I make my way around the bed and take a seat on the edge. Reaching out, I gather her blonde hair and push it away from her face. I could get used to her being the first thing I see when I open my eyes.
The back of my hand gently traces down the side of her cheek and I watch as she stirs slightly. Her eyes flutter open and my chest tightens.
Yeah, I can get used to that too.
“Good morning,” she murmurs, covering my hand with hers.
“Morning,” I say softly, bending my head to press my lips to hers. She drops her hand from mine and winds her arms around my neck, deepening the kiss. Her tongue slides over mine, enticing a groan from the back of my throat. If Anthony Bianci wasn’t due to arrive any minute, I’d give her the best fucking morning of her life. Instead, I regretfully tear my mouth from hers.
“I hate to leave, but I’ve got business to do.”
“You’ve got business here too,” she teases, lifting her head off the pillow to meet my lips again. I kiss her more thoroughly than I did before, sucking and nibbling on her plump lips.
This time when I pull away, I run my thumb over her lip.
“I much rather stay here with you,” I assure her.
“Then do it,” she dares. “Stay here with me and we’ll never leave this bed.”
Now, that sounds like a fucking plan, but before I lose my head, I try a different tactic.
“Don’t you have to get to the Academy?” I ask. A frown ticks the corners of her lips and she drops her arms from my neck.
“Shit,” she mutters, and I chuckle softly.
“You had a bag when I picked you up. Do you have a change of clothes in there? If not, Bruno will take you home before he drives you to the Academy.”
“Bruno is going to drive me to school?”
“You gonna fly there?”
“I can take the train,” she argues.
“Baby, there is no train that takes you from Staten Island to Manhattan.”
“The ferry then.”
Sexy as fuck and stubborn as hell—that’s Violet.
Sighing, I tear myself away from her and stand. I narrow my eyes at her.
“Bruno will drive you, just let him know if he has to make a stop beforehand.”
“Fine,” she huffs, sitting up. She leans her back against the headboard and crosses her arms over her chest. Her eyes meet mine and the annoyance fades from her irises. She worries her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment before asking, “When will I see you again?”
I don’t give my response a moment’s thought.
“Tonight.”
Her eyes light up and I wink at her.
“You’re not going to disappear on me again?”
Not this time.
It’s my world. My fucking rules.
I wasn’t a fan of my cousin Adrianna’s boyfriend when we were teenagers and I’m still not. If you look up the word impersonable, I bet you anything you’ll see Anthony Bianci’s mug right there. The motherfucker knows three phrases—'No’, ‘Fuck no’, and my personal favorite, ‘Get the fuck in the car and shut up’.
He’s not president of my fan club either, so you can imagine how fun the car ride from my house to the Satan’s Knight’s clubhouse has been. I don’t understand why the fuck he’s even the one introducing me to this Parrish guy in the first place. I mean what happened to keeping Bianci out of things? Now he’s the middle-man between me and the bikers.
What a mindfuck.
Who knew Uncle Vic got down with the boys in leather? Not me that’s for damn sure. And this chump sitting next to me doesn’t look like he’s the type to break bread with a bunch of bikers either. Rough their bikes up—sure, yeah, I can see it. But knock back a couple of beers with them? Get the fuck out of here.
However, according to both Bianci and Uncle Vic, this Parrish guy is gold and an ally I can’t afford to lose. With that thought at the forefront of my mind, I divert my attention out the passenger window and spot the infamous bakery, Court Pastry Shop.
“Stop the car,” I demand.
Bianci raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say a word. He also doesn’t make an attempt to veer to the curb.
“I said stop the fucking car.”
His knuckles whiten around the steering wheel and he drops the Escalade into park—right in the middle of fucking Court Street. A horn blares behind us, but he ignores that too. Turning his steel blue eyes on me, he clenches his jaw.
“You walking?”
“No, you imbecile, I’m not fucking walking. Pull the car over to the curb,” I say, matching his glare. I know he’s not intimidated by me, not in the least, but curiosity gets the better of him and he pulls in front of the bakery. I reach for the door handle and pause before climbing out of the car.
“How many bikers are there?”
“What?”
I stand corrected, he’s not an imbecile, he’s a fucking moron.
“How. Many. Bikers. Are. There?” I repeat, slowly annunciating each word. “You can use your fingers to count if it helps.”
“How the fuck should I know?”
“You’re useless,” I mutter and step out of the car. Pulling out a pair of sunglasses from my suit jacket, I fix them to my face and enter the bakery. I order two dozen cannoli and three pounds of rainbow cookies for Parrish and the bikers. Where I come from you don’t go anywhere empty-handed. I hope they have an espresso machine at this clubhouse or these cannoli will go to waste.
With the two boxes in hand, I make my way back to the Bianci’s truck. As soon as I open the door his gaze darts to the boxes.
“What you got there?”
“I went with the basics—cannoli and cookies.”
“Wait a minute,” he says, twisting to face me. “Where you going with those?”
I stare at him for a moment unsure what to say. He can’t be this stupid—there’s no way.
“Did you just make me stop at the bakery so you can bring Jack Parrish cannolis?” His lips quirk and my eyes nearly fall out of their sockets. I didn’t know he knew how to smile. Go figure. “Oh, this is too good,” he continues, barking out a laugh as he throws the truck into drive.
He continues to chuckle as we pull away from the curb. In fact, he doesn’t stop until we enter the gated compound belonging to the Satan’s Knights. I ignore him and take in my surroundings. There are tires and recycled scraps of metal thrown all around the lot. Two luxury buses are parked among the sea of chrome motorcycles and they sit in front of what appears to be an abandoned warehouse. There are picnic tables and a smoker that has seen better days too. All in all, this place is the fucking pits.
Bianci parks the Escalade haphazardly next to the bikes and kills the engine.
“C’mon fancy pants, grab your cookies and let’s get this shit over with.”
He slides out from behind the wheel and slams the door shut behind him. I glance down at the bakery boxes sitting on my lap and start to rethink my peace offering. Maybe cannoli wasn’t the way to go here. Judging by that smoker, I would probably have more success at winning over Parrish and his posse if I stopped at the butcher and offered them a fucking cow.
I set the boxes on top of the console and make my way out of the car. Bianci doesn’t wait for me and I find myself jogging across the parking lot to catch up. He pulls open the front door of the clubhouse and I follow him inside. I’m immediately engulfed by the scent of stale cigarette smoke and as we cross the bar area, the soles of my designer shoes stick to the floor.