Page 9 of Forgotten Comeback (Parisi Family #5)

Chapter

Eight

Gavin

I’ve already put in an early morning workout to keep Russell off my dick, and yet I find myself hanging around the club.

Taylor’s doing her damndest to ignore me. Why that gets under my skin, fuck if I know.

She’s carrying an armful of clean towels, and one falls out of the stack and tumbles to the floor. A guy grabs it as an excuse to chat her up.

Sipping on my energy drink, I sidle up to them and snatch the towel from the guy. “How’s my girl Mia?” I ask Taylor.

“My girl Mia is just fine.” Taylor eyes me with contempt.

“Yeah, she is,” I murmur, for no other reason than to get under this woman’s skin.

“Excuse me,” the guy mutters, walking off.

“Don’t you have somewhere else you need to be?” Taylor says, judgment dripping from her words.

“Interesting that you’re trying to run me off. You seemed to enjoy my company the other night.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Taylor says dismissively. “I was there for one reason and one reason only, and guess what? It wasn’t you.”

“Huh.”

“What?” Taylor says with a sigh.

“Oh, just that Mia’s not the one reason and one reason only you squirted across the room.” I goad her.

Her neck splotches with color as she says cooly, “Bye, little fuckboy.” She takes off, and while I’d love to follow her and poke her some more, my phone buzzes.

Fishing it from my pocket, I scan the message from Inferno.

You’re bartending tonight’s poker party at Ace’s.

My thumbs angrily fly over my phone.

Why does everyone act like I’m incompetent?

I’m simply reminding you. I’ll be overseeing the rave, and I need you and Russell to run things at Ace’s.

As I’m about to type something snippety, another message comes through from John.

Meet me at my place ASAP. Emergency.

On my way now.

Incompetent, and yet I’m a trained lap dog. Getting sick of both my brothers’ bullshit.

I’m in a right foul mood by the time I get to John’s place and park next to the creeper van. I fall into the front seat, and he eyes me. “What’s with you?”

“Nothing. What’s the emergency?”

“We’re going to Newark.”

“Why?” I ask.

“I got a tip about Romeo being at his new restaurant, Daniella’s. Let’s crash the party.”

“I’m always up for a party.” I rub my hands together.

“That’s what concerns me.” My brother eyes me.

I cross my arms. “If I have been burning both ends of the candle, you and Inferno should ask yourselves why.”

“We’re all stretched thin right now, but the payoff will be worth it,” he promises. “There’s a pallet in the back. Why don’t you lie down for a bit, and I’ll wake you when it’s time.”

I let out a breath. “Yeah, alright.”

Unbuckling, I climb through the back and get myself situated on the blankets, giving the pillow a punch before I close my eyes.

Ninety-eight. Ninety-nine. One hundred.

My chest’s heaving as I lean back on my haunches and catch my breath. Russell wasn’t wrong, and that’s why I’m putting in a solo session before Ace’s opens.

I hop to my feet and wipe myself down with a towel before grabbing my gloves and heading for the locker room.

Flipping on the light, I switch out my gloves for my bag in my locker. My sweaty clothes are peeled off as I turn on the shower spray, giving it a minute to heat up before stepping inside.

Soaping up, I run my hands over my chest, all the while I’m thinking about a prickly redhead. My hand moves lower, wrapping around my dick before I stop myself from tugging at it.

A sound so soft I nearly missed it has my neck snapping around.

I lock eyes with that prickly woman in the mirror.

“Enjoying the show, man-eater?” My eyes take a stroll down her curvy body. Fuuuuck. Nipples on those big tits of hers are hard enough to cut through the T-shirt she’s wearing.

Her cheeks heat with embarrassment as she diverts her gaze. “How the hell did you get in here?”

“I have a key. How the hell did you get in here?” I counter. This time, I say fuck it and give my dick a tug.

“I’m working here, part-time,” Taylor says in a rush. “Sorry to interrupt. I thought someone left the shower running.”

My lips curl. “Sure you did.”

She cocks her head, her red hair cascading over her shoulder. “You’re right, Gavin. I was hoping it was you.”

My hand stills. “Why’s that, man-eater?”

“Because I can’t stop thinking about the other night.” She lifts her tee over her head, giving it a toss, before working her way out of those illegal spandex shorts.

“What about the other night?” I ask, squeezing my dick to the point of pain.

Next off is her sports bra, and now that’s what should be illegal. Those tits.

She shimmies out of her panties, and my mouth waters.

“You,” she breathes, playing with her clit. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

“Come join me,” I tell her with the crook of my finger, my other hand tightly wrapped around my dick.

She shakes her head. “We don’t touch each other.”

“Why not?” I demand, jerking my dick faster and faster.

“Because…”

“Gavin.” My shoulder receives a violent shake, and I snap my eyes open. “Need you on deck.”

Deck, not dick.

I rub my palms over my eyelids before climbing into the front of the van and into the driver’s seat.

Taylor McKenna is seriously fucking up my head. And my head’s already a fucked up place to begin with.

“Jesus Christ.” My brother notices my erection. “Is this turning into a full-blown sex addiction? Because we don’t have time for that shit.”

“Worry about your own boners.”

Besides, you can’t be addicted to something you’ve never had.

Right?

Yeah, I’m gonna say right.

“Get your fucking mask on.” John tosses it to me. “I’ll handle the artillery. You leave the message.” He taps the bottle of spray paint in the cup holder before peering through his binoculars. His phone buzzes, and he grabs it from his pocket. “Shit. They’re already inside.”

“How? I thought you were keeping watch.”

“I was,” he snaps. “Let’s pump the dining room full of lead.

Only so many times that fucker can cheat death.

Pull up to the front entrance quietly,” he instructs, and I shift the van into gear and creep down the street, turning into the parking lot.

We reach the front of the building, with both of us hopping out.

Giving the spray can bottle a shake, I deliver the message.

Vengeance is coming.

Look at me being all poetic and shit. Inferno would be proud.

Hustling to the driver’s seat, I shift into D while mashing the brake. John unloads with a semi-automatic rifle; glass shatters as he empties the clip inside the restaurant.

“We gotta go!” My brother shouts as he jumps into the passenger seat and slams the door.

Tires screech as I peel out.

Our enemy returns fire, but we’re long gone.

My fist pumps the air in victory as I hoot and holler, but John doesn’t join in the celebration. “We wait and see how this shakes out?” I guess, lowering my hand.

“We wait and see how this shakes out,” John parrots.

The long game. Still fucking hate the long game.