Used by Marlee Wray
Chapter 6
Laurel
During the week I’m back in Boston, Trick texts once a day. The messages are usually funny or sarcastic observations about life and the world. They remind me of the way he was in high school. Sometimes he sends an innocuous story about himself, like how he was recruited to rescue his neighbor’s cat.
Trick: Stranded cat incident. Initially declined to go after it. Told neighbor cats are sociopaths, rescue’s contraindicated. She points out I’m the landlord, so a cat in a shaft—technically my job to deal with it. Then she got emotional. Annoying. She’s four, but that’s no excuse.
Laurel: [laughing emoji] And?
Trick: Rescued him. Bastard bit me. Can’t rule out he went in chute to lie in wait. We’ve traded hostile looks before. Cat owner’s parents own Seventh Street bakery. They gave me almond cookies to help me wash down my antibiotic pills.
Laurel: Pic or it didn’t happen.
A minute later there’s a picture of his beautiful left hand with two scabs between the knuckles of his index finger and thumb. His hand doesn’t look red or swollen, which is a relief. Cat bites can be nasty.
Laurel: So you’re a hero. There goes your reputation.
Trick: I know some ways I could salvage it. Need a lovely assistant.
My heart thumps, and I feel the clench of arousal low in my body. Letting him play his bad boy games with me would undoubtedly leave us both satisfied, but I’m pretty sure the FBI is watching; I shouldn’t be seen with him since the last place I want to end up is back in an interrogation room being grilled by a frustrated Milt.
Laurel: So you don’t like cats? Do you like any pets?
Trick: Some I like fine. If they’re well trained.
After a moment, an image appears of a beautiful girl who’s wearing lingerie, a lace eye mask, cat ears, and a cat’s tail. She’s kneeling on the floor, drinking from a saucer of milk.
I’m shocked and also not. Aroused and also annoyed with myself for being so. Narrowing my eyes at the picture, I wonder whether it’s a random download from the internet or if he took the picture himself. The quality’s high, so hopefully a download. I understand who he is, but I don’t like to dwell on thoughts of him with other women.
Laurel: Sick
Trick: [winking emoji]
* * *
Laurel
I’m in Coynston again to spend time with Monet who’s on edge and restless to go out. Because I don’t want her seeing her friends who use drugs, I’m having dinner with her at Mamma Mia’s, a local Italian eatery. We both love the thin-crust margherita pizza.
“Jeeze,” Monet says, taking a sip of her Diet Coke as she looks past me.
For some reason when I look over my shoulder, I’m expecting to see Trick. Unfortunately not. Instead, I spot a couple of dark-haired men in suits. Becoming still, I watch the older man who pours wine from a jug, then stares at us. I turn back around quickly. “Is he a Palermo?”
“Yes and no. That’s Pauly Mangia. He works for the Palermos. Kind of a high-up guy, I guess. He’s supposed to be the one Trick had a fight with before Trick left.”
Glancing back, I realize he’s still staring.
“He’s been watching us.”
“Let’s go.” I signal our waitress for the check. “You feel better now that you’ve been out, right?”
Monet nods. “I can’t stay inside Mom and Dad’s all the time! They never want me to go out alone, but they’re working during the day and some nights they want to stay in.”
“It’s okay. I don’t mind coming here on weekends. I’m sure anyone would go stir crazy if they were cooped up all the time. Want to go home and watch a movie?”
“Dad and I are watching a spy series on Amazon Prime. You can watch with us. We’re on season two, but I can fill you in.”
“No, that’s okay. One of my friends is going to Slattery’s tonight. If you have Dad to keep you company, maybe I’ll go there for a bit.”
“You know who owns Slattery’s, right?”
I nod.
Monet wrinkles her nose, her voice dropping low. “I thought you were staying away from him? There’s been a lot of trouble around them lately. Violent trouble. And he’s really kind of a jerk, you know? To me, anyway.”
“What are you talking about? When was he a jerk to you?”
“About six months ago a group of us tried to go to this big C Crue warehouse party in Boston. With a DJ from Europe. We had tickets, but they blocked me at the door. The bouncer said the boss said I wasn’t welcome. Just me. Everyone else got in, but I had to Uber back to the hotel alone. And when I asked which boss, he said Trick. Why would Trick do that to me? I’ve never spoken to him except the other day when he brought you home. I don’t know him really. I’ve never disrespected him, ever. Never said anything bad. Why would he decide he doesn’t like me?”
“I don’t know, honey. You’re sure that you didn’t have a run-in with him? Or do something to make them mad?”
“No.”
“Maybe he didn’t single you out because you’re you. Could it have been that he didn’t want a Reilly at the party? Maybe they thought you were me, and he didn’t want me there. We weren’t on speaking terms last year.”
“I don’t know. They checked my ID.”
“Maybe it was a mistake.”
“I don’t know. But I never got the money back for my ticket or anything. It’s not like I could say to one of them, hey, Trick barred me so I want my money back. You can’t, you know, confront them about something like that. So that was my hundred bucks down the drain. It wasn’t fair.”
“Hmm. Those warehouse parties are like raves, right? A lot of drugs?”
“I guess.”
“Maybe better you didn’t go then?”
“He doesn’t like me. And if it’s because I use drugs, he’s a hypocrite. Everyone knows Trick used a ton of drugs for years until the other two made him stop.”
“Made him stop?”
“Or asked him to. I don’t know what happened. No one does. He just quit one day.”
“It’d be nice to know how he did it, huh? If he hasn’t relapsed.”
“All I know is he was mean to ban me for no reason. And everyone knows he seems really nice at parties, but he’s super dangerous when someone crosses him.”
A flush warms my cheeks. I crossed him. Will he eventually take his revenge? Is that what he’s already done by screwing me half a dozen times during my abduction? If I hadn’t gone along and had sex, would he have raped me? Shivering as I sign the bill, I tell myself no. The way he is with other people isn’t the way he is with me. Also, maybe Monet did something to offend him when she was out of her head on drugs. There’s a ton she can’t remember. She’s admitted that plenty of times.
Still, I really shouldn’t go to Slattery’s after all. Best to let sleeping dogs lie.
When we leave the restaurant, a car seems to be following us. I can’t be sure but it might even be the men from the restaurant. It’s scary, and I get my phone ready to call nine-one-one.
At my parents’ house, I’m torn between going inside with Monet and wanting to lead whoever is following me away from the house. Could it be Milt? I’ve seen his car parked on the street outside my apartment a few times.
Inexplicably, I consider calling Trick or driving to his apartment. But whatever’s happening is happening because I betrayed him or got involved with him, so is talking to him about it a good idea?
When Monet’s safely inside and the door’s closed, I drive downtown. I stop in a parking lot next to the Coynston police department. The car behind me turns a corner. Frowning, I wait, but it doesn’t seem to come back.
The green neon sign for Slattery’s is halfway down the block. I decide to see whether the car comes back around once I’m away from the police station, so I drive to Slattery’s and park as close as possible to the sidewalk. No one pulls into the lot.
The sign beckons. I really want to go in because I’m pretty sure then he’ll hear I’m in town and might decide to seek me out. Though it would be better not to, I really want to see him. I could just text him to tell him I’m in Coynston, but I’m trying not to contact him directly. If I don’t initiate contact, I can say as much if someone, like the FBI, asks me later. The fact that I always respond when he texts me I can rationalize by saying it would be potentially problematic to outright ignore him.
The truth is I like getting his texts and want him to keep sending them. And bumping into him this weekend is what I’ve been hoping for since I got in my car to come. He doesn’t live near the hill now, so our seeing each other is more likely if he knows to look for me.
I get out and hurry inside the pub. While standing near the front door, I call home to check on Monet. She and Dad are settled in with popcorn and red licorice. Everything’s quiet at Mom and Dad’s.
When I end the call I look around, but I don’t see my friend Taylor or anyone I know from school. I’m not planning to drink, so it doesn’t make sense to sit at the bar alone. I’m about to leave when Trick himself steps out of a corner booth. He’s wearing jeans and a Guinness t-shirt, but not the one he loaned me at his place. Still, the shirt causes memories to surface, particularly the one of me on my knees.
The place is very full, with people standing in the aisle between the bar and the booths. He weaves through the crowd, heading right for me.
“Hey,” he says when he reaches me. “Heard you were in town.” His fingers catch my arm, and that’s familiar. The times he guided me into a bedroom or shower at his place come flooding back.
“I was supposed to meet my friend Taylor. I’ll just have a look around. She—”
“Taylor Inslay’s come and gone. Come with me.” Tugging my arm, he draws me deeper into Slattery’s.
“So I missed her.” I press my heels into the old wooden planks, trying to slow our progress. “Well then, I’ll probably head home.” I’m feeling flustered. Why hadn’t I even considered he might be in the bar? Bumping into him on the street or at a café would’ve been safer than seeing him here.
Trick steps forward and leans his head down toward mine. “What’d you say? It’s loud in here.”
Raising my voice a bit, I repeat, “I’ll go then.”
His hand comes around my back, pressing against it. I smell him, the spicy soap from his shower and smoke from the pot-bellied stove in the pub’s small dining room.
His voice in my ear is sexy. “You’re not going. You just got here. I’m having a drink. Come sit with me.”
“I only came to see her. Your friends are here, right?” I ask nervously, not wanting to come under scrutiny again from Connor McCann or Sasha Stroviak.
“My friends are everywhere,” he says with a wink, but he moves around me, so he’s able to maneuver me forward. He’s quite good at that.
People reach out for him, touching him as we pass and shouting greetings and invitations. It’s rowdy. He’s all smiles, responding with good-natured acknowledgments. Laughter and warmth all around. You would never know he’s dangerous by the way the Slattery’s crowd treats him.
Trick stops in front of his booth where there are several people wedged inside. “I’ll take those,” he says, pointing to a couple of bottles of Coca-Cola and a bottle of Jack Daniel’s.
“Who’s this?” a man with an auburn beard asks.
“A friend of mine.” Trick hands me the Cokes and takes the whiskey before leading me away.
At the back, there’s a staircase with worn steps. “Go up, Laurel. But watch your step, they’re uneven.”
I glance up and can tell it’s quieter upstairs, so I go.
On the top floor, there are only four people and they’re playing pool. Three men and a woman, dressed for a night out. They greet him with smiles and raise glasses in greeting.
“Good to see you,” Trick says. “Give me the room.”
His words take a moment to register, then expressions turn serious and they set their cue sticks against the wall and descend without a word of complaint. Trick walks over and closes and locks the door to the room.
Along with the pool table, there is a pair of couches with a wood coffee table between them. There’s also a small bar, but no bartender.
Trick makes himself a Jack and Coke over ice.
“What’ll you have, Laurel? Some juice? Or a soda?”
My eyes move to his drink on the bar. He’s not offering me alcohol because I might be pregnant. “I’m fine.”
“Nothing? Water at least,” he says, pouring spring water over ice and cutting a lime. He drops a wedge in his glass and in mine. Then he moves behind me and starts to take my jacket off. I try to hold onto it, but a tug makes it pull from my fingers.
He turns down the music and flicks off one of the overhead lights, making things feel intimate, like I’m alone with him again in his place.
“I wasn’t planning to stay.”
Trick looks me over, swigging some of his cocktail before he sets it down and moves in front of me. “It’s really good to see you.”
His right hand slides into my hair, and he kisses me with a mouth that tastes cool and sweet, the Coke lingering. My mouth opens for his tongue. Trick’s left hand presses against my back, bringing my body forward, then his hand drops lower and squeezes my ass. I jerk, my mouth coming away from his.
“Still sore?”
“No,” I say, though I am a bit. I try to extract myself from his grip, which as usual doesn’t work.
His arms move around me, securing me against him. “So then?” His left hand returns to where it was and grips me through my jeans.
I twist in his arms. The bruises have faded, but they’re not gone. “Don’t.”
“If you’re not still hurt, why are you squirming?”
Forcing myself to be still, I feel heat flushing my cheeks. “I’m not here for you. I came to meet my friend.”
He ignores my words, saying, “Let’s have a look.”
“A look at what?” My frown is serious as he takes a step back to, I guess, give me room to lower my jeans so he can have a peek at his dirty work. Not happening.
He turns me to face the back of one of the couches, then his hands are at my waist, unbuttoning my jeans and unzipping them. I suck in a breath and grab his forearms.
“Trick—no.”
His fingers splay over my belly, the tip of his pinkie pushing against the elastic of my underwear. My breath catches.
“About the word no, that’s not one to throw at me lightly.” His words are soft in my ear, his breath ruffling my hair and making it hard to concentrate. “Be a good girl, and show me what I asked to see.”
Aroused and a little terrified, I shudder. “We can’t,” I hiss.
“Can’t isn’t a great word either.” He turns me to face him and unbuckles his belt.
My hands fly to his. “No, please.”
“Not for that. Calm down.” He slides the black leather belt from the loops.
“Yesterday was the first day I could sit down. I can’t go through that again right now!”
“Hey,” he whispers.
Our eyes lock, and my heart hammers in my chest. He’s standing too close.
“What?”
“I’m not going to whip you. I’m taking control, so you don’t need to worry. I’m responsible for anything that happens up here.”
Blinking, I glance around helplessly. What is happening right now?
“It’s my bar. No one’s coming up, and if they tried they’d find the door locked. It’s just us.”
“I don’t understand. It’s still a public place.”
His small huff of breath is amused. “I could make this public,” he whispers. His lips brush across mine. “Could unlock the door. And push you to make enough noise so people come up to watch me fuck you and make you mine.”
I’m breathless and dizzy. He’s reckless and wild and maybe even serious. Is he drunk?
“Not even you would do that.”
His gaze cuts to the door and then back to my face, and I wonder. He turns me to face the couch again, then uses his belt to secure my upper arms behind me.
Sucking in a breath, I take a step forward but my legs bump against the couch. Then his hands slide my jeans and panties down to my knees.
“Oh, my God.”
His strong hand pushes against my upper back and sends my body jack-knifing over the back of couch, my hair spilling onto the seat cushions, my face pressed into the pillows along the back. His palms rest on my upturned ass, with its fading bruises, the ones he marked me with. He separates the globes and I can’t breathe. He’s looking between my legs where cool air warns that everything’s exposed.
“You can’t do this,” I murmur.
“Who’s gonna stop me?” he says, his thumb stroking my slick cleft.
Arching my back, I manage to raise my head and shoulders a few inches away from the couch, but that pushes my ass and pussy back, right against his hands and his groin. He lets me struggle, and I hear the sound of his zipper being lowered.
“Put your head down.” A condom wrapper sails over the couch and lands on the floor between the couch and the coffee table.
The muscles of my low back burn. I can’t continue to try to rise up or I’ll strain my back. Dropping my torso against the couch, I turn my head, desperately helpless.
My voice is just jagged whispers. “Trick, come on—”
His fingers find my clit and rub. Shuddering, I try to bring my thighs together, but my legs run into his. He’s standing with his feet between mine. And he widens his stance, separating my thighs, keeping me open for himself.
“Is my little girl in the mood to fight? Cause you’re pretty wet for me. I think what you want is my cock inside you.”
I can’t find my voice at first. The truth is I do want him, but I’m also horrified by the way this is playing out. My bucking knees bang the couch, pushing it forward an inch or two, which changes nothing.
His hand swats my ass. “Be still.”
My nipples pinch into hard beads, and my pussy clenches. What is wrong with me? Why does the threat sound so erotic from his wicked mouth? Not that it matters how things are hitting me. His grip on me is absolute. Unless I plan to scream and have a bar full of people discover me draped over the couch with my panties around my knees, I’m stuck.
Trick teases my clit until I’m desperate, my hips restless and pushing back against him, my legs shaking. I’m close to coming on his clever fingers, which has happened so many times before that I recognize the arousal coiling tighter and tighter.
“Do you want me?”
When I’m silent, he slaps my ass.
“Answer me. And be sweet.”
I know what sweet is code for. Do I give him everything he wants?
“Yes, I want you.”
He waits, but I don’t call him Sir. When his cock pushes inside me, my womb and my muscles clench. It feels good, and I push back against him, raising my ass in some primal, slutty invitation. Gripping my hips, he thrusts into me. I groan and come almost instantly, my whole body spasming and shuddering. His possessive grip tightens on my hips as he pumps harder and harder, drawing my orgasm out and leaving me dizzy and breathless as my head hangs upside down. Helpless, a second wave of pleasure grips me and my pussy clutches his cock.
“Mmm.” The satisfied sound comes from deep in his chest, and inside me he’s hard as steel.
He fucks me for an age, and my traitorous body enjoys every second.
Trapped between his body and the couch, I dangle over an abyss. My temperature rises, leaving me flushed and flustered. Trick grinds against the vulnerable cushion of my ass, penetrating me slowly and deeply, pumping against my womb until my belly clenches and aches. My head buzzes from the blood rushing to it, and above me, he thrusts into the spot where I’m soft and wet and willing. Over and over, Trick claims me with a devastating, leisurely thoroughness, until my muscles quiver from straining, until my body shakes like it’s being punished.
Except for ragged breathing, he’s silent as he comes. He releases his firm grip on my hips, and I lower myself from my toes and collapse against the couch. A warm palm squeezes my ass, his thumb stroking my flesh possessively.
When he pulls out, he walks away, leaving me positioned just as I’ve been, my arms still tied behind me so I can’t get up easily. I feel like his property, like the couch I’m lying over, which can’t move unless he moves it.
It’s a few moments before he comes back and lifts me so I’m standing. He releases my arms from his belt and when I look back, his jeans are zipped. He puts his belt on as I pull up my underwear and jeans, moisture coating my lower lips and soaking my panties. I don’t look at him, knowing I’m blushing furiously.
I start to move around him. He turns and I feel his eyes on me, maybe making sure I don’t bolt to the door and run downstairs. A part of me wants to do just that. Instead I go into the bathroom. The used condom’s in the trash, resting atop some discarded paper towels.
Shaky and disheveled, I wash my hands and then put them against my red face, drawing slow breaths. What am I doing here?
Balling up some paper towels, I drop them over the condom to hide it, then emerge from the bathroom. He’s looking casually at his phone, and there’s not a hair out of place. A fresh drink sits on the coffee table behind him as he leans against the couch where I was just draped for fucking.
Unbelievable.
He slides his phone in his pocket and looks me over. “I’ll take a kiss.”
“Apparently, you’ll take a lot of things.”
He flashes an unrepentant smile. “You all right?”
“I’m not sure.” Dragging a hand through my wild hair, I look around. “There aren’t any security cameras up here, are there?”
“No.”
Walking in a wide arc so I’m out of reach, I go to the glass of water he poured me earlier and drink half of it. “Who’s Pauly Mangia?”
His brows rise. “Why?”
“I had dinner with my sister at Mamma Mia’s. We saw him. She said you and he aren’t friends.”
“She’s right. Did he try to talk to you?”
“No.”
His gaze isn’t casual or sexy and flirtatious now. It’s intent. “Did anything happen that worried you, Laurel?”
My eyes dart to his. It’s like he can read my mind. “I thought maybe someone was following me after I left the restaurant. I don’t know that it was him. I think he was still at his table when we left, but in the restaurant he seemed to be watching us.”
“Is that why you came to Slattery’s? So you’d be safe? And where’s Monet now?”
“She’s fine. She’s at home. And no. I actually went to the police station. That’s when I think the car left.”
“What did the police say?”
“Nothing. I didn’t go in. I just went to the parking lot. I’m probably just being paranoid.”
He’s silent.
“Right?”
“I’m not gonna speculate. If you think someone’s following you, call me right then so I can sort it out. Are you staying the weekend in Coynston?”
I had been planning to, but I shake my head. At the moment, Coynston doesn’t feel safe for a bunch of reasons, not the least of which is that I can’t trust myself to stay away from him or him to behave when we’re together.
“But you’re staying the night?”
“Yes, at my parents’ house.”
“You should stay with me instead. Call them and let them know.”
“It’s not a good idea.”
“Why’s that?” His deep blue gaze is fixed on my face.
Running a hand through my hair again, I look away. “A lot of things are complicated right now.”
He picks up his drink and dumps it in the sink. “Things will be simple if you stay the night with me.”
I smile down at my sling-backs. “Simple for you maybe.”
Trick walks over and takes my chin in his hand, tipping my head up so our eyes meet. “If you’re scared of other people, stay with me so I can protect you. If you’re scared of me, we can lay some ground rules for the night.”
“Just for the night, huh?”
The flash of a smile is there and then gone. “I’m still waiting for a kiss.”
“You kissed me several times.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t kiss me.”
Exhaling a sigh, I shrug. “I kissed you back.”
“I know.”
“And didn’t you get something better than a kiss from me?” My gaze goes to the couch and then back to his face.
He catches my hands in his and puts them against his chest. “Sex with you is never anything but fantastic. I’d trade a lot of things, most things in fact, for that. But it’s not a replacement for being kissed by you.”
A lump wedges itself in my throat, and my fingernail scratches his t-shirt where it lies over his heart. “Is there a little piece of the boy I knew left inside you?”
“Must be,” he whispers.
“Then this kiss is for him.” Slanting my mouth against Trick’s, my tongue slides in and caresses his.
His hands tighten their grip on mine, but otherwise he doesn’t move.
I lean in, making the kiss last, and I feel it in my chest, where my heart beats and where the best memories are buried.
When his phone rings, he ignores it. It’s not until I finally break the kiss that he opens his eyes. Exhaling against his lips, I whisper, “Of anyone, you’re my favorite person to kiss.”
“Likewise.”
His phone begins ringing again, vibrating in his pocket.
“I guess you should answer.” Stepping back, I look around, wondering whether I should give him some privacy.
He swipes the screen and raises it to his ear. “Yeah?” Listening a moment, his expression hardens. “Have him sit in my booth. I’ll be down in a minute.” Lowering the phone, Trick’s thumb taps the screen to end the call.
“Problem?”
“Nah. Have a seat. I’ll be right back.”
I go to the couch and sit, but I’m not planning to wait long. Things with him are pretty much careening out of control. My resolve where Trick’s concerned is shaky, and he always seems to exploit that, steamrolling my objections whenever it suits him. I wasn’t supposed to be coming to Coynston to spend the weekend with him. Monet’s fragile and needs support. The best thing for me and my family will be if I spend the night at my parents’ house.
Trick’s disappeared down the stairs, and I let a few moments pass before I follow him. Rounding the corner and entering the main part of the bar, I glance in his booth and see Trick talking to Jack Murphy from the poker game. There are a couple of other men, handsome and closer to Trick’s age, in the booth with them.
Trick’s talking, but he stops when I pass. Before I reach the front door, an arm comes around me, corralling me back against a muscular body.
“What do you think you’re doing?” His voice has that hard-edged dominance from earlier.
Looking over my shoulder, I give him a small smile. “I’m needed at home, so it’s time for me to go.”
He frowns. “All right. Let’s get you home.” Lacing his fingers through mine, he takes the lead.
When we reach the front door, he opens it and looks around outside. Then he draws me out with him.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“I’ll ride with you to your parents’ place, and one of my guys will pick me up from there. Once you’re in the house you’ll stay there ‘til morning, Laurelyn. We’re clear on that, right?”
“Yes. I don’t plan to go back out tonight. But what about your meeting with Jack Murphy and those other men?”
“If Murphy wants to talk to me, he’ll wait ‘til I get back. Otherwise he can fuck off back to Boston.”
“Are you sure though that you want to drive all the way to the hill? You can just walk me to my car and once I’m locked inside—”
“No, I’m going.” His eyes aren’t on me when he says this; they’re scanning the parking lot and the surrounding streets.
When we reach the car, he puts me in the driver’s seat and then walks around to the other side. He drops down so I don’t see him for a few moments. I have no idea what he’s doing. Looking underneath for someone? Tension grips me.
Then he reappears next to the passenger door, which he opens. There’s a gun in his right hand when he gets in.
“Trick—?”
“No, just habit. Everything’s fine.”
We don’t speak much on the drive, and at the house, he walks me all the way to the door.
Having him come inside would likely be awkward if Monet and my dad come to the kitchen, but I can’t leave him standing on the step, especially not after what happened in Slattery’s.
“Do you want to come in? While you’re waiting for your ride?”
“No, I’m good.”
I’m both relieved and disappointed. Unlocking the door, I push it open. “So I guess, good night then?”
He nods. “Good night, Laurelyn.”