Unruly: A Legacy Novel (Cross + Catherine Book 3)

by Bethany-Kris

Cross dipped his hand in the water, and then lifted it to stroke down his chin and throat. Bubbles and drops of water clung to his tan skin, making Catherine follow the path to where the water hid the rest of his body from view. She should have enjoyed the show he gave getting undressed before he got in the water.

  “I know,” Cross said simply.

  Catherine’s gaze narrowed. “What does that mean?”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  “What is it? And how?”

  “Everything.”

  Catherine pushed up to sit straight, and then leaned forward. “Keep talking.”

  Before she knew what happened, Cross grabbed her waist and pulled her into his lap. She straddled his lap while water and bubbles sloshed over the edge of the tub. She couldn’t even find it in herself to care about the mess they were making when Cross was staring at her.

  “You were right,” Cross said. “About everything, I mean.”

  Catherine tipped her chin up. “Keep going …”

  “This will never happen again, babe.”

  He came close enough to kiss her chin.

  Then, her cheek.

  Finally, her lips.

  Catherine stayed still as stone. “And what does that mean?”

  “Catherine, stop being difficult.”

  She sniffed away her rising emotions.

  “Not being difficult, Cross. I would just really like to hear you say it, please.”

  “I’m never going to leave you to fend for yourself.”

  Catherine let him kiss her cheekbone. “Mmhmm.”

  “Or the kids.”

  “Better not.”

  “And the gunrunning is … done.”

  Catherine peered at him through her lashes. “Is that a firm done?”

  “Very firm.”

  As he said that, he pulled her closer into his lap, making her sex grind into something else that was long, thick, and firm already.

  Catherine grinned. “You are terrible.”

  “Don’t be mad, babe.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Not anymore,” he shot back.

  Catherine shook her head. “It’s the only defense I have with you, Cross. Everything else is pointless. You always win.”

  “Not about winning.”

  “It is when it gets me what I want,” she argued.

  “You got what you wanted.”

  Catherine smiled.

  She had.

  “Don’t act like this didn’t scare the shit out of you, too,” she said.

  Cross smirked. “Oh, no, it did. I’m not interested in doing a repeat, trust that.”

  “No doubt.”

  “But right now, Catty, I got better things on my mind.”

  “Oh?”

  “Are you going to tell me no again?”

  Catherine released a shaky breath as Cross’s mouth ghosted over hers. “Nope.”

  “No?”

  “Definitely not,” she promised.

  Cross didn’t seem to need more words from her. He lifted her higher, his hands left her waist to dip under the water, and she lowered down on his length in the next breath.

  So slow.

  Painfully slow.

  Beautifully slow.

  She wanted to feel every inch of his cock filling her up. She wanted him to feel every inch of it, too. Nothing quite compared to that first thrust—how her body stretched open for him, and took his cock in. Nothing compared to how that felt.

  Cross’s hands found her cheeks, and he dragged her closer for another kiss. A burning kiss. A deeper kiss. One that burrowed into her body, and reached her very soul. She had needed that kiss from the moment he walked back through the door.

  She always needed it.

  Catherine thought now that making herself wait for his kiss had been the better idea. It was sweeter. It made her nerves snap with the same anticipation that coiled deep in her gut. The same sensation that had her heart beating faster, and her pussy clenching with heat and need.

  She wondered what it felt like for Cross in that moment.

  Was it the same as her? Reckless, selfish, and desperate?

  Did it ache in his chest? Did his fingers hurt with the need to touch and hold? Was he restless, and broken, and wanting like her?

  She thought he was just like her when they were like this. He had to be. He loved her a little too much for it not to be like that for him.

  Usually, their fucking was fast and hard. She liked it just fine that way. She liked when he owned her with his hands and body. She liked when he held her down, left marks behind, and demanded more than she thought was possible to give.

  She liked it.

  This was not like that.

  Soft. Unhurried. Sweet.

  She needed this, too.

  Oh, God.

  She liked this, too.

  Cross’s thumbs stroked her cheekbones while Catherine rode them closer to oblivion. It never took very much for her to find that cusp of bliss when it came to her husband—her body was made for him, and made for this.

  Every lift of her hips only made her want to fall right back down on him again. Every inch lower onto his cock seemed like all her nerve endings were being stroked in the very best way.

  Her mind hummed.

  Her body vibrated.

  Her blood sang.

  Love.

  Home.

  And forever.

  “Almost, almost,” she told him.

  Shaky.

  Breathless.

  So spun.

  His lips found hers again.

  Hovering.

  Whispering.

  Loving.

  “Never again,” he promised.

  She believed him.

  Her heart didn’t give her a choice.

  Love always spoke louder than fear.

  “You couldn’t have this meeting with me alone?” Andino Marcello asked.

  Cross shot the man a look from across the table in the Marcello home. Just the tone of his voice grated on Cross’s nerves. Andino was a Cosa Nostra boss controlling his faction, and so was Cross. Even the slightest challenge from another man would make a boss rise to the occasion.

  “I thought it was better to have a mediator,” Cross forced himself to say pleasantly.

  For the most part, he liked Andino. Respected him, even, when the guy acted like a decent human being. Andino had a wife he treated well, kids under his feet, a family he protected, an empire he ran with an iron fist, and more.

  Yeah, Cross respected that.

  Still, bosses didn’t do well when put in the same room together. One boss was always left bowing down or surrendering in some way to the other man. It was instinct—natural. And entirely unnatural at the same time.

  Andino was not the kind of man to bend. Neither was Cross. They would simply break each other trying.

  “Kind of offensive,” Andino grumbled.

  Dante sighed from his position in the corner. “I thought it was rather smart, actually. Cross intends to make this meeting happen quickly, peacefully, and to the benefit of both of you. In order to do that given he knows his own nature better than anyone, and he’s seen enough of your nature to know how you behave, he figured this was best. Someone to hold you both accountable or step in if needed. That’s all I’m here for.”

  “Someone we both respect enough to hear out before each other,” Cross added.

  Andino flattened his thin lips into a grim line. “You botched my gun run.”

  “No, botched would imply what happened years ago in Cancun happened again. That’s not what I did.”

  “That’s two major runs you’ve fucked up on in some way, Cross.”

  Cross nodded, agreeing. “Yeah, two in what … probably fifty runs total? Two runs in, oh, over fifteen years of doing this? My ratio is still pretty fucking good, Andino. Better than anyone else on this continent, actually. Do you want to chat about that, or …?”

  Andino gritted his teeth before mutterin
g, “No.”

  “Good. Someone set me up.”

  “Who is this someone?”

  Cross tipped a hand over. “The Russian I killed. His last hand was in motion without my knowing. That’s what this was. You should be mindful of your men, though, because it seems to me he was able to get a hell of a lot of information about my gun run into Canada. We both know I only deal with men of your family for that info, Andino. Someone fed him that info.

  “They were going after people I care for. Cece and the park was my last straw.” For reasons, he opted not to add out loud. “I figured this was the better option.”

  “Care for better people, then, you foolish prick,” Andino snapped. “I don’t want a war with the New York Russians!”

  Cross bristled at that comment, but Andino wasn’t over the line in saying it. “We’re not going to have a war. I took care of it. The man wanted one thing—the rest of his men didn’t care if they got it back. They’ve got other things to worry about now. You know, reordering the hierarchy of their organization. I don’t care. Move on.”

  Dante stroked a hand over his jaw as his gaze drifted between the two men sitting opposite to one another at the table. He didn’t speak or step in, yet, but that was only because Cross and Andino were not trying to kill the other one yet.

  “You owe me for those guns,” Andino said with a pointed finger.

  Cross nodded. “I’ll have the money sent over—in cash—tomorrow.”

  “Fine. And Guzzi, too. They’ve paid half.”

  “I’ll wire money to Gian tomorrow as well after I have a chat with him tonight over the phone.”

  Andino side-eyed Dante. “Why are you even still here?”

  “You will see, Andino.”

  “What else is it?” Andino demanded with his attention back on Cross. “Clearly, the screw up with the guns and the Russian issue isn’t all of it. What’s the rest?”

  Smart man.

  Now or never, Cross knew.

  He readied himself for the impact of Andino’s rage when he told him what he was about to say. It was bound to happen being who they were and all. Business was all about being smart, too. Andino was a smart man.

  After Andino got over his little fit, Cross very much assumed the fellow Cosa Nostra Don would see reason, and concede to the main points of the matter.

  “I can no longer run guns for the Marcello family,” Cross said.

  Andino stiffened in his seat, and his features darkened. “You know that’s not the agreement that was made for your error years ago, Cross.”

  “Quite aware, yeah.”

  “Cross,” Dante murmured. “Try again, less attitude.”

  Christ.

  He felt like a child being scolded.

  “I know that’s not the agreement we made.” Cross gave Dante a look as if to ask, better?

  Just like a damn child.

  Dante stayed still like a stone, and expressionless.

  “Then, no,” Andino said, ignoring the exchange, “you don’t get to up and just decide you are done running our guns. Until you are entirely unable, Cross. That was the agreement. As far as I can see, your legs are just fine, and your hands, too. You can walk. You can hold something. You’re good. Get back to work.”

  “Hear me out, An—”

  “No, you heard me.”

  “Andino,” Dante said quietly, “you should listen, unless you have no issue with your family coming under fire for your stupidity.”

  Andino’s head snapped to the side. “I beg your fucking pardon?”

  “Hear him out.”

  Unlikely.

  Especially when Andino turned to Cross with blazing eyes. “You run our guns. Only our guns. Until you couldn’t any longer. It was the agreement you made. Back out of that agreement, Cross, and you’re forfeiting your safety in this city. You very well may be married to my cousin, but that means shit to me in the grand scheme of things. You agreed—finish out your agreement.”

  Cross had the strangest urge to dive across the table and bash Andino’s skull into the table. It took every ounce of willpower he had not to do it.

  Somehow.

  “I can’t run the guns,” Cross said. “I am fulfilling the agreement. I can no longer run guns safely. Consider it, Andino. An alias I use to run guns is hot. My face very well might have been caught at the border. Attention on gunrunning and smuggling is about to turn up big time because of this latest trip through to Canada. I cannot afford that kind of attention, and neither can you.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “There is no but,” Cross interjected fast, never backing down. “Your greed for money is one thing, but the freedom of me, you, and a great deal of other people inside this operation is far more important. One run could have me in jail on a twenty to life sentence, and all because you’re not willing to admit attention is too hot on me now. It’s dangerous. I am not playing with that kind of fire.”

  Andino blew out a hard breath. “Fucking hell.”

  “I’m willing to train whoever you handpick,” Cross added.

  The fellow boss shot him a look, but stayed quiet. Cross took that as a good sign.

  “Drop out of smuggling guns for a bit until attention turns down on all of this,” Cross said with a shrug. “Shit, stock up your warehouses so you’ll have lots to deal, sell, and move when the time comes. Go over your guys—smart, quick on their feet, attention to detail, and good listeners. Send them my way. I will train them like I was trained. They will be just as good as me. Only this time, you’ll have more than one you depend on.”

  “That way, you’re not putting all your eggs in one basket, as the saying goes,” Dante said.

  Andino still didn’t look pleased.

  Cross didn’t blame him.

  “I know this wasn’t what you wanted, Andino. It’s not really what I want, either. I like running guns. It’s what I wanted to do from the time I was twelve. Now, I’ve done it. The intelligent part of me knows it’s time to move on. And like anything in this business, shit has to come to an end sometime. We either evolve to fit the needs of the life, or we stay stuck in details and our own wants, and the business crashes down around us. You know this. You’re not stupid. It’s time to make different choices, and play it safe for a bit. When you’re ready to get back into the game with guns, I promise it’ll be better than it ever was.”

  “I want the best gunrunners, Cross.”

  Cross smirked. “As long as they’re trained by me, they will be.”

  Andino shook his head.

  Dante chuckled under his breath.

  “Yes, we all know I’m arrogant,” Cross said with a wave of his hand. “Stop acting like this is a new thing. Do we have a deal, or not?”

  It took Andino a few seconds.

  Then, a minute.

  Finally, the man said, “You’ll have a group of ten men sent to you next week that I feel might fit what you asked for. You’re the one with an eye for who might fit best, so find the three out of the ten that are most trainable.”

  “Four,” Cross corrected. “Every man needs a partner, especially when gunrunning.”

  Perhaps had Cross remembered that, and opted into a partner for this past run, things might have ended differently.

  Or not.

  “Four, then.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Good,” Andino echoed.

  That was that.

  Cross sipped from a cup of coffee and watched the scene happening just a few feet away. As always when Catherine was dealing with business, especially with her mother, he opted to stay as far out of it as he could.

  This time was no exception.

  Cece stood at his front, and leaned into his legs. If he moved an inch, his daughter would likely go sprawling on the floor. She put all of her weight—and trust, it seemed—into her father, and that he would catch her.

  He always would.

  Cross took another drink of coffee, and ran a hand over the crown of his littl
e girl’s head. She barely reacted to his touch at all. She was too busy watching her grandmother and mother stand toe to toe with one another in the middle of their kitchen.

  It never failed to amuse him how Cece’s attention was zoned in every time the women in her life were talking. She was going to be just like them, he knew. No doubt about it. She may have gotten her attitude from him, but her spitfire, her slyness, was all Catrina and Catherine.

  “This was my last lesson, wasn’t it?” Catherine asked.

  Catrina smiled cunningly. “Figured it out, did you?”

  “I didn’t want to believe it at first.”

  “Of course, not. Who would want to think their mother betrayed them?” Catrina laughed lightly, adding, “I suppose, in a way, that’s what I did.”

  “Details,” Catherine supplied.

  “Exactly. It wasn’t something we could talk about, Catty. This kind of thing is not the sort of lesson you can learn at the table. It’s like most things in this business, firsthand and on the frontlines. You didn’t have competition to begin with because I’ve culled damn near all of it over the years. Smart, quick ones have a tendency to pop up. I had to help someone along to make sure you had something to chase, though.”

  “Evira.”

  “Evira,” Catrina echoed.

  “You cost a girl her life to teach me a lesson.”

  Catrina’s smile faded, and she lifted a single finger as if to wave that thought away. “Evira was susceptible because she already had an idea planted to go out on her own. Some girls will be like that. Usually, you can placate them into their position. They like it when they don’t have to worry about managing suppliers, getting clients to keep coming back, or finding clients to begin with. They come to you, work for you, because it is easy. All they have to do is show up and make money.”

  A small shrug fell from Catrina’s shoulders in her red dress as she added, “Evira was a weak link in the girls—she had contacts, and I knew about them. She was already beginning to see clients off the time she was supposed to. I knew what that meant. It was a sign she was beginning to attempt to step out on her own.”

  “I have to watch them all the time.”

  “Never, ever trust them, Catty. The very second they think they can pull one over on you, they will.”

  “And if they do,” Catherine said, “it can’t be a lesson learned kind of thing.”