Page 40 of Killer Confections
Addie watches me, her dark brows drawn close. “Are you okay? Did something happen?”
I stare at the device in my hand, blinking a few timesbefore I shove it into my back pocket and give her a faux smile. “No. I’m fine.”
She nods, not seeming to catch the tension in the air before retreating to the lobby. Everything hits me and I curse myself for being obedient.
The fear prevented me from doing anything too rash, but now that I know this man doesn’t want to hurt me, it’s like my blood is filled with pure fucking rage.
I made this entirely too easy for him and I don’t plan to make the same mistake again. He wants the upper hand? He’s going to earn it.
My new resolve pushes me forward as I dig the number out of my pocket.
And I know just where to start.
Chapter Sixteen
Atlas
The next week is hell on Earth. Thalia began her mission for the Calaway hit a few days ago, and it’s been one fucking thing after another. She ran into another syndicate member, someone from the South branch, that hasn’t let up on her.
I didn’t want to leave Loxley alone after the grand opening. I sure as shit didn’t want to end up three states away, attempting to fix my sister’s mistakes.
“I fucking hate Detroit,” Dominic curses, slamming on his horn as yet another driver cuts him off during rush hour traffic. “Why can’t you drive? I’m gonna kill someone.”
I finally peel my eyes away from my girl as she reads on her sofa, looking at the fuming man seated beside me. “Busy,” I hold my phone up, smirking when he rolls his eyes.
“You crazy motherfucker,” he grumbles, turning into the parking garage of the four-star hotel. “She still hasn’t figured out it’s you?”
Hmm, has she?
I’ve let her have her space despite my growing urge to be near her, and she’s been surprisingly calm over the last few days. She’s partially continued her normal routine, going to the bakery before daylight, but now she leaves with the others after the shop has closed.
At least one lesson has been learned.
Addison is currently getting set up with an apartment, so she’s back in New York collecting the rest of her belongings. Loxley has been on her own, but even alone, she shows nosigns that our night together has shaken her.
It’s a possibility she knows, but I doubt it. She’s piecing it all together, but I haven’t given her enough to determine.
I really thought speaking to her the other night would have set something off. I wasn’t supposed to talk, but she looked so fucking pretty on my lap that I couldn’t help it. I wanted her to hear just how good of a girl she was being for me, taking her punishment and giving me her release. She wasn’t focused on my voice, either. Her fear had her focused on escaping me rather than remembering my tone.
And her fucking taste!
Fuck the desserts. I could die happy with the sweet tang of her arousal on my tongue.
Nothing prepares a man for something that exquisite. I knew it would be good, but my shitty imagination has nothing on Loxley Bennett.
I’m already feening for more, that overwhelming craving to shove my face between those pretty pink petals and have my fill is clawing at me.
“Nope,” I answer, throwing the passenger side door open as Dom cuts the car. “She will eventually, but I want her to figure it out.”
He grunts, growing tired of the conversation as he climbs out of the driver’s side. “Alright. Where do we start here?”
I follow, stretching my arms and popping my back. “Where’s the file?”
He tosses a manilla folder across the car’s roof and I take it, opening it to see the detailed information gathered on the South syndicate fucker.
A blonde with cherry-red lips and symmetrical features is pictured on top, her green eyes suggestive in the photo.
I flick it to the side, preferring only one head of red-blonde locks and big brown doe eyes. “Jane Celeste. Five-foot-nine,” I peek at my friend, “tall bitch. She’s your type.” His nose scrunches distastefully before I continue to prattleoff her description. “Green eyes, blonde hair, lithe build, and considered an expert in the field. She’s been working for the South branch since she was born,” I flip the pages, “blah, blah, blah. Remember her face.”
