“If this is what?”
“The end.” She regains her composure, the words snapped with a retreating step. “If I don’t make it home, I need to have spoken to my family first.”
She undoes me. Fucking kills me.
“You’ll speak to them again, my love. I can promise you that.”
She smiles, vindictive and cruel, yet still so fucking inviting. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Dante. However, despite your extremely comforting reassurance, I want that phone call. Now.”
My hackles rise at the name. But I understand the reason for the barb.
Amore mio, she can reluctantly stomach. My love, she can’t.
“One phone call right now.” She crosses her arms over her chest, plumping her breasts beneath the thin blouse. “You owe me that much.”
I owe her everything. I’ll give it to her, too. Just not yet.
I step toward her, my predatory side enjoying her continued retreat a little more than I care to admit as we make our way down the slim aisle, neither one of us stopping until her back bumps into the cockpit door.
She steels herself as I close in. Squares her shoulders. Clenches her teeth.
My limbs thrum with the desire to connect. To command. To fist her fucking hair and drag her forward until our lips mash and tongues tangle.
She wants it, too. I can tell by the way her gaze darts to my mouth, heated and hungry, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.
I inch closer, walking into her, my thigh parting hers.
Then, nothing.
I simply stand there, letting the chemistry between us do its thing. Allowing her to see without words or action that there’s no end to the attraction we’ve created.
We’re meant to be together. We won’t be separated.
She blinks back at me, stunned yet steadfast. Panicked and panting.
I ignore the pulse of my dick and lean closer, a bare few inches from those captivating lips. “This isn’t the time or place.”
Her eyes flare. “There will never be a time and place. Never again. Do you hear me?”
I smirk. “I was talking about the phone call.”
She thumps my chest, pushes and pummels, her cheeks turning red. “You’re a bastard. Of course I assumed wrong when you’re all over me.”
“I am a bastard.” I sober in agreement, remaining in her space as her attack dwindles. “But I’ll give you everything you need, Layla. I promise. I just can’t risk a phone call right now. Not with what I’ve learned of your brother’s reputation.”
She snarls and shoves past me to escape toward the stairs, mumbling, “Well, I can’t wait to learn the truth about yours.”
33
Matthew
“It’s only a few miles up the road.” I sit behind the wheel of a rental Lincoln Navigator, driving through the outer reaches of Denver.
I’ve come to this hellhole of a city too many times over the past ten years and not once have I returned to the home I fled as a teenager.
We pass farming houses and million-dollar estates with masses of cropped land in between. But everything is different now. The trees lining the streets tower higher. More homes scatter the countryside. The road has been widened and marked.
“De Marco is leaving it until the last minute to show,” Bishop mutters. “Where is he?”
I slow as I reach the last intersection before Emmanuel’s property, making sure there are no cars in sight when I veer onto the gravel at the side of the road. “We should see him any second now.”
I bring the vehicle to a stop, scrutinizing the nearby trees and bushes along the fence line, searching for the guys I’ve worked with on multiple sabotage tasks in the past.
“There are men running around the corner.” Layla shifts in the back seat. “I hope they’re yours.”
I check the rearview, recognizing De Marco’s bald head, Goodin’s neck tattoo, and the intimidatingly wide build of Whitby jogging toward us, all of them in long-sleeve camo shirts and pants.
“Yeah, they’re ours.” I press a button on the key fob, opening the door to the cargo area, the back row of seats already folded in preparation to stow the men inside.
Layla bristles when they climb in, their labored breathing filling the air as I press the button to close them into their cramped hiding place.
“I was beginning to think you weren’t going to show.” De Marco wipes the sweat from his brow. “How’s things, Langston?”
“They’ve been better.” I hold his gaze in the mirror. “Are you guys ready?”
“Always.” Whitby settles his back against the side of the interior. “We’re locked and loaded.”
“But this is only a conversation,” Bishop mutters.
“It is only a conversation,” I reiterate. “Do you all understand what we’re doing here?”
“You’ve sent more than enough messages to make it clear.” De Marco mimics Whitby’s seated position on the opposite side of the cargo area, Goodin doing the same at his side. “We keep our mouths shut. Back you up if necessary. And get the woman out if shit happens.”
I nod, my gaze flicking to Layla who stares at me through the mirror. “You can trust them.”
She scoffs. “Just like I can trust you?”
I’m not fighting with her again. The last thing I need is to battle my dick when her bratty attitude takes hold.
“We scoped the place while we were waiting,” Goodin adds. “Caught sight of two armed guards outside, but nothing else. There might be more in the house.”
“Doubtful.” I shake my head. “Emmanuel likes privacy.”
“Then it’s safe to assume there’s two.” Goodin shrugs. “But there could be fifty on standby at a moment’s notice just in case you’re thinking of getting cocky.”
“Nobody is getting cocky. If bullets start flying the battle won’t end until both parties are dead, and I have no intention of dying today.” I shoot a glance to Bishop. “You good now?”
“I’ll be good once it’s over.” He focuses out the windscreen, resting his arm on the window ledge. “Let’s get this done.”
I pull onto the road, increasing the pace to eat up the distance between us and imminent hostility.
“There’s to be no complications. Are we all clear?” Bishop reiterates louder than necessary. “This is a conversation. Nothing more.”
I don’t reaffirm it. He’s been given enough assurances on how this has to play out. His issue is that he knows me too well. Knows the old me and what that animal is capable of when cornered.
“This is it.” I jerk my chin toward the upcoming property with its head-high brick-wall perimeter stretching more than a quarter mile in the distance. Large decorative spikes line the top ledge, the glossy metal maybe intended as a decorative feature, but also offering intimidation and security. “You guys in the back need to get down. Stay out of sight until we’re through the gates.”
They do as instructed, slinking from view as I drive by the first security camera affixed to the boundary wall. The round black devices are positioned every ten yards leading up to the thick barred gates that never existed in my childhood.