Stomach full, resolve sharpened, Harden pushed away from the table. Denizen first to check on things, then Catalyst to end the night. Between those two destinations, he’d meet with Nick at the burned warehouse. They had to decide what to do with the property.
He shrugged on his coat as he left the penthouse and veered right instead of left toward the elevators. “Let the driver know we’re headed to the Hamptons first.”
Bruno grunted and fished his phone out to make the call as he tagged along, his ever-present shadow.
Harden didn’t ring the bell. It was an asshole move, but right now he needed to be an asshole. Something he was exceptional at. He didn’t want to send her away. He liked having her in close proximity. Yet, he had to. The fact that he wanted her to stay meant she had to leave. For once, he wouldn’t be a selfish bastard.
The apartment was quiet until he walked deeper inside and heard her voice coming from the nursery. His chest tightened as he stood in the open doorway watching her on the floor playing with her daughter. She was a good mother, attentive and loving, praising the child with kisses and hugs for all her little accomplishments. His mother had been the same. She’d made him feel loved…then she was gone, snatched away by a bullet meant for his fucking father.
Can’t think about that now. Stay on task. Do not chase the rabbit down the hole.
Jentry had no idea he was there until he cleared his throat. Her first instinct was to cover the child with her body, then realizing it was him, she whipped around to face him. “You asshole.” She snarled, but the tension bled out of her body, leaving her trembling. “Don’t you know how to fucking knock.”
Jentry turned back to the child, but she’d crawled away from her mother and headed toward him. Impossibly cute, and determined, she broke away from her mother, crawling faster than either of them expected. Her squeal was one of delight and adventure. She actually thought she’d accomplish her goal. What that goal was, only she knew.
One second Harden was standing there, next he was crouching to pick up the child. He shouldn’t have, but he couldn’t resist. He wanted her warm, little body in his arms and a smile lighting her cherub face. He wanted to bask in her innocence because he had none left.
Jentry got to her first. She snatched her daughter up before she reached him. As if he were a pariah. He couldn’t blame her. His hands weren’t clean or gentle. They were bloody and brutal. Nothing innocent and breakable should be left in his care.
Harden straightened and shoved his clenched hands into his coat pockets. The decision he came to last night, the decision he wanted to postpone until after he found out who CDJ was, couldn’t wait.
“Pack your things. You’re leaving.”
Both Jentry and the child looked at him from where they sat on the floor. “What? Where?”
“You’re going to the beach house.”
Jentry climbed to her feet. Brow lowered over her eyes, mouth twisted in a deep frown, she faced him with the child on her hip. Damn if he didn’t feel the heat from both of their glares. “No.” Her voice was clear and strong. The child’s babble followed her mother’s one-word statement, as if adding to it.
“What?” he asked, dumbfounded, flabbergasted, his gaze bouncing between the mother and child as he stood there with his mouth open. No one told him no.
“You got me fired from two”—she waved two fingers in his face—“jobs in one night.” She folded one finger, leaving her index finger waving in his face. “I’m one day away from eviction and now you want to kick me out and send me to Long Island to live with my mother. Hell. No. We are not going.” She singsonged, bouncing the child on her hip. The child giggled.
“Leave us,” he said to Bruno.
Jentry glanced over Harden’s shoulder and waved. “Say bye bye, Mr. Bruno.”
He waited until he heard the front door close. “Where’s the nanny?”
“In her room, taking a nap. I’ve taken care of my daughter without supervision since birth. I don’t need her hovering like she’s my mother and I don’t have a clue,” she mumbled the last part.
“You going to Long Island is not negotiable.”
Her face screwed up. Jentry was about to spit fire, and Harden was prepared. No matter what she said, she was out of here and going to the Hamptons.
“Alright.” She moved around him and headed for the master bedroom.
What? What did she mean by alright? He followed like a concerned lackey because after her adamant no, her sudden agreement was…unsettling.
She headed for the walk-in closet. Ninety percent empty, the space was cavernous. Her few items were on hangers near the front and on a nearby shelf. She placed the child on the floor while she stuffed everything into the same garbage bag she’d brought into the apartment.
The child patted his leg and reached up for him when he glanced at her. His hands ached to hold her regardless of the blood soaked into his skin. Before he could sweep her into his arms, Jentry picked her up. She moved past him again, returning to the nursery where she grabbed a diaper bag already prepared. She dressed the child in her coat, hat, and scarf, then she was headed for the door. Beating him there by seconds, she didn’t need his help opening it. She stormed into the hallway, moving past the men like a tornado. They got out of her way, including Bruno who had a stupid grin on his face. Was he laughing at her or him? Right now, it didn’t matter. He wanted her at the beach house, away from him, away from all of them. That’s precisely what he was getting. He just had to ignore the hole in his heart.
The elevator ride was crowded and silent, except for the happy babble of a child who was ignorant to the tension polluting the metal box. Jentry didn’t have her coat on. Not an issue with them going directly into the waiting car. Four floors before the garage, she hit the button for the lobby.
“What are you doing?” Bruno asked.
Jentry ignored him. The elevator door opened, and she was the first out. No one stopped her. They all looked at him for instructions as she strolled across the lobby, the garbage bag in one hand, the diaper bag hanging off one shoulder, and the child balanced on the other hip. Late October, it was forty-five degrees outside. Dressed in yoga pants and a lightweight sweater, she wouldn’t freeze, but that wasn’t the point.
She made it to the glass doors before Harden grabbed her arm and spun her around. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”
She reared back as if insulted. “You told me to leave. I left. I don’t stay where I’m not wanted.”
Oh, he wanted her alright. More every fucking day. And that was the point. That’s why she had to go for both their sakes. “I told you you’re going to the beach house.”
“No. You’re going to the beach house. I’m going to the subway.”
He grabbed the garbage bag from her hand and passed it to the man behind him. “No. You’re. Not.”
She smiled, as if she hadn’t a care in the world. “Okay. I’ll go to the beach house. But no one can make me stay. Not you. Not your men. Not Julius Morgan. Not Calista. Not my parents.”
A low growl he couldn’t help rumbled from his throat. “Where will you go?”
“What does that matter to you? My bag, please.” She held out her hand.
Harden ignored her outstretched hand, his men, and the people milling around them. “I’m trying to keep you safe.”
She shook her head. “No. You’re passing the buck, shipping me away. It’s fine. I don’t like being a burden to anyone, and frankly it’s ridiculous that some Russian wants to hurt me to get to Calista. Just give me the bag and we’ll be on our way.”
Jesus Christ! Why does she have to be so difficult? A headache pulsed behind his eyes. “Where are you going?”
“It’s none of your business,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Humor me,” he gritted out, close to throwing her over his shoulder again. That seemed to be the only position where she’d listen.
She sighed as if it were torture to explain things to him
. Then she threw up her free hand. “I’ll figure it out on the subway. Now give me the bag.”
It would be too easy to pluck the child out of her arms and force her to follow him back upstairs. Much too easy to steal her phone and post a guard at her door, making her a prisoner. Forcing his will on her would be all too easy. Except she’d hate him for it. And he suspected it had been done to her before.
CDJ.
He stepped close, invading her personal space as if he owned it, and loomed over her, forcing her to strain her neck to maintain eye contact. “Come back to the penthouse with me.”
“I don’t live in the penthouse. I never did. And no. I will not.”
Jesus Christ, this woman! “Please.” He ground out because the word was an anathema to him. He never said please. Those six letters strung together were acid on his tongue, but he said them for her. Only her. If this didn’t work, he would snatch the child out of her arms, hand her over to Bruno, and throw Jentry over his shoulder. Then he would throttle her in the privacy of his bedroom. Actually, he loved that idea.
Her brows rose until they touched her hairline. “What did you say?”
Now she wanted to play games. “You damn well heard me,” he growled.
“I think I heard the P word,” she whispered for his ears alone.
Oh, his mind went to dirty places.
Her breath fanned his neck. “I just want to make sure it wasn’t wishful thinking, a fantasy I made up.”
“It was real. I said it. Are you coming?”
A grin tweaked the corners of her mouth, giving her lush lips a slight curl. Fuck. It was sexy. His cock agreed and firmed up as blood rushed south. Taking her to the beach house was the best option, but it was no longer on the table. “You’re staying here. With me. Understand?”
Jentry made a sharp pivot and headed back to the elevator, head held high, a natural sway in her hips. He watched her, giving her space as he trailed her, in heat.
At some point, Bruno snagged his attention. Harden’s underboss stared at him as if he had three heads then mouthed, “Who are you?” and handed him the bag.
That was a good damn question. One Harden didn’t have an answer for as they took the elevator back to the penthouse level. Who was he indeed? He looked at Jentry and realized he knew exactly who he was. A man who’d fallen down the rabbit hole, that’s who. And he had no idea how to climb out, and even if he did, did he want to?
The answer to that question would wait until after he had a taste of Jentry Playne.
∞∞∞
Jentry couldn’t believe that worked. She called his bluff and it fucking worked. Harden Gage backed down. She’d won! Inside her she did a happy dance. It felt like a victory and she hadn’t had many of those.
The elevator dinged and they were back on the penthouse level. Jentry exited and marched down the hallway, back toward her temporary home. Allie squirmed on her hip. The poor thing was hot inside her winter coat. “I’ll have you out in a minute, baby.”
She was almost to the apartment, just passing Harden’s impressive double doors, when a firm hand cupped her elbow, halting her. She tracked the hand back to the owner, knowing it was Harden.
“Yes?”
“You no longer live there.”
Huh? What the hell?
With a predatory grin on his face, he pointed and simultaneously guided her to his front door.
Jentry shook her head, and like a cartoon character, she dug her heels in and refused to move. “Nope. Not happening.”
Just like a damn man. He drags her out of her studio to dump her in an apartment he owns down the hall from his penthouse. When that’s not good enough, he drags her out of that apartment and dumps her inside his penthouse, directly under his thumb. Oh, hell no.
His men vanished into the penthouse, leaving them alone in the hallway. “It’s happening.”
She tried to pull free, but he wouldn’t let her go. “Why? Why when there’s a perfectly fine apartment over there that I vacated minutes ago?”
“Because I don’t trust you,” he said smugly, as if he had the moral high ground.
She jerked as if struck. “What the hell does that mean?”
“I don’t trust your judgement. You planned on leaving without a coat to ride the subway until you figured something out with a baby on your hip. Does that sound like a responsible adult to you? No.” He cut her off before she got a word out. “It doesn’t. Now, you are going to walk into my penthouse. I will escort you to a bedroom. A bedroom will be converted for the child. You will do this without protest, or I will take your child out of your arms and leave you standing here. You’re welcome to call the cops while I call child protective services. The cops will go away. CPS will not, not when they find out you’re about to be evicted and have no job.”
Stunned, she muttered, “You bastard.” Then she demanded, “Take me to the beach house.”
“That option is no longer on the table.” Harden opened the door to the penthouse and stepped aside for her to enter.
Numb, Jentry stepped inside the penthouse. Blind to the men milling around the sprawling living room, the stunning decor, and floor to ceiling windows, she followed the man who’d hijacked her minor victory and set it aflame. She thought she was trapped before. Ha! Now she was truly screwed. She knew it and he knew it.
She clutched Allie’s squirming body to her and made herself put one foot in front of the other. He led her to a bedroom, said nothing as she crossed the threshold to a suite nearly twice the size of her studio apartment with a covered balcony.
“The bedroom next door will be converted to a nursery.”
“Allie stays with me.” No way was she letting her child out of her sight.
“Fine. The bedroom will still be converted to a nursery.” He turned to the door but paused. “We leave for the club in an hour. Be ready.”
Jentry stood in the middle of the room until the door closed softly behind him. Only then did she inhale deeply and exhale slowly. “I’ll be ready, Mr. Gage. Ready to make you pay.”
Chapter Fourteen
“May I ask where we’re going, Mr. Gage?” The barely suppressed insolence evident in the tone of her voice, and her lush lips pressed into a thin, hostile line.
Jentry was defiant, irreverent, a burr in his side. He shouldn’t approve or enjoy every moment of her presence, but he did. She wasn’t cowed, or bowed by his demands, or her current situation. She would survive, by hook or by crook. At this very moment she was planning to best him, he could see the inner workings of her mind as she studied him with cool calculation. And he couldn’t wait to see what she came up with.
He wanted his women submissive and silent—except when screaming his name—in and out of bed. So why the fuck did he put up with her, was intrigued by her, desired her? He stared into her dark brown eyes rimmed with eyeliner for dramatic flair, lashes long and curved, with a hint of sparkly eyeshadow on the lids, and registered the pull on his soul.
Shit. All she had to do was sit there, legs crossed, hands prim and proper folded in her lap, body clenched in quiet fury, and he wanted her. Seeing her on that pole, G-string bikini, body on display, she’d piqued his interest way before that, if he were honest with himself. From the moment he noticed her stocking premium bottles behind the bar, she was on his radar. He didn’t know her name, hadn’t wanted to. Knowing her name invited him to know other things about her, things that would lead him to stripping her bare and taking what he wanted. So, he’d kept away, yet kept her in his peripheral studying the sway of her hips, the strut of her walk, her infrequent smile though it never reached her eyes. Distance, aloof, preoccupied, he’d summed up. Now he knew why.
She was a stripper with a man’s initials tattooed on her back. She was a struggling, practically homeless, single mother to an adorable little girl. On paper, there was nothing special about her. She was just another ordinary woman struggling to make ends meet. Sitting next to her, studying her coolly as she studied him, he
quickly realized she was far from ordinary. She was special, to him. As special as his close-knit friends, only he didn’t want to bury his cock inside them.
Giving up on him answering her question, she turned her attention to the streets outside the window. He could’ve answered her but chose not to. Let her stew. They’d arrive at their destination soon enough. They were alone in the backseat. Bruno chose to ride shotgun. A floral scent wafted from her. Something light, tantalizing, teasing. Against his wishes, his cock filled.
She shifted on the leather seat, uncrossed, then recrossed her long legs. Her foot shook until she realized it and stopped the nervous habit. He pretended to not notice, his attention on the phone in his hand. She wasn’t impulsive, he’d give her that.
“Your sister came for a visit.”
Slowly, her head cranked his way and her hands clenched tighter in her lap. “She did. Is that a problem?”
“No. I left orders that any of your family is welcomed to visit.”
She relaxed into her seat. “Thanks.”
As if he’d ever keep her from her family. Unless they hurt her, then all bets were off.
His burner phone buzzed. It was Nick. The shipment of weapons had left the docks without a hitch. Thank you, Uncle Sam, for your piss-poor inventory maintenance. The car slowed as he shot a text to Nick.
“You brought me to Denizen.”
Harden didn’t miss the half sentence she uttered. No, make that one word she’d purposely excluded. Why. He looked up as the car double-parked in front of the club. Bruno opened his door, his attention on the surroundings, looking for a threat amongst the parked cars and pedestrians. Harden did the same. Julius was shot around the corner, the event indelibly etched in his brain. Two bullets nearly stole his life. Bullets Harden had thought were meant for him, after all, he was the head of the syndicate. How wrong they both were. Lynda Morgan. Psycho stepmother from hell and her Russian oligarch boyfriend, Karpovilov, were to blame. Both would pay.
Certain no threats lurked in the cold late afternoon New York City streets, he reached into the car and held out his hand. Would she take it? He wanted to feel her bare hand in his, skin to skin, strength to strength. Harden was stronger, but in a clash of wills he wasn’t so sure.
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