Hack, page 8
And his kiss? It was by far the best sin I’d ever committed. Unhurried twirls of our tongues were perfectly shared with light pecks sweeter than any sugar I’d ever tasted. I was lost and I never wanted to be found. It was almost as if he was the truest form of himself, thoughtful yet sublimely deviant.
Rafa cupped my breast under my bra and let out his own deep-throated moan. At least he’d let me know he was enjoying it as much as I was, which seemed impossible. I’d never kissed anyone so purposefully before. The tiny twist of my nipple shot a deeper need between my legs and I was sure that if he kept rubbing his erection against me, I would explode.
As if reading my mind, he let up and kissed down my neck until his warm tongue landed on the spot. I could have screamed, begged him to fuck me, pleaded with him to go faster. But silence was the cloak of our desire, and his drawn-out euphoric torture the chain holding me down, keeping me quiet—making me his.
He was in charge and there was nothing I could do about it—nothing I wanted to do about it. I was confused, and yet everything was crystal clear.
Behind his gentle ways was an underlying roughness, present in his coarse fingertips, the scratchy stubble on his cheeks, the occasional nip that replaced a kiss. It was equally heady as the hesitant game he was playing with my body.
Every inch of my torso had been touched, kissed, licked or nipped before he unbuttoned my shorts. The zipper tick, tick, ticked down, only amplifying my need. By the time he slipped a finger between my folds, I was a puddle.
His sleepy tease hushed all my doubts about what we were doing, what I was doing. I’d never know anyone to be as meticulous and patient. All my other hook-ups acted like they better get the show on the road before I would change my mind.
Rafa? Either he didn’t care if I did or was convinced I wouldn’t.
When a part of his hand brushed over my clit, I had never been more ready to be undone. The slower he went, the more I spun. He literally had me wrapped around his finger. The path he drew widened just when I thought he would tighten it, which only made me pray harder that he would give me the release I craved.
Rafa paused to pull off my shorts and tights then yank off his own shirt. I allowed myself a glorious glance at him, the beautiful bad boy savoring me. I wondered if I hadn’t fallen asleep and it was all a dream. That seemed more likely than the raw truth.
I threaded my fingers through his dark hair as he trailed down my stomach. His tongue replaced the tease of his fingers, its track equally calculated. When a digit slipped inside and taunted a drawn-out come-hither movement and he sucked my clit, the waves of ecstasy that were begging to be released followed obediently.
The crash hit me hard at the base of my spine and warped upward. I shook until I trembled, the pent-up release leaving a buzzing between my ears and flipping my skin from hot to cold in an enraptured second.
Rafa wiped his mouth with the back of his forearm and stood. He tossed the duvet over me and swiped his T-shirt from the ground. Around the couch he walked before grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. I was sure he would leave, but he went back to the bedroom where we had the computers and closed the door instead.
Right. We weren’t the cuddling type. But damn, I guess I’d won the sex lottery because he also wasn’t asking for anything in return. I laid there, stunned and confused, until I realized that the rain had stopped and the wind had died down.
The storm outside was over. Without him near me, hushing the voices in my head with his sinful mouth, they chanted a warning of a new storm—one I’d brewed myself. They scolded me for my continuously hurtful and selfish behavior. They begged me to get out and never come back to Covington Heights. They pleaded with me to not act on my destructive instincts.
They were the same voices that had kept me inside all those years, and trusting them had proven to be a horrible idea. What had Rafael said to me hours prior was right. I needed to forget fear.
I gathered my things, and with the duvet wrapped around me, I headed to my room. Sleep came too easy and I woke up the next morning when the door to the apartment banged shut. He’d spent the night. I’d managed my first night in Covington. Too bad it didn’t reassure me.
After a little clean-up, I got dressed. I drank a tea and made my little grocery list. I posted a status update for Nate. I still couldn’t bring myself to kill his nonexistent cat. A couple of hours after I’d gotten up, I called Rafa. He didn’t answer, which I thought odd, so I went down the hall and knocked on his door. I needed to tell him I was running home to get some things, I didn’t want it to seem like I was bailing. Why I cared was something I wasn’t willing to think about.
The guy I’d seen the day before, Jimmy, answered the door with a crooked grin that could have been mistaken as a snarl. His gaze raked over me, the dirty thoughts in his mind practically jumping out of his eyes.
I cleared my throat. “I’m looking for Rafa.”
“I’ll tell you where he is…for a price.”
“Really?” I rolled my eyes. “You’re really starting your day stupid? I could make up any number of lies about you and he’ll believe me.” I gave Jimmy the dopey smile he deserved.
He winked and it was hideous. “Can’t blame a boy for tryin’. Addicts offering to suck your dick for drugs gets pretty old after the first few times.” Jimmy shook his head and continued, “Clean girl like you? Well, us boys, we notice that.”
Jimmy pushed by me and sauntered across the hall. He may have thought his little swagger was impressive but to me it was just pathetic. He typed in a code for a door and it popped open. With a wave of his hand, he ushered me in then left without a word.
Right. The workouts. At least my presence hadn’t actually been required. I was thankful for Rafa’s lie.
Anton and Rafa were in only sweatpants and their chests glistened with perspiration. They didn’t check to see who’d come in and Rafa ducked quickly out of the way of Anton’s punch. They were definitely not holding back. The guy they called Scooter ran on a treadmill toward the back of the improvised gym and Jackson bench-pressed in front of him.
But my attention was to the fight in the middle of the dark blue mat. Rafa landed a blow on Anton’s side then successfully blocked the counter punch. The offensive move lit something up behind Anton’s creepy blue eyes and his attack on Rafa intensified. Blow after blow landed until Rafa bent all the way down and took out Anton’s legs with a swift circular kick.
Anton fell on his ass and laughed as he draped his arm over a knee. “That is so utterly Ricci. I can’t believe I didn’t see it coming. It’s good, though. Keeps me guessing.” His gaze drifted over to me. “Ah. Rainbow Brite. You make me some money today?”
“Working on it, boss.” I’d been there less than twenty-four hours. How could I possibly have made him any money? But saying, ‘No. Are you insane?’ didn’t strike me as a valid option.
“Jackson!” Anton called. “You’re up.” The bossman stood and dusted off his pants. Rafa grabbed a white towel from a rack holding dumbbells and wiped his face while he headed over to me. He wrapped it around his neck and jutted his chin in my direction.
“What do you need, baby girl?”
More of him sweating, that was for sure. Why did men look divine when they worked out?
“I, uh…” Needed to pull my shit together. His half-naked body was a distraction. I shook my head and a tiny smile on his clean-shaven face told me I was busted. Damn it.
I started again, “Like I said yesterday, I need to go get a few things and I wanted to tell you so that you didn’t think I was running away or something.”
“I’m not worried about that.” He licked his lips and a confident power came over him. Was he so cocky that he thought one orgasm—okay, one fucking amazing orgasm preceded by mind-blowing foreplay—was enough to keep me around? He was a fool.
I laughed a little. “You’re not afraid I won’t come back?”
Rafa leaned in and the heat from his body engulfed me, intimidating me more than I wanted to admit. “No,” he whispered, “Miss Marigold Pfeifer of Bay Ridge, I am not.”
My heart stopped and the blood drained out of my head, leaving me faint.
He knows my name and where I live.
Everything.
All the power I’d been clutching onto with anonymity gone in a gut-wrenching poof. I had to remind myself to breathe.
It was one thing that he could find me, an entirely different one that he could expose me. And, holy shit—my parents.
But how? I’d been with him for most of the night. So when? Jesus. I thought back to the night before. He’d been so fucking calculated.
I reached up to slap him, but he caught my wrist.
“You used me.” I yanked my arm away.
“I used you?” He chuckled. “You asked for it, baby girl. You said yes. It was quite clear.”
“You’re fucking sick.” I hated him. It was all a game.
Rafa opened his arms, exposing his colorful tattoos. “I keep telling you. I’m not a nice guy. Just cuz you came on my face doesn’t mean I’ve lost perspective.”
“You’re vile.”
He beamed. “You probably shouldn’t like kissing me so much then.”
I crossed my arms and sent my best eye daggers. “That’s never fucking happening again.”
Rafa ignored the threat and waved his hands for me to leave. “Go home. Get your shit. Hell, bring your dog if you want. Then get your ass back here. We have work to do.”
I turned around and marched to the door. “I fucking hate you, Goldie Locks.”
“You know I want you too, right?” he called from over my shoulder.
Asshole.
I slammed the door behind me and did a proper pout against the wall in the hallway. I was screwed.
Chapter Nine
Rafa
I glanced at the door a final time and licked my lips. Miss Marigold Polaris Pfeifer had tasted way fucking sweeter than I could have imagined. The only problem was confessing I’d found out who she really was had probably ruined any chances for second helpings…or maybe not. She liked playing with fire. I’d known that before I’d laid eyes on her. It was too bad she couldn’t see how fear was eating away at her. Too bad for her, anyway. I didn’t mind how she’d ‘coped’.
I walked over to the second treadmill and climbed up next to Scooter. The machine beeped several times until I found the speed I wanted, and I jogged at a rate just a little bit faster than Scoot. We were always doing that—one upping, proving who was tougher, faster, better. It was how we thought we stayed in Anton’s favor—by being better than the next guy. Not very mature, but not much we did was.
As my feet and heart pounded at a steady pace, I caught Scooter checking my stats before rolling his eyes.
Without showing the strain the running was having on my body, I asked, “Can you get me a couple of desks and some decent chairs? We’re officially setting up hack shop.”
“Yeah,” he panted. “No problem. I’ll get them while you work the bench.”
“Cool. There might be a grocery list, too.” I shifted my gaze to Jackson and Anton sparring in front of us. Jackson, with his long arms and legs, had a height advantage, but Anton was getting the best of him, mostly because of rage. Anton had an internal power that the rest of us didn’t. Before Leo had left, he’d given me private fighting and shooting lessons. He’d explained to me that the opponent’s advantage needed to become their weakness in order to get the upper hand on them. He wasn’t wrong.
That was what I’d done to Marigold. I’d used her own program against her. It was also how I’d gotten Anton to fall when we’d fought. He still saw me as the earner, not the fighter. He underestimated me. So had she. It was a powerful tool.
I ran for twenty more minutes, all the while studying Anton and his techniques. Yes, he was stronger. Yes, he had more pent-up anger than I’d ever seen. But he wasn’t unbeatable.
Scooter had moved to lifting weights and I shut off the treadmill. Anton told Jackson they were done and we congregated around the bench where Scooter did his biceps curls.
“Right,” Anton said as he wiped the sweat from his brow with a little white towel. “Goldie in the courtyard to start. Jackson, you and me are headed upstate for supplies.”
It was funny that he referred to drugs as ‘supplies’. He never said ‘meth’ or ‘dope’ or ‘fucking poison’, maybe because there was such a demand that he thought it was our duty to supply it. Or maybe he hated selling that shit as much as the rest of us did.
He continued, “Scoot, check those Bradford recruits and make sure none of them are using. Raf”—Anton’s steel eyes narrowed and bore into me—”word on the street is that Jefferson has started to host the games. I want to know where. I want to know who is going. I want to know how much they are charging. Then I want to burn them to the fucking ground.”
I nodded once. Fucking Jefferson Manors. They’d stepped up their game in the last month and taken full advantage of the rumors that we’d shot one of our patrons. Even though Mac had been a slimy fuck, he’d still been a regular at our poker nights. Taking him out had proven to be costly. It had given our regular players a reason to try Jefferson.
“Shower. Eat. And make me some fucking money today.” Anton looped his arm around me and guided me to the door. For my ears only, he said, “So…Rainbow Brite. How long until she puts money in a secret bank account?”
“Hard to say.” I waited for him to exit then crossed the hall to our place.
Anton typed in the code and our door opened. Jimmy, who I was sure was a worthless fuckwit, popped up from the bar stool where he was sitting and stood at full attention for Anton. Kiss-ass.
“Out.” Anton pointed to the door with his thumb and Jimmy scurried like a rat. “How many eggs you want?”
“Four?” I shrugged.
“Sheila!”
In seconds, a pretty blonde came from Anton’s room wearing one of his black T-shirts that hit her mid-thigh. Her hair was a mess and she hadn’t washed off her makeup from the night before. It made black smudges under her brown eyes. I offered her a small smile, poor thing. She probably thought she was special to him, getting to spend the entire night, stay in his bed.
“Eight eggs. Scrambled.” Anton grabbed her ass. “Then we’re gonna have a repeat of last night.”
Sheila bowed her head and ran a hand up Anton’s bare chest before stepping away and digging out a frying pan from the drawer under the cooktop. I’d seen her before and she knew her way around our kitchen—another reason she probably thought she was special.
“I’ll shower first.” Anton disappeared down the hall to his room. For all the luxury we’d given the third floor of the building, we hadn’t been able to fix the pipes. The hot water was the only thing we couldn’t control. Two showers at the same time was a constant flipping from hot to cold and we’d just learned to live with it.
I opened the fridge and grabbed the orange juice. Sheila brushed against me as she reached for the carton of eggs. Anton’s girls weren’t exactly subtle. It was like they understood their time was limited, all the while hoping it wasn’t. She was pretty, just not my type.
“I heard there was a new girl around.” Sheila cracked the eggs in a bowl and tossed the shells in the sink. “That your girlfriend?”
Jesus. That hadn’t taken long. But then again, the rumors traveled as fast as our drugs in Covington.
I reached for a glass then carried it around the counter and sat facing Sheila. While I poured the juice I said, “That’s none of your business.”
She shrugged and dumped the eggs into the pan. “Some of us girls are just wondering why there are certain ones who can earn money and why we can’t. Fiona—”
I held up my hand. Fiona and Leo were off limits to anyone not on the top tier. We didn’t talk about them. In fact, we acted like they were a figment of the outsider’s imagination.
Sheila rolled her eyes. “It’s just that we’re not really afraid of Bradford anymore. Half those guys work for Anton now and the other half buy their drugs from you guys. We don’t need your protection. So why are Covington girls still doing your dishes and folding your fucking laundry?”
It was an excellent point. I’d secretly wondered when the girls would wake up and realize we didn’t have much to offer them. The problem was, we couldn’t pay them. In the three months since Leo had left and we couldn’t run the games, we’d lost twenty grand a week. We were nearly fucking broke.
I drank my juice then wiped my lip with my thumb. “No one is forcing you to be here, Sheila.”
“I want a job.”
I bet she didn’t have the courage to say that to the man in the other room. I bet she was like many before her who had mistaken my light eyes and dimpled smile for kindness. But I didn’t give a fuck about her or her friends who came and went. Neither did Anton. And the truth? The horrible, sick, honest-to-God truth? There would always be another Sheila. Someone would always come around.
Not for money, not for affection. We weren’t giving that to anyone.
Because they were attracted to the power. It was a sad fucking cycle—one I had seen since I’d started working the bench. The clean girls the crew slept with were just as caught up in it as we were. It was also why girls who didn’t throw themselves at us were instantly hotter than those that did.
Sick, fucked, twisted. All were true. It was part of why Leo sought out Fiona and why I had the hots for Marigold. And Anton? He’d never settle down with a girl from Covington. He was from an actual crime family. Jackson and I sometimes joked that Anton would have an arranged marriage with the daughter of the devil…if he ever settled down at all.
It was another way we differed. I’d grown tired of fucking random girls quick. Maybe it was part of why I’d gotten into liking them hating me. Did that make me sick? Sicker?
Sheila stirred the eggs in the pan and the spray stopped from Anton’s bathroom. I stood and said, “Then go get one.”
