A coincidence. Has to be a coincidence. I don’t know the name of the guy I fucked, but surely he’s not the same person. We were in neutral territory, so he could easily belong to any of the territory leaders. I didn’t recognize him, but that doesn’t mean much; I don’t interact with our enforcers.
I force a smile. “I’m sure you’ll find out what happened.”
“Sure will.” He pulls me into another hug. “If you want to move home—”
“No, Da.”
“If you want to move home,” he repeats, “you know we have space for you. You don’t even have to stay in your old room. We have an entire empty wing that you could redecorate to your heart’s desire.”
If I do that, then it’s only a matter of time before Catalina starts pushing different partners on me. She’s been respectful since I started dating Luke, but I know she’d prefer me to be married to someone in the life and ideally popping out a baby or two as quickly as possible to secure the line of succession. If I move home, she’d take it as a signal that I’m ready to dance to my family’s tune. I love them, but I’m not doing that.
Not yet.
I still have life to live before I’m forced to take on that role. I’ve spent too much time in the past two years settling. But Da means well, so I just say, “I’ll think about it.”
“That means no.” He steps back but smiles as he says it. “It’s okay, honey. We’re here however you need us. And if Luke gives you any trouble, me and Dad will deal with it.”
Considering how they’d do that, I’m not giving them even the smallest excuse to step in. “I have it covered. It’s all being dealt with very politely.”
“Politely.” He snorts. “Then he’s not the one for you, Ruby. Any person worth having in your life will fight to stay there, even if it means fighting dirty.”
Dad would know. He and Da played all kinds of dirty to end up with Mom, but I heartily prefer not to hear that story. Again. He seems to realize it. His grin is almost sheepish. “If you need help with anything, just give us a call.”
“I will. I promise.” I give him one last hug, and then he leaves.
I barely wait for the door to close before I rush to my computer and log in to the family database. It’s a heavily encrypted monster of a program, with all the information one needs to run a criminal enterprise. Including our employee files.
It takes me thirty seconds to find the enforcer who was killed. Rafe. “Well . . . that’s not good.” I slump back in my chair, staring at the man I had sex with a few days ago. “A coincidence,” I murmur. My stalker is all bark and no bite. Surely he didn’t kill someone just because I fucked them. That would be . . .
Gods, I’m a monster. There’s no other explanation for the twin bolts of fear and desire that go through me at the thought. The feeling of pure power.
I shake my head, shrugging off the feeling. It’s not real. It’s not who I am. I may be a monster in my own way, but I’m not a murderer, and certainly not of someone who didn’t deserve it. Sure, Rafe was an enforcer, so he’s hardly a saint. Even in peaceful times, it’s not like we’re running a perfectly legal business. Which isn’t to say that he deserved to die, but he definitely wasn’t a civilian.
Now I’m talking myself in circles.
I pick up my phone and then set it down. “No, what am I doing? Engaging in this fucked-up game isn’t okay.” I need to pass this over to people who are more qualified than I am. It’s time to end things with the stalker. Except . . . No, this isn’t my fault. I may be a cheater, but I couldn’t have had any way of knowing what I did would lead to someone dying.
If this is my stalker’s doing.
“Only one way to find out.” It’s an excuse and not even a good one. I don’t care.
Do you know Rafe?
It barely takes him five seconds to respond.
Unknown
Don’t be a coward now, baby. What do you really want to ask me?
I glare at my phone. He’s so irritating.
Did you kill him?
Unknown
Your parents would have done the same thing if they saw his grimy hands all over their precious princess.
He’s not entirely wrong, and I hate him for it. My parents have a firm “no enforcers” rule. At least not for hookups. It complicates things, tempts people to think they’re outside the chain of command because they’re in my bed. A relationship is one thing, but for casual sex, the boundary is firm. I was never tempted to break it . . . until that night of acting wildly out of character.
You didn’t answer my question.
Unknown
What do you want me to say, baby? That I slit his fucking throat for touching what’s mine? That I’ll do the same to anyone else who puts their hands on you?
I shiver. He’s bluffing. He’s got to be . . . Except I don’t believe that, do I? I can’t tell what I’m feeling. It’s like my body and brain are at war. My brain is screaming that I’m playing with fire and the only way this ends is in pain and death. My body? It’s got its wires crossed.
Not sure what response you’re looking for with that dramatic proclamation. Do you want a cookie?
Unknown
Haven’t you figured it out yet, baby? I want YOU.
I come home to an empty apartment, but that’s nothing more than I expect. It’s become the usual these days. What isn’t usual is my ensuring there’s no stalker hiding in a closet before I drop my purse onto the kitchen counter and pour myself a strong glass of whisky. There’s a part of me that wants to keep my wits about me . . . but there’s a stronger part of me, buried deep, that wants an excuse to behave badly.
I don’t have to pretend I’m a good person who has the right priorities when I’m seven sheets to the wind. Whatever that fucking saying means.
I take my whisky and phone into the bathroom and set them on the counter. A long, scalding-hot shower does wonders on the knots forming between my shoulder blades. I’ll have to get a massage soon because there’s only so much I can do to combat the tightness on my own.
By the time I turn off the water and wrap a fluffy towel around my body, I’m feeling loose and somewhere in the vicinity of relaxed. Luke still isn’t home, so I drop the towel on the floor and stretch out on our bed. The sheets smell faintly of him, of us, and my guilt raises its irritating head.
The guilt’s also mixed up in frustration and shame and, yes, lust.
I don’t make a conscious decision to slide my hands over my warm, naked body, but the touch feels good, so I keep going. I have a lot of pent-up tension, and this is a surefire way to release some of it. I cup my breasts and pluck at my nipples. Warmth curls through me. Yes, this is what I need.
I tease myself, dragging my fingertips over my stomach to my pussy. I spread my legs and circle my clit lightly. Delicious tingles start low in my stomach. I want to take my time with this, to really work off my stress.
My phone rings.
I open my eyes. I’m not even sure when I shut them. “I should have put the damn thing on silent.” I ignore the call until it goes to voicemail . . . and then the phone immediately starts ringing again. “Motherfucker.”
I grab it with my free hand and curse even harder when I see UNKNOWN as the caller. Now’s the time to put my cell on silent or even turn it off. I don’t do either.
Instead I answer. “You’re interrupting.”