Page 8 of Sticky Fingers
Chapter Three
Malcolm
“Please,tell me it wasn’t you.”
And here we fucking go. Just because I run a criminal organization it doesn’t mean that I don’t have any fucking self-restraint.
What? Just because I call myself a crime lord, do people think I can’t help but steal maniacally? Like I have some compulsive desire to abscond with anything in sight?
As if I go around to McDonald’s and steal bagloads of paper napkins and hot mustard sauces after buying a hamburger from the dollar menu.
Besides, this was one of Daphne’s paintings—and I sure as fuck don’t go around fucking my friends over.
Yeah, it might not seem like it, but I have morals.
“C’mon, man,” I tell Dominic, frowning as I place my elbows on the counter of his wet bar. “I didn’t fucking do it. In case you didn’t notice it, I had my hands busy.”
“Hey, I had to ask,” Dominic replies, raising both arms in the air and showing me the palms of his hands. He shrugs, almost too casually, and grabs a bottle of scotch; sighing, he pours a glass for him, me, and Daphne.
I’m at his apartment—the one that Daphne is trying to buy even as he’s trying to buy hers—and I still can’t get the image of that thief out of my fucking mind. I mean, did you see how fucking hot she was? Curves that went on for forever, thighs that seemed to be begging for my hands, and an ass that should get gold in the Ass Olympics.
And for a girl that hot, she had some massive fucking balls. I mean, who the fuck would be stupid enough to try and pull a stunt like that? Steal a fucking Picasso in the middle of the day, right when the fucking thing’s about to be showcased?
I don’t know if I should be clapping or just shaking my head at the fucking stupidity.
“That was one expensive painting,” Daphne says with a frown as she grabs her glass. “It cost me over—”
“A fucking mountain of money, I can imagine,” I end her sentence, downing my whisky all at once. “Trust me, I know how expensive these things are.”
“Yeah, that wasn’t cheap,” Dominic agrees. He refills my glass and then drapes one arm over his Daphne’s shoulders. “If you want to make that money back, Daph, I guess you could accept my offer to buy your place.”
“Dream on, asshole,” Daphne says with good natured ribbing as she wiggles her ass against him.
Yeah. Like I said. This shit is weird between them. Like some sort of frenemies or enemy lovers or some shit.
Swear to God, it’s so fucking weird to see Dominic being all lovey-dovey. Dude was a consummate pussy slayer, and now he’s all hung up on this one chick. Who knows what’s going on with them but I hope he isn’t just keeping himself to her. Sure, Daphne’s cool and shit, but still.
Yeah, you’ll never see me this crazy for a chick. I don’t hold hands with chicks, I don’t fucking tuck them in at night and kiss their foreheads, and I sure as fuck don’t do love.
It shouldn’t come as a shock to you anyway. It’s not like I ever pretended to be a nice guy. Besides, my skill set is limited to three simple things, or what I like to call Malcolm Push’s Triangle of Badassery: I work hard, I play hard...and I fuck hard.
“I still don’t understand,” Daphne starts, swirling the whisky in her glass. “How the hell could the painting disappear like that? One moment it’s there and the next…”
“It was a chick,” I tell her. “A chick, dressed up like some fucking ninja. She came in and took it.”
Daphne looks at me with one cocked eyebrow, lips pursed as she tries to read my fucking soul. No wonder she’s the killer queen of corporate lawyers. Daphne’s fucking scary when she wants to be.
“I don’t know how, Malcolm, but I believe you,” she finally says with a sigh, lowering her gaze back to the whisky. “But who the hell could she be?”
“No fucking idea.”
I walk out from inside the wet bar, glass in one hand, and walk toward the floor-to-ceiling windows on the condo’s living room. No wonder Dominic and Daphne are at each other’s throats to buy each other out—these views are the best in all of fucking New York.
I look out into the city, my mind drifting back to half an hour ago.
I have no fucking idea who that chick might be, but now I can’t forget about her. The moment my eyes locked onto hers... I don’t know, but it felt like there was a fucking spark.
My pulse quickened, my blood started to boil, and even my cock got harder. If I came in that moment, it had more to do with the fucking burglar than with Debra.
