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He stays inside me, admiring his handiwork as he reverently runs a hand over the globes of my ass. I hiss when his fingertips touch the searing marks on my skin.
“I’ll be right back,” he says a few minutes later. I notice the way he prowls within the space, walking with a confidence one only gets from being a human weapon. He comes back with a green tube in his hand. “Lie on your stomach, your head on the pillow.”
The cool pillow tamps down how overheated I feel under his gaze. He rubs aloe vera on my ass and I sigh at the cooling sensation.
“We need to contact Papà and tell him our suspicions. If there’s a mole in Nuova Notte, he needs to take care of it.” The thought of someone betraying me makes my stomach curdle, but it seems like the only plausible explanation, considering the evidence we have.
“The only people on my end who knew were French and Whit. Neither of them would betray me. Aside from The Brigade’s honor code, they’re like brothers to me.”
He finishes up with the cream, then wipes the excess off on my thighs before curling up behind me and throwing a leg over me. His warmth seeps into me, and I can finally breathe deeply again.
“Don’t worry, kitten. As soon as we can confirm who it is, we’ll get rid of them,” he promises.
He sounds so confident that I start to believe that this mess will come to an end soon. I yawn, drifting into that space between wakefulness and my dreams. If anyone can pull off a promise like that, it’s Garrix Cameron.
“It would have been safer to stay home and call,” Garrix rumbles as we get inside his Aston Martin. I see the serious expression on his face in the rearview mirror.
“Agreed, but Papà is old-fashioned and doesn’t want to risk the lines being tapped or anyone selling us out, especially when he found out why I wanted to call the meeting.”
“John Carlo will be there?”
The way Garrix says my brother’s name makes me cringe. He truly thinks JC is capable of harming me. And the worst part is that I can’t completely refute it. He doesn’t treat me like our other brothers do, and since I joined the famiglia, he’s become increasingly hostile toward me.
Now that I think about it, I can’t remember the last time my brother hugged me or smiled at me. Or even looked at me without contempt in his eyes.
“Yeah, he will be.”
“This may get awkward then, because I have no issue calling him out if he disrespects you a second time,” Garrix growls. “I know he’s your brother, and you all stick together, but if he even looks at you funny, I’ll make him wish he didn’t look in the first place.”
We stop at a red light, and he takes my hand in his over the console. I turn to him, and he’s staring at me with this burning inferno of intensity in his eyes. No one’s ever looked at me that way before.
“Do what you need to do.” I squeeze his hand back.
I want to say how appreciative I am that he cares about me—how no man has ever made me feel as seen and protected as he does—but my throat goes dry and I choke on the words.
About halfway to the docks, a black sedan with tinted windows turns at a light and cruises behind us. I squeeze G’s hand again, and look up toward the rearview mirror.
“Yeah, I saw that. It’s not one of mine. I’m going to take a different way into Brooklyn.”
He makes a few sharp, last minute turns, driving in the opposite direction to where we’re heading. The car still follows us.
“The meeting technically can’t start without us, and Max has our location. You want to pull over? Make some new friends…” I open his center console and pull out a gun, checking to make sure it’s fully loaded.
“I feel like meeting some new people.” He chuckles as he parks the car on a quiet, one-way street, then takes his gun out of the holster under his suit jacket. No one except Garrix Cameron could make a three piece suit look so delicious.
As expected, the car pulls up alongside us, boxing us into the curb. It seems that the Russians are only hiring goons, because the two men who climb out of the car aren’t even subtle. They start shooting the tires, then the windows with a semi-automatic that’s going to wake up the whole block. Garrix pushes me down, even though the bullet proof glass holds up. When they’re done, he rolls his window down, and pops one square in the chest. He drops, but still fires rounds. I climb out of my side of the car, taking cover before shooting him and the other man in the throat.
Garrix climbs over the console and out of the car, crouching beside me. “There’s another car coming down the block, an SUV. Let’s hide back here and lure them in.”
Four men climb out with utter looks of confusion when they see the open driver’s side door, but no corpses inside. Garrix pops up and shoots two of them, ducking before their buddies can even return fire.
“This sorta reminds me of Whack-A-Mole.” I laugh. I pop up and shoot the other two, then go back down. “Except no one’s hitting me with a mallet.”
“I prefer to use a belt,” he whispers in my ear. My cheeks heat.
We get out from behind his car, then check the bodies for ID or anything that can tie them to the Russians. Garrix starts laughing hysterically as he scrolls through one of their phones.
“What’s so funny?” His laughter is contagious, and I find myself chuckling.
