. It sounded just as crazy speaking the words as it did in her head, but she had gotten closer to Jack, asking him to repeat what he said. He must have said it at least three more times after that. Several seconds went by before Liam spoke. “Errand boy?”
She nodded her head. “That’s what he said.”
“For the mafia?” He let go of her hand and slowly pulled his own back across the table. He propped his elbows against the table and leaned into his hands. “The mafia? You sure you heard him right?”
She nodded her head again, this time slowly, as she wrung her hands in her lap. She knew she was just the messenger, but she felt a wave of guilt she hadn’t told him sooner. “Yeah, he said it a couple times.”
“And this was the first time he said anything like it?”
“First time. He never mentioned anything even remotely close to it before. He never did anything to tip me off that he had a bad past, other than the fact that Helen had died,” she replied. “He never mentioned he had any sons. He never mentioned any other family or friends. Said he worked as a woodworker for the last twenty years.”
“Where was his shop?”
“When I met him, he said he had already cleared out the shop and sold everything because he couldn’t keep up with business,” she replied.
“Did he have any of his work in the cottage?” he asked, taking his elbows off the table. He ran a hand through his hair. “Don’t tell me he didn’t have anything in the cottage…”
Charla closed her eyes. She hadn’t thought much about what he made because she believed him. She figured he must have sold as much as he could to be able to afford her salary. “Just salt and pepper shakers and a baseball bat…”
“That’s it?” Liam’s voice strained.
