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“Fuck,” I growl. “Okay. I’m coming up.”
I end the call and turn back to Molly. I can’t tell her what I want – what I need – to tell her, because I know once I do I’ll need to claim her pouting lips at the very least.
“Take us to my parking spot. I want you to wait in my offices while I handle this business. That motherfucker saw your face and I can’t risk him targeting you. I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if something happened to you.”
My words surge out, boiling through me.
Molly lets out a shivering moan and then nods, guiding us into the parking garage. I glance at the sidewalk to see my security team emerge… without the Cartel member. It doesn’t matter. Juan ordered him to send a message, and I’ve received it.
He will regret his decision.
Chapter Nine
Molly
I sit in the large break room, with couches lining the walls and arcade machines in the corner. The place is open-plan, a cavernous room with a small gym in the opposite corner to the arcade area.
It’s clear that even though Murphy made his start in life from being a mob boss, he’s expanded his business into legitimate areas.
A group of twenty-somethings walk past the door to the break room, talking loudly, their happy voices raised, looking nothing like mob guys. I hear one of them talking about the graphic design for a charity, and my heart soars in my chest, pulsing happily.
Murphy built this place, and they’re talking about making the world better…
You’re beautiful, he growls in my mind. You’re passionate. You’re interesting. You’re sexy as fuck.
He said those words to me, in his fierce possessive voice, growled them at me like he was going to pounce on me right there. And then that man appeared, dragging his hand across his throat, staring at the car with deathly intent in his eyes, and it shattered the moment.
But he said it, didn’t he?
I’m not imagining it.
No, because after, he said, “I’d die before I let anything happen to you.”
And the way he said it, it wasn’t like he was talking to a family friend. It wasn’t like he was just being polite. It was like he wanted me.
I wring my hands, trying to work these ridiculous thoughts out of my head. But I’m not sure how I can call them ridiculous when it just freaking happened.
He’s got me doubting my sanity as I go over and over his words, remembering the husky way his voice wavered when he called me beautiful, remembering the way his possessive eyes glinted when he said he’d never let anything happen to me.
I stand, letting out a sigh, and walk over to the empty arcade area. I play Space Invaders in an attempt to try and distract myself from these warring thoughts – the self-doubt going to battle with the need – imagining that as I blast away the aliens I’m blasting away the thoughts.
But they only grow stronger and louder in my mind, screaming at me that this is it, the moment I’ve been waiting forever since I started crushing on this hulking handsome beast of a man. This is where it was all leading, all along, the need and the heat and the closeness.
I’m not sure how long I spend moving from machine to machine, playing Pac-Man, and a few other retro games.
I’ve never been much of a video game player, but when I find the rally-racing game – tucked away in the corner, I didn’t see it at first – a warm smile spreads across my face.
I sit in the chair and grab the steering wheel, tingles of excitement moving over my body even if I know it isn’t real.
While the other games did nothing to distract me from the gnawing desire that heats my every breath, the rally game actually allows me to push my thoughts aside for a few precious minutes… or hours. When I beat the first level and then the second, time seems to fall away and it’s just me and the car.
Of course, it’s nowhere near as good as the real thing, but the feeling of racing around a track – of not having to stop at endless red lights and worry about getting lost – is liberating, like heavy chains have been removed from my ankles.
I’m consumed by the game, sweat pricking my forehead, my upper lip salty with it. My concentration is absolute, my heart pounding in my chest, as I shift gears and take the corners. The game gives me way more leeway than a real car does, letting me slide around the track like I’m slipping on Jell-O.
I leap up and let out a gasp when people start applauding behind me, a cacophony of clapping.
I turn to find a dozen or so people gathered, with Murphy standing at the front of them. His eyes gleam as he takes me in, his powerful hands clapping together louder than any of his employees’. They’re all gathered behind him, smiling over at me, and I turn to see what they’re clapping at.
