Chapter 10 Bellamy #2
The exchange is so tight it barely feels like conversation. And it feels like there are three different conversations happening at the same time.
Cruz shifts, one finger tapping silently against his thigh. “After all this time, you still don’t trust my judgment?”
Portia’s teeth flash, her smile tight as a garrote. “Trust isn’t the issue, Cruz.” Her gaze slides to me, lingering on the pulse point at my throat. “Judgment is.”
My fingers curl against my palm, nails biting half-moons into skin as something hot and sharp rises in my chest.
Cruz lets the insult slide, which is more than I would do. But I’m starting to see that Cruz’s dynamic with this fence is largely different than any of mine. “Ten percent.”
She whistles under her breath, a sharp smile tilting up her perfectly painted lips. “A desperate Cruz Calloway? Consider me shocked.”
“I’ve never been the one counting the days between our meetings, Portia.” His voice drops, smooth as aged whiskey.
Her gaze hardens before it narrows, sweeping over him in a deliberate way. “Always Mommy’s good little soldier, aren’t you? Following her rules and never mixing business and pleasure.” Portia looks at me. “Tell me, silent girl, which are you: business or pleasure?”
Something twists in my stomach, sharp and acidic. My fingernails dig deeper into my palms as I watch her eyes linger on Cruz’s mouth, her tongue darting out to wet her bottom lip. The muscles in my jaw ache from clenching.
“Both.”
Portia’s nostrils flare slightly. The corners of her mouth tighten, pulling her perfect lipstick into a thin crimson line. Her fingers curl against the desk’s surface, knuckles whitening for just a moment before she recovers.
It’s not exactly true, but I’d say it again just to see the look on her face.
“Perhaps we should discuss it further over dinner tonight?” Cruz recovers smoothly.
Portia’s mouth curls at the corners, her teeth catching the light as she leans forward. “I guess you’re ready to leave Mommy’s nest after all, hm?” She taps her calendar with one plum-colored nail. “I’m afraid I already have a dinner date tonight.”
“Tomorrow night then,” he counters without hesitation.
My gaze volleys between them as something dark unfurls underneath my breastbone. My fingernails dig into my palms, and the copper taste floods my mouth again.
“I’ll have my assistant reach out and set it up.” Portia’s gaze never leaves his face.
“Appreciate your time.” Cruz pushes to his feet, chair legs scraping softly against the floor.
“Oh and Cruz?” She trails a finger across her collarbone.
“Given the nature of the hypothetical situation, I think it’s best if this is a private date.
As I’m sure you know, I don’t play well with others.
” Her gaze slithers to mine, making sure I understand her meaning.
She folds her arms, the movement pushing her breasts higher against the silk of her blouse.
The sunlight catches on her diamond bracelet, sending prisms dancing across the ceiling.
She didn’t need to try so hard. I understood what she was after ten minutes ago. I didn’t like it then, and I sure as hell don’t like it now.
“Noted,” Cruz murmurs, flashing white teeth in a smile that doesn’t touch his eyes as we turn to leave.
The hallway swallows our footsteps, expensive runner rugs muting each step as we leave. By the time we pass back through the vestibule and out onto the sidewalk, there’s an ugly sort of festering happening in my gut, and I can’t get it to dissipate, no matter how many deep breaths I take.
Everything outside feels louder, rougher, less controlled, but none of it settles what’s moving inside my chest.
Half a block passes beneath my feet before the words claw their way up my throat. “That’s how your mom wants you to work with her fence? By—”
“By what, Bells?” Cruz’s voice cuts across mine. His lips pull back in that same practiced smile—all perfect teeth and zero warmth. The dimple that usually appears in his left cheek stays hidden.
I fix my gaze on a security camera swiveling above a boarded storefront, counting the seconds between each mechanical rotation rather than meeting his eyes.
The words tear out of me before I can stop them. “By agreeing to fuck her?”
He exhales something that’s not quite a laugh, his eyes darkening as he glances at a security camera above us. Without a word, he turns down a recessed strip of shade between buildings, moving with the casual confidence of someone who’s mapped every blind spot in this city.
I follow him. By the time my brain catches up with my feet, we’re tucked into shadows, hidden from both the camera’s eye and any possible passing traffic.
Cruz pivots. Two steps and suddenly my back hits brick.
His palm slams against the wall beside my ear, the impact vibrating through stone.
His other hand braces lower, creating a cage of muscle and heat that doesn’t quite touch me but leaves just enough space that I could duck under his arm if I wanted to.
I don’t move.
“That’s what you think I was doing?” His voice drops an octave.
I plant my feet wider, chin lifting. I’m not afraid of going head-to-head with the oldest Calloway, and I’m sure as hell not afraid of the youngest.
“From my silent perspective—” I drag the word out, letting poison drip from each syllable. My finger taps my bottom lip as I roll my eyes toward the sliver of sky above us. “Oh wait, I meant, from my side piece perspective.”
His mouth curves at one corner, there and gone like a card trick. He shifts forward, the heat of him brushing against me— not pressing, not trapping— but my lungs stutter anyway, air catching somewhere between my throat and chest.
“Make up your mind, Bells.” The words vibrate low, his lips hovering just beside my jaw, close enough that I feel each syllable against my skin. “You’re either mad that she called you my side piece. Or you’re jealous that I agreed to dinner with a woman who wants me to fuck her.”
“I am not jealous.” My voice comes out too high, too fast. My pulse hammers in my throat, a traitorous drumbeat I’m certain he can see.
What the fuck? Am I… actually jealous? I shake my head once. No, of course not. That would be insane behavior, considering I’m definitely doing something with not one but two of his brothers.
And yet, the idea of that gorgeous woman with her hands all over Cruz makes me want to commit some serious felonies.
His breath slides warm against the side of my neck, and when he speaks again, the words land closer, deeper, carrying more weight than they should.
His exhale ghosts warm across the sensitive hollow beneath my ear, sending a current down my spine that makes my fingers twitch against my thigh. When he speaks again, his voice slides under my skin like a blade between ribs.
“I had to watch you with my brother for years.” His mouth hovers so close I feel the words more than hear them. “And you can’t handle five minutes? C’mon, Bells, I know you can take it.”
The lines blur and I forget what we’re talking about for a minute. I exhale a slow breath and grab hold of my indignation with two hands. It’s easier to wrangle than the emerald green swirl of emotion slowly eating away at my intestines.
“So what’s your brilliant plan?” I push into his space further. “Fuck the fence and hope she suddenly agrees to the deal? What, does your dick grant wishes now?” The laugh that tears from my throat sounds like broken glass.
“Yeah, baby girl, it does.” His mouth curves, one dimple appearing as he watches me squirm.
I push off the wall, closing the distance between us. My chin tilts up, eyes narrowing. “Baby girl? I’m literally older than you.”
He dips his head to ghost his lips along the sensitive skin just below my ear. “Yeah, and?”
The heat of it travels through me in a way that feels deeply unhelpful and far too immediate. This isn’t supposed to feel like a challenge my body answers before my head does.
My fingers find his wrist without permission from my brain, tracing the ridge where veins disappear beneath skin. My neck tilts sideways, exposing more territory. He hums against that spot on my neck, like he’s pleased by the access I’ve granted him.
“Don’t fuck her, Cruz.” The words escape like steam between barely parted lips.
The air between us crystallizes. One heartbeat. Two. Then he steps back, breaking contact first, the corner of his mouth lifting in that half-smile that makes my teeth clench.
“Come on,” he says, as if his voice hasn’t just altered the chemistry of the air between us. “We’ve got other doors to knock on.”
He turns and walks away while I’m still frozen against brick, counting rapid pulses at my throat. My shoulder blade throbs where it pressed against the wall. I peel myself away, rolling tension from my shoulders, and follow him into the sunlight.