CHAPTER 32
Luna
“What’s going on is that I should have packed a damn vibrator when I moved out,” I say to Ellie when we finally catch each other on the phone.
“What!” Ellie screeches.
“Yeah, my thoughts exactly. What the actual hell!” I mutter, sorting through the dresses hanging in my closet.
“Is it one of his men?” Ellie asks. Sweet, innocent, old-school Ellie.
Because there’s no way I could actually be attracted to a scarred psycho the size of a small building. There’s no way he and I could not only be friends and sparring partners but…more.
But then the thought of anyone else here even catching my eye, even being remotely interesting at all…
I laugh.
“No, El, it’s not one of his men. It’s him. The lunatic head splitter,” I say, just going there. “He is—oh so unfortunately for me and my plans of espionage, treason and overall world domination—really fucking hot.”
“What! He is?” She’s squeaking again. Understandably.
“You’ve seen him! He’s like if power was a human being, Ellie. And when we train, ugh, I—”
“Train?”
“Yes, every morning.”
I fill her in quickly, explaining our new routine.
I wake up earlier now, seven or eight, usually, my whole system humming with excitement.
I grab something grabbable for breakfast and find him, usually already in the gym.
Usually already sweaty from training with his men.
Sometimes he’s even bleeding, though it never seems to phase him.
So hot.
Then it’s the same song, different verse, day after day. I advance, he obliterates me. Hits, grabs, slams, catches, grunts. His arms pinning me to the ground. My back pinned to his front. His leg locked over both my legs, keeping me powerless beneath him.
But after a while, minutes or maybe an hour, the touches change, they always change.
And my body reacts, searches, fucking begs him for more—weak, needy thing that it is—and each time he grunts the same words then pulls away.
This morning, though…this morning I really thought I’d done it, broken him.
After he threw me on the mat like a rag doll, his tree-trunk of a thigh ended up right between my legs. Instead of breaking, pulling off, he froze there, his eyes hooded and holding mine like he couldn’t look away if he wanted. But he didn’t want to.
“Quinn, Quinn, please,” I said. At that, instead of pulling his leg back like I knew for sure that he would, he moved it up.
Into me. A thick, hot, heavy weight right where I needed it.
And I moved. I arched my back and pushed up his thigh for friction and he still stayed frozen, watching.
He leaned down, his lips so close to mine I could feel each syllable when he said “I could make you explode right now without even touching you.”
He wanted to kiss me. Maybe. Or he’s messing with my mind.
Because I wanted him to kiss me. Desperately.
“So do it,” I replied. He shifted his thigh again, harder. “You want to,” I added. Then he moved his full lips even closer, his tongue brushing against me as he said the same words, “Tell me I can trust you.”
Ugh!
“Ugh!” I repeat out loud as I explain my frustration to Ellie, “Then he releases me each time, no kiss, no real touching, and leaves before I can say anything back to his singular question. And it’s for the best because we all know he absolutely cannot trust me.
Which is, apparently, a prerequisite for sex. Which is why, as I said…”
“You wish you had a vibrator,” Ellie finishes for me, still sounding like she’s in a state of shock.
“Precisely. My wrist is aching, and not from the mat.”
“Oh. Wow. Are you…have you changed your mind?” She asks gently.
I scoff, “To what, stay with him? Be married to Skulls freaking Quinn and have his massive monster babies? No. No, I have not changed my mind. I just really wish we could scratch the itch, so to speak. Doesn’t even have to be sex, I’d settle for a little fondling at this point.”
“Luna!” Ellie laughs.
“Seriously, if he went for so much as a boob graze I think I’d have an orgasm on the spot.”
“What about him? Is he…”
“Also sporting a gimp, overused wrist? I…I don’t know. I think he likes toying with me but I’m not sure if he wants me, physically. I don’t think I’m his type.”
“Pf, Luna,” she snorts, “You’re everyone’s type.”
“I’m not, I’m not curvy, I sure as hell am not sweet. If he does want me, he hides it pretty well. And then he just keeps asking that same question.”
“Huh,” Ellie says slowly.
I agree, “Yeah. It’s weird…it’s like he…” likes me.
I don’t say that part aloud because it’s insane. I’m not nice to him. Never been loving or warm. I’m a testy bitch most of the time.
A bitch who is actively trying to spy on his affairs and turn on him the second I have a good opportunity to do so.
And he’s not a middle school boy who likes someone.
He’s a crazed murderer…and a patient leader who trains the woman trying to destroy him, talks baby talk to his dogs and spends time with every new recruit during their first maintenance shift, I learned the other day.
A lot of the men like to hang out in the garage, a six bay outbuilding with a bodyshop inside. There they play music, drink beers and fix the clan’s cars. And, they talk.
I learned the cars all have iPads in them. It’s information I’ve filed away as leverage. When the time is right I may risk telling Vix so she can hack one, but it will be hard for me to find the right occasion and gift to send her—and write a coded note to go with it—that won’t seem suspicious.
I also learned Quinn comes in to change oil, check air filters, test armor panels and whatever else newbies are asked to do in their first few weeks on the compound. A job so far beneath his pay grade it disgusts me a little bit.
“Anyway, I’m calling you for a specific purpose. Which one of my dresses do you think is most likely to make him break?”
“Dresses?”
“Yeah, did you hear Zeno is coming into Boston today? And like a dozen others from my family. I guess the Russians are closing in and Dad sent some extra hands to help. Tonight is their welcome party.”
“The Russians?” She asks, sounding weirdly interested in mafia business rather than my quest for the perfect outfit.
“Yes, war over one warehouse on the Sound. It’s Quinn’s but it’s close to Volotov territory and I guess they want it. Or at least don’t want him to have it.”
“So they’re going to attack?”
“Yes, but not the warehouse. They’ve been tracking his safe houses and Quinn, if your people are listening to this call A) perverts.
B) thank you for finally seeing me as the threat that I am and C) your men’s mouths run like leaky faucets in the garage.
Shooting the shit and then just casually dropping sensitive intel.
Tell them to tighten up. Seriously, it’s embarrassing for you. ”
“Um, uh,” Ellie stammers at the thought of my husband listening in.
“Relax, El, he’s got meetings all day long at his Back Bay today,” I raise my voice and look to invisible cameras in the ceiling that may or may not exist, “Another tidbit I learned while hiding in the garage!” Ellie makes a gasp-laugh sound so I decide to put her out of her misery.
“Quick, which one of my cocktail dresses? The dark green with the straps? The deep red with the v or the short gold one or...”
“No, that leather one you wore at Zeno’s birthday a couple years ago.”
I smile, “Yes! I forgot about that one. You were scandalized. As were all my aunts and cousins. It’s perfect. Alright, I love you, I’ve got to go.”
“I love you too, and Lu?”
“Hm?”
“Be careful, okay? A party with a bunch of the strongest Italians and Irish together in Boston, seems like a good target for the Russians to me.”
“I will, but the party is here on the compound. This place is a fortress, the front is like a castle and the back is wooded for hours with men randomly patrolling all over. We’ll be fine.”
“Okay,” she says, unconvinced.
We say our goodbyes and I get ready slowly, taking my time with each detail.
I make sure my hair is straight as a board and so silky I can almost see my reflection in the strands.
I put on my best primer before applying simple make up.
The leather cocktail dress is a statement all its own so I don’t go overboard with my blush, highlight, contour or eye shadow, but the black liner needs to be thick and fierce to match the vibe.
I add shimmery body blur all over my arms and legs to help bring out what’s left of my deep summer tan. We’re squarely into fall now but I’m still Italian.
I put on the dress and a sexy pair of leather thigh-high boots. I spritz my perfume and add simple gold hoop earrings to match my simple gold wedding band.
Then, because I’m me, I grab a knife and holster it on my inner thigh.
I don’t plan to try anything tonight but I like knowing I could, if I wanted.
And it pisses me off that Quinn just lets me have knives.
As if I couldn’t seriously injure him if I tired?
I could maybe even kill him at this point, I’d have the element of surprise.
If my knife was hidden and I got close enough during one of our training matches, I could definitely nick his carotid artery.
He’d lose so much blood he’d at least be laid up in Seamus’s care for weeks. Could maybe even put him in a coma.
None of that sounds very appealing to me now, though.
A thought I push away as I head down the stairs.
Tonight is about one thing and one thing only:
I am going to get my husband to fuck me.