6. Derrick

CHAPTER 6

Derrick

I woke up an hour ago as Silver’s prisoner. Now I’m Thomas’s prisoner, and despite everything that’s already happened, I don’t know if this is an improvement or not.

Raleigh and I are led to a sleek black car parked right in the front yard of the house we were held in. I take note of the street names and the surrounding houses. I’m not familiar with the neighborhood, but the entire street looks rundown and semi-deserted. Either the other people living here are cowering inside after listening to that shootout, or there aren’t any other people here to cower.

Raleigh goes in the shotgun seat, and Paul Zakharov gets in the back with me. He was Morgan Speare’s enforcer as long as I knew the mafia boss, and I’m less than pleased he survived the destruction of his boss’s empire. What is he doing with the Warwicks now? Regardless of which side he’s on, he can claim a grudge against me, which bodes ill. Not quite as ill as being in Thomas Warwick’s custody after being found in a room with Thomas’s little sister, but ill nonetheless.

“How did you find us?” Raleigh asks Iris as the older woman backs the car up into the street. Raleigh’s voice sounds so small, and from the backseat, I can see she’s still shaking. I feel myself wanting to put my arms around her, to still her- which is absurd.

When I told her to stay behind me, that everything would be okay, we were in a different world. Our roles have been drastically rearranged in a matter of minutes, and now I’m the only one in mortal peril while she is surrounded by protectors.

Still, my fingers twitch.

“Tracked your phone to his house after you didn’t come home last night,” Iris says. “I found your purse, by the way, so I knew something was wrong. There were police crawling all over-”

I lean forward so quickly Paul grabs my shoulder and shoves me back. “Chance and Justice- my dogs- are they okay?”

Iris’s eyes are cold in the rearview mirror. Fuck, I shouldn’t be calling her attention to me. She was the one who found Thomas in my office after he beat the shit out of me- after I’d handcuffed him to a chair to gloat over my impending victory.

“They’re fine,” she says shortly, then focuses back on Raleigh. “Luckily, cops are idiots and we were able to track down where your kidnappers came from far ahead of them.”

That was pointed, and, might I add, vaguely immature for Iris. Losing her boss’s little sister has rattled her, or maybe it’s because she found her in a room with a man who’s her boss’s nemesis.

Dread sinks into my bones. There is no way this is ending well for me.

“Does Thomas know-” Raleigh asks, but Iris shakes her head.

“He and Clara caught their flight first thing this morning. I didn’t realize you were missing until a few hours later.”

“Don’t tell him,” Raleigh blurts, shocking me.

“Raleigh, that’s not an option,” Iris says, firm but soothing. “Even if you weren’t hurt-”

“I’m not hurt!” Raleigh insists.

“-Even if I didn’t find you imprisoned ,” Iris persists, “there’s him to consider.”

Him. Me.

Fuck.

The fact that Thomas Warwick is on a plane to Europe is probably the only thing that’s going to save my life.

When we return to the Warwick’s main base, a massive walled estate crouched on a hill overlooking the city, Iris makes the executive decision to have me tossed in a cell instead of outright executed. She’s clearly the one in charge with Thomas gone, and everyone scrambles to do her bidding as if she were the man himself.

Raleigh is the only one who protests. “I was just there by coincidence,” she tells Iris. “You’re gonna punish him for both of us being kidnapped?”

I’m surprised by the support, but not surprised that Iris doesn’t go for it. “We don’t have all the evidence,” she says sensibly. “And he’s played the ally in the past.”

So Paul takes me to one of the structures behind the main house, a long, low building that might be mistaken for stables or a garage, but is clearly the place where they stow prisoners. Small rooms line one side of the building, with narrow windows in each door. The whole place is clean and utilitarian, but ominously, there is a drain in the middle of each cell’s tile floor.

Paul hasn’t spoken since we got into the car, and I expect him to continue his silence, but after he deposits me in one of the small rooms, he lingers in the open doorway. His face is lined with years of misery, but the crow’s feet around his eyes hint at past happiness. His eyes, pale blue as arctic ice, pierce through me.

“If I find out you hurt that girl,” he says, “I’m taking you apart inch by inch.”

The “you’ll be alive for all of it” is implied.

“You were with the Speares,” I can’t help but say. “How did you end up here?”

Paul’s eyes narrow. I probably shouldn’t be drawing his ire, but I have to know. Was he a double agent in Morgan’s house? Did he switch to the winning side last minute? I feel like he could be an ally to me if I could just understand his motivations-

“I’m the one who killed Morgan,” Paul says- the very last thing I expected. “I did it to save Clara.” His grizzled face splits in a grim smile. “So if I’ll kill a man I owe my life to for the sake of a girl I half raised, just imagine what I’ll do to you .”

Then he closes the door behind him, and the lock clicks shut.

It opens fifteen minutes later, and a man I don’t recognize drops off a microwaved dinner.

After that, hours of silence pass. I say a silent toast to Thomas’s marriage. I beg Raleigh in my mind not to give details about what happened in that room, for my sake if not her own. I go over and over my observations from the house as we left it, considering the neighborhood, the address, every one of the bodies I saw.

We killed everyone we saw , Iris said. But did she and Paul see everyone? Was Silver one of those bodies, or did he manage to slip away from the carnage? The question haunts me as the day slips past.

It’s impossible to tell by the fluorescent lights what time it is when the lock of my cell starts to rattle. I stand, but I don’t see anyone through the narrow window. Whoever’s outside is crouched at the lock, picking it open. One of the Warwicks’ people looking for personal revenge against me? I ready myself for a fight, even though they’ll probably be armed and I’ve got nothing but my bare hands.

But when the door finally does open, it’s Raleigh on the other side.

I drop my hands, stunned. “What are you doing here?” I whisper.

She shoves a rubber stop block under the door, wedging it open an inch so it won’t lock her in. “There’s no one here,” she says, her voice at normal volume. “There’s a poker game going on outside. Trust me, it’ll last hours.”

That wasn’t an answer to my question. “Raleigh, why are you here?” I repeat. It’s hard not to look past her at the cracked door, but I manage.

After all, she’s stunning even in pajamas.

She has her thick hair pulled up in a messy bun, and her lacy camisole is very thin and very, very tight. At first I think her bottom half is only sporting underwear, but then I realize she’s wearing the shortest shorts in existence, showing off the entire length of her curvy legs. She has cankles, which makes breathing a little difficult suddenly.

Raleigh puts her hands on her hips and looks me over. When she meets my eyes again, it feels like a challenge being issued.

“I’m here because my first time was comparatively shitty, and I want another try.”

I almost choke at that. She broke into my cell for sex ? I might die any hour, and instead of breaking me out, she’s here to get lucky.

Honestly, I can’t help but admire the audacity. And in a twisted way, it feels fair. She was kidnapped this morning because she got mixed up with me. Now I’m her prisoner, and she wants recompense.

Fair enough then.

Raleigh steps forward. Fascinated, I let her back me up against the wall. She doesn’t stop moving, intentionally pressing her body against mine, her full breasts against my chest, her pelvis against my cock. The juxtaposition between us now and us this morning- even us last night- is intentional. It’s also impossibly hot.

I’m already hard, and from the dilation of Raleigh’s pupils, I know she can feel it. She has to rise onto her tiptoes to kiss me, but when her mouth hits mine, her energy is feral. She rakes her teeth over my lips, opens her mouth wide for my tongue. Her fingers tangle in my hair and she tugs ferociously, making me groan. I grip the back of her neck, lightly choking her like I did this morning. Obediently she breaks off and tilts her head back, baring her throat for my kisses, for my teeth. I suck hard on the joint of her neck and shoulder, determined to give her better bruises than the ones ringing her arms.

It’s a shame this won’t happen for us again, because I think she would’ve enjoyed being tied to my bed.

Slowly, I start bending my legs, letting myself slide down the wall and her body until I’m on my knees. I lift the hem of her shirt and lick the soft plane of her belly, making her choke and gasp. Her short short shorts come down, and I kiss the skin they reveal. Panting, she rolls her hips forward, trapping my head between her pelvis and the wall, and I smile. Give her what she’s begging me for.

I plant my mouth between her legs, and Raleigh has to clap a hand over her mouth to stifle her cry. My tongue runs up and down her clit, tasting sex, sweat, her . With one hand, I reach under her shirt and grip her full breast. With the other, I slip two fingers into her wet hot pussy.

Raleigh bucks, knocking my head back against the wall, but that’s hardly a deterrent. I find her G-spot and press with my fingertips, massaging in time with the strokes of my tongue. Raleigh whimpers through her fingers. As a reward, I thrust a third finger inside her body, filling her more snugly.

She’s tightening around me. Too soon, far too soon. I want hours to take her apart like this, to try every kink in the book to see what makes her scream loudest. I just want to hear her scream, instead of muffling herself because someone else might be listening.

But that’s not for us to have. This will be the last time.

If only she were someone I’m not obliged to arrest, or I was someone appropriate for a mafia princess.

Raleigh’s pleasure releases. I switch my hand from her soft breast to her back, keeping her upright as her muscles jump and go limp. She’s so fucking wet and soft. Her body is ready for my cock. For one wild second, I consider going all the way, shoving myself inside her and riding her on this tile floor until we’ve both been sated.

That’s not for us either. It’s time to go.

I pull my fingers slowly out of Raleigh and drag their wet length up her clit one last time. As she watches, I stick them in my mouth, savoring the taste of her. Her lips are parted as she pants. I imagine putting my cock between them and telling her to suck, then force the thought aside.

“Lie down,” I order instead.

Raleigh sinks to her knees in front of me, her rubbery legs trembling with the effort, then slides onto her back. Her legs part, presenting her to me like a gorgeous Christmas gift.

I shoot to my feet, lunge for the door, and close it behind me before she can even turn over.