9. Maverick
9
Maverick
M otherfucker.
I gaped at the pictures Duane’s security detail sent me of Sophie practically skipping up the steps to another man’s apartment, her charming smile lighting up the night. I knew it the moment she stood there, her hand reaching to knock with a casual flourish that made my blood boil. Her detail called me immediately, just as I had requested, but that didn’t make the image of her being whisked away in another man’s arms plague my mind any less.
My gut twisted with a jealousy so consuming, it felt like fire burning through my veins. I kept imagining her with her dress half falling off and her knife pressed to my throat, kept feeling her teeth sinking into my bottom lip as we both fought this fucking desperate desire.
After a sleepless night of tossing and turning in my rumpled sheets, I made a decision. If Sophie wanted to play games, then so be it. She would soon learn that I was not a man to be trifled with. With a calculated coldness that surprised even me—because I never gave two shits about the women I involved myself with—I orchestrated for a bouquet of black dahlias to be delivered to her office with a note that read:
I hope he was worth it. -M
It was a subtle yet chilling reminder of the darkness lurking beneath the surface of our tangled involvement.
Sure, I could fuck her and move on, but at what cost? Her making an aggressive move to sweep the cartel out from under my family? Yeah, no fucking thanks.
I kept tabs on her through photo and video documentation. Which is how I could see her reaction to the flowers I sent.
When Sophie received the bouquet outside of her precinct, her expression shifted from confusion to realization before settling on a mix of defiance and horror. She knew who the black dahlias were from, that much was clear. And she also understood the silent threat embedded in those dark petals. But what she didn’t know was that this was only the beginning.
***
As the days passed, I observed Sophie’s every move with heightened vigilance. From the way she interacted with her colleagues to the routes she took home, nothing escaped my attention. It was an obsession fueled by a dangerous combination of desire and distrust. I knew I should walk away, cut all ties before things spiraled out of control. But every time I tried to convince myself to let her go, an image of her smile would flash in my mind.
One evening, I found myself detaching from important business matters so I could check my phone for any updates on her. It was when one of our distributors landed a punch that snapped me out of it. My gun was firing before I could so much as think Sophie’s name, and that was the awakening I needed.
Because now there was one thing I was absolutely certain of: my attraction to Sophie was out of hand. It was a distraction, and it was fucking with my head.
For having only met her a few times, I should be embarrassed, but really, I was borderline obsessed with chasing her.
It was too fucking dangerous. She could take everything from me, from my family.
I reminded myself of that often.
But then I’d remember that night in the club—how she’d called me sir and rolled her eyes, while all I could fucking think about was what a nice hand necklace would look like on her. Or how she’d blushed from her ears to her toes, and I pictured how her skin would turn that delicious color if I bent her over and spanked her ass. Or how her dark brown eyes were wide as the moon as she practically begged to be fucked.
Or her fucking tits . Jesus. That black heart piercing glinting in the light, hugging the peak of her nipple, was burned into my brain like a brand. I could still see it—her nipple tight and aching from the cold, the delicate metal catching the light like a sinful little invitation. It took everything in me to not drag it between my teeth and see just how far undone she could be.
No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get the image out of my head. Couldn’t stop thinking about how soft she’d feel, how good she’d taste, how fucking bad I wanted to put my mouth on her.
Frankly, my wrist was sore from the sheer number of times I’d had to jack myself off just to quell some of whatever the fuck this was.
Fuck. I wanted her bad.
I hadn’t even taken another woman to bed since she came into my life, and I was fucking suffering. But no one else turned me on the way she did.
It was why I had to cut everything off with her. No more near-stalking—even though I wasn’t a stalker, I swear, I was just curious about her intentions and that turned into lust-filled interactions—and certainly no more run-ins while out in public. It was clear she had no knowledge of the empire her father had left behind for her, and that meant I had no real reason for keeping a detail on her.
So I scaled that back, too. I only had one guy tail her every once in a while to make sure she was okay. Not that it was my place or anything, I hardly knew the woman, but some small part of me felt like we were kindred spirits.
It had been almost a month since I’d seen her. I hadn’t even requested new pictures, going as far as taking the ones down on my wall. Even though I gritted my teeth the whole fucking time.
I could admit, that night in the club scared the fuck out of me. What had possessed me to ask her to fucking kill Victor Chavez—a cop committing homicide, for Christ’s sake—made me reevaluate all the decisions I’d made when it came to her. I'd just made an excuse to see her and be close to her and find common ground with her.
There would be absolutely no more of that.
Nope.
So after weeks of being without her, I finally decided to set up a dinner date with Priscilla, a woman I had seen casually over the years. She knew we’d never be serious, but at least I could fuck the image of Sophie out of my head and get past whatever strange fog had clouded my mind the last couple of months.
“You look beautiful,” I said, then kissed Priscilla’s cheek before pulling her chair out for her.
“Looking good yourself, Mavy,” she cooed, blinking up at me. I fought a cringe, having forgotten she liked calling me that.
“How are you? It’s been a while.” I busied myself with the menu, feeling out of place.
Probably because I’d been laser-focused on one woman for more than two months, and now I was having to give my attention to someone who wasn’t her. Not gonna lie, it was a mild hit to my ego. I was always on my A-game, smooth-talking and letting the woman drive the conversation. But right now?
Priscilla giggled. “Yeah, it has, but it was nice hearing from you. We’ve always had fun together.”
Fun? I mean, the sex was always pretty vanilla, but it was nothing if not consistent. It pacified me. Would pacify me now, when I hadn’t had a release from something other than my own hand in way too fucking long.
My mind wandered. If I’d had a chance to have sex with Sophie? Now that— that would be fun.
Fucking forget about her, Maverick. It’s part of your plan.
And just as I was forcing a smile on my face to engage in a real conversation with Priscilla, a pair of black heels and tan legs appeared in my periphery.