by Sophia Henry
“There was over fifty thousand dollars in that account. What the hell could you possibly need for that much money?” he growls, his voice filling up space in the car.
“Living isn’t cheap,” I grumble. It’s funny how we fall back into our old routine, almost as if he never left. The difference this time is that Stan isn’t feeling very protective of me right now.
“But dying is,” Stan replies coldly.
A shiver runs down my spine. This isn’t the man I felt for. This is the mobster who killed a man in cold blood right in front of me. And I have no doubt he’d empty his bullets into me without hesitation.
But my mother didn’t raise no bitch.
“Are you threatening me?” I ask, my voice being dangerously low to mask my fear.
He grabs my hair at the roots and yanks me forward until we’re face to face, so close our breath starts to mingle. Once upon a time being so close to this man would make me stir with desire but now all I feel is disdain.
“Do you remember who I am? Do you remember what I could do to you?” he asks, his voice even deadlier now, but I feign calm.
“The tables have turned. I have the money, power, and a family name. I have control over you,” I spit out, sounding more confident than I feel.
“Not if I kill you,” he replies.
I lift my eyes to his, staring at him. “I have a feeling you’d rather fuck me.”
“Does your pussy squirt hundred-dollar bills when I slide my cock inside?” Stan asks sarcastically.
“Maybe you should find out,” I whisper, my voice hoarse with need.
His mouth crashes onto mine. I move my hands to his hair, pulling the roots as we kiss forcefully. When his tongue slides through my lips, I hold it and start sucking. He yanks my skirt up and pulls me onto his lap. Then he fumbles between us, pulling his pants down, and pushing my underwear aside.
In one hard thrust, he’s inside me. I cry out, my head dropping to his neck. Using his shoulders for leverage, I ride him hard, grinding my clit on his pubic bone, taking his thick cock deeper and deeper. He bucks his hips, sending me sliding up and down.
We fuck—fast and hard and full of passion. I put all the anger, all the heartbreak, all the years of waiting—first in hope, then in fear—into it.
Once when he releases inside me, I know it’s completely over.
“Is that what you wanted?” he asks, breathing heavily. He grabs the back of my hair and pulls my face away from his. “For me to take what’s mine?”
“I’m not yours, Stan. I gave you the one thing I had to give any man. Giving you pussy is nothing special.”
“You’re the devil in disguise,” he whispers, pulling up his black jeans and buttoning them quickly.
“I’m the devil?” I ask indignantly. “You murder people and I’m the devil.”
“I’ve never murdered a man who didn’t deserve to die.” He shoves me onto the seat next to him before shifting the car into drive. “But you, Katrina, you preyed on me. You drew me in with your sob story and I fell for you.”
“You left without leaving me with any way to contact you.” I’m screaming now. Tired of his accusations. “For four years!”
“You had my money,” he shouts each word back haltingly, his hazel eyes bulging out of their sockets.
“I didn’t want your money. I wanted you!”
“You have four weeks to pay back my money or I will kill you and your precious fiancé.” He slams on the brakes. “Now get out of the fucking car.”
Instead of waiting for me to do it, he leans over me, opens the door, and pushes me out.
As I tumble out of the car, my palms scrape against the cement while trying to brace my fall. My body shakes as I watch the car speed away from my position on my hands and knees. Rising slowly, I tug on the hem of my skirt with my fingertips, hoping I don’t get blood on it. My heart pounds against my chest at how close I’d come to being killed.
I limp across the street to a gas station to wash up before calling a cab. Assessing the damage in the mirror, I shake my head. Other than swollen lips and messy hair, I don’t look too rough from the neck up. But below is a different story. My hands are scuffed and bleeding, my blouse is a mess of wrinkles, my skirt is covered with streaks of dirt and multiple tears.
How am I going to return to the Commons looking like this?
How am I going to face Harris?
I’ve made bad decisions in my life. I’ve been ruthless and hard. But screwing Stan in a vulnerable moment shoots to the top of the list.
20
Cookie
Four weeks.
How am I going to come up with that kind of money in four weeks? I know we’ve made that much with the store, but I can’t exactly tell Harris I need a check for fifty thousand dollars and not come back with a Cadillac or something extravagant.
When I get back to Harris’ family’s estate, I can barely look him in the eye. Thankfully, he is too busy going over numbers and plans with his father to notice my behavior is off.
It’s a good thing I’m skilled at lying because the ride back to Chapel Hill would have been super awkward if I weren’t. A three-hour car ride is much different than living with someone. I can’t stay out of the apartment and I can’t avoid him. We’re far too intimate for him not to catch on.
Where am I going to get fifty thousand dollars in four weeks?
The pressure plagues me so much, I’m tempted to break down and ask Harris if I can take money out of the business account. We have it, but what am I going tell him I need such a large about for? Student loans? I already claimed to be a rich girl with enough money in her trust fund to pay for school.
Not surprisingly, it doesn’t take long for him to catch on that something is off.
“Hey Cookie,” he says one afternoon as we’re making lunch together. “Can I ask you something?”
“Absolutely, Sugar.” I lean over and kiss his cheek before grabbing a slice of salami from the package on the counter.
He lowers the knife he’s been using to spread mustard on our sandwiches. “What’s going on with you?”
My stomach drops, but I slap on a smile. “Whatever do you mean?”
“Something’s been off recently. It’s like you’re trying to avoid me or not talk too much. You’ve been acting different ever since we got back from Charlotte.” He places his hands on both sides of my face. “I’m worried about you.”
All I can do is stare into his eyes and contemplate what to do. If I tell him the truth, I might lose the only man I’ve ever truly loved—and all the benefits that come with being with him. On the other hand, if I lie, I’ll probably still lose him, and most likely die by Stan’s hand, because I don’t have the money to pay him back.
In the distance, the radio plays Bell Biv Devoe singing about a girl being poison, and the pressure of everything that’s been weighing on me opens the dam.
Suddenly, I’m sobbing and explaining everything to him. From the story of my life, and how my mother pimped me out to my relationship with Stan.
Harris is quiet throughout my narration, but he doesn’t release me from his hold, which I hope is a positive sign.
“You probably don’t even want to marry me after all that. I wouldn’t blame you,” I say between sobs. At first, he doesn’t answer, just stares over my head into space. “Harris? Please look at me,” I plead.
“How long were you with him?” he asks, slowly bringing his focus to me.
“Two weeks,” I confess.
“Did you love him?”
“No, but he made me feel cared for. He made me feel secure. I’d never had that before.” Tension builds inside me because questions like this never bode well for the person being interrogated. But I refuse to lie again.
“How long have we been together?” he asks.
“Four years,” I say, my voice low now.
This is the end, I think, already resigning to my fate.
“Would you rather be married to m
afia scum?” Harris asks.
“No! I love you,” I whisper, swallowing hard and grabbing the collar of his shirt in desperation. “Only you.”
“Then I think you know my answer,” he says. A smile creeps onto his face, but I feel like I’m imagining it.
“You don’t think I’m trash after finding out about my past?” I ask, confused about his reaction. It isn’t what I’d been bracing myself for.
“No. I don’t think you’re trash. I knew something was off, Cookie. You claimed to have an inheritance from wealthy parents in Charlotte. But if that were true, we would have known each other. We would have run in the same circles or heard each other’s names. And—” Harris trails off.
“You had me researched,” I whisper, as the realization suddenly hits me. I should’ve considered that already. Wealthy people like the Commons would have investigated my background.
“My parents did. About a year after we started dating,” he corrects me.
“And they let you stay with me? Seems highly unlikely especially with all the affluent women here.” I gasp, thinking of what his mother had said to me on the evening we got engaged.
“You have nothing to fear,” She’d said. She knew my background and didn’t treat me like I was scum. The thought brings tears to my eyes.
“I won’t lie to you, Sugar. We had a few arguments about you,” he chuckles.
“What tipped the scale to my side?” I ask, still not believing my ears. I have to be the luckiest woman alive.
“I think you’re an amazing, strong, powerful woman. I can’t believe you lived through being raised like you did and came out as amazing as you are. You’re a fighter. You’ll do what you have to do to succeed.”
Hearing how he thinks of me brings me to tears. How do I deserve this kind of love? After my life. My mistakes. My lies.
He wipes my eyes with his thumbs. “And you are one hell of a business woman, Cookie. You’re smart, determined, and persistent. I want you by my side for the rest of my life.”
“I love you so much, Harris. Thank you for seeing me for the woman I am, and not holding my past against me.” I wrap my arms around him and bury my face in his chest. He squeezes me to him.
“I love you too, Sugar. Can you promise me one thing?” he asks. I lift my head. “Promise that you’ll always tell me what’s going on. There’s nothing we can’t get through together.”
I nod.
“So we owe this Stan character fifty thousand dollars, correct?” Harris asks.
The pronoun he uses doesn’t escape my notice. He isn’t treating this as a mess I caused, instead he’s taking it on like it’s a joint problem. My love for this man intensifies. He embraced me when most men would have tossed me out of their houses like a mangy dog.
“When we’re in Charlotte this weekend, we’ll get everything squared away, okay?” he asks after a moment of silence.
I nod. In my head, I say a silent prayer that I found Harris Commons.
21
Cookie
Stan agreed to meet us in the same place I met him four years ago—the alley next to the building he planned on buying. The building hasn’t changed, except maybe to deteriorate even more.
As a precaution, Harris hired a security team to accompany us just in case Stan got any crazy ideas. Not that a security team would help if he decides to pull out a gun and go Mafia hitman on us, but it makes us feel better to have them there.
Mind over matter.
I have to hand it to Harris, he looks menacing as he faces Stan. Not in the scary, feral way the Russian does. Harris has the refined, calm demeanor of someone with power and money. He doesn’t need weapons to ruin someone’s life. He could make a few calls, and end Stan’s life in a heartbeat if he threatens me again.
“Let’s make this short and sweet, okay, Rybakov?” Harris begins, his voice calm but with a definite edge to it. “I understand that you loaned my fiancé some money to get through her university education. Cookie and I are both here to personally thank you for your generosity.”
“Loaned?” Stan laughs. “She—”
Harris raises his hand to silence the man who towers over both of us. Surprisingly, Stan obliges. His eyebrows narrow at Harris, as if wondering who the hell he is and what authority he has. My pulse races because Stan isn’t the kind of person to submit. Maybe I don’t understand levels of power.
“This is seventy thousand dollars,” Harris says, pulling out a fat envelope filled with hundred-dollar bills. “The fifty we owe you and twenty for interest over the last four years.”
Stan grabs the envelope as if he thinks Harris will take it back.
“Stan, I—” I pause, trying to gather my thoughts. “I just want you to know that I didn’t mean to screw you over, Stan. I, just,” I swallow hard and blink back tears. “You know I needed to get out of here. You wanted that for me, remember?”
He stares at me with no expression, just blank eyes and straight, grim lips. He’s standing so still, it’s almost as if he isn’t even breathing.
I continue because I owe it to him. I owe him this and much more. “I knew that I could make something of myself if I had the opportunity. I always planned to pay you back.” I open my pocketbook and rummage for the envelope I have for him.
“This is the deed for this building. We acquired it in your name.” I shove the envelope at him.
Stan’s expression finally changes. First, he looks stunned, then curious. “This is some trick?” he asks, as his gaze shuffles between Harris and I.
“It’s no trick,” I assure him.
“It’s no trick, but there is a stipulation,” Harris says.
“Fuck your stipulations.”
Harris continues, “I know everything about you, Stanislav. I know who you work for and I know who wants you dead. One phone call is all it would take and you’d be out of our lives forever.”
Stan scowls, but raises an eyebrow and keeps listening. I never thought Mafia were patient, but I’m seeing a whole new side of life. Everything is about deals.
“You will never contact me or my family. You won’t even come close to us. We don’t run in the same circles, so this shouldn’t be a problem, right?”
Stan grunts.
“If you do, I will ruin you, Stanislav,” Harris says. He’s so calm and collected, it’s like he does this every day. “Do you understand me?”
“Da. Understood.” Stan nods in assent.
My heart speeds up, enthralled with Harris’ remarkable display of power. He had the upper hand the entire time and didn’t show any signs of intimidation.
“We’re done here,” Harris announces. “You ready, Sugar?”
He pulls me close and kisses me in front of Stan. I almost smile, but I notice the seething jealousy on Stan’s face. Maybe Harris wasn’t intimidated, but I am. The darkness in his eyes has me on edge.
“Goodbye, Stan,” I whisper as we walk back to the car.
I owe him my life. But I repaid my debt and I need to move forward. Making amends and walking away from Stan means leaving behind my dark past and moving toward a bright future.
Epilogue
COOKIE
I stare at the white, plastic stick.
Two pink lines.
I avert my gaze to the second stick. Then the third.
I thought the first might have been a false positive, so I grabbed a two-pack while I was at the pharmacy. It’s always better to be sure.
Two pink lines.
I’m sitting on the toilet, holding my head in my hands. My knees shake as I try to figure out the moment of conception. My head swirls as I count backwards.
“You almost ready?” Harris asks, entering the bathroom.
Normally, I wouldn’t mind him coming in, but today, I spring to my feet with my arms extended, as if to push him out. “Harris, I, wait—”
When he spots the sticks on the sink, his expression goes blank. He looks up at me, then down at the sticks, then back up at me.
“Cookie?” he asks.
“I’m pregnant,” I confirm with a small smile.
Instantly, his face lights up with elation and he pulls me into his arms. “We’re pregnant? We’re having a baby?” He backs away to check my face.
I nod.
“Must’ve been that quickie on the way to Charlotte, eh?” he wiggles his eyebrows. Outside, I laugh softly and nod. Inside, I’m reeling because I know what scenario is more likely.
Harris is always careful. He insists on wearing a condom, even after we got engaged. As old school as it sounds, he’d be shunned by his family if we had a child before marriage. Even during our quickie, he was covered.
But I didn’t use any protection during that anger-filled, passionate encounter with Stan.
I close my eyes, and snuggle into Harris’ arms, praying my calculations are wrong.
If they aren’t, I can only hope that no one will notice if the baby doesn’t have any of Harris’ features.
THE END
The Saints and Sinners series continues with
Harris and Cookie’s daughters!
Read Liz’s story in OPEN YOUR HEART
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OPEN YOUR HEART Excerpt
Prologue
Austin
SIX MONTHS EARLIER
“Jesus Christ!”
Pulling the wheel hard to the left, I swerve around a car protruding into the right lane.
Forget that I would’ve smashed into oncoming traffic if there had been any. Six in one hand, half-dozen in the other.
Once I regain my composure, I pull my pickup truck onto the shoulder and shift into park. My heart races; I’m wondering how long the mid-size SUV had been smashed between two trees—and how on earth it got there.
