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Andrew was one of my men. We’ve gone on countless missions together, blown up some impressive hideouts and executed terrible men. There’s no one else that I would trust so implicitly with my life as I trust him. In a way, I’m glad he was too fucked up to pass the mental health assessment. There comes a point when you see so much with your eyes open that you can’t unsee it when your eyes are closed.
“Tonight?” he asks.
The urgency in his voice sets me on edge. “Is Eve all right?”
A bitter laugh escapes him before he replies, “Yes.”
“Did she get in the car?”
“No.”
“You followed.”
“I’m following your orders.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I’m following the girl and tracking down the briefcase,” he snaps back at me. It’s obvious something is wrong, and before I hang up, I agree to set up a meeting at Hush.
There’s a stretch of silence that I try to fill with something other than concern for him. I stare out at the treetops, watching as the drizzle picks up. However, not thinking about the conversation with Andrew means there’s only one other thing on my mind. Eve.
I picture Eve’s small frame swamped by her wet clothes. Shivers wracking her body. A body that felt all too good pressed up to mine. The heat of it too fucking good to ignore. The suppleness of her curves too perfect to resist. And my cock remembers the feel of her plump arse rocking back into me all too well.
I could have fucked her then. Sated my cock with the heat of her wet cunt. I could have fucked the insolence right out of her, along with her screams for mercy. Fucked her hard until I was buried so deep inside her that she would bleed for me.
The thought sends a shudder through me. It’s all I’ve thought about since I laid my eyes on her—every way I can fuck her. Every way I can break her. Every way I can make her bleed with words and cries and my nails clawed deep into her flesh.
The air in my lungs congeals at the thought. My blood is pounding white-hot through me, causing my cock to ache and strain in the confines of my jeans. The desperation of my body for her is unrelenting as it weeps and burns for her.
“What are you staring at?” Arthur’s sudden question draws me back to reality.
I adjust myself, tugging the hem of my Henley as low as it will go. Not low enough to hide that like a pubescent boy, I’m hard as a rock at the thought of a girl.
Arthur gives me a questioning stare as I shrug. “Nothing.”
“You made the front-page headlines again.” He nods at my newspaper on the kitchen counter while he finishes buttoning up his shirt and fixing his sex-rumpled hair.
“I’m only responsible for one,” I say, grabbing the file beneath the newspaper and following him back to the lounge area.
“Are you all right?”
The question surprises me, catching me so off guard that I don’t know how to answer. The truth is that for a brief moment, I wasn’t. For a brief moment, I wanted to go back and cut the bitch to pieces. There’s no doubt in my mind that I would have if Eve hadn’t answered her phone.
With a nod, I shake the thought out of my mind as I focus on Arthur. Quietly, he meanders to the drinks cart in the corner of the white-painted room. He seems so out of place in the midst of the flowery decoration. It’s hard to take him seriously sometimes when we’re sitting on the emerald-green couches, surrounded by the matching drapings with purple, red, and gold weaved through them.
“You didn’t say you were coming over today.” Arthur holds out a drink for me, and as I take it, he adds, “The tailor’s coming to fit my suit for the Heroes of Our Lifetime gala thing tomorrow evening.”
Shit. “I’d forgotten about that.”
“Too busy fucking the violinist.” He grins knowingly. Except he doesn’t know shit. And the longer I withhold the knowledge of his father’s illness from him, the deeper my betrayal of my oath to him goes.
I swore on my life that I would always protect him, in front of God and the Wolves. I promised that I would go beyond what his state bodyguards are lawfully able to do in order to protect him. Withholding the truth from him is going to cause him more harm than good. Yet here I am, debating if I should hand him the file in my hand or not.
“Nice,” he sings out. “Her pussy’s that good that she’s got you daydreaming.”
“I’m not fucking Eve.”
“Sure, I believe you. I mean, she’s only in your suite every night.”
