Sin, page 6
“Save the bullshit spiel, Foster. We both know where your worries lie.” I grab a small remote from atop a side table and point it toward the wall across from me. At once the whirling of a motor reverberates through the room as a faux wall moves up, exposing a hidden television screen above the fireplace.
Father and son look at the screen with trepidation that quickly turns to horror when a single image appears a second later. The color drains from their faces as reality smacks them.
It’s his guy. The same piece of shit I personally killed less than forty-eight hours ago.
“Why are—”
“No more lies. No more playing dumb.” The next photo is a close-up of his injuries. Each deep gash my knife made. Another shows his lifeless eyes and the gunshot wound that killed him. I leave the last one up. “Before you leave today, I want you to take a single lesson with you.”
“Please let—”
“I know everything that happens in my city. Each move you make. Each breath you take.”
“This is all a misunderstanding, Mr. Asher,” Marcus begins once more while his son’s eyes remain on the television. “Nothing that can’t be talked over. We don’t know why this young man involved us in anything.”
Idiot gave himself away. Fucking amateurs.
“And who said that he involved you in anything?”
“But you said...”
“That I know it all. Take that as you wish.” Standing up, I press a few buttons to hide everything again. Javier follows my lead, and we both walk to the room’s entrance where I pause to address them again. “Today is nothing more than a friendly reminder. A warning, dear friends. Don’t cross me, and mind yourselves—this isn’t Miami. Thiago isn’t who you should fear here.”
It doesn’t take long for me to find her.
She’s alone and sitting on a small bench surrounded by roses. They’re in full bloom, a small window of time here in Illinois that allows us to enjoy warm weather and the beauty of nature. It’ll be gone soon enough; in a few weeks the temperatures will drop, and all this will die.
And yet, she stands out as the most exquisite flower of all.
Delicate and soft.
Decadent and sweet.
The innocence to my sins.
“I knew you would come,” she says without looking up, in her hand a long-stemmed rose with a single petal still attached. The rest lay at her feet. “Mariah wasn’t very secretive, nor was she a good actress.”
“Is that so.” I chuckle, coming closer. Just a few tiny steps separate us, and the fucking pull she holds over me is maddening. An invisible cord that controls me. “I’ll be sure to tell her as much.”
“Why did you demand that we visit today? Are you going to tell them about…” she trails off, embarrassment coloring her tone. “This is such a mess.”
“I’ll never say a word.” Seeing her in distress makes my hands clench, but if I touch her, this conversation won’t happen. My need is too strong, and I have very little control left when it comes to her. “Trust me.”
“But I don’t know you.”
“My intentions will be very clear soon.”
“That’s very cryptic, Malcolm,” she sighs, shoulders dropping low. “Is this some kind of game? Because if they find out I work at that club, I’m dead.”
“That’s something I will never allow. Never.” Taking the remaining steps between us, I lift her chin with the tip of my finger. Force her bright blues on mine. “This isn’t a game, Twirl. To me this—”
“Why do you call me Twirl?” she interrupts, and if she were anyone else, that would annoy me. However, even while being inquisitive, I find her utterly adorable in her purity.
London has the upper hand here and has no idea.
“It’s simple, really.” My finger skims down her warm cheek, following the soft trail of flesh until I reach the edge of her dress. A dress that I know she hates; I fist the material and in a single tug, pull her against me. The material stretches, showing me her strapless bra and a peak at her flat stomach, but I focus on her reaction instead.
“What the!” London yelps, stumbling into my chest at the sudden move. Her soft to my hard. Her delicate to my animalistic desires.
“Quiet, sweetheart. Let’s not attract the attention of my guards.” Wrapping my arms around her waist, I draw her in close, run the fingertips of my right hand up her spine until reaching her nape. My fingers wrap around the base, tilting her head back to face me. “I just want a little more time with you. Just us.”
“You’re so confusing,” she mumbles, but I hear her. I also don’t miss the small shivers rushing through her. The goose bumps on her skin. How she never pushes me away.
“No more than you are.” I dip low and place my forehead against hers, lips hovering. “I’m still trying to understand what this undeniable pull is. Why I can’t keep my hands to myself when you’re near.”
“You can’t?” Fuck, how naïve she is rocks me. Sends a shock wave of pleasure through every limb, and I can’t stop myself when I pull her even closer. Let her feel me. And she does. Those doe eyes widen and her lips part, her breath coming out in small pants against my mouth.
“I can’t stay away. Not even if you asked me to.” That realization should rock me, but it doesn’t. Instead, it pulls everything into focus. I will bring the world down to its knees for her if she so much as asks. I will kill to own her. “My intentions aren’t noble, Twirl. I want you. All of you.”
“I don’t know what to say,” she whispers, cheeks flushing as her eyes wander to my mouth. “My family will never allow us to—”
“They are for me to worry about, baby…” I lick my lips, a move she follows “…leave everything to me.”
“I don’t know how. I depend on myself.” The heaviness in her words breaks something inside of me. They’ll pay for her sadness with their blood.
“Past tense. I’m here now.” Moving my lips slightly to the right, I kiss her cheek with tiny little pecks, each one lingering longer than the last, driving her own need to surface. Her huff of frustration when I nip her chin tells me as much.
“Okay.” It’s an unsure whisper. London has no reason to believe me, but right now she’s being led by the yearning for human contact. Her desire for my lips mirrors my own, and I groan loudly when she connects her mouth with mine.
“Fuck.” My hands tighten their hold, cementing her body against me. Preventing her from pulling those plump lips from mine. She’s soft and sweet; her taste sets off a chaotic explosion of hunger that shakes me, and I can’t stop myself when I take a little more. My tongue parts her lips, sliding inside and entwining with hers.
Her touch is tentative, yet she doesn’t back away. Instead, Twirl shows her own desire with little mewls of pleasure. How she fists her own hand in my hair to keep my mouth over hers.
London’s acceptance of my dominance in this instance has me harder than steel. Almost demonic in my thirst to be buried deep inside her warmth.
“More,” she moans low, a kittenish sound that shoots straight down to my cock, and I flex against her. Give a harsh jerk that brings me back down to reality.
I will have her, but not today. Not when we can be interrupted at any moment.
Slowing the kiss down, I embed my teeth into her bottom lip for a second and pull back. Her breathing and mine is labored, chest heaving as we slowly regain our composure.
“I’m going to need you to head back inside now, Twirl. Follow that path…” I point to the left of us “…and Mariah will be there. She’ll take you back to where your family waits for brunch.”
“What about you? Where will you be?”
“I’ll be a few minutes behind, but I have eyes on you. Trust me.”
She nods, gifting me a soft smile. “I’ll try my best.”
“Thank you, beautiful.” Before she can take a single step, I press our mouths together once more and breathe her in. My nose skims the delicate skin from her lips to ear, where I pause. Kiss her pulse point. “I call you Twirl because you remind me of a ballerina. So pretty when you move, with the poise of an elegant swan. You’re very distracting, London, and I’m enjoying each moment of madness.”
8
“HOW WAS YOUR WALK?” Alton asks as soon as we enter the dining room, and I freeze up. His hand is wrapped in a dishtowel with what I can only assume is ice, and while his smile is friendly enough, I know better than to believe it. The truth is in the tightness around his eyes.
Did he notice my reaction to seeing Malcolm enter the room? Fear of his anger causes my hands to shake and for my body to want to withdraw into itself.
I couldn’t stop myself then, no matter how hard I bit the inside of my cheek when Malcolm’s eyes met my own. When his stare, so full of heat, ate me alive. Everything from last night came flooding back; his touch and the soft kisses he lay on my stomach while I poured his drink. How he took my scent into his lungs and groaned into my dress. All of it, every lustful moment hit me, while mixing with an uncontrollable horror that my family knew my secret.
But now, add to that my brother’s calculating stare, and once more my panic ensues. I know him. Alton’s thinking of ways to pin this disaster of a meeting on me.
Because with him, I am always to blame. Has been that way since Mom died a few years ago. If a glass so much as breaks in the house, even if I am not there it falls on my shoulders.
Their hate toward me makes no sense, but I no longer deny it. I’ve done nothing wrong except exist, and yet to them, it’s reason enough.
Why weren’t they like this when Mom was alive?
Why do I always feel like I’m missing a huge piece of a puzzle?
“It was a lot of fun,” Mariah answers for me before I can come up with a lie, walking toward the side of the table where Javier is waiting. “Your sister has quite the keen eye for décor—colors, and I might need her help soon. Redecorating my loft will take some time, and another female point of view will come in handy. Don’t you think, dear cousin?”
“I agree.” Malcolm enters the room from the opposite entrance. Immediately the atmosphere changes once again. This time an electrical current of desire swirls all around me, and staying in place is difficult. My body throbs in his presence, while my levels of distress lower.
I feel weirdly…safe. Something that baffles me.
His presence dominates every square inch of this room while pushing my fear back. It loosens the tightening noose, letting me breathe.
Malcolm stops at the head of the table and looks at me, then at my father. The warmth from just a few minutes prior is completely gone. “Will that be a problem, Marcus?”
No one misses how he asks my father and not the head of our family. Something that infuriates my brother, and in a sick and perverse way, causes a smidgen of giddiness to flow through me. His lack of respect for the men in my family is clear to see, and I find myself delighting in the fact that the shoe is on the other foot for once.
That they’ll experience inferiority like I do day in and day out.
“What do you think, Alton?”
“I didn’t ask him for his opinion, Marcus, but yours. Now, answer the simple question.”
My father nods his head, his lips thinning. “Yeah, that’ll be fine. London could use new friend.”
More like any friend. I’m a prisoner in my own home, the home my mother’s father left her, and the only time I see the outside is when I work. No school. No fun. All I’m good for is to cook and clean—to bring home money so they can make payments to the Riveras.
Or spend it on some idiotic idea.
And let’s not forget the poker tables my father frequents almost every other day.
We’re lucky that Mom’s family came from money and that our house is completely paid off. That when we came back from Miami after another failure from Alton, we had somewhere to live.
“Perfect.” While Javier grabs Mariah’s chair to pull it out, Malcolm does the same with mine, smiling at me, but then just as soon his eyes narrow. “Why are you full of bruises, Ms. Foster? Did you have an accident recently?”
Dad chokes on his drink while Alton looks at me, daring me to say anything. What’s worse is that I know Malcolm saw these earlier, but why put me on the spot like this? Why mention it now in front of them?
“Just a minor slip last night,” I lie, and he knows this. The way he glares toward the men in my family lets them know he isn’t buying a single word coming out of my mouth. That he’s doing this on purpose. That he’s paying attention to even the most minute thing. “It’s nothing, Mr. Asher. I’m clumsy.”
I hate having to cover for them, but it’ll be worse if I don’t. Alton has never hit me, but I fear that day isn’t too far into the future. The more I deny him, recoil from his advances, the angrier he gets.
Moreover, if he does, my father will never stop him. He’ll never disagree or go against his prodigy.
Malcolm purses his lips, eyes hard. “No more clumsiness, London. No more bruises.”
“Okay,” I whisper, hating the way everyone stares at me. At the purplish marks left behind by the men who are supposed to protect me above all else. “I’ll pay better attention to—”
Just then, a stomach grumbles loudly and Mariah laughs. “Sorry. I missed breakfast this morning due to work.”
Thank God that works and the tension level drops as her boyfriend and mine—
No, not mine. I can’t allow myself to get lost in him.
Malcolm asks me to trust him, and I’ll try. However, my plans won’t change.
He is a customer and a means to an end. My mind can’t negate that. I’m so close to getting out of this clusterfuck, and it’s the only thing that matters.
Their chuckles bring me back to the present and I know that I missed something, not that my brother or father notice the distress I am suddenly under. The confusion. Instead, they reach to serve themselves while Magda continues to bring in trays of food.
But his eyes aren’t fooled. No, those deep seafoam eyes stare at me. See me.
Realize the danger I live under.
Moreover, it’s in that dark stare that I get lost in once more. That I find myself wanting to lean toward. My skin tingles and heartbeats accelerate—my body is in tune with his every exhale, and for a second, I give in and hope. Make believe that he’s here to rescue me from this hell of a life.
Trust me, he mouths again, and God, I want to.
I just don’t know how.
9
I ARRIVE AT THE office on Monday, the sun bouncing off the mirrored windows of the skyline while the streets begin to fill with morning commuters. It’s early, but something doesn’t belong in the picture before me, and I exit my car, making eye contact with a maintenance van across the street.
They aren’t the best at hiding or looking for surveillance cameras—my guys had them on their radar within the first ten minutes.
Two of them.
The first is an older man, portly and with a mustache that hasn’t changed since the seventies. He’s someone I’ve dealt with before in the past and have a certain level of respect for. A man who still follows his moral compass.
A serious FBI agent. Has integrity.
Marcelles can’t be bought and treats other with basic human decency. Even a motherfucker like me—a criminal—can appreciate that.
However, the other guy looks to be fresh off the Quantico farm. New in the field from the intel my own employees have given and the encrypted email my informant within the bureau sent a few hours ago.
No older than thirty, he’s got sandy blond hair cut low and a medium build—average height and weight. Fidgety, he seems itching for action and can’t stay still for long, which gives them away. You can’t have a successful stakeout with someone leaving their post every thirty minutes on the dot to light up a smoke.
“I’m a bit insulted,” Javier says, exiting the car behind me. He falls in step as we walk toward my building; neither the bank’s lobby nor the offices above are open yet, but the financial district is full of nine-to-fivers arriving at work.
At that moment my all-black Navigator pulls away from the curb, merging into traffic and ignoring a horn. With the commute being horrendous Monday through Friday, a driver comes in handy.
“Agreed.” I stop and turn, looking down at my watch. It’s thirty to nine and I’m sure they’ll be visiting before my ten a.m. coffee. I’m half tempted to wave just to move the process along; I have things to do and my girl to see. Being apart from her isn’t sitting well with me.
I don’t trust her brother or father to not do something stupid.
It’s also why the man I have watching her has authorization to shoot first, no questions asked.
“Wonder why?”
I shrug. “To be honest, I expected more fanfare than this.”
Not that they will find anything. The servers were wiped before the dawn of Saturday morning and the paper trails burned. Every trace of the Jameson name has been erased from our system in the aftermath of Michael’s idiocy and Foster’s greed, leaving nothing behind on our dealings or the physical money.
Money that I took ahold of and moved out of the States for security reasons.
No money. No evidence. No case.
“It’s odd how very few have interest in that sale?” His phone pings then and he ignores it, which I raise a brow to. “It’s an alarm your cousin set up on my phone. Woman is driving me insane with this multivitamin she wants me to take. Some crap she found in a TV informercial.”
“And you aren’t?”
“Nope. Just humoring her.”
I shake my head at that with a chuckle. “Not surprised. You just can’t say no to her.”
“That word doesn’t exist in her vocabulary, and I blame your parents and hers for that little gift.”
The van’s driver side window lowers a smidge then and the red tip of a cigarette becomes visible. We both look; I make it a point to let them know I’m aware they are there.
