20. Saint #2
Seconds and one glide of her lips later…an orgasm rushes my cock, shooting ropes of cum down her throat with every buck of my hips.
My growl vibrates as she swallows, and even louder as I feel her coaxing more out of me with strokes of her hand.
“Such a good girl when she wants to be.” I reach for one of Hendrix’s tits, massaging it as she sucks me dry.
“Maybe.” She licks the full length of my cock. “But the good is something else that ends tonight.”
In the thick of what Hendrix assumed was a temporary fuck affair, neither of us took a moment to stop eating each other to get actual food.
Hendrix put her Italian to good use at the time he was instructed to return, which was unfortunately too late for him to hear me manhandling her. Doesn’t mean the guy was oblivious, given the bed was in shambles when he walked in, the room still perfumed with sex.
His imagination is what earned me a nasty scowl the whole time Hendrix mouthed off directions to the Chinese restaurant we ordered from.
He didn’t argue, though, at least not in the sense of leaving his precious cargo alone with me. In fact, he insisted. Especially when my little Jimi Hendrix felt bad about sending him on errands and insisted on getting it herself so he can relax.
A courtesy I happened to offer right before he showed up in exchange for another blow job.
Carlo’s eyes nearly bursted out of his head as he went off on some rant in Italian, making Hendrix annoyed enough to speak some words of her own.
It was hot as fuck listening to her, especially since so many words involved rolling her tongue—and now that I know she speaks a little, better believe I’ll have her moaning all the dirty words.
Getting back to the point…
From what English I gathered, it sounded imperative that she doesn’t go on her own. Now don’t get me wrong, any decent guy with half a brain wouldn’t expect a girl to go alone at night to pick up some food, but the urgency in his tone made it clear that, like me, chivalry had nothing to do with it.
And I made it my mission to find out why.
“Damn, I’m stuffed.” Hendrix blows out a breath, sliding her container of Sesame Chicken farther away on the table.
I snatch that shit up in seconds.
“Haven’t you had enough?” She eyes my third empty plate once made up of Mongolian Beef.
Chicken and Broccoli.
Pork fried rice.
Oh, and two egg rolls.
“Burned a lot of calories today, Jimi.” I toss a piece of chicken in my mouth. “Mostly on you.”
“Fair point.”
Chugging a Coke, I punch my chest to burp, ignoring the twist of disgust on Hendrix’s face.
“Let me ask you something…” I lean back in the chair, watching as she takes a much more civilized sip of her Pepsi. “Any idea why your mother chose the Italian asshole outside my door to follow you around?”
She looks at me like I’ve got four dicks on my head.
“Uh, pretty sure it’s your dad who told her to hire him.”
“Cap.” I burp again. “He don’t fuck with mafioso.”
Her entire body stills. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Don’t play stupid, Jimi. I know your dad was a fall guy.”
Panic comes through in the form of anger. “Where did you hear that?”
“From you.”
“The fuck you did.”
“Well, technically I heard you telling Good Guy Archer.”
She shakes her head. “Nope, never said that.”
“You’re right. Drunk Jimi did.”
Hendrix looks around, hands rubbing her thighs as she shakes her head. “You’re wrong. It’s not true. None of it is.”
“Why’re you freaking out? It’s not like any of our dads got squeaky clean back stories.”
So what if hers took the fall for a hit?
Wouldn’t be the first time a soldier did.
“My father took off, didn’t wanna deal with the hassle.”
“It almost sounds like you actually believe that shit.”
“He is not part of the mob, okay?! And Carlo’s just a bodyguard my mother must’ve hired because she knew I’d never trust one of your dad’s.”
Leaning forward, I slam my hands on the table. “Then why’d I catch him outside with two Salvini motherfuckers?”
The pictures I took earlier? They gave me enough information to confirm the two guys from the lot are part of the largest crime syndicate on the east coast.
All the blood drains from Hendrix’s face.
Whether it’s because she got caught or just found out is yet to be determined.
“He was a nobody.”
“Perhaps. But something’s fishy. I don’t like it.”
“I’m not gonna let you turn this shit around on me. What my father did was eighteen years ago.”
“Wasn’t planning on it. Bad shit’s going down and I’m just looking for some answers.”
“Guess that’s one thing we share in common.”
“Well, don’t bother trying to get any from your mom. He won’t tell her much. If anything at all.”
She gulps. “Could I really be in danger?”
“Uh, yeah, Jimi.” I cross my arms. “My father’s a God fearing man but the people he works with aren’t. Especially two out of the four Royal families. So, if he’s got his guard up, you better believe it’s for a fucking reason.”
Knocking at the door makes her jump, killing the conversation, but not as much as the voice behind it.
“Yo, yo!” Riggs hollers. “You dead yet, Lavell?”
Hendrix looks down at the T-Shirt and underwear she put on after we showered.
“Shit.” She bolts off the chair when the door flies open, no doubt because the Italian outside refused to keep it locked.
Giving him a spare key is another axe I’ll be grinding into my father’s head.
Hendrix barely makes it into the bathroom when Riggs appears, eyes bloodshot and dilated, wearing a pair of jeans and a black button down.
“Sup, Homie?” He gives me a pound and clap on the back. “Guess you’re still standing.” Looking around, he adds, “What about Hendrix? She still walking?”
My hands fist his shirt, hissing, “She’s in the bathroom…and watch your fucking mouth.”
He wags his eyebrows. “Like you were watching hers around your cock?”
If it was any other day, time, situation with Hendrix in the past two months, I wouldn’t be considering gouging Riggs’ eyeballs out and feeding them to the Italian.
In fact, my loathing for her would probably have me going through play by play with him. But something between us shifted today, and I’m not talking about sex, making it a lot harder to want to hate her and a lot easier to want to protect her.
I lift Riggs by his shirt, leaving him to stand on the balls of his feet.
“Fine, fine,” he whispers, and I drop him. “But it ain’t like you guys left much to the imagination in the locker room earlier.”
“Who else heard?”
Straightening his shirt, he responds, “Eh just me and Levi. Most of the guys were already gone. Whoever wasn’t we tossed out on their asses with a warning.”
Good.
Because I’ve got a long list of ways to make sure whoever those fuckers are will adhere to it.
I punch him in the arm and he staggers back. “Fuck you for listening.”
“Are you kidding me? That shit was way too hot not to, man. Plus, Levi was too.”
“I’ll get to him.”
“Rumor has it he’s still taking a cold shower.”
The doorknob to the bathroom twists open, and Hendrix reappears in my ball shorts she must’ve gotten from the hamper.
“Riggs.” She nods, and he salutes her as she journeys to the closet, disappearing inside.
He leans into my ear. “Guess you lost your touch. Girl’s walking just fine.”
I punch Riggs again, then knock his dumb ass on the floor.
Hendrix darts her head out, eyeing him. “Do I even wanna know?”
I tsk, and she rolls her eyes, going back inside the closet.
“Shit, that hurt.” Riggs rubs the side of his ass just as there’s a knock on the door and it opens again.
Levi treads inside dressed similar to his cousin, who he kicks in the thigh.
“What was that for, you dick?” Riggs lunges for Levi, but he’s sober and fast.
“You being the worst fucking wingman as usual.”
Why am I not surprised?
“Hey, Leviathan.” Hendrix appears once again, striding over to him dressed in new clothes not made for post-fucking.
She steps over Riggs, ignoring the hand he’s got raised for her to help, then reaches on her toes to kiss Levi’s cheek. “Boy look at you smellin’ all good and shit. You just get out of the shower?”
Riggs snorts, and it takes everything in me not to kick him in the face.
Unlike the idiot on the floor, Levi’s got enough sense not to draw attention to what he heard in the locker room.
“You know me…fresh to death. Where you headed?”
“Good question,” I mutter under my breath, eyeing her leggings and the tank top spilling with cleavage.
“Gonna head out for a bit.”
I catch myself before demanding Hendrix to stay right where the fuck she is. Not only to risk not fucking her again, but because I know the two extra bodies in the room love watching me tick for this girl.
The worst of them finally making it to his feet.
There’s another knock at the door, but this time whoever’s on the other side waits to be let in.
Hendrix takes it upon herself to do just that.
“Hey, Arch,” she chirps, ushering him inside, then leaves the door wide open for any other street cat to join the party.
Archer follows behind her, but not without extreme caution in his steps.
I’d assume it’s because he heard about Hendrix and me, but the stone wall taking over Riggs’ face when Archer approaches settles the debate.
Oh…this shit’s got to be good.
Well, bad, if Archer’s presence alone is enough to sober and shut the asshole up.
“I’m, uh,” Hendrix hikes a thumb over her shoulder, “just gonna grab my bag.”
“Where the fuck you think you’re going?” I spit as she retrieves it.
Yeah, yeah. I’m an inconsistent dick. Whatever.
She stabs me with her eyes. “Come again?”
“It’s late.”
“I’m a big girl.”
Levi balances on the balls of his feet, Archer stares at the ceiling, and of course Riggs shakes the awkward tension with a twist of his favorite necklace.
And to think…I was about to bask in a Saint-Hendrix drama free moment. Can’t bask in much if I cuff and gag her to the bed.
“ Signorina , sei pronta ?” The Italian pain in my ballsack stands in the doorway, in need of a crash course on how to stop pissing me the fuck off.
Hendrix answers her Italian in Italian for the satisfaction of knowing I won’t understand.
“Damn, Hen.” Levi rears his head back. “You speak Italian?”
She shrugs. “I can hold conversations.”
Riggs snorts whatever Riggs snorts from his tiny spoon and throws his head back. “Shit’s pretty, hot, baby. Not gonna lie.”
I snatch Hendrix’s wrist to haul her into me, and this time when I speak, it’s with just an uneasy expression.
Trying to remind her of our current predicament: with her mysterious Italian, my dad, and whoever else might be holding a grudge.
She blinks at the guys, then back at me, mumbling, “I’m just gonna hang in Archer’s room.”
The muscles in my face stay clenched.
“We’re only a few floors down, Saint, and Carlo will be in the hall.”
“Exactly.”
She looks over at the guy observing our every move, then at me. “You’re acting paranoid.”
“Am I?” I whisper.
“Yes, you are,” she whispers back.
Consider me bored of playing nice.
“You’re staying with me here. End of fucking story.”
“I’m leaving with Archer. End of fucking story. Now let go of me.”
Hendrix takes my silence as surrender, but what I’m really trying to do is avoid murder and another four week sentence.
Which is about to get a lot harder with her Italian mean mugging as he closes in on us.
“ Get-eh your hands off her. ”
“Oh, so now you wanna speak English?”
He steps to me and in seconds I’ve got Hendrix shielded behind me, Levi and Riggs at my side.
Fire burns in my lungs, growing hotter with every puff of my chest. “I’m gonna give you one chance to turn the fuck around and get out with your spleen still intact. Got it?”
He spits some more shit I can’t understand, but I make sure he chokes on the words I say next.
“I hold a short fuse and long grudge, motherfucker. So I suggest you don’t test me.”
Archer, along with Hendrix, mouth off their usual pleas for me to not do anything reckless, but the clouds are already rolling in.
Crack .
I hold my breath until I’m lightheaded.
Crack.
Pressure crushes my chest, about to rip through the surface when Hendrix’s hand grips my mine, her thumb running in circles over my palm.
The nature of her touch may be gentle, but it’s powerful enough to ground me and allow oxygen to once again hit my lungs.
I drag my gaze behind me, finding those mesmerizing green irises sparkling with determination.
Telling me to focus.
On her.
Her circling thumb.
My breathing.
Until naturally they’re syncing together.
Hendrix releases a shaky breath, and a strange feeling comes alive deep in my chest. A mix of something carnal, but not in the ways I’ve grown used to with her.
It has me mouthing a genuine thank you for the first time in a long time to someone other than my sister and father.
After a small nod from Hendrix, I turn to face the Italian.
Who must’ve felt the danger lurking, because he’s got a hand inside his jacket.
“I’d think twice before doing that,” I warn right before Levi’s got a gun pointed at him over my shoulder, cocking it.
“What in the actual fuck , Levi?” Hendrix bursts. “Why are you packing?”
She should already know the answer to that.
It’s similar to why Carlo’s here and about to get his head blown off.
What’s done to one, is done to all.
The Royal Heathens code of loyalty.
Carlo pulls his hand out slowly, jaw tight, chin lifted.
A smart move on his part.
Other than one more trip to Holy Trinity, the last thing I’m willing to do is knuckle under to a guy responsible for Hendrix’s safety who isn’t who he says he is.
The Italian’s got secrets—and I want to know exactly what they have to do with her.
“Atta boy.” I step to him and grin when the fifty-something year old tough guy has to look up to meet my eyes. “Now get the fuck out, call my father, and let him know you won’t be going anywhere near Hendrix until I know who the fuck you really are.”
A declaration like this may put my deplorable ass on a noble pedestal, but I’ll kill or get killed on it with zero regrets if I have to.
Because what my little Jimi did for me seconds ago is not something that can be paid for with a bullshit thank you.
Or even a ceasefire.
It deserves a second code of loyalty—dedicated solely to her.