“Sounds like you have it all figured out.” I cup her cheek and kiss her smiling lips. “How would you explain the Band-Aid? Or the fact that he can never walk through airport security freely again? And since we’re on the subject: where the hell are you acquiring this magical, teeny tiny little microchip?”
“You’re asking too many questions.” She rolls her eyes, playfully pushing away with a single hand on my chest. Then she unsnaps her seatbelt as we come to a stop by the final, smaller iron gate guarding the front door. It’s already open, and on each side, a guard stands in damn near all black, their eyes and the light spilling against their backs the only reason I see them at all.
“This is gonna take some getting used to, huh?” She doesn’t wait for our driver to get out or for a guard to open her door. Minka Mayet is the world’s most capablekept woman. “Not being able to walk home after work. Not being able to walk to the bar.”
“We can still do those things.” I scoot across the bench seat behind her, sliding out of the car on her side and taking her arm with mine. Anything to save her from carrying all her own weight when she’s so damn tired. I wait for her to grab the front of her dress, then I lead her toward the final, smaller gate that guards our front door. “We could turn the apartment into a mid-stop kind of place. If we need to meet up, but we don’t want to drive up the hill. Or if we’re completely wrecked after a case that kicked our asses, we could stumble to the apartment and get some sleep.”
I drop my chin as we pass two more guards, then we move through the front door and into the house brimming with icy, dry air. I walk her past the front room—the one with a giant piano, wingback chairs, and a fireplace large enough to literally step into—and, approaching the stairs, I cut right and steer her up. “Bed first.”
“I just wanted to check on Ste?—”
“Bed. He’s fine. He’s alive, and he absolutely doesn’t need to be disturbed by you. In fact.” I sweep her into my arms and swallow the squealing delight bursting from the depths of her chest. I hum gratefully as her arms instinctually wrap around my neck, and groan my appreciation when her tongue darts out to play with mine.So delicious. All mine. “It’s tradition, isn’t it? Something about weddings and good luck and yada yada.”
“To carry me to bed? It wasn’t our wedding.” She rests her cheekagainst mine, tucking her legs in tight as we round one landing and continue up.
It’s ironic that we’d escape a four-floor walk-up apartment… for a four-story house larger than the building we left.
“Semantics, really.” I luxuriate in the feel of her body pressed to mine. The thrum of her heart and the tremble of her limbs. “Someone got married today… ish.”
She snickers. “Ish. They were technically already married, though.”
“There was a church,” I counter. “And vows, and a delicious cake. There was dancing. And family drama.”
“Did Cato get destroyed by that fighter chick?”
I laugh. “No lasting damage. There was a wedding today, Minnnka, and even if it wasn’t ours, I hate to mess with tradition and risk bad luck settling overourmarriage. So I’m gonna carry you to bed. And I might even fuck you to sleep.”
Her cheeks turn a pretty, pink blush. “Yeah? What if I’m too tired to participate?”
“You only have to lie there.” I kiss the tip of her nose. “I’ll do all the work, then tomorrow, you can suck my dick in the shower and consider your debt repaid.”
She makes a clicking sound in the back of her throat. “Shucks, Detective. Wish I could, but doing so would mean being on my knees on the tile. I don’t know if you recall, but?—”
“Stitches.” I nod, remembering. “Fair point. How about I do all the work tonight anyway, since I really kinda want to. And later, somewhere in the future, when your knee is all better and your energy levels are up, you can blow my mind and eat my cum. Consider tonight an act of goodwill.”
She drags her fingernails through the hair at the nape of my neck. “So now I’ll have a debt…to the mafia. I thought sensible, smart women knew better than to place themselves in such vulnerable positions?”
“Don’t consider it a debt to the family.” I climb all the way to our floor and turn onto the landing, angling left and making my way toward the bedroom we’ve claimed. “Consider it a debt to your husband. Smart, sensible women can still make such dealings with the men they’ve chosen to spend the rest of their lives with. It’s in the fine print.”
“Mmhm. I see.” She un-links one arm and opens our door to save me the effort of juggling. Pushing it wide, she brings her gaze back and grins, wide and smug. “Should we start a tally of who owes what? Because Ibelieve I just did you a favor, Mr. Malone. In this world, favors owed are a serious thing.”
“Write it down.” I carry her across the threshold and kick the door shut behind us—lest I ask her to do it and risk another strike on our score sheet. “Am I to fuck a willing participant, Mrs. Malone? Or a starfish?”
“Preferences?”
Bristling with anticipation, I carry her to our bed and lay her on the mattress, the sheets already pulled back, and the decorative pillows set aside—almost like someone has dubbed themselves our housekeeper. Following her down and resting on my fists on each side of her head, I drop a fast kiss onto the dimple peeking through from her cheek. “Either is fine, so long as it’s you I’m with.”
“Funny, since I’m theonlyperson you’ll ever share a bed with again.” She grabs the lapels of my jacket and tugs me down. “Fuck me to sleep, Detective. I like it when I’m in the in-between state, not quite asleep, but not entirely awake, either.”
“Mm.” I slip my hand beneath the heavy fabric of her dress and walk my fingers along her silky thigh. “My pleasure. Close your eyes and settle in.” I slide my tongue along her hungry lips. “Let me take care of business.”
MINKA
Iwake the next morning unable to breathe. Unable to expand my lungs. The sound of a chainsaw vibrates in my ear, and the tumble of water tells me my husband is probably nearby. Sunlight filters through the windows of a bedroom I’ve hardly explored, despite sleeping in it a time or two, and the warmth of a brand-new day beats against the side of the house.
But no panic comes, despite the restriction on my lungs. My mind doesn’t spin out of control, and my heart remains oddly calm in spite of the chainsaw. Because it’s not a chainsaw at all.
Peeling my eyes open and fighting the crusty exhaustion of a late night—just another in a long string of them—I blink once, twice, three times before focusing on the bright blue stare of a slutty feline.
