27. Amorette
AMORETTE
“A m. Don’t be such a snob.” Grace laughed as she fluttered about her studio kitchen.
It was New York City, meaning her place was the size of my master bathroom back home in Virginia, but every inch of the place dripped money.
The floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the city, the ceiling-high cabinets in the kitchen, the Moroccan tiled shower.
The only thing that really surprised me was the lack of a closet.
As a model, Grace had tons and tons of clothes. But she loved the city more than she did space, so she used airtight containers to rotate through her favorite wardrobe, depending on the season.
Grabbing her footstool from under the cabinet, she stepped on it to reach the coffee off the top shelf.
“Why did you get a place with such high ceilings? Isn’t it annoying having to drag that stool out every time you need a glass? Or coffee, since you drink it every day. Actually, why didn’t you put the coffee on the bottom where it was reachable?” I reclined back on her daybed.
“Because, twin, I had other, much more important things to put on the bottom shelf.” She grabbed the beans and hopped down.
I leaned to the side to see what was on the bottom shelf. “Mini bottles? Really?”
“Not everyone is a boring prude like you. I just turned twenty-one and I’m not going to be young forever. I’d rather enjoy it now. And everyone knows pregaming is a smart financial decision. I can also confirm it wasn’t roofied since I started drinking at home.”
That was the sad reality for Grace: she’d almost learned the hard way.
If the bartender hadn’t caught the man trying to drop powder in her drink, she could have been hurt—all the more reason for me to go into law.
The first time someone hurt her, I’d use every resource at my disposal to make sure they rotted in a dark, dank cell for the rest of their life.
The funny thing was, we were identical, yet not many confused us. There was something about her that just glowed, making people, both male and female, want to be around her. Like she was the fiery sun in a tiny package, and everyone else gravitated around her.
It was hilarious, actually, because she could be a bit of a snobbish bitch. And I meant that lovingly.
Then there was me. The hard-nosed sister with a chip on her shoulder. It cracked us up when we heard whispers about how different we were. But there was truth in those whispers. We were on completely different ends of the personality spectrum, yet I couldn’t imagine life without her in it…
I shuffled out of the guest room, counting the steps to the coffee. Parker was apparently just as much of a coffee addict as I was. He had one of those fancy espresso machines and an assortment of fresh coffee beans.
There was even a bag of Kopi Luwak, which I made sure to steer clear of.
Grace was the only reason I knew what it was.
As a rising star in the law firm, I had been invited to several black-tie affairs and rubbed elbows with some of the elite crowd in DC.
But it was Grace and her love of fine and fancy things that exposed me to Kopi Luwak.
The coffee bean that was essentially eaten and pooped out by a wild civet cat. My crazy boujee sister loved it.
Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I slammed right into a hard wall.
No, a hard chest. Arms came around me before setting me aside.
“Not a morning person?” Parker asked, his voice rough from sleep.
I grunted. I was a morning person, but I’d tossed and turned most of the night. Partly because I was in a new place, and mostly, because I missed Grace.
I’d been able to compartmentalize my grief, but after my conversation with Parker and Andre yesterday, I couldn’t push her from my mind.
There was no use trying to kid myself, either. The way it hurt to remember her, clashing with my need to hold onto as many memories as possible, I was grieving.
I couldn’t figure out if it was a good or bad thing that I didn’t have any pictures of us together. No keepsakes. If the brothers decided to trust me, and if they knew where my phone was, I could possibly pull some photos and videos from there. But those were some very big ifs.
It was more likely that they didn’t know where my stuff was, and it was pointless asking. We weren’t at a point where I would blindly believe them, if we ever got there, and I’d kill myself picking over their answers.
Because it was his kitchen, and I was inconveniently attached into my manners, I rummaged through the cabinets for the toaster and bread while he started the coffee.
If I had expected him to make me a cup, I would have been sorely disappointed. I’d made an extra piece of toast for him, and I was tempted to eat both pieces.
But it would serve me better if they weren’t treating me like a prisoner. I buttered it and slid it across the counter toward him as I took his place at the espresso machine. I’d toyed with it yesterday after he’d dropped me off, figuring out the basics at least.
He grunted his thanks, and the crunch of his first bite echoed through the quiet kitchen.
After I prepared my cup, the warm liquid sliding down my throat did wonders for perking me up. He made a pleased sound when he took his first sip, and I stopped.
The sensual sounds coming from each of us were too much, alluding to something more intimate than what this was.
Scenes of him fucking the fight girl crept into my head.
Her bent over, his large hands spanning her hips, the way the flesh of her ass jiggled on each thrust. The rest was fuzzy because Grey had clouded my head.
With burning cheeks, I grabbed my toast and coffee mug and headed toward the living room.
The one nice thing about being in the apartment with Parker was the freedom. He didn’t have a mile-long list of rules or stare me down anytime I was in the same space he was, which admittedly wasn’t often.
He treated me like a roommate.
Logically, I knew he probably had the doors and windows locked and any other precautions they had that I wasn’t aware of, but he didn’t make me feel like a prisoner.
As soon as we walked through the door, he showed me the guest room, where a few things were in the kitchen, then he left. Just like that.
It was refreshing.
Parker moved around the kitchen as soft sounds of cabinets closing and items hitting the counter traveled to the living room.
When he did reappear, he had a couple of plates in hand. He scowled when he handed me one, like he wasn’t sure why he went through the trouble. Had he never done anything nice for someone?
“Thanks,” I muttered. It smelled delicious. Eggs and toast with salsa and guac. Nothing crazy. The slice of toast would have held me over for a few hours, but the savory scent wafting off the hot plate pulled a rumble from my stomach.
I was still hungry, apparently.
Flopping onto the other end of the couch, Parker reached to the end table and grabbed the remote. He turned the TV on and paid me no more attention than if I were a fly on the wall as he dug into his food.
Delirious laughter threatened to bubble up my throat as I realized how the tables had turned. I snuck glances at Parker the entire time he sat next to me, and I caught myself outright staring a few times.
He had to have felt my gaze on him, but he didn’t react at all.
My brain was struggling to reconcile who they seemed to be as men, and who I knew them to be as criminals. Parker, especially, was a mystery to me. I wasn’t convinced there was any true goodness inside him.
Then the way Lafe looked the last time I saw him popped into my head. That killed the amusement. He’d been so bothered by my presence that his gaze had been glued to me anytime I was in his vicinity.
I wasn’t to be blamed for his decisions. But that didn’t mean I didn’t feel a little irrational guilt. Or maybe just sympathy for him.
“I have some things to take care of. I’ll be in and out over the next few days, but once I’m done with this job, I’ll start integrating you into my operations.
We’ll see how you do with me before we cut you loose with any of my brothers.
We all know they’d fuck it up anyway,” he huffed the last few words under his breath.
His black-eyed stare pinned me in place.
Had he been expecting a response? My mind momentarily blanked as I replayed his words.
There wasn’t a response required, but I gave one anyway.
Mainly because the intensity of his scrutiny heated my skin to an uncomfortable level, and I needed to distract him.
“What’s your part of the business?”
He smiled faintly, then blinked and broke the spell I’d been under.
“That will all come in due time, Little Love. For now, make yourself at home. The bags by the door are some clothing items that should fit you.” He cast his gaze quickly down to my chest then back up, leaving a burning trail in its wake.
“Shame on Lafe for making you stay in pajamas the entire time.” He tutted as humor flashed in his gaze, warming the frigid ice in his obsidian depths.
“Thank you,” I coughed. It grated to show any kind of gratitude to these men, but I owed it to them, didn’t I? In some ways, more than others.
“Perfect. Press star one on the keypad by the door if you need anything. It will ring straight to my cell.” Then he was gone.
* * *
Over the next few days, we’d fallen into an easy routine.
We’d chat about useless things when we were together, but more often than not, he was absent.
Our conversations went something like, I made an extra plate, it’s in the microwave, or you’re not allergic to anything, right? I got shrimp for dinner.
Sometimes we ate together, and sometimes he disappeared with his plate to his bedroom. The one thing that was constant was the strange amiability between us.