Page 58 of Coveted By Cupid

Taking the seat next to him, I say, “I survived my first argument with the missus, so I’d say it’s going well.”

Oaks snorts, nearly shooting Coke out his nose. When he catches his breath, his shoulders shake with laughter. “I thought for sure she’d have your balls.”

“The day is still young. Who knows what this evening will bring,” I say, humoring him. “Honestly, I’m surprised it went as well as it did. I didn’t sugarcoat my explanation, telling her I want her safe and I want her with me—permanently.”

My VP raises his eyebrows. “You’re that serious?”

“Dead serious, that’s why I wanted to speak with you.”

“I’m listening, brother,” he says, putting his Coke can down on the island and turning toward me on his stool to give me his full attention.

“I reassured Vanessa I’d be here when she wakes up later, meaning I can’t leave and break that promise. The problem is that I have an errand to run. I made a call last night to Tyrese, requesting rush service. He said he’d have it ready by this afternoon. It’s already paid for, but I need someone to pick it up for me from his leather shop.”

Oaks leans back in his chair, letting out a low whistle between his teeth. “Whoa! You’re not joking around, are you?”

“No, I’m not. Besides, the sooner she has my property patch on her, the sooner it will work as a deterrent from anyone who may watch her. I want her in a cut by tonight.”

“No problem. I’ll take care of it.”

“Thanks, Oaks. I knew I could count on you to help me. Speaking of helping me, do you think Marlene would sit with Vanessa this evening while we question the asshole in the basement next door? I don’t want to leave her alone.”

“Afraid she’ll give you the slip?” Oaks teases, elbowing me.

“Not until you mentioned it,” I say, suddenly apprehensive. “You don’t think she’ll try it, do you?”

“Nah,” Oaks says, waving off my concern. “And if she tries to escape, Muscles can handle her. She handles me all the time, just fine.”

No shit. Marlene, or Muscles as she’s known in the club, is not a dainty woman. She’s nearly six-foot and powerlifts with Oaks in our club’s gym daily. I’ve seen her discus-toss drunk assholes out of Whiskey Wheelers more times than I can count. She’s one of the sweetest women I know, but I would never want to be on her bad side. Marlene can hold her own in any fight.

“How she puts up with you, I don’t understand,” I joke, shaking my head. “The woman is a saint.”

“Every saint needs its bastard,” Oaks says, rising from his stool. “I’ll pick up Vanessa’s cut before I bring Marlene over. It’s going to be eventful questioning the Russian prick.”

“Let’s hope it goes smoothly,” I say, my voice low and lethal. “It will only make it harder for our captive if he’s not. Either way, we’re getting answers tonight.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

VANESSA

When I wake again, it’s late. The drapes I had drawn back earlier are still open. The sky outside is dark, and the downtown city lights are on, casting the room in a muted, moody orange light. It’s bright enough that I can see around the room, but not as blinding as the morning sun earlier in the day.

I slowly sit upright in bed, finding Cupid reading in the corner with the floor lamp on to light the pages. He’s wearing black-framed glasses, giving him a more studious appearance.

Sensing he’s being watched, he abandons his reading and looks at me over the rim of his glasses.

He stayed.

My heart skips in my chest, pleased that he kept his word. I give him a little awkward wave from the bed. “Hi.”

“Evening, Butterfly.” Cupid sets his book down and crosses the room toward me, looking smoldering hot in the evening shadows and city lights dancing across his skin. He sits on the edge of the bed, his eyes assessing my face as if he’s making sure I’m okay. “How did you sleep?”

“Good. Better if I wasn’t hurting,” I admit, rubbing at my forehead where a headache is building.

Without me asking, Cupid grabs the pain medicine on the nightstand beside me, handing me two pills and my glass of water from earlier. I take the meds, gulping the cool water. He must have refreshed it recently while I slept. It may seem like an insignificant gesture, but it shows me he cares—that’s a hell of a lot more than most guys I’ve been with.

Cupid takes the glass from my hands, setting it on the nightstand. He tenderly brushes my hair away from my face, his dark eyes softening as he takes me in. “You hungry?”

My stomach rumbles, answering for me. “It would seem so.”