Nester
I’d spent the last day going over planning with Jackson and some of the others. If we were going to nail Santos DeArma to the wall—which was my new mission in life—then we were going to have to be smart and well prepared. Which meant making sure that Santos wasn’t on to us and didn’t start covering his tracks. It wasn’t going to be easy, since Santos was unfortunately not a complete fucking moron, but if we were careful and diligent, I was confident he would eventually slip up.
Just like I was confident that the construction companies that he was invested in weren’t as squeaky clean as he claimed. Sure, they were his “front” so that he could continue doing his illegal businesses—drugs and arms primarily—while remaining under the radar, but I knew Santos. He was incapable of just leaving things be. Why settle for enough when you could have ten times that? Why play it safe when you could risk it for a little more?
On some level, I appreciated taking the risk. I was all about risk. We all were, which was why we were part of the Berserkers to begin with, but I also wasn’t stupid. I knew that there were times when you just took the safe road because it just wasn’t worth the damn risk.
“I’ll get us in,” Bob, Jr. was saying. He was leaning against the wall near the couch, turned so that he was facing me and Jackson. Bob, Sr. was at his job, a gas station attendant the poor bastard, so he wasn’t there at the moment.
I quirked an eyebrow at Bob, Jr. “How’s that?”
He shrugged casually, but I could tell that he was pleased. Not because he had something over us or anything but more because he was contributing in a big way. He was savoring the moment. “I know a guy who works for the Big Works Construction, Co.,” he explained. “I helped him out with something back when and he still owes me for it. I’ve been sitting on his favor and I think it’s about time to call it in.”
I nodded at him. “Good. Do that. I want dirt on Santos in a big way, so whatever he can find out, I want the details on.”
“You got it, boss.”
I turned my attention to Jackson. He’d been slightly distracted—Angel, his little girl, was staying even longer with her mom this round it seemed and I was beginning to wonder if there wasn’t something more serious going on that he hadn’t mentioned yet. He was sitting across from me in that same ratty chair that he loved so damn much, only half paying attention.
“Jackson,” I said, snapping my fingers to bring him back to the present.
He blinked at me, wide-eyed and a little disoriented, as though he’d been far, far away and coming back tagging along with a snapping rubber band. “Huh? What?”
I didn’t linger on his distance, instead choosing to focus on what was going on. If Jackson wanted to tell me what was going on that had him so out of whack, that was up to him, but I wouldn’t press it. I had enough on my own plate to deal with it as it was. “Where are we with the bust?”
“Shit, boss, sorry,” he apologized, then launched into what he’d been looking into.
Five years ago, I’d been busted for selling drugs. Which, I had been. It was true the club dealt in distributing illegal drugs, though I told everyone in my group that if I caught them doing that shit they were out. It seemed like a strange thing, but I knew that drugs just caused more trouble than anything else. Selling them was as valid as anything else in my opinion, since it was merely providing a service. What people did with that service was on them. People were going to get high whether I supplied them with the right drugs to do it or not, and in the end, they’d come searching me out. Why not make a profit?
Zelda and I had always disagreed on that fact, causing more than a couple of fights between us over the years, but she could never completely win and I could never completely justify it.
“It’s shitty to take advantage of people’s problems,” she told me angrily, folding her arms beneath her ample chest, making it more noticeable.
I never thought that was fair, seeing as how she did it mostly when we were fighting and she had to know how damn distracting I found her body. Pushing my less than noble thoughts aside, I focused on the fight at hand. “Hey, I don’t sell to kids. I don’t sell to pregnant women—well, if I know they’re pregnant. I don’t talk to first time users.” It was a code I’d set up for myself and one that I forced the rest of the group to live by, though some of them maybe thought it was a little stupid.
Zelda rolled her eyes at me. “Oh, well, in that case you’re a saint, right?”
I glared at her. “Don’t be stupid. Ain’t none of us saints, not even you.” I deliberately let my gaze drag over her body, insinuating that the clash of our naked bodies in fierce, passionate battle was anything but virtuous.
She was a dirty girl for me and I fucking loved it.
Her cheeks flushed a bright pink that made me want to do things for her, but she held her ground. She wouldn’t let me off the hook so easily. “And that makes it okay? So long as no one else is perfect, we’ve got no reason to even try to do the right thing?”
I let out a sigh. I hated this damn argument. “The right thing is tricky, okay? Is it wrong to make money, even though you need money to live? And if people are coming to you with that money, is it wrong to take it just because you’re providing them something that maybe they can’t get a lot of at other places? Besides, what if I didn’t sell it? Someone else would. And they’d probably be a hell of a lot more dangerous than I am. They probably wouldn’t care about who they sold to or what they sold or anything like that.”
“So you’re the lesser of two evils?” Zelda countered readily.
I ran a hand through my hair. “No. I’m not an evil. I’m just making a living. And the assholes who come to me have already decided what the fuck they’re going to do. I didn’t make them that way.”
“They’re addicts Nester! They can’t just walk away!”
And on we went. Until we were red faced and halfway to screaming at each other. Zelda took the nursing student thing very seriously, and as a result, she learned a few things about pharmaceuticals, addiction, and how drugs affected a person. I appreciated her passion, but it annoyed the shit out of me on this particular topic because we could never quite see eye to eye. In the end, I wasn’t the devil who forced them into doing drugs. But I did supply them with those same drugs.
But did that make a liquor store owner the devil, too? What about the bartender? Or the waiter? What about the convenience store that sells cigarettes or the smoke shops that teach you to roll your own tobacco?
Who has the right to determine which of these damn things should be free range and which shouldn’t and how does one make you the devil and the other not?
All of that came out over the course of the night and Zelda countered as much as she could, but in the end I had to concede that it was sort of shitty that I was taking advantage of a group of people that were so hooked they couldn’t fucking walk away, and Zelda had to admit that I was no more evil than the guy who sold booze to legal adults at the liquor store.
By the time we reached that point, our angers had risen to a breaking point. We were too worked up to push the feelings aside—and I didn’t want to. She didn’t either based on the way she was looking at me. So when I shoved my hand down the front of her jeans, she didn’t protest. Instead, she clawed at my shirt to get it off, and by the time my finger was buried to the knuckle inside of her and her tongue was in my mouth, it was all over.
I was hard enough to be a damn rock and Zelda’s wetness was pooling in her panties. I barely got her pants half down before I plunged inside her.
It took everything I had and then some to tear my mind away from the memory. Our fights went like that more often than not. Anger, shouting, passion building until it culminated in a fierce fucking that was so good it was almost worth it to pick a fight with her.
“There’s no direct link to Santos,” Jackson continued. I’d missed a couple of pieces in the middle of what he’d said, but it seemed like he’d only just gotten to the important stuff anyway. “But there is a trail of money exchanging hands, some guys being involved in a regular bust that maybe aren’t normally, and there was a tip off. An anonymous caller.”
I pressed my lips together tightly until they formed a line so thin my lips nearly disappeared completely from my face. “Santos.”
Jackson nodded. “I don’t have proof, but I’m working on getting a recording of the call. If I can, maybe we can recognize if it’s his voice or not.”
It was about the best any of us could do and it was a long shot at that. I didn’t know what kind of wheels Jackson was going to have to grease to get that tape—probably the same ones Santos had greased to get me busted—but I knew that it would take a lot of time. In the end, it didn’t matter all that much to me. I was already convinced that it was Santos who had called in the tip that got me busted by the cops. What I was more interested in was the inner workings of it.
Was it just a tip? Had that been the extent of Santos’s involvement? Or was there more? I couldn’t help but wonder if maybe Santos had done a little more than that when it was all said and done.
The drug deal had seemed a little fishy to begin with—a new seller with some pretty high grade shit, set up by a guy who knew a guy several times removed from that—but I’d been willing to take a risk. At the time, I’d expected that risk to be in the form of whether or not those assholes were going to try and kill us. That I was prepared for. I never would have imagined someone on our side of the law would tip off the cops.
Even amongst your worst enemies, you tried not to do terrible shit like that.
“Alright. What about the sellers?” I asked Jackson.
He shook his head. “I know they got less time than you did,” he said, and then winced, like maybe I was going to bite his head off for saying something like that.
Not completely beyond the realm of possibilities, but pretty unlikely. I tried to direct my fury to where it was sorely deserved, not at my own guys. Especially not the ones working hard to help me out.
I waved off his words. “I suspected as much. Figure out who set up the deal. I want to know how deep Santos’s involvement in that bust was.”
“On it, boss.”
“Alright. Get to it. I want an update in a few days, let me know what’s going on.” Until then, I had other things to take care of.
***
I had cleaned up and put on a white button-down shirt and a decent pair of jeans. It wasn’t that Zelda really liked the clean cut type—at least, she never had before—but she’d told me once that there was something incredibly sexy about a man with tattoos in a white button down shirt, the sleeves rolled up. Which mine were.
Maybe it was a little shitty of me to try and work her like this, using her own feelings and impulses against her, but it was difficult to hold on to any sort of guilt over the whole thing when it was all said and done.
She was sleeping with Santos. The guilt was on her.
I hadn’t bothered with things like flowers or chocolates. I wanted to appeal to her baser instincts more than her romantic ones, though I was hoping they were still lingering there, too. It would make what I was about to do go much, much easier.
The first thing I did was make sure there was no sign of Santos’s bike. I didn’t see it and I knew he had a car, too, so I checked for that next. Nothing. I was pretty sure he wouldn’t be there before I even headed out that way—one of my guys said he usually did late nights going over “work” stuff, which ranged from the construction companies to testing the quality of drugs he was selling.
Either way, he wasn’t going to be here. But it never hurt to check and make sure.
Satisfied that it was only Zelda home, I ran a hand through my hair and straightened myself out one last time. The better I looked to her, the more she’d want me, and the more she wanted me, the more I’d get out of the deal.
Forcing my body to be casual, calm, despite the zip of electricity that seemed to be surging and arcing across the top of my skin in quick zaps, I went to her door. I paused a second longer, letting out a quick but deep breath. Then I knocked.
It took a few moments, but she came to the door after a bit.
I half expected her to just swing it open and dive into my arms right then and there given the way things had gone yesterday, but instead she barely cracked it. Just enough that I could see her whole face and a sliver of her body.
“You shouldn’t be here, Nester,” she told me immediately, before I had a chance to say anything.
There was something in the wideness of her eyes and the tone of her voice—uncertain, nervous, even afraid—that set me on edge. She was afraid of me? Some part of me thought that she should be, but the rest of me wondered what the hell I’d done to deserve that.
“That’s not what you said yesterday,” I told her, waggling my eyebrows in a way that was more cheesy than sexy. But I sensed that oozing sex this time wasn’t going to be enough. She was afraid—of me or whatever—and I’d have to break through that first if I wanted to melt the rest of her.
“Yes, I did,” she snapped back at me, which was kind of true. Maybe not in those exact words, but pretty damn close.
I frowned. It was unusual for her to snap at me, even when she was angry and I got the feeling that she wasn’t all that angry. No, I was right about the fear. “Zel…what’s wrong?”
She tensed, the line of her shoulders going hard and rigid, like she was a deer and I’d just swung my headlights out across her on the road. What was going on?
She shook her head at me and even tried closing the door, mumbling something that I couldn’t quite catch. I could make out “Santos” and “bad idea” though, and it was enough to cause two conflicting emotions to surge through me: anger and concern.
If there were ever two that didn’t belong together.
I shot my hand out to lay it on the door, palm flat, effectively stopping her from closing it right in my face. I wasn’t going to give up so easily. The concern…well, that was stupid on my part. Whatever she was afraid of, I was pretty sure now it wasn’t me, and I was also pretty sure that that meant it didn’t matter. She wasn’t mine anymore, which meant she wasn’t mine to take care of.
Giving the door a good shove, I forced it open. She stepped back, only half surprised, and let out a sigh as she shook her head. “Damn it, Nester.”
I stepped into the house and closed the door behind me. Shoving my hands into my pocket, I noted that the house was even cleaner than it had been yesterday and there was the lingering smell of bleach in the air.
She cleaned again today, I though, and worked not to frown. I wondered if it had to do with me.
Shoving whatever guilt I might have felt away, I turned to face her, noticing that her hair was wet and she was wrapped up in a robe. She’d just gotten out of the shower.
“What do you want, Nester?” she asked me, not meeting my eyes and sounding just a little tired.
Searching her, looking for my way in, I decided being direct was my best choice. I stepped closer until I could smell her lime and coconut shampoo and I could see the red splotches on her face where she must have scrubbed away the makeup she’d been wearing. When I reached out and touched the bottom of her chin, she had to let her head half fall back just to meet my eyes.
“I want you,” I told her, transforming all the anger I felt into deep passion, because this had to be convincing. I worried it too easily would be. Then I crushed my mouth to hers and when she groaned into my mouth, I knew I’d won.
I backed her up until her back found the wall, never breaking the searing kiss between us. Her hands were already wrapping themselves up in my hair, combing through it harshly, her nails dragging along my scalp, tugging me ever closer. My hands found her waist, then moved down to find her hips. I gripped them harshly, so tight that I hoped I left bruises on her soft, supple skin.
Shoving her back farther, my hips ground into hers. She let out a whimper and I knew that she felt my hardness. And it was hard. I ached to pull it out, to take off my constricting jeans and to ravage her, but I couldn’t make this just about fucking. I had to be careful. I had to think about this. The only way I was going to pull her back was to make her ache for me.
The way I’d ached when she tore out my heart.
Anger clawed at me, but I took it and wrapped it up in passion until I couldn’t even tell the difference anymore.
I broke the kiss, taking only half a second to admire her bruised, swollen lips and the way her pink tongue darted out to lick at them, before I had to move on. My mouth latched on to her skin, nipping and licking at it as I moved down the hollow of her neck, tasting her. I had to lean far down to reach her collarbone and quickly decided I didn’t care for that. So my hands slid around her hips to find her full ass and cupped it. Quickly giving it a squeeze, I used my hold on her to lift her up, making her groan in pleasure. I kept her pinned to the wall and her legs opened of their own accord to let me settle between them, then wrapped around my middle to pull me closer.
I could feel her heat and remembered that she was wearing a bathrobe. She’d just gotten out of the shower, and with glee and aching arousal alike, I realized she was already naked beneath that stretch of fabric.
Using leverage and her legs gripping her to me to hold her up, I allowed one hand to move from her round ass to her front. I let my hand slip down between us and when I found that she was already hot and wet with need, I grinned at her, my eyes flashing dangerously.
Her breath caught and she licked those lips again.
I growled at her for it, leaning forward to bite at her lower lip. Between her legs, I let my fingers wander. They felt along her moist folds, teased the area around that sweet little nub that I knew would shove her up over the edge and into oblivion. She groaned and pleaded and whimpered, all but begging me for more. Gone was the woman who had tried to get me to go. Gone was the woman who had told me that I shouldn’t be here.
Gone was the woman who belonged to Santos DeArma. This woman was all mine.
“Oh god, please, Nester,” she begged me, her eyes half-lidded and her breathing coming in quick, sharp gasps that made her heaving breasts look delicious and enticing.
I did as she requested and let two of my thick fingers plunge into her core. She cried out, throwing her head back until it cracked loudly against the wall—she didn’t seem to care and neither did I.
“Fuck, Zel,” I ground out as I felt how incredibly tight she was. How could she be this tight? It was almost like she was a damn virgin, like she hadn’t had sex in years. Whatever she was doing, she needed to keep doing it, because I suddenly realized I was going to have to stretch her out before I stuck my dick inside her again.
And as her slick wetness slipped down my fingers and my hand, I knew that I would shove it into her again. I was just going to have to be a little more cautious about it than I really thought.
Refocusing on the here and now—as well as what I was trying to accomplish so that I didn’t do anything stupid like fuck her right there against the wall—I continued to work my fingers into her warm body. She continued to beg me, crying out in need and desire, calling out my name like it belonged to a deity, the only deity that could bring her peace and power alike.
I worked her up into a frenzy, all the while driving myself insane. I was so hard in my pants that I wanted to drop everything and just slide inside of her, but I had to hold out. There was more to this now than just fucking and I needed her to be mine.
As I worked her with my fingers, my mouth found every exposed piece of skin it could reach. I dragged my tongue along her and bit at her shoulders. Then I kissed at that same skin to soothe the burn I’d caused. She clutched at me and tried to buck, continued to beg until I thought she’d lose her voice.
And then, when I thought I couldn’t take it anymore, I moved my thumb up until I found that little numb and rubbed it.
“Nester!” she screamed, and I pushed her over the edge, her body clenching and pulsing around me, her sweet release coating my hand and dripping onto the floor beneath us.
She became limp, like nothing more than jelly in my hands, and I had to gather her up just so she didn’t fall. She let me carry her in my arms, and when I laid her out on the couch, noticing the way her robe fell open to reveal so much smooth, creamy skin, I saw her smile at me.
I almost lost my mind, wishing that I could take care of my own needs, too, but my needs ran deeper than sex now. Much deeper.
I winked at her and almost turned to go when her hand jerked out and grabbed mine. Surprised, I turned to look at her. Her eyes were hooded, and her smile was all contentment, but she was sweet as she said, “Can I…take care of you?”
The raging boner in my pants wanted to let her. The anger in my chest wanted to tell her that I’d just used her. But there was another part of me, too, that felt just the tiniest twinge of guilt. I was using her, manipulating her to get what I wanted, and here she was wanting to take care of me.
I almost had the good grace to be disgusted with myself, but then I remembered the rock on her finger and how she was going to marry Santos DeArma.
No, I wouldn’t feel guilty over this. Not at all.
Forcing a smile, I shook my head. It took everything I had to be tender, but I made my voice that way as I said, “Not this time, hon. I wanted this to be about you.”
And then I left her, because I could tell she was a puddle of mush both from the orgasm and from my words.
I’d get what I wanted from her and I’d get my revenge on Santos DeArma. There was no question about that.