Page 20

NINETEEN

SEAHORSE

ROYCE

N icolette screws up her face. “What?”

“The guy you were talking about… I was the one who was there when we got shot at. You’re right. I’ll never know who they were firing at, but the bullets found Heather that night.” I take a deep breath, then admit in a stoic voice, “I held her as she died.”

“Oh, Royce… that’s fucking awful.” She lays her hand on my thigh. “I didn’t know… they only mentioned the Josh—the Jake guy. But it was you… Shit. That must have hurt so bad. You must have really loved her.”

If only I had.

I shake my head. “I barely knew her.”

She blinks. “I… I don’t understand.”

“Part of what you said is right. Jake… he was obsessed with this woman he met at college. He followed her here, discovered she was the sister of a Dragonfly, and decided to pursue her anyway. She wasn’t interested. She wanted nothing to do with him, but Jake… he’s different . He didn’t understand. He wanted her, and he did everything he could to take her. But before he could wear her down, she came to me to get him to stop.”

“Because you’re the Sinners’ underboss?”

“Because Jake is my younger cousin.”

Nicolette’s mouth parts.

Yeah. I know.

“She had no idea I was in the life when she found me at the Playground. To her, I think it was a perk. When she saw me, she saw her way out. Heather thought I could get Jake to leave her alone and get her overprotective brother off her back. I’m a fixer, right? She wanted me to fix her. She told me she loved me. She wanted me to love her, too.”

Nic rubs my thigh with her palm. She’s not drawing away from me, which is a plus, though her face has shadowed over. “Did you?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry. I know I’m an asshole. When I say I couldn’t care less about this woman I didn’t know… it was my responsibility as family to keep an eye on Jake. Once I learned she had Dragonfly ties, I got him to back off. He’s not in the life. I didn’t want him getting involved. But, somehow, she convinced herself she was in love with me instead… and it got back to her brother anyway. Like me with my cousin, he had eyes on her. When she called me and begged me to meet her that night, I did because I was going to tell her there couldn’t be anything between us. If she didn’t want one McIntyre, she didn’t get to trade him for another. But then… she died.”

And I’ve spent the last six years wondering if I’d shut her down sooner, if I hadn’t felt bad and gone to meet her on neutral territory that night, if she’d still be alive.

It was a Dragonfly who killed her. I was still shot at, though I’ll never know if I was a target. The only way we avoided full- out war was because it was neutral territory, and the triggerman confessed to Damien that he took out a fellow Dragonfly’s property.

Because, like Nic, that’s all Heather Valiant was.

She moves closer, so close that she actually is almost on my lap. “Why are you telling me this?”

Good question.

“Because you trust me,” I tell her honestly. “And I need you to know what kind of man you think you do.”

“Oh, I know what kind of man you are.”

“And what’s that?”

“The one who brought me to see one of my favorites shows, and who made it an evening to remember before Kieran tried to fucking ruin it. But I won’t let him. I was his property once. I’m not now.” Nicolette reaches for my belt. “I’m yours .”

I’m struck speechless as her nimble fingers start to undo it.

I don’t normally wear a belt. Our syndicate doesn’t have an exact dress code. Link insists that the face of the Sinners—guys like me, him, Luca, Killian—we all have to wear suits so that we can go against our early, thuggish reputation. Pressed pants, button-downs, and a jacket are common, though some guys wear ties and belts, some don’t. No tie for me, but I’m hit or miss, usually more miss, with the belt.

And then, a couple of nights ago, Nicolette bought me one.

She noticed that some of the crew at the Playground used them. Though she knows damn well it’s not because I can’t afford it, she still took money of her own—money that she’s determined to earn and keep—and bought me a belt in case I needed one.

I’ve worn it since, and the hungry look on her face whenever I start to unbuckle it these last few nights makes me wonder if she bought it more for me or for her. It doesn’t matter. I’ll do anything if it excites my Nic, including fiddling with the fucking thing whenever I get dressed.

Luckily, it’s a lot easier getting it off than on, something Nicolette proves as she easily undoes it for me right now.

I watch her curiously. I sure as hell don’t stop her, and I’m rewarded when she unzips my pants next. Reaching for my cock, she takes a firm grip of it, then eases down to her knees.

I love pussy, but Nicolette? She’s got a thing about cocksucking. Once we became intimate—once I proved to her that nothing will stop me from pleasuring her with my mouth—she showed me that she’s just as eager to give me oral.

I don’t expect it. That would be a dick move, and I’d rather have her come on my face than force her to her knees. But when she’s offering…

Only one problem. Considering the conversation we just had, I’m not so sure why she’s offering.

Because she thinks she’s my property now?

Because I’m hers ?

Maybe it’s not that… and I decide to just let her show me affection this way as she swirls her practiced tongue around the head of my cock, strangling any answer from me the moment I feel the heat of her mouth on my skin. I shudder, taking a deep breath as Nic sucks me in a little deeper, taking the first two inches while gently grazing my dick with her teeth.

I was limp when she grabbed me; sorry, an asshole I might be, but reminiscing about a woman dying in my arms just doesn’t get me going. Nicolette taking over? Nicolette grabbing me like she has every right to—and she does ?

Nicolette nibbling on the underside of my cock, fisting it, stroking it, doing anything she can to make me feel good?

I’m hard in no time, and grateful for the distraction.

That’s what she’s doing, isn’t it? Took me a second, but I got there eventually. Ripping me out of the past, thrusting me right into the present with her, she swoops her hair over her shoulder, cocks her head slightly, and takes me as deep as she can before hollowing her cheeks.

My sac tightens. I lean back into the couch, clutching the cushions as she worms her way closer. Nic is bobbing her head now, doing all of the work while I sit there and let her.

This is for me. She doesn’t have the words to tell me—and since that means she’d stop blowing me in order to do so, I’m fine with that—but the message is clear. Heather might be gone, but it wasn’t my fault. I was the poor guy who got stuck in the middle of it, all because I wanted to help my cousin and the woman he was convinced he loved.

It was obsession, plain and simple. What he has with this Simone woman now? That’s probably obsession, too, but… fuck . That’s not my problem anymore. Jake got himself into this mess. He can get himself out of it, too. I’ll help him if he really does need me. But if he doesn’t? I’m not worried about him.

I was obsessed with Nic. No denying that. I was obsessed, but the more I’ve gotten to know this woman, the more I’m convinced it is love. I love her, this magnificent creature who went to her knees for no other reason because she knows I needed this connection.

Heather died, and I couldn’t save her. I spent six years dealing with the guilt—and I barely fucking knew her.

But Nicolette… if anything ever happened to her? I don’t know what I would do.

I’m not so sure I want to find out, either.

Grunting under my breath, I force myself to focus on the now instead of the future or the past. I try to hold out as long as I can, but it’s been a stressful twenty-four hours and I’m wrung out over thinking about my past, plus everything I learned about Nicolette’s.

She’s certain that Alfieri won’t bother her. She’s also certain that he doesn’t buy the fact that I’m just her boss for a second.

Good. Because I’m not. I’m hers, just like she’s mine, and I prove that by shooting my load into her mouth with an anguished cry of her name.

Nicolette takes every last drop, swallowing it completely before wiping her mouth the edge of her thumb. There’s something in her soft brown eyes I can’t quite understand when she glances up at me, but there’s also lust and affection and, unless I’m completely making it up, love.

“You’re such a good girl,” I murmur, even more satisfied when she preens at my praise. “Now come on up here, baby.” I pat the cushion next to me, making a mental note that—for Nic’s sake—I’m going to have to replace this couch before her mother returns home from her trip to Florida. “It’s my turn. Let me make you feel good.”

Let me make you remember that you’re here with me, that monster is your past, and I won’t let him hurt you ever again…

I need this. I need her surrender, and maybe I should have realized my mistake before I did, but I don’t as I reach the bottom hem of her t-shirt and start to push it off.

When the shirt goes up halfway, she circles my wrists with her fingers. “Royce,” she murmurs. “You know I don’t like that.”

I do know. But it’s been weeks since the first time we fucked, I’ve sucked and licked and played with every other part of her, she’s done the same to me, and she still won’t let me remove her shirt?

I don’t get it. It doesn’t make sense. Maybe before she came clean about her past with Alfieri, I’d understand being uncomfortable, but I’ve made it clear: I’m not Alfieri. I won’t hurt her. I want her to trust me.

Why can’t she trust me with this?

“You know you don’t have to hide anything from me, right? There’s nothing about you that I don’t like.”

I press a kiss to her navel, tonguing her belly button before rubbing my nose against the gentle swell of her lower abdomen. She writhes beneath me, enjoying my caresses. Taking heart in that, I skim my hands up her sides.

Her shirt is bunched up beneath her tits, her full midsection on display. She seems comfortable enough like this. Why not go a little further?

Slipping my fingers beneath the cups, I shove her bra over her tits so that I have full access to them.

That’s all I wanted. I love her body, but after fantasizing over the cleavage she had on display down at the Playground for months now, I’ve been dreaming about getting my palms on her breasts without anything coming between us.

They’re gorgeous. A perfect handful, perky just the way a twenty-seven-year-old’s are when they’re not sagged down after having kids, with pretty pink nipples that have my mouth watering.

“See? I told you there was nothing about you that isn’t fucking beautiful. Look at these tits.” I lower my head, just about to suck one of those perfect nipples into my mouth?—

—and that’s when I see what she was hiding from me.

“What’s this?”

Nicolette suddenly pales. Her hand cups the curve of her breast, slapping over the ink, but there’s no point hiding it. I know what I saw.

I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do about it.

“Royce, I…”

That’s all she says. Scooting away from me, covering the tattoo with one hand, tugging down her bra awkwardly with the other, she mouths wordlessly as I stare, half-disbelieving.

It’s a dragonfly.

Over the years, both when the Libellula Family was just starting out, and once they were firmly our rivals, I’ve seen a shit ton of dragonfly tattoos.

I always thought it was hysterical. One of the things Damien sniffed over when me and Link split off from him was how Link decided that anyone loyal to our local mafia would have a devil tattoo in honor of him. And, yet, what did Damien do?

Insist that anyone in his Family be marked with a dragonfly.

I get it. Libellula literally is the Italian translation for the word ‘dragonfly’, and god knows that Damien is insanely proud of his heritage. He formed his crime family to protect his birth family—including his younger sister, Genevieve—and used the dragonfly as both the name and symbol for his gang.

Unlike Devil’s specific design—the devil horns and tail that nearly all Sinners have—Damien’s dragonflies don’t necessarily look the same. They come in different shapes and sizes and colors, but they’re as professionally done as anything Cross can do.

The tattoo that is drawn just below the curve of Nicolette’s right boob? That one definitely isn’t.

The lines are shaky. I’m no artist—I leave that to Cross—but even I recognize a shit job. I’d chalk it up to the positioning since it couldn’t have been easy to start on her side, then curve up around the tit itself, but a pro could do it.

And that tells me a pro didn’t do it.

So who did?

Deep down, I already know the answer. Because this? This isn’t a tattoo that marks the wearer as a proud Dragonfly.

Oh, no.

This is a brand that marks a woman as a Dragonfly’s property.

I swallow the rush of anger threatening to gag me. If what I suspect is true… it’s not Nic’s fault. Yes, she hid it from me, but wouldn’t I do the same thing? My tattoo is where it is, not because I’m ashamed of it, but because it means something to me. Anyone who doesn’t think I’m a Sinner only has to ask me to prove it and I’d start unbuttoning my shirt gladly.

Not Nic. Poor girl… she spent the last few weeks clinging to her shirts because she didn’t want me to see it.

Cool it, Royce. Don’t give her any reason to think she made the right decision, hiding it from you.

I’ve only just found out about Alfieri. If I hadn’t known the truth of her past… if I hadn’t known she had a tie to the Dragonflies… how would I have reacted to seeing that the woman I was obsessing over was a member of my syndicate’s rivals? Truce or no truce, I know the answer to that.

I’d feel tricked. Betrayed. Like I fucked up again, and it was like falling in with Heather all over again.

But she isn’t Heather. She’s Nicolette, and I take a deep breath and ask one question: “Did Alfieri do this to you?”

She gulps. “Yes.”

I wait a beat, then ask another: “Did you want him to?”

Nicolette shakes her head. “No.” It’s a whisper. More than that, it’s a confession . “I told him not to. He… he didn’t like me saying no. I wasn’t allowed. And then… he did it himself.”

He marked her. Prison-style, if I’m any judge, with a needle and some ink and no way to keep her safe from infection except a hope and fucking prayer.

Okay. Okay .

I move to the next cushion, closing the gap between us. I don’t want to push her, so I keep my hands to myself, though I do turn my body so that I’m all she can see.

“Do you want it gone?”

Her head bobs, hair falling like a curtain into her face. Before I can push it away, she shoves the strands behind her ears. “I looked into getting it removed. I couldn’t afford that. Covering it up would be better, but even that was too pricy. Trust me. I’d do anything to get rid of it, but I’ve just kept it covered up with clothes the last ten years instead.”

Ten years…

Fuck that. She spent ten years with a tattoo she didn’t want?

I can fix that. “Have you thought about it? If you could cover that shit up… what would you put over it?”

For a moment, I see hope written in her face. Like she honestly believed that tattoo might be the thing that pushes me over the edge, that sends me running… and she’s both surprised that it isn’t, while also taking a moment to believe that I might be able to do something for her that she hasn’t been able to.

Of course. I’m a fixer. That’s what I do.

“Go on, Nic. Tell me.”

“It’s silly.”

I take the chance to sidle up next to her on the couch. Laying my hand on the edge of Nicolette’s jaw, I angle her head so that she has no choice but to look straight into my eyes.

“It’s not. So tell me.”

An impish grin. “A seahorse.”

Okay, then.

Seahorse it is.