Chapter 22

22

The heavy bass beat of 'Like A Villain' by Bad Omens thrums through the speakers of the gym as my fists connect with the heavy bag in steady succession.

Jab, cross.

My thoughts have been nothing less than unpleasant company since Wren stepped onto that elevator. I'd sat in the living room, drinking the whole decanter of whiskey from the bar cart, going over every painful detail of dinner. Would her reaction have been different if I had the chance to explain without Gabriel outing me and adding to the tension? I can't stop obsessing over the way Belluci looked at Wren. I know in his fucked up brain, he was evaluating what she'd bring on a nightly basis as an escort, or even how big the check would be if he put her up for auction.

Jab, cross, hook.

The morning after she left, my mood was just as miserable as the night before. I had shit to tend to at all my clubs. The front-of-the-house business was harder to suffer through, but lucky for me, a nice piece of back-of-the-house business fell into my lap.

It was nothing monumental, but god it felt fucking glorious to unleash some pent-up rage on the lackey Belluci had sniffing around my hangar. Rocco had brought the little fuck to the 708 club and stuck him in the basement like a prize for me to win if I finished all my paperwork.

The thought of laying my hands on him was motivation enough to get through the rest of the work I had. I practically skipped down the steps after I'd closed my laptop, the fluorescent lights flickering above where the shithead laid hog-tied on the concrete. I give him credit, he wasn't as forthcoming with information as I figured he would be, but after the heel of my shoe ground into his eye socket for a third time, he got real damn chatty.

Like we'd figured all along, Belluci and his gang of misfits were the ones stealing the drugs and cutting them before pushing them on the streets. This kid was a drone operator and had tripped one of the new motion sensors outside the fence as he was setting up. My guys were on him before he even got the thing off the ground. I could have easily killed him, but instead, I had Rocco drop him off on Belluci's doorstep with my message evident on the kid's modified hands. Good luck flying a drone without thumbs.

Hook, hook, uppercut.

The reprieve from a little blood spill had only been temporary, because on the way home, I got a message from Dallas informing me of an encounter between Wren and Trey. She slapped him, so I know he said something that upset her, and that makes my blood boil hotter. Drea stepped in and he only ended up grabbing her by the shoulder, but he lost the right to touch her when he cheated on her. She's mine now, and he's earned a permanent spot on my shit list for touching what's mine.

Jab, hook, jab.

I can feel the skin on my knuckles split as Belluci and Trey's faces blur into one. The combo drills I was working through go out the window as I let my fists fly freely against the leather bag.

My chest heaves as sweat rolls into my eyes and I take a step back to grab a towel. I drag it down my face, draping it over my shoulder as I see my phone lighting up with message. I can't help but hope it's from Wren. She's been radio silent since Friday night, and I'd be a damn liar if I said it wasn't taking a shit ton of willpower not to text her. I said I'd give her space, but I'm already considering driving over to Drea's, throwing her over my shoulder, and taking her home to fuck into submission.

Disappointment washes over me to see it's only Rocco.

Rocco

I've got news.

In the gym.

Glancing at the clock, I see it's almost six in the morning, Rocco's normal gym time. Usually, I'd meet him here, but since Wren came into my life, I've been getting in plenty of cardio. Without her presence, though, I'm too goddamn wired to sleep. Drinking until I passed out for a second night in a row just seemed pathetic, so I came down here at four a.m. like a true psychopath to try to work it out.

The gym is only two floors from the penthouses in the Monarch building, so Rocco should be here in no time. Putting my phone back on the bench, I toss the towel down and go back to combo drills.

"Your guard's slipping," Rocco says as he strides across the gym.

"If you hit hard enough, you don't need to protect your face."

He slides his duffle bag off his shoulder. "Haven't seen you down here this early for a while."

"Couldn't sleep," I shrug, walking over and dropping down onto the wooden bench beside the boxing area.

He hums in response as I twist the cap off my water bottle and take a generous drink, waiting for him to elaborate on his text.

"So, the tech guys were able to get a few things off that phone we found at the hangar."

"And?"

"Wasn't much in the way of personal data being a burner and all, but whoever was using it was turning it on and off, so we've got about a dozen locations it pinged at. Each of the locations pinged multiple times over the last few months, and half of them were in Belluci's territory."

"Any specifics on the locations that give away an owner?" I ask.

"No. Mostly apartment buildings, warehouses, bars, and places like that. It did light up near the 708 club and the hangar of course."

That piques my interest. Belluci's been slithering around the club for a while now, so it makes sense he'd have some of his men keeping an eye on it. But who? I stroke my chin, weighing out my options. My beard's past the mild stubble it used to be. Wren told me she likes it longer for the same reason I like her long hair- easier to grab and tug.

"You got plans today?" I ask.

"Just dinner at Ma's tonight."

"After breakfast, I want to scout out that list. See if anything sticks out at those addresses and we can assign guys to keep an eye on them if we think it's worth it."

"Got it," he nods, crouching down to tie his shoe.

I fish my phone from my pocket, clicking the side button. Still no new messages, damn.

"You headed back up?" he asks, straightening to stand.

"Yeah," I sigh, pocketing my phone and pushing to my feet.

He tips his head toward the weight benches. "I could use a spot if you've got time."

"Sure," I mumble. It's not like I've got anything, or anyone better to be doing this morning.

We start loading weight plates onto the bar, and he sinks onto the bench and twists around to face me. "You going to tell me the real reason you were down here so early, or are you going to just stew in silence?"

"I told you, couldn't sleep." It's not a lie. My mind just wouldn't settle after knowing Wren's piece of shit ex had upset her, laid his fucking hands on her, and I wasn't there to protect her. I ruminated on it, and without her presence to calm my storm, I had to do something else to dispel my monster.

"Bullshit," he chuckles, laying back and gripping the bar.

I blow out a breath. "I told Wren."

Rocco pauses, eyeing me carefully. "She didn't take it well?" he asks with a wince.

"Something like that," I mutter.

Standing behind the bar to spot him as he begins his reps, I tell him about Belluci's appearance being the catalyst to the conversation I'd hoped to ease into, and how it all ended with her wanting space while she thinks things over.

"This lifestyle is all we know, you've got to admit it'd be a lot to come to terms with," he says as the bar clinks back into place. "I'd be concerned if she wouldn't have needed time to let it all sink in."

"Yeah, just didn't think she'd need time away from me, too," I grumble.

Rocco curls up, sitting sideways and resting his elbows on his knees. "Aren't you the one who didn't want someone… what'd you call Isa?" He cocks a brow. "Docile and boring?"

I pin him with a look. "I didn't say Isa specifically. Just that the women raised in our world are taught to be like that. And I don't know. Wren's different."

"I get it, she calls you on your shit."

"Yeah, she does." I sigh, carding a hand through my hair. "Wren's strong-willed, and that's what I love about her."

The words leave my mouth before I've even had a chance to sit with the revelation.

Rocco's eyes widen and he looks up at me like I just sprouted another head. "You love her?"

Fuck, do I?

"Yeah, I do."

I wait for some smart-ass comment to come, but it doesn't. Instead, he leans back down, wraps his fingers around the bar for another set, and says, "Good for you, Bowie."

After a full day of scoping out the locations the burner pinged across the city, I drop Rocco back at the Monarch and head off to the silos.

Aside from the warehouse where we caught those kids with our stolen drugs, none of the other locations struck me as familiar. They all seemed rather ordinary- an older brick apartment building, a bar in a shady strip mall off South Racine, a handful of vacant warehouses, and a couple of houses that Belluci owns. None of them offered any further insight into the phone's owner.

Tomorrow, Rocco will organize the guys to sit on the locations looking for the SUV that crashed the gate or any faces that matched the unfamiliar ones we'd seen on the 708's security feed over the last few months.

Killing the lights, I shift my Escalade into park behind one of the out-of-commission grain silos and wait for O'Ryan.

He caught a case Friday night after he'd texted me, and this is the first break he's had. I really hope he's got something that lets me get my hands around Allen's neck soon. It's a fifty-fifty shot if killing the fucker will make Wren feel safer with me or just appalled by who I am. Regardless, his days are limited.

Headlights catch my attention in the rearview as a silver sedan creeps closer. I check my phone one last time before powering it down like some love-sick shit hoping for a text from Wren, but no dice. Dallas hasn't said anything either, but his silence is a good thing.

I pop open my door, gravel crunching underfoot as I round the hood.

"Sorrentino," he says, stepping out of his car with a manilla envelope in hand.

"O'Ryan," I greet, folding my arms at my chest and kicking a foot up to rest on my bumper.

"Sorry it's taken this long," he says, running a hand over his shortly cropped hair. "My captain's been putting pressure on me to solve the OD's, and with her constantly poking around my office, I didn't want to draw attention to you or anyone that might… disappear."

"I appreciate that." My lips pull up in a smirk as I tip my chin. "What do you have for me?"

"Right," he nods, opening the envelope and handing a stack of papers over. "So, Allen Patrick Whitmore, forty-six, born and raised in Chicago. Never married, a handful of parking tickets, a drunk and disorderly charge from ten years ago… other than that, nothing major."

Arching a brow at him, I flip through the stack of papers. Allen's DMV picture is paperclipped to his driving record, followed by cell phone records, bank statements, and other documents outlining his sad life.

"He's been dancing around the line of foreclosure for the better part of a year. He'll be three months behind on his mortgage and have an empty bank account, and then overnight, his account will have thousands in it and he pays up the house to avoid losing it."

I turn to the bank statements, frowning. "Where'd the deposits come from?"

"An offshore account transferred to an LLC listed as 'Archangel Enterprise', and then into Allen's account as a payroll deposit."

I scoff, resisting the urge to roll my eyes at the stupid name of Gabriel's company. What a fucking tool. But that confirms my suspicions- Allen took a loan from Belluci's crew, and then was skimming from me to keep gambling and pay his debts. I don't think he realized he was in bed with one monster while stealing from another.

"That mean something to you?" O'Ryan asks, leaning back against the hood of his own car.

"It does," I confirm, not telling him what dots I've connected. "Anything else you've found?"

His head bobs up and down as he pulls a folded piece of paper from his pocket. "There's a house out in Elmhurst, deed says Mara Whitmore, Allen's mother. But she's been in a care facility in Oak Park for the last six months."

I take the paper, glancing at the address before pocketing it. I'd be willing to bet my life that this is exactly where Allen has been hiding from us.

Thanking O'Ryan, I slip him an envelope with cash and shake his hand before we go our separate ways. Then I slide into the driver's seat, power up my phone, and fire off a text to Rocco to come by for breakfast so I can bring him up to speed.

The entire drive home, my mind turns over the different ways I can torture Allen. Removing his fingers one at a time with a cigar cutter and shoving them down his throat until he chokes to death is my top choice, I think to myself as I take the elevator up to my floor.

Emptying my pockets on the counter, I make my way down the hall, and my heart stutters in my chest as I turn into the bedroom.

She came back.

My teeth sink into the cushion of my lower lip as I take in the sight before me. Wren's blonde hair pools out around her on the black silk pillow like a goddamn halo. The black cotton of one of my T-shirts falls loosely around her sleeping form, and from this angle, I can see her bare pussy. My dick stirs to life like a goddamn bloodhound, pointing and alerting to its mark.

I quickly discard my clothes, eager to slip into bed behind her and feel her body against mine. She hums lightly as my arm bands around her and drags her into my chest. Rucking up the fabric, my palm splays against her stomach, and my dick twitches as I stroke over the slightest curve in her lower abdomen.

Cazzo, how'd I go from not giving two shits about kids to being so turned on by the proximity of my fucking girl, carrying my child, sprawled out in my fucking bed?

My hand cruises over the supple skin of her hip and slips between her thighs, and I can't help but groan when my fingers find her slick center. She's fucking wet.

Her lips part with a moan as I circle her clit, and with that one sound, the last drops of my self-control evaporate. Lifting her leg to rest on top of mine, I line myself up between her slick folds and nudge the head of my cock inside.

"Fuck," I murmur into her hair as her greedy cunt swallows my tip.

She stirs in the slightest, eyelashes fluttering but never opening. My name falls lazily from her mouth in a breathy sigh.

"Shh, Passerotta," I whisper into her ear. "Go back to sleep."

Gripping her thigh, I slowly roll my hips forward, inching a little further inside. Wren mewls softly with each exhale as I rock in and out at a languid pace. Instinctively, she presses her ass back, body begging me to continue.

I slide my hand up under her shirt, gently squeezing one of her perfect tits as I rock back and slam fully inside. Her eyes fly open as she cries out.

"I'm so fucking glad you're home. I'm going to show you just how happy I am to see you," I murmur with another punch of my hips.

"Bowie," she moans, fingers finding my wrist and leading me to her clit.

The way Wren isn't afraid to ask for or take what she wants or needs from me is so goddamn hot.

"Yeah, baby?" I breathe into the crook of her neck.

"Fuck me like you missed me."

And that's exactly what I do.