9. Draven
Chapter 9
Draven
During the entire thirty-minute journey back to the motel, my dick barely deflates, but I can’t wipe the smile off my face. If Ciaran could see me now, grinning behind the bike helmet, he’d sign me into the local psyche ward. Arguing with Louise always seems to have the same result: a hard-on that keeps on giving. The flare in her eyes when I pushed her up against the wall and clamped my hand around her throat tells me everything I need to know.
She likes to be dominated.
I won’t give her what she craves, though. I’ll wait until she begs, which she will… eventually. And when she does, I’ll pound her into next fucking week.
I park the bike outside my motel room and cut the engine. Despite Louise storming off in a snit and sending a clear message she’s severed our partnership, sooner or later she’ll come scuttling back. She won’t allow her fury at me to get in the way of saving her sister.
Since leaving the bogus witness’s place, a plan has begun to form in my mind. I need intel, but not from law enforcement. This needs to come from the inside, from the underbelly of the trafficking world.
Luckily, I have just the guy in mind.
Moretti.
There isn’t a chance that obnoxious, cocky bastard will talk to me voluntarily, especially after I crushed his balls and broke his nose during his arrest for trafficking and prostituting young girls. He got off lightly in my opinion. But one thing Moretti does have? Contacts.
To have a chance of getting Moretti to talk, I’ll need leverage.
I scan the list of names on my phone before locating the one I need. Pavel Hajek and I met a few years ago when I was still working for the NYPD. He owns a private investigative firm in Washington D.C., and since starting up my own firm, we’ve worked a few cases together. He’s a good person to know, and his style is very similar to mine. He doesn’t mind bending a few rules if it means hitting pay dirt.
“Pavel,” I say. “Listen up. I’ve got the perfect job for you.”
I let Pavel in on my plan, and his guffaws of laughter grow the more I speak.
“You’re an evil bastard,” he eventually says.
“True, but I get results. Set it up. Pull in anyone of your choice. I’d say three or four should be enough. And call Octavia.”
“On it.”
“I need this to happen ASAP. I’ll arrange a visit to Moretti, and let you know when it’s happening. I’m going to push for tomorrow, so work fast.”
“You got it.”
I toss the evidence folder on the dresser and lie down on the bed, my arms braced behind my head. Louise should be in a cab by now. She won’t come straight here, though. She’ll cool off first. As much as she hates relying on me, she won’t want to risk me walking away. Not that I have any intention of doing such a thing, and not only for Louise.
I hate traffickers. If it were up to me, I’d put a noose round the neck of every one of them, cut off their dicks, and invite the victims and their loved ones to watch the fuckers bleed out. I’ve seen too many families destroyed by the growing scourge of men who see an opportunity to get rich through acts of pure evil.
That’s why I lost it when we finally caught up with Moretti. The downside of those particular actions is that Moretti will now be less likely to give me what I want without coercion. Hence my call to Pavel. I guarantee Moretti will squeal like a stuck pig once I play my hand.
My stomach growls with hunger, but the half-eaten chocolate croissant from this morning seems unappealing, so I toss it in the trash and take a walk to the nearest diner. After sliding into a booth, I scan the plastic covered menu, order a ribeye steak, a plate of fries, and a large soda, then call up Rick’s number. Being on the outside of the force means I need Rick to arrange a visit to Moretti, and given how we left things after Moretti’s arrest, I’m not sure of the reception I’ll get.
“Hey, man. What’s up?”
Rick’s breezy greeting raises the hairs on the back of my neck. I expected a chillier welcome. “Why are you being so amenable? Got a girl sucking your dick?”
Rick laughs. “Not right now, no.”
“Well, something’s off.”
“Are you gonna spill what you want, or keep aggravating me until I tell you to fuck off?”
“I need to see Moretti.”
Rick sucks in a breath. “No can do, brother.”
“Find a way. You’ve got until tomorrow.”
“Come on, Draven. After what went down at his arrest, I can’t have you in the same room as the guy. He’s already itching to sue the city for police brutality. I’m trying to calm the situation, not inflame it.”
I dip my chin in thanks to the server as she sets down my soda. “This is important, Rick. I wouldn’t ask if there was any other way.”
“Does this have anything to do with Louise Rhodes?”
I somehow suppress my surprise. How the fuck does Rick know about Lola? I sure as hell haven’t told him. My skin itches. Rick’s not only a good-looking son of a bitch, but he’s a player, too. He’s stuck his dick inside half the single women of Newark, and I don’t like her name spilling from his lips. Not one fucking bit.
“Who?”
“Don’t play games. You know very well who I mean. I thought you were calling to rake me over the coals for telling her where to find you.”
I grind my teeth. Fuck. They must know each other well if Lola went to him for my contact info. It answers the question of how she tracked me down so easily after I left Jersey. Although, knowing that woman, she’d have found me eventually, anyway. It might have taken longer but, in the end, she’d have turned up on my doorstep.
“How do you two know each other?” I ask.
“We were at the academy together.”
And they’re still in touch nine years later? I flex my fingers repeatedly. Just how fucking close are they? Has he fucked her? I hope not for his sake.
“Arrange the Moretti visit, and I’ll let you keep your balls.”
Rick guffaws. “Fuck off. Until I told you right then, you didn’t even know I’d given her the intel.”
“But now I do, thanks to you.”
I let the silence linger—Rick’s steady breathing a sign he’s deploying the same tactic. There will only be one winner.
Me.
By my watch, a full sixty seconds passes before Rick’s defeatist sigh comes over the line.
“Do I need to plan for a new career?”
“Trust me.”
Rick snorts. “Trust you? Ha.”
“Chill. I have a plan.”
Rick groans. “Fuck’s sake, Draven. For my sake if not your own, dial it back, okay?”
“I won’t lay a finger on him. You have my word.” If everything goes as I expect it to, I won’t need to.
Another long pause ensues, followed by, “I’ll set it up.”
“Perfect. Hey, Rick?”
“Yeah?”
I open my mouth to ask him about Louise and whether they’re more than “just good friends”, then change my mind. I’ll ask her instead. Less risky. Rick will see right through me if I go down that route, and the last thing I want or need right now is that kind of attention. It’s bad enough that Ciaran’s already on to me.
“Forget it. Call me when it’s done.”
I cut the call when the server brings me my food. After thanking her, I demolish the entire meal within minutes, making sure to leave a generous tip before I start the walk back to the motel. The moment I round the corner I find myself holding back a smile.
There’s my girl. She’s come around far quicker than I predicted. Her eyes track my every step, a hint of anger still blatant in her sapphire irises.
Without uttering a word, I go straight to my door, insert the key, and step inside, leaving it open. She can either walk through…
Or not.
Up to her.
I already know what she’ll do, and that both pleases and worries me. Even after eight years, I can read her as easily as a large font book.
Tossing my keys on the nightstand, I shrug out of my leather jacket and discard it on the bed. The door slams behind me, I’m guessing with Louise on this side rather than the other. Ignoring her, I go into the bathroom, unzip my pants, and take a leak.
She huffs loudly, bringing another smile to my lips. Baiting Louise is the most fun I’ve had in a good long while. She’d make a terrible poker player.
“Wash your hands,” she calls out.
Flicking on the faucet—not because she ordered me to—I run my hands under the spray and poke my head around the door. “Don’t worry. When I finger your pussy, I’ll give them an extra thorough scrub.”
“Urgh. You’re disgusting.”
I run my tongue over my top lip. “Don’t pretend you’re offended. You fucking love it.”
A sound bursts from her throat, tantamount to a growl. “Asshole. I hope you get crabs and your cock falls off.”
I finish washing up, dry my hands, then join her in the bedroom. “Just so you know, insults turn me on.” I glance down at my crotch, my thick erection clearly visible. “Want to help me out with this, Lola?”
“Fuck you.”
“Anytime, sweetcheeks.” I go for my fly.
“Argh.” Louise fists her hands and sets them on her hips. “You are impossible! I came here to talk, to figure out what we do next, and this is what I get. I’m furious at you for throwing me out of Ms. Fowler’s house, for almost choking me, and for leaving me to find my own way back. But you… you…”
“Me… me… what, Lola?”
I catch sight of the open palm aimed squarely at my face just in time and capture her wrist, then shove her arm behind her back while grabbing the other one at the same time. The movement brings her flush to my body, her gasping breaths forcing her tits against my chest. I squeeze her wrists, hard. She hisses in pain, her cheeks now an angry red as she glares up at me.
“You play a dangerous game, little Lola. One you’re definitely not equipped for.”
“Oh, yeah?” she provokes. “Try me.”
I crash my mouth down on hers, the kiss cruel and punishing rather than soft and coaxing. She wrestles to free herself, to get me off her, but within seconds, her fighting spirit gives way to a more pliable response as she virtually melts against me.
I tongue deep inside her mouth, showing her what fucking me will be like: hard, fast, brutal, possessive. I’ll take and take until she has no more to give, and then I’ll demand even more.
Once I’m fairly certain she won’t slap me, I release her hands, and she burrows them into my hair, tugging on the roots. The harder I tongue-fuck her mouth, the more she yanks on them.
A growl erupts from deep within my chest, and I burrow a hand underneath her shirt, my large palm covering her left tit. Delving into the cup of her bra, I easily find her erect nipple, and I roll it between my thumb and forefinger, then squeeze. I’m not gentle, but then again, I doubt she expects me to be.
She tears away, gasping for air, but I grip the sides of her neck, angle her head, and ravage her mouth again. My heart beats wildly, like a trapped bird of prey eager to escape the confines of its cage. Eight years of pent-up anger, frustration, and longing go into this bruising, ferocious kiss. I want to hurt her, to drive her mad, to have her beg for me to stop, then in the next breath, implore me to carry on.
I hunger for her.
Hate that I do.
Love the feel of her body against mine.
Crave more now I’ve had a taste.
Eventually, she makes another attempt to free herself, and this time, I let her go.
Stepping back, I take a few seconds to pull myself together. My scalp burns from where she almost tore my hair out by the roots, but that pales in comparison to the ache in my balls.
The tips of her fingers gingerly dab against her swollen, bruised mouth, but she refuses to meet my gaze.
“Lola,” I say in a gentle tone I wouldn’t have thought myself capable of.
Slowly, she raises her head. Confusion swirls in the depths of her eyes, but beyond that, her desire burns deep. “What?”
I reach for her hand, and she allows me to take it.
“Let’s find Kiera, then we’ll fuck.”
She blinks up at me, her eyes wide and teeth nibbling at the inside of her bottom lip. “And what if I don’t want to fuck you?”
I grind out a laugh. “Keep telling yourself that, sweetcheeks.”