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She’d taken me by surprise when she’d turned me down flat, explaining that she knew about the fetish auctions inRavishand would prefer to explore that side of herself while being paid for the privilege.
I’d seen Miss Cameron with a whole new level of respect, though I’d needed twenty-four hours to have Ford check that her story lined up. When he confirmed her ex was indeed a piece of shit, I’d had my answer.
“If you could wait precisely—” I check my watch again. “Eight minutes before you knock for Miss Caputo, I’d be in your debt.”
Jules frowns in confusion, but nods anyway. “Consider it done.”
I spend the next eight minutes pacing the floor of my office, rubbing at a tightness in my chest that feels terribly like a stroke coming on, until Jules raps loudly on the studio door.
Another minute passes before there’s a small knock on my own door. I open it without hesitation, tugging Kendra inside before pinning her to the door, my large palm over her mouth.
“You have a deal ononecondition.” She nods at my whisper with pupils blown wide. “When I remove my hand from your mouth, I need you to cry out as though in unbearable pleasure.”
Her brow creases before she slowly nods, and I lean closer to the door, listening for Wren to pass. When she does, I lift my hand away, and Kendra’s husky keen breaks the silence.
I drive my point home entirely too well with a low growl as I step away from Kendra in frustrated self-loathing. “Take a seat, Miss Cameron. We have an application to process.”
* * *
Having slipped into a spare change of black denim jeans and a dark gray hoodie, I lock up my office for the evening. The thought of doing something worthwhile and feeling like less of a horrible fucking person for even just a handful of hours buoys me when all I want to do is go upstairs to beg Wren’s forgiveness.
Stop it, you pussy!
I make my way out onto the bustling Tribeca sidewalk, and it’s less than fifteen minutes before I reach Haven.
Barbara is waiting by the door, surrounded by several regulars who greet me with wide smiles and all-round happy faces.
“Vinny!” He high-fives me with a grin. “Good to see you back, man.”
I grin at Daryl’s welcome, pulling him into a side hug. “Work’s been busy, friend. How’ve you guys been?”
“Well, since finding Haven, the nights haven’t been too bad. And I met these guys, so my days aren’t too bad either.”
His three other companions smile less hauntedly at one another than the last time I saw them.
I move inside the wide-open space of Haven, heading directly for the food service line with Daryl on my tail, regaling me with the similarities between him and his newfound friends.
“I don’t want to think about where I’d be if I hadn’t discovered this place. Haven saved our lives…” He trails off as I drop an apron over my head, Barbara silently gesturing to take up the freshly vacated spot by the grill.
My eyes find Daryl’s as his hand clasps mine. “People likeyousaved our lives, Vinny. You’re a walking saint.”
“I’m no saint, more like a devil.” He looks a little confused before I follow it up with a self-deprecatory grin. “Though Saint Vinny of Tribeca sounds good, doesn’t it?”
I retreat behind the grill with my grin still firmly in place as Daryl’s laugh follows me while I focus on the men and a handful of women queuing for their dinner.
Something so basic. Three square meals a day. A place to lay your head. A friendly smile and a helping hand when you feel lost.
And for forgotten war veterans like Daryl, Jon, Finnegan, and Peter—the men who embraced me at the door—it’s places like this that give them a whole new take on life.
I’m not a saint.
Just a man with a guilty conscience, deep pockets, and the need to repent.
If I can help these forgotten souls along the way, then maybe I’ll at least feel better about myself in the afterlife.
Not that you deserve it.
Three hours pass in the blink of an eye as the shelter reaches overnight capacity far sooner than I’d like.
