Chapter Twenty-Two
Tank
Bianca’s still back there. Bianca Moretti, I remind myself, my in to Moretti’s organization and nothing else — nothing else — and she’s someone I don’t feel guilty about fucking at all. In fact, I feel fucking proud of it, because when I look Victor in the eyes before I put a bullet in his brain, I’m going to tell him I fucked his sister.
I glance over my shoulder.
Bianca’s got her arms crossed, eyes locked on me.
More specifically, locked onto my bare ass.
She says nothing.
She just stares.
I flick my wrist and turn over the sizzling bacon slices. The aroma fills the kitchen, rich and tantalizing. “This all ain’t for me,” I call out, loud enough for her to hear. I’m putting it right out there, letting her know. “If you’re hungry, grab a plate.”
She stays silent, and I steal another glance over my shoulder. Her lips pull apart, as if she’s about to say something sharp and cutting, something that’ll keep her in control. Then, just as quick, she snaps her mouth shut, shakes her head, and stomps over to the table with a kind of defiant determination. Yeah, she’s feisty all right. But I like that about her, too.
Bianca snatches a plate in one swift motion, scooping up some bacon before taking a bite. Her defenses are slipping, and I can see it happening right before my eyes.
Then — there it is.
A soft, throaty moan of appreciation escapes her, unguarded and pure. I know right then that I've got her. The corners of my mouth lift into a wide grin. I knew it. She can be as defiant, standoffish, fight-ready, combative as she wants to be — and hell, I fucking loved seeing that side of her last night — but she can’t resist me, not in the end. I’ll break down all her defenses, get what I need from her, and then… Then, I’ll cut her loose after I tell her I killed her brother. After I leave her shattered, but alive.
I turn, still stark naked, catching her eye. “I knew you were a moaner.”
Bianca freezes mid-bite. I see the flicker of a blush, just for a moment, just enough to know I hit home. Her cheeks color for just a flash of a second. Slowly, she lowers her food, chews, swallows, determined not to show how much I’ve gotten to her. She’s trying to keep her cool, but I can see through her.
Then, before I can blink, she slaps my ass.
Hard.
The sharp crack of skin-on-skin echoes through the kitchen. I jolt, blinking at her, more surprised than anything. “The hell was that?”
She just leans in, kisses me hard, and murmurs against my lips, “Don’t forget that you’re in my house, and unless you want your bacon to be cooked, too, you’ll adjust your attitude.”
I chuckle, dragging a hand down my face, still feeling the sting of her hand there, but liking it all the same. Goddamn, I like this woman. It’s a fucking shame she’s the sister of the man I need to kill. It’s a fucking shame she’s probably a criminal herself — even if she’s the best-disguised criminal I’ve ever seen — because maybe, in another life, it’d feel good to have something more. Something real. Something I never thought I wanted, or deserved.
But you can’t make something real out of a lie.
Though you can enjoy it while it lasts.
I straighten, kiss her back slow, deep, letting my hands rest on her hips, pulling her closer, feeling the warmth of her body against mine.
“Yes, ma’am.” I throw her a mock salute, doing my best to act like she didn’t shake me to my core just now.
She rolls her eyes, but I don’t miss the smirk tugging at her lips.
We settle at the table, me still completely naked, calm as can be, like it’s a normal day, like this is how it ought to be, and we eat. For a while, it’s just silence. Comfortable silence. Peaceful silence. The kind I’ve never had in my life, the kind I never thought I’d have, ever. Food always used to come with shouting, with threats, with being told I wasn’t worth the damn crumbs they were giving me. Now look at me. Sitting at a table with a woman like Bianca fucking Moretti, eating the breakfast I just cooked up, not a single care.
Then Bianca speaks. “Who are you, really? What are you really doing in Boise?”
That’s not the question I was looking for. Not by a long shot. What we have between us is easy, nice, peaceful — even with the danger that swirls around us in the form of her criminal brother — and if I tell her who I really am, why I’m really here, I’ll be pulling that war right into the middle of us. I don’t want that. I just want to get what I want — her, her access — free of all the bullshit.
“Why do you want to know?” It’s not the most delicate question, not the most delicate tone, but I’m not a delicate man unless I’m handling some flaky pastry, and then, well, I’ve got fingers lighter than feathers.
“I have to be careful.” She clears her throat, eyes drift down to her plate, and her voice becomes something so small that I wonder if it’s really her. Time passes where I just watch her, silent, while she struggles through her own defenses, while she fights with something I can’t even see, but can still feel the weight of. “I was in an abusive relationship.”
I stop mid-bite. That’s not the answer I was expecting. Not an answer I can just bat away. The voice that leaves my mouth seems just as small as hers. “You were?”
She doesn’t look at me, just picks at her food.
“That’s why I started Safe House. I know what it’s like to feel trapped, to have nowhere to go. I know how hard it is to leave. That’s why I’m so… careful.”
I watch her for a second, wondering just how much I need to give to the sister of my enemy, but then I realize — no matter who she is, who' she’s related to, she’s still a fucking person, and she didn’t deserve any of that — then I nod. “I’m sorry.”
She finally looks up, raising an eyebrow. “That’s all you got to say?”
I take another bite, chewing slowly. “What else is there?”
She waits. Like she’s expecting something.
So I give her something. Something to keep her. Something palatable, for her, and for me. A piece of the truth. A piece of me. It wouldn’t be my first choice, but I’ll do what I have to do to get what I want: her.
Then I shake my head.
No, not her… I want what she can give me. What I came here for: revenge.
Revenge, and nothing else.
I breathe deep. Let a little of myself out.
“You know my name. I’ve told you that. I grew up poor. Dirt poor. Only had my dad and he was no father to me. I know what it’s like to have nothing. Which is why I cook. Why I bake. Now, I get to give myself things I never had as a kid.”
“And the bakery? Why here? Why Boise?”
“Finally got some money together, and it turns out that it was just enough to buy a place next to a seedy strip club. Most people would be bothered by it, but I saw a lot of them when I was a kid, had to drag my stumbling-drunk father out of plenty of them, which is a damn hard thing to do when you’re eight years old. So I don’t mind. It makes me nostalgic, in a way. And every time I leave my bakery and see that neon strip club sign, I remember that I’m finally getting what I want.”
“And why are you still here in my kitchen?”
I pause. That’s a damn good question. And it’s one that deserves the damn full truth. “Because I don’t want to be anywhere else right now except with you.”
Her expression softens, just a little. Something shifts between us. I don’t like it. But I also don’t hate it.
Because it feels like I’m getting where I need to be — closer to her.
Bianca considers me for a long moment, chewing the last of her bacon, before she pushes back from the table, stretching. “I gotta go.”
There’s something funny in her voice, like she feels what I feel, like she knows where this conversation is taking us, and she’s not going to fight it, but she’s got to be herself and take it at her own speed.
And I can work with that. With what she’s lived through, that’s what I want her to do.
Because I can be patient to get what I want. And what I want is her.
I grunt. “Yeah. Me too.”
She eyes me, smiling, eyebrow raised, eyes twinkling. “Probably should put some clothes on first.”
I smirk. “You sure? Thought you liked the view.”
She laughs and shakes her head. “Get dressed, caveman.”
I chuckle, standing up, stretching. “Yeah, yeah. Gotta check on Ricky, anyway.”
That makes her pause. She studies me for a second, then says, “You’re a good man for helping him.”
I shake my head. “Wouldn’t go that far. I’m just trying to do the right thing.”
Her gaze lingers before she nods. “Well. I’ll see you around, then.” Then, almost as an afterthought, she adds, “You’re welcome to Safe House anytime. Especially if you bring treats.”
I nod. Inside, I’m grinning, I’m proud, but I can’t give any of that to the sister of my enemy; I keep a straight face. “Noted.”
Then she leans up, kisses me one last time, slow and teasing, before pulling back.
“Now put some clothes on and get the hell out of my house.”
I grin. Yeah. I’m in deep. Which is exactly where I need to be…
For my mission, and nothing else.
Nothing else at all.
“Yes, ma’am.”