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“That’s a huge relief.” I finish my drink and stand up, curiosity getting the best of me. Carmine’s my best friend but he can be terrifying sometimes. That’s what happens when you run a mafia family for years. I keep very strange company—two mafia bosses, a powerful lawyer, and a chaotic hacker, and there’s me, the prodigal son of a wealthy Texas family. We’re an odd little group, but it works for us. “If I walk all the way over there and find nothing, I’m going to come back and be very angry.”
“Oh, no, I’m so worried, wouldn’t want you to get angry, what ever would I do? Go to the dining room, Ford. I already regret saying something.”
I give him one more glare look before walking off. Carmine’s not the type to send me on wild goose chases. Evander, yes, definitely, the Greek bastard is big and crazy. Lanzo, totally, he’s chaos incarnate. But Carmine’s the most grounded of thegroup, even though he manages a bunch of killers and thieves. Marrying Brice has further mellowed him out, and I think family life suits the guy, strangely enough.
I head through the main lobby and toward the dining room. The staff opens the door for me and I step into a high-end restaurant, free to all Oak Club members. It’s quiet and not crowded, and I linger toward the very front of the room against a low half-wall that separates the waiting section from the tables. I scan the faces, recognize most of them, and I’m about to turn around to go back to the bar to chew Carmine out when I spot her.
Sitting at a table for two in a far corner. A romantic little corner. Lots of shadow and candlelight.
Kat Stockton. She’s sitting across from a guy I recognize named Matthew Keyne, a chinless little rich boy that pretends to be a money manager on Wallstreet. Some worthless trust fund asshole.
What thefuckis Kat doing with a little mouse like that?
It’s like a lioness sitting down with a baby lamb.
I stay put and watch them for a few minutes. I feel like a goddamn creep but I can’t bring myself to walk away. I should head back to the bar, sit down with Carmine, and spend some more time with my friend before he has to return to Philadelphia to deal with his family, but I can’t seem to move my feet. It’s spellbinding, and a strange emotion begins to flicker deep in my body, like an old lighting array beginning to turn on after a very long time in the dark.
She’s listening to some story he’s telling. I can’t tell what it is but she smiles and laughs and pulls on her hair. She’s eating all the while and drinking some wine, and he’s barely picking at a littlebaby salad. Kat’s bright and alive and effusive—her gestures, the way she laughs, everything is so bold, and yet all she does is try to hide herself all the time—and I can’t pull my eyes from her, not from the tight little black dress she’s wearing that accentuates her chest and her hips, not from the lipstick that makes her plump lips look like dessert, not from her gorgeous eyes or her teeth or her tongue. I think of that kiss and a sudden violent rage rips into me, and the feeling that’s been warming up and getting brighter tears up to the surface, and I swear I see a light red mist.
What thefuckis she doing with him? And why isn’t she doing it with me?
It takes me a few beats to understand what I’m feeling. It’s jealousy, pure and simple jealousy, threatening to throw me into a frenzy, but why the fuck would I be jealous of a little field rat like Keynes? I don’tactuallycare about Kat, and it doesn’t matter if she thinks she likes a feckless little shit like Matthew. I need that girl, and not because I want her but because she’s the key to getting what I’ve always dreamed about. I have to shove this worthless and stupid jealousy aside and think straight or else somehow that lame little puppy dog Matthew is going to take my dream away.
And I willnotstand for that.
“Excuse me,” I say to a waitress as she’s walking past. “I need you to do something for me.” I slip her a roll of twenties—I don’t even know how much. Way too much most likely. “See the girl with the red hair?”
“The pretty one? On the date?” The waitress shrugs. “Sure, she’s in my section.”
“Perfect. Tell her she has a call and direct her out here to the waiting room. I want to talk to her.”
She hesitates. “Are you sure that’ll be okay? I mean—”
“Do it.”
The waitress sighs and nods. “Right away, Mr. Arc.” She hurries off and I watch her go. When she reaches the table, I step back behind the wall and wait in the shadows of the sitting area. It’s empty and the hostess is off polishing glasses while she waits to seat someone else, which means I’ve got the room to myself.
Maybe this is a bad idea. Maybe Kat won’t want to see me and I’ll only start a scene. But thinking about her at that table on a date with Matthew Keyne is too much to bear. The simmering rage is still there boiling in a sea of jealousy. I don’t understand why I give a damn if she’s out with another man—I’m aware that she’s looking for a husband and I’m sure Keyne is on her grandfather’s list of acceptable spouses—but still, the thought of him touching her, kissing her, tasting her in a way I haven’t—
Fucking hell. I shove my hand into my pocket and pinch my thigh hard. The pain is sharp and helps to short-circuit my stupid spiraling brain. I amnothere to be jealous of anyone or anything; I’m here to fucking win and that’s all.
After another couple beats, there’s a shadow across the wall as someone comes near, and Kat steps around the corner. She looks confused for a second as she moves closer to me, clearly looking around for a phone that doesn’t exist, and stops in her tracks when I meet her eyes.
She pauses, caught between entering the sitting area and turning around. She doesn’t come closer, but she doesn’t run, and I take the opportunity to let my eyes wander. She looks so fuckinggorgeous it cracks my chest in half and makes something stir deep in my core. Her dress is simple and black, cut low and square to show off her lovely breasts, and clings tightly to her wide hips. Her hair’s in loose ringlets and her makeup is simple and understated, and fucking hell, she looks even better up close. The girl’s skin is begging to be touched, her body begging to be filled and fucked and used and abused, her dress aching to be ripped from her flesh. My heart’s racing with excitement and I have to struggle to keep it under control, but I swear if she listens closely, she’ll hear it.
“Ford,” she says and her eyebrows raise. “There’s no call, is there?”
“There’s no call.” I tilt my head to the side. “At least, there hasn’t been a call yet. Why not?”
Her jaw works. “I don’t know why you keep bringing this up like—” She takes a breath and glares. “I don’t owe you anything, you know that right? Are you stalking me now or something? Because it feels dangerously like you’re stalking me.”
“I didn’t even know you were here until Carmine mentioned it.”
“And why did—never mind, you know what, I don’t care.” She throws her hands up. “Ford, it was nice seeing you, but I’m going back to my date.”
“Wait.” My voice is sharp and low. I step closer to her. I’m not used to this, to pursuing someone so hard, but I find the experience exciting in a way I never imagined. Women and sex have always been easy for me, or at least I never need to try too hard. If a woman’s not interested, I just move on to someone that is, and I rarely need to look too hard until I find a willing pair of lips and legs and a dripping little cunt prepared to eagerlysoak up my big cock. Except now there’s no moving on—I’m stuck trying to win over his stubborn girl instead, and all I can think about is gripping her hips and thrusting myself into her plaintive, trembling pussy from behind, again and again.
“Why?” she asks, her voice soft and almost begging like she wants me to give her a good reason to stay.
