Savage Prince (DeSantis Mafia Book 2)

by S. Massery

  I tuck my head under his chin. We stay like that for a few minutes, just breathing, and I try to contain my panic.

  “We almost died.” My teeth chatter. “They were surprised to see me, obviously, but they knew exactly who you were.”

  He grimaces. “My bike isn’t subtle. You were the wild card, it seems.”

  If they’ve been hunting DeSantises, of course Aiden would be the white whale catch. Everyone would be pinning for him.

  A wave of dizziness hits me, and I squeeze my eyes shut.

  It isn’t just that he’s in danger—he isn’t hiding from it.

  He continues to go out like normal. He’s still searching for my brother. Still trying to figure out the theft. He’s just like Colin and Kai, refusing to hide when it would be good for them. It will get him killed.

  I take a step out of his embrace, and my leg buckles.

  Aiden swings me up into his arms. “You’re hurt.”

  An accusation.

  “You are, too.” I loop my arm around his neck, and the other curls in his jacket.

  He sighs.

  Eventually, a car turns into the intersection and stops close to us, followed closely by an SUV. Ford and a new guy hop out, and they both appraise the situation.

  “No bullet wounds?” Ford asks. He goes over and picks up my helmet, inspecting the damage. It’s severely scuffed but not cracked. “A fight?”

  “Gem’s a negotiator,” Aiden answers.

  Gem. My heart does a weird skip, and I grip the back of his neck tighter.

  The new guy gestures to the SUV, and Aiden tries to set me down in the backseat. My fingers won’t unlock—okay, maybe I’m not handling this the best—and Aiden lets out a soft exhale.

  “It’ll be okay.” But he doesn’t try to put me down again. He slides himself into the seat, arranging me on his lap so we both fit.

  New Guy closes our door and confers with Ford for a minute, then hops into the driver’s seat. “We called Dr. Matthews,” he tells us. “He’s meeting you at your apartment.”

  Aiden grimaces.

  “We can’t go to your place, boss,” New Guy says quietly. “Jameson was asking about you.”

  “Fuck,” I whisper. I don’t care about what place Aiden has—another safe house, perhaps—but it’s Jameson’s name that steals the breath from my lungs. I haven’t seen him since he killed my father, and I don’t know what I would do.

  Kill him myself?

  It’s tempting—too tempting. Aiden didn’t take his handgun back, and I’m not particularly inclined to remind him about it. Or the knife in my boot.

  Today has been a weird day.

  Aiden’s lips press to my temple.

  Is Jameson going to twist this into a definite act of war? Not one DeSantis heir targeted, but two in the past two and a half months. Never mind that he and Aiden have dripped West blood all over this city in the past few days. Never mind that we didn’t kill Wilder. Jameson wants war—and he’s going to get it.

  Unless I can think of a way out of this.

  Double fuck.

  We get back to the DeSantis tower within minutes and unload into the elevator. New Guy doesn’t get out of the car—he seems edgy, actually, and puts the car in reverse the moment we close the door.

  Aiden hasn’t put me down, either.

  “It’s just my knee,” I say. “I can walk.”

  “Stop talking.”

  I press my lips together and try to decipher his expression.

  Anger, sure. Frustration? Concern pulls at the corners of his eyes.

  We ride to the twenty-fourth floor in silence. Dr. Matthews waits outside the apartment, and he casts a disconcerting eye over both of us before snapping back into professionalism. Aiden sets me on my feet by the kitchen table. He carefully unzips my jacket and eases it down my arms.

  “You don’t have to be—ow—” I glance down at my arm. Dark-red scrapes cover the outside of my left forearm, elbow, and part of my upper arm. They ooze blood in a few places. Where it isn’t scraped, blue and black bruises bloom.

  “Road rash,” he says carefully. “Your leg…”

  I finally look down.

  Gravel clings to the denim, but that’s not the worst. The left leg of my jeans is shredded. The frayed edges are dark red. My leg appears to have gone head-to-head with a cheese grater. He kneels and unzips my boots, carefully peeling them off. My sheathed knife comes next. Then the gun in my waistband. He sets everything on the table in a row.

  The doctor makes a noise of disbelief behind us.

  Aiden sheds his own jacket, placing it over mine on the back of a chair. He’s less beat up than me, but I think he’s got more experience falling off a bike. I didn’t know what to do, so I did everything wrong.

  “He might have a concussion,” I say to Dr. Matthews.

  The man narrows his eyes. “Sit, both of you.”

  “Gem first,” Aiden demands.

  “Did you black out?” the doctor asks him.

  “Gemma first.” Aiden slams his hand on the table.

  The doctor jumps, but he recovers quickly and unzips his bag. He retrieves a pair of trauma sheers and motions for me to sit. “I’m going to cut your jeans off.”

  Aiden growls. “You want her to take her pants off?”

  “I want to be able to treat her to the best of my ability,” Dr. Matthews says stiffly. “If you have a problem with that, I suggest a hospital.”

  I’ve never seen someone stand up to Aiden and… well, not die, at the very least. I hold still as he slices through the ripped fabric, all the way up. Aiden watches the doc while I slide it down my other leg and kick it away. It’s less torn up, just a greenish bruise and scrape on my knee.

  I zone out while he treats me, then Aiden. My eyes drift shut at one point, and it isn’t until I nearly fall off my chair that Aiden puts an end to the ministrations.

  “We’ll check base in the morning,” Aiden says, showing him the door. He flips the deadbolt once Dr. Matthews is gone and comes to me. “Sore?”

  “It’ll probably be worse tomorrow,” I say.

  He nods and offers his hands. I take them. He helps me to my feet, and we walk upstairs. From wedding dress shopping, to interrogating a gang leader, to intercepting a hit on Aiden… I’m ready to sleep for a week.

  We shed the rest of our clothes, replacing them with soft t-shirts, and climb into bed. I keep my injured side up, and Aiden drags me backward into his chest. His arm settles over my waist, and his lips brush my shoulder.

  “Thank you,” he says in my ear.

  “For what?”

  “Deescalating the situation.” He pauses. “They listened to you.”

  That’s the worrisome part. “Have you heard anything about Colin taking over?”

  “Not so much. I’ll check with Sam, though. He has his ear to the ground more than most.”

  I grimace. “You didn’t say how bad it was getting between our families. Has this been going on for a while? Random… hits?”

  “From both sides,” he confirms.

  “I don’t want to see your father tomorrow.” A small fear.

  His grip on me tightens. “I don’t know how much of a choice he’ll give us. But perhaps I can spirit you away with Cat for the afternoon to prepare for the wedding…”

  I suck my lower lip between my teeth. Jameson was willing to shoot at Aiden—what else would he be willing to risk? Nothing is adding up. Just pieces of a puzzle that don’t line up. Again and again.

  “Italian marble and firearms?” Suddenly, I can’t close my eyes without hearing the screech of metal in my ears, or the bright glow of the truck’s headlights. I reach out and hit the button for the light, encasing us in darkness.

  “Yes.”

  “Who would want that?”

  “You mean, besides your family?”

  I scoff. “I told you—”

  “Yeah, yeah.” His teeth find my skin, and my abdomen clenches. “I’m starting to take you a
t your word, Gemma West.”

  “You should.” I twist so I can see his face, faintly illuminated by the lights outside.

  I press my lips to his softly.

  His arm slides up and wraps around my throat, bringing me back to him. I don’t object when he guides me flat on my back and hovers over me. His knee edges between my thighs. He keeps his fingers on my throat while his elbows take his weight, one on either side of my head.

  “I love you, Gemma.”

  My heart skips a beat—and he must feel it, because a grin creeps across his face.

  “I don’t think I’ll get tired of that reaction.”

  I pull him down to me, and our lips meet. Our mouths open and tongues tangle, but he doesn’t make any move beyond that. Finally, he flops onto his side and exhales.

  “It’s nearly dawn.” His voice is gravel in my ear. “Sleep, princess.”

  Somehow, now, princess doesn’t feel like a bad word. I smile and flip back onto my uninjured side. We resume our positions, and in no time, I’m asleep.

  23

  Gemma

  “Choose,” Jameson says in my ear.

  My gaze flickers between a gagged Aiden and my unconscious brother.

  The cold muzzle of the gun against my temple is familiar, and I exhale. I can’t—I won’t pick. I’ve already played this game. I meet Aiden’s eyes, and he narrows them at me. If he weren’t gagged, he might mouth, “I love you” at me again. My heart aches.

  “Your silence is answer enough.”

  Jameson circles the table and presses the gun to the back of Aiden’s head.

  I squeeze my eyes shut as he squeezes the trigger, and I let out a scream.

  “Gemma, wake up.”

  Hands haul me upright, into something solid and warm.

  “Shh,” Aiden whispers.

  I burst into tears.

  Seems to be a new thing for me—when I’d prided myself on not being much of a crier before. Now I can’t seem to stop the waterworks from erupting, and I clutch Aiden’s shirt as I sob into his neck. It felt real.

  And I couldn’t pick, even though it cost Aiden his life.

  He killed you. The words are on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t voice them. I can’t put that energy out into the universe, even though my subconscious seems convinced that Jameson will do anything to win.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, wiping at my nose with the back of my hand.

  “Don’t apologize.”

  “I—”

  “Princess, you’ve been through hell. I’d be more worried if you weren’t having nightmares.”

  I sniffle and lean back, meeting his gaze. He’s more put together than me—dressed in jeans and a fitted gray t-shirt, his thick dark hair swept back off his face.

  “Do you think your father’s lashing out because he’s upset about Wilder?”

  Aiden freezes. “What?”

  I shift. “He’s been acting crazy. Do you think it’s grief?”

  “I think he’s… I don’t know. Maybe you’re onto something.” He rises. “Coffee?”

  I lick my lips and let my attention wander down his body. The t-shirt covers his tattoos, but he still gives off a dangerous vibe.

  “Maybe something else?” His voice is husky.

  I automatically squirm. “Now that you mention it…”

  He nods once and circles around to my side of the bed, his expression hungry. He flips the blankets off my legs. His gaze lands on the gauze wrapped around my knee. His expression closes. I wait, uncertain if he’ll just storm away, or…

  He swings my legs around, until they hang off the bed, and kneels between them. I shift, suddenly hot.

  “You don’t—”

  His glare stalls my breath. He places a kiss on my inner thigh, his eyes locked on mine. I prop myself up on my elbows to see him better, at the way he slowly moves higher.

  “I wanted to do this last night,” he says.

  His lips move against my panties, over my clit, and I let out an involuntary moan.

  “I’m crazy for your taste. Your smell.” He runs his nose along the hem.

  “Aiden,” I breathe.

  He tears through my panties. The noise is harsh in the quiet room, and I yelp. He tosses the discarded fabric away and bands his arms under my thighs, gripping my ass. He yanks me closer, and then his mouth is on me.

  I let my head fall back. He works my clit, sucking and nibbling. I rock against his face—I can’t help myself. He blows on my sensitive nub, then latches on to it again. I moan and slide my hand into his hair. His mouth dips lower, and I scream when his tongue pierces me.

  He tongue-fucks me until white spots dance in front of my vision. He replaces his tongue with two fingers and returns to my clit, and it’s not long after that I see stars. I scream his name, clamping my thighs around him. I only relax once I’ve ridden the wave of pleasure and can breathe again.

  “Holy shit,” I mumble.

  He grins and rises, leaning over me. I accept his hot, open-mouthed kiss. I taste myself on his tongue. He undoes his belt and drops his jeans, his mouth still fastened to mine. He thrusts into me in one smooth motion, and I whimper. He leans back and hooks his arm under my right knee. He puts my ankle on his shoulder, and my eyes roll back when he hits an all new deep spot inside me.

  “I’m going to combust,” I pant, raising my hips to meet him.

  He pushes my shirt up to my neck and palms my breast. My fingers slip toward my clit, and I rub small circles as he fucks me. His eyes darken, flicking between my face and my hand. It isn’t long before the stimulation is too much, and another climax sweeps through me. I tense around him, and he lets out a groan before pumping twice more. He stills, buried in me, and releases my leg.

  He falls forward. I grab his face and kiss him again. My whole body buzzes with bliss, and my core pulses where we’re still connected.

  “To chase away the nightmares,” he says.

  I flinch.

  He draws back ever so slightly, and for a moment I wonder how perceptive he is. But then he just hoists us farther back on the bed so he’s not on his feet anymore. He kisses the corner of my lips, up over my cheekbones. He nips my earlobe, and I clench around his cock again. A throaty chuckle rumbles in his chest.

  He pulls out and thrusts back into me, just a bit, and I dig my nails into his jaw. I haven’t released his face. He repeats the motion, and we both let out a low moan.

  “Again?”

  He snickers and rotates his hips. “I can’t help that you feel like heaven.”

  My face heats. I don’t know why him being nice sits weird in my chest. Compliments from guys usually have strings, and I can’t help but think his are no different. He wants me to ignore that he wants my brother dead.

  They put aside their hate for an afternoon, but it wasn’t enough for him.

  I wrap my legs around his hips.

  “Do you hate that I won’t say it back?” I ask.

  He meets my eyes. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because your reaction to me saying it is enough to tell me what you won’t admit.” He steals a kiss—steals my breath, too—then works lower. And he shows me exactly what he thinks of me.

  “Isn’t it bad luck to see the bride before the wedding?” someone drawls.

  I cringe. The voice is immediately recognizable, but I refuse to look at the door. Aiden drapes himself over me, blocking most of my body, and I bury my head in his neck.

  Because really—kill me now.

  “You thought it was a good idea to let yourself in?” Aiden asks his father.

  Jameson scoffs. “You weren’t answering your phone. She’s not supposed to be a distraction. Or have you forgotten where your loyalties lie? Certainly not in her cunt, sweet as it might be.”

  Aiden grunts and pulls out of me. He quickly flips the covers over me and stands, ignoring the mortification on my face. I drag the blanket up, hiding my face. Call it cowardice, but this is the second t
ime he’s seen Aiden do dirty things to me, and I want to claw his eyes out. Never mind the anger his presence invokes. I won’t look at him and give him the satisfaction of seeing me with anything less than armor on.

  “Fuck off, Dad. I’ll see you downstairs.”

  His father’s irritation is clear in his tone. “Blue balls will be good for you, and we’re late for a meeting. Come with me. Now. Or I’ll drag your pretty bride-to-be with me… as is.”

  Aiden makes a noise in the back of his throat. He moves around the room, clothes rustling, and then a weight dips the bed. He slowly folds back the blanket back from my head, his face hovering over mine.

  Regret fills his features.

  “I’ll have Cat come distract you. I’m sorry.”

  I shake my head. “It’s…”

  He kisses my quickly, then hops off the bed. He follows his father out, down the stairs, and the front door slams.

  I don’t move for a long moment. My legs are still open, his cum and mine seeping out. We were in the middle of a moment. Of course Jameson saw an opportunity to ruin it. I sigh and go straight for the shower, scrubbing the undamaged skin until it’s bright red. Once I’m out, I apply the ointment Dr. Matthews left.

  The burn on my back is almost fully healed—I forgot about it with everything going on, actually. It seems like a lifetime ago that Aiden set Aunt Mary’s house on fire. How foolish that I wanted to save it. Weeks with him have solidified my knowledge that some things just aren’t salvageable.

  “Gemma?” Cat calls. “You in here?”

  “Upstairs,” I yell. “Come help me pick out clothes.”

  She steps into the bathroom and immediately winces. “Damn. Sam said you guys were in an accident, but he convinced me you were okay.”

  I shrug. “Just a few scrapes.”

  My knee feels better today. Keeping it stable overnight must’ve done the trick.

  “Your leg…” She winces. “Well, only the scrapes on your arm will show, and those don’t look too bad.” She straightens my arm to examine it. “I mean, painful as fuck, but the photographer can probably edit it out.”

  I snort. “They won’t have a photographer. Jameson is just doing this to be an ass.”