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I stand there and observe her. She’s walking like a woman who knows she is being watched. I hate that she’s right.
As soon as she disappears around the corner of the porch, I hop down the steps and follow after her. She stiffens when she hears me approaching, but doesn’t stop walking. I grab her wrist and spin her around. Her body nearly hits my chest, but she manages to pull herself back in time.
When she looks up at me, we’re only a few inches apart. A breeze moves through, carrying with it the spiced vanilla scent of her perfume.
“What are you doing?” Her voice comes out soft, breathy. She focuses her blue eyes on my shoulder, refusing to meet mine.
“I wanted to make sure you knew where you belonged.”
Her eyes widen. Long lashes bat against her cheekbones. She’s like a painting, drawn from lights and shadows. I want to see the rest of her. Suddenly, I’m cursing myself for ordering such drab uniforms. This woman should not be shielded in polyester.
“And where do I belong?” she asks.
Under me,is what I’d like to say. It’s the only right answer. A desire I haven’t felt in… fuck, inyearsopens in my chest.
But I’m a different man now. I have responsibilities. And I can control myself. I know how to get close to the fire without getting burned.
“Anywhere but the third floor,” I answer.
“I know that. Sonya told everyone.”
“Good. Don’t forget it.”
We stare at each other. I think she’s going to walk away, but then Rayne stands taller. Challenges me. “What’s up there, anyway?” she asks.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“Everyone would like to know. It’s very mysterious.” She narrows her eyes as if she’s trying to see through me. “A rich, single man with an entire floor of his mansion blocked off. What could he be hiding?”
Her voice is silky. I’m almost lured along by her story. “What’s your theory?”
“Cocky of you to assume I have nothing better to do than theorize about your life.”
“It’s only cocky if I’m wrong.”
Her lips press together, but just like I assumed, she can’t keep her thoughts to herself. “I’m waiting for there to be a magic rose up there and for all of us servants to turn into brooms and candlesticks.”
“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t know why I’m surprised. I can’t imagine you as a kid. Certainly not a kid who read fairy tales. My real theory is that you were born just like this. A rude, snarly asshole, six feet tall and surly right out of the womb.” She flips her shiny brown hair over her shoulder, her neck bent in an elegant arch. “I better get back to where I belong,boss.”
Then she makes good on her word, turning and striding around the corner of the house. I don’t follow her this time, as much as I’d like to pin her against the brick wall and ravish her in the wide open.
And as she goes, I can’t ignore the nagging feeling that she’s moving in the wrong direction.
* * *
“We don’t belong here.” Skang Duttrop—his God-given name, the poor bastard; I checked—is sitting in the furthest corner of my office with his tattooed arms crossed. “I shouldn’t have even taken this damn meeting. We’re in a good place with Stefano. He’s fair to us.”
“Fair, maybe. But is he good to you?” I ask.
Skang’s eyes narrow. “He’s good enough. Better than any other mafia bastard has been. They all try to run us out. We’ve been here since this city was fuckin’ founded, but you all show up like you run the place. It’s bullshit. Stefano put an end to that.”
All these MCs have their origin stories. Grand tales of their foremembers founding the city, building it with their own two hands. When really, the truth is that their elders got drunk at some hole in the wall and started doing wheelies down the middle of the street.
“Stefano changed things for you, you’re saying?”
“He changed everything,” Skang agrees, looking around at the two men he brought with him. They’re in matching leather cutoff vests with shattered skull patches over the heart. A spectral-like vapor is rising out of the bone. “We like Stefano. But we don’t know you.”
