Passion Rules Everything

Prologue

NAIROBI CRAWFORD

TWO MONTHS AFTER NEW YORK

Hunter Barlowe always started his nights at the lobby bar of the Setai, where he was staying in a penthouse suite he couldn’t actually afford.

I walked in one afternoon straight off the beach, skin sun kissed, hair wet, and unbothered.

I sat at the bar in a sheer dress that showed off my bikini underneath and pretended not to notice him clocking me while I sipped my martini.

That first day, he tried more than once to get me back to his suite, but I couldn’t give it up that easily. He needed to feel like he’d earned something. So, I gave him my number and a maybe.

Then I ghosted him.

He blew up my phone as I expected him to. Desperation made men careless, and careless men made mistakes.

Two nights later, I finally agreed to see him again.

He took me to some overpriced omakase spot he couldn’t pronounce, acting like the price tag should’ve impressed me.

I drank just enough, laughed at his corny jokes, letting my hand linger on his thigh.

With every drink, he loosened up, and by the time he suggested we go back to his suite, he was stumbling and slurring compliments.

This was the part I hated—the patience that all of this required.

Letting his hands touch me when they hadn’t earned the right, feigning familiarity because I needed him comfortable.

Power didn’t always come from force. There was a certain finesse needed to be an effective honey trap.

You had to know how to endure and when to strike.

“You ever think about consequences, Hunter?” I asked.

His suite was exactly what you’d expect for $2,500 a night.

I walked over to the huge windows overlooking the beach. He’d left the sliding door cracked enough to let the ocean air in. On the far end of the suite was a wet bar on the far end of the suite stocked with bottles I recognized and a few I didn’t.

Then my eyes landed on the small bag of coke on the coffee table.

He swayed slightly. “What?”

I made my way to the couch and sat, crossing my legs. “Everything we do comes at a price. Good, bad, doesn’t matter. Maybe I’m one of yours.”

Hunter had clearly forgotten that he’d crossed Messiah Lawson, one of the biggest gunrunners out of New York. Messiah wasn’t the type to let some arrogant trust-fund baby embarrass him and live to tell it.

He stumbled over to me and laughed. “Mina, what the hell are you talking about? You’re not making any sense.”

I reached into my thigh holster and pulled a syringe free as he dropped onto the cushion next to me. The needle was in his neck before he could speak again.

He gasped, eyes going wide for a split second before his body went slack.

I gave it five minutes, watching the rise and fall of his chest turn into shallow, even breaths. Then I dragged him into the bathroom, turned on the shower, and stripped him down to his boxers, making sure to set the coke from the table on the sink.

I slit his wrist and left the knife in his dominant hand.

A suicide made sense for someone like Hunter. He was already in a shit ton of debt with several big players outside of Messiah breathing down his neck. Honestly, his family would probably be relieved.

I wiped my prints from the blade and did a thorough sweep of the suite, running a cloth over every surface twice before I left.

baby’s sleeping.

Parker

the rest of your fee will be deposited in 24 hours.

I slid my heels back on and left the hotel like there wasn’t a man bleeding out in the shower upstairs.

An hour later, I pulled into the driveway of the rental I was calling home. I yawned as I put the Rivian in park and grabbed my bag from the passenger seat.

The house was cozy—fully furnished with three bedrooms and a gated backyard complete with a pool. Its elderly owners only came down during the holidays, so it sat empty for most of the year.

The moment I stepped inside the hairs on the back of my neck rose. The air felt too still, like the house was holding its breath.

My hand drifted toward the Glock in my purse, but I stopped, remembering I didn’t have a silencer. One shot and the cops would be all up and through here. I reached for the blade on my thigh instead.

I moved through the house slowly, flicking on lights as I went. The living room and kitchen were clear. Nothing in the guest rooms, but the tension in my body wouldn’t let up.

It was hot. I’d left the AC off all day and the heat clung to me, making my dress stick to my skin. I turned the thermostat down before heading toward the main bedroom.

Maybe I was being paranoid—insomnia had been beating my ass lately, but my father always told me not to ignore my intuition.

And right now, mine was screaming.

I crept toward the bedroom and tightened my grip around the knife handle. My eyes flicked to the armchair in the corner, and I let the blade fly.

“Damn! What the fuck?!”

My chest tightened the moment I heard the voice.

I cut the lights on.

Fontaine.

He sat there, jaw clenched, and grimaced as he pulled the knife from his arm. The blood ran down in slow trails.

I froze, unable to speak past the lump in my throat.

Please don’t let him see how rattled I am.

It’d been two months since I ghosted him in New York. Two months since I ruined everything and left him with nothing but questions. His face had been haunting me ever since, showing up in dreams like a punishment I knew I deserved.

I knew he’d find me eventually. Fontaine could find anybody, anywhere when he wanted to. Still, the sight of him in the bedroom knocked the wind out of me.

I licked my dry lips and took a deep breath, trying to pull myself together.

“You shouldn’t be sitting in the dark like a damn stalker,” I snapped.

He shot me a dirty look as he peeled off his shirt and pressed it against the wound.

I forced myself to look away before I could get distracted by the tattoos stretched across his torso and arms, before my memory reminded me how safe I’d felt against his solid frame.

I brushed past him and headed to the en-suite bathroom. He followed behind me and I slammed the door shut in his face.

“I need to pee,” I said through the door. “Use the bathroom down the hall.”

“For real, Nairobi?”

I didn’t answer.

After I finished, I stood at the sink and stared at my reflection.

“Bitch, you literally just killed a man an hour ago. Get your shit together,” I muttered.

I slipped out of the cream mini-dress I’d been wearing and stepped in the shower, letting the hot water ease the tension in my shoulders. I lathered my washcloth and tried to push the image of a bleeding Fontaine out my head. Maybe he’d be gone by the time I got out.

But the door creaked open like he’d heard my thoughts.

His presence filled the room, his energy shifting something in the air. When he stepped into the shower, I didn't turn around. His hand found my waist and my breath caught as he pulled me back against him.

“So you was just gon’ leave me out there to bleed?” he murmured, lips brushing my ear.

My head tipped back against his shoulder as his hand trailed up my chest. A low moan slipped out as his hands cupped my breasts. His fingers pinched my nipples hard enough to send a jolt of pleasure straight through me.

Fontaine kissed along my shoulder and nipped at my neck. “Answer me, Nai.”

I couldn’t think straight. Not with his touch waking up a part of me that I’d spent the past eight weeks trying to bury. Whatever composure I’d managed to hold onto was already slipping.

He turned me to face him, and my eyes dropped to the gash on his arm.

“It’s not even that bad,” I said softly. “It’s a stupid flesh wound.”

“Word?”

He growled and walked me back until he had me up against the wet tile. He lifted me up and I barely had time to catch my breath as the head of his dick teased my entrance before he thrust into me in one smooth motion.

“Fuck,” he grunted, tightening his grip on my hips.

His strokes were fast and unforgiving. Each one dragging memories through my body. This was what we used to be and what still lived between us, no matter how far I’d run.

“Why would you keep this from me, Nairobi?” he demanded, voice cold as steel. That softness he used to hold with me was gone. No Kitten. Just Nairobi.

The weight of that hit harder than it should’ve.

A strangled moan was all that came out as he slammed into me harder. My fingers struggled to get a hold around his wet skin as pressure built low in my belly.

My back arched, my hips rolling to meet his rhythm. I needed to show him I could take everything he was giving me. He cursed under his breath and he pulled out suddenly, sitting on the shower bench and dragged me into his lap.

“C’mere,” he muttered.

We both moaned as I sank onto him, my pussy stretching around him as the steam curled around us like smoke. I pressed my forehead to his and braced my hands on his shoulders.

“Bear…” I whispered, voice cracking.

He didn’t respond. Instead, he took my nipple into his mouth and teased it with his tongue before he bit down just enough to make me gasp. My nails dug in his arms, clinging to him as the sensation lit every nerve in my body on fire.

I reached for his face—needing to kiss him, wanting that final piece of connection. But when I tried to pull his mouth to mine, he turned away.

The sting behind my eyes surprised me, but my body didn’t stop responding. His hand slid between us, fingers pinching and rubbing my clit enough to send me over the edge.

I came hard, screaming his name as my orgasm crashed over me. My thighs trembled as I pulsed around him.

“Fuck!” Fontaine shouted, thrusting deep one last time as he spilled inside me.

His head fell back against the wall, chest heaving, arms locked around my waist as we rode the aftershocks together in silence.

“How long have you known I was here?” I asked quietly.

We’d cleaned up in the shower, moving around each other in a comfortable familiarity. Now we were in bed, my head on his chest, listening to the beat of his heart while he draped an arm around me.

“Since the week after you left,” Fontaine said.

I scoffed softly. “I’m surprised it took you this long to show up.”

“I wasn’t going to come,” he admitted. “Probably shouldn’t have… but I can’t stay away from you.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that, so I kept quiet.

“Why didn’t you say goodbye?” he asked after a moment.

“Because I’m a coward,” I answered truthfully. “If I had, I would’ve gone back to Atlanta. And you wouldn’t have let me go.”

Fontaine exhaled slowly, his arm slipping from around me as he shifted. “And if I asked you to come back after you finished this job?”

“I’m not going back to Atlanta, Bear,” I said gently.

His body tensed. “You don’t get to call me that anymore.”

“Fontaine—”

“Nah, Nairobi,” he cut me off with a bitter laugh. “You made your decision, right?”

“I—”

“I thought if I gave you some time, that you’d realize what we mean to each other,” he said, the frustration evident in his voice.

“I do,” I said quickly.

“Then why are you making this shit so difficult?” he shouted, pulling away from me. I flinched as his voice echoed in the dark room.

He got out of bed and dragged a hand down his face as he paced a few steps before turning back to me.

“I’m done,” he said flatly. “I won’t chase you anymore. Happy?”

Panic crept in when I heard the finality in his tone.

“You deserve better than me,” I whispered.

Fontaine froze. In the dim light, I felt the weight of his stare before he shook his head and started gathering his clothes.

“Good luck with your lonely ass life.”

He pulled on his sweatpants, walked out, and slammed the door shut behind him.

I sat in the bed staring at the closed bedroom door, pulling the sheets tighter around me as the truth settled heavy in my spirit.

The best thing I ever had was gone.

And I was the one who let him go.