15. Chapter 15
Chapter 15
Drakos
As Sylvie's breathing evened out, I lay next to her, my mind churning with a thousand thoughts. She’d blown into my life the night I spotted her at Titties in that god-awful dress and ugly wig. Now, I dreaded the end of this week. I knew deep in my gut she’d try to walk out of my life. For all her wit, temper, and confidence, she had deep emotional scars that made her cautious around anyone outside her family circle.
A week was suddenly too short. When I’d carefully maneuvered her into playing strip chess and taking that bet, I figured I’d fuck her until one of us got bored—or we tried to kill each other—then hopefully part on friendly terms as I’d gently nudged her out the door, and that would be that.
Like every other woman before her. Sometimes it took one mediocre fuck, other times, it took a few days or maybe a week. But it always ended, and I was always glad. Until now.
Staring up at the dark ceiling, I admitted that the women I tended to get involved with were beautiful and well-groomed, yet shallow and self-absorbed. Perhaps it was because my hunting ground was Vegas, but I had an unwelcome suspicion that I was part of the problem.
Before Sylvie, I’d never been tempted to keep a woman. No attachment, no deep feelings, no hurt, loss, or mess. But it wasn't just my growing feelings for Sylvie that worried me. The memory of Sylvie blithely leaving out of Titties’ back door and into the alley with two motorcycle gang members made my jaw clench.
What would’ve happened if I hadn’t been there? I eased out of bed, careful not to wake her, and grabbed my phone. It was time to bring Ivan in.
He answered on the second ring. “What? You’re lucky I’m still up.” He lived on the other side of the building, his entrance fronting the road in the back.
Occasionally, the partners came over and we’d grill, shoot the shit, or maybe watch a game together on the weekend at either his loft or mine. When we’d renovated the building a few years ago, Ivan also put in a garage below his loft, but he filled his space with servers, computers, various weapons, and his collection of motorcycles.
“Meet me in your garage. I've got a situation I need to run by you.”
He grunted and hung up.
A thick metal door with a code connected our spaces on the lower level, and I found him sitting in front of one of his monitors in his garage. “You’ve been holed up with that insane bitch for days. Is she that good?”
My eyes narrowed. “You call her a bitch again, and I’ll rip your fucking head off.”
He grinned and leaned back. “I knew it, you’re whipped—which is fine because I like her. She’s not one of those fake, spray-tanned dimwits you usually string along.”
“At least I don’t have to resort to escorts.”
Ivan shrugged, unoffended. “I’d rather fuck an escort than a blowup doll. At least escorts are honest about what they want.”
Shaking my head, I ran my fingers through my hair. “We’re a fucked up mess, aren’t we?”
His lips twitched. “Probably, but Gideon considers it a win that none of us turned into serial killers. There are worse things than gray morals and a little sexual deviation.”
“As long as everyone is of age and it’s all consensual,” I muttered, reciting one of Gideon’s rules for us.
Gideon was the FBI area director who’d liberated us from Bitter Creek Ranch after we’d suffered months of abuse and degradation at the hands of the “staff” there. After the raid, there were coverups and bribes that kept most of the guilty parties out of prison. Gideon had been so disgusted by it all, he’d quit the FBI and became our mentor and then our operations director over the years.
He dressed like a rich English butler and had the vocabulary and demeanor of a pompous, well-bred aristocrat. But I’d seen the man in action a few times before. He was a lethal machine, and he’d mentored and guided us until we accumulated enormous power, money, and security to never be at anyone’s mercy again. That didn’t mean we came out unscathed.
“Do you remember when one of the OutKast MC members stole that vintage motorcycle from Motorheads a few months ago?”
Ivan straightened. “Yeah. He beat the shit out of one of our men and killed his dog. Fuckin’ bastard. It was one of the prettiest bikes to come out of the shop. Didn’t you recover it?”
“I did, and that was also the night I met Sylvie.” Then I told Ivan about that night. “She put a big fucking target on her back to save her family.”
Ivan listened intently, his sharp gray eyes calculating. “It all makes sense now. You think they'll come after her.”
I didn’t bother to deny it. “They cornered and questioned her at the Palm Desert Oasis Mortuary a few weeks back. They also tried to shoot one of her cousins at the Spade compound. Terrance is smarter than his son ever was, even if he is a bizarre, religious fuckhead. I think he’ll put it together if he hasn’t already.”
Ivan studied me. “What do you want to do?”
“We need to neutralize the threat, and I want to send a message that Sylvie is off-limits.”
“We can do that, but we’ll need to coordinate with Kilian and Fennick about this at some point.”
I grimaced. “I prefer Kilian. The man can actually be reasoned with. Sylvie and I promised each other we’d keep that night a secret. She gave me permission to tell you, but for now, I want to monitor Terrance and find out what he knows.”
Ivan smirked. “Good. I’ve been getting a little bored lately and this should liven things up. Let me get some surveillance in place and see if we can figure out what the MC might be planning.” He paused, giving me a searching look. “You like her, don't you?”
I scrubbed a hand over my face. “Yes, and I want her to move in with me.”
Ivan let out a low whistle and laughed. “Damn. Have you ever lived with a woman before?”
“No.”
He grinned. The fucker was enjoying this. I walked over to one of the monitors showing a feed aimed at the mortuary apartment. “How long do you think you can keep stalking little Alexa without anyone else finding out? Or do you just want to exploit her hacking skills?”
He stopped smiling. “Shut your damn mouth, asshole.”
“It’s not as funny when it’s your woman, is it?”
Rolling his eyes, he turned back to his computer bank. “Go away. I need to get some work done.”
A few minutes later, I slipped back into bed, and as Sylvie turned to me in her sleep and snuggled against my warmth, I silently vowed to keep her safe.
The next evening, I strode into the mortuary to pick Sylvie up, scanning the hall as I headed to her office. I’d texted and called her, but became concerned when she didn’t respond.
She stood deep in conversation with a lean, well-dressed man who was probably in his late thirties. He had an aristocratic bearing and European bone structure, and his suit was impeccable and clearly tailored to his frame. I knew an expensive, Italian-made suit when I saw one.
As I paused in the doorway, I caught parts of their conversation and recognized the man. The Salazar patriarch had died recently, and Marlowe Salazar was here to arrange his grandfather's funeral. Marlowe’s voice held a faint Spanish accent, and I conceded he could be a charming fucker.
He laid his hand on Sylvie’s arm as they finished up their conversation. “My grandfather specifically listed your funeral home in his end-of-life instructions. Your reputation is stellar.” He flashed a lazy smile, and my eyes narrowed. The bastard seemed a little too flirty for someone who was planning a funeral.
Sylvie wore a flattering blue silk wraparound dress, and I disliked him seeing her in it. She was professional and polished now, but I remembered what she looked like this morning as I fucked her mouth in the shower. Wet strands of hair wrapped around her neck and shoulders, and her beautiful brown eyes stared up at me as I came down her throat.
Marlowe Salazar’s full attention appeared laser-focused on Sylvie, his dark eyes assessing her with unmistakable interest. “What are you doing for dinner tomorrow night? I would love to express my gratitude for your exceptional service.”
My jaw clenched, and I straightened off the door jam. I bet the fucker would. Sylvie glanced over at me, then turned back to Marlowe. “I appreciate the generous offer, Mr. Salazar, but I have to decline. It's our policy not to socialize with clients.”
Marlowe ignored me, and his smile didn't falter. “Ah, but after next week, I will no longer be a client, will I?” He inclined his head. “I understand, but I’ll reserve the right to ask you again.”
I'd had enough. I strode forward and put my hand on the small of Sylvie’s back. “You ready to go?”
Marlowe's irritated gaze flicked to me, his eyes assessing. “To whom do I have the pleasure?” he asked as he held out his hand.
I raised an eyebrow and shook it. The man knew exactly who I was. We’d seen each other at The Emporium and had fucked some of the same women at different times. I’d make damn sure that didn’t happen with Sylvie. “Drakos Creed, and Sylvie won’t be free for dinner anytime soon.”
He stared at me, then turned to Sylvie. “Ah, my loss.”
She smiled and shook his hand. “Please reach out if you have any last-minute questions or instructions.”
He held her hand for longer than necessary but finally let go. I suspected the bastard did it just to pull my chain. “Thank you. I’ll see you at the service on Saturday.”
After Marlowe walked out, Sylvie turned to me. “What was that?”
I shrugged, trying to stifle the flash of jealousy. “Just reminding everyone that while you're with me, you’re mine. I don’t share.”
Her eyes narrowed. “One of Roman’s ex-girlfriends let Luna know that you and some of your partners actually do share.”
Her annoyance sparked mine. “I’ll never be sharing you.”
Sylvie poked her index finger into my chest, her eyes flashing. “We've never been on a date, and I’m here because I lost a bet.”
My temper blazed to life. “That is complete bullshit. We’re in a relationship, and we’ve been together every morning and night since you moved into my loft. This thing between us? It's more than what you’re admitting to yourself. I want you, Sylvie, and I'll be damned if I let some smooth-talking, slick asshole drool all over you.”
She searched my face, her anger slowly melting into something softer, more uncertain. “It’s more like a ‘situationship’ than a relationship.”
“What the fuck is that?”
“A situationship is when two people have a history together, maybe sex, and complicated feelings for each other, but they aren’t officially together.”
Goddamn this woman and her strange ideas and wicked mouth. I wrapped my arms around her and cupped her sweet ass, pulling her hips into mine so she could feel my hard length. “Then I’m officially graduating us to the relationship level. I’ve had my cock either in your pussy or mouth four times in the past twenty-four hours alone, and I’m planning to take your ass soon.” I felt her shudder against me and her body go soft.
“You have a nasty mouth, Drakos Creed. Why do you say things like that?”
I nuzzled her cheek and squeezed her tighter. “Because your pussy floods every time I do. You’re living with me, and we’ve eaten all but three meals together since Sunday. That’s a fucking relationship.” She gazed up at me, worry on her flushed face. “Talk to me. I swear I won’t be an asshole.”
Dropping her eyes, she stepped back. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
I reluctantly let her go, keeping my face blank. “Why? What’s going on in that head of yours?”
She glanced at me, then looked away as if ashamed. “I need to tell you something.”
“You can tell me anything.”
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’ve had exactly two boyfriends. The first one was when I was a senior in high school. Both relationships ended horribly.”
My stomach dropped. “Sylvie, has anyone hurt you?” Her gaze slid away, and I wanted to wrap her in my arms, but I kept still and listened.
“The first one tried.”
“What happened?” My fists clenched.
“His name was Lander, and he played varsity basketball in high school. Smart, popular, and well-liked. But there was something about him… he could be cruel sometimes. Callum and Declan hated his guts, and they usually like everyone. That should have been a big red flag.”
“What happened?”
“We got into a huge fight one night when I wouldn’t ‘put out.’ That’s what he said. We were in the high school parking lot after a basketball game, and he called me a cock tease and asked if I was into necrophilia. Then he slammed me against his car. I got scared and punched him in the throat and kneed him just like Callum showed me. While he stood there hunched over, groaning and swearing at me, he called me a cold bitch who liked to fuck dead people. He also asked if I fucked my cousins, and that’s why I wouldn’t have sex with him.”
“Is the stupid little shit still breathing?” I asked quietly.
She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Don’t worry, between me and Fenn, we took care of it. Somehow, one of my cousins found out. Lander came to school the next week with his head and eyebrows shaved, and a broken wrist. He lost his chance at a basketball scholarship and a lot of his friends when word got out.”
“What’s Lander’s last name?”
She slumped against me and pinched my side. “I’m never going to tell you that. And I might be a bitch who’s also now a mortician, but I’m not into necrophilia or my cousins, thank you very much.”
I bet I could find the bastard. I’d have to talk to Fennick about him. “You’re officially in a relationship now. Let’s go to dinner so we can call it a date, then back to bed so we can consummate our upgraded relationship.”
She stared at me. “This is moving fast.”
I cupped her cheeks and softly kissed her. “We’ll take it one step at a time.”
“Okay. Dinner sounds good.”
As we walked out of the mortuary together, I couldn't shake the feeling that I’d dodged a bullet. Marlowe Salazar wasn’t the type to give up easily, and he probably viewed Sylvie as a challenge now. But she was skittish and gun-shy. I would have to reel her in carefully.