The Sins that Ruin (Obsidian Knights Secret Society #3)

11. Malone

ELEVEN

“That woman, do you know her?”

Smith considers my words as he taps his fingers on the keyboard in front of him at our sham business lunch meeting, across the road from the wellness center where Scarlett works.

She stands outside, flipping her braided hair over her shoulder. I find the look intriguing. After last night, I didn’t expect that she’d suddenly go for a switch-up from her two preferred styles, messy bun or hair flowing around her shoulders.

It puts things in my head I shouldn’t be thinking about.

Not at this moment.

Scarlett’s also wearing a moss-green floral dress that’s got a high neck with fitted three-quarter sleeves, a skirt that ends above the knee, and low-heeled boots on her feet.

Pleasing, classic, and perfect for a receptionist who’s accessible to those who walk in.

Smith slants a look from her to me. “She’s pretty, West.”

“I’m pretty sure you’ve said that before.” I shake my head. “Not fucking Scarlett.”

“Are you?”

I throw him a withering look. “Really, Smith? Take your parenting issues and fight Orion about them. He’s the one doing your daughter.”

He holds my gaze for two whole seconds before looking back across the street.

Others might have apologized or not gone where I went in the first place. Others would have shriveled and cowered at the thought of pissing off Smith. I really don’t give a fuck. I’m not in the mood to be teased. Or whatever he’s trying to do.

“The older woman with her?”

“Yes.”

Scarlett and who looks like a power Manhattan socialite sip coffee from the coffee shop that sells artisanal and ethically sourced beans ground and brewed by hip young men and women who no doubt hold degrees in coffee-making.

Scarlett laughs at something the woman says, but there’s a flatness to it. I’m pretty fucking sure I’m the source of that flatness, even if she came and came last night, almost squeezing my dick off in the process.

Finally, Smith answers. “No, not that I’m aware of. Could be one of thousands of affluent power women. Why?”

“I don’t know… she looks familiar. Hard to tell from here.” Hard to tell without a conversation, which opens up a perfect opportunity to drop in on Scarlett at work one day soon.

If the job isn’t busted open.

If Santa and fairies actually fucking existed.

This isn’t an easy job beneath the surface, because, otherwise, the list would be in the hands of the Knights by now.

I take a swallow of my café americano. “The rep from UR Fantasies set up a meeting with JM today. They want to discuss renting out some of the rooms for various productions.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow. I told them we’ve had other interest. I’m planning to name-drop some of their competitors.”

“And you think that’ll get them talking?” he asks.

“No,” I say. “I think maybe we’ll get a reaction, see if they’re looking for more than they say.”

This time he frowns. “You suspect them of something?”

“I suspect everyone. But no, not really. I just think it’s worth a shot.”

He nods. “I’ll be there.”

I look back across the road. “Good.”

“Meetings went well this morning. James Malone has a lot of tongues wagging and boots shaking,” he says. “Also… engaged? There’s fast and there’s?—”

“Me.” I snap my fingers at him as Scarlett and the woman go inside. “It’s the best way to cement myself into that world for leads. The boyfriend bullshit wouldn’t be taken seriously, so I made a command decision to pass myself off as her fiancée, instead. Speaking of my newly engaged self, there’s a party coming up. I’ll shoot you the details and an invite. Find someone boring and pretty to take.”

Smith packs up and leaves and I continue to stare at the computer and my list of things for the day. A lot of which is me sitting here until she heads back home. Or maybe she’s going to visit dear old dad, who the fuck knows?

She’s got the key and the door code, and while I don’t suspect her of anything, I am interested in what she might do while she’s there. Does she do more than part-time admin work for the family?

She might be a good fuck, maybe one of the best I’ve had, but that doesn’t change my plans or this job.

I hate what she represents.

And I fucking hate her father.

I was… shit, I don’t remember exactly how old, but enough to remember the man’s face.

Dale was obsessed with my mother. And when he couldn’t have her, he raped her and set it up to make it look like she hit on him. He wanted my father to find out about their affair. And when he did, he kicked us all to the curb. Our lives completely fell apart after that.

Not long afterward, my mother abandoned me and my younger sister, and when the family who wanted to adopt us decided one child was enough, I made it so they’d take my sister.

My only good act.

I found her a few years ago, and she’s happily married, so I didn’t go near her. She didn’t need my brand of toxic clouding up her life.

But my shit childhood story, going from the lap of luxury to destitution to a boy’s home and then finding my way into money once more, caught the eyes of the Knights.

I’m talented. I stole, scammed, and grifted my way to the top, invested and used my talents to make money. Of course they wanted someone like me.

It doesn’t make it right.

It doesn’t fucking exonerate Dale Hanlon.

He’s going to pay.

As soon as this job is done, he’s going to pay.

With his life.

My day’s pretty full. But I’m still back outside her job like a fucking stalker on steroids.

The smoke feels good as I pull it into my lungs, lighting up all the pleasure receptors that tobacco likes to target.

This isn’t a norm for me, smoking. I gave it up years ago and it’s something I know I’m lucky I can take or leave. But it suits JM, and so for now, smoking’s an indulgence I’ll take. Plus, it gives me something to do while I watch.

No one looks twice at the lone smoker loitering outside a building. It’s one of those perfect covers.

I check my phone. I’ve got to set up my next move with the Hanlons, and it’s tricky, the balance of the level of threat to what I need. I need them paranoid but not too paranoid. So far it’s worked to get me Scarlett, and the engagement party is a good introduction into the family without setting up a really formal meeting with the father and uncle.

That would negate what I need, which is complete and total access. So another small thing, a threat. And the brakes on the car… I never asked for it to go that far, just enough of something to make them panic and wonder, but whatever the hell. It worked. The next threat needs to be left of center, maybe something to do with an old client. I haven’t worked out the details yet, but I will.

Scrolling through my phone screens, I find her number and call.

“When and how did you program your number into my phone?” she hisses.

I smile. “Most people say hello.”

“Most people aren’t being… coerced.”

“You didn’t seem that coerced when you had multiple orgasms last night,” I murmur, taking a drag on my cigarette as I walk into the alley—New York style with no exit, just the entrance—between her building and the next. It’s actually a loading zone, but it’s out of the way, and even during the day, the shadows from the tall buildings it sits between are deep. “Or when you squirted.”

“I did not.”

God, I love the fucking defiance. She’ll pay for that later.

“Here’s what you’re going to do,” I say. “You’re going to get up and leave the desk to take a break.”

“Malone, I can’t.”

“I’m letting you work, Scarlett. I’m making the fucking rules, and you’ll do what I say. So take a break. Now.”

“I don’t want to play games,” she says.

I smile, feeling all kinds of good filthy, that edge of risk is perfection because I know I shouldn’t be doing this, toying with her. She just might snap and walk. But I don’t think she will, and not because of the threats to her family.

She likes what I do to her, slightly more than she hates it.

“Get up, come outside, and turn left.”

A sigh follows, along with some muffled conversation I don’t catch. But then she’s back. “Turn left where?”

I can see her. “The alley you’re on the edge of.”

She turns, eyes narrowing.

“What the hell is your game, Malone?”

“You.”

She walks slowly into the alley, and I know the moment she sees me. Electricity shoots up from my cock through my whole nervous system.

When Scarlett reaches me, I take her arm and pull her close. Our gazes crash, the world suddenly no longer spinning as I stroke my hand down along her cheek. “You squirted.”

“You’re an asshole.”

I turn her, pushing her up against the rough cement wall of the building, and then I crush her mouth with a deep and hard kiss, one that’s pure sex, one that immediately makes me hard. I’d fuck her, here and now, if I didn’t think the risk of getting caught was too great.

There are things I can do that won’t be quite as obvious.

I personally don’t give a fuck about being caught, and though she’s not even close to being a known socialite, she still exists on that scale of respectability, and ruining that for her isn’t in my game plan.

Actually, I’m not sure if she gives a fuck about that shit. But I do. For my purposes, I most definitely do, and her family does. My persona JM cares.

So I don’t fuck her.

But I flip her skirt up as I kiss my way down the side of her throat, licking and sucking the spot where I bruised her, making her moan and gasp because I’m giving her a good pain that makes her push her hips into me.

A silent offering.

And it’s one I take. I move back to her mouth, changing the kiss to gentle, orchestrated seduction, deliberately not deep enough, a touch of romantic, the sweetness of a soft touch that makes the world revolve around her. She follows when I pull back, sighs when I lean in, and it’s very easy to get caught up in that, too.

Because she’s soft, warm, and decadent.

Then I go in for the kill.

Her skirt’s up, and my hand rests on her hip. I slide my thigh between hers, turning the kiss up, making it erotic, biting and nibbling her lip before sinking deep into her pleasures there, the dance of her tongue and her taste.

I move my hand down and into her panties. She’s so fucking wet.

Her slickness coats my fingers as I slide them over her cunt’s slit, up to her clit, and then I push three fingers into her.

She moans and shudders, the muscles of her pussy fluttering like she has a tiny orgasm, or just fucking loves the fact I’m filling up that tight space.

What I’d give to sink my cock into her. From behind. Because I’d want her from behind.

I break the kiss and start to thrust in long hard thrusts. And then I look at her.

“Y-you—” She stops, her eyes rolling up as I thumb her clit. “Oh…”

“You can come. If you can. In one minute, starting now.”

The reverse of the time system of edging makes it worse because she’s going to try to come.

I keep my play with her at a place where she could come if I pushed. But I don’t. I want agony, I want her in knots.

I want her to torture herself.

She tries to ride my fingers, but I take her braid, hold her head, and shift my weight to pin her legs with mine, restricting her movement.

“Clock’s ticking down, Red.”

“I—I can’t.”

“If you can’t, you don’t get to come from me. I’ll get off, but I’ll stop before you can come. And if you even think of getting yourself off, I’ll beat your ass so fucking hard you’ll scream for mercy.”

I keep stroking into her, keep circling her clit, and every time I can feel the tensing, I change the pace which drops it down from the danger zone.

“P-please!”

“Please what?”

“Please let me come, Sir.”

The words are soaked in desperation, and the Sir’s so real, I say, “Two seconds. Go.”

And I start to fuck her hard, letting go of her hair and her legs, and she comes so fucking hard her cunt clamps down on my fingers like she wants to stop my circulation.

I pull free from her, offer her my fingers, and she sucks them. It’s so erotic that I know I’m torturing myself, edging myself. But it’s worth it.

She didn’t come within my time limit, but I’m willing to let it slide, because with each orgasm she falls under my control a little more, and it’s so hot that I can forgive a little delay.

When she can stand on her own, she pulls free, spots of color burning in her cheeks. She smooths her skirt down and looks around.

“No one saw,” I say, not really giving a fuck if it’s true. They didn’t see her naked, and my hand was under her skirt.

Then I reach into my pocket and pull out a large wad of cash. “Here.”

“I don’t want your money, Malone.”

“Take it.”

“No—”

“It’s not,” I say. “A request.”

“Fine.” She snatches it. The dark, accusatory look she gives bites into me.

“Don’t look at me like that, Scarlett.”

“Like you just paid me like I’m a hooker?”

I smile nastily. “I’d never pay a woman that much to finger her.”

“But you’d pay a man?” Her brow lifts, and I fucking love her claws.

“I’ll ignore that because I know you’re trying to push my buttons, and your attempt registers a zero. Nothing wrong with liking who you like,” I say with a shrug. “And I’ve yet to meet a man who turns me on.”

“Me either.”

Fuck, she’s funny. That’s dangerous.

I like smart. I like funny. I like the contrasting mix that makes up her. There’ll be someone else out there like her, though. I like what she has, not who she is by birth. But all of that is moot. I’m not looking for someone. At all.

“Another zero,” I say. “And that’s a fucking lie. You just came all over my fingers.”

“You’re good at sex; do you want a prize or a parade?”

“The money,” I say, ignoring her and adjusting myself, “is for a dress. The engagement party. Elegant slutty, I think.”

“I have clothes.”

“Something new. And you’d better behave,” I say. “Just remember, I’m watching…”