Nicky the Driver (Underboss Insurrection, #2)

by Cate C. Wells

“This is Zita,” I say, gesturing behind me. I don’t turn to look at her. I don’t want to see her face.

maybe I should feel ashamed. When I was younger, I would have been. I would have died before I let Zita in here. But Zita is the reason I got out of here.

Later, the things I did to get out of this place, none of that can touch me either. Some men have hearts. Souls. Walls. I have Zita Graziano.

I’m not ashamed. I look at her, and something inside me chants “thank you” into the void like a hallelujah. I’m weightless. Superhuman.

Lucca Corso is insane, but he offered me a better job. And he gave me Zita.

He also thinks he can threaten her, make her worry about Mattie. That’s not gonna work.

“Maybe not,” I say. “But I could be. We could be. You make me okay. I make you okay.”

She doesn’t look my way, but she knows I’m watching her. She must.

“I got in because it was the only way to get what I wanted.” “How do you know? That it was the only way?” My lungs tense. Does she understand what I’m saying? Are we talking about the same thing? We can’t be. Right?

Zita hasn’t figured out yet that she can ask for whatever she wants. Maybe she never will. Maybe she won’t ever realize that there’s no such thing as “men like me.” There are men like her father. Renelli. Lucca. I’m not the same.

She’s my strength. If I hadn’t found her, my lungs would’ve taken on water years ago, but she saved me.

If it makes it easier for her to believe she’s doing this against her better sense, that’s fine.

I did this. I got her this far. In my bed. Ready for me.

When I earned Zita Graziano.

Even if she won’t come with me the rest of the way, I have her now.

Her cheeks darken. I remind myself to breathe.

“That’s right. Don’t try to hide from me.” I slap it again.

My woman. My cock throbs. I grind it into the mattress.

Shit. Is my mouth her first? My balls swell and ache, and that want that’s always inside me surges, razor sharp and unbearable.

She yawns and cuddles closer, throwing a leg over my thigh. A sense of well-being like I’ve never known floods me. It’s terrifying.

she’s kissing me back.

Nicky fucks like he’s lost his mind, and he’s trying to find it between my legs. He fucks like I’m hiding something that he’s desperate for.

He’s wanted me since junior high. He’s done unimaginable things to get me.

It’s not like it’s a great compliment to be the obsession of a cold-blooded killer, but it sure as shit is mind-blowing.

I’ve been fucking my stalker who’s forcing me to marry him. I am crazy.

There’s a light in his dark eyes. Anticipation.

He eats like he’s not sure where his next meal’s coming from. Oh. Yeah. I get why he does.

He looks as blissed out as he does when he’s inside me. I reach up to graze his cheek with my fingertips—I’m not sure why.

“I’ll always give you what you want,” he says, breathless in my ear, his weight covering me. “Just ask. Always.”

“I don’t want you to kill anyone.” He folds his arms, hiking his chin. That’s a difference between the two of them. Mattie has never had any doubt as to what I’d do for him.

He strolls up the hill, and when he gets to the top, he sits on the edge of the fountain, back straight, shoulders squared. Like he’s braced for a fight. He looks lonely. He’s looking down at me.

“What was the deal? Posy for what?” I know, but I want to hear him say it. I want to see his face as he confesses. “If Posy lived, I got you.”

Paul is a good man, but I think Lucca Corso is right—Nicky is a weapon.

But you—” His eyelids drift shut and his lips curve. “You were so pretty. Your hair was curled in pig tails with these big loopy pink bows, and your fingernails and your toes matched. Just so damn pretty.”

The dancer turns, touches the ground and twerks, smiling over her shoulder at him. My own hands fist. His gaze drops to my sides. He notices. He’s mad. Hurt. Jealous. My stomach aches with the same feelings. His wonky jaw twitches. He’s miserable. He should come to me. I want him here. Away from her. Where he belongs. Even if it’s crazy. Even if I’m crazy.

Like a magnet, Nicky follows my fingers. I pop the button open. His head tilts ever so slightly. No one else would be able to tell. Only me. I’m the only one who knows him to the centimeter.

I feel like I could reach out and curl my fingers around it, reel him back to me, and I want to with everything I am, not because Lucca Corso threatened me, but because Nicky the driver isn’t his. Not the smallest bit of him belongs to anyone but me.

As I walk, I do up my buttons, like it’s nothing, like I’m not leading the most dangerous man in this city out of this club like the Pied Piper.

“We have to get the fuck out of here,” I say, holding his gaze, firm and sure, the way he’s always held my hand. “You, me, and Maddie.” Nicky doesn’t miss a beat. “Where do you want to go?” “Far away.” “Okay,” he says.

His crooked smile transforms his face, softening my own mouth, banishing the ache in my tight shoulders. I did it. I trusted myself. I leapt, and he was there. “You know I’d do anything for you,” he says.

“You smell like stripper.” He tightens his arms around me. “I’ll shower.” “I hate it.” “I won’t do it again.”

He shifts his focus to Nicky, his smile widening and somehow turning almost bitter. “You almost had it all, didn’t you? But men like us are always the architects of our own destruction, aren’t we? Wanting what we can never have.” Nicky’s face betrays nothing, but when he glances over at me, his eyes soften, and they speak. Go. Run. “Keys are in my pocket,” he says.

He keeps his cards close to the vest, but he can’t hide anything from me. Marissa’s right, I’m scared, but Nicky’s terrified.

He wasn’t dramatic about it or anything. He said, “I’m gonna find you one of those—” He snapped a few times while shoveling plantain in his mouth. “Those people. Who do the talking. And you’re gonna listen to them. Or I’m throwing that fucking thing in the ocean.”

“What if we went and you picked out your own ring?” “I like this one.” “The ring, you like,” he says. There’s a grumble to it. “Yeah.” “But not the man.” “The man’s growing on me.”