20. Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen

Reese calls me back sooner than I expect. He's still on his honeymoon, so I have no idea why he's calling.

"Shouldn't you be balls deep in your wife's ass or something?" I ask.

"Shouldn't you be balls deep in that giant's ass?" Reese retorts.

The image makes me laugh. Usually that's my jam, being the top, but I can't imagine him allowing that. Still, that fucker ain't topping me. I don't roll that way. No matter how much I've thought about it.

"Why are you calling me?" I grumble.

"Because you told me to."

"I told you to call me when you were back from your honeymoon."

"Josie is sleeping."

"Fucked her into another coma, did ya? You should probably be careful you don't kill her."

"Ha ha. Tell me what you want." He crunches into something loud. Chips, maybe? The guy is always eating.

I think carefully about my words before speaking. It isn't easy on my pride.

"I may potentially need to call in a favor of my own. One that could erase both of what you owe me."

"Oh? Keep talking." He shoves more food in his mouth, chewing loudly. It's a wonder he doesn't weigh a thousand pounds.

"Shit around here isn't going well. I'm considering leaving."

"You're already protected under Ezra's deal with Reginald."

"I don't need protection; I need a place to stay."

"Hmm," he says thoughtfully. "Both favors?"

"Potentially." I stress the word so he doesn't take it as final.

I know he's just being annoying. Reese would never tell me no. Not over something like this. Hell, I'm surprised he isn't begging me to move in with him so we can build forts in his living room. Moving in may need to happen. Blanket forts? Definitely not.

"When would this take place?"

"I don't even know if it will. It's hypothetical. Depends how bad shit gets. It might calm down; might get worse. Who knows?"

"I'll have to talk to the wife…"

I groan. "You're just being a pain in the ass."

"Yes," he admits proudly.

"Forget it, Reese. I'll ask someone el—"

"Shut up, Justin. You know you can stay with me for nothing. But since you offered, I'll take the favor clearance. Just let me know what's up."

"Yeah, I will. Thanks."

I appreciate him finally taking this seriously, but it doesn't last long. When he speaks next, his tone is too suggestive. I can practically hear his eyebrows waggling.

"How is that giant boyfriend of yours?"

I grit my teeth. "He isn't my boyfriend."

"Not what it looked like to me. Do you usually grind all over men in clubs?"

"Actually, yes. It's my favorite thing to do on the weekends," I say back, but we both know it's bullshit.

He cackles. "Liar! You hate touching people you don't know."

I hate touching people I do know…

"People change."

"Not you. You've been a control freak since the day you popped outta your mom's pussy."

"Jesus Christ, Reese. You're a fucking moron."

He continues eating like the thought of someone popping out a child doesn't disturb him. Though, maybe it doesn't. Maybe that's just me. Though, most things having to do with pussy bother me.

"It's the truth." He sighs wistfully.

"Go make sure your wife is breathing. I'll talk to you later."

I end the call before he can say something that makes me lose more brain cells.

When I'm home, I send my uncle a text to see if he found any info yet. I still haven't heard back from Banks, but looking into something so deep takes time. Especially something like this. And I'm not his only client. He works for the Bellancas, who have him doing all sorts of shit all the time. Freddy just told me the other day that he heard Banks requested his own team and Remington laughed in his face. The last thing Remi wants to do is piss off Banks. If that guy goes somewhere else, we're all fucked. He's the last person I want against me, that's for sure. I'd follow that man off the edge of a cliff and trust he invented some kind of tech to save our asses.

I'm pouring myself some whiskey when my phone dings with a text. I finish pouring and walk over to the couch, assuming it's my uncle getting back to me. It's only when I sit down, I realize I brought the bottle with me and not the glass. Whoops.

I take a swig, then pick up my phone, surprised when I see a text from an unknown number. I open it up and know who it is just by what's said.

Unknown: Been thinking about how good your cum tastes.

My stomach does a flip and I quickly take another swig of alcohol, hoping to drown all the butterflies down there. Fuck this. I should not be feeling like this about this guy.

Me: How did you get my number?

Unknown: Why do you still question me?

Me: Because I'd love to get in the mind of a psychopath

Unknown: And I'd love to get in your ass. Let's make a trade.

Me: No fucking way.

Unknown: What's wrong? Not comfortable enough in your own skin to take it in the ass?

I take another mouthful of whiskey.

Then another. This guy is going to be the death of me, and maybe not even purposely. The shit he says… it's insane.

Me: I don't want your genitals near me.

Unknown: That's a lie if I've ever seen one.

Unknown: I make your dick hard.

Unknown: Bet you think about me all the time. The way I got on my knees for you.

Unknown: Overpowered you

Unknown: Drank every drop of your cum and fucking loved it.

Unknown: You're hard right now. I'd bet my life on it.

I glance down, my body going still.

"Shit," I mutter.

I am hard. I narrow my eyes and look around.

Unknown: Don't worry. I don't have cameras in your condo. I just know you better than you think I do.

Unknown: If I gave you five million, would you stop "trying to kill me"?

I can hear his sarcasm through the message. See the smirk on those perfect full lips. Imagine his dark eyes shining with humor, brightening the smallest bit.

Me: It's been increased to ten.

Unknown: I'll give you fifteen.

Fucking hell.

Fifteen million dollars? For what? To stop trying to kill him? I could take that money and run. I already have the protection from the Bellancas, even though it's them who would be the ones to follow me. They can't. And they have to make sure no one else does either. But how the fuck does Sev have fifteen million lying around that he can hand over for absolutely nothing? Well, I guess it's not nothing. It's his life. But if he's so sure I won't kill him anyway, why offer? Why hand it over? Obviously this is just another game of his.

Me: No thanks.

Unknown: I knew it.

Me: Knew what?

Unknown: That you'd love this game as much as I do.

I drop my phone on the couch and drink more. I consider the conversation we're having and wonder what I should do. Taking the fifteen million would be smart, but who knows what the asshole would want in return. He isn't afraid of me actually killing him, which is stupid on his part, but it's the truth. He isn't offering to pay me because he's scared. So he's just trying to prove a point. But why is it so important? Maybe I should switch tactics. See what kind of info I can get from him instead. Pull him close and off him when he least expects it. Give a little, let him take, and see what I get in return.

Me: Why don't we meet up?

Unknown: I'm not in town.

Me: When you get back.

Unknown: No.

Me: Why not?

Unknown: Because this is a game and you know where to find me.

I frown down at my phone. I do not know where to find him.

Me: If I knew where to find you, you'd be dead already.

Unknown: Keep telling yourself that.

I lift my head and stare out the window. What the fuck is he talking about? All he cares about are games. He's starting to fuck with my head, and I need to make sure he doesn't do that. I save his number in my phone and go to bed.