by Gwyn McNamee
Cutter turns to him. “Not this again. There’s no way I’m letting you go in there by yourself.”
If one of them had been with Warwick last night, things might have turned out differently. They might have gotten the drugs. Warwick might not have gotten hurt.
None of that seems to matter to Warwick, though.
“Like I already said, my battle, my debt.”
E shakes his head. “Not happening.”
The man doesn’t say much, but when he speaks, it’s definitive. Not something to argue with.
Rion flexes his hands at his sides. “Man, we wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for you. You expect us to just let you walk away by yourself?”
Warwick sighs. “Yes. That’s exactly what I expect.”
Something passes between the five men—years of unspoken history. Stories I’ll probably never hear. Battles I’ll never know about. The things that bind them together as brothers.
I swallow through the lump in my throat. “You’re not going alone.”
Warwick’s head snaps back to me.
I square my shoulders and meet his eyes, holding their dark gaze. “I’m going with you.”
He barks a laugh and shakes his head as he turns to walk back toward The Destiny. “No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am.” I slam my coffee cup down on the table and follow him. “Don’t you think the Marconis will have a ton of questions about the ship, about the business, about me? Do you really think he’s going to let you just tell him you have access to the ship all of a sudden and that’s not going to pique his interest? I need to be there in person to explain what will happen, to work out a deal.”
Warwick turns around and mumbles something under his breath before he stomps toward the ship.
I turn back to the guys. “Should I follow him?”
Rion chuckles and glances over at his friend. “It depends. Do you have a death wish?”
Preacher laughs. “You better go get on board before he takes off without you.”
“Really?”
Preacher nods. E barely reacts, just sips from his mug and watches everything happening.
Cutter scowls and reaches into the holster at his side and pulls out a handgun. “Do you know how to use this?”
I swallow the lump suddenly clogging my throat. “Sort of? My dad and brother took me out shooting a few times when I was little, but it’s been ten years since I handled a gun. Except the shotgun on the ship, of course.”
He steps toward me, and I move back. The hostility rolling off him screams for me to keep backing away, but he holds up his empty hand.
“I won’t hurt you.” He moves up next to me, and I straighten my spine. “This is a Glock. 1911. There’s no safety. All you have to do is point-and-shoot.”
I eye the gun in his hand. “That easy?”
He gives one curt nod. “That easy.”
What Warwick said is true. This man is a cold-blooded killer.
That easy.
“Are you coming or what?” Warwick’s words echo across the expanse of the warehouse. He leans over the side of the boat with his hands on the rail staring down at us.
“I better go.”
Cutter slips the 1911 into my hand without another word.
What the hell am I supposed to do with this?
My hands shake as I tuck it into my waistband.
Rion nods in my direction, E remains silent, and Preacher offers me a half-smile. Milo whimpers, and I scratch his head gently before I take off across the warehouse.
Every step closer to The Destiny I take, the more my legs shake. Warwick turns away and disappears into the wheelhouse.
This will be a long trip to Chicago. A long trip in a small, enclosed space with a man who is very mad at me and kissed me like he couldn’t get enough last night.
He was right when he said this was a clusterfuck.
21
War
The water churns in front of us, the waves remnants of the angry storm system that’s just finally starting to break and move off to the east. The choppiness makes for a slow and bumpy ride.
It will take us almost all day to get to Chicago. That’s far too long in the small wheelhouse with Grace sitting in the co-captain’s chair, not even a foot from where I stand leaning against the instrument panel.
I don’t need to be up here.
The lake is basically deserted because of the storms, and I know this water like the back of my hand. But I can’t sit next to her. I can’t look at her. I can’t be so damn close and have her lilac scent enveloping me without losing my shit completely.
She should not be here. She should not be tangled up in this, and yet, I got outvoted by those four traitors.
I know why they did it, though. They think they’re protecting me. They think there’s no way I could’ve talked my way into some sort of agreement with the Marconis without her help.
And boy, does that fucking sting.
There was a time when they trusted me implicitly to do whatever it took to get things done. A time when there was no question I would bring everyone out on the backside unscathed. But it appears in the last five years, things have changed. Maybe I’ve changed. It feels that way over the last few days. And it’s all because of her.
This woman is just…
Beautiful.
Frustrating.
Intelligent.
Infuriating.
Passionate.
Annoying.
Inquisitive.
And positively fucking breathtaking.
The more time I spend with her, the more I’m convinced I made the biggest mistake of my life climbing aboard her ship. Because she and I…we can never happen.
That kiss last night…
That was such a huge mistake. Even more so than the one the first day she arrived when I was so intent on shutting her the fuck up. Because last night’s kiss wasn’t about stopping something; it was about starting something.
We both knew it. We both wanted it. If it hadn’t been for the drugs kicking in, I don’t know where that would’ve gone.
Actually, I do know where it would’ve gone, and it wouldn’t have been good.
Not for me. Not for her. And certainly not for the wound to my side last night.
I wasn’t even thinking about that at the time. All I was thinking about was the sweet taste of her lips, the softness of her ass in my hand, the press of her stomach against my hardening cock.
Even now, the memory of the kiss has it straining to life, and I reach down surreptitiously to adjust my jeans.
This may be the longest Grace has gone without talking or asking a question since the moment I met her. Except maybe when she was asleep. After her call to the port and her crew to push back their return home for a few more days, she hasn’t said a word. The crew seems to have bought that she needs a few days alone to decompress after what happened before she gets back on Neptune’s Daughter, so at least it’s one less thing to worry about.
But the silence between us is unnerving. There’s too much unsaid.
“What did Rion mean back there when he said they wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for you?”
And there she goes again…
I glance over my shoulder at her, sitting with her knees tucked up under her chin, her bright green eyes trained on me. I turn slowly and lean back against the console and kick my legs out.
It was only a matter of time before she asked about the guys and their histories.
“Not my stories to tell, Grace. If they want you to know what brought them here, you have to ask them. They have to be the ones to tell you, not me.”
And the chances of any of them opening up to anyone, let alone Grace, about their pasts is slim to none.
If there were ever five guys who consider themselves islands and are incapable of sharing anything, it’s us.
Or at least, it was us. Maybe not me so much.
This damn woman.
She chews on h
er bottom lip and nods. “Fair enough. Please don’t be mad at them.”
I bite back a laugh. “Why the hell not? They teamed up against me and left me with no other choice.”
“I don’t know the history between you guys, clearly, but the last few days, what I have seen is that they are one hundred percent devoted to you. Those guys would die for you. They would do anything for you, and they’re just doing what they think is the best thing to keep you safe. You can’t be mad at them for that.” She shrugs. “Well, you can be, but you shouldn’t be.”
A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth at the way she caught her words there. Because she’s right; I am mad and maybe I shouldn’t be.
She’s also right about their loyalty to me and their loyalties to each other and about their motives for sending her along and agreeing to her plan. But they should know by now, after all these years, after everything we’ve been through together, that I would not let them come, and I would not drag an innocent woman along for the ride.
Although, I guess I broke that rule when I took her off Neptune’s Daughter that day.
“Why do you care so much, Grace?” I raise my hands and lower them, the ache in my side reminding me it’s almost time to take my meds. “I just don’t get it. I know what you told them back there, but now, it’s just you and me, so you can be honest. Why are you doing this? Why are you risking everything for us, for me?”
She drops her feet to the floor. I should back away, but there's nowhere to go—just the console behind me.
“Are we really going to play this game, Warwick?”
I really wish she would stop calling me Warwick. Hearing my name from those lips is like a fucking drug I can’t get enough of.
“Are we going to pretend you didn’t kiss me the other night and again in your bedroom last night? Are we really going to act like even though we’re in a really shady situation there isn’t some sort of strange pull happening between us?”
There definitely is, but this is far more than a shady situation.
This is life and death.
Why can’t she see that?
Cutter gave her a damn gun, for fuck’s sake. That alone should have told her this isn’t some damn game. I glance over to where I tucked it next to the captain’s chair when she showed it to me after she boarded.
The Marconis won’t let us near them with weapons, so it’s only going to be useful if they come at us while we’re still on board, and something tells me Arturo will want to talk with us before he takes us out. Finding his cargo is far too important for him not to.
She moves closer, and my entire body tenses. “I would be helping you even if there wasn’t. Because like I said, I don’t think you’re that person, and I couldn’t live with myself if something happens to you or one of the guys and I had it in my power to stop it. But I’d be lying if I didn’t say that some of the reason I’m helping is because of you. Because of who you are.”
Who I am?
I growl a warning at her. “You don’t know me, Grace. You don’t know a damn thing about me.”
She points backward in the general direction of the warehouse. “I know you did something for those guys that meant enough to them that they’re willing to risk their lives for you and they’re one hundred percent committed to helping you in this even though, like you said, it’s your debt and your problem, not theirs. I know that you loved your parents very deeply, even your father despite him being a flawed man. I know that you’re wicked intelligent because of the time and energy your mother put in giving you love of literature. I know that had your father not died, you would be in a very different place right now. A place where you didn’t grab me and kidnap me and drag me back to your lair.”
Lair?
I have to chuckle at that. “I never heard it referred to as a lair before.”
She shrugs. “It’s what came to mind. I know that you take things that aren’t yours and you’re helping some really bad men. I know you’re not a fucking angel, and I’m not as naïve as you think.” She takes one more step toward me to within arm’s reach. “I know that you’ll do everything in your power to talk to the Marconis to make sure that your men walk away from this without targets on their backs, even if it means sacrificing yourself.”
Shit.
She’s right there.
I don’t care what I have to do. I won’t put them on the chopping block for me. And I won’t let anything happen to Grace either.
If I get even an inkling that things are going south, I will shoot my goddamn way out of there to protect her.
“We’re from two different worlds, Grace.” I shake my head. “This whatever it is between us is nothing more than forced proximity and sexual tension. Stockholm Syndrome. It will fade.”
She stares up at me from under impossibly long lashes. “How can you be so sure?”
Christ, this woman just doesn’t let up.
It’s time to lay out the cold, hard truth.
“I’m not a good guy Grace. I’m a criminal, and so are they. We would be doing this even if I had no debt to the Marconis because we’re fucking good at it. I’m sure because I’m not lucky enough to have something as good as you in my life. I’ve done nothing to deserve it.”
She inches forward, until only a step separates us. My heart beats wildly against my ribs.
“Don’t, Grace. Don’t put me in the position to fail at turning you down.”
Her green eyes flash with need and beg me to change my mind. “What if that’s exactly the position I want you in?”
Holy hell.
My cock strains against my jeans, and she presses her tiny, warm body against me.
“You better stop now, little girl.”
She grins. “I might be little, but I’m very much a big girl and you know it. I’m a big girl who can make big decisions like who I want to be with. Regardless of the circumstances.”
“Did you forget I robbed and kidnapped you? That you’re my hostage?”
She pauses for a moment, and a low laugh slips from somewhere deep in her chest. “Not anymore. You set me free, remember?”
True. I did.
“Warwick, you are one very stubborn man.”
I chuckle. “And you think you’re easy, sweetheart?”
She shakes her head. “No, anything but. Which is why my mother and father always assumed I’d be alone forever. I’m not the kind of woman most men can handle.”
“I’ll have absolutely no problem handling you.”
At least where sex is concerned. In every other area, Grace gives me and my sanity a run for my money.
We both know we shouldn’t be doing this, but at this point, it doesn’t matter. It’s gone on too long, the dancing around each other, the sexual pull and energy brewing between us.
All regret can be saved for later. For this one moment in time, we’ll forget the world and just feel whatever we want to. However…we want to.
She pushes up on her tiptoes and presses her lips to mine in a harsh, needy clash that’s anything but gentle. For such a tiny woman, she sure knows how to take whatever she wants. And her fumbling hands at my waistband make it pretty clear what that is.
But I can’t forget that the boat is still in motion. I need to keep an eye on things even though the radar doesn’t show any other boats around and there are no hidden dangers in this area. I push her backward toward the captain’s chair then turn so I can lower myself into it.
She pulls away and watches me with hooded eyes. I brush a silky strand of auburn hair off her face and tuck it behind her ear. She leans into my touch, and my resolve breaks.
I tug at my belt buckle, and her hand slides inside my jeans and wraps around my dick.
Holy shit.
It has been way, way too long, and I want to be inside her more than just about anything I’ve ever wanted in my life before.
I stand and shove my pants down around my ankles, and she reaches for the waistband of her pants. I brush her hands aside
and slowly lower the clingy material. She kicks off her shoes and steps out of them.
Tiny panties cover her pussy.
All I want to do is take them off to see what lies beneath. To feel what lies beneath. To touch her. To taste her. To be buried deep inside her.
Her eyes meet mine as she pushes them down her thighs, giving me a full view of what I’ve so desperately wanted.
This may be wrong in more ways than I can count, but it doesn’t matter in the end. We’re just two primal creatures searching for something. Contentment. Release. It doesn’t matter what it is, we’re going to find it together. Or we’re going to die trying.
She pushes gently on my chest, and I drop back into the captain’s chair and briefly peer over her shoulder to check the water is still clear.
Doing this here and now is fucking stupid.
I catch her face in my palm and grit my teeth against the brush of her hand against my bare thigh. “Are you sure you want to do this, red?”
She nods and settles her thighs on either side of mine, spreading herself wide and exposing herself to me fully.
Sweet mother of God.
My eyes drift down between us to the tiny thatch of red hair between her legs. I slide my hand up her thigh and press my fingers into her wet heat. She moans and drops her hands to my shoulders. I flick and swirl and tug on her clit until she’s practically dripping on my hand and ready for me.
She gasps and whimpers when I pull my hand away, but I grasp my cock and run the head through her wetness. She moans and rolls her hips, taking the head of my cock inside her.
Her head drops back, and she slowly impales herself on me, inch by glorious inch, sucking my cock into her body and searing my soul.
This woman owns me.
The grasping of her pussy walls has me gritting my teeth and digging my fingers into her hips. I hold her steady. “Christ, Grace.”
Her head falls forward, and her eyes meet mine. Her tongue snakes out across her lips, and I can’t resist anymore. I lean forward and capture her mouth with mine, and I drive up the final inch inside her.
White-hot pain from my side spots my vision, but I don’t even care. The pleasure coursing through my body quickly overwhelms it as Grace clenches around me and moves up and down, working my length with her tight, wet heat.
