Whoa. Say what? Suddenly, this seems so much more personal. Hell, I’m offended, and we’ve never had sex, so I’m not the dude who didn’t bring it home. So why do I feel guilty? I lazily close the distance between us. Going off half-cocked will only make her bolt. My hands don’t leave my side when I reach her. Instead, my body just grazes hers. I keep my face impassive even as I hear her draw a ragged breath. She’s wearing a long gray top and some black pants underneath that look like a second skin. Bad wardrobe choice, sweetheart. The thin material does nothing to hide the clear outline of her nipples. Granted, she could be cold; in fact, I believe I feel her shivering. I lean closer and lower my face to within an inch of her neck. I inhale, intoxicated by her scent. Then I exhale harder than necessary so she’ll feel my breath against her sensitive skin. My tongue darts out, and I take a long, leisurely lick of the pulse beating frantically there. She cries out and shifts closer, but I refuse to be hurried.
My lips are only inches from her earlobe when I whisper, “Belle, the only way I’ll come is if you’ve already gotten yours many times.” She’s lost in the moment, moving restlessly against me, wanting what I’ve promised. I’m not even sure she’s aware of what she’s silently asking for—but I am. And unfortunately, I can’t give it to either of us now because it would be rushed, and I refuse to let that happen. Especially considering what she’s revealed. A quick orgasm isn’t going to make up for a lifetime of neglect. We may have no future together, but she will have a night that she’ll never forget. This is no longer about proving a point. It’s about giving an amazing woman an experience she’s never had and deserves. Hell, every woman deserves to be put first in bed. Even rushed, I’d never get off and walk away, so she has every right to be bitter. If you don’t please your woman, you’re not a man. I’ve been with some crazy chicks in my time, but at the end of the day, I love everything about the opposite sex. We should be on our knees thanking them—no, worshipping them—for even giving us a second glance, much less sleeping with us. My mouth settles against hers, but instead of slipping my tongue into her mouth, I nip her bottom lip with my teeth gently, and she hisses in response. Fuck. I want to deepen the kiss so fucking much that I can barely stop myself. But I can’t risk it. She’s my weakness. I’ve known it since we met. So I toss aside my pride and grab the only lifeline available. With a herculean effort, I push away and call out as I flee, “Sorry, Belle, not feeling well again.”
It’s not exactly a lie. Leaving her looking like every wet dream I’ve ever had is making me ache all over. I’ve never had sexual frustration so bad that my teeth hurt, but they do now. Maybe I’m getting the flu. Making it to the main bathroom and shutting the door is the equivalent of crossing the finish line in a cross-country race. I’m in the process of splashing cold water on my face when I come to the realization that drastic measures are needed. I’m going to jack off instead of fucking a willing woman. I’m fucking obsessed with her, and if this wasn’t so pitiful, I would laugh.
Instead, I turn the water in the sink up to full blast to provide some sound coverage, flip on the fan since she already thinks I’m having another emergency, and lower my zipper. I don’t bother attempting to prolong the moment since this is about a straight-up release. I’m already turned on, so no foreplay is needed. It only takes an embarrassingly few rough jerks, and I’m blowing my load into a hand towel. I feel lightheaded for a moment and lean against the wall, closing my eyes until it’s passed. Then I clean up and smile wryly despite myself. In all the time I’ve lived in this apartment, I don’t think I’ve ever spent this much time in the bathroom.
I’m tempted to stay a little longer, but I’m afraid the uncertainty will derail her usual evening plans. Come to think of it, I see no reason not to use my stomach issues as an excuse to turn in early. That’s a bonus in more than one way. I can avoid fucking her on the sofa, countertop, against the wall… Focus, that’s not helping. Think of Nic laughing at you. The last thought works like a charm, and it’s back to the business. I don’t risk telling her face to face. Instead, I call out the lie from the hallway and escape to the guest room. I text Nic and delay our meeting for another half hour to give her plenty of time to feel confident I’m asleep.
I’m apprehensive about what I’ll discover tonight. I have no room to judge her if she’s deceiving me because I’ve been doing that very thing to her all along. But fuck, I want to believe that she’s better than that—better than me. To find out otherwise would kill the only part of me that’s not completely jaded. One way or the other, whatever this is between us will change tonight. And I’m not sure I’m ready for that. She’ll either remain on a pedestal, or she’ll be in hell next to me. The only thing certain is that I want her either way—that’s never in question. Nor is the sad fact that she’ll end up hating me… along with everyone else.
Nina
It’s been an hour since Marco disappeared into his room. I’ve been to the door three times in the past fifteen minutes but haven’t detected any signs of life. After all he’s been through tonight, he has to be asleep—right? It’s almost time to leave, and even though I’ve changed into more comfortable clothing, I’m still filled with indecision. What if there’s an emergency, and he needs me before I get back? I always lock my door from the inside, so if it’s urgent enough for him to wake me, he probably won’t have the strength to break in. He’ll do what any normal person would and call 9-1-1. Or in his case, he’ll summons one of the men who are always close by. Heck, he practically bolted from the kitchen earlier and hasn’t come back to say good night in person. Would you after that? He’s more likely to stab me in my sleep than ask me for help.
Even though I try to assuage my guilt by saying he deserved the near poisoning I gave him via lasagna, I still feel bad. I expected to have some laughs at his expense. Especially, when I told him the truth later, and he realized I’d paid him back. But there’s no way in hell I’ll admit it now. Not after how sick he’s been. Minka and I laughed on the phone as I threw every random thing I could find in my pasta creation from hell. It was supposed to be funny. Actually, Minka found it hilarious—even more so with the stomach problems it caused. She dedicated a solid five minutes to bathroom humor, and I tried not to laugh. But it had been impossible a few times.
I feel my pocket vibrate and glance around before pulling out my phone.
I’ll see you soon. On my way.
I know this is a mistake. I can feel it in my very bones. But even as I berate myself for being a fool, I carefully press my ear against his door one last time. Hearing nothing, I go into my room and gently ease the door shut. The lock sounds like a gunshot in the silence, but I know it’s simply nerves amplifying everything.
I’ve perfected sneaking out for my nightly excursion. The first time, I was hesitant and more than a little afraid of either falling or getting caught. Like every rebellious teenager, I’ve scaled plenty of walls and drainpipes in my adolescence. And a few times since in an emergency. Even though it has been a while, I surprised myself by having no problems at all. Once you’ve done something like that successfully, you feel almost invincible.
The biggest challenge was the window sensors. Luckily, on the first day here, Jake took the alarm system offline to make some changes to it. And Marco nicely left a paper with the new code on the coffee table. After he pissed me off, I put my time that night to good use. While he was on his phone, I located the panel in the entryway and keyed in the new code. My hands shook so badly I was sure I’d hit the wrong sequence and end up sleeping with the fishes. But thanks to the fact that it was the same model as Franklin’s, I navigated it easily. In less than two minutes, I deactivated the window sensors for Marco’s bedroom and exited the programming. Then I tiptoed back to his room and used a nail file from my purse to unscrew the sensor pads and remove them. Thankfully, he hasn’t insisted on having his room back, or it would have all been for nothing. I haven’t spent half my life around the Gavinos without learning a thing or two, a
nd there aren’t too many places I can’t break in to or out of. Of course, Minka is far better at it than I am. She broke into a bank at the age of fourteen on a dare. She said her father had been so pissed off at her—but had bragged about it to others for years.
I’m almost on autopilot as I leap from the fire escape to the drainage gutter. I learned after the first night that wearing gloves was a necessity. They allowed me to slide instead of a weird, backward crawl. I crouch when my feet hit the ground. After scanning the area, I ease into the shadows and take off at a run. Three blocks later, I duck into a parking garage and go to the last spot. I absently pat my hair to make sure it’s still secured in a tight bun before tossing my leg over the sports bike and pulling the key from my pocket.
Yet another thing I had to thank Minka for. That my best friend had always been a tomboy certainly served us well through the years, and remaining in her shadow most of our life worked in my favor. No one paid me much attention because she was the hellion. I was the good girl she led astray on occasion. They had no clue I was often just as guilty, if not more so, than she was. It was our version of good cop, bad cop.
I’ve never felt freer than when I roar through the streets on my bike. That’s right, I’ve owned this baby for years now, and only Minka knows. We reserve garage space under aliases for both our bikes and switch it up every few months. That is probably overkill, especially where I’m concerned, because up until recently, few people gave a shit about me or my hobbies. Again, that has been the goal all along. There are so many sayings about it always being the quiet one, yet the Gavinos apparently didn’t put much stock in that. Maybe they should read more memes.
I’ve been on the road for about twenty minutes and slow as I spot the dirt road up ahead. Our rendezvous point is right at the edge of the city on land owned by Lucian Quinn. He is connected enough as the son-in-law of Lee Jacks for us to keep an eye on, and distant enough for none of the Gavinos or Morettis to be patrolling all his holdings. Especially in a sparsely populated area with the closest business being a couple of miles down the road. A light flashes three times in the distance, and I feel a wave of relief that we’ve both made it here safely once again. This is the last time for a few days unless there’s some emergency. We both know we’re pushing our luck, but it’s so damned hard to stay away. Even though we don’t normally see each other every day, something about having our wings clipped has made us both so incredibly restless. Min particularly. She’s used to living with boundaries and security, but still, this is very different.
I take two steps forward when I get off the bike before I’m pulled into a tight embrace. I return the hug, feeling my eyes water. No matter where I go, the arms holding me will always be my home. “Damn, I was getting worried. What took you so long? Let me guess, standing around wringing your hands in indecision? Afraid Marco would need you to help him to the toilet for another round?”
“Min.” I laugh as I pull away. “He’s been really sick. I told you I shouldn’t have added the anchovies.”
She grimaces before adding, “It was likely the mineral oil. My grandma Francis used it as a laxative.”
My mouth drops open in horror. “You told me it was okay to substitute for olive oil. You said, ‘oil is oil, dummy.’ Oh my God, do you think it’s because I used the mineral oil that I remove my makeup with?” I’m pacing in the dark now as images of Marco’s dead body float through my head. “I should have never listened to you. Shit, you don’t know how to cook.”
“For fuck’s sake, Becky, calm down,” she says dryly. I have no clue why, but she always calls me Becky when she’s teasing me. I spin around and flip her off. I’ll admit, it’s not that effective, considering we can barely see each other, but it makes me feel better. She puts a hand on my shoulder and gives it a comforting squeeze. “I promise, Ni, he’ll be fine. Yes, it was kind of an evil thing to do, but we had no idea it would cause such… distress. And we’re talking about Marco Moretti here. If poisoning him didn’t take him out, then I doubt mineral oil is going to do much to slow him down. Just think of it as an in-home colonic. They are all the rage these days, you know. A person could easily lose ten pounds depending on how full of shit they are. And in his case—yeah—he should be good for at least that.”
“Min.” I laugh despite myself. “I hope you’re right. Otherwise, my ass is in big trouble when I get back.”
From seemingly out of nowhere, a bright light shines in my eyes. I blink frantically, just before I’m pulled to the ground. “Fuck,” Minka hisses. “Keep your head down. Someone’s here.”
“Indeed, they are, Sugar Lump,” drawls a faintly amused voice. It can’t be.
“Nic,” I hear Minka groan incredulously. “He must have followed me. Shit.”
“Actually, we both did,” says someone just to my right. “And, Belle, you’re correct about your ass being in big trouble. Only the time is now instead of later.”
I don’t want to stand. No, I’d rather stay low and crawl out of here, but Minka has no such qualms. Instead, she pops up like a Jack-in-the-box sounding very self-righteous for someone in the wrong. Well, depending on how you look at it. “This is a new low even for you, Nicole. What’s next, sniffing my underwear? Talk about an invasion of privacy.”
It appears I’m the only one still huddling on the ground. Pride demands that I at least look as if I have a set of balls. Not that I do—or even want a pair, but… oh, fuck it. The light that temporary blinded us has been lowered, and I can now easily make out a smirking Nic, a scowling Minka, and a blank-faced Marco. The last one is the worst. He might not be the most expressive guy, but this somber version is downright scary. That’s just your guilt talking. “Give me a break,” Nic mutters in response to Minka’s tirade. “You’re in the wrong, and you know it. If you must get yourself killed, then have at it, sweetheart, but don’t drag innocent people into your insanity.” He points in my direction before adding, “You have your friend here crawling down a building to meet you in a deserted field at midnight. That’s crazy enough, but toss in the fact that there have been multiple murders lately, with a chunk of them involving Gavinos, and your crazy level goes right to insanely stupid. And how in the hell have you managed to get out of the compound without detection?”
“Oh, fuck you,” Minka snarls. “You have no clue what you’re talking about. Don’t get pissy with me because you’re too much of a pussy to do anything without written permission. Oh, and they don’t make a security system that I can’t defeat—obviously.”
“Enough,” Marco snaps out, and there is instant silence. I hear him sigh loudly, and strangely enough, it’s comforting. Well, that and the fact he doesn’t simply shoot them both. “This constant fucking bickering between you two is getting old. And this isn’t the time for it. So shut the fuck up.” The urge to smile is strong, but he takes care of that when he looks at me, then pointedly at my bike. “Unlike Nic, I don’t think Minka led you astray. No, considering how adeptly you climb walls and handle that bike, you’re no stranger to this level of duplicity. But why, Nina? I’ve brought you to my home to keep you safe. We have additional security to keep you fucking safe from who the fuck knows is the enemy. So other than sheer, reckless stupidity and selfishness, why?”
I feel like a five-year-old being taken to task by her father, and what’s even worse, he’s right. I’m surprised Minka hasn’t jumped down his throat by now, but she’s remained unusually quiet. I glance in her direction to make sure Nic doesn’t have her in a choke hold, but there is no physical contact between them. They are, however, silently glaring at each other. I decide to go with as much truth as I can, figuring it’ll sound more convincing. I clear my throat and summon the nerve to make full eye contact. Crap, he’s enraged. It’s there in his narrowed eyes and pursed lips. If I thought I could get away, I’d hop on my bike and make a run for it, but there is no way that’s happening. “The first night I was at your apartment, I couldn’t reach Minka. And we never go to bed without che
cking in. I tried her for hours and left countless messages, but nothing. I fell asleep and woke up after midnight. When I saw that she still hadn’t responded, I knew something had to be wrong, so I let myself out and went to get my bike. I was about a mile from the Moretti compound when she texted to let me know that Nic had taken her phone, and she’d stolen it back when he was asleep.” I put my hands on my hips, angry that he’s made me out to be the bad guy here when Nic caused this.
“What are you talking about?” Nic chimes in. “I never took her phone.” He holds his hands up when Marco looks at him questioningly. “Man, I swear, I haven’t touched any of her shit. The only way that would happen is if you ordered it.” Then he turns to Minka. “Why the fuck would you tell her that? Are you trying to start shit? In case you haven’t noticed, we have enough problems without playing games with each other.”
Minka reaches out and shoves against his chest as she snarls, “Would it have been better if I’d said, ‘hey sorry, Ni, I was busy fucking Nic and missed your call?’ My bad.”
Whoa, so didn’t see that coming. Nic, really? Tension fills the air as we all shift nervously on our feet. Well, everyone except Marco. He says absolutely nothing for a full, nail-biting minute. “Nic, call Jake and tell him to pick up these bikes. I’ll take Nina with me, and you can take Minka.” Oh shit. I haven’t seen this version of Marco before.
“Hey, man,” Nic says uneasily.
He glances at Nic for only a moment. “Call Jake and tell him to pick up these bikes.” Then he turns to me. “Are you ready?” he asks me in a voice so deathly still and polite that it’s almost eerie. Even Minka has been silenced. He holds the flashlight, and I follow him quietly through the woods to where the Escalade is parked in a clearing. He opens my door and walks around to the other side.
“Marco,” I begin, having no idea what I plan to say but desperately wanting to break the heavy silence between us.
Marco: Lucian & Lia: Book 8 Page 12
