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Pulling him free of his boxers, I lick up the length of his shaft as Nicky lets out an appreciative moan. I continue to suck him off the rest of the way home while he spares no detail about all the ways I’m going to pay for my little stunt.
And I can’t wait to experience each and every one of them.
CHAPTER 37
NOW
NICKY
I click open the notification I just received to find a text waiting from Mav’s head of security.
LOGAN: A PACKAGE IS EN ROUTE TO YOUR HOUSE. PLEASE ENSURE YOU ARE AVAILABLE TO RECEIVE IT.
Opening the tracking app, I find Daph’s coordinates closing in on the house. Switching back over to the text thread, I thumb out a response.
ME: BOTH?
LOGAN: NEGATIVE. WE ARE STILL IN POSSESSION OF THE OTHER.
Fuck. When J told me she was taking Daph to Lounge for her Bachelorette Party, I briefly debating filling her in that Mav now owns the club. However, in this case it seemed beneficial having them in a secure location. If they aren’t with me, that fucker is the next safest bet. No one’s getting to my sister on his watch. He’s been steadily updating me all night until he went radio silent on me about thirty minutes ago.
You don’t need my IQ to deduce if J’s still at the club and Mav’s suddenly nonresponsive, they’re either fighting or fucking. Either way, I’ll be dealing with the collateral damage of that fallout tomorrow. Though, as headlights pull down my driveway, I suddenly can’t seem to find the ability to care about anything other than what awaits me in the back of that car.
It’s been well over a month since she and I started back up again, stealing every available moment we can and, even though she doesn’t say it, I can see the sadness each time we’re forced to part. It’s because in her mind, each and every encounter between us is overshadowed by an expiration date—an impending countdown until she’s sentenced to a loveless life as Mrs. Lucian Devoreaux.
I, however, have been happier than I’ve been in years. Because I know the truth… this is only the beginning. This last month, I’ve made plays to pull out of business with the Devoreauxs. Tapping into some of my shadier connections—namely, Enzo Stingone, the New York Don of the Sicilian Mafia—I was able to link up with their accountant who will be handling all of my financial records moving forward. If anyone knows how to wrap hundreds of millions of dollars in illegal drug trade profits in a pretty little bow and present it as legitimate income to avoid federal indictment, it’s the Sicilians. They handled the entire transition within days and, as of 8 p.m. yesterday, all information pertaining to me contained within Elliot Devoreaux’s secure servers have been wiped from existence. When he goes in Monday morning, it’ll look as though his system suffered a glitch resulting in lost information. He’s going to be shitting bricks at the thought of having to call me and admit the fuck-up. It’s an offense that would normally be a surefire way to earn yourself a spot in the ground, so when I settle for a beating and informing him he’ll be losing my business effective immediately, he’s gonna feel like he dodged a bullet…literally.
The price of this arrangement with the Sicilians certainly didn’t come cheap, but Enzo already receives a percentage of my business, so it was a simple matter of renegotiating rates. Plus, I’ll only need their services as long as I’m running the Dukes—which, hopefully, won’t be for much longer if I can secure the last bit of evidence Kellerman needs to link Yuri to the trafficking.
I know he’s opened up trafficking lines between here and Venezuela since establishing the supply chain with the Colombians. I’ve heard his men whispering their excitement over testing out their new “exotic” merchandise. I just need something concrete to tie him to it and I’m out.
The black sedan pulls up in front of the house, the driver exiting and gesturing toward the back before tucking his hands up alongside his face as though he’s sleeping. I nod, waving him off to let him know I’ve got her. Opening the door, I dip inside to pull Daph into my arms, cradling her to my chest as I stand.
“Hey, you.” She offers me a sleepy smile, nuzzling her face into my chest as feelings of warmth unfurl within me. “I think—” She hiccups. “I think I’m drunk.”
“I see that.” I chuckle, ascending the stone steps of the house to make our way inside. “Did you have fun?”
“With your sister? Yes.” Another hiccup interjects itself into the conversation, followed by a string of giggles. “Them other bitches suck.”
I’m careful of her head as I navigate through the doorway to my room before sitting her gently on the bed. Kneeling down, I remove her red stiletto pumps, alternating attention between each of her feet as I firmly massage the underside with my thumb.
“That feels so gooooood.” Daphne drops back before arching her back from the comforter, her long, drawn-out moan causing me to snicker in response.
“I’m sure it does after being confined to those death contraptions all night. Okay, back to what you were saying. What bitches, baby?”
“My bridal party.” She grows quiet, her body appearing to sag in defeat as she stares up at my ceiling, lost in thought. “Only three more weeks. I can’t believe it’s actually happening.”
It’s not—she just doesn’t know it yet. Tomorrow when she’s sober, I’ll tell her everything. Yes, she will have to deal with a guard detail until Mav and I can get things with Yuri squared, but the whole point of me avoiding a relationship was to keep her safe. That logic went out the window the second Yuri made threats against her. If her life’s in danger either way, she’s safest by my side where anything trying to get to her would have to go through me first. Now, with the Devoreauxs holding none of the cards, we can be together without consequence.
She yawns on a stretch, the action pulling me back to the present.
“Come here, demon.” I sit her up, helping her out of the confines of her tiny white dress. “Where’s the asshole tonight? Do I need J to cover?”
Or I could always just call him and tell him exactly where she is and to never expect her home.
“No, he’s out of town. Something for work.”
Sure, he is. When it comes to Luc, out of town or working late are synonymous with being balls deep in anyone who isn’t his fiancée. I realize how completely hypocritical I sound considering she has been anything but loyal this month, but he doomed them from the start. Luc’s never wanted Daphne for who she truly is. He wants a trophy wife. Someone to decorate his arm while looking the other way in the presence of his never-ending indiscretions. She’s been born into a life where that kind of a shit show has been paraded about as an example of a typical loving marriage. It’s what she’s come to expect.
