Used by Marlee Wray

Chapter 9

Laurel

The guest bathroom makes my jaw drop. There’s a glossy black tub with faceted sides that cause it to look like a giant onyx that someone cut the top off of and hollowed out for bathing. The antique gold fixtures match its rim. The double sinks are set in a piece of furniture that’s decorated with a crocheted gold thread. The showerhead’s a metal cross suspended from the ceiling, and the stone tile under our feet is warm, making it opulent and functional.

Trick sets his gun on the cabinet and hangs his clothes on a hook.

“Get out of those wet clothes.”

“This house is incredible.”

He glances around. “You like this bathroom?”

I nod. “It’s unbelievable.”

“The furniture’s from a Portuguese designer whose work is pretty great. But that tub’s ridiculous. I ordered it in the middle of the night when I was really stoned. Meant to get the tub below it on the website. Zoe’s the only one who likes the tub. She’s a theater major and half Brazilian, which explains her taste. C calls this the Liberace bathroom.”

Laughing softly, I shake my head.

“That tub’s one of the things that convinced me to stop speed-balling.” When he cracks a smile, I realize he’s kidding.

I set the diamond ring next to his watch. Then I start to strip down, hanging my clothes over towel racks. “Was there one thing that made you decide to quit using drugs?” I wonder not only because I’m curious about him, but also because I’m still trying to figure out how to help Monet quit for good.

“It was two things close together. And no, I don’t want to talk about it. Ask me again in a couple months. Earn the right to hear my stories by staying with me.”

I’m examining the cut in my eyebrow when he says this. “If I survive one week with you, I think I’ll have earned some stories.”

“Fair enough.” He catches my face in his hands and kisses me. When he speaks, his voice is little more than breath against my lips. “I’m so fucking sorry you got hurt.”

That makes my heart clench. “I know.” I raise his hand and kiss his scraped knuckles, tasting blood and chlorine. Jesus. “I’m all right.”

“You stayed calm the whole time. I’m proud of you.”

Those words warm my whole body, and I smile. “Zoe said you jumped down from the balcony like a Hollywood stunt man. I thought you only show off when I’m watching?”

He flashes a smile. “You heard about it, didn’t you?”

Turning serious, I rest my head against his chest for a moment. “Scary night.”

“I guess I should’ve warned you. I didn’t want you worried, so I planned to keep you right next to me so you’d be safe. Things didn’t go to plan.” He steps into the shower. “How did you get downstairs?”

My stomach lurches at the question. “Hmm?” Stepping under the shower too as he turns on the water, it drowns us out, coming down as a waterfall.

He soaps my body, running his hands over my skin until there’s an ache between my legs.

“You were in line for the bathroom. Then you weren’t. How’d you get downstairs?”

I consider lying, but know it’s not a good idea. “I went downstairs.”

“You skipped using the upstairs restroom?”

My heart thumps, and I step forward and away from his hands.

“Because,” he continues in the same neutral voice. “I’m wondering if you actually needed to use it? Or if that was an excuse to step away and then search the house on your own?”

“Connor McCann was not happy to see me with you. He doesn’t like me, and I don’t think Anvil Stroviak does either.”

“So you lied?”

“It was a white lie to avoid an awkward social situation. And to get on with what I was doing there.”

“Monet and Dini Ford’s dealer, a former classmate of theirs, works for the Palermo organization. Enzo thinks we took some things from him. Like his little sister. And his father.” Trick lathers his arms and chest, and a part of me wants to take over.

“Enzo’s in Coynston to reestablish their position and that means being seen looking like the prince of the city and settling scores with C Crue. Anvil and C weren’t there because they give a shit about a house party on the hill. We’ve thrown parties for a thousand people in Boston, where the headlining DJ and artists were from New York, LA, and Europe. Random Coins parties don’t make the grade these days. So C and Anvil were at that house for one reason. Zoe wanted to go, and she doesn’t go anywhere in Coynston without protection. Understand now why I told you to stay with me?”

“And you want me to live here with you? While I’m pregnant?”

“I’ll make Coynston safe for you. Until then, stay close to me when I tell you to.” He tips his face under the water and rinses the soap from the rest of his body. Then he steps out of the shower and grabs a towel.

Another reminder of how dangerous it is to be around him. Is being with him worth giving up my freedom? When I’m close to him, it feels like the answer is yes. But I’m not sure I’m capable of being a C Crue woman even for a year and a half, which is all he’s offering.

Tonight I didn’t want to stand around making small talk with his friends who don’t trust me, all while my sister might be passed out in a corner or God knows where. Still, I know I should have been honest with him, not snuck away. It just felt easier to not tell him, since he seemed to want to control our movements. He literally pulled me upstairs with him. Of course, when I did venture away on my own… my finger touches the small scrape on my face. Hitting my head knocked me unconscious. What if he hadn’t seen me get thrown in? Would I have drowned? Of course, why did the man throw me in? To get to Trick.

I stand under the hot water for a couple of extra minutes before stepping out and toweling off. We go down the hall wrapped in towels, which feels strange, but the hall’s thankfully empty. The guest room is lovely and luxe, and there’s a bathrobe and some other clothes in a small, neat pile at the foot of the bed. Included in the clothes is a sheer pink nightie with thin straps. My brows rise. The clothes must be from Zoe, since Rachel’s too petite for them, but what would make the girl think I want to borrow her lingerie? Remembering how drunk she is, I smile. Probably just grabbed a variety. Setting the nightie aside, I lift the yoga pants.

Trick takes the clothes away and sets them on the dresser. Then he sits on the end of the bed and wags a finger at me to come to him. Unhooking my towel, he drops it on the bed next to him.

“Face down,” he says, pointing at his lap.

Though of course I know we’re alone, I look around sharply. My arms cross my body protectively. A part of me wondered whether this would happen.

Surprising myself, I say, “You can do this at your apartment, but not here.”

“Right here. Right now.”

Tipping my head back, I exhale and look at the ceiling. Under other circumstances the painted pastel clouds are probably soothing.

If I decide to leave him, this will be over. But I’m not leaving him tonight, so tonight this is part of my life because it’s a part of his. And he did warn me. I knew the risk when I lied and went downstairs alone.

My fists ball, then I unclench them and shake my fingers out. Finally, I position myself rigidly, balancing myself over his lap.

He chuckles softly. “You’re not doing planks. Relax.”

The little bit of levity helps. One hard swallow later, my muscles hear my orders to stop clenching and I’m draped over his legs.

“Give me your hands.”

My fingers have a death grip on his left calf. “I’ll hold on so I don’t fall.”

“Hands.”

My left hand reaches back, and he sets it in the small of my back.

“Right hand.”

My fingers pinch his leg. It’s an entirely childish reaction, and from above, his soft laughter tells me he thinks so too. At least he’s not furious as he’s about to punish me.

Putting my other hand in the small of my back, my fingers grip each other. The first slap against my bare damp skin is so loud it steals my breath. The next slaps are light but loud too. As I relax, he spanks more firmly. It stings, but it’s bearable. Curling and uncurling my toes, my mind tries to transport me.

His leg hooks over mine, and his left arm grips my right shoulder. Suddenly pinioned, I squirm slightly, testing his hold. It’s firm. Then his hand comes down hard. My lungs suck air in like I’ve been submerged for too long.

“That—” My voice fails me when more swats of the same force follow.

Then I can’t tell if he’s spanking harder or if it’s just the cumulative effect of so many. When I gasp with my eyes stinging, Trick pauses.

“Get your hands back where they belong, little girl.” His voice is rough and husky, and that tone, along with what’s happening to me, triggers something. I’m both embarrassed and aroused.

I realize my fingers have drifted lower, preparing to intervene on my ass’s behalf. His words and the way he speaks them send my hands back to the curve of my lower back.

When he resumes, it’s definitely harder. But by now, my ass is flaming hot and not prepared for the spanking to get worse. My legs kick, and my breath’s stilted.

Trick pauses again and rubs my burning flesh. “Don’t clench.”

“I won’t when you stop spanking me.”

He slaps me hard right on my sit spot. “Tone.”

A curse almost slips from my lips, but I catch it. Tears of frustration sting my eyes. “I’ve had enough,” I whisper.

“No.” His finger presses down against my clenched buttock and that hurts.

“Ow. Don’t.”

“Relax your muscles. Right now.”

My teeth bite down on my lower lip, and it takes all I have to relax and go limp over his lap.

“Good girl.”

His swinging hand treats every bit of my ass to the same stern punishment until the pain consumes me. How can being spanked by a hand be as intense as being spanked by a wooden paddle? But it is. Heat sears my flesh from the inside out, until my entire body burns. And worse, he’s hard. His towel falls open and my soft skin is being pressed against the swollen cock that got me pregnant and clearly likes my helplessness now.

And this is what I’m signing up for… breathtaking sex in bondage and being spanked while naked and letting him have control whenever he wants it or decides to take it. I’m his and he gets to do whatever he wants to me, even spank me like a little girl. And punish me so severely that I can’t sit for days. So that people notice. And some of them suspect.

Everything hits me at once, and my hands fly to my face as I break down.

Trick stops, resting the cool back of his hand against my burning skin as I cry. Fighting back sobs, the tears spill continuously into my cupped hands.

He moves his leg, freeing me. I lower myself to my knees, so I’m kneeling with his right thigh in front of me. Resting my forehead against his hard quads, I cry raggedly into my hands. His fingers slide into my damp hair and massage my scalp and neck, which feels good, despite my hating him at the moment.

When my crying wanes to sniffles, Trick raises me and lays me over the end of the bed. A couple of his strong fingers push into me, finding me hot and wet inside. A strangled sound of outrage escapes me and I cross my legs, trying to crush his hand. He slides his fingers free easily and slaps my ass.

“Spread your legs.”

At the firm tone, I obey immediately.

He exhales like he’s exasperated. When his cock pushes into my pussy, it feels so good, and that makes me angry too. My hips press back, even as my fist punches the mattress.

“For fuck’s sake,” he murmurs.

Then instinct takes over both our bodies. My pussy burns for his attention and loves stretching around his hard cock and feeling it move inside. Trick’s relentless hunger for me causes some kind of primal quickening in my body.

Gripping my hips, he thrusts repeatedly, dragging my clit against the edge of the bed until I’m crying and coming at the same time. Even my wounded ass, which aches when he bangs against it, becomes an erogenous zone during the heat of the coupling. Every slap of his pelvis against me sends a shockwave of arousal into my pussy, which clenches his cock in a tight grip.

Over and over, he strikes that spot deep inside that could come forever for him as long as he keeps stroking it. The way I want him tonight is irrational and scary, like he could do anything and I’d still let him bend me over and force me to submit while he makes love to me.

His breathing turns harsh, his rhythm faster and harder. Then he comes inside me, his body pressed against my throbbing ass. But my traitorous pussy clenches around him, milking more seed into me.

He’s slow to step back and separate us. When he finally does, I’m cold and instantly more emotional than I was, sobbing now. Trick lifts me and sits with me on his lap. Pressing me against his chest, he pulls the covers over to wrap them around me until I’m cocooned inside.

The crying dies out quickly, and a stillness settles over us that’s almost peaceful. After a time, I rise, needing to stand rather than sit.

I crawl into the bed, lying on my stomach. He walks out without saying goodbye, which I churlishly add to his list of offenses. A few minutes later though he’s back with a bottle of something.

“You’re naked.”

“Yeah.”

Trick doesn’t seem to understand my question about how he knew no one was around when he walked out of the bedroom without even a towel.

He goes down on one knee next to the bed and pulls the covers back. Icy cool lotion spills over where I hurt most. His fingers work it in gently, then he blows on it. The evaporating liquid eases the pain about tenfold.

My fingers release their death grip on the sheets. Covering me carefully, he stands.

“I have to step out for a few minutes.” He sets my phone next to me. “I’ll be back soon, but if you need anything, text me.”

Walking around to the dresser, he pulls out jeans and a t-shirt. It takes all of forty seconds for him to dress, but then he stays where he is. Studying his broad shoulders and the lines of his back, I wait, though I’m not sure for what.

He doesn’t move for quite a while. When he turns, his expression is unreadable. He clenches his jaw, looks away, then walks over. Leaning down, he says, “You can say no.”

“What?” I ask, pushing up onto my elbow. “What do you want?”

“A kiss.”

Closing my eyes, I think I might cry again, but I nod. When he kisses me, I don’t know why I kiss him back, but I do.

Then he pushes the phone closer to me and he’s gone.

* * *

Trick

Leaning against the wall outside the bedroom, I study my bare feet, breathing hard.

Fuck.

Running my hand through my hair, I lick my lips. I still taste her. Right now, I want to lie in bed with my arms around her, keeping her close to remind her I’m not always rough. Being disciplined by a man is new for her and, this early, my hold on her feels tenuous. I need to play things just right. It’s hard. The intensity of what I feel for her borders on dangerous.

My phone buzzes impatiently in my pocket. I don’t look, knowing it’ll be C again, telling me to stop fucking around and to come downstairs. Straightening up, I inhale and brace myself. Time to do the next thing that needs to be done. Miles to go before I sleep.

I force myself to get moving, the way I’ve been doing my whole life.

When I hit the main floor, I do a shot of Jack and pour myself a double Jack and Coke on the rocks. Then I head down.

Looking at my phone, I erase C’s messages without reading them. In the basement, I set the phone on the table in front of me. Anvil reaches for it, but I grab it and pull it to me. “It stays.”

Anvil and C exchange looks. Their phones are upstairs where we always leave them.

“What’s going on?” C asks, looking at my hand’s white-knuckle grip on the device.

It won’t stand, I realize. “Where’s Rachel?”

They stare at me.

“Zoe’s drunk. Where’s Rachel? Is she awake?”

‘Vil nods.

“I’ll leave my phone upstairs if she’ll watch it for me.”

Anvil nods, extending a hand.

It takes me too many seconds to drop it in ‘Vil’s hand, but I do. He goes, and C watches me like he doesn’t know me. Maybe he doesn’t. Maybe I don’t either.

Standing, I pace and drink.

Anvil returns and takes a seat.

My glass is already empty. Setting it on the table, I ask, “Enzo? When?”

‘Vil sets a fist on the table, tapping it. “Bastard broke his schedule twice and now—”

“Anvil,” C says sharply, shaking his head. “Things get done when the timing’s right.”

“When’s that gonna be? The next time one of our girls get kidnapped? When someone holds a gun to their heads or shoots at them? That’s when the timing’s good?”

C studies me. “What’s up, Trick?”

“You know what’s up. My custom suit got chlorinated and then Palermo’s man used the jacket as a rag. The guy who made it for me is in London, and I’m down to one. I can’t have something like bullet holes tearing up the one I’ve got left.”

C’s narrowed eyes study my face. “When Frank sent an army of guys after you, do you remember the message you sent, Trick?”

“No,” I lie.

“I do. ‘Vil, you remember?”

“He said, ‘Send better guys, Frank. I’m bored.’”

“That’s how I remember it too. And how everyone from Boston to Baltimore and everywhere in between remembers it because it got repeated thousands of times. Little kids in South Boston use that taunt when they play stickball. You’re a legend, Trick. You made it so.”

I don’t need to be told that I’ve lived like there’s no tomorrow. But now things have changed. Now I’ve got something I’m not willing to lose. Going to the bar, I pour myself another Jack and Coke. Opening the freezer, I shake my head. “Two and a half billion dollars between us, and we don’t have ice. How we livin’?”

“Eyes are on you, Trick. A lot of them,” C says.

I swirl my drink and take a swig. Room temperature. That makes me think of Laurel’s ginger ale and why she was drinking it.

“What can you tell me that I don’t know, C?”

“Usually not much. Usually nothing fazes you. The lawyer said you were so flawless in your Grand Jury testimony, the prosecutor wanted to take his shoe off and throw it at you. Then tonight you pull a gun and almost do a Palermo guy for tossing someone in a pool?” He’s silent for a moment. “I thought you were going to Boston to celebrate?”

“I’m celebrating. Didn’t you hear Rachel congratulate me?”

“Yeah, and I saw the ring too. That rock’s hard to miss.”

“YOLO.” Finishing my drink, I set the glass down.

“Trick. What’s up?”

“She’s pregnant.”

There’s dead silence for several beats.

“Are you sure it’s—”

“It’s mine.”

“All right. When Coynston got too rough, we sent our families out of town. She already lives in Boston. Maybe farther would be better?”

“Only if I go too.”

C’s brows rise in surprise. “Is that what you want?”

After a beat, I make a dismissive gesture. “No. I can’t leave Coins. St. Mary’s cemetery was getting full, so I bought some plots. One for me, you, and ‘Vil.”

“Fuck off,” ‘Vil says.

C smirks.

“How’d you get her pregnant? She wiped her mouth and touched herself?” Anvil asks.

I laugh, some of the tension behind my eyes easing. “Rachel’s a good influence, ‘Vil. That’s what? The third joke you’ve cracked since I’ve known you?” The liquor finally hits, and the thousand colliding thoughts slow down and line up. Elbows on the table, my forehead drops into my palms.

“You pulled your gun in front of about fifty witnesses,” Anvil says.

I don’t look up. “You put Frank in a chokehold in front of cops.”

“That’s my crue,” C says, pouring himself a drink. “Can’t be famous in Southie stickball circles unless you play the gangster game like the OGs from the 1920s.”

“My taunting Frank is what held other dogs at bay when he tried to turn everyone loose on us. By making him nothing, I made us something. And what’s the most successful recruitment tool we’ve ever had? That line and the way it went real-life viral. Would-be badasses flocked to Coins to join C Crue.” I tap my finger. “You’re welcome.”

I look up and find C smiling.

“But the brand only holds if we back it up,” I say. “You gotta do him or let me.”

“Trick—” C begins, but there’s a tap on the door, and all three of our heads swivel.

Anvil gets up and opens the door.

Rachel looks around him to me and holds up my phone.

I meet her at the door, giving her a kiss on top of the head. “Thank you.”

“Do not kiss my wife,” ‘Vil says.

“I hope my kid’s a boy. I’m gonna start telling him to marry Irina from the time he’s about two years old.” Climbing stairs, I swipe my screen to unlock it. “Actually, forget that. Gay marriage is legal. Boy or girl is good.”

Ignoring ‘Vil’s curse-laced reaction, I look down at my screen and open her text.

Laurel: Where are you?

On my way.

* * *

Laurel

When he returns to the bedroom, Trick’s hands are full with two bottles of water, a can of Sprite, a silver flask, and some small items.

“Safe for precooked babies,” he says, shaking a Tylenol bottle that he sets on the nightstand next to me. “No ginger ale in the house, but it’s on the list now.” His sitting on the edge of the bed next to where I’m lying causes me to scoot back to give him room.

Leaning over his phone, he checks his texts and replies to some. “She’s not in town. Not at Casa Palermo either, which makes things easier.” His head tilts thoughtfully then straightens. “Maybe.”

“Who?”

“Monet.”

Propping myself up on an elbow, I study his handsome profile. “You’re asking about her? Has anyone seen her?”

“So far no, but when I know where she isn’t, it makes it easier to figure out where she is.” He rolls his eyes at his phone’s screen. “Got this new guy in C Crue who’s all eager. He sends me about twenty-five memes a day. Half of them are at least six months old. I’m not just getting back from living off-grid, dude, come on.”

“What does Anvil Stroviak say about the memes?”

He flashes a grin and then chuckles. “He sent ‘Vil one meme, and ‘Vil sent back a response that said, ‘Don’t text me.’ I told New Guy not to worry about it. Then I waited about a day before I started forwarding all the memes to Anvil.” He laughs again. “I’m trying to push ‘Vil into complaining to C, but no joy so far. Cuz C loves when he has to be the intermediary.”

“Are you and Anvil friends? Some people say you hate each other, but he jumped in the pool to help you.”

Trick glances up, staring at the wall for a moment, then he shrugs. “‘Vil’s the serious middle brother. He and C do things a certain way, and I disrupt the culture. It’d be like here’s IBM and in comes a Google guy in a t-shirt and shorts who installs a basketball net in the main conference room and practices free throws while on conference calls. Not all the original suits are going to be down for that. But not too long ago ‘Vil had some things happen in his personal life and I put my basketball down while we dealt with that. We’re good.”

Setting a hand on his thigh, I squeeze.

He looks at me.

“May I ask a question?”

“Kind of late to ask for permission, isn’t it? You’ve been asking questions all night.”

“Can I ask a question that I think a fiancée would ask?”

The phone’s dropped behind him, and he gives me his full attention. “Go ahead.”

“Aren’t you exhausted, Scott? You’ve had a really long day.”

The corner of his mouth quirks. “Trying to put me to bed again? No wonder you asked permission. That’s a risky move.”

My fingers curl around his.

He inhales deeply and exhales on a sigh, then hauls his t-shirt off, revealing that incredible torso that I never tire of looking at. Dropping his jeans, he says, “Slide over, babe. You’re on my side.”

“You have a side? I didn’t realize you let women sleep over.” There’s more than a hint of jealousy in my tone.

“I don’t.” He unplugs the lamp and sets it on the floor, along with the can and bottles. Then he hoists the nightstand up and walks it around to the other side of the bed. Replacing the lamp and other items, he returns to the left side of the bed. He drags a chair over and sets his phone and gun on it. “This room needs more than one night table. Another thing for the list.”

I smile at his rearranging furniture when he must bone tired. In school, everything came easily to him, but he rarely did homework, so I’d questioned his work ethic plenty of times. Now I realize he was conserving energy for all the work he did away from school.

And maybe needing to arrange his space perfectly is some sort of quirk? Then I realize something else. “Trick, at my place, you slept on the right side, didn’t you?”

Crawling into bed, he says, “I don’t give a shit about right or left side. My side is the one that puts me between my family and anything coming through the door.”

My breath catches. Not a quirk. A gangster rule.

Swallowing, I think about the other thing. The thing that made my breath catch. His family. Under the covers, my hand slides to the bottom of my abdomen. My heart thumps hard in my chest.

Do not fall in love with this man.

Even as I think it, I worry it may already be too late.