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Tommy Marchetti had been dealt with.
The same last name as the fmc, messyyyy
Just once, I wished someone else would make a goddamn decision so I didn’t have to think so fucking much all the time.
This spring had passed in a blur, kicked off by an accidental homicide that my idiot cousin, Aly, and her boyfriend committed.
was glad he was gone, because it freed up one of the last hurdles standing between me and his daughter. Lauren Marchetti.
Just me, but I think a girl doesn’t take too kindly when she finds out you killed her dad. Just a thought
I’d spent nearly a decade keeping my distance from Lauren, and god help anyone who tried to get between us this time.
Lauren was so determined to secure rights for sex workers because she was one herself. And I was her number one fan. Just beneath her creator profile was a small button that allowed you to request a custom video from her. I tapped it and then sent my latest request, along with a message. Good job with Blackwell today. I’m proud of you. Now show me how proud you are of yourself, Lauren.
I’d learned all her sounds, studied the way she made herself climax. It might have seemed obsessive, but it wasn’t; it was strategic. One day, I would use everything I’d learned against her, make her come faster than anyone else had, convince her that my hands and my tongue and my dick were made to get her off. I wanted her to crave me, need me. Was it manipulative? All kinds of messed up? Absolutely. I didn’t give a single, solitary fuck.
Oh, so she wasn’t afraid; she was pissed. It was good to know what I was working with. I’d rather have her angry at me than afraid. Coming back from fear was difficult. But rage? Rage could turn into desire if you knew what you were doing, and I liked my odds.
If hell had orgies, his cologne was what they smelled like: dark, smoky, with a seductive hint of spiced musk and the subtle tang of sadism.
“Yeah, well, karma’s a bitch,” I said. “He got in a car accident not long after and wound up in the hospital with more broken bones than you could count.”
and we KNOW this was Junior obviously
Nowadays, I lived by that Maya Angelou quote: “When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time.” It had become my mantra because I had learned the hard way that if you give people second chances, they’ll only use them to hurt you more.
“Maybe,” I said. “But even now, after everything, it’s still hard to believe she hid a drug operation that large from me. Everyone else was shocked, too.”
oh we definitely know it was Junior
What was it about a guy kitted out in motorcycle gear that was such a turn-on? Was it the badass stereotype? The fact that so many bikers had been depicted as rebels without a cause in film and TV? Or was it the anonymity of the helmet? Anyone could be underneath that thing, and I’d always had a bit of a mask kink.
If only Alec knew how far our father had been willing to go back then, how far her father had been ready to go right along with him. They’d been gearing up for some Romeo and Juliet–style shit, and I’d done what I had to do to stop them.
“Yeah, you do,” he said. “You owe that woman the fucking world. You owe that woman the favor of all favors. If you want a second chance with her, you better be willing to do whatever it takes to gain her forgiveness.”
Maybe that was why I was so obsessed. Being with Lauren was the last time I’d let myself feel anything other than dead inside, and part of me wanted to remember what it was like to be alive.
I’d always preferred the thrill of the chase over the easy kill, metaphorically speaking. Mostly.
It spoke of possession, obsession, and there was nothing hotter to me than someone who was so unselfconsciously infatuated with their partner.
“Run, Lauren,” I said, unable to stop myself. “Make it good for both of us.”
Taking a deep breath, I turned her back around to face the wall, whispering into her ear, “Only for you, Lo.” And then I dropped to my knees.
She’d sensed my inner turmoil and asked questions, but most of them revolved around if I was okay, more worried about my well-being than what I had done. Fuck, I didn’t deserve her.
“That’s me, a real gentleman. Grab her hand in the streets and her hair in the sheets.”
I followed his gaze and caught her admiring the rock on her finger, a smile on her face that told anyone who saw it just how happy she was, how content. She glanced up, saw Josh, and smiled even wider, and he let out a low whuff of breath that made it sound like someone had gut-punched him. I decided in that moment that if my father ever tried to tear them apart, it would be open war between us.
“Move, Lauren. I won’t say it again.”
“I can fucking feel myself dying, feel pieces of my soul withering up every time I get a phone call. At this rate, I’ll either be dead or incarcerated or beyond all hope within a year or two, and I don’t want that to happen. I don’t want to become my father.”
I’d spent my whole life waiting for people to hurt me.
I’d convinced myself that if someone hurt you once, they’d do it again and again. So I’d stopped letting them, looking for any excuse to push people away the second things started to get real or messy or hard.
