Page 2 of Tarnished Hands

Cigars and honey—it’s such an odd combination, but the scent is divine with a touch of grease.

“Stay,” he demands as one of his big hands encircles my wrist. I ignore the way his touch sizzles across my skin, before turning around, glancing at his grease-covered hand, then giving him a blank, disgusting stare.

I hate how I don’t mind that he’s always covered in some type of car grease. I remember washing that grease off my body only a few weeks ago when he came to one of Joey’s parties. I may have had too much to drink and gone back to his place for the night. Then I snuck out and haven’t seen him since.

Not that he would know where to find me outside of business unless I wanted him to.

Even so, I assumed it would be easy to forget about him.

A meaningless one-night stand.

But I haven’t been able to get him out of my head since.

And how do Keir and the rest of them know? Well, I suppose my making out with Ezra that night was a clear indicator.

“I have work to do,” I declare, pulling away. But I don’t pull hard enough for his hand to break contact. Instead, his grip tightens on my wrist.

“Come back later. You know where to find me.” That smirk rides higher, and he boldly slides his gaze down my body. I can’t help the way heat spreads when his tongue darts out like he’s starving and would give anything for a taste.

By the time he’s trailed back up to meet my eyes, his are smoldering.

Filled with greed. Like he wants to throw me over his shoulder, pin me beneath him and fuck me into next week.

The image of him above me as he drives his long, fat cock into me while whispering dirty things, flashes in my head.

“I shouldn’t,” I tell him, erasing the erotic images from my mind.

“You should.” He drops my wrist and spins on his heels, returning to the car he was working on. I watch as he bends over, picks up a rag, and wipes a wrench on it. “Come back later so I can fuck you until you scream, just the way you and I both like it.”

My chest flushes hot, the heat rising to my cheeks at his words. He has no shame, no filter when it comes to what he says to me, but when he speaks to others, he’s calm and clear. It’s like he leaves all his wicked, nasty words for me. My mind wanders back to our last encounter…

“Christ, does this sweet cunt squeeze my cock good? What a fucking masterpiece it is.”

I shake my head to clear his words from that night. I decide not to reply before I leave.

Let’s face it… I don’t know what to say.

The car is waiting for me when I exit the shop. Joey is in the driver’s seat, and Keir is in the passenger’s seat. They both twist around and set their eyes firmly on me as I slide into the back. It’s rare to have a woman in this business, but I’ve proven myself to them time and time again.

And now I’m considered one of them, even though they’re family. Ranking in this family is incredibly important when your cousin controls everything that supplies the money. And the power.

Some call him Mafia King.

I call him Boss.

“So, Ezra?” Joey asks with a small laugh.

Keir says nothing. And if he didn’t approve, I can honestly say I would listen. His opinions are extremely important to me. He’s in power for a reason. And we all respect the authority and strength that he exudes. The man doesn’t have to say anything, and you know the control, command, and, particularly, his potency seeps from every pore.

He has changed how our family sees women. Before Keir, it was known that every first son would take over the business, even if a daughter were born first.

But Keir changed that situation when Sailor had his daughter.

His daughter, Wren, is the apple of his eye. And she means everything to him, maybe even more than Sailor, which is saying something.

And no other woman has the power I have. It took a while for people to recognize that I contained the strength within me to do the required tasks. The first time I walked into a deal, the men laughed at me. The last time, one of them left in a body bag. They don’t laugh anymore.

Then they fucking listened.

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