by S. Massery
The world goes blurry the next minute.
Too much, Gem.
I let out a sigh and hold on to the bottle, keeping my thumb over the top and returning to my previous position of floating on my back. I lost the cap somewhere on the journey up here.
I spread my arms out, the water caressing me, and shiver. The flower heads nudge at my skin. It’s just enough peace for me to close my eyes. It must be the alcohol, or just a profound sense of exhaustion, because the world fades away.
I’m not sure how long I stay like that, quietly grieving Kai in my own way. I drift in and out of consciousness until hands wrap around my neck, forcing me under the water.
13
Aiden
I step off the elevator and unbutton the top of my shirt. It’s been a stressful evening in more ways than one, and I’m grateful to be back. Even if this isn’t my normal space, it’s still home enough. Besides, Gemma is here.
I don’t like that she’s a comfort. My mind kept straying back to her while I asked the medical examiner about Jimmy, questions that made him twitch with unease. In the end, all the information Sam and I digested was enough to give me a raging headache.
We didn’t linger. With the bullet fragment in hand, Sam went off to have a chat with one of the local gunrunners. We let them live in peace because their business doesn’t affect us, but I’ve noticed their involvement in more and more. It’s not enough to squash them, not when we could use them to our advantage.
If the small-time gang isn’t willing to talk, then we’ll have issues.
Key in hand, I push it into the lock—and the whole door swings inward.
I step back quickly, drawing my gun. I palm the door and press gently, and it opens on silent hinges. I sweep through the apartment methodically, clearing every inch of space before venturing upstairs.
Empty.
I even go so far as checking under the bed, in the cabinets below the sink, the supply closet next to the front door.
Nothing. No Gemma. No Cat. No freaking note, either.
Still, I don’t react. I can’t, not yet. Not until I find her.
I yank the door open again and realize the latch has been taped over. Easy way to avoid getting locked out if someone doesn’t have a key.
The box of food I ordered is off to the side. A lazy server didn’t even attempt to get inside, then? Or did they listen to the part of my instructions about not talking to anyone, but disregard the rest?
I blow out a breath. If Gemma did this, it means she left voluntarily. But… with or without Catrina?
And then my heart lurches, and I grit my teeth.
I keep my gun at my side and bypass the elevator—it’s too slow—going straight for the stairs. I go down a level and pound on Cat and Sam’s door until she opens it. Her face pales.
“Where is she?” I growl.
She shakes her head. “I left her—”
“You were supposed to be watching her!” I yell.
She flinches, but I barely register it. I’ll deal with my disobedient cousin later, when this churning in my gut eases. I swing around and go back to the stairs, this time heading up. My attention snags on the roof access plaque, and I bolt. Of course she’d go to the roof.
My heart is in my throat when I reach the door. One single shoe is in the stairwell, beside the door. I stare at it for a moment. The door doesn’t lock—a safety mechanism—but she must not have known that.
I shove it open and stride out, ready to give her hell.
But what I’m not expecting is to see one of my lowlife cousins in the pool. He moves quietly toward Gemma, who floats with her eyes closed in the center of the water. My cousin reaches out and puts his hands on her neck, shoving her under.
Her body seems to collapse in, her feet kicking the air for a split second. She hits him with something, but it doesn’t do any good. She’s got no leverage.
He’s drowning her.
And I. See. Red.
I let out a roar and race toward them, raising my gun. He glances over his shoulder at me. His eyes are wild, but his expression is quickly overtaken by fear.
And he has my fiancée under the water still, even as she scrambles at his forearms.
“Mistake.” I squeeze the trigger three times. My first shot tears through his throat, but the second and third are cleaner, directly through his forehead. He falls toward Gemma in slow motion, and I leap into the water, swimming hard to get to them.
I yank him off her and drag her up.
She comes fighting, her eyes screwed shut. Her nails cut into my cheeks, my neck, before I capture her wrists and pin them between us. I pull her close, urging her to wrap her legs around me. We’re on the slant between the shallow and deep end, water up to my chest.
“Shh, shh,” I whisper, hugging her tightly. I want her closer than is physically possible. “You’re okay.”
Her eyes crack open, and she blinks at me for a long, slow moment. I wonder if she’s debating whether or not to trust me, but my doubt vanishes when relief crosses her face. She latches on to me, her now free arms winding around my shoulders.
I back us away from the man, cupping the back of her head so she doesn’t twist around and see him. He’s facedown, blood mixing with the water around him. She burrows her face into my neck and clings to me.
“Did he hurt you?”
“Besides trying to drown me?” Her hot breath hits my skin. She leans back and stares into my eyes. “No. Just drunk.”
I stare at her a beat, then sniff.
Tequila.
She gives me a doe-eyed look of pure innocence, and I sigh. Before I can stop her, she wiggles from my grasp and plants her feet, glancing back at the man. I expect… I don’t know, disgust or horror. Instead, she’s curious.
She wades toward him and rolls him over. She can’t seem to tear her gaze away from the bullet holes in his forehead, the open gash in his throat.
“Did you hesitate?” She doesn’t look away until I don’t answer, then she glances over her shoulder. The tequila seems to be making her bold tonight. Unafraid, even though her voice is hoarse.
I narrow my eyes. “No.”
“Why not? You know who he is, right?”
“A cousin,” I acknowledge. “I couldn’t tell you his name. Don’t really give a fuck.”
She grunts.
I grab her arm and guide her back toward me. “He was trying to drown you. Do you know why?”
“Because of who I am?”
I help her out of the pool and follow. My clothes are drenched, my shoes waterlogged. She shivers in her black bralette and panties. I spot her dress and shoes on the cement not far away. There’s a chest of towels in the far corner, but I ignore that and focus on her.
“Because of the mall. We lost men, and I can’t control everything—not when I haven’t had the chance to tell them you’re off limits. Do you see why I didn’t want you to leave?” I grasp her chin and resist the urge to shake her.
Fuck me, I was worried. I was going to be delicate around her. Her cousin shot in front of her, and now another life attempt. He didn’t even put up a fight—not against me, anyway. He had a one-minded mission to kill her.
And I have to wonder how many other people will try.
Keeping her locked up has clearly backfired. I should’ve had her out in a show of force—insinuated that I didn’t give a fuck what anyone else thought. But I hid her away and thought no one would notice.
“You got lucky playing cards with Cat. This could’ve happened there, and who would’ve helped you in a room full of people who want you gone? Catrina has never had to fight for her life, let alone someone else’s.”
She lifts her hand and traces my lips. “And now I have. But I’m okay.”
“You’re so far from okay.”
Why did I take her in the first place?
Why didn’t I just shoot her in the head—like I would’ve done to any West who tried to stop me from finding my brother’s kill
er—and call it a day?
She’s nothing but an innocent girl.
And I’ve wanted her for myself for three years.
“I just don’t want to feel,” she mumbles, staggering back and grabbing her clothes. She can barely walk.
I retrieve my gun and shove it into the waistband of my pants, then cross the space to where she’s crouched. I scoop her up, and she squeaks. Her arms come around my neck.
“What are you doing?” Her voice is hollow.
“Making sure you don’t fall down the stairs,” I say.
She opens the door for us, and we travel back to my floor in relative silence. Relative because every so often, her breathing hitches like she’s trying to keep herself under control. My anger flares again, and I kick the door open to our apartment.
I don’t bother removing the tape—if anyone wants to come in here, I’ll shoot first and ask questions later. I don’t put her down until we’re in the bathroom, and I set her on the counter.
“This is familiar,” she mutters.
I agree.
She doesn’t have much to strip off this time, but then something catches my eye. The red prints of the fucker upstairs. I nudge her chin up to get a better look, and it isn’t until her hand lands on my chest that I realize I’ve been making a low noise.
“He’s dead,” she says.
“I wish I didn’t kill him,” I admit.
Her eyes widen.
But I’m not done. “Because that fucker died way too fast.”
She surprises me by laughing. Her composure quickly dissolves into hysterical giggles. She howls, rocking back and forth, and tears stream down her face. I brush her wet hair off her shoulder and slide the strap of her bra down her arm.
She goes silent just as quickly as the laugher came on.
“What are you going to do?” Her voice is husky.
And the way she stares at me, it’s like she’s daring me to do something. Anything. I’d love nothing more than to bury my face between her legs—or my cock. To rip that sweet virginity from her like a fucking caveman.
“What do you want, princess?”
Gemma smirks and leans forward, pressing her lips to mine. She pulls away—probably misinterpreting my surprise as disinterest—but I don’t let her get far. I capture the back of her head and bring her forward, meeting halfway.
We slam together. Not just the kiss, but her whole body is flush against me. I’m hard in an instant.
I lick the seam of her lips, and she parts them, letting my tongue take ownership of her mouth. I taste the flavor of tequila. Her hands go to the waistband of my pants, undoing the button and dragging the zipper down.
Fuck.
She shoves the material off my hips and palms my length. I groan into her mouth as she wraps her fingers around me, sliding her hand up and down. I continue dragging her bra down and run my thumb over her pebbled nipple. I tear my lips from hers and work my way down her jaw, her throat. I nip her skin, the chlorine water a sharp taste, and she arches into me.
I try to erase the marks that asshole left on her skin. Claim her with my teeth.
She tilts her head and lets out a soft groan, squeezing my cock.
“Aiden,” she whispers. “I want to feel you.” Her thighs tighten around my hips, and only the scrap of material covering her pussy separates us.
She releases my erection and urges me closer, her legs locking around me.
She’s drunk, some part of my mind screams. It echoes around, nagging at me, until I pull away. All the way away.
I turn sharply to catch my breath.
“What—”
“I won’t fuck you when you couldn’t even walk straight.” I can’t believe I’m saying that—but I want her present. I want her plainly, not hiding behind liquor. Hiding from trauma. The thought slips through me like poison.
She scoffs. “Since when have you ever been the bigger person?”
I wheel back around. “Don’t test me.”
She hops off the counter and steps toward me. “I don’t want the bigger person. I want whatever you can give me.”
I reach over and flick on the shower, leaving it icy cold, and lift her into it.
She screeches, but I step out of the way of her swinging hands. I glance at myself in the mirror and note the scratches she managed to inflict. A long gouge in my cheek, a few more on my neck.
It brings a smile to my lips.
Steam billows out of the shower now, heating the room.
I shuck off the rest of my clothes and wait for her to finish moping, but the other side of the frosted glass is silent. Eventually, she peeks around the wall and meets my eyes.
“Are you joining me?” She bites her lip.
My control is already fraying, so I nod once and step forward. The hot water is heaven on my chilled skin, and Gemma steps aside so I can be in the direct stream. She leans against the tiles, arms banded around her stomach.
“What are you thinking?”
She shrugs.
I squint at her.
“I just want to know where this is going,” she murmurs. “How the hell you’re going to convince your family not to murder me any time your back is turned. Why you even told your father you’d marry me…”
Ah. A plan has seeded in my mind, but I’m not ready to reveal it to her. “You’ll see.”
She sighs and inches up next to me. “In that case…” She twists the water to the coldest setting and rushes out of the shower.
It goes from pleasantly hot to ice in an instant, and it effectively kills my hard-on. I swear, forcing the showerhead away.
“Payback, DeSantis,” she calls, disappearing with a towel into the bedroom.
I smirk. “You’ll need to do a lot worse than that, sweetheart.”
14
Gemma
I wake up plastered to Aiden. Again.
A lump forms in my throat at how close we are. The night before, it was his choice. His arm over my waist, his legs tangled with mine. But this is very clearly me. My head is tucked under his chin, my hand splayed out on his chest. My leg… my leg is thrown over his, and I don’t have to look to know he’s hard. His erection presses against my thigh.
My core pulses, and before I fully realize what I’m doing, I roll my hips. I only had one experience of almost giving myself an orgasm. My core brushes his thigh, but the relief isn’t enough. I’ve been turned on since last night, when he abruptly stopped touching me.
God, that was definitely liquor-induced stupidity.
I bite my lip and, when he doesn’t move, I do it again. The friction just drives my need higher.
“Let me help you.” His voice is soft and low with sleep. He doesn’t wait for my answer, though, just slides his hand down my side. His fingers maneuver beneath my sleep shorts and panties and finds my clit.
I squeeze my eyes shut, but I can’t help the hand on his chest. I dig my fingernails into his skin, and he huffs under his breath.
His fingers continue on their path. “You’re soaked.”
I shift again, into his palm. His touch is too light. Teasing. I don’t know what I want, but this isn’t it.
“Look at me,” he orders.
I lean back so I can meet his hot gaze. Any trace of sleep that clung to either of us a moment ago burns away. He doesn’t duck down and kiss me, but instead watches as he pushes a finger inside me.
I gasp.
He strokes a spot deep inside me that I didn’t know existed. One I had never bothered to truly find on my own. But he knows, and within moments I’m a mess. I just want more, but all I have is the feel of his finger.
“Do you regret last night?” He raises his eyebrow.
I blush. I don’t feel a headache—probably compliments of the lack of sugar—and I remember most of it. My makeshift funeral, being drunk, the man who tried to kill me. In the same day Aiden murdered my cousin, he saves me from another DeSantis.
I hate that it puts his life in perspective: he
doesn’t really give a shit who he kills.
But kissing him, driven purely by desire? Touching him? It’s no different than kneeling before him and opening my mouth, is it?
“No.” It comes out on a whimper.
He withdraws his hand, and I think that maybe I said the wrong thing. Am I supposed to regret it?
He suddenly rolls us so I’m pinned under him. He sits back and peels off my shorts and panties. I let him move me, dropping the light fabric to the floor, and then return between my legs. He only wears shorts, his erection tenting it. I let myself look, my cheeks getting even hotter.
Aiden parts my knees wider, placing a kiss on the inner corner. He works his way up, a trail of kisses. Anticipation rushes through me, but nerves, too.
His breath hits my core, and I jerk.
He meets my eyes, giving me a devious grin before descending. His tongue sweeps up my center, but I barely register that before he latches on to my clit. I gasp, arching, as electric shocks flood through me. I bury my hands in his hair, but even I can’t tell if I’m trying to shove him away or press him closer.
The same but different.
The first time, my ass cheeks were sore from his palm, and anger lit us up. Anger and lust. It’s different in the hazy, warm light of morning. I scrape my nails along his scalp, and he hums against my skin.
There. It’s just a flicker. An instinct that something greater is coming. A tightening in my abdomen.
His thumb skates over my clit then down. He inserts two fingers inside me and sucks hard on my clit. His fingers curl. His teeth find my sensitive bud, and it’s the pain mixed with intense pleasure that pushes me over the edge. An orgasm explodes over me, and I scream. He takes it all, until my muscles relax and I sag back into the bed. I release his hair, and slowly, the mortification takes over.
He kisses his way up my body, and I watch him through heavy lidded eyes. He pushes my shirt higher, exposing my breasts.
I should stop this, but… I’ll be selfish for once.
He bites my breast. I gasp and drag him up. Our lips meet, parting, and I taste myself on his tongue. It should be weird, but it isn’t. I deepen the kiss and wind my arms around his neck.
