5. Carmela
Carmela
“ I ’m not touching you again.”
Fucking asshole.
Reading men is my job. It’s a skill I’ve perfected over the last fourteen years. Anderson Brooks is a fucking liar. Remembering the way his hands felt as he grabbed me in the Desires hall spurs my fury.
And my horniness.
Anders is a walking contradiction. Everything about him screams I want you, even if he says otherwise.
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I grab my phone off the desk and lay on my sofa. The throbbing sensation between my legs hasn’t ebbed with Anders’ departure. If anything, the idea of him returning to watch me get myself off makes it worse.
Laying my phone on my chest, I reach between my legs and palm a breast, fingers dipping behind the fabric to roll my nipple as I pinch my clit. Instantly, my body arches as I remember the smoldering war in his hazel eyes. He had no problem with me until he learned what my job was…and my connection to Mick.
Though I didn’t confirm or deny it, our silence in the meeting room was telling enough. I’d rather say nothing than fake astonishment and deny something five of the eight people in the room already knew to be true.
As if the bastard—the one I’ve had to deal with for years, not the new pain in my ass—has cameras in my office and can see what I’m doing, my phone lights up with a text from Mick.
How is everything going? Should I stop in tonight?
“Fuck off…” I keep touching myself, but the image of Anders between my legs merges with one of Mick. Dark hair streaked with silver, hands that know all my weak spots. Anders’ ability to make me wet just by the way he looks at me.
I would have sought him out again. Last night wasn’t mind-blowing, but it was fresh and new, and for some reason, I felt safe with him.
Now, the passionate rage that flares in his eyes when he looks at me? That promises mind-blowing sex .
Too bad he’s a fucking asshole.
Picking up the pace, I roll my hips against my hand, seeking release from my own external stimulation. Just as my orgasm crests, a harsh knock on the door makes me jump, my hands lifting from my body as I jackknife into a sitting position.
“What?” I snap.
Luca barges in, and I’m thankful he knocked first; otherwise, he would have gotten his own private show.
Not that he would have minded.
Two Angels follow him, and it takes me a moment to realize they don’t work here but that it’s Martin and Nikolai wearing matching solemn expressions. “What is it?”
“There’s been another murder,” Martin says quietly, looking around my office as if he’s searching for something.
“What? How do you know?” Rising off the couch, I pull my robe tighter as if it will hide the evidence of what I was just doing.
Luca knows me better, though, and his eyes rake down my body as he says, “These two found the guy.”
It takes a second to process what he said. “ Here ?”
Nikolai nods. “He appeared to be sleeping, perhaps passed out from too much fun . This was cleaner than the other two. ”
Martin holds a familiar rose and a letter out to me. “Only, this was next to him.”
Shakily, I take the flower and red envelope. “Where is Detective Brooks?”
“He left,” Luca says with a sharp laugh. “Fucker obviously can’t handle this shit. I don’t know why you chose him .” His words are pointed, meant to drive home that he picked up on the tension between me and Anders and isn’t happy about it.
“What does the letter say?” Martin asks, ignoring my beefy head of security.
I toss the rose on the desk, mindful of the thorns, before opening it.
Cheater, cheater, political breeder, wanted to be the wife but couldn’t beat her. Took a lover to your bed. Keep it up, you’ll lose your head.
You can’t see me , Carmela. But I see you .
“I need full access to everything about the club. I need to know how big it is. How many entrances there are. Who has access to get in and out. I want to know who makes the membership cards. I’ll need a complete list of clients and workers,” Anders lists off as he paces in front of my desk at Decadence.
The morning has been busy, between moving the body last night without anyone finding out what happened and getting everyone together at the restaurant today to discuss what our next moves are going to be. I didn’t sleep at all last night, choosing to stay at my apartment here in the city instead of going home.
“Give me a few hours, and I’ll get you everything you need,” I tell him, rubbing at my eyes, careful not to smudge my makeup.
“I’m sorry,” he says, lowering his voice to a level of what sounds like concern.
“For what?”
He sits on the sofa, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees as he scrubs his face with his hands. He looks disheveled—far from the cocky jerk he was yesterday. “I should have never left last night. How are you holding up?”
There’s a flutter in my stomach as his hazel eyes bore into me, looking like he genuinely cares about my feelings. Even though he made it perfectly clear yesterday that he doesn’t give one single iota about me, my club, or my life. He treated the case callously, as though the murders would stop if I just shut down Désirer. If I just stopped acting like a whore .
He may not have used that exact word, but he might as well have. If he’d known anything about me before we met the other night, he would have never chased after me. His body may want me, but it’s clear his mind doesn’t.
And Anders doesn’t seem like the type of guy to let his dick rule him.
“I’m fine,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair for the umpteenth time today.
“Cara…” It jars me to hear him call me by the name I gave him, but he’s cut off as the door opens and Jackson Tailor—my other business partner—walks in. Following him is my friend and protégé, Valentina, and her husband, Tripp Kennedy—Jackson’s best friend.
“Mick should be here soon. He’s caught in traffic,” Jackson explains as he looks from me to Anders. He crosses the room, holding his hand out to him. “Jackson Tailor. I understand you’re the lead detective on the case.”
Anders sizes him up, taking in his perfectly pressed Kiton suit and shiny, polished Oxfords. It’s interesting watching him take in every little detail about Jackson in the span of a few seconds, and I wonder if it just comes with the job.
“Anderson Brooks. You’re the…other silent partner?” His eyes bounce to Jackson’s ring before flitting to me, and I know he’s wondering if Jackson and I are fucking, too .
Abso-fucking-lutely not.
Jackson seems to pick up on Anders’ assumption and chuckles as he turns to sit in one of the chairs across from my desk. “I am. I inherited the shares from my uncle when he died. My wife worked at Désirer for a little while, as well. And this one—” he jerks a thumb over his shoulder, motioning to Valentina, “is her best friend and working on taking over for Carmela.”
“Valentina Kennedy, but you can call me Lenni. Nice to meet you.” Lenni walks forward and offers Anders her hand. “This is my husband, Tripp.”
“You can call her Mrs. Kennedy,” Tripp says as he shakes hands with Anders before turning his attention to me. “We need to talk about this whole taking over thing, because I don’t really want Viv working there while there’s a murderer on the loose.”
Anders’ gaze bounces between them, confused by Tripp calling his wife by his weird nickname for her.
“I can speak for myself,” Lenni gently soothes him, putting a hand on his chest. Her guard dog deflates at her touch, relaxing into her side as he looks at her with pure worry in his eyes. It tugs at my chest, knowing just how much my friend went through before she got her happily ever after. And as much as her husband is still on my shit list for outing another member earlier this year, I appreciate that he cares for her so much .
Even if it’s a painful reminder that no one cares about me that way.
“It is concerning, though,” Lenni says gently, turning to look at me. “Have you considered shutting down for a little while? Just until this all gets sorted out?”
“I already suggested it, and she shot it down,” Anders explains, giving me a look like, ‘ see? I told you it was a good idea. ’
“I actually agree with Carmela,” Jackson says. “There’s a reason it was done at Désirer instead of in the victim's home, like the others.”
“She made an appearance at the show last night. We are to believe that hasn’t happened in a while, yes?” Nikolai’s silky voice fills the room, causing us all to snap our attention to the door, where he and Martin stand.
“Jesus, I didn’t even hear the door open,” Lenni says.
Anders says something under his breath. I can’t make out most of it, but I hear something that sounds like, “Silent assassins.”
“Yes,” I affirm. “I don’t always do the shows. Last night, I only opened it up. That would mean the killer was there, wouldn’t it?”
“Which means he has access to the club. We need a list of everyone who was there last night,” Anders snaps.
“Not to mention rethinking getting rid of current security and hiring new guys.” Martin and Nikolai move further into the room as Mick speaks, appearing behind them. He comes in and closes the door. There are bags under his eyes hinting that he might not have slept well last night, either. He looks tired—stressed. His already pale skin ashen against his silver-flecked hair and beard.
We always used to joke that I was the reason he ended up gray before turning fifty. Our current situation is a painful reminder that I really am the cause of most of the stress in his life. Politics is hard enough as it is, but Mick has a whole secret life he has to constantly hide as well.
“Great, gang’s all here,” Anders mumbles quietly.
“I’m not letting all our security go. We can tighten it up, but do you know how long it would take to hire all new guys? Not to mention how pissed off Morroni would be?” I’m talking about Vinny, but Mick, of course, mistakes my comment to be about Luca.
“You just want to keep your fuck buddy around, but clearly, he’s not good enough at his job since this shit happened at the club this time. Or was he occupied ?” Mick snaps at me.
On their own accord, my eyes shift to Anders as my cheeks warm. He raises a brow, lips pursed together in disapproval. Mick’s accusations, paired with Anders’ evident disgust, piss me off, and I hate that there’s a part of me that’s embarrassed Mick has told everyone in this room my business.
“I’m sorry. Last time I checked, I was single. I can fuck whoever I want, whenever I want,” I bite out through clenched teeth.
“Maybe you should have a little more respect for yourself and stop spreading your legs for strangers,” Anders quips, settling against the sofa as he slings an arm across the back.
“Excuse the fuck out of you. Who the hell do you think you are?” Lenni snaps at him in my defense. Even Jackson and Tripp look at him like he overstepped, but Mick nods his head as if he agrees.
Anders has the grace to look ashamed as he looks at them. “Sorry…”
“Look at her and apologize,” Jackson demands. He may not be my most favorite person in the world, but I have to admit I’m grateful for his interference.
Anders gives him a hard look. His eyes dart to me before dropping to his lap. “Sorry, Carmela.”
“The last thing we need is an angry mob boss on our hands, yes?” Martin interrupts. “While I agree that you should let security go, you obviously trust them. We should focus on the newest letter's content instead of trying to beat a dead horse.”
Grimacing at his idiom, I motion to Anders, who took the letter in to be dusted for fingerprints. “He’s got it.”
He fishes the letter out of his dark gray woolen suit jacket. “There were no prints except for Martin’s and Carmela’s.”
Unfolding the letter, he rises from the sofa and walks over to my desk to smooth it out on the surface. “Another morbid nursery rhyme.”
“Why nursery rhymes?” Tripp muses.
Mick and I share a look. A trickle of heavy dread rolls through my body as my gaze slides to Lenni’s. “The letter mentions cheating. But I’m not seeing anyone, so I’m not a cheater.”
“The other letters mentioned cheating as well. But this is the first time it’s mentioned politics. So it’s obviously referencing Mick,” Jackson says.
“Very few people know I’m involved in Désirer. That should narrow down our suspects,” Mick speaks as if that small pool of people are the only ones we should be looking at. He curls his lip as he motions to the letter on my desk. “The lover it mentions must be Luca.”
“He isn’t my lover. Jesus, we fucked around a few times,” I mutter. If Mami could hear me now, she’d fall to her knees and start praying for God to save my soul after she tried to wash my mouth out with soap.
“Perhaps the letter is not talking about Carmela when it talks about cheating?” Nikolai theorizes. He and Martin duck their heads together, whispering things no one else can hear as if they’re trying to solve the case on their own .
“The rest of the letter is about her, though. And all the others reference her specifically,” Lenni states.
“So the question is, why is he targeting you?” Anders asks as he resumes his pacing from earlier.
“And how does he know to reach you at the club? All trails point to it being someone on the inside. Someone who has worked or does work there,” Jackson sums up.
“Have Paul and Larry been informed about this new victim? Why aren’t they here?” Mick asks, weaving through everyone to stand by my desk.
Anders stops pacing, taking his place on the sofa as he glares at the man beside me. “They don’t need to be informed of everything. Technically, you hired me privately. And these two are self-employed. We have their resources, and even though it seems like it would be better to have more eyes on this, it’s not. The more people who know about it, the harder it will be to keep information from being leaked. I’m not even sure why these two are here.” He motions to Lenni and Tripp.
“Well, I’m a manager-in-training, so Cara thought I should be in the know,” Lenni tells him.
“I’m perfectly fine with us not having anything to do with this. I don’t want my wife at the club until this guy is caught,” Tripp says, holding his hands up.
“Tripp–” Lenni starts, but Jackson cuts her off.
“He’s right, Lenni. You being at work will only stress out Ginny. I need you to be by her side when I’m at work.”
“How is she?” I ask him as Lenni and Tripp start whisper-arguing. Ginny worked for me at the club for all of an hour before Jackson set his sights on her and pretended to be someone else to get into her good graces. He booked her exclusively until it all blew up in his face, and she figured out that he and her masked stranger were the same person. Now, they’re married with a baby who is due any day now.
He opens his mouth to respond when a knock at the door cuts him off. Lenni opens it to reveal one of the hostesses. “This was just dropped off for Carmela.” She hands Lenni a familiar blood-red envelope with the murderer's signature rose.
Anders darts off the couch, pushing everyone aside as he bolts out the door, Martin and Nikolai on his heels. I can hear a commotion in the dining room as he rushes to try and catch whoever delivered the letter.
“Who dropped this off?” Mick demands as Lenni sets the letter on my desk with shaky hands.
The blonde, who hasn’t worked here for more than a week, shrugs slightly as her whole face flushes bright red. “I’m sorry, sir. It was a courier service. Some kid on a bike.”
Just as my fingers enclose around the envelope, Anders busts back into the room, closing the door in the hostess’ face. “That needs to be dusted for fingerprints.”
“She said a courier dropped it off. It’ll probably pick up their prints along with mine now,” I explain as I open it.
Everyone crowds around the desk as I read it out loud.
You made an appearance but didn’t perform. I want to see you put on a show for me, Carmela. How far are you willing to go to find out who I am?
“No nursery rhyme this time,” Anders says, more to himself than any of us.
My heart beats erratically in my chest, thumping against my rib cage so hard I fear my bones might break. For the first time since last night, it truly hits me that this killer was inside my club, in the same room as me.
Watching me.
My eyes lift, finding Anders. If they saw me last night, that means they saw him, too. Was the mask enough to protect his identity? Does the killer know Anders was brought here to find him?
“He’s asking me specifically to appear more,” I say, voice shaking with trepidation. No one says a thing, the silence settling heavily as everyone stares at the letter. Mick’s hand grips my shoulder, and Anders glares at him.
“Maybe that’s what we need to do to draw him out. We do the shows monthly. What if we opened the Desires hall every night for shows? If he wants to see me perform, I’ll perform.” I wait for Anders to look at me with his judgy, scrutinizing eyes. When he does—because in the short time we’ve known each other, he’s become that predictable—my voice is stronger as I speak again. “I have no problem with people watching me.”
He rolls his eyes, walking away to look out the window behind me as Mick declares, “That could work. And you don’t actually have to fuck someone. Just put on a show and pretend like you are.”
“What? No! You’re not gonna dangle her like bait. Are you fucking serious?” Anders cries out, whirling back around to look at us.
“We’ll keep eyes on her at all times. She’s tough, she can do it. Right, Mellie?” Mick squeezes my shoulder lightly.
The instant need to please him flows through me. Even after all these years, my body is still primed and prepped to do as he requests at all times, and I hate that he still has this effect on me.
“Perhaps she can perform with someone who can protect her? The killer might try and strike if they think she’s in the throes of passion, unaware. It would need to be someone who could act distracted with her while simultaneously alert,” Nikolai pipes up from the far wall by the door. I jump, not realizing he and Martin have joined us again.
“The only people I would trust enough to do that should be watching my back. Not pretending to fuck me,” I mutter.
“Luca?” Lenni suggests.
“Fuck no,” Mick snaps.
“Jace could do it?” Jackson offers.
“Jace wouldn’t know how to protect her if he had a gun and the killer walked right up to him. He’d probably try to fuck him, too,” Tripp mutters. Lenni smacks his chest lightly, smiling as they share a look.
A few beats of silence pass while we think about who is trustworthy enough to work with me on this.
Finally, it’s Mick who breaks the silence, surprising the fuck out of me with his proposal. “Why doesn’t Brooks do it?”
“Excuse me?!” I jerk out of his hold, glaring up at him.
At the same time I shout, Anders grimaces and says, “Come again?”
Mick smirks, and I swear to God I want to slap him so hard my hand twitches.
“You two obviously don’t like each other. So there’s no danger of you getting fresh with Mellie, given your personal beliefs. You know your boundaries, and you can keep her safe. You two will just have to put aside your differences. There’s a thin line between passion and hatred. Do your job, blur the fuck out of it, and make it look real.” I'd never believe Mick was the one to suggest it if I wasn’t hearing the words fall from between his own lips.
“What the fuck, Mick?” My entire face feels hot, and even though I want to look at Anders, my gaze remains glued to Mick’s.
“You need to draw him out. You made an appearance at the show, and he showed up. He’s requesting you put on a performance, so we know he’ll show again. Then we can bag this fucker and go on with our lives. This is gonna start getting messy if it continues, Mellie. For Christ’s sake, just do it.” Mick speaks to me like he’s talking to a stubborn child.
He turns away, and my eyes slide to Anders, who is looking at me like he really feels bad for the way Mick is treating me. We stare at each other, mulling over the asinine idea like we might actually go through with it.
“Look, can we wrap this up? My very pregnant wife is at home with the sole desire to ride my dick and eat her weight in mini cupcakes. I brought home the cupcakes earlier. The other matter is obviously a problem if I’m not there,” Jackson drawls. He rises from his seat, throwing me a look that tells me he’s trying to save me from embarrassment.
“Are you serious right now? This is important,” Mick snaps as Jackson motions for Lenni and Tripp to leave with him.
“I don’t need the details of how the detective and Carmela are gonna pretend to fuck each other,” Jackson throws over his shoulder.
“He’s right. This is completely and utterly unnecessary,” I grumble.
“And it can be sorted out between Carmela and me. Why don’t you all go?” Anders speaks up, solidifying his agreement to go through with this. It shocks me that he’s willing to pretend like he’s fucking me in a room full of strangers when he’s so fervently against everything the club stands for.
“Call me later?” Lenni asks as Tripp guides her out of the office.
I give her a nod and share a look with Jackson as they leave. “Give my best to Ginny.”
“Keep me in the loop,” is all he says before they disappear out the door.
“We will also give you privacy to sort out the details. Senator, perhaps you can accompany us to retrieve the blueprints for the club? We have a list of things we will need to get information on,” Martin explains, motioning toward the door.
Mick nods before leaning down to kiss my forehead, not giving a fuck about the presence of the other three men in the room. “Call me later, Mellie. Remember, I just want you to be protected.”
I don’t respond, defiantly turning my head to the side to ignore him. When the door clicks, signaling that they’ve left, angry tears spring to my eyes as I seek out Anders. “Do you really think you can handle this?” I sneer.
“Handle what? Your bratty ass?” He goes to my minibar in the corner and helps himself to a glass of twenty-five-year-aged Dalmore.
Flying from my seat, I storm across the room to get in his face as he turns to look at me. “People watch the shows, Anders. They jerk themselves off while watching others get fucked in various positions. Your prude ass won’t be able to freeze up once we’re in there. You’ll need to learn how to fucking relax and look like you’re actually enjoying touching this filthy fucking slut .” I throw his words from last night back in his face.
Anger radiates off me in waves, a searing heat that grows between us as he lifts his tumbler to sip the amber liquid, not moving away from me. I’m so close that the crystal brushes my cheek when he lowers it from his lips.
Without breaking eye contact, he sets the glass on the bar behind him, then takes a step forward, forcing me to take one back as our chests brush against each other. Wordlessly, he continues backing me up, and the heat changes from angry to charged with lust-fueled energy. My pussy involuntary clenches as he reaches for me, slowly grabbing onto my hips. As he digs his fingers into me, my lips part, shallow breaths fleeing from my crimson-stained mouth.
Anders lifts my body effortlessly, sitting me on top of my desk. Instinctively, my knees part, and he pulls me to him roughly, stepping between them to grind his hard length against me. A low whimper escapes my throat. He dips his head to my neck, running his nose up the column as he inhales deeply. He smells like sandalwood and patchouli, with a soft floral citrus undercurrent. Spicy and slightly sweet.
“Is this convincing enough for you?” he whispers against my skin, tongue darting out to run along the shell of my ear. My eyes close as I grab his elbows, weakly attempting to push him away. He shakes me off, his thumbs finding their way under my jacket, rubbing patterns up the sides of my corset top, eliciting a soft moan from me as every part of my body comes alive under his sudden attention.
“I hate you,” I whisper as my head falls back. I don’t, though. And he knows it, chuckling against my collarbone.
“If I dip my fingers into your dirty cunt right now, I’ll bet they’ll be drenched in the evidence of how much you hate me, won’t they?” One hand drops from my side, and the feel of his fingers stroking my core through my pants has my hips rolling into him, searching for more. “I can put on the best damn show you’ve ever seen 'cause it’s my job to pretend like I’m enjoying myself. But you? You’ll be begging for my cock by the time the night is over. Your pussy will be clenching around air, just waiting for me to fill it.”
One hand fists in my hair as he forces me to watch where he’s touching me. His thumb moves faster, pressing harder against me. The outline of my pussy lips strains against the white fabric, and there’s a wet spot growing beneath his touch. The beginning waves of an orgasm pulse deep within me, my breathing and the movement of my hips giving away my current euphoric state. “Your little costume will be soaked, and everyone will see exactly how much I affect you. And when the evidence is running down the inside of your thighs, because I’ll make you come with just the touch of my fingers and the sound of my voice, you won’t be able to deny the way I make you feel, even knowing that I don’t want your filthy ass. So, do you think you can handle it, Mellie ?”
Just as I’m about to come, he tries to let me go, but I grab onto his wrist and hold his hand to me. His nostrils flare as he keeps working me over my clothes. Our eyes lock in a battle of wills. Me, intently focusing on getting off, and him, trying to prove his words.
Oh, but stupid Anders. I’ll never deny myself the chance to come. “Yeah, I can fucking handle it. There’s nothing special about you, Anders. You’re just another notch on my bedpost.”
My orgasm rips through me, mouth falling open as he tears his hand from mine, stepping back. His cock juts proudly against his pants, but other than that, he looks completely unaffected. Lifting his thumb to his mouth, he licks it as I scramble off my desk and attempt to right myself, trying not to let him see how much that just affected me. “Considering you didn’t get me off on your own, I guess I’ll have to train you to make it believable, ” I convey in a bored tone. “Good dogs don’t like to disappoint their owners, and that’s all you’ve been, Anders. One big disappointment after another.”
His proud smirk morphs into a sneer. “You’re such a fucking liar.”
“Then I guess we’re the same because you just can’t seem to keep your hands off me, can you?” I take a seat at my desk and motion to the door before pulling over a large accounting book. “See yourself out. Some of us have actual work to do.”
Anders doesn’t do anything to signal he’s leaving except the slam of the door on his way out. I consider locking it and getting myself off again with his scent still surrounding me, but I decide against it. The sooner I start hardening myself against his charms, the better. This little game we’ve started to play can only be won with sheer determination.
By the end of it, I’ll have Anders on his fucking knees, begging for me to collar his cocky ass.