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“Almost done,” I corrected her mildly but Roxy shook her head.
“No, just because he didn’t rape you, he still put marks on you and you’re never gonna be the same, honey. Every shadow you’ll wonder if he’s there, every sound will make you jump.”
I quieted, sensing that Roxy was speaking from experience. I swallowed a lump in my throat. I didn’t want to pry so I simply accepted her advice in the spirit it was given.
Roxy roused herself with a forced smile. “Well, thank your lucky stars for that cop. You ought to see if he’s single. That’s the kind of man you hold onto.”
Oh, hell no. Roxy, if you only knew.
“Thanks Roxy,” I said, yawning to reinforce my earlier statement. The fatigue wasn’t an act but I knew I wasn’t going to hit the sheets as I’d told Roxy. “You’re a good friend.”
“Damn straight I am,” Roxy agreed but her touch on my cheek gentled. “You call me if you need anything.”
I promised I would and Roxy let herself out. I breathed a sigh of relief and sank into the sofa.
I tried not to dwell on bad things. But sometimes, even as much as you push away the memories, they climbed up your throat and lodged there like a sticky glob of phlegm, refusing to go down.
I could see that kid, smell his cologne.
I could feel his hands on me.
Tears sprang out of nowhere and tracked down my cheek. I know I was lucky. I know others weren’t so lucky but I couldn’t stop the tears from falling like a river.
I sobbed for an hour, unable to believe how narrowly I’d escaped being raped, but I also cried because I’d given my virginity to a man I despised to save a brother who might be unsaveable.
Stop it. That’s Jameson’s voice in your head. Frankie is a good man. He’ll change. He just needs a fresh start.
I rose and rinsed my face at the kitchen sink just in time to see headlights in the front drive.
My heart skipped a beat and my hands were suddenly clammy.
Maybe I’d hoped he would change his mind.
Worse, maybe I hoped he wouldn’t.
I poured a glass of wine with shaking hands and took a fortifying sip before answering the sharp rap at the door.
Jameson took the wine glass from my hand. “You shouldn’t be drinking,” he said shortly, walking past me to pour the wine down the sink.
“What are you doing? You don’t get to dictate what I do on my own time,” I said, irritated that he’d wasted an expensive wine that I’d won in a raffle because I’d never spend so much for my own indulgence.
“You’re still on pain meds,” he said by way of explanation as he walked my house, committing to memory every room, noting every small detail.
Jameson was intensity on steroids at all times, it seemed.
“Why are you here?” I asked.
“Because we have things to talk about,” he answered, dropping onto the sofa when he was satisfied with his perimeter check. “The terms of our agreement have changed.”
“No they haven’t,” I disagreed. “I already told you I wasn’t going to whore for you.”
“No one said anything about whoring yourself,” he returned with irritation. “But if you want to save your brother, you’ll shut up and listen.”
I wanted to tell him to get out but I didn’t. Instead, I took the furthest seat away from him with a glower and said, “I’m listening.”
“Frankie is a low-level dealer but he has connections to the pipeline I spent six months trying to take down. The shit comes in from China and then filters out through the various channels in different cities. Here in L.A., the pipeline is run by the Cobalt Vipers, a vicious street gang led by Terano Rodrigo.”
“And what does this mean to me? I don’t see how I can help. I don’t know any Terano Rodrigo.”
“No, but your brother does.”
“If Frankie was low-level like you said, what makes you think he can get close to Rodrigo?” I asked, confused.
“Because your brother is like a cockroach, he can get into places no one else would think to look.”
I didn’t like the insult. “Are you always so mean?”
“This is me being nice,” he deadpanned.
Oh good grief. “Your nice routine needs work,” I grumbled. “All right, so I still don’t see how I can help.”
“My cover’s been burned. I need someone who can get in without rousing too much suspicion. Your brother already has an in, which means, he can get you in.”
“That sounds dangerous,” I said, biting my lip. “What if something goes wrong?”
“It won’t,” he assured me but I didn’t believe him. “Look, nothing is going to happen to you. All you’re doing is getting close to Terano so I can find out when the next shipment is coming in. There’s supposed to be a big drop in a week or so but the location has been under wraps. If we can bust the players when the shipment comes in, we’ll have what we need to take Terano and the Cobalt Viper operation down.”
“I know what happens to Confidential Informants,” I said, scowling. “They die.”
“I won’t let that happen.”
I shivered. “And how will you be able to stop it? You can’t go near the Cobalt Vipers without getting made. I’d be dead and gone long before you could do anything.”
“That’s where your brother comes in. If he’s so protective, he’ll find a way to put himself between you and harm’s way.”
“And what about my brother? What if he gets hurt?”
“Not my problem.”
“But it is my problem,” I countered. “I love my brother and I sure as hell don’t want anything to happen to him just so you can get your man.”
Jameson held my stare for a moment then said, “Last year, the Cobalt Viper drug lords were responsible for the death of three kids, ages 12, 13, and 15. The kids were used as mules and couriers. The 12-year-old died from overdosing when the drugs they’d stuffed up his anus exploded. The 13 and 15-year-old were shot and killed during a drug exchange. It’s not just about my record. It’s about getting assholes like the Cobalt Vipers and Terano Rodrigo off the streets and behind bars where they belong.”
Stories like those were common but it hit me hard just the same. Frankie was the reason I’d never been sucked into the lifestyle. Although Frankie had fallen, he’d always made sure that I was nowhere near it.
And now Jameson wanted me to waltz into that world.
“If I do this…will you leave me and Frankie alone?”
The pause caused my heart to flutter. Why wasn’t it easy for him to just agree? Was it possible that Jameson had feelings for me?
Good God, that was ridiculous. What would make me think that was even a thing?
But as Jameson’s stare heated as he pinned my gaze, I felt skewered to the wall.
“Come here,” he said in a low tone that rippled with authority. I shuddered, determined to refuse but my feet moved on their own accord.
I knew that look.
It was the same look that stole my breath — terrifying and exciting at the same time – and I was helpless against it.
There was something so dark and alluring about Jameson, something addictive.
And like all things addictive…dangerous.
He pulled me into the cove between his legs and slowly
undid my zipper. I held my breath, all the voices in my head stilling with anticipation.
Jameson shimmied my jeans down, revealing my white lace panties. His smile spoke of approval and I softened with feminine awareness.
Gripping my behind, he drew me to him. I steadied myself with his shoulders as he buried his nose between my cleft, inhaling my personal scent through the thin fabric.
I gasped as my senses awakened with a start. I was consumed with a violent need that was both foreign and exhilarating.
I closed my eyes as Jameson removed my panties. I knew I should make him stop but I couldn’t bring myself to say the words.
Suddenly, Jameson rose and in one fluid movement, hoisted me over his shoulder and carried me to the bedroom as if I were a prisoner of war and he was taking his due.
“What are you doing?” I managed to ask but he answered with a firm slap to my bare behind. The sting shocked and aroused me. Then he tossed me onto the bed.
The hunger in his dark eyes was enough to render me speechless.
No one had ever looked at me the way Jameson did.
It wasn’t fair. Why did he have to be the one who made me feel this way?
Alive.
Desired.
Needy.
He yanked my pants off, along with my panties, feasting his gaze on my private places as if he owned every inch of my flesh.
“Jameson—“
“Quiet.”
I bit my lip, intensely aware of how wet I was becoming. That voice — as hard and unyielding as that giant erection I knew was hiding behind his zipper — did terrible things to my resolve.
I’d never known such weakness, such abject eagerness to open my legs and feel him stretching me.
But that was the ugly, shameful truth.
I wanted him.
And he knew it.
Somehow, deep down, he knew that my protests were an act. That my secret self couldn’t stop thinking about his touch, that even though in my waking hours I might hate him with everything I was, when I closed my eyes, he was there doing unspeakably dirty things to me.
Was I irrevocably broken and it only took Jameson to reveal that truth?
