Chapter Twenty-Nine
WE ARRIVED AT the docks around six p.m.
I knew where we were because of the smell, faint at first—then a slap in the face when Philip opened the car door. This wasn’t the clean-cut touristy Navy Pier with its ice cream shops and Ferris wheel. This wasn’t even the industrial sector where sweaty laborers would wolf whistle as you walked by.
This was the abandoned section, the one everyone, even city-wise tough guys, knew to avoid. The streets were cracked wide in some places, a river of debris running through it. In other places there were burnt-out shells of cars piled up like crawfish at a bake.
The warehouses sat empty—or so they seemed, with signs too faded to read and heavy chains on wide panels. One of them was charred and bent, as broken as the cars that were stacked beside it. It was jarring to realize that any fire could affect metal this way—nothing was immune to the destruction of dangerous men. Men like Philip.
“Why are we here?” I asked, not leaving the comfort of the sedan. There was a shiny new Rolls Royce and a vintage Shelby in his garages, but he had chosen to drive a nondescript black town car. That was worrying, because it meant we weren’t going on a date or a nice drive in the country. It meant we were going to do something illegal.
“Stay close,” he said, turning to walk away before I could answer.
Shivering, I stepped into the cool night and closed the door behind me. The sound of it reverberated through my bones. The bottom of my sneaker slipped on slick gravel before I righted myself. Philip was almost to the warehouse side door before I caught up with him.
The door swung open, revealing a man in a black T-shirt that stretched over tight muscles and black cargo pants. His eyes were flat and cold. He was muscle. A mercenary.
Behind him I had the impression of tables loaded high and crates stacked in corners. Of other men like him, waiting. They were too far in shadows to see.
The mercenary was similar to Raine in the way he studied me, except this man wasn’t evaluating me for my value—he was evaluating me as a threat. Apparently finding none he turned to Philip. “We’re ready to go.”
“The courthouse?” Philip asked as if confirming.
The man nodded. “He’s working late.”
“Good,” Philip said. “Ella here needs to see this. Wouldn’t want his pristine reputation destroyed by the truth.”
The tone mocked me a hundred different ways—for being weak, for having morals. For having a father who had something to hide. But I didn’t even have time to be offended. I was too caught up in what would happen next. “Wait. We’re going to…question someone?”
That was probably a polite term for what would really happen. A shakedown. Torture.
The men ignored me.
“Three around back, two in front,” the mercenary said. “Three in with you. Clean entry, clean exit.”
“Of course,” Philip said, somehow managing to imply a threat even though the man in front of us probably had five different weapons strapped to his body right now. And he would know how to use them.
Philip would only hire the best.
But he also managed to command respect from the scariest criminals in Chicago.
The man inclined his head in both agreement and deference. “The girl?”
“She comes with me,” Philip said.
“The girl has a name,” I cut in, annoyed. “And she doesn’t like being ignored. Where are we going?”
The mercenary’s expression remained impassive, but I thought I saw a flicker of surprise in his cold eyes. He even seemed a little impressed. Nice to meet you too.
Philip and the mercenary were both packed with muscles and weapons and years of experience committing violent acts. I had experience with surviving when people tried to kill me, of shouting when people tried to silence me—of staring back, unflinching, into the face of evil.
You know, we all had our strengths.
Philip turned to me, eyes narrowed. “You wanted me to find your brother. What did you think I was going to do? Put his picture on a fucking milk carton?”
“I want you to tell me where we’re going and what we’re doing. I want you to tell me who we’re going to see. And what I want most is for you to treat me like an equal.”
Philip turned to the man. “Load up. We leave in five.”
The man studied me, something like respect in his flat eyes. Then he turned and shut the door behind us, leaving us alone—for five minutes, apparently.
Then Philip’s hands were on my arms. My back slammed into the rough metal wall—my head would have too, but his hand was there, catching me, sliding down to my neck, tilting my face up to his.
“Let’s get this straight,” he murmured. “We are not equals. I am the bars and you are inside me, trapped here, and I’m never fucking letting you go. You can touch me, you can fight me. But you can’t ever leave.”
My heart thumped in something like acknowledgment. It made me angry. “Hurt me, then. If you’re so bent on scaring me, on keeping me low.”
“I don’t have to hurt you,” he said, sound almost forlorn. “I just have to keep you.”
“I hate you,” I whispered, and I didn’t just mean him. I hated my adoptive parents, who had kept me out of pity. And I hated him for keeping me out of lust—a twisted, obsessive desire.
“Good,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Then it won’t be worse when I do this.”
That was the only warning I had before he bent his head. His hand kept my chin tilted up. I had no choice but to accept him, his lips firm and demanding against mine. He flicked his tongue across my lips, and in surprise I opened to him. Then he was inside me, licking me, tasting me, sliding his tongue with mine.
He rubbed his heavy body against my front, and without meaning to, my leg twined around him. I could feel his arousal through my jeans and his slacks—throbbing and insistent.
Then his hands were on my jeans, pulling down the zipper.
I fought it then, surprised, in denial. “No,” I said against his lips, still breathless. “Not here.”
“Here,” he said, like gravel, cupping my sex over my panties. “Anywhere I please.”
Then his fingers slid beneath the elastic band, and he was touching me intimately, his fingers slipping through wetness. I closed my eyes, face heating in humiliation. Humiliation that I didn’t want this, but my body did want this, even up against a dark warehouse filled with weapons and who knew what else.
“Just one,” he said softly, his fingers sliding against my clit, as if he had considered making me come again and again but compromised with one. Restrained himself with one.
Without meaning to, my hips rocked up against his hand, fucking it even as I shook my head. It broke our kiss—he didn’t seem to mind, kissing his way down my neck instead.
“I know this is wrong,” he murmured. “What was I supposed to do? This is all I am—steel bars. A lock. This is all I know how to be. I tried to keep you out, but then you walked back in again.”
“It’s not—” I broke off on a sharp moan. It’s not up to you, I’d meant to say, but it seemed like a lie when my body was panting and rocking over his fingers. Arousal twined around me like barbed wire, strong and sharp.
“Don’t cry,” he said.
And only then did I realize that tears were falling from my eyes squeezed shut. Plaintive sobs caught in my throat. That was how I came, my arousal slipping over his hand, tears falling on my cheeks. Talented, knowing fingers drew out my orgasm to its painful crescendo before stroking me gently.
He pulled from my panties and put them to his mouth, sucking the juices from them. His eyes fell shut, ecstasy clear in his sigh. “So good. I want to spread you out on hood of the car and eat you until you can’t move a single, fucking muscle.”
My whole body seemed to spasm with desire. This was what he did to me—he made me want insane things. He was made of steel bars. The only thing he could do was keep me, but he made it feel so good.
“Maybe later,” he said, glancing to the warehouse. “It’s time to go.”
I found my voice again, though it came out shaky. “Where? Please?”
Despite his obvious tension and arousal, the corner of his mouth quirked up. “You always were persistent. Since you asked so nicely, I’ll tell you. We’re going to see a federal district judge. The one who signed my warrant.”
And just like that, I was almost sorry that I’d asked.