Wrong (Spada Crime Family #2) (27 page)

I grab my e-reader and head downstairs. I want to be outside, in the fresh air. Get some of the stink out of my brain. I’d rather go to the library, but I’m thinking Pop might not be happy about me leaving the house today. I’ll humor him in that, at least for now. Because if I do, it’ll be easier to get out of the house later.

I shake my head a little, disgusted. No grown woman should have to worry so much about what her goddamn father thinks. But that’s life. My life, anyway.

It’s quiet downstairs, and I think I’ll be able to slip out easily. No worries—nobody’s looking for me. But as I swing through the kitchen, there’s Pop.

Shit. The last thing I need right now is a confrontation. Hopefully I can hold him off. That’s at least one reason why I bought e-books to study from—so Pop can’t tell what I’m doing.

He looks up from the coffeepot and gives me a smile. “Hey, honey. Where are you off to?”

“Just out to the porch to read.” I say it airily. He likes it better when I act like there’s not much inside my head.

“What are you reading?”

I shrug. “Just a book Liza told me about.” Liza has terrible taste in reading material.

“What’s it called?”

Of course my mind goes blank. “I forget. Some bestseller. I haven’t started it yet.”

He gives me a narrow look. Then he turns to face me squarely. “There was a phone call a few minutes ago for you.”

I go still. Who’s calling me? But I think I might know. I made a few calls over the past few days looking into some programs where I might apply to keep working on my degree. I want to be a physician’s assistant—maybe even go to medical school down the road. I want to help people, not spend my life decorating the arm of a mob asshole whose life is about doing whatever it takes to hold on to his power. Lie, cheat, steal, kill—whatever.

I try to sound uninterested. “Oh?”

“Yeah. From UCLA. Something about a graduate program.”

I give him a direct look. “Did you take a message?”

His mouth tightens. “No, I did not. Do you know why I did not?”

I know exactly why, but I say nothing. I just tilt an eyebrow at him. If he wants to be an asshole, then let him explain to me his asshole ways.

“We’ve talked about this, Jess. I put you through college so you’d have some grounding in your education, but that’s all there is. You’re not going to graduate school. You’re sure as hell not going to medical school.”

I don’t know why I ever told him what I really wanted out of my life. I must have just been extra stupid that day. All it did was open me up, make me more vulnerable. Silly me, thinking my own father might want to support me in my life goals. I grind my molars together and manage not to retort.

“I’m not wasting my money on another degree for you.”

He gets angrier when I don’t answer him. I know this, and I know there are times when it would be smarter just to have it out with him, because the quieter I am, the more dangerous he gets. But I just can’t do it today. And it’s not because I’m afraid of him. It’s because somehow, inside, I feel stronger than I have in a long time.

“You don’t have what it takes. You’ve never stuck to anything in your life, and you barely made it through college as it was.”

I shift a little as a pang hits my chest, because it’s just not true. I did fine in college. Didn’t break any records, but that was because I actually took classes that challenged me. Because I wanted to
learn
, not just skate through with some half-assed degree because Daddy was willing to pay for it.

He’s not willing to pay for any more. He’s made that far too clear. And I can’t keep my mouth shut anymore.

“Sure, Pops.” He hates when I call him Pops. “I got it. I keep my pretty mouth shut and I marry Carmine, and you teach him all the ropes so he can take over the family business while I spit out little babies and raise them so
they
can keep up the family business,” I’m damn near screaming the words now, “because God forbid somebody in this goddamn family should really take a look at what we do and make a stand.”

“
This goddamn family
?”

Fuck, here we go. The speech about how grateful I should be to be a scion of the Spada tree.

“I ought to smack your fucking mouth for shitting on this family. Who pays for the clothes on your back? Who paid for your college education?”

I take a step back. My eyes are hot. This surprises me; I learned a long time ago how to keep from letting Pop make me cry. “I just want something different. I just want something that’s
mine
.”

He shakes his head. “It was good enough for your mother, and it was good enough for Sophie.”

Of course it was good enough for Sophie. My sister doesn’t care about anything but sex, money, and Manolos. And maybe her husband. I’m never sure about that one. Seems to me he’s an asshole like all the rest of them.

“If it’s good enough for them, then it’s damn sure good enough for you.”

It’s not.
I want to scream the words at him. I wish I did have regular textbooks so I could heave them at him. Maybe one of them would hit him in the head. But I don’t have that option. I just meet his gaze evenly and give a slow shake of my head. Then, without saying another word, I turn and start to leave the room.

But he’s not done. “Jessica,” he says quietly to my back. “One more thing.”

I stop, but I don’t turn to face him. “What?”

“Don’t forget—you have a date with Carmine tonight.”

I turn on him; I can’t help it. “What?”

“The movie premiere. You remember. We planned it months ago.” He’s so calm, so certain I won’t argue with him. “He’s picking you up at five.”

Unexpected tears spring to my eyes, and I fight to keep them from falling. I will
not
cry in front of him over this. Finally, when I’m certain I’ve got control again, I say, “Fine.” This time when I turn, I make it all the way out the door.

If this is the game he wants to play, then so be it. I’ll go to the premiere tonight, but this is the last time. I’ll find a permanent way out of this house if it kills me. He can’t control me, and the only thing I can think of right now is figuring out how to prove that to him. Coming up with a way to shove it right in his face.

He calls after me again. This time I don’t answer.

#

I drive for a while, not sure where I’m going. I just want to get away. The car’s nice, and part of me wants to turn it onto the highway and let it go. As if you can let a car go in the middle of Los Angeles. It’s a pipe dream, just like the rest of my life.

After a while I realize where I’ve headed. I’m on the way to Cain’s place. Except I’m not a hundred percent sure where he lives. Yeah, I drove there last night, but I was following him, and I was so revved up, knowing what was going to happen when we got there, that I didn’t register all the turns and landmarks.

I’m close though. I start paying more attention to the shops and businesses I’m driving by. There’s a gym on the right-hand side. The name sounds familiar. I think I’ve heard some of Pop’s assistants mention it. Like maybe this is where Pop’s fighters train. He has a stable of them, not just Cain. A half dozen, I think, maybe eight. They’re all securely under his thumb. Sometimes I think he treats them like racehorses—he has a certain amount of affection for them but doesn’t really think of them as people. They’re just assets. If one of them broke a leg, he’d probably shoot him to save on expenses.

In any case, I pull into the small parking lot behind the gym. It’s close enough to where Cain lives that there’s a chance somebody might know him even if this isn’t his main training spot. I can go inside and ask.

Why the hell would you want to do that?
There’s no answer to the question rattling around in my head, but it doesn’t really matter. I’m on autopilot at this point. All I want to do is get away from my father. The best way I can think of to do that is to find Cain and let him fuck all that nastiness out of me. Make me feel like I own my own body again. That’s what I felt last night. I haven’t felt like that in a long time. If ever.

I hesitate for a moment—just a moment—before I get out of the car and head inside. I’ll decide what I’m going to do when the time comes. He’s probably not even there.

Inside, the place smells like old sweat and testosterone. Grease, a coppery tang of blood. Maybe, somewhere, an undercurrent of vomit, piss, and come. The place is basically empty, but I can hear voices from what sounds like several yards away.

Not exactly your high-class fitness club. No, this is a place where men come to beat the fuck out of each other. And not the greatest place for me to be hanging out on my own.

Maybe I shouldn’t have come here.

And then I see him. He’s on a mat on the far side of the gym, sparring with a partner who’s about three inches taller and maybe twenty pounds heavier than he is. But Cain is holding his own.

Cain is a joy to watch in action. His body moves like a weapon, finely honed, tight, trained, and beautiful. He has a level of control that boggles the mind.

And not just in the ring.
My brain reminds me of this as I let my gaze stroke over him. I really didn’t need to have that thought right now. Watching him go through his paces just reminds me of the heat between my legs. My pussy throbs, remembering what it felt like to have him inside.

He’s sheened with sweat; it drips in a line down the indentation of his spine, and his hair is lank with it. Muscles bunch and glide under his skin, changing the shapes of the tattoos that decorate his back, his arms, his chest. I catch my breath, fighting an urge to run to him, to lick the sweat from his body.

Gross, Jess.
But it isn’t gross. Not according to everything between my legs, anyway.

Instead of leaving, I move a few steps closer. I don’t think he sees me; he’s so focused on his opponent. They close on each other, and Cain grapples with the other man, bringing him down to the mat. They struggle for a few long seconds. I can’t stop watching. Cain’s on his back on the mat, his legs wrapped around the other man’s waist, straining under him, doing everything he can to protect his face, to keep his opponent from pounding him. The way their bodies are tangled with each other is almost sexual, and for a moment, I can’t even breathe.

Finally the other man laughs, and Cain relaxes. They separate and lurch to their feet, tapping fists. “Good practice,” Cain says.

“Yeah.” The other man shakes his head. “You always take it so serious.”

Cain offers him a twisted half smile. “Of course.”

Peeling off his gloves, the other man says, “You need me for anything else?”

“Nah, I’m good.”

“Cool.” The man leaves the ring, heading for the front door. He grabs a towel on the way out and mops his face with it. Cain ducks between the ropes, too, and when he straightens, he suddenly sees me.

“Hey,” he says. “Look who it is.”

My breath is suddenly caught in my throat, fluttering like a frightened bird. My heart beats hard; I can feel it there right next to my broken breathing. “Hey,” I manage, barely.

He starts to saunter toward me. His twisted smile lets me know he’s not going to give me any kind of a break. About anything. He’s probably mad still, after his talk with my father. I overheard part of it, lurking at the door like a teenager, just in case Cain said anything about me.

Cain’s not done taunting me. “Had to come back, huh? Itching for another taste?”

“I just…” I trail off. Why
am
I here? I’m not even sure myself, except that I just needed to get out of the house. Why I think I’d be any safer with Cain than at home is beyond me at the moment.

Crossing the rest of the distance between us, he stops a few steps away. His gaze rakes me, top to bottom, taking me in. It almost makes me feel dirty, but it’s arousing, too. He lifts his arms a bit away from his sides. “Take a look. This what you want? Want me to make you scream again?”

I can smell him now, the acrid stink of the sweat that’s dripping on his body. Why don’t I find it disgusting? I probably should. But I’ve gone so wet between my legs I feel like I might be melting. “I should go.”

I turn to do just that, but his hand grabs my arm and drags me back around, forcing me to look him in the face. “You know, I was wondering if you were going to say something to your dad this morning. Like, ‘Hey, leave my boy alone ’cause he fucked me so hard last night and now I don’t want you to hurt him.’ You tell him what we did last night?”

“No.” I layer scorn into my voice. It’s a stupid question, and he knows it.

“Too bad.” His hand eases off my arm, but his eyes hold me still. “I should have. That would have been a kick, huh? I wanted to. Wanted to tell him how his little girl screamed like a cat in heat. Begged me for it. How he might think he owns you, but now I’ve got part of you and I’m not letting it go.” He moves a little closer. I can’t drag my eyes away from his mouth. He has full, almost pillowy lips, incongruous in the harsh lines of the rest of his face. “What do you think he’d think about that, huh? How do you think he’d feel if I told him I own your cunt? That all you can do now is think about getting me back inside you?”

I should be hating this. He’s an asshole, throwing crude words like weapons. But something about the way he does it, the way his eyes hold mine, as if he’s daring me to say something about it, just revs my engines. I should want a nice guy, I guess. Somebody who’ll bring me flowers and breakfast in bed. But that’s not what I want at this exact moment. What I want is him. Hard and crude and filthy.

I reach up, grab the sweat-soaked hair at the back of his neck, and drag his face down to mine. Bite his lower lip—hard—then kiss him. I push up onto my toes, letting my silk blouse press against his sweaty chest and belly. It’ll be ruined, most likely, but I don’t care. My other hand goes around him, my small purse slapping him in the hip as I gouge my fingernails into the high arch of muscle next to his spine.

His hands close on my shoulders. His head leans down and his mouth pushes mine open, his tongue thrusting inside in a possessive stab. I shift a little because I’m having trouble breathing, and he follows my movement, kissing me hard and deep, like he owns me.