A Cruel Arrangement (Kings of New York, #2)

by Tijan

Jess Montell had been a parole officer when we met, and then she went legit, becoming an in-demand painter. But that one call set her on a different path, and she was now helping to run the West family Mafia business alongside her man, my best friend.

He was Mafia, for fuck’s sake. And cruel. And mean. And my body was weak. Weak, that was. Weak and pathetic.

He continued to study me, looking almost captivated, before he muttered something under his breath and moved away.

I drew back. “No way. I don’t know what you’re going to do in there.” “Molly.” His voice was low, almost soothing.

I just couldn’t. What my father did? He wasn’t a dad to me. When had he ever been a father to me? I wanted to murder him. I wanted to take his head, twist it, and yank it off his body. I wanted to bathe in his blood.

“You’re taking over everything.” He barely blinked, his hands finding my hips and gently urging me ahead of him. “Where’s your coat? Your things?”

I wanted to see her. I wanted . . . I liked these interactions with her.

“You want to know what Ashton Walden was doing here the other night? He told me the truth. Easter Lanes belongs to his family, to him. You made me pay for it! I hate you. I loathe you. I am currently planning on how to murder you. You asshole, narcissistic dirtbag who was never a father. You were worse than a father. You—” God! I stopped, horrified at myself. I’d been about to let him know how much I knew about Mom.

A whole possessive need was pounding inside of me. Molly was mine. She was either my target, my mark, my woman, or my cross to bear. Any and all ways I split it, she was mine.

“Not that I’m really complaining, but the whole hand on my neck, and your thumb doing these magical things to me, and you know, feeling your hips down here and being backed against a wall . . . I mean, a girl can have so many fantasies before one is needing to come true. So could you, um, could you either do something or step back?” “Do something?” His eyes went back to mine, holding me in place.

When he began to step back, my hands moved of their own accord, sliding back to his waist. Not even there. They went lower on his hips. I felt I had a better hold there, and he stopped before he nodded. “Okay.” It was such a soft murmur, I didn’t know if he said that or me.

I hated it because this was my fault, her father’s fault, her mother’s fault, my mother’s fault. It was all of ours, but swallowing a curse, I went and squatted in front of her. I patted my thighs. “Come on.” She moved in a flash, like a spider monkey. She came in, wound her legs around my waist, her arms around my neck, and I stood, a hand on her ass to keep her in place. She got even tighter to me, burrowing her head into my neck.

“Ashton.” “Mmmm?” I looked down at Molly.

I bit down on my lip and began to move over him. He groaned, his hand moving to the back of my ass, clamping on. I was learning it was one of his favorite places to hold on to me, but he was guiding me so we were both grinding against each other.

Round three was in the shower. I was smashed against the wall, water pounding over both of us. My hands were up, his were linked with mine, and he was moving up into me from behind. I think that was my favorite.

I was sipping my bourbon, and she was dancing on the end of the patio, overlooking the floor, lost in the music. She was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.

Beautiful. Stunning. Powerful. She was mine. I wasn’t letting her go. She owned me, and god help anyone who tried to take her away from me.

A bush. She was hiding behind a bush. I’d never get a read on her. It hit me then. Never. She was made up of some DNA that didn’t make sense to me. I couldn’t understand how her brain worked, her psychology, but there she was. A fucking bush.

I didn’t like how much he could affect me. “You were jealous?” Here we go.

“I’d come to terms with how I was beginning to care for you and then bam, I’m asking another man to talk to my woman?”

“You have an issue, you wait and discuss it with me. You don’t bolt. Ever. They could’ve taken you.” His whole body was vibrating on those words. “You think I’m still the guy who wants to use you as bait? We’re past that. Long past. They shot at you. Another man had a gun to your head. How many fucking times do you need to get that you don’t leave my side? Everything changed the second a gun was put to your head. Everything did. You. Me. Us. This.”

“I can’t do it. I can’t let you go. You’ve become the reason. You’re no longer the woman I’m going to use to end this war. You’re the reason for this war because if anyone hurts you, touches you, I’ll kill them. Are you hearing me? All of them.

“Never run from me again. Do you hear me?” I heard him. I so heard him. “Never.” He lifted his head, his eyes searing into mine. “You run and I’ll burn the world down for you.”

He finished looping the tie through the hole, then tightened it. “That look okay?” It didn’t. I stepped in, righting it. “So.” His hands went to my hips. “No.” “I’m going.”

“You need to trust me with this one.” “No.” But he whispered the word. “Yes,” I whispered back.

His eyes gentled. “Of the two of us, Trace is the better man.” That burning was back inside of me, and rising, spreading throughout me. “You should know better.” I said it again. Softly.

“Hey.” I touched his shoulder. “I won’t let Ashton do anything. I promise.” “And what if something happens to you?” He craned his neck around, enough to hiss, “You won’t be around to save my hide!” “I will haunt him.”

“You put yourself in danger this time.” “I know, but—” “Don’t do that again.” His words were fierce, and he pulled back to see me again. His hands framed my face. “Please. Don’t. Just, don’t. Please.”

She ducked her head down, the same shy smile showing over her face. Her cheeks were a good blush color by now. I glanced at the wineglass, seeing it might’ve been the red wine too. “Ashton.” I had pounded her body thirty different ways, and she was blushing, looking at me.

Ashton kept moving forward. He kept shooting Nicolai. His jaw was clenching hard. His shoulders rigid. His back as straight as could be, and he kept shooting. He emptied his entire clip into Nicolai Worthing’s body. No one said a word until his clip ran out. Even then, he kept trying to shoot him. “Ashton.” Trace stepped for him, but Ashton whirled, only seeing me.