Rough & Ready (Notorious Devils Book 5)

by Hayley Faiman

  I reach for a bottle of tequila and bring it to my lips, taking a pull before I turn to the little boneless brunette on my bed. My original plan of kicking her out is immediately thwarted, mainly because I’m not done with her. She was so good and followed directions so nicely.

  “Let’s rest a bit, yeah?”

  She sits up, resting on her elbows, and turns her head to look back at me, her eyes bright and her lips curving into a grin. That right there, that spells trouble, and it’s why I don’t keep them in my bed after I fuck them.

  They get hopeful.

  I ignore the longing eyes and crawl into bed, allowing her to curl up next to me. I’ll fuck her from behind next time, then kick her boney little ass out. I don’t need her getting comfortable.

  “Cleo, I have a client coming in at nine-thirty. I need you to greet him first, then buzz me when he’s here,” my boss practically shouts into the phone.

  I roll my eyes. I’ve been working here for years, and it’s not as if I don’t know how to greet clients. If I didn’t know how by now, I would think that he’d fire me.

  “Yes, sir,” I mutter into the intercom before I turn back to my computer.

  I’m trying so hard to stay focused on my work and not on Paxton and his surprise visit. I spent the majority of last night freaking out over the phone with Lisandro. It was so bad that Theo volunteered to come and get me. I forced myself to calm down enough so that he wouldn’t, and then once I was off of the phone, I worked myself right back up again.

  I don’t know what kind of danger Paxton insinuated that I could be in, and I don’t care; seeing him is dangerous enough. I wanted to run to him, to hold him and kiss him, and it pissed me off. Then he acted like a dick, which was nice because it fizzled out any feelings I had for him. Unfortunately, that only lasted a few minutes, and then I was right back to wanting him again. He needs to stay away. For my own sanity, he needs to just go.

  “I’m here to see Mr. Voight,” a man says, interrupting my thoughts.

  I look up and see a rather dashing man, in his late fifties, standing right in front of my desk.

  “Oh, I’m terribly sorry. Are you Mr. Garcia?” I ask as I smile up at him.

  “Yes, miss, I am.”

  I stand and hold out my hand, introducing myself and offering him a refreshment, which he kindly obliges to. Once I’m in the breakroom, making Mr. Garcia’s coffee, I call my boss and let him know that his client has arrived and is waiting for him.

  “Good,” he grunts before he hangs up the phone.

  I deliver Mr. Garcia’s coffee to him, and he smiles kindly at me. I don’t know why he’s here to see my boss, but I can’t imagine that this sweet, older gentleman has done a darn thing wrong. He asks me how long I’ve worked here and if I’m from California.

  I find myself opening up to him in the few moments we have alone to chat. I tell him that I grew up here but moved away after my parents died; that I lived with my Gram in Texas until I was eighteen, and then moved back here after she, too, passed. He gazes at me with gentle eyes and comments with condolences for such great losses in my young age.

  “Mr. Garcia, I’m sorry to have kept you waiting. I do hope my secretary was courteous,” my boss says in a booming voice. I fight against grinding my teeth and rolling my eyes simultaneously.

  “Take care, girl,” Mr. Garcia says as he walks past me and wraps his fingers around my shoulder.

  I spend the rest of the morning working. Luckily, I have so much to do that I don’t think of Paxton even once. Two hours after his arrival, Mr. Garcia leaves, without so much as a glance in my direction, which I find odd.

  “Take your lunch early, Cleo,” my boss shouts from inside of his office.

  “Would you like me to pick up anything for you on my way back, sir?” I ask.

  “If I did, I would have told you,” he rumbles. I nod before turning and walking away.

  My boss is a total prick, but he’s good at his job, and the pay is decent for a girl with zero education living in the city. Lisandro is right, though. He treats me like shit, and he used me. I should quit and go up to Redding, start fresh. Maybe in doing that, I can throw Paxton off and he won’t be able to find me again so easily.

  Though, maybe I want to see him fight for me a little, even if I don’t want him. I think that I deserve a little more than him warning me about some kind of danger. I think I deserve a real conversation, and an apology.

  Then I want a divorce.

  I need to be free of him to completely move on with my life.

  “How are you doing today?” Lis asks as his greeting.

  “I’m fine,” I lie.

  “You lie,” he hisses. It causes me to giggle.

  “I’ll be okay.”

  “Oh, I know you will, but you still lie. I want you to be more than just okay,” he says. It makes me break out in a huge smile.

  I love that he wants that for me. He’s my best friend in the whole world, and he wants me to be happy, really happy, just as I’ve always wanted for him.

  “I will be,” I say with a nod as I continue to walk toward the café that I frequent for a quick lunch. “I have to go. I only have thirty minutes for lunch.”

  Lisandro grumbles that my boss is an asshole before he lets me go. I order a half a sandwich and a side salad before I make my way to an empty table outside and sit down to wait for my food. It’s a gorgeous fall day, and I’m going to soak up the rays before it becomes too cold and gloomy to do so.

  I go over my conversation with Paxton, how he told me to watch out for anyone following me. I don’t know why that portion of the conversation slips to the forefront of my mind, but I find myself scanning the street for anything suspicious.

  There is a fancy black sedan sitting across the street, the windows blacked out, but not necessarily suspicious in any way. There’s a delivery van set up in front of this little bakery that I sometimes go to, but the workers are loading up sweet treats, so that’s not out of the ordinary.

  Then my food arrives, so I push Paxton’s warnings to the back of my mind. He’s crazy. I don’t know what his game is, why he’s suddenly back in my life, like he’s always known where to find me, but I want him gone again.

  The pain he brings just by showing up, just by looking at me, is more than I can handle. It’s ridiculous, actually—completely ridiculous that I allow him to affect me in such a way.

  Once I’m finished eating, I let out a sigh and make my way back to work. The rest of the day is long and tedious, but at least my boss has left and the quiet of my office and the amount of work I have helps me to relax and not think about him or Paxton. That is, until I go home.

  I pull up to Cleo’s shitty apartment building. It’s evening again, same douchebags hanging at the bottom of her stairs as before, and her car is not in the parking lot. It’s growing dark, and I wonder just where in the fuck she is.

  Pulling my bike around to the hiding place I stowed it last time, I make my way up the stairs and then to her front door. It takes me about thirty seconds to jimmy her lock and walk inside of her apartment.

  “Fucking hell,” I curse as I lock the door behind me.

  Her locks are shit, the door is as thin as the walls, and since I can hear her neighbors fuckin’, that means they’re pretty goddamn thin. She lives in a complete fucking shithole. The Cartel could come in here, completely undetected, in seconds. She wouldn’t even know what the fuck happened.

  I sit down on her sofa and face the door, waiting for her. I wonder if I’ll feel the same way about her, seeing her again—if the initial shock will have worn off, or if she’ll still be the most magnificent thing I’ve laid eyes on. Maybe it was just a fluke. Just a shock at seeing her after so many years?

  Less than five minutes later, the door opens, she flips the light switch, and I know that it wasn’t a fluke. She’s absolutely, hands down, the prettiest thing that’s ever filled my vision. Eighteen or thirty years old, still a goddamn knock out.

>   “Your locks are shit,” I murmur, watching as she snaps her head up. She lets out a scream that lasts about two seconds, until she realizes just who I am.

  “What the hell are you doing in my apartment? Trying to give me a heart attack?” she asks, crossing her arms just below her plentiful tits.

  “Your locks are shit, the door is shit, and your neighbors are shit,” I announce.

  “Yeah, tell me something I don’t know,” she snorts.

  “You can’t stay here, Clee.”

  “Pretty sure it’s not your call where I live,” she says, like a smart ass. I want nothing more than to shove my dick between those smart lips—show her how I tolerate smart ass women.

  “I’m not fucking with you, Cleo. This shit that I’m dealing with is not a fucking joke. I’m about five minutes from carrying you outta here, putting you on the back of my bike, and taking you to my place to keep you safe,” I grind out.

  “So you’d kidnap me. And how is that safer than some unknown thing that probably isn’t even going to affect me?” she asks, arching a brow.

  I stand up and walk toward her, wrapping one hand around the side of her neck and the other at her waist, tugging her against my chest before I dip my chin slightly to look into her pretty, light brown eyes. Goddamn, she smells so fucking good. I can’t even fight my cock from going completely hard. Her smell, her softness pressed against me, it’s impossible.

  “If I gotta kidnap your smartass mouth to keep you safe, I will. These fucks will do a lot worse than kidnap you, Clee. They’ll take you, keep you, fuck you, and sell you. That something you want to leave to chance?” I ask, squeezing the side of her neck gently. I watch as her eyes widen, surprise marring her features.

  “What on earth are you involved in, Pax?” she whispers. It’s like a goddamn punch to my gut.

  Pax.

  I haven’t been called that in years—eleven years—not since the day I left her.

  “Not me bein’ involved with them, sweetheart. They want control over my club, and they’re willing to try to take that in ways that are… unsavory,” I murmur, my thumb tracing her big, full lips.

  “Pax, baby,” she whispers.

  Fuck, my cock goes rock hard as her eyes search mine. I lean down slightly and press my lips to hers. Inhaling her sweet scent, feeling her warm lips against mine as I press my hand against her back a little harder, bringing her even closer to me.

  “Not lettin’ a fuckin’ thing touch you, Cleo,” I murmur after I pull my lips away from hers slightly.

  We stay silent for a beat, and then her body stiffens. That’s when I know that she’s putting her defenses back up. I don’t blame her a bit, but having her sweetness in my arms again, fuck it was better than I remembered. She takes a step back, and I let her, allowing my hands to fall away from her.

  “You need to go,” she grinds out.

  “I’m not fuckin’ with you, Cleo. This shit is dangerous, and I’m worried they’ll come after you,” I inform her. She’s not listening. I can tell by the pissed off look in her eyes.

  “I’ve been just fine for eleven years. I’ll be fine for eleven more without you,” she says, lifting her chin slightly as she delivers her blow. A blow I wholeheartedly deserve.

  “Know you’re pissed, sweetheart, and you have every fuckin’ right—but you have to put that shit to the side and listen to what I’m telling you. This is no fuckin’ joke,” I practically plead to her.

  “If I have any problems, I’ll call Lisandro,” she says.

  My eyes narrow as I ask, “Who the fuck is Lisandro?”

  “None of your business,” she says, adding a little grin.

  “Cleo,” I snap.

  “Seriously, none of your business, Paxton. I’ll keep an eye out, like you said. I’ll watch out for suspicious things, and I’ll call Lisandro if I need help,” she retorts, a little too brightly.

  “We ain’t done talking,” I say, pointing at her.

  “No, I do want to talk, but we can do that when I have divorce papers drawn up that you can sign.”

  I feel my stomach drop and my eyes widen slightly at her words. Divorce papers. I hadn’t thought about that.

  Divorce.

  The word is ugly, though it’s not as if I hadn’t thought of it over the past decade. I have. However, right now, it doesn’t feel right. There’s something here between us, and no way in fuck am I going to walk away just yet. Once The Cartel is handled, then maybe it’s something we can discuss; but for some reason, it definitely doesn’t feel right.

  “No divorce, Cleo,” I growl. Her eyes widen.

  “Paxton, you can’t be serious. Why not?” she practically screeches, her voice hitching up higher.

  “’Cause,” I shrug, taking another step toward her.

  Cleo backs up with each step I take until her back hits the wall. I cage her in, one hand wrapped around the side of her small waist, the other at the side of her head, my fingers buried in her soft as fuck red hair. She breathes heavily, and I can’t help the smile that tips my lips. I know it’s me, my proximity to her, that makes her that way.

  He’s so close to me, I can smell him. He doesn’t smell like he did all those years ago. I can still remember how he smelled like dirt, spice, and just him. Now, there are hints of oil and leather mixed with his scent, and I wouldn’t have ever thought it was possible, but he smells better than he ever has.

  I’m trying to stay still, caged in his arms as I tell myself to breathe, his eyes stormy blue and looking right at mine. Dammit, he’s still so gorgeous that he renders me speechless and stupid. Nothing has changed. I’m still this shy girl when I’m near him. He’s always owned me and had control over me, just with one look.

  “You need to leave,” I whisper.

  “Sweetheart, my innocent girl,” he rasps. It makes my knees shake.

  Sweetheart. I’d almost forgotten the way he would whisper that to me, when he was deep inside of me—the week I had him, that is. I should have cherished it more, knowing he was going to take it all away in a heartbeat. I should have committed it to memory better, instead of the haziness I’m stuck with now.

  “I’m not,” I whisper.

  “Yeah, baby, you are. My Clee, so shy, so innocent, my sweetheart,” he mutters pressing his hard length against my stomach.

  “I’m thirty years old, Paxton,” I say lamely.

  “Yeah, baby, I know how old you are. Doesn’t make you less innocent; less shy,” he chuckles. I grind my teeth together in annoyance. “You can’t deny it, so don’t even try.”

  Paxton’s lips touch mine again and for whatever asinine reason, I don’t push him away. Rather, I stupidly open for him. When his tongue touches my lips, then swipes inside of my mouth, I can’t stop myself from grabbing his t-shirt with my fingers and holding onto him with a moan.

  He tastes better than he smells, and he’s so good at this, kissing, making me feel absolutely beautiful in his arms. I’d forgotten it all. I thought I’d remembered how he felt. I was wrong. Nothing prepared me for the wave of emotions the second his tongue slid inside of my mouth.

  Pulling away from me slightly, he rests his forehead against mine, and we both breathe heavily, our chests rising and falling a few times before he speaks, his voice soft and gentle.

  “Sweetheart, I missed you,” he whispers.

  I close my eyes for a moment, trying to keep my tears at bay. These words, I’ve wanted them, I’ve wished for them, and I’ve prayed for them. They’re here now, mine for the taking, but they aren’t as sweet as I’d hoped they’d be. Instead, they’re marred by the years of pain between us. It’s been too long. Eleven years too long.

  “Leave, now,” I urge softly.

  “You don’t mean that, baby,” he says, his voice still gentle.

  “I do. You need to leave, now,” I state a little firmer. He takes a step back from me, and I force myself to release my hold on his shirt. His eyes scan my face and he nods.

  “Not gonna b
e gone for long, Clee; and I ain’t far. You feel uncomfortable at all, call me. You want to talk to me, call me. You need me for whatever reason, call me,” his last words end on an urging type tone, but I can do nothing but nod.

  I step aside from the door and watch him walk away from me. I lock the door and then I bring my fingertips up to my lips and touch them. They’re slightly swollen from his kiss, and I can’t tear my eyes away from the door.

  Paxton Hill is going to obliterate me.

  I can’t let that happen, not again.

  True, I’m not the sweet eighteen-year-old I once was, the overly trusting innocent child. But that doesn’t mean that I’ve changed all that much.

  I’m still, as he pegged me, very innocent in a lot of ways. I haven’t been in a lot of relationships. I have one best friend, and Paxton was the great love of my life.

  I haven’t lived a lot, nor have I loved a lot. He knows how to talk to me, how to play me, and I refuse to allow that this time. Unfortunately, I don’t know how to stop it. Deep down, I want it, and I want him.

  I still want my husband.

  I pull my car into the same parking spot that I always park in—every day for the last ten years. I’m not big on change, obviously, and the same goes for my general habits. It’s Tuesday, and it’s seven-thirty in the morning. I arrive at the office at seven-thirty so that I have adequate time to prepare for the arrival of my boss, Stephenson Voight.

  Although, I was only allowed to call him Stephenson while he was fucking me. The next day, it was back to Mr. Voight, and has been for years. It doesn’t bother me, though. I’d rather be detached from him. It makes my colossal mistake of allowing him inside of me to burn a little less.

  When I arrive upstairs at my desk, I let out a surprised squeak when I see Mr. Garcia sitting in my chair.

  “C-Can I help you, Mr. Garcia?” I ask, furrowing my brow in confusion.