One Last Rainy Day: The Legacy of a Prince(46)

And you’re the most beautiful punishment I’ve ever been dealt.

“That’s not news. Anything else you need to know?”

“I don’t know anything.”

“Sure you do,” I thrust up, so she can feel just how fucking much I’m denying myself.

Knowing I need to start armoring up for what’s ahead, I opt to continue playing with the electricity at my fingertips because I’m just that selfish motherfucker.

Stealing the rest of her breath, l grind against the heat I can feel seeping from her core and am rewarded by fast pants as she sifts through our conversation.

“You described most red-blooded men. Cold beer, ah,” she moans as I continually thrust up, and she starts to give back as good as she’s getting, swiveling her hips.

“Fast cars?”

Thrust.

“Black coffee?”

Thrust.

“Runny eggs and . . .”

“And?” I prompt, lifting her so she’s suspended on my outraged dick.

“Me,” she whispers hoarsely before flashing a smile that serves as a direct hit.

“Then you know enough.”

Giving myself a minute more, I lift her shirt and groan inwardly when I’m met with the sight of perfect tits and peaked nipples. Every bit of remaining self-control I have threatens to abandon me when I dip and pull her hardened flesh into my mouth. As I greedily feed, she explodes into motion, grinding onto me as I momentarily lose myself. I soak in what I can of her scent, the feel of her, knowing it might be my last taste.

It’s when she moans my name that I mentally start to force myself away, biting down on her exposed flesh before soothing away any sting with the tip of my tongue.

“That was cruel,” she scolds.

My dick agrees, but at least my conscience won’t eat at me like it tried to after the lake. If I ever lay another hand on Cecelia Horner, at least she’ll have a better idea of whom she’s getting into bed with—even if key parts of the truth remain purposefully tucked away. Sean was right in the sense that she deserves to know who’s fucking her. After tonight, she’ll be aware of the true nature of the devils she’s dancing with, and after that, it will be her decision to stay on the floor.

“We’ll have to pick this up—later,” I say, knowing it might be the last lie I ever tell her—that after Sean pulls back the curtain, she’ll most likely run. Glancing over as I turn the key, something inside me stirs at the possibility that she won’t.




Vision muddled by black rage, someone grips my hand, and I whip around, fist drawn to see Cecelia’s mortified gaze. Shaking her concern off, my wrist throbs as I offer her another lie. “I’m good.”

I’m anything but fucking good.

Fury and adrenaline continue to war for dominance as Cecelia takes a cautious step away from me. Her expression is telling as Sean snakes a protective arm around her, pulling her into him to shield her—from me. “Let him cool off, baby.”

Not fucking likely.

As predicted, the last hour has been a fucking disaster. Feeling Cecelia’s terrified gaze trail me, I break through the cover of the trees, fighting the urge to retrieve my Glock and end Andre and Matteo—no matter who’s left in the audience. I’m bending my wrist and flexing my trigger finger when Tyler appears, eyeing my injury. “Broken?”

I jerk my chin in reply. “Andre no showed.”

“I know,” he exhales, glancing toward the roaring bonfire. “I’ve been tracking them both all night.”

Andre—the head of the Miami chapter—missed the window for our one-on-one. Which, in our club, is a blatant sign of disrespect. Meetups are more a guise for the deals that take place between the trees at the party. A time meant to set up the when and where to trade stolen goods of each Chapter’s most recent takes—along with introducing any recruits. It’s one of the few secrets we share. “They’re not even hiding it anymore. Something’s up.”

“I’m pretty sure you made it clear you’re onto them,” he says, gesturing toward my hand. Knuckles still dripping, I have no regrets about disfiguring the fucking bastard charged with doing Andre and Matteo’s bidding.

We’ve always known Matteo and Andre were killers for hire—psychopaths who take pleasure in their work—which we utilized for our benefit until recently.

“I’ll switch cars and follow them back to the Florida state line,” Tyler offers, “and put some birds on patrol to make sure they all get the fuck out of our neighborhood.”

“That’s all fine and good, man, but you’re not hearing me. They took out another black-market contract yesterday—nondiscriminatory. They’ve switched to killing innocents for a higher paycheck. They’ve broken every rule of our club and are rubbing it in our faces with their presence tonight, with an added plan to weaken us.”

“How so?”

“I think they tried to take Sean out in the race.”

His eyes widen. “The. Fuck?” He tilts his head up as if summoning patience. “Before we act, Dom, you need to be sure.”

Clearing some of the haze, I replay it objectively. Sean’s car rounding the curve in the outside lane, one side mountain rock, thousands of feet of drop on the other. Florida’s headlights disappearing from my rearview to run alongside me before gunning straight for Sean. When I realized his intent, I gassed my Camaro just in time to cut him off, forcing him toward Tallahassee, who crashed into the rocky cliff just after we cleared the turn.