Page 32

Chapter 32

Liam

T he hat on Fleur is driving me wild.

I didn’t have the heart to tell her it was mine. That the older cap with the town’s name, Ruin, MS, embroidered overtop a magnolia leaf was mine from years ago. I hadn’t seen it in forever, so I was shocked when she had it tucked over her perfectly shaped head. Come to think of it, the last time I remember having it was in my truck. Probably got mixed with the thrift store bags when we brought them in.

If it keeps her wearing it, I’ll let her think otherwise.

I push the empty cart back to the return, the groceries piled high in the back seat of my truck. I have never once been shopping with a woman before. Admittedly, I’ve never found myself in this situation. I’ve always lived alone, never sharing space with a member of the opposite sex. Here I’ve found myself married and living with a woman for the first time all in the same week.

The cabin already smells better. Her scent reminds me of pistachio and salted caramel drizzle on an ice cream sundae.

What the hell? I’m probably hungry.

I climb into the truck and twist the key. While the engine roars to life, I chance a glimpse at the girl distorting my life as I know it—because I’ll never be the same after this.

She’s in her own world, contemplating the saturated clouds that are blowing in quickly. Fleur chews at her lip, folding it over her bottom teeth. Does she know how alluring she is when she does that?

We make it onto the main road before the patter of rain starts on the windshield. Sun blocked out in the sky, the last light of the day gives way to early darkness, and my phone call with Darrin eats away at me for the night to come. He’s demanded I come to his latest establishment, which means I’ll need to bring Fleur.

I swerve to miss another truck I didn’t see, and Fleur’s eyes widen.

I hate I snapped at her this afternoon, but the samples I stole from the warehouse along with the intel I need to pass along to my handler can’t have any evidence of her.

Selfishly, I want to tell her. Maybe she’d hate me less. But I can’t toss her in the middle of this investigation and undercover mission. No one can know. My grandfather is the only one who knows my involvement and that’s not without its risks.

She’s already handling this better than I would’ve expected. Any additional measure of comfort on her part would be met with suspicion.

A part of me thinks it would help solidify what I’m doing. But the other part thinks I’d be putting her in danger. Even more so if I’m found out.

No. The less she knows, the better.

I need her to act disgusted with me. As much as tugging out her smile heats my blood, I can’t be seen as anything other than what I am portraying. That way, Fleur can genuinely say she didn’t know.

The rain tapers off to a drizzle.

Sluggishly, I exit the shower, having spent too much time in there putting off the inevitable, I suppose. With my towel wrapped securely around my waist, I swipe the steam settled on the medicine cabinet mirror and open it to grab my toothbrush. I pause, taking in the array of feminine products piled on the narrow glass shelves before I slam the door shut, trying to shove the torrent of Fleur thoughts from my mind. It’s been a week, and already I can’t shake her presence.

Having forgotten my clothes in the bedroom, I throw open the door to find Fleur reading on the couch. Her knees are up, toes tucked under her, while she flips the pages of a Southern Home magazine that isn’t mine. At the sound of the door, her gaze casually lifts, then widens into shock before she ducks into the pages of the issue.

I’m covered below the waist, but the red settling in on the tips of her ears makes me smirk. With a snort, I turn on my heels to pull on my jeans and a ribbed long-sleeve. After wrestling with the bottom drawer to pull out a pair of hidden socks, I finally wrangle my hair up. Lingering in the bedroom, I stare at the bed. I’d prefer to be in it, rather than being summoned to Darrin’s latest conquest. It’s unfortunate. Even more so because I need to tow Fleur with me.

I move back through the hall and into the living room.

Fleur, who hadn’t bothered to change, slaps closed her reading material in favor of standing. Immediately, my attention bounces to her toned legs. I trace every tantalizing curve, my focus dipping to her rumpled shirt drifting above her hip bone.

She reaches for her tattered braid. Pulling out the hair tie holding it together, she weaves her hand through it, letting the style unwind. The long waves of her hair make me pause.

A flash of blond cascading down around my face, wrapped in the plaid of my bed sheets, has me taking a few steps back.

I reach for the bike helmet and, without meeting Fleur’s eyes, hand it to her.

“What’s this for?” she asks.

“To wear.”

She gulps at the sleek black that reflects like a mirror. “We’re taking your bike?”

“Yes.”

She nods, rubbing her hands along her thighs, beckoning my gaze again.

Damn it.

“I-I, um, I’ve never been on one before.” Panic laces her voice, and her hand instinctively reaches for her wrapped wrist.

She’s nervous.

Normally, the small tidbit of information would thrill me, but at the way her face wrings with worry, along with her subconscious reach for a way to quiet the fear—my muscles tighten with an otherworldly desire to touch her. I flex open my closed fists, trying to quench the need.

“Trust me, Fleur.”

Darrin’s new establishment is at an old dry cleaner. It’s rather ordinary in order to avoid arousing suspicion. The building is warped and splintered, the siding a muted yellow that reminds me of piss in snow. The metal roof has been neglected, and the faint outline of the old business name is barely visible.

When we first pull up, I immediately want to take Fleur away. Several men, dressed in their leathers and smoking cigarettes, loiter around outside in the back. Women in scantily clad outfits hang all over them. One of the women’s hands wanders over the man’s shoulders she’s practically climbing. I don’t even need to remove my helmet to see her behavior is off. Most likely Jackpot.

Darrin isn’t looking to get rich with these underground card games and gambling rings. He wants people in his pocket—favors owed to him. He wants users around to make irrational decisions and those addicted to the game to become addicted to something far more powerful. These places are conduits, funnels to trap. Nothing more.

When I finally maneuver the bike into an inconspicuous spot and shut off the engine, Fleur’s hands drop away from where they’d been vice-gripped around my waist. With each rev of the engine or sharp turn, her hold would intensify, sending heat rushing through me. Something about her being at my mercy.

I turn, reaching my gloved hands up to unfasten her helmet. Her hair puffs out when I rip the helmet away, the static feathering out individual strands into the air. For a moment, I take the opportunity to study her through the tinted visor of my own helmet, having not yet removed it.

“Look who it is,” a voice shouts from the back entrance. Fleur’s hand bolts to my arm, her fist twisting my leather jacket as her eyes find the source of the shout. Barely do I keep my mouth from twitching upward at her slight shift in my direction. As if I’m the one to protect her from these buffoons.

She’d be right, though. I am the only one standing between her and this awful life.

Eventually, I remove my helmet and raise a hand toward Larry, Darrin’s bookkeeper.

Dressed in khaki pants and a blue checkered button-down, Larry isn’t the sort of guy you’d think you’d catch at establishments like these. With his wide-rimmed glasses and ever-changing bowtie, the guy reads more church-going frat brother rather than someone who’d run in Darrin’s circles. He doesn’t live at the compound. Actually, he’s the only one besides Micah allowed to live off the compound even though he has privileged access to everything Darrin knows.

Darrin believes if something were to happen to our hideaway in the woods, keeping Larry out of the mix can only bode well.

“Hey, man,” Larry says, cozying up closer to my bike than I’d like. “Haven’t seen you come out to the tables in a while. Finally decide to try your luck?”

I sniff, wiping the tip of my nose with my thumb. “Darrin wanted us here tonight. Gotta good crowd?”

He knows I don’t gamble. Not after what went down with Adam. Shockingly, Darrin never made me feel as if I had to. Most of the six don’t mess with it, same as we don’t mess with the Jackpot.

“Yes. We do.” Larry grins. He rolls back on his heels, shoving his hands in his slacks, letting his gaze scan Fleur.

“This is Fleur. Fleur, this is Larry.” I offer introductions but nothing more.

She nods at him, while he gives me a side pat on my shoulder twice, then winces when his hand is met with my solid muscle. Rolling my eyes, I gesture to the door and Larry leads us.

I linger, waiting for Fleur to step with me. My hand grazes the small of her back, and she sucks in a tiny breath before moving along in the direction I guide her.

Managing to dodge most of the guys at the door is a feat, but Larry is usually one to deter them. They don’t have the patience for him and his ever-growing obsession with the numbers. The wide berth they give us is more than I’ve ever been afforded before, and I take advantage, ushering Fleur in without their wandering or prying eyes.

A few of Darrin’s men stand in the front acting as security for the evening, but step aside when they see Larry and me.

A thin layer of dust and grime coats the windows, but the floors are clean, and the smell of smoke-drenched clothes cancels out any musty odor.

The space opens into lines of tables, all filled with people. Blackjack, poker, casino war—table after table of card games litter the vast space.

There’s resistance from Fleur as she stops, taking in the sight of each filled table. Women slide through, carrying drinks and Jackpot on trays, dealers stand, keeping eyes on each player, and Darrin sits, lounging in the back on a black leather chair.

A man in front of us winks at Fleur before pinching the ass of a woman walking by.

Fleur’s wide eyes look at me, and I lean down, letting my mouth graze the soft rim of her ear. “Trust me and follow my lead.”

She isn’t going to like who I am tonight.

I inhale and plaster a smirk on my face before making my way back to the guys.

Darrin watches as we work our way toward him. He gestures a hand to another leather chair beside him and Blitz. I take it, leaving Fleur to stand. Confusion teeters on her brow until she notices the other women around the group also standing. Most of them have a hand or two stroking leisurely. An arm, a finger dragging on a thigh—sensual touches to appease the lazy men in their chairs.

Fleur tucks herself between me and, unfortunately, Blitz’s seat. She angles her body in order to scan the floor. Sheriff Motley sits at a Texas hold’m table and enthusiastically waves in our direction. I nod then sneak a glance at Fleur who’s clenching her fists tight, eyes narrowing on the sheriff seated next to the mayor.

It’s impossible for outsiders to truly comprehend how embedded Darrin’s reach is in town. Questions are often raised by newcomers. Why doesn’t the sheriff arrest him? How come the mayor doesn’t take back his town?

The answer—well, the answer is simple. Boiled down to one word. Corruption.

From the look of faithlessness on Fleur’s face, she’s realized how deep the well really goes.

“Yo, D. Why were we called here tonight?” one of the men asks.

I don’t catch who it is, and their voice is drowned out as I’m watching Fleur scan the crowd. Is she looking for someone?

After several seconds, I finally catch up to the conversation going on around me, and I realize that we were, in fact, told to come here. All of the six, and even some others, from the looks of it.

“Four dealers have turned up dead in the last few days,” Darrin says.

Silence.

In the immediate area around us, no one speaks. No one breathes. Four dealers?

“Dumped in town. All baring the horseshoe. I’ve IDed them. All shot at point blank range.”

Fleur fidgets. Similarly, the other women do too.

“Is it Raven?” I ask. Raven is the drug lord from over the state line in Alabama. We’ve had territory issues before considering our dealers work in nearby circles but murdering four of them …

“I believe so,” Darrin continues. “Our meeting with the Cartel, the joining newer networks—they’re threatened. More potent Jackpot means more business for us and less for them.”

Blitz growls next to me and Fleur jumps in response. He finds it funny and chuckles, running a finger from her knee up her thigh. I steel my face, trying to look as impassive as possible while my inside is screaming to shove his hand in a meat grinder for touching her.

Fleur leans away and his hand drifts back down to the arm of his leather chair, smiling as he stares where his fingers touched her.

“Let’s repay the favor,” Blitz offers to Darrin, his eyes finally moving away from Fleur’s short shorts. A building full of half-naked women and he still has eyes for Fleur. Rage simmers beneath my skin and I itch.

“I already have,” Darrin says, swirling a glass beer bottle in his hand. My gaze snaps to his and I smirk in approval. Or at least I try to convince him of my affirmation. But deep down I’m struggling not to demand an answer to why he’s decided to start a war with Raven.

This muddies the water. I’m supposed to be passing along information to my handler about the Cartel and the bigger network. That’s the information they need. Getting sucked into a border war is dangerous and not what the DEA is looking for right now.

Internally, I’m strategizing. How can I redirect Darrin’s attention? How can I keep my mission in play? Can I keep Fleur safe if this happens?

“Cheers to that,” Trip says and lifts his drink in the air. His boisterous words seem to lighten the too tightly wound group of men. The women begin their movements again, and several men motion for new drinks to be delivered to them.

Two beers are delivered to me on a tray, and I thank the woman, putting on a show of admiring her for Darrin, who’s staring at me, but I’d rather cut off my own limbs than touch another woman. I turn and hand one of the bottles to Fleur. “Here.”

“I don’t like beer,” Fleur says unapologetically.

A snicker from across the wide circle of men in chairs has me grinding my teeth.

“Drink it anyway,” I demand.

Blitz makes a crude joke about him saying the same line to a woman last night and the guys erupt in laughter, me along with them.

She flinches and takes the bottle in her hand but doesn’t bring it to her mouth. She studies me, her lashes blinking a few times as if she’s trying to figure me out. I say a silent prayer she’ll forgo an attitude with me. These men would expect me to do something about it.

Fleur snorts and shakes her head, looking away as she blinks through the tears in her eyes.

There’s nothing I want more than to grab her hand in this moment. To run my thumb across her soft knuckles and tell her this isn’t me, that I’m playing a part.

Would she even believe me?

As the night trickles on, the women are more careless about where they’re lounging. Some sit on the arms of the chairs, and others have been pulled onto the laps of the men near them.

Those on the floor grow louder as the night progresses. Drinks flow freely, and shouts of winners and losers escalate, prompting Darrin to get involved several times.

Fleur’s still standing straight, shuffling on her feet, and I’m sure she’s trying to relieve the pain. After one too many sways, I grab for her, yanking her down on my lap.

She yelps and her spine stiffens when she lands on my leg. With both hands on her waist, I torment myself by moving her closer to my hips until she’s nestled between my thigh and the chair.

The leather groans as she struggles to right herself upright, but I clamp my hands on her hips and hold fast. I reach up, finding the back of her neck. I squeeze only enough to garner her attention, then bring my mouth to her ear.

“Relax,” I whisper. “Trust me.”

She shivers and fights against my hold. When I release her, she springs back, glaring at me. I smirk, then pick a blackjack table to divert my attention to, unable to bear the pain reflected in her expression.

There’s no relaxing for Fleur as the night goes on. She remains wholly vertical, unable to slouch into me, much to my dismay. The only time she’s jostled is when my phone rings. I lift my hips to remove it from my back pocket and the movement effectively slides Fleur further into me. Her cheeks burn red when her hands fumble with my chest, clawing to right herself again.

I check my phone with a smug smile on my face, only for it to die when I see my mother calling. It’s about that time. She’s heard, verified, and now processed the news, I’m sure. Two clicks and I’ve ignored her call, sending her to voicemail.

After tucking my phone away, I glue my hands to the thick arms of the chair in an attempt to keep from touching Fleur. I can’t help it; my body hums with her this near. With each shift, she causes me agony of the best kind. My heart pounds so fiercely I can feel it pulse in my fingertips as if in time with my need to splay my hand across her thigh.

Trip, who arrived later with a new girl in tow, takes Blitz’s seat while he’s pants down in the corner. He leans close. “Trade you for the rest of the night?”

Trade. As if these women were baseball cards. It’s gross and disgusting. One more reason why I never brought a woman around during the past four years. If you don’t claim them, these men have no boundaries. Even with me married to Fleur, the attempts are nauseating. Darrin mentioned they assumed since the marriage was forced, I’d be bored already. Ready for a refresh.

While there’s absolutely no way I’d ever trade Fleur for the night, I take my time answering. I purse my lips, rubbing my chain between my fingers as if I’m truly considering it.

Fleur looks as if she could vomit, her expression sour as Trip lets his gaze linger on her with an obsessive, unyielding intensity.

I bring a palm down, kneading her thigh in his line of sight.

Her legs are smooth, and I relish the goose bumps that flare to life once my fingers spread over her muscles. My hand is large against her petite frame, but there’s something right about it being there. I don’t move it away.

I raise my chin to Trip, who’s staring at me, practically panting like a dog for a new toy to play with. “I think not,” I say.

Trip whines, sucking back the last of his bottle before he reaches out and grabs the new girl. She playfully yells his name and bats his hand away, but the look in her eyes is pure terror.

Fleur looks away, tears in her eyes. She reaches for her wrist, where two new rubber bands sit. I don’t outright look down. I stare ahead, nodding in conversation to something Darrin is saying. But out of the corner of my eye, I watch her pull them back.

Roughly, I clasp her wrist before she can let them snap. Still, I don’t look at her.

Adjusting my fingers, I tighten my grip until she no longer struggles against it. Her gaze burns on the side of my head. I can feel her ire radiating and consuming, but still, I don’t look at her. And I sit that way for the remainder of the night.