Page 12

Chapter 12

Eden

Putting an asshole like Cutt in his place, while satisfying, comes with risks. It's been two weeks since that altercation, and Ash assured me he dealt with him. Cutt himself hasn't returned to Gilly's, but I'm uneasy. I can't find Aiken's killer and bring them to justice if I'm dead myself.

Which brings me back to the crucial point: I still haven't found Aiken's killer.

I'm really no closer to it than the day I waltzed my stupid ass into the barroom and shocked the Chamber leaders at the successor reveal.

Every night I collapse into bed, saying a pained apology to my brother for my failure. All the ways I've failed Aiken, make my regret, guilt, and shame grow.

Which creates a perfect, toxic storm for all this to erode my armor. The armor that blocks out the past, which I try hard to avoid and forget. And every night, when sleep finally comes, it's not just Aiken's ghost that haunts me.

It's Fenton's too. Her angelic face and sweet laugh. Her small, bruised, and broken body lying in her casket.

It's the memory of being restrained on a table, and fighting for life.

My ghosts torment me until I'm ripped awake, covered in sweat, reaching for my dead siblings, and my stomach cramping in phantom pain.

I stayed away from Aiken all these years and denied his wish to have a relationship with me to avoid these memories. Yet, here I am.

There's no denying I failed in the sister department. I failed Aiken in life, and now I'm failing him in death.

I've searched everywhere in his home and office at Gilly's, but have found nothing. No cryptic notes, no hidden cameras, and certainly no glaring evidence of who was a threat to him.

There are surveillance cameras at Gilly's, but they're no use to me for investigating Aiken's murder. The cameras are there purely for security purposes—they don't record audio and the feeds are erased daily.

Ohith continually reminds me to watch my back. He hates that I'm putting myself through this, but knows that I need to see this through.

And by seeing this through, means being Gilly's owner-operator, and running this place, keeping the neutral-boundaries, and secretly hunting for Aiken's murderer. Gus will remind me that he and Vito are continuing to investigate as well, but they've had the same results as me.

Fuck all.

The thought of Vito Santoro brings… well, more thoughts of Vito Santoro.

The fucking cunt.

The dangerous, hot-as-hell, still-very-off-limits man who likes to push my buttons and boundaries.

The one who makes my cooch clench with every thought of him, whenever I see him, or with every low, deep word out of his stubble-framed mouth.

My head is filled with inappropriate thoughts of Vito, and inappropriate things that I want to do with him, as I come out of the storage room. I'm carrying the large, heavy box that Meg was struggling with and slam into someone in the hallway.

Dominic Jude smiles at me over the box. His smile highlights the scar that starts above his eyebrow and ends at the top of his eye. It's rumored that Vito gave him that scar when they were young and stupid.

Dominic—or Dom, as he insists I call him—is a good-looking guy and friendly. Sometimes, I wonder if he's too friendly.

That thought raises my hackles as I stare at him over the top of the box. "Wanna move? This is heavy."

"Let me help you out." He grabs the box's other side and tries tugging it from my arms.

My brows lift nearly to my hairline. "Did you regularly carry things for Aiken?"

He tugs harder on the box, frowning. "Just trying to be a nice guy, for fuck's sakes, Ed."

I let the box go—because it's heavy and awkward as hell, and Dom doesn't look like he'll move without taking it. He walks backward down the hall since there isn't room for him to turn around.

"If you're being a nice guy, Dom, then do something that's actually helpful and tell your new recruits to back off my female staff."

He frowns again. "I thought that issue was resolved."

"Oh, they're trying to cop a feel when they don't think I can see, and I haven't caught them red-handed. However, I can show you the video feed from earlier today if you need the visual proof."

"No," he growls. "I'll deal with it."

He backs out into the barroom carrying the box. I motion to the kitchen, gritting my teeth that people will see him carrying it for me.

It's just one box; fucking relax already, will ya .

Relaxing my clenched jaw to save my teeth from grinding to dust, my eyes immediately sweep the barroom over a certain table in the far corner. Vito's table still sits empty and disappointment blooms within me. And that makes me grit my teeth harder.

Vito coming in at least once a day—if not more—has become my fix. And I crave the next hit like he's a potent drug.

My cooch throbs and aches the whole time he's present, my mind filled with filthy thoughts. It's distracting and bothersome, but I still want that hit.

It's almost midnight now, and he still hasn't come in.

The level of disappointment I feel almost staggers me. And pisses me right off.

Dom is looking at me, and I realize he said something. I pray that I wasn't staring at Vito's empty table. I'm fairly sure I wasn't, but a prickle of fear dances down my spine.

"What?" I demand, more snarky than usual, and stalk into the kitchen.

"It's just one box, bonita ." He smirks, putting it down on the counter I pointed to.

I get in his face. "Enough with the 'pretty' bullshit, cabrón ."

I curse my big tits, curvy hips, and round booty. I know I have a very Marilyn Monroe-like body. I do nothing to accentuate it—drawing attention to it is a downfall, especially in this place.

Dom holds up his hands, looking contrite. "I meant nothing by that, Ed. I swear. Honestly, you remind me a bit of my younger sister, Nina, and I call her Nina bonita ."

I didn't know Dom has a younger sister, nor do I care.

"Remember who you're talking to, Dominic," I warn, then stalk out of the kitchen and toward the bar.

Andre has been covering for me, mixing the drinks while I restock everything. He glances at me as I lift a heavy crate of hard alcohol onto the back counter.

Dom rests his elbows on the counter, close to where I work. "I want to apologize, Ed. I truly didn't mean how that could've been taken. I want you to know I'm not trying to capitalize on you being a woman. I respect you and your role here."

"Don't let it happen again," I say stiffly.

"I can live with that." He smiles. "I thought you might bust my balls."

"Forget the line again, and your balls won't be the only thing I bust."

He nods but continues to look at me.

"What?" I stare at him, flat and coolly, while handing Andre the hard alcohol bottles we need immediately.

Dom rubs his jaw. "I also wanted to apologize for the Chamber's lack of progress in finding Aiken's murderer."

My lips press into a thin line. "It seems to be a hard nut to crack."

"Any thoughts on your end?"

I flick my eyes up at him, trying to assess his sincerity and whether he suspects I've been doing my own digging. He looks sincere enough, but I can't read him.

"I hadn't talked to Aiken in a long time, Dom. Unfortunately, I have no insights."

"When did you find out you were his successor?"

It's a curious question, but there isn't any harm in answering it. "Not until after he died. He had a failsafe system, and something triggered the email to me upon his death."

"Your brother always was an interesting guy with out-of-the-box ideas." Dom's fingers drum on the top of the bar, and he smiles. "Have a good night, Ed."

I finish unpacking the liquor and watch him walk out the door. It wasn't the most alarming interaction, but my unease has increased.

"Everything okay, Ed?" Andre asks as he pours a Jack Daniels for Ash and Bane, who sit at a table with two men I've never seen before.

"Peachy, Andre." I school my face back into my mask. "I'm going to take out the garbage."

I grab all the garbage behind the bar, putting it into the empty liquor boxes.

"I can do that at the end of the night," Andre says.

I shrug, lifting the box. "I need some fresh air."

And I need a distraction from eyeing Vito's empty table.

I go through the barroom and down the hallway to the back door. Shoving the push handle on the door with my hip, I go outside and toss the items into the bin. My eyes catch a woman at the end of the alley before she disappears around the counter.

Another movement catches my eye, and I turn. My breath sucks in at the sight of the half-dressed, hot-as-fuck man in front of the open trunk of a black 1968 Ford Mustang Shelby GT500.

The car is a sick beast that I secretly drool over.

And the man standing there without a shirt? It's absolutely unfair that Vito's body is even more magnificent than I imagined.

His god-like body looks chiseled from a slab of stone—broad shoulders, ripped arms, and pecs.

An eight-pack and the sharpest-cut Adonis belt I've ever seen draw my attention to his low-slung dark pants, which I'm just now realizing are undone.

Given his state of being half undressed and the woman I saw at the end of the alley, I growl, "Did you just finish fucking someone in my back alley?"

His blue-green eyes fill with confusion. "What?"

"You're just getting dressed and—"

"No," he cuts me off quickly. "I realized when I arrived that my shirt had some ah… splatter on it."

My eyes travel along his chiseled, half-naked body, and I look at his hands with busted knuckles.

I know who he is and his role in his family. My cooch—if I let myself acknowledge it—is wet and pulsing.

"Sounds like a rookie move, Santoro," I deadpan, keeping my tone flat and cool, not showing how he affects me. Especially when he's half-naked.

I keep my eyes above his shoulders, refusing to look at what is going to quickly be my undoing. His low-slung, open pants, where I'm sure he's packing a god-like cock. His perfectly chiseled upper body. His flesh that's coated with scars and one tattoo over his heart that I recognize as the Santoro family crest.

I keep my tone and face flat and cool while my insides quiver with lust. And the jealous bitch inside me preens at his reassurance that he didn't just finish fucking some other ho.

I'll double-check the video cameras though, just to make sure.

Christ, get a grip, bitch. Even if he was fucking someone else, who the hell cares?

My berating of my idiocy is halted when he rubs his large, scarred hand over the scruff lining his jaw. I ache to feel the scruff scratch the inside of my thighs.

He looks a bit guilty and sheepish. "I might've acted a little overzealous to get here and didn't notice my shirt."

Interesting.

"There's that new bourbon I asked you to bring in." His eyes light up with a devilish flare. "I was excited to get you to bend over and for me to try it."

Oh, fuck me now and just end me. I don't care if I die a painful death.

I hike a brow at him. He likes to push the line to try to get a reaction out of me. "Again with the cocks and bending over."

"Not doing it for you?"

He's grabbed a fresh shirt from his trunk but hasn't put it on yet. My eyes rove lazily over his still-naked torso, then I reply with indifference, "Can't say that it is."

Turning on my heel, I walk toward the door because I need to get away from this dangerous man.

His hand slams on the door, stopping me from opening it. I can feel Vito's heat behind me, even though he isn't touching me. Either he knows, or it's pure luck, but we're in the camera-free zone as the outside cameras don't catch this angle.

He speaks into my ear, only his breath touching me. "It's interesting, Eden, that you claim not to be interested in cock," the word is heavy and hot against my skin, "yet I'm almost certain you were a little jealous thinking you found me post-fucking some other pussy."

Now he's not pushing the line of appropriate neutral behavior; he's straddling and about to step right over it.

I look over my shoulder at him, even though it makes our mouths almost touch. "I wasn't jealous for the reason you think. It's been a while since I've had a nice pussy to play with myself." His eyes dilate, and I lick my lips. "But I doubt we have the same tastes."

Then I yank the door open and get the fuck away from him before he can smell how turned-on I am through my jeans.