Dirty For Me (Motor City Royals) (18 page)

Please.
She’d never heard that from him before.

She lifted her mouth from his skin and looked up, reaching to touch the hard, firm line of his jaw, his skin a little rough from his stubble.

There was something brilliant in his eyes and, this time, it wasn’t anger. Only desire. Only hunger.

He reached for a drawer in the vanity near her thigh and opened it, pulling out a condom packet and holding it up. She took it from him and opened it, taking out the condom. Then she leaned back, making space between their bodies so she could roll it down over his cock, nice and slow. He shuddered as she did so, the breath hissing between his teeth. But he didn’t move or touch her, letting her take the lead.

So she did, gripping the base of his shaft in her hand and guiding him, feeling the head of his cock pushing into her, the stretch of her sex around his a delicious burn.

She let out a soft ragged breath, because he was big and he felt so damn good. Then she flexed her hips and took him deeper, watching silver flare in his eyes and hearing the sharp intake of his breath.

She took him as deep as she could, then she locked her legs around his waist, holding him there. And then she began to move, deep and slow, never taking her gaze off his.

He kept one hand tangled in her hair, the other moving to the small of her back, bracing her as he followed her lead, the shift of his hips slow and deep as the swell of the sea.

“Christ,” he whispered, his silver eyes searching hers. “What have you done to me?”

“Same thing you did to me.” She slid her hands up his chest and around his neck, holding on to him. “You ruined me, Zee.”

And because it was easier and because she’d said too much already, she pulled his mouth down for another kiss.

Letting the heat and the desire work its magic until they were both lost.

* * *

Much later, complaining he was ravenous, Zee urged her out of bed and took her to a nearby diner that, in his opinion, did the best Coney dogs in Detroit.

It was late, the night was sticky with heat and loud with the drunks on the sidewalks and spilling out of the bars, and she would have much rather been in bed with him. But she was hungry too, and besides, she couldn’t deny that there was something special about walking the streets of Royal at his side, his fingers laced through hers. As if they were truly a couple and not just two people indulging their chemistry. As if, somehow, she belonged with him.

It was a dangerous thought, so she ignored it, concentrating instead on how different the streets seemed now she was with him. That first night, after his class, she’d stood out on the sidewalk and the place had seemed a jungle, while she’d been a prey animal among the lions.

Now, although it was still dangerous, there was something familiar about the streets, something recognizable. Two girls standing near a streetlight and taking selfies on their phones. A couple of young guys sitting on the sidewalk and drinking beer while they chatted. A family who’d had a late night on their way home, screaming, overtired kids in tow.

The same kind of people you’d see anywhere, in any neighborhood.

Zee gestured across the street to the large brick building they were passing. A pink neon sign that said
SUGAR INK
glowed in the windows. “Rachel’s studio,” he said.

It looked like a cool place, Tamara had to admit. “Does she do all your tats?”

“Yeah.”

“Including the line from Ezekiel?”

His mouth curved, an almost smile. The first she’d seen that seemed to be genuine amusement. “You really wanna know what that means, don’t you?”

“I’m curious.” She tightened her fingers around his. “Come on, it’s our last night. Might as well tell me.”

“ ‘The one who sins is the one who will die,’” he quoted softly. “It’s for my dad.”

She waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t and she decided not to push. They’d already talked too much about the painful stuff anyway. “Rachel seems nice,” she said, changing the subject. “I mean, prickly, but nice.”

His smile deepened and her heart turned over inside her chest in a way that should have worried her if she’d been paying attention to it. Because, damn, his smile was amazing. “You mean, she’s a prickly bitch.”

“Hey, I didn’t say that.”

He lifted a shoulder. “She is. Some stuff went down with Levi that . . . well, she’s never been the same since.”

Tamara glanced up at him, his beautiful face painted with neon as they walked. “What’s Levi like? He’s the one in jail, right?”

“Yeah. He’s a good guy. At least he was.” The smile faded from Zee’s face. “Gideon says prison’s changed him. Things are gonna be tough when he gets out.”

She didn’t know what to say to that, so she just squeezed his hand in wordless comfort.

He turned his head, glancing down at her, and for a moment she was lost in the silver gleam of his eyes. “You don’t need to care about me, Tamara,” he said softly. “That’s not what this night is about.”

Yeah, she knew. But it was too late. She did care.

“
You had to protect yourself. . . . Sometimes that’s all you can do.
”

He’d said that to her to make her feel better, to comfort her, and that meant whether he liked it or not, he cared too. A dangerous thing to think. Then again, here she was, out in one of Detroit’s dangerous neighborhoods, with a man who was danger incarnate. How much worse could it possibly get?

“I know,” she said, and smiled. “Think of it as an acceptable sex side effect.”

His eyes glimmered in the light and the grim set of his mouth relaxed. Then he lifted her hand and kissed the back of it. “Come on, I’m hungry. And for once it’s not for you.”

The diner was kind of low-rent, with scratched Formica tables, red booth seats, and cheap red neon signs. But Tamara didn’t care. For once, in her borrowed T-shirt and hoodie, she blended in fine with the clubbers and drunks all after a late-night protein hit.

She slid into one of the booths, ignoring the stained table, grinning as Zee was pounced on by the very pretty waitress. He ordered them both Coney dogs and a Coke each, seemingly oblivious to the waitress’s attempts at flirting.

“I think she likes you,” Tamara murmured as the waitress left with their order.

He lifted a shoulder. “A lot of women like me.”

“If you do say so yourself.”

“Hey, it’s a fact.” He leaned back against the booth seat, fixing her with those silver eyes of his. “But it’s not me they’re looking at. It’s this.” He bent one arm, his biceps flexing in a way that had her mouth going dry. “The muscles and tats. The fight shit. That’s all they want.” His voice was causal, as if it didn’t bother him. But she remembered how he’d been in the bathroom, when she’d touched him gently. How it had made him uncomfortable. She didn’t think that was because he didn’t want it.

“You are a fighter, it’s true,” she said carefully. “But that’s not all you are.”

He tipped his head back against the seat, staring at her from beneath surprisingly thick dark lashes. “And you know all about me, pretty girl?”

“You’re also really protective.” She leaned her elbows on the scratched Formica. “A warrior. Kind of like a knight or something.”

His mouth curved. “A knight?”

“Sure.” She grinned back at him. “My knight in shining armor. With a really big . . . sword.”

Zee laughed and Tamara promptly forgot everything she’d been going to say. Lost her whole train of thought entirely. Because the laugh lit him up from the inside, the smile turning his mouth like sun coming up on a cold winter’s day. Making everything around her seem brighter.

He was a beautiful man anyway. But when he laughed, he was to die for.

Her heart flipped, turning over and over, and she understood all of a sudden what was worse.

She could fall for him.

Z
ee couldn’t have said what had woken him. Perhaps it was the light that filled the room, which must mean it was morning. Or maybe it was the warmth of the woman in his arms, her blond hair lying like silk across his chest.

More likely though, it was the man standing at the foot of his bed holding a silver baseball bat in one hand and slapping it lightly across the palm of the other.

Every single cell in his body froze.

Holy fucking Christ.

The man was older, heavier, and there was gray in his black hair, deep lines around his light blue eyes and his mouth. But there was no mistaking the cold gleam in those eyes, or the edge in that smile.

Joshua Chase. His father.

There were a couple of guys in suits standing behind him, their expressions stony. The usual thugs.

Dread coiled tight in Zee’s gut, but he ignored that, fixating on the fierce, black rage that came along with it instead.

So. After all that, his father had come to him. And not only had the prick broken into Zee’s goddamn apartment, but he’d also found Zee with his arms wrapped around Tamara.

The dread coiled tighter. Jesus, he’d need to act fast if he wanted to get Tamara out of this without her attracting his father’s attention. And the only way to do that was to pretend she meant nothing whatsoever to him.

Disentangled himself from her and not bothering to be gentle about it, Zee sat up. “Dad,” he said flatly to the man at the end of the bed. “Wondered when you’d fucking turn up. Didn’t bother to knock I see. Well, you can give us some goddamn privacy, okay?”

Beside him, Tamara had started to stir, shifting and turning over, her eyes opening. Then, as she spotted the fact they weren’t alone, she gasped, grasping at the sheet and pulling it up over her.

“Hey boy.” Joshua Chase’s voice was a low rumble. “Been a while, hasn’t it? Nice little piece you got there. Hope I’m not interrupting anything important.”

Zee didn’t bother looking at Tamara, keeping his gaze on his father instead. “No. Just some bitch I hooked up with last night.”

“In that case, she might wanna get out of here.” Joshua swung the baseball bat in a casual arc. “There’s some father-son shit you and I need to sort out.”

Tamara said nothing, but Zee could feel the tension in the warm body beside his.

The dread twisted inside him. “You heard the man,” he said, keeping his voice utterly cold. “Time’s up. Get your clothes and get outta here.”

At first she didn’t move and he wondered if she hadn’t realized what was happening. But then, no, Tamara was smart. She’d know. Which meant she was probably hesitating because she was naked and didn’t want three strange men looking at her while she got dressed.

Zee let out a breath and met his father’s gaze. “I’m not fucking talking to you bare-assed. Go wait in the lounge and I’ll be out in a minute.”

Joshua stared at him a long moment. Then, abruptly, he laughed. “Ah, you always were a rebellious little shit. I like it. That attitude’ll take you a long way.” He glanced at the men behind him. “Whaddya say, boys? Shall we give him some privacy? Or do you feel like a free show from the pretty piece of pussy beside him.”

“I feel like a free show,” the prick closest to the door said.

“Yeah, me too,” prick number two added, grinning.

His father shrugged. “You heard ’em. Come on, share with your old man.”

Rage began to curl up inside Zee, but he said nothing, keeping it locked down and cold. He couldn’t afford to show anything in front of this man, not a goddamn thing. Which meant if he was going to save Tamara, he had to throw her to the wolves.

Fuck.
Fuck.

But she was already moving, sliding out of bed without hesitation and grabbing her clothes. She ignored the men standing there as she pulled up her jeans and there was a sulky look on her face, as if men with baseball bats coming into her bedroom was nothing out of the ordinary.

She was brave, his pretty girl. He had to give her that.

Since she had no bra and he’d torn her tank top the night before, she grabbed his T-shirt, pulling it on over her head and then flicking her hair out from under the collar. She didn’t seem to care that complete strangers watched her dress, their eyes following her every movement.

It made him so angry she had to deal with that. Angry and possessive. It made him want to take them down. Smash their faces in, deal out some pain. A couple of minutes and he’d have them begging for mercy. Of course that was if they weren’t packing any handguns, which obviously they would be.

Christ, he’d love to get his fingers around their throats. Especially his father’s.

Joshua smiled benignly at him as Tamara moved toward the doorway, her chin lifted, and Zee held the other man’s gaze, making sure not to look after her as she left.

He crushed the flash of pain that went through him at the thought. Crushed all the fucking feelings. He couldn’t afford them, not now.

“So,” he said casually, throwing back the sheet and reaching for the jeans that lay on the floor. “What the fuck do you want?”

Joshua swung his bat again. “I’m impressed with you, boy. Got away from me real good. And I gotta admit, it was smart to stay in Detroit. I had people looking out for you from New York all the way to fucking Florida.”

Impressed? Jesus. When he’d been ten that had been all he’d wanted. To impress his dad, make him proud. But that was years ago, before he’d realized how big a bastard his father actually was. How much greed and power had overtaken him, turned him into the monster he was now.

A monster Zee would have become himself if not for Madison.

“Yeah, well, they didn’t look hard enough, did they?” Zee pulled his jeans up and fastened them. “Get to the point. I gotta get to work.”

“Nice. Holding a down a job and everything. You’ve made good.” His father nodded approvingly. “Like I said, I’m impressed. Been watching you for a while now, did you know that? Finally tracked you down a few years back.”

It took effort, but Zee managed to keep the shock from his face. Shit, how had that happened? What had he done wrong? Had someone seen him?

His father gave a soft laugh. “You look surprised, boy. Think you were safe here? Think you were hidden? This is my town, remember. Nothing stays hidden from me here for long. Especially when word gets back of some fighter taking on all comers and beating the shit out of them.”

Ah. Fuck. He should have known that in the end, it would be the fights that brought him down. It had always been a calculated risk, but he’d done it anyway because he’d needed the outlet they gave him.

Zee pushed his hands into his pockets, clenching them tight into fists, trying to calm himself. Trying to find the space he went to when he fought. Clear and cold and calm. “Why wait then? Why are you here cluttering up my fucking bedroom now?”

“’Cause I had other more important things to do. And it looked like you weren’t going anywhere in a hurry.” Joshua took a scan around the room, pursing his lips. “Yep, nowhere in a hurry is where you’re going all right. A mechanic in a shop, teaching kids in a gym. It’s downright adorable.”

Rage licked down Zee’s spine, black and intense. He clenched his fists tighter. “Like I said, get to the point, cocksucker.”

“Such a thing to call your old man. You need to learn a bit of respect,
Damian
.” He glanced behind him, to prick number one. “Time for his first lesson.”

Typical. His father always resorted to violence to make his point, something Zee had learned from him after all. Well, let him. Pain didn’t frighten Zee, this was what he knew. The threat and the response, pure physical aggression. The prick could certainly try to deal out a lesson. Good thing Zee had aced that particular class.

“Oh,” his father said casually, as the guy moved toward him. “By the way, you’re gonna stand there and take it like a man. ’Cause if you don’t, that outreach center you love so much might have a fire on its hands.”

Zee went still, a spear of cold slicing through him.

His father’s prick of a henchman was in front of Zee now, grinning as his fist pulled back.

“Be a good boy and take your punishment,” Joshua said. “I’m sure you wouldn’t want to be responsible for anyone else getting hurt.”

Zee felt the rage, bright and fierce. He wanted to take the guy in front of him out; one hard punch to the jaw should do it. Then he’d move fast, grab that bat out of his father’s hands . . .

The fist that came at his face hit him hard. Lights exploded in his head, pain radiating out in jagged spikes like a cracked pane of glass. There was blood in his mouth, a hard pressure against his knees. And he realized with a sudden shock that he was on the floor.

“Sorry about that.” Joshua’s voice sounded muffled. “But I’m a big believer in the school of hard knocks and Jay here is expert in dealing them out. He used to be a boxer, did you know?”

Zee spat out the blood in his mouth. There was a black haze over his vision, fury roaring in his head. He wanted nothing more than to get to his feet, then get his hands around his father’s throat, the way he had years ago before his father’s bodyguards had managed to pull him off.

Then something cold rested against the back of his head. The muzzle of a gun.

The rage froze inside his chest.

His father’s smile faded, leaving nothing but the cold blue glitter in his eyes. “Get up, boy.”

Slowly, Zee straightened and pushed himself to his feet, resisting the urge to touch his throbbing jaw.

“Here’s the deal,” Joshua went on. “You’ve had a lovely vacation down here in Royal, but now it’s over. Now it’s time to come home. Understand me?”

“Come home?” His voice sounded thick. “To you?”

“Of course to me. No one leaves, Damian. No one ever leaves. Except in a box.”

Fury and a strangely familiar helplessness gathered in his chest. “If you want someone to be your bitch, you’ve got hundreds of pricks to choose from. You don’t need me, you fucker.”

“True. All true.” His father wandered over to him, that bat swinging in another slow arc. “But here’s the thing.” Joshua stopped right in front of him and it gave Zee a perverse kind of pleasure to see that the prick was shorter than he was. “You’re my blood, boy. And my blood does not skulk in an alleyway like a dog. ’Cause that’s what this neighborhood of yours is. It’s an alleyway. It’s trash. And you’re wasted here.”

A terrible echo of Madison’s voice sounded in his head.
“You’re wasted here, Damian. You should be out doing something better for yourself.”

“No,” Zee said, to his father. To her. “I’m not going fucking anywhere with you.”

“Hmmm. I was afraid you’d say that.”

The cold muzzle of the gun pressed harder against the back of Zee’s head, but he didn’t flinch. “Kill me and I still won’t be going anywhere with you.”

His father smiled. “Why would I kill you? That would be all kinds of wrong. No, I have something better than that. Let’s call it . . . incentive.”

Just like that, the dread was back, worming deeper inside him, chilling him right down to the bone.

No, it couldn’t be her. They knew nothing about her, nothing at all. As far as they were concerned, she was just a chick he’d slept with, whom he’d just tossed out of his bed without a second glance.

Which meant . . .

His stomach gave a sickening lurch.

His father’s smile widened. “I’m sure you don’t want anything to happen to the lovely folks at the garage. Nice bunch. Especially the little one with the golden eyes. She’s pretty.”

“Touch them and I’ll kill you,” he said, the fury bleeding helplessly into his voice.

“Ah, well, that’ll be up to you.” His father slapped the bat against his palm again. “Come back home and I’ll forget all about this corner of Detroit. It’ll be my gift to you.”

“And if I don’t?” A stupid question, but he had to ask. He needed to hear it.

“If you don’t?” Joshua shrugged, but there was a feral light in his eyes. “Then I’ll torch this shithole down to the ground and your friends along with it.”

* * *

Tamara stumbled over a broken crack in the pavement. She barely noticed, walking as quickly as she could without actually breaking into a run. A run would definitely draw attention and she couldn’t afford that, not now.

The breath burned in her chest, fear a cold weight pressing down on her, and she had to keep resisting the urge to look behind her to see if she was being followed.

The moment she’d opened her eyes, she’d known the man standing at the foot of Zee’s bed wasn’t going to be good news. When the sleep had cleared from her eyes, she’d even seen the resemblance. The hair was grayer and there were many more lines, but she’d traced the shape of that face with her fingers the night before. She knew. It was his father, the apparent godfather of Detroit.

Zee hadn’t even looked at her, telling her to get out and get dressed, his voice cold. As if they hadn’t gotten hot dogs together, then spent the night in each other’s arms. But that didn’t worry her because she’d guessed he was trying to kill any link between them to protect her.

She’d played along, ignoring the cold clutch of fear inside her at the sound of that bat slapping against Joshua Chase’s palm. At the lascivious looks in the eyes of the two goons standing behind him. She’d even tried to be a bit sulky, as if she was offended her night was ending like this.