Used by Marlee Wray

Chapter 8

Laurel

The bed-shaking sex is raw and intense, and so are my orgasms. The things he whispers in my ear are filthy and possessive, and they make me come again and harder, this time with him thrusting inside me, against my cervix. He comes inside me with a tight grip on my hair and my breast.

Afterward, as I lie boneless against the sheets, he’s asleep within moments.

In the distance I hear my phone ring. It’s been ringing on and off for an hour. As I remove his arm from around my waist, he stirs.

“My phone,” I whisper. “I’ll be right back.”

His eyes don’t open, and he settles. When I’m safely out of the bed, I glance back at him. Lying on his back naked, he’s disgustingly beautiful. I feel shallow admitting it, but it’s part of why he’s so hard to resist.

The calls and voicemails are from my mom. Monet went out for cigarettes and didn’t come back. She’d been getting calls that Mom thinks are about a party at her friend Dini’s. Monet’s not supposed to see Dini since they used together, and Monet’s definitely not solid enough in her recovery to go to a party.

Rubbing my forehead, I want to scream. Trying to take care of Monet and saving her from herself is exhausting. My phone lands on the counter with a slap. A hot shower and sleep are what I need, but I settle for the hot shower.

In the bedroom, I dress as quietly as possible because he’s still asleep.

A floorboard squeaks when I go to find socks. Trick stirs and opens his eyes.

“Why are you dressed?”

“I have to go out.”

Drawing in a breath, he looks at his watch before letting his arm drop again. “Where?”

“You can go back to sleep.”

His chuckle is made mostly of breath. He remains on his back for a few moments, his lids drifting back down and his voice thick with sleep. “Let it wait till morning.”

“No.”

His eyes open, staring upward. Glancing up at the spider web of stress cracks on the ceiling, I frown. He hasn’t said so, but I know he doesn’t approve of the house I’m renting. I actually kind of want to buy and restore it. Will he disagree? Or even try to stop me from doing it? He likes to control things. If I’m with him, what about all my plans for the future?

Rising, he grabs his pants and pulls them on. As I move to the door, he blocks it.

“Sit down and wait while I dress.”

Exasperated and still frustrated from my mom’s call, I snap, “Go back to bed. You’re not coming with me.”

He moves instantly. Taking my upper arms in his hands, he forces me over the end of my bed. Then he smacks my ass several times in quick succession. The jeans and underwear protect me some, but he’s strong and I still feel the swats. When I try to get away, he pins my arm against my back, so I can’t. It’s not the pain of being spanked that upsets me, but the humiliation of being spanked over the end of my own bed. He’s proving how weak I am compared to him and that he can take control away from me any time he wants.

Finally, he pulls me up and drags me onto the bed with him. Struggling to escape is a losing battle, and I find myself once again pinned down by his hands and his body. Tangling his fingers in my hair to hold my head still, he puts his mouth next to my ear.

“I don’t want punishing you to become a regular thing, unless that’s what you’re looking for. But from now on, if I have to spank you, you’ll be naked for it.”

My breath catches, and my body stills. That threat is both terrifying and inherently sexual, which opens up a range of conflicting emotions inside me.

“Do you think you’re tougher than my crue?”

“No,” I whisper, confused.

“When I tell them I’m riding along somewhere, they wait for me to get dressed so I can come. And they’re a lot more polite about it than you are.”

“I—”

“Don’t talk. Listen.”

Falling silent, I stare at the ceiling, my uneasiness from the night of the poker game returning full force. I knew Scott Patrick in high school, but I don’t know the man he’s become. The one who expects his word to be law.

Raising his head, he looks down into my eyes. “You promised you’d take a pregnancy test and tell me the results. You didn’t. I let that slide tonight because I know you’re scared and overwhelmed. That still doesn’t make it right though. So don’t expect me to let the next time you lie or break a promise to go unpunished. And don’t speak to me again the way you just did. Who the hell do you think you’re talking to?”

My heart thumps uncomfortably in my chest, and I look away. “I wasn’t trying to disrespect you. There’s a family thing going on and I’m frustrated. I don’t want you involved. Besides, you’re tired. You should go to sleep.”

“I’m not your little boy. When the baby’s born, you can put it to bed any time you want. But don’t try to manage me like you’re in charge. You’re not. We clear?”

I nod, the ring suddenly heavier on my finger than it was when I first slipped it on. I can’t be with him. What was I thinking?

Getting up, he shrugs on his dress shirt and buttons all but the top button. Picking up his keys, he asks, “Where are we going?”

“Scott—”

“Scott, huh? I brought you food and flowers and a ring, and you didn’t call me Scott once. Now I’m all Trick, and you go back to the name you whispered in my ear when I was eighteen? You can’t play me, Laurel. Don’t try.”

I don’t understand why he suspects me of playing games. I never have. And I honestly didn’t realize what I was doing until he pointed it out. Calling him Scott when he’s intimidating is clearly a subconscious reaction. Biting the inside of my cheek and telling myself to stay quiet, I put on my shoes. He grabs one of my jackets from the closet and waits. When I reach the door, he opens the coat and helps me into it.

“I can put on my own coat, but you don’t see me accusing you of trying to manage me.”

He whistles a death march, and I can’t help but smile a little. Reaching out, I take his hand in both of mine and squeeze it.

“I don’t know how to be the kind of woman you’re used to.”

“True statement.” His tone is neutral, but his response still cuts me.

What is it about him that gets inside my heart and won’t let go? It makes this kind of fight with him excruciating. My eyes sting, and I blink them several times trying to keep tears from forming.

Pressing my lips together, I start to take the ring off. He closes his fist over my left hand, stopping me. He shakes his head and exhales audibly.

“Laurel,” he says, his voice softer. “When my dad came home from being away, my ma made a potato hash with poached eggs because it was his favorite. She wasn’t born knowing how he liked his hash. We’ll figure things out.”

Releasing my hand, he straps his gun and holster in place and covers it with his suit coat.

Then he hugs me, and I have to inhale the delicious way he smells.

“I wasn’t calling you Scott on purpose. I swear.”

“Calling me Scott is not the problem. Three women who love me call me by my first name. You can too, whenever the hell you want. The thing you need to work on is your tone, especially if you’re gonna push back on something.”

Inside I bristle and have to purse my lips to avoid a biting reply… which gives me pause. I have been under a ton of stress both at work and at home. Once I even rolled my eyes in a meeting and cut off a colleague who was taking forever to make a point. My boss didn’t say anything at the time, but later he told me to take a couple of personal days to deal with whatever was bothering me. I’ve been good at work for months. Home’s the only place I don’t have to watch every little thing I say and do. Am I now supposed to pretend life’s perfect all the time for Trick? How could I?

“I understand you’re used to a lot of deference. But I’m not used to being overly deferential and if I’m stressed, I can’t always keep it bottled up.” I look away, my eyes stinging again. “I’m pretty sure we’re never going to be a good fit.”

He releases me, but stops to look in my eyes. “Last time, you quit on me without even trying. Afterward, I think you regretted it. This time the stakes are higher, Laurelyn. Think about that before you give up on us.”

* * *

Trick

The gears in my mind are spinning so fast, my brain’s overheating. I need sleep. Instead, I drive from Boston to Coins with the headlights of oncoming cars making my eyes ache.

Having to watch everything I said and did during my bullshit Grand Jury appearance sucked a lot of energy. The prosecutor knew he was wasting everyone’s time by calling me in to say I couldn’t remember seeing a Murphy cousin in an Irish bar a year and a half ago. He dragged me in to slip in other questions about a C Crue warehouse in Boston where we sometimes house crates of guns. It’s held by a shell company, but now that the feds have found it, we’ll sell it and find new holding spots for illegal shipments.

In hindsight, I should’ve known going to Laurel’s after two sixteen-hour days and a game of cat-and-mouse with a federal prosecutor wasn’t the best timing. I was just too sick of waiting to hear from her about the test. And, since I can’t get Laurelyn out of my head, I wanted to see her and fuck her and sleep next to her.

Laurel’s quiet on the drive to Coins, but I get the breakdown on the little sister’s disappearance. I’m aware of the party she’s talking about. Claudine ‘Dini’ Ford’s a party girl, so we’ve crossed paths a lot of times. She had a thing for me for a while, so there were some blowjobs. I can’t remember the last time. A year maybe? I do not want Laurelyn hearing about it, so I will keep them apart.

Dini was on the dance team with Zoe in high school, so chances are good C will be there. He’s my first stop. C knew I was headed to Boston for the night, but assumed it was for some dungeon play time, and I didn’t set the record straight. The last thing I want is for word to spread around the party that I got engaged before I tell my own crue. And that’s not just because C and I are friends. C will have concerns about Laurelyn Reilly living with me after the feds used her to try to get to us.

After parking the Rover, I scan the area and come around to the passenger side. When I get there I find Laurel’s already stepping down from the running board.

“Let me get your door from now on.”

“I forgot that you do that.” A small smile plays on her lips. Her voice is soft and a little sheepish. “Honestly, I always loved it.”

Telling her that now it’s just as much a safety thing as a chivalry thing won’t score me any points, and since I’m down on points I’ll save that discussion for another day. She’s got knit finger gloves on, which works in my favor in terms of having time to find my guys and break the news myself before there’s gossip about the ring.

“When we get inside, I need to do a lap. Stay by my side. If we come across Monet right away, we’ll bring her along with us.”

“What’s going on?”

“C and his girlfriend Zoe Arantes may be here. I want to say hello to them.”

“So go and say hello, and I’ll—”

My frown stops her words, and she tries again.

“Do you mind if while you’re looking for them, I look for my sister?” Her shift in tone is appreciated.

I kiss her and wish we had time to make a meal of it. “Let’s stay together until I see how things look.”

“What do you mean?”

She’s so unschooled in what parties in Coins can be these days. I want her to stay that way, so I’m not interested in explaining Dini’s dealer, a Palermo guy, went to Coynston High and will probably be here. Plus the Palermos have some new young guys working for them who might have gotten an invite. Since Frank died, the all-out war has died down, but there’s always danger in having C Crue and Palermo syndicate members in the same place.

To Laurel, I only say, “People get shady when they’re wired on drugs.”

Music pounds out of the house and backyard, so we hear it from the sidewalk. Catching her hand, I hold it.

“Are we doing that now?”

She’s right that holding hands makes a statement. But then my walking in with any woman would raise just as many eyebrows. I don’t date much and when I do, I don’t take them to random house parties, which means in Coins, I show up to parties with my crue or alone.

Squeezing her hand is my answer. She puts her left hand out for the gate handle, but mine gets there first and pushes hers away.

“That’s me, remember?”

Her throaty self-deprecating laugh makes me smile.

“Sorry. I’m worried, so I’m rushing.”

Yeah, there’s a lot of training to be done. Am I the last guy who opened doors for her? I open the gate and let her step in first, but then I move in front of her. The music and the buzz of the place hit me, pouring energy in. At parties or clubs, I’m in my element.

The path along the side of the house is empty, then we round a corner and we’re in the yard. There’s a heated in-ground pool that’s been uncovered and there are fifteen to twenty people in it. The deck and lawn are full, and the house’s downstairs is packed as well.

Looking up, I spot my crue holding court on a balcony. High ground’s the best position, so I’m not surprised Anvil chose it. The fact that he’s here tells me plenty. ‘Vil has zero interest in parties or any social situation that doesn’t involve his wife Rachel, and I don’t see her next to him, so he’s here to cover C.

Scanning the area, I find the men I don’t recognize and size them up. I make three that are probably Palermo recruits. Inside, there’s another and he’s older with dark, dead eyes. His gaze settles on me, and the recognition is clear.

“I see Dini,” Laurel says over the music, but I hold fast to her hand and pull her with me to the stairs. “Let me ask her whether Monet’s been here.”

She tries to slow, but I only let go of her hand to put my left arm around her, keeping our momentum forward. She tugs my arm, thinking she needs to do it to get my attention. What she needs to do to get my attention is exist in my orbit, so she already has it, as per usual.

I look at her, then shake my head and point to the stairs. “Just a couple of minutes.”

She nods. Good girl.

Resting my gun hand against my ribs right beneath my holster, I keep an eye on the top of the stairs with a look now and then to my six. The guy with the dead eyes has moved so he can watch me ascend the stairs. I move Laurel in front of me, so my body’s between hers and him.

The minute we hit the top landing, I get her clear of his sight line. Turning, I look down and watch him walk away. When we step into the media room with the balcony, C and Anvil spot me first, but don’t react when I’m across the room.

I’m in front of them when Zoe catches sight of me, and her drink sloshes over the sides of her glass as she cheerfully erupts, greeting me with a hug and kiss and some story about the night she’s having.

“That suit looks so good on you, but you’re wrinkled,” she says, smoothing the front and pulling me toward C. “Now we’re all together—almost. I knew Rachel should’ve come. That babysitter she likes would be okay! There are two C Crue guys on the house. Baby Irina would be totally safe.”

“Look who it is,” C says mildly, but his smile’s genuine. He shakes my hand and offers me his flask.

‘Vil only nods, then his eyes are on the room behind me and the scene below the balcony.

I take two long pulls of the Jack Daniel’s before handing the flask back. Drawing Laurelyn over, I introduce her to Zoe.

Zoe, when lit, has never met a stranger who’s not best friend material, so she hugs Laurel. My girl smiles at the effusiveness, but doesn’t completely lean in. Instead, her gaze moves to C, who of course has been watching her since she stepped into the room.

“So you’re Trick’s new friend?” Zoe asks.

“I’m an old friend actually.”

“Even better! Wait—oh.” Zoe’s expression sobers momentarily. “The one from high school?”

“Yes, and Catholic grammar school.”

Zoe’s brows bob. “Oh, wow.” Zoe’s laughter bubbles out of her until she nearly falls over. C and I each grab an arm to steady her. “Catholic school, Trick?”

“All the fallen angels start somewhere,” I murmur.

Zoe laughs again, clutching my face with a hand. “You know what? You belong—”

“That’s enough, Z,” C says, pulling her back against him, his solid forearm just under her breasts.

Zoe melts against him and turns her head to kiss the side of his face. “I love you, meu amor.”

It’s sweet. I could do with a little of that myself tonight.

C nods at Zoe.

Laurel tugs her hand free of mine. “Excuse me. I need to find the ladies’ room.”

“Right that way. Second door on the right.” Zoe points. “Where the line is.”

Laurel weaves through people to reach the three people in line for the bathroom. She leans against the wall, checking her phone.

Zoe taps her foot and shuffles her shoulders to the music, sending wild dark curls into a frenzy. “I love this song. People are dancing downstairs. Let’s all go.” She looks over her shoulder.

C’s expression is stern as he shakes his head.

“Trick is here. He can take me.”

C’s eyes are on me. “I think Trick is busy.”

Her brows crinkle. “Are you busy, Trick?” She looks down the hall to where Laurel’s moved up a spot in the queue. “She’s very pretty. My God, those eyes! But she’s not your type.”

“What’s my type?”

“Skinny little blondes with mosquito bites for boobs and no butts to speak of. Laurelyn’s not packing so much junk in her trunk, but if those boobs are real, she won the jackpot.”

I smile at Zoe, then my gaze cuts back to C. “There’s been a development.”

“Enlighten me.” C’s derisive tone isn’t unexpected, but I’m not in the mood.

“Maybe it’s not the time,” I say.

C opens his mouth, but doesn’t speak because ‘Vil speaks first, saying two words that get the entire Crue’s attention. “Enzo Palermo.”

Moving to the balcony, my gaze shifts over the grid until I have him. He’s standing by the fence, flanked by two beefy, black-haired guys in suits that could be better. Dini, who’s now wearing a bikini, hurries over to greet him. Her dealer works for the Palermos, so maybe she’s thanking him for party supplies.

A commotion at the French doors leading to the deck draws my attention, but at first an awning’s blocking my view. Then I do see, and my heart fucking stops. A recruit has Laurel, and he’s half-carrying, half-dragging her from the house.

“What the fuck?” My gun’s in my hand instantly, and I line up my shot, tracking his movement, adjusting. Her head’s clear. My finger’s on the trigger.

“Trick,” ‘Vil snaps, reaching.

C’s the one who gets a hand on my arm.

I check my squeeze in time, so the weapon doesn’t discharge. With my left hand, I push C back, jerking my right arm free. I get the barrel lined up, but then drop it when I see what the guy’s doing. An instant later, which would’ve been too late, C and Anvil knock me out of position.

The side of my leg bangs against the rail, and the impact is hard enough that I’m tilted and almost go over until ‘Vil’s giant paws drag me back to upright.

The pool’s packed with people, so when the recruit lifts Laurel and throws her in, I see the side of her head smack a guy’s shoulder and jerk from the impact as she crashes into the water.

I shove my gun away, grab the rail, and hop over it. I barely miss the people sitting in chairs below the balcony when I land. Launching myself forward, I dive into the pool. The water’s churning from thrashing limbs. I can’t see her. I surface, looking around frantically. Finally, I spot her shoe right below the surface. Shoving people out of my way, I swim to her and grab her, pulling hand-over-hand along her body, hips, waist, ribs. And then I get my arms around her so I can drag her torso up until her head’s above the water. There’s blood on her face and her eyes are closed. I can’t tell. I can’t fucking tell if she’s breathing.

A giant splash sends a tidal wave over our heads for a second, but then ‘Vil’s there with both hands on my shoulders. He hauls us both to the shallow end. By then Laurel’s eyes are open and wide, and she’s coughing and spitting out water.

“You all right?” I demand, carrying her up the pool steps and setting her down on the grass next to the pool’s concrete lip. “Laurelyn?”

“I’m okay.” Her voice is raspy, but strong.

Moving her hair, I find the cut in her left eyebrow. It’s a couple of millimeters at most. Little cuts to the scalp and face are notorious for bleeding more than their share.

“Small,” Anvil mumbles reassuringly, putting his thumb over the wound and pressing it.

She winces.

“Just to stop the bleeding. You’re okay,” he tells her.

“Here, Trick.” Zoe shoves a blanket she’s stolen from some bed at me.

“Cover her for me,” I say, shooting to my feet, my eyes scanning.

C’s got the guy by the throat near the path.

When I reach them, I hit the guy in the face so hard he doesn’t have time to drop before I hit him again. When he’s on the ground, two more blows land before I hear him trying to speak. I stop to listen.

“Enzo—a joke—”

I hit him one more time for good measure, busting his nose before I get up. I tear my soaked suit coat off for better mobility and turn. I don’t have to search for Enzo. He and two of his bodyguards approach fast. One of his guys reaches the guy on the ground and drags him to his feet, then hands him my discarded suit coat for his bleeding face.

Enzo smiles at us. That’s the wrong thing to do.

He tries to back up in time, but doesn’t. My fist slams into the left side of his face. He falls backward and lands on the ground. Guns are drawn, but no one’s fast enough to keep me from getting my barrel against Enzo’s forehead.

Enzo’s eyes are wide, and he pants for breath, holding out a hand to his guys. “No, no.”

In my peripheral vision, I see Anvil arrive to stand at my nine o’clock.

“Control your boy, McCann,” Enzo barks.

“From where I’m standing, he’s got control.”

“Make your move then,” Enzo says to me.

I give him credit for the dead-eyed challenge he issues. His father Frank never could’ve won a stare-down with a gun to his head.

I straighten up, my gun still aimed at his head. Until I’m flush with C, I can’t see the lay of the land, but when I get my back against the bricks on the side of the house, I lower my gun enough to start a chain reaction.

Enzo stands and brushes off his clothes, then spits on the ground at my feet. He may have hit my shoes or pant leg, but everything’s soaking wet anyway, so I can’t tell.

The corner of Enzo’s mouth pulls up. “Now I know for sure. In poker, you’re hard to read. But in life, you’ve got your tells, Patrick. Any picture of you I’ve ever seen, when a woman’s talking to you, you lean your head toward her to listen. Check the hashtag Trick, you’ll see what I mean. So at the poker game, when you didn’t look at the girl when she flirted with you, I thought what’s going on? Then you dragged her out of that basement when you left and I thought, he’s got a thing for this one. She matters to him. After your swan dive off the balcony just now, I know for sure, Romeo.” He walks past, then stops and turns. “You know your other tell? In a gunfight, you never take the easy shot or wait for one. Because you don’t have to. So when a man’s shot in the throat while riding in a moving car, who but you could’ve made the shot? No one.” His smirk drops as he looks at me, then returns as he looks at his guys. “Come on, fellas, let’s get Roy’s face taken care of. And maybe get some coffee for the FBI and see if they’ll let us watch an instant replay of our friend Scott Patrick pulling a gun on a man for throwing a girl in a pool.”

When they’re gone, I holster my gun. Then I head back, but I only take a couple of steps toward the backyard before Zoe and Laurel appear at the end of the path and start toward us. She’s shivering enough for me to see it from twenty feet away, but I’ve got nothing dry to put on her.

When she reaches me, she puts a hand on my arm. “Are you all right?”

My nod is a sharp jerk. I don’t trust myself not to curse if I ask her the same question, so I don’t.

When we leave the path through the front gate, C, Anvil, and I take a formation around Zoe and Laurel. We put Zoe in a Rover first.

“You coming to the house?” C asks me.

I nod.

He gets in Rover One with Zoe and sits safely behind the bulletproof glass. Anvil walks with Laurel and me to the other Rover. Once she’s inside, we look around the street. C pulls Rover One alongside, providing cover as Anvil gets in with them and I get in Rover Two.

Turning on the seat warmers and heat for Laurelyn, I follow C’s taillights back to the C Crue stronghold.

Laurel checks her phone and sighs.

“What? Monet’s still out?”

“I texted Dini, but she says Monet never came to the party. Where would Monet have gone? Maybe Boston, I guess, if she didn’t want to be found.”

A thought occurs to me, but I don’t share it. Monet uses the same local dealer as Dini, and that guy works for Enzo Palermo. If Enzo knows Laurelyn Reilly is leverage to use against me, he might think her little sister is too.

Kidnapping Monet would be risky with so many FBI agents in Coynston watching me and the Reillys, but Enzo might not know that using Monet as indirect leverage against me was something the FBI thought of first.

I keep my mouth firmly shut on the drive to the compound. Some conversations are best kept for the basement.

When we enter the house, Rachel emerges from the kitchen, wearing one of ‘Vil’s black t-shirts as a nightgown, literally. Holding a mug of steaming tea in her hands, she cocks her head at him.

“Someone convinced us to go swimming,” Anvil says, pushing a porcelain vase aside and setting his gun on the foyer table.

Rachel holds up the mug, and he takes it, taking a sip and then swigging it. “Baby asleep?”

“For now.”

“Where?”

“Our guest room.”

“I’ll check, but I’ll shower in another room. Find me clothes, Raven.”

“You can shower in there, Sasha. She’ll be fine.”

Anvil goes in the guest room for a moment, but then comes back out. He finishes off the tea and gives the mug back. “Find me at the end-of-the-hall shower, Raven.”

“We’ll use the upstairs guest room,” I say, taking Laurel’s right hand in my left to draw her to the stairs.

“I’ll make coffee and more tea,” Rachel says. “Trick?”

I pause.

“Congratulations.”

That’s when I realize Laurelyn’s gloves are gone.

“Thanks, Rachel.”