FIFTY-FOUR
Harry
Richard storms into the briefing room and bellows, “What the hell happened in there!”
Someone got trigger-happy , that’s what fucking happened. I scan the room, double-checking to make sure I didn’t say that out loud. I tend to lose my common sense when Gigi is in the room.
All the other faces are as still as stone, but I catch Richard’s protégé in the corner, with the brown eyes and dark hair. She’s snickering away, having officially become his puppet.
“No one’s going to fess up, huh?” he asks. “It took five of my men to clear up that crime scene even though you were all under strict instructions not to use bullets unless absolutely necessary!”
Gigi’s mumble is quiet. “It was pretty necessary.”
A roar tears up Poppy’s throat, and she throws herself to her feet, pointing her hands in the direction of our problem. “She’s going to get us all killed if she keeps pulling stunts like this.”
The little princess gasps, appearing wounded as she slaps a hand over her chest. “You don’t like my tactics?” she asks, playing coy.
Poppy laughs, the sound hollow. “I don’t like you.”
Gigi jumps to her feet, coming within an inch of Poppy’s body as she threatens, “Say it to my face, Green.”
Commotion breaks, and I drop my head, shaking it.
They’re both fucking idiots.
I chance a look up at the cat fight to find Brody, one of the recent recruits, has captured Gigi’s hands behind her back, and he’s tugging her away from the redhead. I don’t doubt for a second that if Gigi wanted to, she could outfight him, but she gives in to the restraint. It sparks a flicker of hope in my chest that the girl I once knew lies under the surface.
Richard sighs, pinching his nose as both women are ushered into their seats. “Just get out of my sight. All of you. I’ll see you all this evening. Don’t think I’m forgiving any of you for this stunt.”
Don’t think I’m forgiving any of you , he says.
Of course she’s got away with shit again, the situation somehow being blamed on all of us. That’s how life works nowadays.
There’s a party tonight on Richard’s yacht. It’s common courtesy to attend and bask in the glory after a heist, but I wish I’d stayed home and wallowed in self-pity now I’m standing beside the bar, chatting with Andy about fucking rubbish.
The boat is incredibly luxurious, displaying Richard’s disgusting wealth and making Andy’s look like a sinking battleship. The floating hotel is docked at St. Katharine’s in Central London, alongside those owned by some of the richest businessmen in the country.
Elites occupy the front of the boat. I don’t know what any of them are wearing apart from Gigi. If you were to ask, I’d tell you I have no clue, but in reality I know she’s wearing strappy diamond heels and a gold slip dress that enhances those eyes that are etched into my brain. Her naturally straight hair has been blow-dried into soft curls, and I ache to run my fingers through it.
The beer tastes stale on my tongue when I hear her laughter echoing from the other end of the deck. She’s talking to Hudson fucking Anderson. He’s wearing his signature Tom Ford suit, and I instantly despise him for being so close to her.
The little brunette turns her head as if she can feel my pining gaze, and our eyes linger. She turns back after a few seconds, breaking eye contact, and resumes her conversation without stalling.
Fuck my life.
I drag my palm down my face, slapping my cheek to try to awaken my senses.
She is not someone I want to associate myself with anymore.
“Did you hear Poppy is engaged?” Andy asks, diverting my attention back to him.
Did he just say what I thought he said?
“You can’t be serious.”
“Deadly.” He nods. “They were talking about it on the drive over.”
My eyebrows hit my hairline. “What the fuck?”
As if she heard our conversation, the little redheaded wench steps forwards. “Don’t remind me,” she groans. “Not something I wanted by choice, I might add.”
“Who to?” I ask.
It’s not that I can’t imagine her getting married to someone …
Well … forget I said anything.
She shrugs. “Some descendent of the Mafia. Richard set it up.”
“I didn’t know Richard was getting friendly with the Italians. That’s news to me.”
“Maybe this is his way of calling a truce. Besides, if I get a good payday out of it, who cares who the guy is?”
“Aren’t you meant to keep stuff like that a secret?” Andy asks, taking a sip of his drink.
I don’t know much about Poppy’s financial situation besides the fact she lives with her father in some village on the outskirts of London. She’s never been overly flashy with her paychecks – no fancy cars, no designer handbags.
“Knowing who you’re marrying is pretty fucking important,” I say.
She shrugs again as if it’s no big deal, passing her drink to her right hand and holding out her left as if she wants it to be kissed.
Spotting the gigantic rock on her ring finger, I sing a low whistle. That fucker would be impossible for anyone to miss.
“Maybe I should marry an Italian,” Andy says, pulling her hand closer to his face.
“Are you sure he’s not being blackmailed?” I tease, making Poppy’s eyes narrow to slits.
We all laugh, and I feel really fucking content. The world is normal momentarily. Everything is perfect …
Until a five-foot-four brunette, who draws my attention like nothing else, steps up to our side, silencing all conversation.
“Something funny?” Gigi asks.
I try my best not to look at her. I really fucking do. But just as my body always opposes me whenever she’s around, I drink up the sight of her.
Through her ugly personality, she’s perfectly beautiful.
She cocks her brow, waiting for an answer.
Andy scans the group, waiting for someone to speak. It’s sure as hell not going to be me. I simply stare, scrutinising her with unmistakable attention.
Despite knowing she can feel my eyes boring into her, Gigi doesn’t entertain me. Not even for a second. Things are different now. She’s crossed a barrier, and the power is getting to her head like nothing else, burning every good decision in its path.
Several people really fucking hate her, and for good reason.
“No one going to say anything?”
Her voice is like a violin, but the spew that comes out of her mouth nowadays makes my body recoil. Sneaking around hallways and keeping our relationship quiet seems like some distant dream.
Andy breaks the silence. “Poppy’s getting married.”
Poppy whips around, glaring daggers into his temple.
“Oh,” Gigi says, cocking her head. “Who’s the unlucky fella?”
“Always a chore, never the pleasure, Thomas,” Poppy counters.
“That’s not even the right saying.”
“I always look forward to seeing you … it means I get to say goodbye sooner.”
“Is that a threat, Green?” Gigi steps forwards, squaring her shoulders, her spare hand hovering around her upper thigh, right where her Glock is holstered at the slit in her dress.
Jesus fucking Christ.
“Please,” Poppy scoffs. “I’m not into child’s play.”
“Do I have to remind you who knocked out who last time we were in the ring?”
“I remember you trying to claim victory before the fight was even finished. Never one for the rules, were you, Thomas?”
“You fucking—” Gigi starts.
I step in front of her, blocking her path. She walks straight into my chest, stumbling on impact. Poppy snickers from behind me. I look down at Gigi, who clenches her jaw, refusing to meet my stare.
“Out of my way, St. James,” she orders, her hand still positioned on her thigh.
Huh. So, we’re on a last-name basis now?
“You really want to shoot her? On a yacht full of people who would make you pay with your life?” I keep my voice down. “Doesn’t seem worth it, does it?”
“Trust me, it does.”
Poppy smirks from behind the rim of her glass as if someone pretty capable of doing so didn’t just threaten her life. Andy, on the other hand, acts as if the situation is utterly hilarious, biting his fist to conceal his laughter.
I turn my attention back to the woman staring directly at my chest. “Why don’t we take a walk and calm down?”
“I’m not going anywhere with you.”
My nostrils flare. “That’s an order, Thomas.”
She finally meets my eye, jaw clenching.
If there’s anything Gigi struggles to deny, it’s authority within the Circle.
I walk away before she’s come to a decision.
Thankfully, she matches my stride. I lead us down the yacht stairs, taxis already lining the street. Opening the door of a black cab, I pause, allowing Gigi the impression I’m being a gentleman. But as she approaches, I slip in front of her and onto the seat, slamming the door behind me.
She scoffs, accusing me of being a child as she climbs in on the other side.
Silence stretches between us as the driver leads us towards the hotel Richard booked. He’s rented out every single room to allow his guests the ultimate privacy. When we arrive, Gigi pulls out some cash from her bra and hands it over to the driver. I frown, not even wanting to ask about it. She smirks, daring me to question her. I don’t.
Doormen open the large front doors of the hotel, and we traipse up to my room in silence, the potential consequences of my decision threatening to pull me back while I can still run with my emotions intact.
But that’s not us.
That’s not what we do.
This has become routine for us now. Sex. Oral. I don’t know what it is, but whatever – it’s fucking carnal. Perhaps it’s my desperation for her to feel an inkling of human emotion even though she’ll never admit to it.
I close the hotel-room door after we step inside. A large window sits adjacent to the entrance, accessorised by a sheer curtain. The double bed has been made with white linen sheets, and the room is dark, save for the light of the moon streaming in through the window.
As Gigi moves deeper into the space, dangerously close to the bed, I step in front of her, forcing her to tilt her chin upwards.
“You’re a bitch,” I say.
She smirks, unfazed, toying with the hem of my T-shirt. “I know.”
Shrugging off my jacket, I throw it over the nearby chair and slowly undo the buttons of my shirt. Her gaze drops at the movement, her eyes alight with desire. But when I let the fabric fall to the floor her attention slips to my torso. I don’t have to look to know what she’s staring at. We don’t usually have time on our side when we fuck away our angst, but tonight’s a night for sightseeing.
Memories assault me. Memories I’ve tried desperately to forget. Memories that tug at my ankles, pulling me down to the pits of hell at the reminder of my failure to her.
Failure to the girl I once loved with my whole heart.
Her eyes zero in on the litter of scars adorning my skin. Hot poker burns. Dozens of markings I self-inflicted.
The punishment only sufficed for a while, until I realised I’d forever be racked with guilt. The torture didn’t come close to curing my remorse at knowing I was the reason she lost herself.
Gigi finally blinks as if raw emotion has touched her. Twice. Three times.
I wonder what she’s thinking. If she regrets it.
Forcing a swallow, she says, “A waste of pretty skin. Such a shame.”
I fucking despise her. Yet the emotion is nowhere near as strong as my self-loathing for still wanting her. After all this time .
I toe off my shoes as she says, “I’m not taking off the pistol.”
“I never knew you were so into toys.”
Lowering herself slowly to her knees, she pulls open my belt and tugs down the zipper of my trousers, releasing my cock from the imprisonment of my briefs. She licks her lips, and I wrap her hair around my fist, tugging as she slips the tip into her mouth.
“Fuck,” I groan, wishing I wasn’t so tormented by her touch.
Gigi bobs her head back and forth, teasing the remainder of me that doesn’t quite fit with her hand. And just because I hate her, I push her head down even further for good measure. She splutters at the shock, slapping my thigh with a hash whack in protest, tears welling at her waterline as she takes me deeper down her throat. When she deliberately grazes her teeth over me, I hiss and pull tighter on her hair, forcing her eyes up to meet mine.
“Careful, princess. If you start crying I might think you have a heart.”
Mouth full and a tear rolling down her cheek, Gigi rolls her eyes. And just to prove a point, she manages to take the full length of me, her sharp nails running down my thigh. Wet slurps of spit echo around the room as she sucks my cock, and a groan slips from my throat as I watch her devour every drop.
“That’s it. Take my cock like a good fucking girl.”
With that my cock slips from her lips with an audible pop, and she pins my torso down onto the bed, pressing the heel of her stiletto directly over my chest. She’s trying to look feisty, but her lips are plump and drool puddles on her chin. The sight makes me smirk – and gets me really fucking horny. I lean up, kissing the ankle of her bare foot, paying particular attention to her calf.
“You call me shit like that again and I’ll murder you, St. James.”
“Oh, I’m counting on it, baby.”
I lean up, clutching her hips and flipping her body beneath me so her back is pressed tight to my chest. She may think she’s on top in the field, but in this fucking bedroom she’ll always be underneath me. I bunch up her dress around her waist, drinking in the sight of her without underwear. Spitting on my fingertips, I bring my hand down between our bodies and fucking relish the moan that slips past her lips as I push a finger into her aching cunt.
Our lips skim, brushing against one another’s but never kissing.
That’s a boundary we’re not crossing anytime soon.
“Pretty wet for a good girl.”
She growls, ready to pounce at the comment, but I shove in another finger, pushing the pair in knuckles-deep and curling them inside. Her hips bow off the bed, and I take the opportunity to push my stiff cock against the curve of her ass. Her body starts to tremble, and through the few steady pumps of my fingers I feel her walls tighten.
Our relationship may be at death’s door, but our bodies sure remember how good we felt together.
“It seems your body remembers exactly how good I used to treat her.”
“Just fuck me already,” she whines, shaking her ass against my cock.
I retract my fingers, using the same hand to push the side of her head against the pillow. She gasps, whispers of hair sticking to her lips from the quick movement.
Bringing my mouth closer to her ear, I nibble at the flesh. “I’m not rushing this. You do shit like that again and I’ll make you fucking beg for release.”
“I don’t beg.”
“We’ll see about that.”
Her eyes widen at the prospect, showcasing her excitement. I clutch her chin and crane her neck so I can drink up her reaction as I tease her entrance with the head of my cock.
“You on birth control?” I ask.
She nods.
I push myself inside of her in one full thrust, reaching the hilt.
My eyes threaten to close, and I curse, my head rolling .
So. Fucking. Tight.
Drunk on the feeling of her, I speed up my thrusts before falling into the same hole of succumbing to her again. I thrust into her harder, relishing the sounds of her little whimpers against the pillow.
“You sing for me like a fucking violin.”
“Harry,” she moans, fisting the bedsheets.
“You want this?”
She nods, eyes screwing shut.
“Tell me what you want,” I encourage.
She whines, struck for breath, struggling to form words.
I pull her body flush against mine, her back to my chest as I knead her breast in my hand, pounding into her.
“You want my tongue on that pretty cunt?”
Following the comment, she pushes her hips further against me, meeting me halfway. Our sexes meet in unison, and my hips smack against her ass with an audible whack.
“Use your words, baby,” I groan, sinking my teeth into her shoulder. “Tell me what you want.”
She brings her hand back, fisting my hair between her fingers and purring like a fucking kitten. Her body shakes, breasts bouncing each time I pump into her.
“I … I just want you.”
Her lips part on a silent whimper, her walls clutching my cock like a vice as she nears release.
Mumbling into her hair, my heart constricts as I say, “I’d give you the world if you asked for it.”