I don’t justify her question with an answer because I hope this woman doesn’t expect me to play along with her stupid game.
“Guess what I did, Havoc,” she repeats, her words sharp as a blade.
“What did you do, Kerri?” I grind out between gritted teeth because I am apparently playing her stupid fucking game.
“I rammed back because, yes, by then, I was positive he was trying to kill me.”
Yeah, it seems he was.
“And you think this goes back to what happened with your father and Marcus?”
“Without a doubt.” Kerri’s voice is tight. As if every bone in her regal body is about to splinter under the strain. “Considering this is the first time someone tried to murder me, and it happened after I started asking around about Miller, I’d say that’s a yes.”
I may not be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but even I know tax evasion is low level as far as white-collar crimes go. I’d bet my left nut there’s more to this story than Ralph Miller not paying Uncle Sam his due. Not saying the government is involved. Those sonsabitches may be more corrupt than us criminals, but they don’t go around killing their citizens for something as minor as tax evasion. Also, they’re too incompetent to mastermind their way out of a paper bag, much less organize a hit on a civilian, without it making headlines.
“Any chance Super Clean was a cover?”
Kerri puts a hand to her forehead and grimaces. She’s in rough shape. But even with the cuts and bruising, she’s still gorgeous. I’m not a man who’s a sucker for a pretty face, but with her, I’m like a teenager with my first crush. It takes skill to hide how fucking giddy I get whenever she comes to Mayhem. It’s disgusting, really. But to be fair, she’s not an average beauty. Everything about her is… Here I go, about to sound a whole lot like Jester when he talks about Faith. All poetic and shit.
This woman reminds me of the elves from theLord of the Ringsmovies. Tall and regal. Ethereal. Even her voice is melodic. That makes her a dangerous distraction. Even now, I can barely think past wanting to throw her on the bed—just notthisnasty bed—and fuck her proper. Give in to the animalistic urges she brings out in me. To taste her skin on my tongue. Inhale her clean scent. Swallow her screams. Like I’ve wanted to do ever since I first saw her at the Black Bean months ago when Faith introduced us.
But that can’t happen.
“Possibly. It might have been why my father didn’t want to represent him.” She drops her hands. Her expression is miserable. “I’m tired, Havoc. Is there somewhere you can take me for the night?”
“Yeah.” I glance around the room, looking for her jacket. “Where’s your shit?”
Kerri grabs her purse from the dresser. “This is all I have.”
She’s wearing only that little dress, and it’s forty degrees outside. I yank off my hoodie with a frustrated growl and hand it to her. “Here.”
“No, Havoc, but thank you.”
“Quit being so damn polite and put it the fuck on,” I insist.
It’s cute how Kerri snatches the thick sweatshirt while looking everywhere but at me. Can’t be my Unholy tattoo peeking out from behind the black tank top offends her. Jester has the same one. Every Unholy has the black, Old English lettering inked across their pecs. It runs shoulder to shoulder directly under our collarbone, marking us as members of Pennsylvania’s most powerful, respected—and feared—gang. But given how Jester’s tattoo never seemed to bother her, it must be that my duchess is asagitatedby me as I am by her.
The plot thickens.
Kerri pulls on the hoodie and smooths her hair after she fits her head through the neck hole. Damn me if she isn’t fuckable in my clothes. “Thank you.”
“Not a problem.” For some unfathomable reason, I fix the hood to make it lie right against her back. I thrust my hand out at her. “Give me your phone.”
“Why?”
I’m not used to my actions being questioned. I’m also not used to supplying answers, but here I am, offering Kerri an explanation. “Ever hear of tracking, Kerri?”
She notches her chin in defiance. “And yours doesn’t have that?”
I drop my arm, suck in a deep breath, and silently remind myself that she isn’t from our world. Then I summon patience where I usually don’t have any. “I’m a criminal,” I drawl. “I figured out a workaround.”
…and just like that, the tension in her body drops away.
“You’re here to help me, and I’m being defensive. I’m sorry.” She reaches into her bag to retrieve her phone. “Here.” Only the slightest distress flickers across her face when I smash her cell beneath my boot.
I clasp her hand, my large fingers intertwining with hers to anchor her to me. “Come on.”
She rushes to keep pace with my long strides as I march from the room. The breezeway is dim and dingy as we make our way down to my white Ford Super Duty parked in a remote corner of the lot. We pass the line of rooms on the first level, where a tangle of sounds escapes from them, cracking on the crisp air. Arguing. Snores. Grunts. Moans. Then there are the smells—of dirt, bodies, and greasy food. It’s a racket I’m accustomed to, but when I glance over my shoulder, I see Kerri is…less than comfortable in this shithole.
