Her nose scrunched. “I don’t know. I don’t think so.” Her lips pursed in concentration. “It wouldn’t have given them much time to...maybe.”
I wanted to smile, to ponder longer on the fact that Laurel was essentially saying Cartwright was quick on the draw. I wanted to. I didn’t.
“I’ll check their credit cards and bank records,” I offered. “Maybe they were meeting at a hotel or restaurant. If there’s evidence that they were meeting—anywhere—we might be on to something, something more than one late-night booty call.”
“That first email?” Laurel said, her inflection sounding like a question. “I’d like to read it again. You said it was sent out from the university, not an individual.”
“I said it was sent through the university servers. It wasn’t connected to any viable account. Whoever sent it knew what they were doing and how to access the hidden part of the internet.”
Laurel looked down at her hands still holding my forearms. “Kader.” She looked up through her damn lashes. “May I...please...will you let me see your tattoos?”
There was something in her voice, a desire that only I could fulfill, an opportunity to take her mind off of Cartwright. And yet I couldn’t. I wouldn’t show her what she wanted to see. Yesterday, I’d tried to make her see that I was a monster. Now, I wanted to hide the indisputable proof.
“Laurel, I’m going to go upstairs and shower. Your laptop is in the dining room. It’s signed out of the internet. I’ll sign you in when I’m done. Don’t go in my office or in my—”
Disappointment washed over her, darkening her expression as she lifted her hands, stopping my sentence. “It would be better if you didn’t continue to repeat yourself. I know your rules. I won’t risk being discovered. I also respect your privacy...” She shrugged. “...even if you don’t always respect mine.”
I took a step back. Without another word, Laurel turned toward the sink. Turning on the water, she began to rinse our breakfast dishes.
I should have moved.
I should have walked away.
I didn’t.
My feet remained rooted to the floor as my eyes stayed glued on her, unable to look away. My gaze scanned from her long, shiny ponytail to her petite frame with sexy curves. Disappointment emanated from her every pore.
Was it about Cartwright or my latest denial?
All I knew was that standing there watching Laurel was a different kind of painful.
I was experienced with pain.
This was different—deeper—not physical yet inside me.
I couldn’t figure out my obsession with this woman or hers with me. I wanted it, and yet I didn’t. I was drawn to the way she looked at me—saw me, drawn to how it was different than with anyone else.
What would happen if I truly let her see?
My neck stiffened.
Maybe it would be the real end.
That would be better for both of us.
Closing my eyes, I pushed my sleeves up to my elbows. Looking down, I saw the colorful ink, the designs that twisted over my skin as nothing more than an attempt to beautify what was gruesome. Over the years the scars and colors had become one. It would only take a glance for Laurel to shudder in horror.
Though I wanted to do this, to end her curiosity, I found moving difficult. It was as if my steps were fighting a current—moving toward her yet simultaneously being swept away by the metaphoric water. My heart thumped against my breastbone, and my mouth grew dry as I came to a stop behind her. We weren’t touching, yet the warmth of her body radiated from her.
“Kader?” she asked, unmoving.
Did I want to see her expression of disgust?
No.
It would be better if I stayed behind her.
Holding my breath, I moved my hands to each side of the sink, caging her between my repugnant scars.
I waited.
The kitchen remained still.
There was no gasp, no voicing of revulsion. Her body didn’t flinch or stiffen at the sight.
Without a word, Laurel reached for the faucet and turned off the water. Slowly, her face bowed one direction and then the other. All at once, she spun within my entrapment. Looking up at me, her blue eyes were again filled with tears; however, the sadness from earlier was gone. Her cheeks were raised and she was smiling.
“They’re...” She looked down. “...truly beautiful and intricate.” Her eyes met mine again. “May I touch them?”
I couldn’t answer, not verbally; however, a quick nod granted her permission. My consent was spurred by the knowledge that once she did, this would be the last time we’d touch. After this she’d rightfully run.
Gently, Laurel brushed her fingertips over my mutilated skin. I saw her touch more than felt it through the damaged nerve endings. Taking one of my hands, she turned it over, examining the underside of my arm. Again, our eyes met. “These must have taken many sessions.”
I’d never allowed anyone to see my ink—other than the artist—much less touch my skin. My neck stiffened as the hairs of my neck bristled. “Don’t pretend, Laurel. Now you’re seeing it. The monster I am.”
Her head shook. “I don’t see a monster.”
“Then you’re not looking hard enough.”
Letting go of my hand, Laurel raised both of hers to my chest. Rising on her toes, she didn’t stop until her lips were a breath from mine. The temptation was too strong. I leaned forward or was it her?
Our connection was fire.
The flames made processing difficult.
The pieces didn’t fit.
Laurel should want to get away, to hide in a safe place. Instead, she reached higher, palming my cheeks and pulling me toward her. The spark our kiss ignited incinerated my dread. Like the rebirth of a forest after a devastating wildfire, a bud of hope threatened to bloom within me as our lips battled and our tongues joined the attack.
No longer caging Laurel, my arms snaked around her soft frame, my fingers moving lower and splaying over her round ass. With little effort, I lifted her to me, her legs surrounding my torso.
The kitchen filled with sounds.
Laurel’s moans were the trip wire, her tongue and lips the igniter. My detonation was imminent as her body wiggled in my grasp, her core rubbing over my hardening dick, and her tits smashing against my chest.
No, this wasn’t right.
Taking a step to the side, I released her, sitting her on the edge of the counter.
As I stepped back, her beautiful, surprised expression and pink, puffy lips came into view. My neck straightened. “I-I...” It was a rare loss of words. “Why aren’t you repulsed?”
“Why would I be?”
“Because I’m grotesque.”
Laurel again reached for one of my arms. Looking upward to my eyes and then back down, she teased the sleeve, moving it higher. “All the way up?” she asked.
“And more.”
“I’d like to see.”
I shook my head. “You can’t be seeing what’s right here.”
“I’m seeing you.” Her palms were again at my cheeks, our noses nearly touching, as her blue orbs stared into mine. “Kader, I’m looking. I’m seeing. And what I see is a man who has hidden himself for too long, for reasons I can’t comprehend, behind an extravagant work of art.” Her lips brushed mine. “Thank you. I won’t push you, but someday, I’d like to see it all, all of you, like you did me.”
“Not the same thing.”
Her gaze went back to the art on my forearms. “You’re right.”
As I started to pull away, she tightened her grasp. “Laurel.”
Taking my arm, she pulled it behind her and lifted hers to my shoulders. “It’s not the same thing. Not because of your tattoos or my lack thereof. It’s different because right now I’m overwhelmed by your gift.”
“What gift?”
“Sharing your secret with me.”
Fuck.
Taking a step back, I ran my hand over my hair, real
izing that during the night I’d removed the tie. A monster with a mane should incite dread.
Why wasn’t that happening?
“I don’t understand you,” I admitted.
Laurel’s smile beamed my direction as her knees spread and she pulled me into the space between. “I’m not as complicated as you.”
“I have no idea what to do with you,” I said.
She reached back and removed the tie from her hair, allowing it to flow over his slender shoulders. Her tone turned sultry. Her tongue darted to her swollen lips and her head tilted suggestively just before she asked, “What do you want to do?”
“I want to take you upstairs and fuck some sense into you.”
Laurel’s smile grew. Pink radiated from her neck, filling her cheeks as she leaned back. Looking up with a sexy-as-fuck spark in her eyes, she undid the top button of her jeans. “If that sense is supposed to make me see you differently than I do at this moment, we’d better get started because it may take a long time.”
Fuck.
Laurel’s shriek and squeal filled the air as I stepped back, scooped her legs into my arms, and tossed her soft curves over my shoulder.
Her small fists pounded against my back. “You can’t do this,” she protested as I began to climb the stairs.
Throwing open the door to my bedroom, I tossed her onto the bed. Her body bounced as her unrestrained hair fanned on the cover below, all the while her eyes staying fixed on mine.
“I can’t believe you did that.”
An unfamiliar smile came to my lips as a laugh bubbled from my chest. “I’ve been wanting to do that since the first time I saw you.”
“Anything else that you want to do?” she teased, her tits pushing against her shirt as her back arched and breathing deepened.
I took a step back. “My turn to look.”
“You’ve already seen.”
Crossing my arms over my chest, I widened my stance and squared my shoulders. With a shake of my head, I conveyed my message.
Sitting up, with her lip tucked under her front teeth, Laurel lifted her shirt over her head revealing the white bra that at one time had a sensor inserted. As she reached for the clasp, I stopped her. “No, blue jeans next.”
“You’re bossy.”
“You’re gorgeous. I want to see if your panties are—”
Fucking white.
When the only remaining clothes were her white bra and panties, I nodded and offered her my hand. As she stood, I commanded, “Let me see.”
Laurel spun slowly as her hair fell in waves over her slender shoulders, and goose bumps brought the small hairs to life on her arms. The cups of her bra tented with her hardening nipples.
“You’re stunning.”
Again she reached for the clasp. “No, Laurel, leave the rest for me.”
Mason
Over seven years ago within a Chicago skyscraper
* * *
“Stop! Mason, stop.” My sister’s cries weren’t registering as my fist collided with Reid’s cheek.
While powerful, it was the only punch I’d land. Reid spun, secured my elbows behind my back, and bent me forward at the waist. “He’ll throw her out.” His voice was a low growl in my ear. “Is that what you want?”
I struggled against his hold. “Fucking let go of me.”
“Mason.” Lorna’s face appeared before me as she crouched lower. “Reid hasn’t done anything I didn’t want.”
My eyes closed as my nostrils flared and jaw clenched. This was my fucking sister. “Let. Go. Of. Me.” The words came through gritted teeth.
Apprehensively, Reid’s grip of my elbows loosened.
Standing, I shook out my arms and straightened my shoulders. “You,” I said, pointing to Lorna, “go in our apartment. Don’t come out.”
Instead of obeying, my sister reached for Reid’s arm. “Mason, I’m not a kid.”
“I fucking know that.”
“Then don’t treat me like one. While you weren’t looking, I grew up. We’re not in some one-room excuse for an apartment. Our mother isn’t out turning tricks, forgetting she had kids to feed. You don’t need to take care of me.”
The dark memories of our childhood brought back a vision of Missy. Rarely was she mentioned though she was always present. The memory was too painful for both of us. I’d failed her. I didn’t want to fail Lorna.
“You’re here,” I said. “I’m taking care of you.”
“She’s here,” Reid interjected, “because you thought it would be best. She was and is capable of taking care of herself.”
“Is that what you think is best?” I asked, louder than I should. “Do you want her back out there instead of here and safe?”
“No. I want her here—with me, not you.”
I took a step back. Spinning, I ran my hand over my hair; the short strands bristled against my palm. If Lorna wouldn’t listen to me, I’d make damn sure Reid did. Stepping closer to him, I stopped an inch before our chests touched. My gaze sent daggers into his brown eyes. “You and me, we’re not done. We’re going to talk.”
“It’s not up to you,” Lorna said while at the same time, Reid spoke.
“Mason, I wanted to tell you. There’s been too much happening with Allister and Sparrow. The timing didn’t seem right—”
“What the actual fuck?” I interrupted as my eyes went from one to the other and back. “This isn’t new? How long?”
Lorna shrugged. “This...” She motioned between the two of them. “...not long...” She looked up at Reid, a smile coming to her lips as pink filled her cheeks. “...although, I think I’ve wanted it for a long time.”
What the fuck was she saying?
Thinking was beyond my comprehension. This didn’t make sense.
Lorna stepped forward and reached for my hand. The creamy porcelain hue of her skin and the bright redness of her hair were stark reminders that we shared a worthless mother, but not a father. Visually, our only common denominator was the green eyes staring at me, the same color as mine.
“Are you going to tell me to fuck off?” I asked. “You’re done with me and don’t need me anymore.”
“No, I’m going to remind you that I’m twenty-six years old.”
“I fucking know your age.”
“You’ve done so much for me. It was hard when you left, but...” Her gaze scanned the stupid gathering space. “...it was meant to be. This, Mace, is the life you were meant to live. The four of you will rule this city. You will help more people like Missy.”
The hair on the back of my neck bristled at the sound of our sister’s name.
“I’ll never be able to thank you enough for all you’ve done,” she continued. “You even took care of me from overseas. Now, it’s time to let me live.”
“With him?” I asked, my neck straightening.
“Do you have a better prospect?” Reid asked, his chest puffed and jaw clenched while the dark skin of his left cheek showed signs of swelling. “I’m not good enough?”
I scanned him up and down. “Fuck no.” His question hit me, reminding me how my statement may have sounded. This had nothing to do with the way he looked. In reality, no man alive was good enough for my sister. I didn’t give a shit about the color of their skin or anything else.
Reid Murray was one of my best friends and had been for nearly a decade. He was six feet six of solid muscle and probably one of the smartest men I knew. That was saying a lot with our group. For a rich kid and three losers, we packed a punch physically as well as intellectually.
“Fuck, Reid,” I said, “this is about my sister. Not about you.”
We all turned as the elevator doors behind me opened.
Shit.
“Tell me what the fuck is going on,” Sparrow bellowed, his displeasure radiating in ripples as he stalked closer to our group, leaving Patrick a few steps behind in his wake.
When no one replied, Sparrow stopped and scanned from Reid to Lorna and finally to me.
“Our city is under siege and you two are fighting over her?”
Lorna took a step forward, her neck straightening. “I’ll pack my things and be gone before the four of you return in the morning.”
My little sister had more courage than more than half the city of Chicago to stand up to Sterling Sparrow. While that impressed me, I feared her strength may hurt my case for her remaining here.
“You’re staying.”
My gaze went to Reid and his to mine. Neither of us had been the one to make the deep-toned proclamation. Everyone including Sparrow turned toward Patrick.
“Come on,” Patrick said. “We have a city to control. Lorna is your family, Mason. Sparrow, you say all the time that we watch out for our own. That includes Lorna. No one in this room will be responsible for her being on the street where there’s the possibility of anything happening to her.”
“Get her a plane ticket,” Sparrow said. “She can be out of the country by tomorrow. You heard her. She’s ready to leave. We can assure her safety in Europe.”
Patrick shook his head. “The ultimate decision may be yours, boss. Right now, you’re not thinking about family. Your mind’s on the fight for control of Chicago as it should be. Give this...” He lifted his hand toward us. “... time. We all have time.”
Lorna had stepped back and was now wedged between me and Reid.
Patrick spoke toward the three of us. “Mason, your family is our family.” He smirked as he turned to Reid. “In light of recent developments that sounds a bit gross, but go with me on this. Forget your last names. If we’re in this fight, we’re all Sparrows.”
My skin prickled, thinking of Sparrow’s father. That wasn’t what Patrick meant and I knew it.
“The three of you will work out your issues with time,” Patrick continued. “Currently, we have more important things to deal with. McFadden’s men are, as we speak, gathering at an abandoned flophouse in East Garfield Park. Shit’s happening. We have one man on the inside. Either we’ll get the intel or we’ll lose a man. Then there’s the shipment at the shipyard. I can’t get ahold of the capo we sent to investigate. That is where our heads need to be. This here—can wait.”
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