We stopped at one last stall before heading back to Dumas. Ever found a painting by a local artist. A shot of happiness grazed my heart when she showed it to me. It was a painting of the scenic point where we sat on my motorcycle with her small arms around my chest and watched the sun disappear below the horizon.
She insisted on paying for it.
I pulled out a large bill from my pocket while she rummaged in her bag for her card, and I transacted the sale on her behalf before she found it.
A voice comes to me from a distance. I mentally shake away the image of Ever getting inside my truck and not letting go of the painting until I carefully stepped over the plushies in her room and nailed it to the wall across from her bed. Every morning when she wakes up, that painting will be the first thing she sees.
This woman is getting under my skin with how sweet she is. Oh, fuck. How sweet she is, and damn, her pussy juices were sweet and musky on my tongue when I had her spread on the seat of my truck with her legs falling to the sides.
I hooked her under her thighs, lifted her ass off the seat, and buried my face in her pussy. She squirmed beneath my tongue. Cried out when I sucked on her clit and pumped two fingers, then three, inside her tight, wet cunt.
The best part? The best part was when she locked my head between her legs and came on my face. I ate her up. Ate her out.
Then I picked her up and cradled her to my body. With satisfaction coursing through my veins that I pleased her so well she was nothing but a ragdoll in my arms, I dropped kisses on every part of Ever’s face and pressed my face to her pulse point above her clavicle. Her heart beat in time to mine. It was the closest I’d come to being at peace since . . . I sip my drink. I can’t remember when I ever was.
More guests filter into the ballroom. Grasping the wine flute by the stem, I glance around the grand estate in San Francisco, owned by my host, Roman Lexington.
I’d rather spend time with Ever, talking about the first thing that comes to her mind, than be eye-fucked by a blonde at the open bar and the redhead on the arm of a balding businessman with a belly hanging over his dress trousers.
I nurse my drink and pretend to be interested in the conversation at the table Roman assigned to me. Someone grabs a seat next to me. I recognize “Mad” Maddox Stassi by the air of craziness that follows him.
He’s a nice enough guy for a billionaire, but I wouldn’t want to do anything to piss him off. Rumor is he castrated the men who allegedly raped his little sis. I’d do the same if it were Gwen. Except those men, their body parts, and most importantly their cut-off junk would never be found. And if they were, there wouldn’t be enough of it to identify the perps with.
“Roman said you’re interested in developing a shitty part of Alexandria.”
I take a sip of the expensive wine and force myself to swallow. I’d rather have bitter ale any day than this show of expensive taste, but props to Roman for his choice of wines. This one went down smooth. No forcing necessary.
“What’d he tell you?” I ask.
“That you have deep pockets and are willing to pay the right person to oversee the project.”
Maddox is a real estate developer. He’s not into high-end shit like luxury condos and fancy storefronts that name brands are clamoring to pay high rent for. Maddox’s specialty is using brute force and persuasion along with his reputation and billionaire status to breathe life into crime-ridden, gang-controlled wastelands like East Alexandria.
“What else?”
Roman hadn’t planned on putting Maddox on the guest list. Then I spilled my plan, needing a sounding board and, in a way, a second opinion to confirm that it was feasible and not a waste of time and resources. There will be a fight on our hands when the big machinery rolls in and bulldozes and tears down buildings. Roman said he knew exactly who could fight the battle for me.
I didn’t need someone to fight my battles with me except for Slate. We’ve been downrange together long enough that we could anticipate each other’s next moves. Nah, I don’t need another soldier.
What I need Maddox for is his knack for making a vision come alive on paper. Or a computer screen. I suck at design and layout. Maddox is great at navigating the latest design software. I tell him what I want. He designs and then builds it. It’s a win-win.
Maddox gestures for a server. “He mentioned a gang controls that part of the city. Any idea which one?”
“None. I was hoping you could use your connection to Cillian McCabe. Maybe he does.” The McCabes are rumored to be Irish mobsters.
“Not going there.” He grabs a wine glass from the server’s tray. “I’m already in deep shit for encroaching on his territory with my next project.”
I loosen my tie that is suddenly too tight. I’m running out of options. Fuck me if I’ll use my last favor and ask Zach, the hacker, to work his magic and find out which gang controls East Alexandria.
I haven’t set foot there since Carlos bit that bullet for me. I can’t relive seeing his lifeless body and vacant stare. The nightmares have finally eased up.
“What I can do is set up meetings. We can go over your vision, and I’ll put together drafts. Once you see something you like, we’ll draw up a contract, strategize how we’ll get city hall’s buy-in, discuss funding, and outline a timeline that starts with obtaining permits and posting notices, all the way through to the ribbon-cutting ceremony. Does that work for you?”
“Splendidly.”
A commotion at the entrance of the ballroom snags our attention. A beautiful, thin, and petite woman with long black hair, dressed in a golden satin dress that clings to her body like a second skin, and white satin gloves up her arms, walks in with her head held high. Her gaze catches mine from across the room, and her lips tip up slightly.
“Excuse me.” I push back my chair and make my way to the reclusive Blaise Lexington.
