Page 35 of Executing Malice (Jefferson Rejects #4)

A little thrown, I gather my items and proceed to the door. Its opened and held for me by a man in his early twenties and a redhead who both give me friendly smiles as I pass with my hands full.

So much smiling.

It doesn’t feel natural to smile at strangers for no reason.

At the bank, I shoulder inside and am immediately assaulted by the clamor of raised voices. There is no order, no neat line. The crowd is clustered with no method around Leila’s desk while she fights to be heard over the barrage of disrespect.

“I was here promptly at nine. I came before Wendy did,” an older woman is shrieking, pointing to another outraged woman trying to shove her way to the front.

“I was here before everyone else and I have other things I need to do before noon,” a man shouts.

Everyone seems to have arrived before everyone else and everyone has other things that require their attention. None want to listen to Leila asking them to form a line because they were first .

I stalk straight to the front, shove past several people who yelp in surprise, but I don’t slow until I’m right at the desk with Leila behind me.

“Everyone shut the fuck up!” I growl.

It works. It silences the chaos. All eyes are on me now as I take my time setting the drinks and pastries down. Hands free, I reach across, take Leila by the jaw. I ignore her wide-eyed surprise by pulling her in for a hard kiss before returning my focus on the stunned crowd.

“What’s wrong with you lot?” I snap. “Get in a damn line like civilized people or I’ll make you. I don’t give a shit who was first. In fact, first person who says they were first, will get sent to the back of the line.”

“Who are you to tell us what to do?” A short, balding man hollers over my orders.

I turn to him, fix him with the full weight of my warning. “The guy who will fold you up like a lawn chair and shove you back up inside your mother. Back of the line, asshole.”

I gather up my Danish and my drink and move to the slab of counter a few feet away. I climb up and look over the furious faces watching me. At least no one’s yelling, I think as I take a bite of my breakfast.

“You,” I point to the only quiet person standing away from the crowd, a tiny woman with deep set eyes and auburn curls. “You’re first. Everyone else, behind her. Single file. Let’s go. We learned this in school.”

There’s a lot of grumbling and murderous side eyes, but they fall into place.

It all runs smoothly after that. Each person gets their chance at the front, gets their business dealt with swiftly by Leila and is sent on their way.

When the door closes on the last person, Leila exhales and falls back in her chair. She runs a small hand over her face.

“What a mess. No one was listening.”

I lean over and nudge her drink closer. “Drink. It’s getting cold.”

She takes it and brings it to her lips. I watch her take several slow sips. Her gaze drifts over the rim to where I continue to command her counter space.

“What happened to keeping a low profile?”

I pop the last of my Danish into my mouth and chew. “Not going to let anyone yell at you, Leila. Not going to happen.”

Her cup wielding hand lowers and she studies me with a quiet calm that makes her appear much younger than she is.

“I appreciate the help.”

I respond by nudging her Danish over .

I stick around for the remainder of the day. I park my butt in one of the uncomfortable, plastic chairs in the corner and work.

After the chaos of this morning, everyone else seems to be in a chipper mood. I get the odd side glance from the women, disinterest from most of the men. Not a soul tries to approach or make conversation, and that’s fine.

At her cubical, Leila is a distraction I hadn’t anticipated. I feel like a Golden Retriever every time his owner moves. I have to fight the urge to get up and follow her around the bank as she works.

It’s distracting. My entire being is so entuned with her every heartbeat that I am aware every time she breathes, my skin prickles. My fingers pause in their tapping. My gaze darts up to watch her do something as simple as scratching her nose.

There is the odd time when I glance up and she’s watching me. Her expression is pensive, curious, but still dark with that need from earlier. It does dawn on me that neither of us came and I’m feeling that anxious hunger deep in my gut as well.

“When’s lunch?” I ask her.

Leila shrugs. “I can take a break whenever I want, but since I came in late—”

I push to my feet and move to stand before her. “You need to eat. Where’s your lunch?”

She gestures to the door over her shoulder. “Staffroom ... wait, you can’t go back there.”

But I’m already rounding the desk and stalking through the flimsy door guarding all the money in Jefferson.

The last time I was here, I hadn’t come for the décor — thankfully, because there is none.

The walls are bland white with a dark, flimsy table in one corner guarded by a single, wobbly chair.

A few feet from that is a tiny fridge and freezer combo that barely comes to my hips.

Not even a potted plant. Not a painting.

I’ve been in prison cells that held more cheer.

I do eyeball the giant, steel door bolted into the left wall.

It’s digital, I note. I half expected a vault wheel like a pirate ship.

Instead, there’s a keypad mounted next to the door.

I think the wheel would have been better.

The simple pad can easily get hacked. Even from a distance, I know I can get in, in under twenty minutes.

But I won’t. Bank jobs aren’t my thing. There are easier ways to liberate money from bad people, like breaking into every account a company has after they bought a low-income building, upped the price and kicked out all the tenants to turn the units into condos for wealthy people.

It took all morning, but let’s see how they like having everything taken from them and redistributed to each person they tried to fuck over.

I did include a note to the tenants to keep their mouths shut.

A media circus would only get lawyers involved and make keeping that money risky.

Whether or not they listen to me is up to them. I did my part.

I ignore the vault and move to the fridge. Leila’s lunch bag I packed earlier is tucked neatly inside. I pull it out and turn to find her standing in the doorway, arms folded, lips pursed.

“You can’t be in here,” she says again.

Bag straps dangling from my fingers, I arch an eyebrow. “That is not what you said when I had you bent over the table.”

Her cheeks grow warm and pink under the sickly yellow bulb dangling overhead. “You are definitely getting me fired.”

I go to her and hook her waist with my free arm. She doesn’t resist when I yank her into my chest.

“Then you get fired. Do you think I’d let you struggle?”

She rolls her eyes up at me. “That is not the point. I need money.”

“We have money.”

Lots of it. Probably too much.

“That’s great for you, but I—”

I kiss her to silence her. It’s a gentle sweep of my lips over hers, but she goes soft in my arms.

“I will give you all of it. It was always for both of us. Leave this place right now and I’ll sign it all over to you.”

Her throat muscles flex. “I like working. ”

I shrug. “Then keep working. Just don’t think you need to. I have enough to take care of us and our family.”

The corner of her mouth lifts. “Still on that, huh?”

I drop the bag to fall at our feet as I use both hands to grip her waist. I kick the door shut with the toe of my boot and lift her against the surface.

Leila locks her legs around my hips. Her arms hook around my shoulders.

I nuzzle her throat. Inhale the powdery softness of her skin scented lightly by me.

“You said you’d give me a baby once you saw my face.”

She giggles and squirms when I find her ticklish spot with my teeth. “I said no such thing. I said, I needed to see your face before I—”

“What if you’re already pregnant?”

Her head thumps against the door when she tips it back, giving me room to roam up to her chin.

“I’m on the pill,” she breathes.

I draw her bottom lip in between my teeth and nip, our eyes locked.

“What if you are?”

Because she hasn’t been on her pills in weeks. I’ve come in her a lot. I would bet my last dollar she has my baby already in there.

“I’d be surprised, but...”

“Would you be angry? ”

It’s the only flicker of uncertainty I had when I made the swap. Accidents happen, but would she be forgiving if she learned it was intentional? I know she’ll be angry, but she wouldn’t leave me, would she?

“I’d be scared,” she admits softly. “It’s a big deal, especially with someone I don’t remember knowing.”

“But you’d get to know me again,” I remind her. “We can be a family like we’ve always wanted.”

Her head drops forward and she bumps my nose with hers.

“I have always wanted that, but I still want to get to know you a little more before we bring a whole person into the world. We’re both different people from when we were seventeen, even with the memory loss. What if I’m not what you still want?”

I shake my head, biting back the barking laugh lodged in my throat. “You will always be what I want. Fifty years could have passed, and you would still be my person. There is nothing that will ever change that.”

Her fingers smooth through my hair. “Can I get a little time then? I’m not saying no. I just want to figure you out and learn what kind of people we are together because so far, we’re violent and disturbed.”

I frown. “What’s wrong with that?”

Leila chuckles. “Those are whole red flags for both of us. ”

“Red flags,” I scoff, rolling my eyes. “We don’t hurt people .

.. unless they deserve it,” I add quickly when she lifts an eyebrow.

“And disturbed is hot. Disturbed is holding a blade to your pretty throat and you trusting me not to cut you while I fuck you. Disturbed is tying you up and tattooing my name on your pussy. It’s carving your name into my skin so everyone knows who I belong to.

Our disturbed isn’t for everyone, but it works for us. ”

She squirms in my arms, pussy grinding into my cock as she stares into my eyes with longing.

“Why does that turn me on so much?”

I push my hips harder against her thrashing ones and capture her gasp with my lips.

“Because, my little deviant, that’s who we are. It’s who we have always been. You’re as sick and twisted as I am and we complete each other.”

She’s panting against my mouth, her pussy scorching hot against my crotch. “We need to stop ... this. I’m at work and...”

I kiss her harder.

I fix her against the door and devour every moan, every whimper. I hate myself for giving her pants, but I push against her and swallow back my groan when she mirrors me.

“You should have kept your toy,” I breathe into her mouth. “I could have had so much fun with you.”

Leila laughs. “Oh, it was loads of fun for you. It was torture for me.”

I groan at the memory of her in sweet agony across the bank floor, skirt bunched up around her waist, thighs quivering. Pussy a wet, gushing mess.

“Fuck, I need to go.”

Her green eyes blink. “What?”

I set her down quickly as my brain goes wild with possibilities. “I’ll be back. Eat your lunch.”

I practically break an ankle sprinting out of the bank. My heart hammers in my chest, an excited tempo that has the biggest grin on my face as I pull my helmet down over my head and straddle my bike.

It’s too early for this gift but fuck it.

I need it .