Hustler

by Jane Henry

  “Right there,” I whispered in Haven’s ear, lowering my body to hers as both of her hands grasped the headboard rail. We’d gone to her parents’ house and taken them to dinner. Neither showed even a hint of recognizing me, and Haven had given them the news over dinner about the windfall. They were thrilled, though they’d seemed even more elated to see Haven’s hand tucked into mine.

  After dinner, we’d seen them home and gone to our hotel. I’d rented a suite, the largest and swankiest one I could find. She now lay under me, completely naked and thoroughly turned on, after I’d taken her across my knee and spanked her to the edge of climax. I ran my hands along the length of her body, loving the way she felt beneath me, my cock sliding between her legs. I brought my mouth to her breast and licked her nipple, feeling her arch beneath me, her legs parting.

  “I’m sorry for everything I’ve done, Haven,” I whispered in her ear, edging at her entrance. Her knuckles whitened, her wide green eyes fixed on mine. I inhaled the scent of lemons and vanilla, purity and joy as her breath mingled with mine. Little flecks of light danced in her eyes, like meadows dotted with wildflowers.

  “No more apologizing, Ethan,” she said. “Love covers a multitude of sins,” she whispered, and though I knew she was quoting something I’d heard long ago, hearing her say it made it new. Perfect.

  “Yes,” I breathed, sliding into her. “And God, do I love you.” Her eyes met mine, her fingers sliding off the headboard. In that moment, I knew I would do whatever it took to keep her looking at me that way forever.

  She trusted me. It wasn’t until I met Haven that earning someone’s trust mattered.

  Her arms encircled my neck as I made slow, sweet love to her, my movements unhurried, the energy between us crackling like logs on a fire--hot, powerful, mesmerizing.

  “And I love you,” she replied. I took her mouth with mine, needing to kiss her to seal this oath, our promise to each other transcending the past. I’d taken her many times before. We’d had hot, heart-pounding sex, but this was different. I swallowed her gasps as we came together, our bodies moving as one, chasing ecstasy.

  Now, we made love.

  Epilogue

  “Ah, I fucking love this movie,” Walker sighed. “I don’t care if it’s almost twenty years old. Still classic.”

  Ethan’s thigh shifted slightly beneath my head at Walker’s words, and I came awake somewhat, just enough to realize that the swelling music coming from the speakers likely meant the movie credits were rolling. But with Ethan’s arm laying over my chest, heavy and protective, I was way too comfortable and sleepy to move or even wake fully.

  Movie Night with the Masters. This was becoming a weekly tradition, and I couldn’t lie. I loved it. Sure, most of the movies featured explosions, cowboys, superheroes, and as far as I was concerned, a serious lack of plot, but it was the coming together that I think we all enjoyed. The way Sabrina would make snacks, Ethan would mix drinks, and Walker would clear out the media room he called his lair, so all of us, even serious, reserved Xavier, would gather to spend time together and shut out the rest of the world.

  It had been a wild few weeks for all of us. I was pretty new to this team, this crazy little family the Masters had created, but even I could sense the stress everyone had been under. Between Ethan’s stint in Bonneville, the push to free Luis, getting Max freed and off to a new life, and the teeny, tiny little matter of my attempted abduction, tensions had been high in the penthouse.

  The Masters had set themselves on a course a few months back, a path that would lead to justice for the people they’d lost. Now they were closer to their goal than ever before: Anson, Ethan, and Walker all knew that the Bianchis had ordered the deaths of their loved ones, and having that common enemy to take down had energized them.

  Unfortunately, knowing their enemy also meant that the stakes were higher than ever. The Bianchis were powerful, connected, ruthless, and worst of all, still covered by the thin veneer of respectability that meant we’d have to tread extremely carefully with whatever steps we took next.

  “It’s one of those movies where I feel like there are twenty-seven layers, but I don’t give a shit about digging below the surface one,” Ethan said, shifting back further into his seat. “Trinity is hot.”

  Walker snorted. “The Wachowski sisters created this whole epic, packed with symbolism and undercurrents about free will versus destiny, and you’re all, Trinity is hot.”

  Ethan paused for a second, and I could imagine the cool-eyed skeptical look he was turning on his friend. “Am I wrong?”

  Walker snorted again, louder this time. “Not even a little, hermano. I don’t usually go for the cute little waif with pixie cuts, but I make an exception for Trinity.”

  “Mm hmm. And I think we all know what type of woman you go for,” Ethan said.

  “Yeah? What’s that supposed to mean?” Walker demanded, and I felt myself wake fully, though I kept my eyes closed.

  Ethan trailed his fingers down my arm, and I could feel him shrug. “Pretty sure you have a fondness for the type with long, dark hair and curves. Preferably those who are a little loud and a little high-maintenance?”

  I knew exactly what, or who, Ethan was thinking about, but I wasn’t sure bringing it up to Walker was a wise idea. Over the past few weeks, what had begun as Walker’s preoccupation with Stella Bianchi had become a full-fledged obsession. He refused to listen when Sabrina and I suggested she might be as much a victim of her family as any of the Masters. He flat-out ignored Caelan’s concerns about the danger Stella might be in for telling us about Luis. Hell, he couldn’t hear her name without narrowing his eyes and gritting his teeth.

  And with the tension in the Masters’ penthouse already a powder keg, I was afraid Stella Bianchi was the match that would set it off.

  I cracked my eyes open just a fraction, and in the static blue glow of the television, I saw that the sofa seats Sabrina, Anson, and Caelan had occupied at the beginning of the movie were empty now, and Walker, Ethan, and I were alone.

  Xavier had bowed out of tonight’s installment of movie night altogether since he’d had plans, but I knew Walker had been thinking about him all night. Or, more accurately, about the woman Xavier had escorted to a benefit dinner.

  Walker chuckled light and low, the sound almost dangerous. “Dark-haired and curvy, true enough. But if you’re talking about the bitch I think you’re talking about? You’re crazy.”

  “Am I?”

  “Crazy,” Walker repeated, disgusted. “Stick your dick in a bitch that cold and it might freeze off.”

  Ethan huffed out a breath that might have been a laugh. “Mmm, I dunno. Love is pretty close to hate,” he said mildly, teasing but not.

  “Not in this case,” Walker insisted. “Not after everything she’s done.”

  Ethan’s hand trailed down my arm again, considering. “Maybe better to avoid her altogether, if that’s the case.”

  I could sense Walker’s focus sharpen, a ripple of tension shattering the calm of our evening. “Don’t fucking try to grift me, Ethan. Say what you mean.”

  “Fair enough,” Ethan agreed. “I’m saying I think you need to back off Stella Bianchi.”

  Walker spoke before Ethan had even finished saying the woman’s name, his voice flat and final. “Not gonna happen.”

  A pause, during which I could practically hear Ethan thinking. “You recorded the whole conversation when she was here the other day.”

  “You know I did. I told you I did.”

  “I know. Question is, how are you planning to use that recording?”

  Walker was silent, but the tension didn’t ebb.

  “Let me guess,” Ethan said softly. “Blackmail?”

  “Maybe,” Walker allowed, but his tone said yes.

  I could feel Ethan shaking his head. “And have you thought about this? Really thought about what this means? You’re forcing that woman to endanger her life if you make her help us, Walk—”

  “O
h, come on—”

  “If you do this, if we do this, it makes us no better than the fucking Bianchis,” Ethan hissed.

  “Fine!” Walker said, his voice a whip crack in the silent room. “Maybe I don’t give a shit anymore, Ethan! Maybe I’m tired of being one step behind these guys. Maybe I think it’s time we fight fire with fire!”

  “Walker.” Ethan’s voice was placating.

  “Nah,” Walker said. “Listen, you guys are all reformed now, and that’s great. Anson only steals for the good guys. Caelan’s a fucking pacifist. You don’t con anyone — at least, not in a way that’ll get you arrested.”

  Ethan snorted.

  “That’s great for you guys, you know? I get it. I do. You’ve got Haven, Daly’s got Sabrina, Xavier’s busy trying to rule the world, and Caelan’s got his Earl Grey. But that’s not me. I make no bones about what I am and what I do. There will be no turning over a new leaf for me, okay? You guys know a little about how I grew up, right?”

  Ethan’s body shifted like he was nodding slowly.

  “So trust me when I tell you, man,” Walker continued, “this is my new leaf.”

  He paused, and I could sense Ethan watching him, waiting for Walker to assemble his thoughts. I imagined Walker running a hand through his chin-length black hair, dislodging it from the short tail at the nape of his neck, the way he often did when he was trying to think.

  “There’s an imbalance of power in this world, E. You know it. I know it. Hell, all of us Masters know it. That’s why we’re here, right? And what I do, when I hack a bank and clear a debt, when I bring secret shit to light? It balances the scales. People get what they deserve, for good or for ill.”

  “Uh huh. And where does Stella Bianchi fit into your little god complex, my friend?” Ethan’s words were sharp, but his voice was soft, soothing the sting even as he caused it.

  Walker sighed. “She’s a Bianchi,” he said, like this explained everything. And maybe, in his mind, it did.

  There was a rustle, the crinkle of leather, and then Walker’s voice came from above, like he’d stood up. “I know you get what I mean when I say, it’s never been about the money for me. It’s about power. Control. Control over my life, power to protect the people I care about. The Bianchis have power, and they used it to kill indiscriminately. To kill people we cared about. But now, hermano? Now I’ve got the power back. We’ve got the power. And I don’t care how pretty she is, or how much she’s my fucking type. I’m gonna make little Miss Bianchi dance to my tune.”

  His words were chilling. I understood them, the same way I understood that a need for control underlaid everything the Masters did in their private lives and in their quest for justice. But I did not envy Stella Bianchi right now, for all her money and beauty and fancy sequined dresses. Not even a little.

  Ethan’s hand stroked down my hip, his fingers squeezing slightly, like he wanted to ground himself in me. “Xavier’s not gonna like it,” he said at length.

  “I know you’ve run out of arguments if you’re bringing that up,” Walker replied, amused. His voice was a shrug. “It’s time for Xavier to realize that he doesn’t run this show. I love you all like brothers, but that woman,” he spat, “gets no consideration from me. She saw my friend killed and said nothing. She saw an innocent man put in prison while she went to parties and wore designer silk. Stella Bianchi deserves what she gets.”

  I could feel the tension in Ethan’s body, but he said only, “Do me a favor man. For the sake of the brotherhood? Don’t do anything without talking to everyone first.”

  Walker laughed without humor. “Alright. I’ll make that deal. But I’ll warn you, brother, none of you are gonna change my mind.”

  I heard the clatter of something hitting the coffee table and opened my eyes to see Walker had tossed the remote down on the wood surface. He looked harried, but when he saw me blinking up at him, he forced a smile for my benefit. “And on that note, I’ll leave you two.” He winked at me and nodded at Ethan. “Night, guys.”

  “Oh. Okay. Night,” I called, trying to infuse my voice with false sleepiness as Walker left the room.

  Ethan waited until we’d heard Walker’s footsteps recede down the hallway before his grip on my hip changed and he pushed me to turn so I was looking up at him.

  “And how long have you been overhearing?” he asked, skating his palm down and under my ass to squeeze. He raised one teasing eyebrow, but his voice was deadly serious, and I shivered at the implications.

  “Um. Not long?” I offered.

  “Uh-huh. A likely story,” he said. But I could tell he was distracted when his gaze shifted toward the hallway where Walker had disappeared.

  “You’re worried about him,” I said.

  It wasn’t a question, but Ethan nodded and gave me a small smile. “I made my living reading people, but Walker… he’s a bit of an enigma, you know? Laughing, joking, leader of the frat boys,” he said, rolling his eyes at Sabrina’s fond nickname for the Masters. “But beneath the surface…” He shook his head.

  I pushed myself to sit up and cupped Ethan’s jaw with one hand. “I know. There’s something dark in his past. I’m not asking for confidences,” I assured him, when he turned those bright blue eyes on me. “But I can sense it.”

  Ethan nodded, then he shook his head and turned the full force of his attention on me. In the end, no matter what else was happening in our lives, I knew he’d always would.

  “You know, Walker was wrong if he assumes I’ve really reformed.”

  I narrowed my eyes at his teasing tone. “Oh, really?”

  “Mmm. Some things are always going to be second nature. I’ve just… reassessed my priorities, let’s say. I don’t need to use my talents to make a score. Now I have the Masters, and more than that, I have you.”

  I smiled warmly, then tucked my smile against his neck. “Are you sure that’ll be enough of a challenge for you?”

  He wrapped one hand around my back and dipped the other below my knees to lift me in his arms. Cradled in his strength, I could only gasp as he shifted to stand. “Oh, there’s not a doubt in my mind. You, Haven Wright, are the biggest challenge I’ve ever faced.”

  I wrapped my arms around his neck, drawing his lips down to mine, and he kissed me deeply.

  “The biggest challenge, and the biggest payoff,” he whispered. “Always.”

  THE END

  Thank you so much for reading Hustler

  The Masters of Manhattan will be back in three more books, coming this spring!

  Outcast (Book 3, coming May 2018)

  Enforcer (Book 4, coming June 2018)

  Mastermind (Book 5, coming June 2018)

  Turn the page to read the first chapter of Outcast, right now!

  Outlaw (Masters of Manhattan, Book Three)

  Prologue

  Last January...

  I stalked down the ice-cold sidewalk of West 59th Street, skirting along the edge of the park, and joined the throng of other pedestrians waiting to cross 5th Avenue. The January sun had set hours ago — not that I was ever awake to see it these days — but Manhattan was never really dark and, as the song said, never really slept. It was the perfect place for a guy who preferred anonymity and shadows.

  The people around me were all well-dressed and shiny, exactly what I expected to encounter when I ventured to the Upper East Side. I hunched into my leather jacket to hide my smirk as a waspy little idiot with impeccably smooth blond hair gave me a scathing up-and-down glance before throwing an arm around his equally-impeccable, equally-blonde girlfriend.

  Aw. How cute. Mr. Trust Fund getting all protective around the big, bad Mexican, like my slightly darker skin made me dangerous.

  These fuckers never understood that what made me dangerous was the gray matter between my ears, and that I was only really dangerous when provoked. Which I wasn’t. Yet.

  “This is so stupid,” Trust Fund whined, when the parade of cabs and limos failed to part like the Red Sea for him
. “Come on, Shelby, or we’ll miss our reservation.”

  He grabbed his girl by the wrist and took a step off the curb, only to stumble back a second later as I grabbed his elbow.

  The oncoming cab missed Trust Fund and Shelby by inches.

  “The fuck do you think you’re doing?” I demanded. I pointed at the Do Not Walk sign. “Can’t you read? Jaywalking in this city’s not a joke, man.”

  Trust Fund gaped up at me, like he couldn’t believe those words had come out of my mouth. But then again, Trust Fund likely hadn’t grown up with an abuelita who thought nothing of hammering pedestrian safety into his head with the flat of her sandal like I had.

  Too bad for Trust Fund. He was gonna get his ass run over one day.

  Shelby shook off the little man’s grip. “Honestly, Carson!” she fumed, looking embarrassed.

  Carson — because of course that was the prick’s name — flushed and pulled his elbow away from my hand, like he thought I might have some contagious disease. “Do you mind?”

  I shook my head in exasperation and let the man go, willing myself to calm. Necessitas controlar tu temperamento! I could almost hear my abuelita’s voice in my head. La ira y venganza te hace estúpido.

  And she was right. Anger and vengeance did make me stupid, and I couldn’t afford to be stupid, not tonight of all nights. If Carson wanted to make shitty life choices, that was Carson’s business… and possibly Shelby’s. Not mine.

  Though really, I thought, as I shot the woman’s backside an appreciative glance, a girl with an ass that nice could do better, even if she was a little too pointy and blonde for my personal taste.

  That should have been the end of it. I was going to let the matter go, I was. Carson and his cutie could have run off to play in the traffic as much as they wanted while I walked away. But then Carson, the fucking idiot, put his hand to his back pocket and glared at me, like he was making sure I hadn’t picked his wallet while saving his life. And that was the moment when I remembered that while anger had occasionally made me stupid, it had also made me very successful.