Page 41

S arah

It’s been several days since I brought Boyd home.

He’s currently sleeping on the couch, again. The pills are strong, but they need to be. I’ve changed his bandage twice, and the while the wounds on his leg are healing, they still make me shudder every time I see them.

Boyd’s uncle stopped by yesterday. A few members of the Morandi family were here earlier. They wanted to stay longer, but I put my foot down, because Boyd needs his rest. Never imagined I’d be the girl standing up to members of the Mafia. But I’d do anything for Boyd. I love him.

The Morandi family is still searching for Solitude and the members of the Bratva that are in Las Vegas.

Lea has given me a few updates. Cadence filled me in on what she’s working on for Massimo and Dante.

The rest of the details, I’ve gotten from Boyd.

I’m not as eager for them to find the killers now.

Because as soon as they do, Big Mafia Boyd is going to do everything his power to get off that couch so he can go after them.

“What was I even doing here?” I mutter, looking over the notes I’ve been working on for my next podcast.

I haven’t given up my podcast entirely, but I haven’t recorded one since Boyd got hurt.

The news has broken about Solitude and the Bratva.

Arthur Dykstra’s attorneys are trying to get his conviction overturned, but they’re still facing some resistance.

It’s only a matter of time, because of the evidence that got suppressed from Chicago.

The district attorney in New York just isn’t making it easy, because it reflects poorly on his office.

Truthfully, there’s no evidence that says Arthur Dykstra wasn’t working with Solitude and the Bratva, but I’m leaning toward the theory he was framed.

He has a military background, and his pregnant wife was caught in the crossfire during a Mafia hit, so he has plenty of motive.

He still hasn’t released a public statement or offered anything in his defense.

Most people who have followed the story think it’s because Solitude has something on him.

Public sentiment has shifted. Now that it’s not a single vigilante taking down crime bosses, the story isn’t as interesting.

It’s just a bunch of Russian hackers and the criminals, waging war in order to seize more power and territory.

They’ve already done that in Chicago, New York, and New Jersey.

But instead of just being opportunists, like everyone assumed, they’re actually behind it.

“Alright, I’ll just go live and share what the Morandi family is okay with me talking about,” I sigh. “Won’t be much excitement in my voice this time, though.”

Before Boyd finally fell asleep, I promised him I’d do another podcast today.

It seems like he’s more invested in it than I am right now.

My life just feels like it’s been turned upside down.

I came to Las Vegas to win some money counting cards, cash in my personal favor to get stories for my podcast, and hurry back to Pine Grove with all sorts of new, juicy content.

But I’m not going home. Not anytime soon. And even then, I won’t be staying in Pine Grove. My future is here, with Boyd. I told my mom about him, but I didn’t tell her much. Just enough for her to tell me I’ve lost my mind, which… yeah. She’s right.

“Hi, everyone, I know it’s been a while since you’ve heard from me, and I apologize, but I’ve been busy!

” I say, drumming up as much excitement as I can muster.

“And I’m not the only one! I’m sure you’ve seen the stories on the news, but I’ll give you my take on the newest revelations.

The Mafia Prince Killer is… not just one man! ”

I watch the number of listeners grow as I continue to ramble on.

I don’t have any explosive exclusives, but I broke them early on during the rampage in Las Vegas, so people are tuning in.

I share a few pieces of information other podcasters don’t have, but I know a lot more than I tell my listeners.

I don’t turn it into a long podcast. I don’t have the mental energy for it. I recap everything, give my take, go through my notes, and wrap it up like I always do.

“If you enjoyed this update, make sure you tune in next time!” I keep the excitement in my voice, even though my enthusiasm has waned. “That’s all for this episode. As always, I’m your host Sarah Parker and these have been… your True Crime Minutes !”

I end the podcast, reach for my vape, and lean back in my chair.

“There. I did a fucking podcast,” I mutter to nobody in particular, since he’s passed out. “Happy, Boyd?”

“Yep,” he grunts, and I sit up immediately, because I thought he was still sleeping.

“Shit, do you need something?” I rush to his side. “I didn’t have to finish the podcast. You could have told me you were awake.”

“Nah, I liked listening to it,” he groans, leaning down to check his bandages. “But these need to be changed again.”

“Yep, they sure do,” I say, hurrying to retrieve the medical supplies.

I bring everything over, kneel by the couch, and grimace when I peel the bandages back.

The wounds appear to be healing the way they should, but they still don’t look great.

The doctor came by yesterday and didn’t seem concerned.

He thinks Boyd may be back on his feet in a few days, but I’m not letting him leave this condo until he’s fully healed.

I carefully remove the bandages, clean his wounds, apply more antibiotic cream, and wrap fresh gauze around his leg. The stitches aren’t bleeding anymore and don’t look infected, so that’s a positive sign. I’m sure they still hurt, though.

“Okay, all done,” I say, gathering everything up.

“Thank you,” he mutters, reaching for his phone. He studies it for a moment, then looks at me. “Dante was able to get more gas sensors. Should be able to cover all the residences now. Fucking hate that I’m not out there with them.”

“Before you got hurt, you were happy to be on the sidelines because it meant more time with me,” I say, giving him a playful nudge before I carry the medical supplies back to the bathroom.

“Yeah, but now I’m pissed off,” he growls. “Really pissed off. I’ve known some of the guys those fuckers killed for years. They were good men. And I feel responsible, because I was one of the people leading them to their death.”

“You had no way of knowing,” I sigh as I return to him.

“Nobody did. They even wore the exact same shoes, so that none of the footprints would draw attention. They fooled the police, the Mafia in multiple cities, and the media. There wasn’t even any talk about multiple killers in the true crime circles until the first murder in Las Vegas.

Still, nobody realized it was a freaking team. ”

“Your friend Cadence seems to think Solitude is a pretty big deal. I knew about the vigilante shit they’ve done, but that was all hacking and shit,” he says. “Cadence worked up a profile for us and got into a couple of their servers, but couldn’t get past the firewall or whatever.”

“They are a big deal,” I admit, looking down.

“There have been lots of rumors about them working with the Russian government over the years, and they’ve stolen billions in cryptocurrency.

I assume that’s how they’re financing this.

But I don’t think they’re vigilantes anymore.

Not if they’re working with the Bratva.”

“They’re fucked, regardless. As soon as we locate them, we’ll hunt those assholes down, even if that means another trip to Russia,” he says.

“Things are going to get really bad, aren’t they?” I ask apprehensively. “Lea mentioned a war.”

“It’ll be a war, that’s for damn sure,” he answers, taking a hit from his vape and exhaling a watermelon cloud.

“We don’t have enough men to take on the entire Bratva, but Massimo has been making calls.

He’s trying to get some of the old Mafia families left in the cities they previously hit to send men to Las Vegas.

You don’t build an army like that unless you think you’ll need them. ”

“I can’t ask you not to go, even though I wish I could,” I sigh, looking down. “But when that time comes, please be careful. Don’t take any risks you don’t have to. You’ve brought something incredible to my life, and I can’t lose it… can’t lose you.”

“You’re stuck with me, little girl,” he growls, tilting my head until I’m looking into his emerald-gold gaze. “There was a time when I didn’t give a fuck if I came back. All I cared about was doing the most damage possible. I’ll be careful. I promise.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, leaning against him until he pulls me into his arms.

This is the only place I want to be right now.

And when the time finally comes for Big Mafia Boyd to go to war, I’ll still be here. Waiting. Hoping. Praying to any deity who is listening that he comes back to me.

A few days later, Boyd is back on his feet, but I still prefer him on the couch.

“Boyd, seriously,” I groan, my heart clenching as I watch him painfully drag himself around the condo. “You don’t have to get up and do so much just because the doctor said you’re able to walk. You still need to heal.”

“I’m fine,” he argues. “More than fine.”

“No, you’re not,” I sigh. “If you’re not careful you’re going to rip one of your stitches and then you’ll have to start all over.”

“Nah,” he grunts. “I’ll make it. Trust me, I’ve been hurt before. I heal faster than most people do.”

“Or you just pretend it doesn’t hurt, even when it does,” I mutter.

“You worry too much,” he says, walking up and putting his hands on my hips. “I’m getting better. In fact, I think I’m well enough to drag you into the bedroom.”

“Boyd, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I protest, but his lips are already on my neck, sizzling against my skin as he kisses his way to my ear.

“It’s been too long,” he rasps. “I need what is mine. I need you .”

“You have me,” I whisper, my body responding to him, even though I’m still worried. “I’m not going anywhere. Wait until you’re healed.”

“Oh, you’re going somewhere alright,” he grins, pulling me toward the bedroom. “You’re going to my bed where you belong.”

I try to fight it, but as soon as his lips find mine and he starts pulling at my clothes, my willpower falters. I kiss him back. I tug his t-shirt over his head and run my fingers along his mountainous physique.

Boyd pushes me toward the bed, and I fall back against the mattress. He lowers himself carefully, his weight shifting as he leans over me. His movements are slower than usual, more deliberate, and I can tell he’s trying not to lose control like he normally does. He’s being careful.

I try to relax as his lips brush against mine again.

The urgency that always simmers between us has softened into something deeper.

I feel it in the way his hand moves along my waist, the way his fingers trail across my skin as he finishes undressing me, like he’s memorizing every curve all over again because of how long it’s been since we were together like this.

“I missed this,” he murmurs against my mouth. “Missed you, Sarah.”

“I’ve been here the entire time,” I whisper, undoing his pants and pushing them down. Carefully, so that I don’t hurt him. My lips spread into a grin, and I tease him by dragging my fingers along his cock. “You were the one sleeping on the couch, Big Boyd.”

A quiet laugh rumbles in his chest, then he gasps from the contact. “Wasn’t exactly my choice, little girl.”

He kisses me again. Slower this time. I stroke his length while his hands and lips explore what is his.

Touching, tasting, and making my core clench with anticipation.

I let go of him so he can finish removing his pants and then he moves between my legs.

Our bodies align and he enters me with a breathless groan, sinking inch by inch, the usual force replaced by the warmth of our restrained intimacy.

I shift my hips, careful that my legs don’t make contact with his wounds and guide him deeper. He moves with more restraint than usual. I can see the need raging in his gaze, but this is so much softer than I’m used to. Even his touch isn’t as rough.

Still, when he begins to thrust into me, I can’t help worrying. “Careful. Don’t do too much. If it hurts, we need to stop.”

“Nothing is going to stop me from having what is mine,” he hisses into my ear. “And you’re mine, Sarah. Aren’t you?”

“Yes,” I whisper back, fingertips sliding along the ridges of his back, feeling the tension in his muscles. “I’m yours. Always.”

Our hips find a quiet rhythm. One that lets us feel everything, but doesn’t put too much pressure on his stitches. I succumb to what I’ve missed. What I’ve craved. The slide of skin. The shared breath. The low growls that echo from him every time he goes deep and makes my g-spot hum.

I can feel the pressure building. It’s different. Less intense, but something else lingers below the surface. The connection we share. The three words we’ve said to each other. A warmth that radiates with love, instead of a burning need.

“You’re going to come for me,” he demands. “It’s been too long since I’ve seen those pretty blue eyes begging for more.”

“Yes,” I groan, the tension coiling tight in my core before the pleasure rushes through my body. “Oh, sweet mercy!”

I don’t have to ask for permission, so I simply let go, tumbling into beautiful bliss with a soft gasp. I cling to Boyd as the pleasure rolls through me in slow, molten waves. The orgasms aren’t as powerful, but they burn deep, clenching his cock each time another one quakes through my core.

“Damn, you feel so fucking good,” he grinds out, his cock throbbing inside me. “I need a little more. Just… a little.”

“Careful,” I moan, feeling him moving faster inside me.

Boyd drives his throbbing length into me while I come, and then he joins me with a quiet groan. His body shudders above me as he holds himself steady, lips pressed to my shoulder as his seed spills deep in my depths.

He doesn’t pull away immediately. We stay where we are, intertwined, quiet, with our bodies linked while our breathing returns to normal.

When Boyd finally moves, he doesn’t roll away. He stays close, carefully positioning himself beside me. His thick fingers brush my blonde hair aside and he kisses my temple, then my cheek, then the corner of my mouth.

“Are you okay?” I ask, a twinge of concern overpowering the afterglow.

“I’m fine, Sarah,” he murmurs. “This has done more to heal me than the stitches.”

“I doubt that,” I sigh, kissing his chest as I move closer to him.

“Then you have no idea what you do to me,” he says, his arms pulling me into a tight embrace. “I need you more than I need to breathe.”

I have no protests to offer, despite my concerns.

Because Boyd isn’t much of a liar, which means he’s telling the truth.

And I feel it too.