48. You want it, It’s Yours
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
YOU WANT IT, IT’S YOURS
LUNA
“Bait?” Rhys gritted out. “You used yourself as bait?” He turned his anger toward my brother. “You let her use herself as bait?”
“Hey, no one lets me do anything,” I snapped, despite my self-promise to let him vent. I just really couldn’t stand when people talked about me like I wasn’t there.
“You’re right. I won’t let you do anything. I won’t let you out of my sight. I won’t let you sit for a week. And I won’t let you come for a fuckin’ month.”
Grayson put his hands to his ears and walked from the office while he muttered, “And I will let myself out because I don’t need to hear this.”
At the same time, I held my hands up toward Rhys. “Whoa. Let’s not be hasty.”
He closed the distance and cupped my face, his fingertips digging into the back of my head. “I’m so pissed. And proud. And scared. And proud. And terrified.” His lids closed, and he lowered his forehead to rest against mine. “And so proud, baby.”
“I was okay. I was safe.” I reached up to grip his wrists. Not because I wanted him to release me, but because I needed the reassurance he was okay, too. He was warm and alive and breathing. “I promised, right?”
When I realized what was happening on my ride over to the abandoned building, I didn’t call dispatch for backup. I didn’t know if others were involved. Even right then, I still didn’t know. That was a job for IAB, external reviews, and whatever other lengthy methods they took to clear everyone.
And they would. It was too public for them to brush under the rug, and I wouldn’t let them if they tried.
Instead, I’d called my brother. His team made quick work of the gunmen they’d found lying in wait before stealing their perfect location.
When Grayson shared that the Molotov cocktails and the gunmen were straggler members of Nash’s old team and not anyone associated with the Irish, it’d been clear that Butler was planning to let them take the fall for everything.
After all, with them out of the way, his thorough takeover would be complete.
And unlike Nash, he had no interest in employing cheap labor with zero loyalty.
We already had a lot, but nothing that nailed the captain or Butler. Cap could’ve claimed it was a trap for him, too. That was why I’d gone in. I hadn’t expected much. Life wasn’t a drama that involved a villain soliloquy.
But there was always an exception to that rule, and the guilt-riddled captain didn’t have the same sense to take a second to calm down. He’d let his emotions rule.
“Are you okay?” I asked Rhys since I’d already assured him a million times that I was fine.
“I’ll be better once the what-ifs stop ricocheting through my damn head, but I’m okay. Just…” He shook his head. “All this shit and drama from a prick I’ve never said a word to. How fucked is that?”
It was fucked. Very fucked. It was also how Butler had managed to make so much progress in his nefarious plot.
Unlike Nash, he hadn’t been stupid. He’d surrounded himself with loyal lemmings as a mobster and a legit businessman.
He hadn’t flaunted his women, guns, drugs, and power.
He hadn’t dangled them in a flashy invite for someone to steal—which was likely how Nash had landed on Butler’s radar to begin with.
He’d protected himself by staying removed and watching from the intricate shadows he’d created.
It was why the manager at NashVille had no clue where orders were coming from. Hell, he wasn’t even head of the super PAC that he used like marionettes to do his bidding. He was just on the board.
In my experience, it was going to be hard for anyone to prove Butler and his super PAC front were even involved.
If Captain Talbot didn’t have something beyond his word—a word that no longer carried any weight—there was the strong possibility Butler might walk free.
It could all fall on Talbot and the Nash leftovers.
Not that I was sharing that with Rhys. It was a bridge future-me would Molotov cocktail when I came to it.
Instead, I declared, “I need a drink.”
Rhys’s mouth tipped. “You finally ready for that pina colada?”
“With extra rum. Like, more rum than mix. A fuck-me-up amount of rum.”
“You want it, it’s yours.” Rhys kept a tight hold on my hand as we walked into the hall to find Judge and Grayson talking to two other men in suits. Nice suits, too. They looked like they cost more than my real car, my loaner car, and a month’s rent on my apartment.
Rhys tugged my hand to pull me back until I was close enough for him to loop an arm around my waist with his muscular body behind mine.
A possessive hand splayed across my stomach, just under my breasts.
“You’re already gonna pay for using yourself as bait.
Wipe the drool from your chin before your tab gets worse. ”
“The only wetness I have is for you,” I said honestly.
An indulgent grin joined the fire in his gaze. “You’re good at saving your ass, hellcat.”
Both men were attractive, there was no denying that. But it wasn’t their good looks that drew my focus. “I’m trying to figure out why the one on the left looks familiar.” Taking in the way that Grayson spoke to them, I surmised, “They must be agents.”
If that’s the case, why is Judge also all buddy-buddy with them?
“Not unless the Feds are employing mob bosses,” Rhys whispered back.
I turned my wide eyes to him. “What?”
“I’m guessing that’s the MayCo client Judge was telling me about. And since he said—”
I reached up and covered his mouth. “You know what? I don’t want to know.”
I really didn’t. If MayCo worked with them, that meant they weren’t bad guys.
Or not the baddest guys, at least. The fact I’d never heard a peep about them showed they weren’t pulling the same careless antics with unrestrained violence Butler was using.
If that changed, I would care. But right then?
Meeting a possible mob boss wasn’t even in my top five notable occurrences of the night.
With a smile I felt under my palm, Rhys dislodged the covering and shifted his hold to an equally possessive one around my waist before we continued down the hall to meet the group.
Both men shook my hand first as the familiar-looking one said, “Theo Amato. This is Luca.”
That’s it.
Mr. Amato was an influential power player in Boston. His business, Amaric, was built on taking over struggling companies and turning them around. Beyond that, he and his wife donated a considerable amount of money and resources to various organizations around the city.
With everything he did for foster cares, community centers, and shelters in the area, it was a good thing that I’d already decided I didn’t want to know more beyond that.
Especially since I knew in my detective gut that I would never find a shred of evidence or an ADA willing to charge Theo Amato with so much as an unpaid parking ticket.
He gave his focus to Rhys. “I’m sorry my offer of protection came too late. Was anyone hurt?”
“One of my cooks got some burns, but he’ll be okay,” Rhys said.
“Give him my contact info. I’d like to help.” He gestured to the scorch marks on the floor. “Here, too.”
My eyes narrowed, and my plan to bury my head in the sand shot out the window. An offer like that implied guilt. “Why?”
I didn’t think I would get an answer, but Theo’s lips curved into a small smile.
Friendly, but with an edge. “Because I allowed word to get out that I knew what those testa di cazzos were up to with the properties in areas where they don’t belong.
I knew it would make them rash, but I didn’t know they would take such impulsive, stupid action. ”
“Were you the one who started the fire at NashVille?” I asked, not wanting the answer but needing it anyway. Since people had died, I wouldn’t be able to look the other way.
He shook his head. “That was their own internal cleanup.”
I deflated again. “Okay.”
His smile grew. “Okay.”
“We’ll also assist in gathering evidence that will tie Butler and the rest of his cronies to the Irish,” Luca tossed in with his focus locked on me.
Expectant eyes went to me, including from my own brother. I knew what they were waiting for. They thought I would tell them to back off. To let the police handle it.
But I remained silent.
I didn’t have high expectations for what the department was capable of handling right then.
It was another motley crew, but we stood around and talked for a bit longer before everyone dispersed. Theo and Luca would be positioning extra security near Rye, Wicked, and a few other places in case something went awry.
I doubted it would.
My assumption that Judge had been the only link that tied the two men to us was wrong. Both men shook our hands, but when Theo reached my brother, he grinned. “Thanks again, Gray.”
Grayson gave him a flicked salute. “Always a pleasure. Let’s not do this again soon.”
“Come by for dinner before you take off. Dahlia and the kids would love it.”
“I will.”
I waited until Theo and Luca were out of earshot and nearly to the door before asking, “You know him?”
“Yup,” Grayson said.
“So you know he’s—”
“Yup.”
“And you tipped him—”
“Yup.” He looked at me. “Not everything is black and white.” He gave a pointed glance toward Judge and then a somehow more pointed one at Rhys. “But you already know that.”
I did. I really did.
“Speaking of…” At the change in my brother’s tone and body language, I braced. I probably didn’t brace enough for the bombshell he dropped when he said, “I lied the other night.”
“About?”
Because if he says he’s actually going to investigate everybody after all, I will purple his nurples so bad, they’ll never recover. They’ll fall off from blood loss.
“Nash.”
At his one word, it wasn’t just me who braced. Rhys went rigid beside me, but Judge was basically a statue.
“What do you mean?” the biker asked, his tone eerily calm.
“He’s not dead. Once he found himself completely cut out of his own organization, he knew it was a matter of time before he did end up in pieces spread across the country. He’s the one who tipped us off about the filament shipments.”
“That fucker is still alive and breathing?”
“Breathing? Yes. Alive? Only to work everyone’s last nerve.
He’s less than pleased about his relocation.
Apparently, working overnights at a convenience store and living in a studio apartment isn’t the grandeur he’d expected when he flipped on the Irish.
Not that he’d offered much. By the time he knew what was happening, his throne of garbage had already been usurped, and he had no current info to offer beyond the filament. ”
“That’s fuckin’ karma if I’ve ever heard it,” Judge said.
“After being such a scumbag, I would think he’d enjoy the simple life in West Virginia. Close to the Mothman Museum and everything.” Grayson shrugged as he shoved his hands in his pockets. “Anyway, I should head out.”
“Same,” Judge muttered distractedly. That was as much of a goodbye as we got before he hustled from the room, pulling his phone out as he went.
I stood in stunned silence that my brother pretended not to notice when he pulled me into an awkward sibling hug. He shook Rhys’s hand and walked out while whistling a jaunty tune that said he knew exactly what he’d just done, and he wouldn’t lose a second’s sleep over it.
“I’m going to pretend none of that happened,” I told Rhys once it was just the two of us.
“Probably for the best, hellcat.”
I assumed we would be leaving, too. I was exhausted. Wired. Sore. More exhausted. And completely overwhelmed.
We didn’t head for the door, though.
Rhys prodded me forward until we were at the bar. I reached for a stool, but my fingers barely grazed it as he continued moving me until we were behind it.
“Is this another training session, barman?” I asked. “Because I’m pretty sure I’ve already proved I’m a kickass bartender. I can even whip up a Rusty Nail if you want.”
He didn’t respond as he released me and went to the blender. He dumped in the ingredients—including my fuck-me-up amount of rum—before pouring the pina colada into the glass. After adding fruit on a dagger and three paper umbrellas, he set the drink out of reach.
So close.
Yet so far.
He returned to me, pushing in close so I could feel the physical evidence of his arousal that matched the blatant lust in his blue-green eyes. “What I want is the same thing I’ve wanted since the first time I saw you.”
“Which is?” I breathed.
“To plant your ass on my bar, bury my head between your soft thighs, and not come up until your juices are coating my face and your taste is tattooed on my tongue.”
“But health codes,” I tried feebly.
“Are meant to be broken.”
“That’s rules.”
“Either way.” He lifted me onto the bar and started undoing my pants while he kissed me with desperation. With love. With desire. With pride.
With everything.
And I gave just as good as I got, putting my everything into the kiss as I shimmied and adjusted so he could pull the bundled denim off.
He reached over to the side and grabbed my glass, handing it over.
I took a sip.
Heaven.
Totally worth the wait.
And I’m not just talking about the beverage.
“Drink up, hellcat. You’re gonna need the hydration.” That was the only warning I got before he dipped to eat me with the same frantic desperation.
No longer thirsty—at least not that kind—I set the glass down so I could grip his hair and hold him to me.
Something thunked, and it took me a second to realize he’d kicked the bar.
“Watch your old man knees,” I teased.
He turned his head to bite my thigh. “You’re gonna pay for that.”
“Add it to my tab, barman.”