I’m not quite sure what my purpose is with Wendy anymore. When Smee told me she was gone, a hundred different scenarios played out in my mind. Did Peter take her? One of my other enemies?
It wasn’t until I was all the way back to the marina that I realized my thoughts were centered around worry, and not around the fact that, if given the first opportunity, she would flee from me and never return.
And that makes me unbearably angry.
Both the fact that she would leave and the fact that I would care.
But avoidance is something that never gets you far in life, it only brings you trouble. True mastery of control is accepting your emotions and then learning to wield them despite how you feel.
My issue now is Wendy makes me lose that precious control.
And that’s never happened before.
I release her and step back, logic filtering into my brain, even though my cock is throbbing against my slacks.
She slumps on the couch, her body rising and falling with her heavy breaths, and I stare at her, shock reverberating through my bones. She didn’t fear me, even though I’ve all but promised her death.
She calls me crazy, but any person who allows their life to be so fragile in my hands is the true one who’s out of their mind.
I was angry that she made me worry.
I was raging that she makes me feel.
And I’m now left reeling with the thought that she’s actually come to mean something; something beyond a tool, or even simply a good time.
Somewhere along the way, I’ve started to care.
The realization that I no longer wish to use her against her father slams into me, sucking the breath from my lungs and making my tortured heart skip a beat. But if I give her freedom, she’ll run far, far away.
She leans her head back, eyes closed and lips parted as she gasps in air. My heart kicks in my chest as I soak her in. “You’re quite beautiful, you know?”
Her eyes pop open, and her tongue appears, slowly licking along the seam of her bottom lip. Blood flows to my groin, my already hardened length pulsing against my leg.
A lazy smile spreads across her face. “I bet you say that to all your hostages.”
“Hmm,” I hum. “Quite the mouth on you, though.” I walk toward her. “You know, I believe your snark has gotten worse since you’ve been under my protection.”
She snorts, her head lolling to the side as I take a seat beside her. “Is that what we’re calling it now? ‘Protection?’”
I shrug. “Do you truly believe you’d be safer out there than you are with me?”
Her eyebrows draw in. “Hook.”
The nickname makes my stomach twist; the way it always does when she says it. I don’t like her knowing me as Hook, especially when she’s the only person in this world who makes me feel like James.
“You have literally threatened to kill me multiple times,” she continues.
Leaning in, I brush her hair off the side of her neck. “That didn’t stop you from coming all over my fingers, naughty girl.” My hand trails along her collarbone, enjoying the flush that spreads across her skin. “Does it excite you when your life is in danger?”
She scoffs, jerking from under my touch, and I relax back against the couch, a smirk lining my face.
My phone rings, and even though I want nothing more than to ignore the world and stay in Wendy’s bubble, I remove it from my pocket, seeing Starkey’s name flash across the screen. “Speak.”
“Hey, boss. Got some time today for a meeting? We’ve got an interview I think you’ll be interested in being here for.”
My insides squeeze, my focus leaving Wendy and centering once again on the problems in my life. Interviews only mean one thing. Something has happened, and they have people to interrogate.
“Very well. Where are they being held?”
“The Lagoon.”
I blow out a breath, hanging up and tapping my phone against my chin as I stare at Wendy, unsure what to do with her. I could leave her here, but Smee has made it more than obvious he isn’t capable of watching her.
And while I no longer wish to use her for nefarious deeds, I don’t want to leave her alone and chance her running away. Not that it would matter much. Despite her snark and attitude, she hasn’t taken off the necklace I’ve placed around her throat. And as long as she wears that, I’ll find her anywhere.
But if she runs, then I’ll lose her forever. And I’ve only just realized she’s something I wish to keep.
“How did you get out of the bedroom?” I ask.
Her fingers run through her tangled hair. “What do you mean?”
“I mean exactly what I said. The door was locked, how did you leave?”
She shakes her head slowly. “The door wasn’t locked.”
My chest tightens. “Yes. It was.”
“Not when I tried it.” She lifts her shoulder.
Unease swims in my gut like a shark circling its prey. “Are you lying to me?”
“What reason would I have to lie to you?”
I lift a brow. “I can think of several, actually. I shouldn’t, in theory, be your favorite person right now.”
Her eyes narrow. “You’re not my favorite person. You’re actually my least favorite person.”
Chuckling, I stand straight, my hand reaching out to help her rise as well. She puts her fingers in mine, allowing me to lift her from the couch, and I tug her body flush against me, my palm splaying across the width of her lower back, the cotton of her shirt bunching underneath my touch.
Her breathing stutters as I skim my mouth across her lips. “You have quite a funny way of showing it, darling.” I pull back, seeing her eyes dilate, and pleasure courses through me. “I need to run an errand, and since you can’t be trusted, you’re coming with me.”
She sighs. “Fine, but what do you want me to wear, this?” Her hands run down her frame, showcasing my clothing that sits on her supple body.
I grin. “I do find it quite arousing to have you in my clothing.”
She huffs.
“I’ll have Moira meet us and bring you something.” My eyes take her in, my body delighting in the way her features pinch at Moira’s name. “You both are about the same size.”
Her eyes darken, a tight grin making its way on her face. “And you know this because you have a ‘hands-on’ memory?”
My fingers brush against the apple of her cheek. “Jealousy is quite becoming on you. Unfortunately, we don’t have time to entertain it.”
She crosses her arms. “I’m not jealous, I just don’t like her.”
I grin, delight sprinkling through my chest, wondering if maybe she feels more for me than she wants to admit. If maybe I haven’t irrevocably ruined everything.
The Lagoon, like most of our businesses, has a basement. We mainly use it for storage or temporary resting places for some of the less than legal things that pass through our hands.
Again, meeting here isn’t ideal, but since the JR is gone, it’s what we have.
Wendy is upstairs in the office, Curly watching over her, and I’m down here surrounded by boxes and crates, staring into the face of yet another low-level drug pusher who thought it was wise to betray me.
I’m not sure of his name, and quite frankly, I don’t really care. What I do care about is the fact that my time is being wasted on trivial matters instead of focusing on the larger picture. But the boys aren’t quite as skilled at retrieving secrets from traitors, and when it comes to someone trying to usurp me from the ground up, I need all the information I can get.
“Tell me.” I walk toward the man, bound and gagged. I rip the white cloth from his mouth, making him sputter and cough as he inhales deep breaths. My knife slides across his cheek. “What is your name?”
“To-Tommy.”
“Tommy.” I nod. “And Tommy, what was it you hoped to gain from betraying me?”
He swallows, looking to the side. My gloved fingers grip his chin, forcing him to meet my gaze, my knife pressing against his mouth, drops of blood forming from the pressure of the blade against his skin. “I do not have time for hesitation, Tommy. So let’s stop wasting precious seconds and get to the point. You will not be leaving here alive.” I pat his cheek, releasing his face.
“But I’m a fair man.” I back away, rolling my shirt sleeves up my forearms. “I’ll let you choose whether your death is painful or swift.”
He’s silent.
I lift my arms to the side. “Well? What will it be?”
“It was a woman,” he rushes out. “She came around a few months ago, started hanging out with us a bit, you know? Started uh…” His eyes bounce around the room, to the twins and Starkey, who stand behind me, then back to me. “Started sleeping around. Telling us all about her boss and how he could take better care of us. Give us more than what we’ve been—”
He hesitates, and my chin lifts. “More than what?”
“Uh… more than what we’ve been given.”
My jaw tics, anger sizzling through my insides. I twist, looking to the boys. “Am I not a giving employer?” I turn back to Tommy. “Do I not allow you unfettered access to your product and to my streets?”
His eyes widen. “No—No, you are. It’s just… look, I wanted to say no. But I want to be part of something, man.” He leans in. “I wanted to get the mark.”
Interest settles deep in my gut. Finally, new information. “And what mark is this?”
“It’s a tattoo. So fucking cool, bro.”
Annoyance snaps at my senses, breaking away the vestiges of my control.
“I see,” I say as I step closer. My hand slams down, the tip of my blade slicing through his tendons like butter, lodging deep in his thigh. He screams, the sound grating against my ears and scratching down my insides.
My palm covers his mouth, muffling the noise, and I lean in, my face inches from his. “Do you know my favorite part about knives?” My other hand, still on the end of my blade, starts twisting slowly, pushing through the resistance of the muscle. “It’s the ability to be so delicately precise. You see, three inches over, and I would have spliced into your femoral artery, allowing you to bleed out quickly. Your mind would have ceased consciousness, allowing an easy death.”
Tommy whimpers, his body vibrating as he jerks against the zip ties.
“But since you’ve decided we’re ‘bros’, I think we’ll spend some quality time.” A grin cracks my face. “I can show you just how much I like to play with things that slice.”
I remove my hand from his mouth, my stomach curdling in disgust at the way tears and snot streak down his face.
“It’s of a crocodile,” he spews. “Wrapped around a—a clock. It’s… it’s the mark you get when you join his ranks.”
Shock punches me in the gut, my insides cramping from the vision his words create.
“What else?” I hiss, pressing the knife in deeper.
“That’s it, man. I swear.”
My fingers twitch. “Starkey, bring the salt please.”
“They call him Croc!” Tommy yells. “Please, stop, I—”
My hand slips from the handle, but I regain the hold, fury racing through my blood, darkness blowing through me like a windstorm. I pull the blade from his skin and strike again, this time higher, dragging it through the flesh in sharp, jagged motions while he screams in agony.
“Liar,” I hiss. “How do you know this name?”
“I’m te-telling you the truth. I swear.” His face is white, blood pooling on the floor underneath us. “He goes by Croc. I-I’ve never met him, but the woman’s name is—”
Boom.
