let Eric live. I’ve never let a loose end go unfinished before. It goes against everything I am and how I’ve built my reputation. Callum Russo never had so much as a wrinkle in his plans. I was the Fixer who never has loose ends.
Until now, because I fucked up.
Letting that date-rapist go isn’t the problem. It’s her. I’m not an assassin or a serial killer, but there’s plenty of blood on my hands. I don’t hesitate to eliminate threats when the situation calls for it. It’s the cost of doing business, a necessary step to effective problem solving. And my work is impeccable.
How many times have I been begged for mercy when my gun was pointed at someone’s head or my knife pressed against their neck? And I never batted a fucking eye. I pulled the trigger without hesitation or remorse.
Until she asked me not to.
Lexie looked up at me with those bright blue eyes pleading, and I broke my own goddam rules like I would do anything to please her. I’m fucking pissed. Because in that moment, while lowering the knife and seeing the relief on her pretty face, I realized it’s true. I will do anything to please her, give her anything that makes her happy.
Going after the son-of-a-bitch from the dating app was bad enough. He wasn’t part of a job, I’d found him for personal reasons. Finding out he’d been flirting with my pretty pink nurse, that he thought she could ever be his, sent me into a jealous rage. Tracking him down was an action born solely from an emotional impulse—something I thought I’d gotten a handle of a long time ago. I wasn’t planning on hurting Eric, the idea was to threaten the cheating bastard and make an example of him for Lexie. But then I found the little baggie of pills in his wallet—pills meant for Lexie—and I’d seen red. When he admitted what he wanted to do to her, my knife was suddenly pressing against his throat.
I won’t lie, it felt good to slice him open for what he planned for Lexie. My Lexie. Even now I’d do it all over again. But this time I’d finish the fucking job, instead of letting him live to see another day. Allowing him to survive is a threat to everything I’ve built.
But I did it for her.
Hurling my tumbler, it shatters in an explosion of glass and whiskey. Lexie. Just the thought of her name has my head spinning with messy emotions, my body buzzing with hormones. She is good, and decent, and simple. She’s also stubborn, judgmental, and guarded. She thanks me for protecting her, and lectures me about violence against her attackers in the same breath. She’s beautiful, and fun, and emotionally unavailable. She’s complicated and wrong for me, and I’m completely obsessed.
The anger surging in me shifts towards panic, the realization unsettling every part of me. Lexie has me, and she has no idea. She’s taken me without even trying, without meaning to. But she doesn’t want me, doesn’t need me. That’s going to change, it has to. Because I need her to need me.
I’m going to own her; mind, body and soul. I’ll possess every part of her, the way she holds me in her sparkly manicured hand. It’s not a matter of if, just a matter of when and how.
I’m not delusional enough to think it’ll be easy, but that’s never stopped me. I just need a plan—and if there’s one thing you can say about me, it’s that my plans always get results.
***
Awareness settles over me at the sound of the front door opening. I can feel Lexie’s presence before she walks into the kitchen. Glancing over my shoulder, we make eye contact. She holds my gaze almost hesitantly, pausing in the doorway like a skittish doe at the edge of a clearing. I keep my movements small, not wanting to scare her off. After squaring her shoulders and taking a silent deep breath, she steps into the kitchen.
“Good morning.” The greeting is simple and short but without hostility. A good sign.
Flexing my control, I resist the urge to reach out and grab her. She places her purse in its usual spot before her hand moves for the fridge, but her eyes snag in the counter where I’ve already set out what she’s reaching for.
A chilled can of Mountain Dew sits waiting, next to a tall glass of ice water. Her eyes flicker to me as she rounds the island.
“You came back.” My voice is low as I lean back against the counter a few feet from her.
“I had to.” Those three words, so simple, carry so much meaning. She did have to. Because of her contract, and because of me. She was coming back, whether she decided to on her own or not. We both know it.
I say nothing as she reaches out, satisfaction coursing through me when her hand closes around the glass of water first. Her gaze catches on mine, the tension growing thick between us as my eyes say those two words echoing through my mind.
Good girl.
Tilting her head back, I watch as she drains the tall glass until there’s nothing but ice.
“Where did you go?” I know exactly where she’s been, down to the floor plan of the small one-bedroom in Harlem. Lexie’s hands scoop her hair up, combing through yesterday’s curls with her fingers before securing it in a high ponytail. My hands itch to wrap that silky ponytail around my fist and give it a good yank.
“I stayed at Ronnie’s place,” Lexie says, turning to face me. She braces herself against the counter, meeting my gaze steadily. The mix of emotions expressed through her eyes is too muddled to decipher. When she opens her mouth next, she takes me by surprise.
“Thank you, Callum.” Her voice is soft. “With everything that happened last night, I never said it. But thank you for stopping what could have happened to me yesterday.”
There’s a vulnerability in her tone, a hint that she’s surprising herself with every emotion as she feels it. She’s not condoning how I handled Eric yesterday, but there’s a recognition in her soft tone that settles between us. Acceptance.
“No one will ever hurt you, Lexie.” My words vibrate through my bones. I’ll kill anyone that tries, and they’ll suffer.
Stepping forward, my hands grip her hips to lift her until she’s seated on the kitchen island counter. The island that’s bare of the baked goods and mess of ingredients that occupy it most mornings. There hadn’t been any dialogue coming from the tv or music playing over the speakers in the kitchen this morning when I made my morning coffee, instead it was empty. The silence felt uncomfortable, wrong.
I missed her.
“Don’t get any ideas, Callum,” she scolds, even as her breathing changes. “This doesn’t change what you did yesterday, and I don’t want you thinking I’m okay with it.” My hands go to her thighs, taking my time to feel her soft warm skin, before pushing them open wider until I can stand between them.
“You made yourself perfectly clear,” I assure her. Standing over her, she looks up at me in consideration. Her thoughts are warring with each other, but I see the moment I win out. Her shoulders relax in a small sigh. My hand finds its way to her ponytail, wrapping the blonde strands around my fist once, then twice. Giving it a firm tug, Lexie’s head falls back to bring her lips to mine.
So damn sweet.
My mouth moves with hers, searing and sensual. Lust itches through my veins when her hands move up my shoulders, those pretty little nails scraping at the nape of my neck. Goddamn, this woman has a way of making me want her like I’ll never get enough.
More. I need more.
A sigh escapes her when our mouths separate, so soft it settles deep into my skin. Leveraging my grip on her hair, I angle her head until her neck is bare to my lips. Trailing kisses down the column of her throat, I take my time to taste as much skin as I can. One hand still wrapped in her blonde locks, my other hand reaches into the emptied water glass.
Pressing the ice cube to her neck, she startles at the extreme temperature. My hand in her hair holds her in place when she tries to avoid the ice sliding across her skin.
“Cal.” Her protest melts into a moan that shoots straight to my cock when I replace the ice with my lips, the heat of my tongue blazing against her chilled skin. Placing the ice cube back onto her throat, my eyes watch as it slides down the smooth skin, drops of water trailing down her chest between her breasts. She squirms against the cold as I drag the ice across the exposed tops of her breasts above her neckline, my tongue following the same path, licking away the cool water left behind.
With each drop that disappears past her neckline, the temptation to pull down her dress to follow it with my mouth grows unbearable. She’s not wearing a bra, she can’t be since the one she left in yesterday is sitting on the counter next to her purse. I want to bury myself in her gorgeous tits, drown in them. But first I plan to melt every ice cube in the glass across her heated flesh and use my mouth to ease the discomfort.
Pulling back, my gaze moves over her. Lexie’s face shows me every sensation, she’s so damn responsive. I’m a pyromaniac soaking in every moan and sigh, adding fuel to the fire. Even the way her delectable tits move with each panting breath is thrilling. I’ve never met a woman so goddamn enticing in my life. She’s like a piece of art perched on my kitchen counter—one I intend to study until I’m an expert. And those eyes—fucking hell. I’m going to stare into those eyes as she comes all over my cock.
A buzzing vibrates on the counter next to us as my phone starts to ring, something I ignore. Whatever it is can wait, and if it’s important they’ll call back.
“Are you gonna get that?” Lexie’s question is breathless, and I can’t help myself from reclaiming her lips.
“No.” My voice is hoarse with hunger. “I’m busy.” Drinking her in, I bite back a curse when my phone starts ringing again. Letting go of her hair, I snatch the fucking device off the counter to see Roscoe is calling.
Godammit.
“What.” The word holds a threat against his life.
“We’ve got a problem, boss.”
“You’re interrupting, so it better be a fucking big one.”
“Joey Finch is coked up and making threats to start a war with the Russians.” Roscoe’s response has cold contempt creeping into my veins.
Motherfucker.
“Where is he?” My eyes meet Lexie’s and I’m forced to take a step back to regain my focus well enough to hear Roscoe’s response.
“We have him in the warehouse on the docks,” Roscoe informs me, his voice grave. “He’s rabid and demanding more supply.”
“Keep him contained until I get there.”
“On it, boss,” Roscoe confirms. “He didn’t go down easy. He’s bleeding.”
“We’re on our way.” Ending the call, I toss my phone onto the counter with a clatter and lean forward to capture Lexie’s lips, kissing her deeply until she’s panting against me. When I finally relent, I gaze down at her with so much fucking regret I’m sure she can feel it.
“Let me guess,” Lexie breathes. “The moment’s over.” I hate those words coming out of her pretty mouth. This isn’t just a moment, and it’s not over.
Silently staring down at her for a moment, I force myself to focus on the new problem.
Joey fucking Finch.
