Nicky the Driver (Underboss Insurrection, #2)

by Cate C. Wells

I drain the last of the root beer and put the bottle in the cup holder. “Women aren’t action figures, man. They don’t lose value ’cause someone got in their box.”

But from that moment on, it’s been Zita Graziano. That’s the answer. A shrink might be able to explain it, but I can’t. Some men have Jesus. God and country. A dream. Ambition. I have Zita.

I’m the guitar solo in “Freebird.” I keep going because I started, and now I can’t stop. I don’t have brakes.

The way he stares at me—it’s like he’s been missing me forever, and if he looks away, I might disappear, and he’ll never let that happen, not in a million years.

“She doesn’t believe it, but she is. She always has been. She’s a good thing in an ugly world, you know?”

“I’ve gotten us here, Zita,” he says. “I’ll get us the rest of the way.” I don’t know what he means, but it’s not a threat. More like a promise. A vow.

When I fucked her out of her head, she treated me like what I am—hers.

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.

“I’ll make you feel good,” I tell her. I’ll drive all the demons out of her mind. I’ll break her free, and I’ll build her a new life. I’m gonna see her laugh out loud. The little crease on the bridge of her nose is going to disappear forever.

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. Like I’m the holy grail, and he’s an infidel, so he doesn’t want to worship me, he wants to convert me, despoil me until I belong to him.