11. Dave

ELEVEN

DAVE

CROSS

I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Ever since Winter came down to ‘introduce’ himself a few days ago, I expected retaliation for the way I went after Mickey. Winter wanted me to believe that he’s running the show, that until he changes his mind about keeping Genevieve and me in his compound, that we don’t have anything to worry about so long as I don’t go after another one of his men.

I already bit off part of someone’s cock. If someone did that to me, there’s no one who could hold my leash tight enough to keep me from getting revenge. And if I couldn’t? I’d hope that Rolls or Killian would avenge me.

Does anyone give enough of a shit about Mickey Kelly to come at me?

It doesn’t seem like that. Either his comrades thought he deserved it, or Winter really does have complete control over his hired help, because the only thing that changes following Mickey’s mutilation is that Noah and the bald guy, Baker, are the only two who bring us our meals.

We don’t see Winter again. Mickey might still be recovering for all I know, but after Winter walked down the hall, he hasn’t come back. We haven’t heard him on the speaker in our cell, either, though I have no doubt in my mind that—wherever he is—he’s got his eyes on the video feed from our cameras.

It’s been a week. After what happened, I didn’t sleep for at least the next eighteen hours, if not more. That was to be expected. Between having to relive the act, plus confessing as many details about my past as I felt comfortable burdening my butterfly with, I was fucking triggered . It wasn’t even the old familiar fear that Chad might wake me up that kept me from falling asleep; the man’s dead, but trauma does funny shit to a guy, even two decades later. Instead, I was terrified that one of the other hired goons might decide to take Genevieve for themselves.

For the first time since we’ve been stuck here, not even holding her close was enough to help me sleep. The opposite, actually. I needed to hold her while I was wide awake to make sure that no one could touch her without me knowing.

No one but me.

The days of pretending like my heart doesn’t beat for Genevieve Libellula are over. I’m not going to weigh her down with my feelings. That would be cruel, especially when there is no way for her to escape me or them. But the moment she kissed me… she’s mine now, and as soon as we’ve figured out a way to beat Winter at his game and get the hell out of here, I’ll make sure the whole damn world knows it.

Genevieve shows off her spark when she notices the black circles under my eyes and figures out that I stayed up the entire time she was sleeping, then didn’t take a few hours for myself after she was rested. She smacked me in the chest, telling me that if I’m going to suffer from insomnia again, she’s going to suffer right along with me.

I fold. The first time she yawned, then stubbornly slapped herself in the cheek to wake up again, I lie down with her, and swear that I’ll do my best to sleep. She turned into me, caressing the massive bruise that covers my cheek, before brushing her lips over mine.

I fell asleep that night with Genevieve’s taste on my tongue, dreaming of a life where we could be togethering without all the mafia politics at play.

Since then, I’ve seen less and less of her fire. At first, I convinced myself that my baggage was too much for her. She wanted a gentle artist with a commitment phobia. What she got instead was a CSA survivor who inked the name of his lost family on his arm so that he was forced to see it every day, plus the flames that stole them from him tattooed all over his throat where the needle hurt the most. She was too innocent to push me away at first, but the more it sat with me, the harder it was for her to accept that I might never be the sort of man she’d want as hers.

She lets me cuddle with her every night. If I tried to give her as much space as possible in this small cell, she clung to me. I know what’s happening. I saved her from Mickey’s assault, no matter how I did it. I admitted I’m attracted to her. She believed me when I told her I would protect back when she thought I only thought of her as my friend. Now that I want more… there isn’t anything I won’t do for her, and she knows it.

She also knows just how far I’m willing to go.

I only wish I could tell if that’s a dealbreaker for her or not.

If she was firmly in the life, or had experience with the type of trauma I’ve been through, none of what I did would’ve been surprising. If she was a civilian, I wouldn’t even be asking that question. Normal people would’ve taken one look at me, washing Mickey’s blood off of my chin, and run as far away as possible. But Genevieve… she pressed her cool fingertips to my blazing face, then kissed me.

Genevieve’s brother has tried his best to keep her shielded from the realities of life in a criminal organization, but between her insatiably curious nature and her friendship with Chritopher, she knows more than her brother probably expects.

As for me, I might not often be involved in seedier aspects of what the Sinners Syndicate do, but I’m a high-ranking, respected member of the Sinners due to my friendship with Rolls, the amount of time I’ve been loyal, and my gig as the official artist.

I had to be trustworthy to get the chance to ink the Devil of Springfield, even before he got the reputation he has now. When he called me to his penthouse apartment, giving me the order to tattoo his delicate bride’s ring name with his birth name— Lincoln— I knew that I was as highly regarded by our mafia leader as I am his second-in-command.

She’s seen the darkness inside of me. There’s no tucking it back out of sight, but that just means I need her light more than ever.

I need my butterfly.

I’m not surprised she’s slowly withdrawing from me. During the days, she’s losing hope that we’ll ever be found. Winter confirmed that this is payback for his brother’s death. He wants Damien to pay, and he did that by stealing Genevieve from her family. I got nabbed because it was too good of an opportunity for him to miss. I’m a Sinner, and Winter’s crew still wants to get the snowflake-embossed guns and drugs into Springfield. By taking me prisoner, he’s showing Devil that no one in the Sinners Syndicate is untouchable.

And all because Dave Sanders sold me out.

Davey boy. What the fuck, Davey boy?

For less than a stack, he confirmed that I was high up enough to be a good score for Winter. I was right when I said that Genevieve was the main target. I was the poor Sinner who was with her, but the perfectly timed van strike was his way of killing two birds with one stone.

He stole Genevieve to get back at Damien. I was just collateral damage.

I don’t care. I would’ve willingly come along and marched myself into this damn cage with her rather than let her be taken from me. And if any of this hired guys think they can separate me from her now?

I’ll make what I did to Mickey seem like foreplay.

Genevieve finally confesses that her quiet mood is because she feels guilty. She’s upset that I’m stuck with her, no matter how I try to convince her otherwise, and there’s only one thing I can think of to ask her in order to help get her mind off of our precarious situation.

Sitting next to her, my heart—and my cock—swelling when she instinctively leans into me, resting her head against my shoulder, I rub her forearm and ask, “Will you dance for me?”

She hasn’t so much as twirled since the motorcycle crash. At first, she was favoring her good leg, waiting for the road rash to heal enough for her to move without pain. And while she spent hours at a time stretching, sitting in the splits, pointing her toes, and wiggling all parts of her body to stay loose, she hasn’t danced at all.

A tiny hint of a spark appears in the depths of her pretty blue eyes. “There’s no music, Cross.”

I shift my weight slightly, turning so that I can tap my chest. “There’s music in our heart, ain’t there?”

For a moment, she just stares up at me. But then she laughs. “Oh my fucking God. That was so cheesy .”

I know it was. Dipping my head, stealing a quick kiss, I tell her, “But I got you to laugh.”

She cradles the edge of my jaw. “You did. And you know what, babe? You’re right .”

Babe.

Holy shit, Genevieve called me her ‘babe’.

I’m thirty years old. I haven’t been young in a long time. But to be her ‘babe’…

I thread my fingers through her hair, tugging her close to me. “God, you’re amazing, butterfly.”

“I am,” she agrees, her voice finding a little of its usual sass. “But just wait until this. ”

For a split second, I think she’s going to lean back on the cot, pulling me down with her. I mean, fuck . That’s what I want to do. Only the constant reminder that we’re under surveillance has kept me from doing more than stealing kisses from this woman. I’ll be damned if any of Genevieve’s first sexual experiences take place in a cage, with a madman watching our every move, but if she initiated… I’d like to think I’d be a strong enough man to put a stop to it, but I can’t honestly say that I’m positive I would.

But that’s not what she does. One more quick kiss and she shimmies out from under my arm. Flashing me a grin, she moves gracefully off of the cot, standing in the center of the floor.

And then she dances. Humming under her breath, her eyes closed, listening to music only she can hear, Genevieve dances—and I imagine her as a butterfly, flying free, far, far away from here.

Later that night, Genevieve’s head is in my lap, all that pretty blonde hair spilled over my jeans.

Since she laid down with me again, I’ve been careful to angle my hips back as far as I can so that my aching cock isn’t jabbing her in the skull. Instead, she’s using my thighs as her pillow, staring up at the ceiling, a thoughtful expression on her face.

I twirl a strand around my finger, admitting if only to myself how damn sick it is that I… I’m feeling pretty fucking peaceful. We’ve been trapped by a madman for a little more than two weeks now—fifteen days at last count—but despite the cameras, and the light, and the knowing that this illusion of safety can be shattered at any moment on Winter’s whim… holding Genevieve close, as if I have any right to this innocent creature, I’m more at peace than I have been for most of my life.

It won’t last. God willing, her brother will still rescue her. Sinners are loyal. Tanner is a bonafide genius. If we can be found through technology, he’ll figure it out. The world is huge. At this point, I’m sure we can’t be in Springfield or they would’ve found us by now. That doesn’t mean they won’t.

Right?

I’m staring down at her.

Her lips part.

My heart swells.

Her nose wrinkles. “Do I stink?”

I blink. “What?”

She angles her head so she’s looking up at me. “I mean it, Cross. Do I stink? I think I do—and,” she adds before I can say a word, “if you tell me I smell like roses or some shit, I know you’re full of it. It’s been ages without a shower, and that sink only does so much when we only have a sliver of bar soap to use.”

Part of me is amused by the way Genevieve’s mind works. The other part is actually relieved that, after her dance, she’s regained enough of her spirits that she can actually stop to wonder about her hygiene.

“Well, you did work up a sweat when you were dancing,” I tease.

She pokes me. “You wanted me to.”

“I did. I only wish Winter felt sorry enough for me to let me have some paper and a pencil. Maybe if I gave my word I wouldn’t stab one of his goons with it.” I raise my voice. If Winter was watching the dance meant for me earlier, the least he can do is listen to me bitch at him now. “Hear that? I want a pencil, Winter!”

“Cross!”Genevieve buries her face in my crotch. “I can’t believe you— oh .”

I suck in a breath. Yeah. There’s no way in hell she can miss my erection now. “Butterfly?”

Her voice is a little muffled. “Don’t mind me. I’m, uh, just getting acquainted with your friend here.”

Watching her dance has done something incredible: for the first time in weeks, I feel light. I feel hope .

I also feel like maybe… just maybe… we might have a chance. Only that would entice me to stroke her scalp as I murmur, “I’m sure he’d be very happy if you wanted to give him a little kiss.”

When Genevieve doesn’t smack me for my tease, I realize I might’ve pushed her too far. “Hey. You okay? I was only kidding.”

“No, no. I’m fine. I’m just reminding myself why it would be a very, very bad idea to give my first blow job while I’m trapped in a glass box with a pair of cameras on me.”

“It would be,“ I admit.

Doesn’t mean I’m not thinking about it now. About sharing that experience with Genevieve, about how amazing the heat of her mouth would be on my skin, and how erotic it would be to know that no one else would’ve known that pleasure before.

“Cross…”

Someone bangs on the glass door of our cell. “Break it up, you two. This ain’t no lover’s hotel. You want to eat, move it. I’m coming in.”

Are you kidding? What happened? Winter saw the two of us actually content for once and sent his goons right on down to break up the peaceful moment?

Even worse, how did I miss the footsteps? True, Mickey was the one who always seemed to be the one who stomped, and Baker is big enough that he can’t help it. The man on the other side of the glass, holding the plate of… meatloaf and chips? I think it’s meatloaf and potato chips… that’s Noah. He’s a beanpole, so that explains how he was able to sneak up on us.

And then I see that guy that came with him, and my heart almost stops before beating triple-time.

You wouldn’t think he would be involved in something like this. A couple of inches shorter than the lanky Noah, with closely cut black hair, deep green eyes, and a pleasant if slightly unmemorable face, he’s the type of guy that you nod at, then forget once he’s out of your line of sight. He’s wearing a long-sleeved dark blue shirt—on purpose, I’m sure, since I know exactly what he’s hiding under there—and a pair of jeans a shade lighter, only highlighting the vibe that he’s a new recruit on a first-day-of-work tour.

Noah turns to him. “You remember that combination I told you upstairs? For the keypad?”

The other man nods. “I do.”

“Good. Take out your piece. You heard what he did to Mickey, yeah?”

His brow furrows. “This is the guy who?—”

Noah mimes a chomp. “Yup. Saw the aftermath of it myself. He got off a good inch.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Yeah. That’s why you’re going to be in charge of these two. We got a new guest incoming if your intel pans out. If it doesn’t, forget everything I said. Winter won’t have you feeding them. He’ll make you one of them.”

The other man scoffs. “I have a rep in Hamilton. Winter looked into it before he accepted me into his crew. I already proved myself to him. When you get Falco’s girl, you’ll see. And I won’t just be a waiter. I’ve got bigger plans.”

Yeah, I think. He does, and I’m hoping like hell I know what they are.

Falco… I’ve heard of him. He’s this new gun runner who’s stationed on the East Coast. He’s been partnering with Devil in the business lately, but if he has something Winter wants, it looks like Winter’s plotting to take something Falco wants.

And this guy is supposed to be the one to provide it to Winter.

His dark green eyes glance off of me, running over Genevieve. There’s none of the lecherous desire that filled Mickey’s gaze, and for that I’m grateful.

I’d hate to have to pluck out a fellow Sinner’s eyes, even if he’s playing a part.

That’s got to be what’s going on here. How many times have I shared an energy drink with Devil’s driver, nudging him about what he was running from, and knowing that it would take a lot to get his ass back to Hamilton?

Too many. But if that’s where we are…

I keep my face neutral. If I even hint at recognizing him, we’re all fucked.

Though I can’t stay quiet when Noah plops the plate down without any preamble, leering at Genevieve like usual before turning to go.

I wait until the glass door has closed behind them to take a step toward it.

“I wouldn’t be in here if it wasn’t for Dave,” I spit out.

Noah rolls his eyes, but just like I hoped, I catch the other man’s attention.

“Dave?” The new guy… my old friend… is suddenly confused. “Name’s not Dave. It’s Luca.”

I know—just like I know from the way his expression looks confused, but his eyes go hard, that he received my message, and he understood it.

Good. Even if it takes him a minute to break us out of here, that’s fine. But hopefully he can pass the message on.

The Devil of Springfield needs to know he has a snake working for him.

I only hope that Luca St. James isn’t one of them.