Chapter 13 Stan
THIRTEEN
STAN
It took a lot to rile my temper into a fucking inferno, but Kitty Frasier had achieved it.
Kitty Frasier was not traveling to fucking Key West.
Kitty Frasier had lied to her fucking brothers.
Kitty fucking Frasier, my angel, had a death wish.
Because she was, in fact, heading to Mexico.
Mexico that was south of the border and in the middle of several turf wars.
Mexico that had no affiliations with the Five Points.
The Famigghia had some connections, and I’d pulled a few strings, but dammit to hell if this wasn’t a dumb move.
My plans to kidnap them from the airport had gone awry when I’d realized they’d checked in and had passed through security already.
I’d had a white, unmarked van parked outside until very recently with Chad behind the wheel. Now, I had no choice but to travel out of the country to keep their asses safe.
And despite that, and after having talked to her, I wasn’t sure what perplexed me the most.
The fact that she knew Currau and had gotten him to speak when my siblings and I had speculated over him joining some kind of nonverbal monastery while in prison.
The fact that she’d approached me and promised she wasn’t trying to marry Currau to access his wealth.
Or the fact that I’d managed to keep my cool when I’d seen her walk toward me in ridiculously high heels and a skirt so short it begged me to slide my hands up it.
She was beautiful in scrubs.
It should have primed me for seeing her in real life and in nice clothes, but nothing had prepared me for the reality.
A reality that told me just by breathing, she was in danger from assholes who’d take one look at her beauty and covet it.
Ever since Star had told me that their tickets weren’t, in fact, to Key West, a rage had been set loose inside me that I’d barely managed to contain.
Having met her twice now, with two very different personalities revealed on each occasion, I found myself curious. Enough that I experienced only relief when boarding the same flight as she was.
What made it better?
The squeak she released once she saw who was seated beside her after she’d stowed away her purse.
This woman was not a squeaker.
Angels didn’t squeak.
Yet something about me made her fucking squeak.
I recognized a compliment when it squeaked.
“Who’d have thought?” I focused on my phone because it was either that or demand who’d changed her damn hair.
The silver was gone, replaced with admittedly beautiful blonde/brown waves, but fuck if I didn’t miss that silver.
I could feel her eyes on me, and because that was right where I wanted them, I looked away from my screen to glue them in place.
Her throat bobbed as she shot me an uneasy smile but didn’t reply.
When the flight attendant handed her a glass of orange juice, I could tell that she wished it were something stronger. Still, she sipped at it and shifted her focus onto her cell, making a show of fidgeting with her over-ear headphones so she could keep on hiding.
The part of me that had killed fifteen men last night, who’d savored butchering that treacherous piece-of-shit Giuseppe, wanted to snag a hold of those motherfucking headphones and tear them apart.
It wanted her on my goddamn lap, hands sliding up her skirt, urging her onto my cock, impaling her on me as we took off so that I’d know precisely where she was and where she couldn’t go.
I.e., into fucking Mexico.
But the part of me able to calmly reproduce medicinally induced tachycardia, proceed to OD so I could calculate proper dosing for an untested drug, and sit waiting patiently for an ambulance to show up as I sprayed nitroglycerin under my tongue, wanted to take things slowly.
Some things were not a race.
Some things were to be savored.
Some day, I’d have to tell our daughter how we met…
Deciding to let her relax, if only to stop her from blushing because that made me want to see everywhere that blush touched, I let us settle into the flight.
After takeoff, she shot me an expectant look. “I-I need to use the restroom.”
My lips curved. “Permission granted.”
That had her eyes widening in mortification. “God—” She slammed to her feet and scampered off.
Watching her go, I bit back a laugh, amused and unable to hide it as my irritation over the situation eased.
I had no idea what was going on with her, but something was off.
She might be acting stoned, but I doubted she was dumb enough to travel high.
From the bare bones I’d gleaned from Jen, Savannah, and Star, I knew she had brass balls.
For some reason, they were less brassy around me.
When she returned, her smile was cool if oddly sleepy. I knew she thought she’d composed herself after bugging her sisters for thirty minutes.
Yes, I’d counted.
The prospect of sitting in silence when she lounged right next to me was something I couldn’t abide, so I asked, “Where are you traveling to?”
She froze in the act of putting on her headphones. “Cancún.”
“Huh. I’m going there too.”
“Y-You are?”
“I am.”
“I promised my sister we’d go,” she answered warily, but her body language was the opposite of wary—she turned toward me, no longer shutting me out.
And, like a sucker, I basked in her radiance.
“Special gift?”
“Spring break before she has to study for finals.” She bit her lip. “I-I should probably tell you something.”
“Not about my great-uncle again, Gésu—”
“No! I saw you in Bellevue. The hospital where I work.”
“Ah. Is that why you’re flustered?”
“Um, yes.” Lie. “And the bottle of Dramamine I took before I boarded might have something to do with that too.”
Ah. That explained why she was sleepy and acting out of character.
“You overdosed?” I’d have to spank her if—
“Not really. I mean, a little.”
Pressing the baggy of nuts I’d received with my drink into her hand, I narrowed my eyes at her until, huffing, she tore it open. Then, I changed the subject because airlines didn’t like it if you spanked people mid-flight.
This was why I preferred flying private.
“Did you tend to me while I was unconscious?”
“Huh?”
As I determined to keep an eye on her for signs of overdose, I persisted, “When I was in the hospital, were you my nurse?”
“No.” Her expression turned earnest. “I have been in the past, but not the last time. You came in when I wasn’t on shift and got transferred to the ICU and—” She pulled in a deep breath.
“I guess I look a lot different out of scrubs, but I saw you the morning you were discharged from the VIP ward too. I-I just thought you should know.”
Deciding it was wise to pretend that I didn’t remember her, I swirled my bourbon around my glass. “I appreciate the transparency.”
“My name’s Kitty. I-I know you’re Custanzu.”
“Stan, for short.”
“Are you going to Cancún for fun…, Stan?”
Well, wasn’t that enough to give me a semi?
“In a sense. Doubt we’ll be visiting the same establishments,” I half-teased because it was a lie.
Wherever the fuck she was, I’d be.
“Lucky you. Neev has this whole list of places for us to visit. I think the sole requirement was that they’re trashy.”
“Is that safe?” My jaw locked because the answer was categorically no.
“You sound like my brother.” A gleam sparkled in her eye. A spark that I wanted there for-fucking-ever. “He wanted me to take a gun with me on this trip.”
“I don’t blame him.”
“Yeah, well, I think TSA would have a problem with that.” She toyed with the hem of that too-short skirt that showcased her legs to perfection. My fingers prickled with the urge to smooth over them and— “We can defend ourselves. He’s forgotten that he taught me how to take a man down.”
“How?”
“How?” she repeated. At my nod, her brow puckered. “Well, did you know it only takes six pounds of force to rip off someone’s ear?”
“I did actually,” I drawled. “But what if your hands are sweating and you can’t get purchase? They’re slippery when perspiration is introduced. In the middle of an attack, your adrenaline will be pumping and you’re bound to sweat.”
“Well, I—”
“Teeth,” I prompted.
“Yeah. Teeth. Wait. What about them?”
“Bite the ear off.”
“Oh. Yeah. Of course.” A nervous laugh escaped her. “Are we really talking about this?”
I shifted in the seat to give her my full attention. She knew it too. Whatever it was about me that flustered her, be it the drugs or attraction, had the blush making another reappearance, but she matched my position, tilting so that she could see me better.
“Why shouldn’t we talk about this? The pretty lights of the city will catch your eye, but there’s no denying the truth of what’s happening on the ground—”
“What’s happening on the ground?”
“Turf warfare.” When her brow puckered, I continued, “If you headed to the nearest convenience store parking lot, you’d be able to buy a gun.”
“That’d be illegal.”
“I can get you one if you’d like.”
Her pupils flooded her irises. “You’d do that for me?”
“I have a sister too. I know that I wouldn’t want her in party central looking as good as you do without a gun in her purse.”
That had her sucking her bottom lip between her teeth and nibbling on it.
Miedda.
“You don’t have to.”
“I do.” Unable to stop myself, I tapped her on the nose.
We stared at one another.
Long.
Deep.
Fuck—she was a magnet. Every time I looked at her, I couldn’t tear myself away. I wanted to goddamn drown in those pretty eyes of hers. Death would be welcome in that instance.
“Would you like to order your meal?”
Both of us jolted as if we’d been scalded.
This insanity was mutual.
Thank fuck.
The pair of us shifted our attention to the cabin crew offering us an in-flight meal.
I crossed my legs, resting my ankle on the opposite knee in an effort to hide my erection. Admittedly, it had happened before in her presence, but now wasn’t appropriate.
I gave my meal request to the attendant and noticed that Kitty hid behind her hair once the FA departed.
Frustrated by the wall being built between us, I allowed it to grow to give her some space, and I was glad I had because she broke the silence first.
“Can I see your knuckles?”
Turning to her, I noticed her cheeks were back to being pink and that her eyes looked more sleepy than ever, so I smiled. “Considering you asked nicely…” I tilted my hands so she could read the letters inked there.
“I’d never take you for a flowers guy.”
“Why not? Nothing feminine about flowers unless you doubt your masculinity.” At her hoot, my smile morphed into a grin. “Have more on my chest.”
She licked her lips. “You do?”
“And paisley butas.”
“The tear-drop shapes?”
“Yup.”
“Why?” Her nose wrinkled. “I mean, also, why not? But…” She sighed. “You get what I’m saying, right?”
“In certain cultures, they represent ‘life.’ ‘Eternity.’”
She surprised me by brushing her fingers over the back of my hand. Holy fuck, that felt so good. So goddamn good. Innocent. But so sweet. Like a hug. God. I shouldn’t need a hug from her, but I did and—
“Would you want to live for eternity?”
I swallowed. “No. But we live for an eternity through those who remember us.”
“That’s pretty.”
“So are my tattoos,” I teased her.
Because I couldn’t hug her.
Yet.
“I meant philosophically speaking,” she sassed. “Now that you mention it, I think I remember seeing them.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. You were doing a helicopter with your dick—”
I gawked at her. “What?!”
Still seated, she circled her hips. “You know. A helicopter.”
“When the hell was this?” And why didn’t I remember my angel seeing my dick for the first time?
“Aaaaaages ago.” Her attention was fickler than the weather and thank fuck for that! Porca troia, I had no memory of this happening. “Is that ‘come over’ or ‘overcome?’ On your knuckles.”
Refusing to admit she’d flustered me, I smirked.
“I guess it depends on who’s asking.” Then, my smirk died because I sounded like an asshole and I’d already taken some of my temper out on her in the lounge.
I didn’t want her associating me with being a douche.
“Got them after my patri, my father, passed away.”
“Gets you like that, doesn’t it?” Kitty made me jump again when her fingertips, tipped with a surprisingly plain manicure, traced the letters on my knuckles.
And I couldn’t move away. I should. If I didn’t, I’d drag her onto my knee, but that’d stop her from touching me and I couldn’t have borne that.
Instead, I gritted my teeth at the simple sensation. The connection packed so much more warmth than I could have ever prepared myself for.
Something about this woman—goddammit, she got to me.
The guilt about Evangeline faded as perplexity replaced it. I wasn’t a teenager. This shit shouldn’t be happening to me. But it was. And I couldn’t regret it even if the significance evaded me.
“Yours died too?” I asked as if I didn’t already know. The words were barely audible because of how hard I clenched my jaw.
That simple fucking touch.
God, it made me realize how starved I was.
Slowly, the effects of the nausea drugs becoming more evident, she garbled, “So… you were saying about teeth.”
“Teeth?”
“Biting.” She could bite me any fucking day. “You know? Attackers?”
“Oh. Yeah. Bite. Always bite. Nose, lips, ear. Rip that motherfucker off if you have to. Hell, a dick.” I nodded at the cabin crew who brought me a tumbler of whiskey. “You can do a lot of damage with a squeeze too.”
Laughter pealed from her like I’d said the most hilarious thing. “You’re kinda violent.”
Had to figure the Dramamine was helping me disarm her.
Not that I minded her being off her game—I got the feeling she could and would run rings around me on any other day.
“You could say that,” I answered, silently urging her to look at me again, for our eyes to catch, for that bridge to flicker to life between us.
She licked her lips. “Y-You wouldn’t want to meet up when we land, would you?”
My smile grew. “I’m old, aren't I?”
Mortification had her gasping. “You heard that?”
“Your sister’s voice projects.”
“I never said you were old,” she wailed.
“No. You said I was hot.” I snagged a hold of her hand but kept the tangled knot loose so she could break free if she chose to. “I’m messing with you. If you don’t mind being seen with my old ass—”
“Hot ass,” she burst out, making me snicker.
“—then I’d like to be seen with your hot ass too.”
“It’s very hot. Too hot.” Kitty huffed. “I think you make me stupid.”
“I don’t think you’re ever stupid.”
Her fingers tightened around mine. “I know how old you are. Y-Your file at the hospital…”
“And I know that you’re a lot younger than me, Kitty. Is that a problem?”
“No. No problem.”
“You normally date guys your own age?”
“Late twenties?”
I let my smile grow once more. “Well, I guess you’re going to learn the difference between fucking around with boys and then switching to a man, bedda mia.”