Page 84 of Gangsters and Guns


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Chapter Thirty-Two

ROGAN

My days are consumed by her, by the way she moves, by the varying looks pouring from her soulful eyes. I study her facial expressions when Maddox summons her to bring him his morning coffee, and how she responds to that arrogant smile Alistair seems to save just for her.

And how she reacts to me.

Each one of us elicits a plethora of emotions from this woman, this seemingly unsuspecting woman who’s got us all by the fucking balls. They don’t have to admit it for me to know it’s true.

Hell, I watched Maddox shove his cock down her throat and stewed when Alistair texted our group chat confirming what I’ve suspected all along—she tastes like heaven.

I sit in my car, watching the people pass by, and my cock throbs from imagining her naked body splayed before me like a fucking buffet. Her legs are bent and spread, her pussy on display.

She may have tasted Maddox, and Alistair may have tasted her, but it’s my cock that will sink into her cunt first. I refuse to consider any alternative.

The feed from the camera in Rory’s living room showed her preparing to leave. She fed Mischief, gave him a quick pat on the head, and grabbed her purse. I was already in my car, watching.

Waiting.

Wondering what she does on her weekends when we allow her some freedom. Because make no mistake, it’s our decision if she works or not. If it were up to me, I’d order her to work her pussy all over my cock, but I’d much rather she make that choice for herself. And she will. It’s only a matter of time.

Stroking the short hair on my chin, I follow the blip on my phone, expecting her to head into the parking garage, but she doesn’t. Instead, she exits the front door of our apartment building wearing an oversized hat, bulging sunglasses, and a long, cream coat that sweeps over her calves.

The hems of her skinny jeans peek out from the coat, and a pair of ankle boots encase her feet. The outfit has me narrowing my eyes, because it almost looks as if she’s trying to hide or disguise herself.

What the fuck is going on here?

With a hand holding her floppy hat onto the top of her head, she looks left and right, then scurries down the sidewalk to…the bus stop?

My interest is definitely piqued now. Where is my little hellcat going?

She pulls a phone from her pocket and checks the time, but I can tell immediately it’s not the iPhone I gave her. It’s small and black, like a burner phone, making me wonder who she’s contacting that she doesn’t want me to find out about.

Questions, questions, questions.

What must I do to this woman to find the answers?

She gets on the bus and it pulls away from the sidewalk, making a few more stops along its route. I follow several car lengths back, watching to see where she exits.

It’s not until she’s caught a connecting bus that takes us out of the busy city when I have an iota of where we’re going. Tall buildings bustling with people give way to big lawns with green grass. Leafless trees stretch their branches into the cool, fall air. People walk their dogs, bundled up in puffy jackets and boots, and some even have coats on their dogs.

The smell of a bonfire has me breathing deeply, the scent enticing to me. Maybe it’s because we never got to experience them growing up. Living in an apartment, even one as vast as ours, meant we spent little time outside. My brothers and I occupied most of our time by staring at a TV, locked in our playroom while my parents did drugs, got drunk, or worse.

I longed to be outside with the kids I saw out my window, riding bikes and skinning knees, even if it meant I got dirty. I also wanted to go to Red Sox games with my dad like other little boys did. But that wasn’t my path.

Rory exits the bus and heads up a long driveway. Brick pillars rise on either side of the entrance, arching overhead and displaying the nameRunwood Recovery.

Part of the mystery that is Rory O’Brien unravels. I drive past her, slumping low in my SUV so I don’t draw her attention. Today, I’ve abandoned the Bugatti for my Range Rover, a much more unassuming vehicle.

I follow the long driveway, which pulls under an awning in front of an old plantation style home. I quickly google the name and learn this is a long-term care facility for people recovering from illness, disease, and addiction.

So why is Rory here?

I’ll soon find out.

Ignoring the ‘No Parking’sign, I slip from my car, shut the door, and lean against it with one leg propped up. My tight fitting jeans do nothing to protect me from the wind that whips through here. My dark gray blazer blows open, chilling me through the white tee I wear under it.

Around ten minutes later, Rory comes hiking up the driveway huffing and puffing. She ignores me at first, or maybe she doesn’t actually see me, but when I pull my sunglasses down my nose, revealing my eyes, she stumbles.

Source: www.allfreenovel.com
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