Chapter Ten

CHAPTER TEN

Anthony

I couldn't fucking think straight since the moment I showed up at her warehouse with coffee.

Who was I kidding? I hadn't been able to think straight practically since I met the woman.

But shit was definitely amplified thanks to the gym.

If Sam hadn't interrupted, I would have fucked her right there on the desk.

And I hadn't been able to think about shit else since. Not even after I got home and worked through some of the frustration in my system.

Even as I came, I knew it wasn't going to be enough.

I needed her. Her fingers in my hair, her skin against mine, her heels digging into my ass, her moans against my lips.

I didn't even give a fuck that it wasn't smart in the context of what we were working on. We were adults. We could fuck and work together.

At least that was what I was making myself believe because I both needed her on this case, and needed her on a physical level.

Judging by the way she melted against me on the deck of the ferry when I'd moved in behind her, she was still feeling the same way with some time and space to think it over.

She was stubbornly silent on the whole way back to the city, and even on the subway ride, then the walk to the warehouse.

Fury was the only one who got to be addressed by her. "Hey, my girl. Have things been calm around… uh oh. Man down," she said, walking over toward where on Fury's brand new bed, where a toy lamb that had been gutted. "That's okay," she said, patting Fury's broad head. "I'm sure he had it coming," she said as she grabbed the leash, clipped it on, then took off, leaving me to follow in her wake or hang back.

Deciding to give her a few moments to herself, I stayed back at the warehouse, cleaning up the fluff from the lamb, but leaving the toy itself on the bed, refilling the water, and waiting for them to return.

Clearly, Saylor had a lot of frustration to walk off, because she was gone for forty-five minutes before she came back with an exhausted-looking Fury, who came over to get a big drink before dropping down on her bed.

Saylor moved around, preparing food that Fury was too tired to eat before finally turning toward me, but I was pretty sure her gaze was on my chin. "I want coffee. Then I will show you my idea," she said, brushing past me to pet Fury's head one last time before moving outside, not even waiting for me as she took off down the block.

Coffees in hand, we took a subway back to Washington Heights, then a cab that drove us right down the street where the row houses were.

"Saylor, the fuck? We can't be here," I said, voice low so the cabbie didn't hear.

"Trust me," she said as the cab idled next to a car parked on the street two buildings up from the row houses, but across the street. "Come out this side," she said as I slid money to the driver, then followed her out.

She strode up to the door of the building, not so much as glancing backward toward the row house, and knocked on the door to the building.

It opened maybe a moment later.

"Sam!" the woman greeted, making my brows shoot up as Saylor offered her hand.

"Thanks for meeting us on such short notice," Saylor told her, all smiles that didn't meet her eyes.

"Of course! I don't even know how you heard about the vacancy so soon," the woman said, and Saylor shot me a smirk as the woman turned to guide us toward the elevator.

I had a feeling I knew how she'd heard about it so soon.

And I wondered if she had to promise to choke down some awful pizza rolls to get that information.

"It's a cozy studio," the woman prattled on as we rode the elevator up to the third floor, "with an updated bath and partially furnished," she told us as she produced a key, then pushed open a door that likely had a killer fucking view of the row house we wanted to keep an eye on.

In real estate terms, ‘cozy' was just a nice way of saying miniscule. I was pretty sure the entire studio could fit into the bedroom of my apartment, and my place wasn't all that roomy either.

There was a bare mattress sitting on an ancient metal frame against the wall and a cheap gray big box store couch, all too-stiff cushions and cheap stitching, pushed up against the windows to the street. We both moved in that direction as the woman talked about the kitchen appliances that we wouldn't be using at all.

"Oh, yes, lovely view, isn't it?" she asked, coming up behind us when she realized she'd lost our attention as we both watched as someone moved out of the front door of the row house, puffing casually on a cigarette, completely oblivious that he was being watched.

Eventually, we both followed the woman and her clicking heels to the kitchen, then bathroom she'd mentioned that looked like it was maybe updated in the nineties.

Not that it mattered for our purposes.

"We'll take it," Saylor declared as we moved out into the studio again. "I believe I heard that short-term rentals were preferable."

"Well, the owner is thinking of selling," the woman admitted, nervously tucking some of her white-blonde hair behind her ear.

"That's perfect for us," Saylor declared. "Do you want me to pay for three months up front?" she asked.

"Oh," the woman said. "Oh, my. I will have to draft up the paperwork," she said, flustered.

"That will be perfect," Saylor agreed, nodding, eager to get it over with.

"How much was it for the three months again?" I asked, wondering if I had enough cash on hand to pay it.

"Oh, yes, uhm, it was sixteen-ninety per month. So that's…"

"Five-thousand-seventy," I said, getting a brow raise from Saylor. "Will cash work for you?" I asked.

"Yes, of course. Of course. Okay. How about you two meet me in the office in an hour? I should have everything ready for you by then."

"Perfect," Saylor said as we all moved back out of the apartment and rode the elevator down to the main level.

The woman, Rhonda, said her goodbyes, then rushed off to work on the paperwork as we stood in the entryway.

"There's a back exit," Saylor told me, moving down the opposite hall that led to the mail and laundry rooms, then out into a small back alley where the trash cans were all lined up. "Five-thousand-seventy, huh?" she asked as we started to walk away from the street where the row houses were located.

"I've always been good with math," I admitted. "Especially when it comes to money. So, when did you come up with this idea?" I asked as we moved down a tiny alley between two buildings the next block over.

"Keith called when I was walking Fury. Apparently, one of his gamer friends who I now know entirely too much about, by the way, wants to move to the city, so Keith has been hacking into the fucking real estate sites to try to send him listings before they hit the actual market. When he saw this one was about to go up, he let me know. In exchange for information on the mafia deli," she said, shaking her head.

"That was really lucky. How are we going to get past giving IDs and shit like that, Sam ?"

To that, she turned toward me, walking backward slowly as she shot me a wicked look. "I may or may not have an ID with my mother's name but my face and birthdate," she told me, somehow managing to sidestep a man bent over to pick up some change without even seeing behind her.

"That's handy," I said. "Does she know?"

"Yeah. It's really only meant for an emergency-type situation, but it will work for this. I figure taking out a bunch of guys who want to take my job away from me sooner than I plan on constitutes an emergency."

"When do you plan to stop?" I asked.

"I am hopeful to be done in seven years. Ten at the absolute most."

"Why? If you're successful, why retire so young?"

"It's not worth the risk for an extended amount of time. I figure that, by then, I should have enough for a comfortable retirement. And I can also sell the warehouse for a hefty profit when I am done with it. Use that to, I dunno, invest in real estate or set up a passive income business. You guys don't really retire, do you?"

"I mean, eventually, you kind of step down and let someone younger have your crew and neighborhoods. But you would get a kick-up from them until you're dead. I'm not even thinking of retirement yet, though. Still trying to earn my own fucking crew," I said, wincing at the bite in my words.

"Well, when we take down these fuckers, you will get the respect they've been keeping from you," she said, sounding so sure that I truly started to believe it as well. "What are you doing?" she asked as I walked up toward an ATM.

"Getting some cash," I said.

"You can only take out, what, five hundred?" she asked.

"True. Okay, we have some time. Let's hop in a cab to my place."

"Or I can go to mine and get the cash."

"Can you not be stubborn about this?"

"It's going to be in my name."

"It's going to be in your mother's name. And I think we both know she'd side with me on this."

"Ugh," she grumbled, knowing I was right, as she walked to the curb and threw up her arm to hail a cab. But she didn't object when I rattled off my address as we both slid in.

I was unexpectedly nervous as we made our way up the elevator to my apartment. It wasn't that I'd never had a woman at my place before. I had. But, I dunno, I guess some part of me cared what Saylor thought of it. Even if I didn't quite understand why she was different from the other women I'd brought back to my place before.

"Dude, seriously?" Saylor said, grabbing the back of my jacket as I fucking stumbled over a package in the hallway.

"In my defense, that shouldn't have been in the middle of the hall," I admitted, feeling my fucking neck and ears heating. This was, what, the fourth or fifth time I'd made an idiot of myself around her?

"I mean, sure, but you have eyes, right?" she asked, smiling at me as I fished for my key and stabbed it into the lock.

I said nothing to that as I moved inside, reaching to flick on the light, but finding it already on.

My spine stiffened, knowing it had been off when I'd left earlier. Just as I was about to reach for my gun to do a sweep of the place, my fucking brother came strolling down the short hall from my bedroom.

"I thought I heard someone almost wipeout in the… oh," Emilio said, spying Saylor coming in behind me, his lips twitching. "Looks like I interrupted something," he said, but he made no move to actually leave.

"Saylor, this is my brother, Emilio. Milo, this is Saylor. Now what the fuck are you doing in my apartment?" I asked.

"Can't I just come and check in on my brother?"

"Check up on me is more like it," I said, closing the door behind Saylor as she eyed up Emilio.

"Surprised you're not working," Emilio said, tone suggestive enough to have my hackles rising.

"He was. I got him to agree to take a little break," Saylor said, her voice taking on a tone I hadn't heard yet. Something, I don't know, flirtatious. "I can be very convincing," she went on, laying it on thick as she leaned into me, her fingers toying with one of my shirt buttons.

"I'm sure you can, sweetheart," Emilio agreed. A retired manwhore, he always appreciated it when I seemed to be picking up the torch he'd lain down. "So, is that your brownie batter coffee creamer in the fridge?" he asked.

"Totally," Saylor agreed, lying through her fucking teeth. "I love all things chocolate," she went on, fingers walking up my chest. "So, ah, are you planning to be here for a long visit?" she asked, actually batting her eyelashes at Emilio.

It was so out of character for her that it was taking actual effort not to laugh at her.

"Oh, just a couple minutes, honey," he said, barely holding back a smile.

"Good. Then I'll just go get… comfortable then," Saylor said, confidently walking toward the hallway like she'd been to my place a hundred times before. "Nice meeting you, Emilio," she called as she went into my bedroom and closed the door.

"She's pretty as fuck," Emilio said, turning back to me.

"Yeah," I agreed. "And you're keeping me from enjoying all that pretty. So, get the interrogation over with."

"I'm just checking in," Emilio said, shaking his head. "Don't need to get defensive."

"Milo, we both know it's never just checking in," I told him. "Lorenzo trusted me with this. And I'm all over it. You don't need to look over my shoulder."

"I'm just looking out for you," he insisted.

"You're trying to make sure I don't make a fool of you," I said.

"Hey, no, that's not—"

"I'm a grown man now, Milo," I said, finding the words I'd been tongue-tied with flowing out easily all of a sudden. "My fuck-ups, if or when they happen, are my own."

"Fuck," Emilio said, sighing hard. "Look, I get why it feels like that to you, man. But I honestly never meant to make you feel like I think you're going to fuck up. I'm just… protective, I guess. And, besides, who am I to comment on fuck-ups? I allowed a fucking spy into my house," he said, shrugging.

"Then married her," I agreed.

"I'll try not to look over your shoulder on this. But I want you to know I'm here, y'know? If you want to bat ideas around. Or if you need backup. Don't want you to hesitate because you think I'm going to think less of you for needing an extra set of hands. Ma would fucking box my ears if I let anything happen to you. Speaking of," he said, gaze going to my forehead where I'd whacked it on the desk the night before.

"A little mishap while trying to fuck Saylor on her mother's desk," I admitted, getting a big grin out of him.

"I've never been a prouder brother in my life," he said, moving toward the door, and smacking a hand on my shoulder as he went. "Saylor's waiting for you," he reminded me. "Try not to get yourself hurt again," he added, letting himself out.

Alone, I exhaled hard, feeling like a boulder I'd been carrying around for years had just been lifted off of my shoulders.

"You can come out," I called to Saylor.

She must have been listening at the door because it whipped right open at that.

"Feel better?" she asked, looking at me as she moved into the living room.

"Yeah, actually. Thanks for taking the heat on the coffee creamer. I'd never hear the end of it if he knew it was mine."

"Brothers love to tease," she said with the kind of certainty that came from experience.

"I can't imagine you let your brother tease you," I said, curious about why she always kind of shut down when he came up in conversation.

"Not anymore," she said. Then, like an afterthought, she added, "he's dead." Then, likely feeling a little too exposed by that admission, she rushed to say, "So, where's the cash? I looked through your nightstands already," she admitted. My mind flashed to the contents of my nightstand, hoping there was nothing too embarrassing in there. "It says a lot about you that you keep bandaids and instant icepacks in your top drawer," she said, smirking. "Right next to your condoms. Because, priorities," she said, walking into my bedroom, leaving me to follow behind her. "The bottle of lube is considerate of you," she added.

I'm not proud of the way my mind immediately flashed to her naked on my bed, writhing and begging for more.

Clearing my throat, I moved to the wall, taking down a picture I'd bought off the wall at a coffee shop, and exposing the wall safe.

"Not afraid of me knowing where that is?" she asked, watching me as I plugged in the code.

"I know where to find you," I said. "Besides, I'm pretty sure in your profession, you're making more than I do. The fuck would you need to steal from me for?" I asked, reaching inside to pull out a few stacks, handing them off to her to count them out.

"This is good," she said. "Why are you getting more?"

"Gonna need some food for the fridge. Maybe a coffee pot. Soap, TP, paper towels…"

"How long do you think we're going to be staking the place out?" she asked, creating two different stacks, and stuffing the smaller one in her pocket, then holding the bigger one out for me to stuff into my breast pocket.

"As long as it takes," I said, shrugging. "I figure, if we're lucky, we might be able to have a day when everyone leaves. In which case, it would be easy enough to break in, get your supply, and get the fuck out of there."

"That only solves my problem, not yours," she said, watching me as I went into my closet to grab a duffle bag. "What are you doing?"

"I'd rather be there round-the-clock until this is done than to keep going in and out and risk being seen," I said, shrugging. "I know we'll have to leave to take care of Fury, but other than that, I think it's smart to minimize how much time we leave the apartment."

At her probing look, I shrugged. "I can just stay. You don't have to."

I knew that was just going to make her want to stay.

And I may or may not have had ulterior motives for wanting to stay there, for wanting to provoke her into staying with me.

"What size was the bed in the apartment?" she asked.

"Looked like a queen," I said.

Her gaze slid to my bed. "Do you have spare sheets and bed protectors? I don't trust that mattress," she deadpanned.

I handed her another small bag that she stuffed with the sheets, then she grabbed some of my shit out of the bathroom.

"We'll stop at your place before we head back," I said, despite knowing we would be cutting it close to our meeting.

I wanted to see her place.

"We'll have to head back to Fury after the paperwork," she said, following me out to the kitchen, and going into the fridge to grab my coffee creamer. "Maybe we can pick up my SUV too," she said. "I have some fake plates. And there's nothing about it that would make it distinguishable from the hundreds of others in the city if they see it parked on the street. Just think it would be smart to have a quick getaway vehicle."

"Yeah, that's smart," I agreed. "And if we do find an opening when no one is home, we're gonna need somewhere to put all the guns when we steal them back."

"True," she agreed. "Though I don't know where the fuck I'm gonna store them in the meantime. Don't think my warehouse is a good idea until after the threat is neutralized," she said as we got into a cab, and headed in the direction of Hell's Kitchen.

Saylor ended up having a roomy-ass apartment on the top floor of an old money brick building. "Arms dealing pays better than I thought," I said as we walked into her living room.

"This is actually from my great aunt. She never had kids, so she left me it in her will."

"What did she do? Black market diamond trade?" I asked as I looked at her sprawling, updated kitchen, the warm wood floors, the floor-to-ceiling windows, and her sunken living room.

To that, Saylor laughed. "She owned a publishing company in the golden days of them. They published those crazy popular bodice rippers. Made a shit-ton of money. But she saw the writing on the wall about the industry. She sold to one of the Big Five publishing companies, invested, and lived a nice, easy life until she passed. She's my inspiration," she admitted, walking down the hallway, and slipping into one of the doors. It looked like the place was a three-bedroom.

"What would this go for if you sold it?" I asked as we moved into her bedroom that was, easily, the size of my entire apartment.

"In this market?" she asked, bobbing her head side-to-side as she thought about it. "Maybe seven."

"Million?"

"Yeah," she agreed. "It's my backup plan if I have to retire earlier than planned, but I really hope I don't have to sell it. It would be a sweet place to live out the rest of my life."

She grabbed a hard shell suitcase, blindly grabbing shit out of her massive walk-in closet, then went into her bathroom to grab some of her products.

All said and done, she was finished in ten minutes.

While I still stood in awe of her condo.

"Ready?" she asked, and I turned to find her watching me.

"Somehow, it feels wrong to ask you to crash in a shitty studio apartment when you got this to come home to."

But we were already cutting it close, so we rushed into a cab, then made our way back to Washington Heights just in time for our meeting.

Saylor filled out the paperwork.

I handed over the cash.

Then we were handed the keys.

I don't think it fully sank in until we rode the elevator up silently, put the lock in the door, and stepped into the studio.

We were going to be living together for the time being.

And there was no fucking way we were going to be able to fight what was growing between us when we were in such close quarters.

"I'll sleep on the couch," she said, her mind clearly moving in the same direction. "You're bigger. You need the bed."

Oh, we were both going to be in the bed.

Whether she wanted to admit that or not…