Текст книги "Four Seconds to Lose"
Автор книги: K. A. Tucker
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Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 25 страниц)
I had to get away from Cain, something I haven’t done in days. He’s been within arm’s reach the entire time and I’ve loved every second of it. Most of the time, we’re either at Penny’s or at his place. I’ve even started using the gym in his building.
I couldn’t have him coming with me to pick up the latest burner phone, so I used the excuse that I needed clothes from my apartment. He told me to just pack my suitcase and bring everything over.
Cain was telling the truth. He doesn’t know how to date and he sure as hell doesn’t take things slow.
“I know. Traffic. Biscayne Boulevard is backed up with all the construction.”
“Huh . . . that might explain it. Maybe the delivery guy is stuck in it too, because there’s no package yet.”
My stomach clenches. He can’t be stuck in it because there isn’t any construction on Biscayne Boulevard right now, as shocking as that is.
So, why isn’t there a package for me?
Trying to appear calm, I let my eyes roam the lobby area, looking for something suspicious. Something dangerous.
Like Jimmy.
Or Sam. Would he break his rule and fly down here for me?
“Maybe. Oh well!” I give my best ditzy girl giggle as I hand him his coffee. What does this mean? I’m sure it means something. Do I still pitch my current burner phone? Do I call Sam? I haven’t spoken to him since confronting him about the real Charlie Rourke and I have no idea what he’s going to say.
Do I run as if the building is about to explode?
Suddenly I feel like an easy target, as if I’m standing in the middle of an open field with a slew of guns trained on me.
Kyle happily takes a sip of his coffee, oblivious to the danger and pretending not to be checking out my chest. I start babbling some nonsense about a party I didn’t go to on Saturday, pretending not to notice.
All I want to do right now is get out of here.
I don’t know that I can last the compulsory fifteen minutes. I don’t know that I can last five minutes. Luckily, I’m not forced to find out, because the trill sound of the burner phone in my pocket starts to ring.
“I’ve got to take this, Kyle. I’m so sorry,” I offer, abruptly turning and heading toward the revolving doors as I root through my purse. The second I step out onto the sidewalk, I’m scanning my surroundings, looking for some indication that I’m being followed. I see nothing. I’ve seen nothing for a week now and I’ve been watching closely for any signs of a tail.
On the fifth ring, I answer, clenching my muscles to avoid peeing my pants.
“Hello?”
“Hello, little mouse. How are things?” His greeting is much more pleasant than I had anticipated. It’s as though our last conversation never happened.
“Fine. Except the delivery didn’t arrive this morning.”
“Yes, I know. I meant to call you earlier about that. I’m sorry if that worried you.” This is odd. He’s acting so . . . considerate. I see flashes of gymnastics trials and school plays, of Sam standing with armloads of flowers, garnering attention from parents around as the doting stepfather. Of hoisting me up onto Black Jack’s saddle with a twinkle in his eye.
The warmth of those memories spreads through my chest, reminding me that there was a time when nothing tainted our relationship. When I thought I was the luckiest girl on the planet.
“There are some issues with competition and we need to lay low for a while. Jimmy will sort it out, but until then, you just enjoy yourself. I see you’ve put a good dent into the money I sent to you.”
“I bought a few new dresses,” I lie. I went back to the bank last week to drain my secret account and a chunk of the one Sam knows about, dumping it all into a safety deposit box that I can access at any time.
“Good. I’ll send you some more money to keep you busy. There won’t be any more deliveries of any kind for a while.”
There’s dead silence on the phone as he waits for my response.
“For how long?” I dare ask.
“Months. Or longer. I may need to find another way in. It’s getting risky.”
Another way in? What does that mean? Another way in that doesn’t involve me, perhaps?
No more burner phones, no more drug drops, no more deceiving Cain?
Could this really be happening? With my free hand, I pinch my forearm. I’m still here. My phone is still in my ear.
In the back of my mind, I can’t help but wonder if there’s something else at work. If it’s not this easy, if Sam is in fact reacting to his suspicions about me. Either way, it sounds like I won’t be doing a drop for a long time. Maybe ever again.
That life could truly be part of my past.
And then I could actually look at Cain as part of my future. I’ll have to tell him about this one day, of course. But, by then, maybe he’ll actually love me. Enough to be able to forgive me.
■ ■ ■
I don’t walk through Cain’s door.
I float. On a fluffy white cloud of shock and confusion and possibilities and hope that never existed before, I float through the condo, in search of a possible new future. I find it on the balcony, stretched out on a lounge chair with a book.
Cain looks up to see me standing over him. “Charlie?” He watches for a moment and then frowns. “What’s wrong?”
Pushing the book free from his grip, I force myself onto the chair to lie atop him, taking in his bewildered expression.
And the tears begin to fall.
Cain is beside himself, his body going rigid. “What’s wrong, Charlie?” His hands, his eyes, begin searching my limbs as if searching for a physical injury. And still I cry, only now my laughter begins to weave in, sending me into a borderline hysterical fit of sobs, as I choke back the tears enough to say, “Nothing’s wrong.”
Cain must think I’m insane.
Maybe I am.
Or maybe this is what happens when you break free of a trap.
chapter twenty-nine
■ ■ ■
CAIN
Whenever I look at her, a hot burn fills my chest.
I don’t know how I ever lasted a day without Charlie. Both work-wise and life-wise, I’ve never spent this much time with another human being. Not even Nate, who lived with me for several years.
I don’t even mind coming into Penny’s anymore. The place feels different. It’s not just me anymore. Now I have Charlie at my side. And those knots in my shoulders that never go away?
Fucking gone. Like magic.
Charlie magic.
She never explained what happened that day she came home and fell into a fit of tears on top of me. It took me a minute to accept that she wasn’t hurt and she was actually happy, but when I tried to get answers out of her, she quickly shut me up by sliding her tongue in my mouth.
“Anything else you think we need?” Charlie asks, finishing off another week’s schedule at my office desk. “I put the supply orders in as well. And we should have a beer delivery coming within a few hours.” She knows the distributor customer service reps by name and we’re somehow getting better service because of it, without any more of Ginger’s shows.
All in all, Charlie is a quick learner and a hard worker. Fortunately for me, she hasn’t learned not to wear dresses to work yet. “Perhaps.” I dip down to close my mouth over that long, delicate neck.
“What ever happened to your rules?” she teases with a giggle, throwing down her pen. “For such a stickler, you sure have done a one-eighty.”
“New rule,” I murmur. “You’re not allowed to wear this yellow dress in here.” It’s the same one she wore the day of her interview, when she let it drop to the floor in front of me. From where I’m standing, I have the perfect view down the top of it. I’d rather have the full view. Before she has a chance to object, I have the straps pushed off her shoulders and her dress and bra pulled down, exposing those flawless tits of hers.
“Cain!” she exclaims as I reach around to cup each one, their weight perfectly balanced within my hands. I know her body very well.
“You shouldn’t wear dresses if you don’t want me to do this. Or this.” In seconds I have my hands at her waist to hoist her out of her chair, kicking it out of the way. I press into her, letting her feel me so she knows exactly what’s coming. “Lean over,” I whisper, pushing all the paper on my desk to one side with a sweep of my hand.
“Everyone’s waiting for us out there,” she whispers breathlessly, but she follows orders and stretches her bared top half over the cool wood, looking over her shoulder at me with that devilish smile of hers that I love. Though she has accused me of being insatiable on several occasions, she never denies me. “Did you lock the door?”
“Of course,” I mutter, hiking the skirt of her dress up around her waist. Round, muscular cheeks meet my gaze. I only lock it when she’s in here with me. And when she’s in here with me, it’s always locked.
I hook a finger around the thin material of her thong and pull until it slides off and drops to the ground. Slipping a hand in between her legs, I offer her a smirk, which she accepts with a dark smile of her own. She’s always ready for me.
I don’t waste another second, unzipping my pants as I reach into the top drawer for a condom.
“Fuck,” I mutter, slamming it shut.
She frowns at me.
“We’re out.” I can’t believe I didn’t notice that. I’m going to be left with a raging hard-on unless . . . I haven’t been inside a woman, uncovered, since I was an idiotic seventeen-year-old. Feeling Charlie, skin to skin, would be ecstasy. Right now I’m thinking I don’t give a fuck. But I know I will after. On my desk isn’t how I want that first to go. “We need to get you on the pill.”
I catch the wary expression flash over her features. It’s the same one she gave me when I suggested she give up her apartment. I understand it. She wonders if I’m crazy. If we’re moving too fast.
In my eyes, though, there’s only one speed with Charlie. Now.
Standing, she turns to face me. Her fingers push their way down my hips, snaking under my briefs to chill my bare skin. She pulls everything down, letting my erection spring free. “It seems you have a problem, then,” she says with a smirk. “Sit.”
I do and she’s on her knees in a heartbeat, positioning herself on the floor in front of me, between my legs. When both of her delicate hands curl around my length, I let my head fall back and I close my eyes.
And I wait.
I wait in agony, knowing what’s coming, ready to explode with just the anticipation of her hot breath. She’s so good at this. She’s not nearly as practiced as Vicki and Rebecka are, but I’m happy about that because it means . . . she’s not as practiced as them. And there’s something about the way she goes about this that tells me that it’s not a means to her own satisfaction. Charlie wants to do this for me. That thought makes me almost lose it.
When I sense the wetness of her tongue along my tip, I almost do explode.
It takes everything in me not to go off like a thirteen-year-old seeing a naked woman’s body for the first time.
I groan when she takes me in completely, as she teases me with her lips, her tongue, her teeth. I let my hands fall around the back of her head, gently scooping her hair up and back so I can see her face. She must hear my raspy breaths, sense my buildup, because her mouth begins working quicker, more ardently.
Normally I would lie back, close my eyes, and drift. But I like to watch Charlie. I could watch her doing this every day for the rest of my life.
And I can’t help but think that I’ll never want anyone else’s mouth on me ever again.
chapter thirty
■ ■ ■
CHARLIE
“The doors are locked!” Ben slaps his earpiece down on the bar in front of me. “Should I hand my piece to you, Miss Manager?” It’s Ben’s last shift at Penny’s. He’s putting on a big show of celebration but behind those blue eyes, I’ve caught a few glimpses of sadness. I know he’s going to miss working here.
Shaking my head, I say, “Give it to Nate. I don’t want to touch your wax-covered piece.”
“No?” He shoves a pretzel into his mouth, his grin widening. “What about my latex-covered piece?” Ben apparently checked out of work about two hours ago and since then has been drinking by the bar, celebrating with the regular customers, so he’s good and primed.
“Fuck off, Morris,” Cain growls, appearing behind me to grip my hips and pull me into him.
Ben looks from me to his now ex-boss with a smirk, as if he knows what we were doing not fifteen minutes ago in his office. “Or what? You gonna fire me?”
“No, I’m going to ban you from Penny’s.”
That wrenches Ben’s smile fast. “Well, fuck. I better get my fill, then,” he mutters, running over to grab Mercy by the thighs to hoist her over his shoulder. She squeals and smacks his back, though there doesn’t appear to be much force behind it.
With a chuckle and a shake of his head, Cain dips down to kiss the crook of my neck. I’m still shocked by his willingness to show his affection so openly. It’s been a fast change but a dramatic one. And everyone seems to be accepting of it.
Almost everyone.
In my peripheral vision, I see China watching the display. I avoid her and she pretends I don’t exist. It’s the perfect level of interaction. I know Cain sees a side of her that I don’t see. That no one else sees. Still, I don’t trust her. I can’t help but wonder, if she attacked me as she had Kinsley, what Cain would do. Would he make a choice between us? And would that choice be me?
I don’t doubt that China has strong feelings for Cain. I mean, how can she not? She’s known him for years. I’ve known him for six weeks—half of that intimately—and I already can’t manage life without him.
For all that I hate about what I’ve done, there’s one thing I can’t regret.
It led me to him.
I don’t know if things are moving too fast. I’m too ensconced in this Cain high to appreciate basic rules and he seems uninterested in slowing down. He’s filling his kitchen with Frosted Flakes and every other kind of food I might like, talking about me moving in, giving me a key to his condo, practically demanding that I go on the pill.
Everything about him screams “future.”
And I haven’t heard a peep from Sam. Though I still keep my eyes open, always aware of my surroundings, it’s not with the same level of trepidation as before. It’s more out of habit than anything else.
“Bartender!” I hear Kacey holler, slapping her hands against the bar as if in a drum roll. Behind her, Trent towers, his hands around her waist, those deep dimples on full display as he winks at Ginger.
“Charlie.” Storm strolls over, looking fresh and beautiful, even though it’s the middle of the night and she should be sleeping. She doesn’t hesitate to offer me a hug. “How’s it going? How is being Cain’s manager working out?”
“Less exposing,” I answer truthfully and then can’t help but smirk, because that’s not really true. I’m just less exposed to the general population. Cain’s “no sex in the workplace” rule has fallen by the wayside. Daily.
“Where is the jackass?” Kacey’s eyes roam the club as Ginger lines up a row of tequila shots.
“Right here!” Ben hollers, seconds before he swoops in to lift Kacey’s frame from behind into a big hug. Dropping her on the ground, he slaps Trent’s shoulder in greeting and grabs a shot from the bar just as the overhead lights shut off and the stage lights flash on once again.
“Let’s get this party started!” Terry’s voice spills out over the speaker system, followed by “Lady Marmalade.” A parade of dancers strut out from behind the curtain wearing an array of brightly colored burlesque costumes. Ben’s face lights up like a kid at an ice-cream shop. Ginger told me they were planning something extra-special for their favorite bouncer’s send-off. Though nothing is choreographed, it’s quite the spectacle all the same.
“To Lawyer Boy. God help us all!” Kacey shouts and we all—including Cain—grab a shot and down it, the burn scorching my throat. Nate and a few of the other bouncers drag Ben, completely willingly, over to pervert row to enjoy the performance.
“All right, Dee!” Gingers exclaims, clapping her hands together. “We’re gonna make Ben puke tonight. Trust me, he’ll deserve it. Cain . . .” She bows. “Will you do the honor of the first drink?”
I watch with surprise as Cain pulls away from me to round the corner. I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen him behind the bar, but I’d imagine years of owning one would give him plenty of opportunity to practice. He moves easily, not even reading labels before he’s got four bottles lined up in front of him. He smiles to himself as he begins deftly measuring and pouring the gold tequila into three separate mixers.
Next goes the Jim Beam and the bourbon. By the time I see him tipping back the scotch, I’m pretty sure I’d rather light my tongue on fire than drink what he’s making. Glancing over at Ben, lying shirtless on the stage with his arms nestled under his head, a dreamy grin on his face and both Hannah and Mercy dancing provocatively over him, I wonder if he should be drinking it either.
“It’s going to be a shit show in here, really soon,” I hear Cain mutter under his breath as he comes back around to take the seat next to me, pulling me into him once again.
“You do realize your strict rules are going out the window, tonight, right?” Storm says to him with a giggle.
“Yeah.” Cain’s hands slide through his hair, sending it into sexy disarray. “I’ve already shut off all of the cameras. This is a private party, anyway.”
Both Storm and Kacey turn to stare at me in unison. Leaning in to my ear, Storm says out the side of her mouth, “Whatever you’re doing to Cain, keep doing it.”
Ginger is relentless with her concoctions. Cain doesn’t even bat an eye as his premium liquor supply dwindles. Storm confiscates everyone’s keys, just in case any partygoers get confused as to how drunk they truly are.
At some point, four dancers pull Ben back to a V.I.P. room. Or maybe it was only two dancers. I’m not quite sure because Ginger keeps giving me these Pepto-Bismol-pink shooters that she promises are mild. I think she’s lying to me, because getting off my stool is proving to be a real challenge.
Hoots and hollers explode five minutes later as Ben struts out dressed in Mercy’s green bikini and the smile of the Cheshire cat. What Mercy’s wearing—or not wearing right now—is thankfully not evident because she has stayed in the V.I.P. room. The sight is both the funniest thing I’ve ever seen and the most unappealing, given his junk is hanging out the sides of the stretched-out bottoms. As attractive and well built as Ben is, no one can pull this look off.
Kacey hits the ground in laughter, half diving, half crawling for the phone in Trent’s hand to snap pictures of her inebriated friend climbing onto the stage, giving everyone a very unpleasant view of him in a thong.
He clearly doesn’t care, though.
“All right. Show’s over for me. I’m exhausted and Dan’s giving me grief about getting my pregnant butt home,” Storm announces. “You going to be okay with this mess?”
Cain chuckles. “Yeah, don’t worry about it.”
“Okay, good.” Turning to me, she smiles sweetly. “You’re coming to the wedding, right?”
“I . . .” I hadn’t really thought about it and Cain hasn’t mentioned it. I know it’s in a few weeks. I also know it is DEA Dan who’s getting married. While I’d love to go, a part of me can’t shake the feeling that it would be too disrespectful to them. That I could taint their marriage without them even knowing it.
“Of course she’s coming.” Cain’s arm deftly snakes around my waist to pull me in close. “If she can get a night off work, that is. I heard her boss is a jerk.”
“Yeah.” I give him my best coy smile. “He’s probably going to give me a hard time.”
Cain’s hand squeezes my thigh in response.
“On that note . . .” Storm leans in to give me a hug. “Good luck in the morning, Charlie.”
“Well, that sounds like the kiss of death if I’ve ever heard one.”
With a laugh, she stretches onto her tiptoes to drop a peck on Cain’s cheek. “Happy birthday.”
My jaw drops as the shock hits me.
By the wink she gives me, the devious Storm knew that Cain hadn’t enlightened me. Judging by the scowl that flitters across his face after he catches my expression, Cain would have happily kept me in the dark.
“Today? As in, today?” I finally manage to get out.
“As in right now.” Storm blows a kiss as she walks away.
“It’s not a big deal,” he mutters. Peering down at my face in earnest, Cain finally holds his hand out, beckoning. I take it and he leads me back toward the office. The air is so much cooler in here and I welcome it, practically falling into the black leather couch. Cain’s desk lamp clicks on. It provides a nice, dim glow, much nicer than the harsh fluorescent lighting above.
“Here, drink this. It’ll help tomorrow.” Cain produced a cold bottle of water from the mini fridge. He takes a seat beside me as I chug back the entire thing.
“Is it just me or does your office spin after hours?”
With a chuckle, he gently pulls me down until my head is resting on his lap. I can’t help but inhale deeply, his cologne taking my intoxication level to where a boatload of shots could not. Fingers draw through my hair in a soothing manner and I moan responsively.
“Did you have fun tonight?”
“Yeah,” I smile, a lazy giggle escaping me. “I really like everyone here. Especially Ben in a bikini.”
Cain’s hand stops abruptly. I accidently smack myself in the forehead as I lift my hand to hit his, urging him on. “Keep doing that.” I guess my request is coherent enough because his fingers start moving again, only now the index finger of his other hand trails up and down my cheek in an intimate manner. “Why wouldn’t you tell me it’s your birthday? I mean, we’re . . .” I leave the rest of it unsaid. In truth, he doesn’t know my real birthday. Or my real age. Or my real name. I have no right to be angry with him. And I’m not.
I’m hurt.
“It has nothing to do with not wanting to tell you, Charlie. I just don’t care about my birthday.”
“Because you’re getting old?”
He snorts. “No, smart-ass. Because I never grew up celebrating them.”
I frown, reaching up to loop my fingers within his. Never celebrating your own birthday? Even Sam—a ruthless, murdering drug dealer—always made sure each birthday of mine was special. We’d spend the whole day together and I got to pick the activities. It didn’t matter what it was. He’d do it.
“What are you giggling about?” Cain suddenly asks.
I hadn’t realized that I was. “Oh, just picturing the year I made my dad toboggan down a steep hill with me for my birthday.” I snort as a visual hits me. “Sam fell off halfway down the hill and did cartwheels the rest of the way. I thought he was mad at me, but . . .” I remember that look on his face as he finally stopped tumbling. I was only ten but, for a split second, I was terrified he’d be angry with me for making him come out. “. . . he just laughed. He ended up doing three more runs before he complained that his old body couldn’t handle it.”
I sense Cain’s muscles tensing under me. “Well, I guess you’re lucky.”
Now I feel like a complete jackass. I try to make amends by unfastening several of his shirt buttons and snaking my hand beneath to touch his bare skin. Cain seems to respond very well to physical affection. I’m thinking he didn’t get a lot of it growing up. Then again, after my mother died, neither did I. My mom gave big squish-me hugs. But Sam was more about buying gifts and saying nice things than doling out daily embraces.
Maybe that’s why Cain and I can’t seem to keep our hands off each other. “I’m sorry, Cain. I don’t know what kind of parents don’t celebrate their children’s birthdays,” I offer softly. “I thought that was just a mandatory thing.”
Cain’s mirthless chuckle fills the darkness. “She celebrated one.” There’s a long pause, so long I turn to make sure he hasn’t passed out. He’s awake, his eyes intently on the side of the desk, his mind obviously far away. “On my fourteenth birthday, my mom introduced me to this girl named Kara. Said she was the daughter of a friend from out of town and asked me to take her out. The girl was hot and older and I had no plans, so I figured, why not?
“She picked me up in a van that night. We drove around for a bit, talked about nothing important, and then she pulled into an empty, dark parking lot. We started making out. Fuck, I wasn’t going to complain. I was still a virgin and she seemed nice and into me. Things got heavy and before I knew it we were in the backseat, she was naked and pulling a condom onto me.”
“Sounds like a fourteen-year-old’s birthday dream come true,” I blurt out, followed by a “sorry.” Those are the kinds of thoughts I’m supposed to keep inside my head.
Cain snorts. “It was . . . until she dropped me off at home and I saw the tears running down her cheeks. I couldn’t figure it out. She seemed so into it. When I got home, the first thing my mom asked was, ‘Was she any good?’” I hear Cain’s teeth grind together. “I had no clue what my mom was involved in at that time. A year later, a few buddies and me broke into the house where my mom ran her bookkeeping business—my grandmother’s old house. I hadn’t been in it in years. It was the middle of the night, we were drunk, and we just wanted a place to hang. Turns out that the bookkeeping business was more of a hobby, and a front for what was really going on inside that house. I found Kara in a room there with some old married guy. After I chased him out, she admitted that my mother had set everything up, that night we were together. She wanted to make sure Kara could go through with paid sex.
“That’s how I lost my virginity. At fourteen, to a prostitute, arranged for me by my mother.” Cain’s head falls back against the couch. “Kara ended up ODing a few years later,” he offers vacantly.
“Oh my God, Cain.” My chest tightens. So many of Cain’s childhood memories seems to end with sex, drugs, death, or a devastating combination.
Turning, I move to prop myself up on my elbow, intent on distracting him from his dark thoughts. But he quickly shifts out from beneath me, muttering, “I’d better go check on things out there.” Without another look back, he leaves.
A prickly lump settles in my throat. Is this about his birthday? Or is Cain upset with me for something? I can’t bear that thought. Maybe I shouldn’t have prodded. I never prod. I shouldn’t start now, slurring and dizzy from those stupid drinks. When he comes back, I’ll shut up, wrap my arms around him, and hold him tight.
Until then, I’ll just rest my eyes for a while. It feels so good to close my . . .
