The Kingpin’s Weakness Page 5

An intake of breath whirls me around—and there’s Scout in the doorway, fresh from a shower. She’s made use of the clothes I had transferred from her apartment, leaving her dressed in a loose yellow summer dress. She looks so much younger than she did in the sexy black dress at the fight, I almost do a double-take. God. What have I done bringing this guileless college student into my hideous world? Endangering her life?

  “Is everything okay?” she whispers.

  My jaw is so tight it’s going to snap. “Yes. Just business.”

  She nods, taking me at my word. “Okay.”

  With the hit out on Scout, how can I bring her to meet Whitney? I was paranoid and fearful for her safety before, but now? I’ll be a fucking madman.

  I’m not going to break my word to her, though.

  I told her I would do this for her. I will see it through.

  But after…after that, I have to let her go.

  I can’t drag her into this hell I call a life and expect her to be happy. This life of constantly looking over one’s shoulder. I’m confident in my ability to eliminate this threat, but what about the next one? And the one after that?

  “Easton?”

  I clear my throat hard. “I’ve set up the meeting with Whitney.”

  Her face lights up. “You did?”

  “Yes.” I resist the urge to reach for her. If I’m going to survive without her touch for even a second, I have to start hardening myself now. But she makes it impossible by throwing herself into my arms. And I gather her up and bear hug her like a dying man, inhaling her like a drug, crushing her to my body and memorizing every curve and valley.

  Eventually, somehow I manage to set her back down on the ground. Then I take her hand and walk her out of the house, where my SUV is waiting at the curb. They already spoke to my head of security and know where we’re going, so I don’t have to give any instructions.

  I only make it about ten second before I put up the privacy screen and pull Scout onto my lap so she’s straddling me. Her face is flushed in an instant, her pussy already writhing on my dick. And fuck, I want to see it. Want to watch that perfect friction happen, so I lift the hem of her dress and make her clamp the thin, yellow material between her teeth. And there’s her tight cunt, rubbing on my cock and rapidly dampening the material of her panties. She’s whining for it, trying to fuck me through my pants, and Jesus, yes, I could come just like this. But I want more. Want closer. So I push my middle finger into my mouth to get it wet, then shove it down the front of her underwear to stroke her clit. Tease it until she’s dancing around and whimpering on my lap.

  “Unzip me and put that cock where it belongs then.”

  Maybe I am the devil, because it turns me the hell on. Watching this almost-virgin fumble in her haste and inexperience, trying to get my zipper down. But she finally does and she bites her lip, eyes glassy, her small hand jerking me off.

  Scout eases down onto me, inch by inch, her tight pussy constricting around me already, her hips jerking up and back, almost involuntarily. Like she’s programmed to fuck me. Only me. Like her body moves on instinct when it’s her and I, racing toward pleasure. Giving me no choice but to experience mine. She’s a miracle. A gift. I can only mold my hands to her ass and help her gallop, her little milking channel riding up and down my cock, trying to pump the seed straight out.

  And because this might be the last time I’m inside her, I’m desperate. My fingers bruise her pumping cheeks and I suck red marks onto her neck, throat, tits and I say the dirtiest shit that lurks in my head.

  I own your horny little cunt.

  You’re damn right it fucks on command.

  In other words, I make sure she’ll remember me.

  But while I might be taking her like a rough bastard, I’m also the man who buries his face in her hair, clings to her beloved body and calls her name hoarsely, begging for touch. She gives it to me and we sail over the edge together, Scout left trembling and gasping for air in my lap. We stay like that right up until we reach the meeting point.

  We’re the first ones to arrive, but the other SUV pulls up shortly.

  Of course, Scout dives excitedly for the door and throws it open.

  I drag her back in and slam it.

  “Wait.”

  She flinches.

  God, I’m so on edge, so messed up knowing I have to let her go, that I’m behaving like an asshole. It’s not fair to her, but my insides are being pulverized in a blender. “I’m sorry. I just need you to be safe.” Slowly, she nods, though she seems to sense there is something I’m not saying. Something important I’m leaving out. “Just wait for me to come around, okay?”

  Her swallow is audible. “Okay, Easton.”

  I pull her face close and kiss her hard, before tearing myself away and exiting the vehicle. “Send out the girl,” I shout, buttoning my overcoat. “Only the girl. They meet halfway. If I see a fucking weapon, it’s over. We’re gone.”

  “Same goes for us,” the Russian calls back. “And I’ll wait for Whitney at the same distance you wait for her sister. Or we’re gone.”

  A detached part of me sees the humor in this. Two men snarling like territorial beasts over their women. These sisters who have arrived to steal our rationality and calm. But I’m too shaken up knowing there’s a contract on Scout, so my appreciation of the humorous moment is only fleeting. Muscles tense, I open the door and help Scout out…

  And then I watch her run toward Whitney in the open field with my heart in my throat.

  They embrace, tears flowing down their cheeks. Talking a mile a minute.

  I harden my jaw and stem the flow of emotion that threatens to upend me.

  Scout will be okay. With a bond like she has with her sister, she will heal. She will be strong.

  One day, she will thank me for what I have to do.

  8

  Scout

  I wake up in my old bedroom, my vision fuzzy around the edges.

  There is a poster of the periodic table taped to my ceiling, one of the corners peeling off. There’s no cigar scent. No ocean salt tingeing the air. No male warmth beside me. That’s how I know I’m home, not in Easton’s mansion by the sea.

  Panic sets in quickly, my throat constricting hard.

  I sit up and look around, tears already brimming in my eyes.

  Maybe I’m dreaming?

  No.

  No, I remember getting back into the SUV last night. Easton taking me home in dead silence and giving me a glass of wine, telling me it would calm my frayed nerves after my crying jag in the middle of the field. Then a second glass that made the room start to spin. He didn’t drug me. I’m just a complete lightweight. Any kind of alcohol knocks me out cold if I drink enough of it—and that’s what happened. The last thing I recall is falling asleep standing straight up with my head lolling on his broad shoulder, babbling on about how much I love him.

  Oh God.

  He said this morning we would part ways.

  He never took it back. Never changed his mind.

  This is it then?

  He’s just…gone?

  We’re over?

  A pitiful sob wrenches free of my throat.

  I start to call for Whitney, before remembering she’s been hijacked by a Russian MMA fighter. I’m alone here. Did he even leave anything? A note?

  A search yields nothing. Just my school books stacked neatly on the coffee table in the living room and the vaguest hint of his scent. Did he carry me in here, lay me in bed and walk out? Did he even look back or second-guess himself?

  In this moment, I truly hate him.

  He stole me out of my life, made me love him and abandoned me.

  Left me floundering with a broken heart and no way to reach him. No recourse or closure. I don’t have his phone number and the way to his house is a blur, because he always made sure I was distracted in the back seat.

  An alarm beeps on my phone.

  Class. I have class.

  Going to school seems like suc
h a foreign idea when I’ve been locked in a fantasy for two days, but I have to go. There is an exam next week and the next few sessions will be spent reviewing. Feeling like something inside of me has died, I go through the motions, taking a shower and getting dressed, piling my hair up in a bun. Books in hand, I leave the apartment…

  …and I immediately know I’m being watched.

  Every hair on the back of my neck stands at attention, prickles riding up my arms.

  I turn in a circle on the walkway outside the building, trying to find the source of my intuition, but I can’t see anything out of the ordinary. At least until I get on the bus.

  When I take my seat, I watch over my shoulder as two nondescript cars pull away from the curb outside my residence and follow the bus at a discreet distance. But I’ve watched a lot of suspenseful movies and I’m not fooled. I know what a tail looks like. But I can’t tell who is in the driver’s seat from this distance.

  Resolutely, I turn back around in my seat, crack open a textbook and fire through some review questions. If those are indeed Easton’s men tailing me, they can suck it. He doesn’t get to control me from a distance. He’s either in my life completely or he isn’t. These half measures aren’t going to work for me. I want the man or nothing at all.

  And I miss him.

  Terribly.

  All through class that morning, I feel like there’s a hard-boiled egg stuck in my throat and there’s a hot iron pressed to the back of my eyes. I replay every moment of our two days together. Me fainting in his luxury box, Easton buying drinks in the Speckled Hen, making love in the ocean, falling asleep in each other’s arms, making a lava lamp in his kitchen. Was it really so easy for him to just offload me and go about his merry way?

  Towards the end of class, another wave of electricity walks up my arm and I turn, scanning the faces of the students, trying to pick out someone I don’t recognize.

  There.

  Is that guy wearing an earpiece?

  Wait. There are two of them.

  “Class dismissed,” drones the professor and everyone stands, blocking my view of the two men with curly little wires trailing down their necks.

  I crane my neck to pin them down, but one of my classmates stops in front of me, a backpack slung over one of his shoulders. “Hey, uh…Scout, right?”

  “Yes,” I say absently, still scanning the milling crowd of students.

  “My name is Paul. I’ve been sitting behind you all semester.” I force myself to focus on the young man and nod, as if I recognize him, but unfortunately I don’t. Everything but the subject matter tends to fade away during a lecture. Usually, anyway. “I just wanted to say, I really liked your kinematics presentation last week.”

  “Oh.” I give him a genuine smile. “Thank you.”

  “Sure.” He shifts on his feet. “Do you want to grab a cup of coffee?”

  My immediate reaction is to say no. I’ve been asked out before, but I’ve always declined, reasoning that boys were too big of a distraction while in school. With Whitney working so hard to help pay my tuition, I owed it to my sister to be one hundred percent focused. That reasoning never occurred to me while I was with Easton. I’m pretty sure that makes me a hypocrite, doesn’t it? Maybe I should say yes to this guy.

  No. I am going to say yes!

  Rebellion roars to life inside of me, crackling in my fingertips.

  I’ve just been dropped off like a sack of potatoes while the man I love moves on. Without so much as a goodbye kiss. Well I can move on, too. Perhaps there is nothing I really find attractive about my classmate, but the world isn’t going to end if we have a friendly cup of coffee. And maybe it’ll help me once again feel like I’m in control of my own destiny. My own decisions. There might be a significant part of me saying yes out of anger at Easton, but so be it. I’m heartbroken and pissed and craving a distraction from the bleakness surrounding me.

  “Sure.” I pick up my books. “Coffee sounds good.”

  Paul does a double-take. “Really?”

  Already nerves are running a hamster wheel in my stomach, but I ignore them. “Yes.”

  We walk out of the class and into the hallway, weaving through groups of students. Once again, I have the sensation of being watched, but I keep my eyes forward. Paul holds the door for me and we walk out into the quad, crossing a green field littered with more students. A bell tolls somewhere in the distance and the breeze makes me shiver, the urge to look over my shoulder strong. I focus on what Paul is saying, though. Something about our upcoming thermodynamics exam. And we eventually reach the small campus coffee shop and go inside.

  We take a table in back and Paul leaves to order coffee at the register.

  The lack of sound in the place makes me shift uncomfortably. I glance down at my arm and find every hair standing up. Casually as possible, I peruse the customers sitting at tables and over in the lounge area. Is it me or are there a lot of men here by themselves? One of them catches my eye and quickly looks away. What is going on?

  No sooner has Paul returned with our coffees is there a loud crash.

  The sound of the entrance door slamming off the wall.

  And my breath begins to race. I wonder if I’m dreaming. Because there he is. There’s Easton, striding into the coffee shop in his long overcoat with eyes on fire. They cement me in place, my nails digging into the soft booth on either side of my thighs. He looks god-awful. Has he been trying to pull his hair out by the roots? The closer he gets to the table, the more I notice his eyes are like red marble, bloodshot and…angry. Livid, actually. Violent.

  Betrayed.

  Betrayed?

  How dare he? How dare he have been so close this whole time, while I suffered? While he could have made everything better simply by appearing. How dare he leave me?

  As he weaves through the tables, students elbow each other and whisper his name in awe, recognizing my gangster on sight.

  No, he’s not my gangster anymore, is he?

  I don’t notice the lit cigar between Easton’s fingers until he drops it into Paul’s cup of coffee, putting out the flame with a hiss. Then he leans down into my classmate’s face and bares his teeth like a wolf. “Run, motherfucker.”

  “Yes, Mr. Brawn,” Paul squeaks, grabbing his backpack and sprinting for his life.

  Easton watches my classmate haul ass toward the door. “Great choice, cutie.”

  I’m a collision of emotions. Anger over Easton leaving me. Relief over seeing him again. Indignation, sadness, frustration. Hot moisture floods my eyes and he sees it. Gulps. Whispers my name shakily. But there is no way I’m letting him see me cry. He doesn’t get to have a single part of me anymore. Not unless he takes all of me.

  I snatch up my books and stomp toward the door.

  At least six men scoot their chairs back and stand up, glancing at Easton, awaiting their boss’s signal. How many freaking people have been following me?

  I don’t stop moving, even though I can feel Easton behind me.

  Sense him following.

  Is there a part of me that wants to be caught?

  Is that why my breath shudders out when a hand closes around my elbow?

  “Scout,” he says raggedly, turning me around to face him. “Don’t run from me.”

  The tears give up the fight, trickling down my cheeks. “You ran from me.”

  “And I made it less than twelve hours. I’m so fucked up, I can’t see straight.” He falls into me, his fingers raking up into my hair, tilting my face up so I’m looking up at his tortured features. My books tumble forgotten to the ground. “Please, I can’t do it. Take me back.”

  “No. You didn’t even say goodbye,” I sob.

  “I’m so sorry,” he rasps, brushing away my tears with his thumbs. “One of my rivals put a hit out on you, Scout. I was terrified. I am terrified you’ll never be safe with me.”

  A weight drops in my belly. “A…hit? On me?”

  “I took care of it, baby.” He presses our
foreheads together. “I looked right in his eyes and ended him. In your name. No one threatens my girl and lives.” His lips touch mine and we both moan, an involuntary sound that comes from being close to the person who rules your senses, your body. “I’m sorry for leaving you like that. I was so worried you’d end up like them. My brother. My best friend. And I also knew if I told you I was leaving and you cried, I’d never go through with it. But Jesus, I’m dying without you. I’m fucking sick, Scout. Come back to me.”

  Despite my frustration, I understand now. How he must have felt finding out someone wanted to kill me. This man has lost so much and carries the responsibility for that loss. Carries the guilt. Another loss—me this time—must have scared him into pushing me away. Still… “How can I come back to you? Be with you? You said it wasn’t possible.”

  “I’ll make it possible,” he says passionately. “I’ll protect you. I’ll guard you like a treasure, because that’s what you are.”

  “And if there’s another threat? You won’t disappear on me again?”

  “Never. Never. If I have to form alliances all over the city, I’ll do it. I’ll approach my enemies and help make them rich, so they have reason to protect you as well. I’ll have ears and eyes in every corner of this town. You’ll be their goddamn queen, Scout, because they will know that everything of value to them will crumble if you’re harmed.” He lifts me off the ground, so my feet are dangling, his mouth pressing kisses all over my face. “Marry me. God, marry me.”

  Happiness swims through all the pain and goes off like fireworks inside of me. Am I strong enough to be the wife of a gangster? Am I okay with being guarded like royalty for the rest of my life? Yes. And yes. What is the alternative? Knowing this man exists a matter of miles away and not being with him? I couldn’t stand it. Missing him would be a terminal ache.

  “Yes,” I whisper, crossing my wrists behind his neck. “I’ll marry you, Easton.”

  He makes a hoarse sound and bands his arms around me, crushing me to his chest. “Thank God. I’ve got you back. I love you, Scout. I love you so much.”

  “I love you, too,” I laugh, my heart swelling painfully.