Mobster: Romantic Suspense Read online

  “Yeah, a few times.”

  “When?”

  “Now who’s doing the interrogating?”

  “I’m just making conversation.”

  His mouth twitched a little, as though holding in a smile.

  “Okay, I was so cold I thought my balls were gonna drop off when I got stuck in a snowstorm up in Canada one time. Car had a blowout just over the border, and I had to hunker down for the night and wait on my little brother to come get me.”

  “What were you doing in Canada?”

  He hesitated. “Business.”

  “Why wait for your brother? Why not call a rescue truck?”

  “We like to keep things in the family.”

  God, she’d heard that before. In fact, if she had a dollar for every time she’d heard it, she’d be a fucking millionaire.

  Chapter Two

  Beth looked at her empty plate. She’d polished it clean with the last of the pancake, mopping up every dribble of syrup and dab of whipped cream. She’d dined in some of Chicago’s most exclusive restaurants, but never had she enjoyed every single mouthful of a meal as much as the one Roper had just bought her.

  “Food’s not bad here.” Roper set his fork down with a clatter.

  “Excellent,” she said, wiping her fingers over her lips. “Had some fancy food in my life, but that”—she pointed at the plate—“was awesome.”

  “Glad you enjoyed it.” He paused. “So where’d you eat this fancy food?”

  “Chicago mainly.”

  “Is that where you’re from?”

  She scowled, wishing she hadn’t revealed so much information. She didn’t know Roper from Adam, and right now she was trying to lay low. The last thing she wanted was any Rammada enemies finding out where she was.

  Which was why she’d hitched her way to New York when it had all kicked off in the summer—hitching left the least trail.

  “Do you think they’ll let me sit for a while?” she asked, glancing at the waitress. “It’s so damn cold out there.”

  “Smelling and looking the way you do? Nah, not good for business, Beth. You look like something the cat dragged in, and I’m sure the fucking stink is putting people off their dinner.”

  “Charming.”

  He smiled and rested his forearms on the table.

  It was a gentle smile, and it softened his otherwise hard face and went right to his eyes. Plus there was something about the way he set all of his attention on her, as though she were special, important, and just for a second, she didn’t feel invisible.

  “How about…you come up to my apartment. You can wash up and crash for the night,” he said quietly.

  So there it was. The proposition. No such thing as a free meal. Next thing she knew he’d be demanding she spread her legs for him.

  “I live upstairs,” he said, with a small jerk of his head. “Above the diner.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Yeah, it’s not fancy, but it’s warm and dry.” He sat back and rubbed his chin, grating his fingers over the stubble.

  She glanced outside. Halos of cold air sat around the lampposts and a car’s headlights revealed a steady patter of rain, or was it sleet?

  Finding a doorway to sleep in filled her with dread. Now she’d warmed up, the cold would bite her with meaner teeth. She’d learnt that once she was cold and numb, it was hard for the pain to get worse. It was that drift from warmth to freezing that hurt the most.

  “Okay,” she said. “I will.” The words had seemed stuck on her tongue. She was whoring herself for a roof over her head.

  She looked down at her lap and the tatty fingerless gloves she wore. Her nails were full of filth and the skin around them torn. Let’s face it, she was hardly a catch…the price of a plate of pancakes and she’d do whatever Roper wanted.

  “Good,” he said, standing and dropping a pile of bills onto the table. “Let’s go. It’s been a long day.” He reached for his coat and scrunched it in his fist.

  A tremble shuddered through her. He was clearly keen to get started and get his cock in her mouth, cunt or ass. She wasn’t sure which yet.

  She got to her feet. They were still tingling, and swollen, too. Her leather boots suddenly felt small.

  “This way.” Roper turned to the back of the diner. “The entrance is through the kitchen.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, I rent the place from the owner.”

  “Ah, okay.” No wonder the waitress had known his name.

  She followed him, aware of the stares—people obviously wondering what a guy like Roper was doing with a scruffy waif of a girl.

  They’d likely guess he was in it for a cheap screw. And she couldn’t blame him for wanting her to clean up a bit first. She was under no illusion that her sewer rat perfume was offensive in the extreme. Hell, he’d just told her as much.

  Roper led the way past a chef working at a burner—flipping burgers and turning bacon—who took no notice of them and carried on humming a repetitive tune.

  Beth glanced around. Perhaps this would be a good diner to hang about outside, around the back, to see if they threw any decent stuff away. This time tomorrow she’d be hungry again.

  She tried not to think about that. One thing about being homeless was that you had to live for the moment, and right now, she was fed and warm, so all was good. She’d cope with whatever the night or tomorrow threw at her when it arrived.

  Roper led her through a cupboard stacked with non-perishables. A blue rattrap had been tucked into the corner.

  “Strange entrance to your home,” she said.

  “Yeah.” He opened the door. “But it’s designed for the diner manager, so he can live on site.”

  “So why doesn’t he?”

  “He’s got a place a few blocks away, with his family.”

  The door led up a steep flight of stairs with a dogleg turn halfway up. Once they’d climbed to the top, Roper unlocked another door. He pushed it open with the flat of his palm and indicated for her to go in first.

  As she stepped inside, he flicked on an overhead light.

  The room was painted a sickly green and the brown carpet was worn and scratchy-looking. There was a burgundy sofa, an old-style analogue TV and a table littered with mugs, newspapers and empty beer bottles. There was nothing personal about the room, other than it smelled of cigarettes, so she presumed he was a smoker. The lack of photographs and other paraphernalia most people cluttered their homes with made it sterile despite the fact it was tired and grungy.

  “Kitchen through there if you want coffee,” he said, with a nod to the right. “And the bathroom is this way.”

  “Okay.” She watched as he hung his coat up on a hook beside the door. His sweater stretched over his broad shoulders and his dark jeans hugged his taut ass.

  “What?” he asked, catching her studying him.

  “Nothing.” Perhaps settling her debts wouldn’t be so bad. He was a bit old, sure, but there were worse-looking blokes to have to put out for.

  He let his gaze drift over her, as though taking in the shocking state of her outfit and scraggy clothes. “You need to clean up.” He headed into the bathroom, and within a few seconds, she heard the blissful sound of running water.

  She stooped and shoved off her boots. Her socks were gray and had holes in the heels. She slipped out of her jacket and hung it next to his, being careful not to let the leather touch; she didn’t want to contaminate his clothing. She then peeled off the gloves that gave pitiful protection from the cold nights and shoved them into her coat pocket.

  At the bathroom door, she paused and watched as he tipped some kind of oil into the tub, then shoved at his sweater sleeve and swirled the water around. The scent of lavender hit her nose.

  He looked up. “It was here,” he said, holding the bottle aloft. “When I moved in. Not my kind of thing.”

  “No, I didn’t think so.”

  He set the oil aside. “I’ll leave you. Take your time; nothing else happ
ening tonight.”

  Except you’ll want to ram your cock into me.

  “Okay, thanks.”

  He stepped past her, his arm brushing hers in the narrow room.

  She realized how much taller than her he was; she barely came up to his shoulder. And damn, his biceps were thick. She was right when she’d presumed he had strength. He was clearly no stranger to the gym, either that or heavy manual labor.

  He pulled the door almost shut, leaving a gap of about an inch.

  Beth didn’t care. The rising water with a medley of bubbles pluming from it was all she could think of.

  Quickly, she stripped off her stinking jeans, sweater and underwear. She used the toilet, then turned off the taps.

  She put one foot in, wincing at the sharpness of the heat on her bright red skin.

  Gingerly, yet loving every moment of it, she lowered into the water, appreciating each touch of it on her body. She straightened her legs and lay back, submerging up to her neck. “Oh fuck,” she murmured. It was like being transported to heaven. Her body had only given her pain for so long, yet now a pleasant sensation was embracing her.

  She swished the bubbles over her nipples, then slid deeper, going completely under. She stayed there, breath held, enjoying the sound of the water against her eardrums.

  When she surfaced and dashed the bubbles from her face, Roper was standing in front of her.

  She wasn’t surprised.

  “Here,” he said, holding up a bottle of shampoo. “You might want this.”

  She sat. “Thanks.”

  He looked at her bubble-coated chest.

  “I appreciate it,” she said, taking the shampoo.

  “And soap.” He handed over a fresh bar, still in its papery wrapper.

  She smiled her thanks.

  For a moment, she wondered if he’d stay and watch, ask if he could scrub her back, but he didn’t. He turned and left, pulling the door to the way it had been.

  Filling her palm with shampoo, she was glad he’d gone. The ink at the nape of her neck was a giveaway to her heritage. The Rammada crest—an eagle carrying a serpent in its talons—was famous in the underworld of drugs and gangs, so the less people who saw it, the better.

  Maybe one day she’d get it removed. That would serve her father right.

  She lathered her hair twice, enjoying the clean feel and the fact her scalp wasn’t gritty anymore. She unwrapped the soap, topped up the bathwater with more hot, then slowly and carefully cleaned every inch of her body. She got all the crap out from under her nails, scrubbed her ears, rubbed between her poor toes.

  Her body hair was new—she’d always been one to keep strict waxing appointments—but now dark curls adorned her mound and feathery hair sprouted from her underarms. Her legs weren’t too bad, and she decided she didn’t mind her natural look as much as she’d always presumed she would.

  As she set the soap aside, the bathroom door opened again.

  “How you doing?” Roper asked.

  “Good, thanks.”

  He smiled. “Here. This’ll help.”

  She took the glass of amber fluid he held out to her. “What is it?”

  “Brandy.”

  “Oh, okay.” She sniffed it, and the alcohol assaulted her nostrils.

  It will help. That’s what he’d said. But help with what? The things he wanted to do to her? Was he a kinky sadistic bastard with a warped imagination? Maybe he had a room for girls like her, where he tied them up and fucked them over and over.

  “Drink up,” he said.

  She did as instructed. The fluid slapped her tongue, and tracked a burn down her gullet into her stomach. “Eww…” she said, unable to suppress a shudder.

  He smiled, took the glass, then disappeared.

  Beth stared at the tiles in front of her. They were white, the grouting gray. One was cracked.

  She couldn’t stay in the bath forever. She’d have to get out at some point and face the music. Give Roper what he wanted.

  But just another five minutes.

  Chapter Three

  After topping up the hot water several times, Beth could put it off no longer. She emptied the bath, then stood and used a brown towel hanging on the back of the door to dry off.

  Her skin was tingly and the sensation of being clean and of having wet, sweetly-scented hair was utter bliss.

  She cleared a patch of steam so she could peer into the mirror. Her cheeks were gaunt but flushed, and her eyes lacked their usual sparkle. Now instead they seemed hollow, full of desolation. The girl who’d always been the life and soul of the party, the latest trendsetter, was no more. This was new Beth, the one who concealed her surname, hiding from the Chicago mobsters who would come after her as vengeance for her father’s mistakes.

  She swiped some toothpaste onto her finger and did her best cleaning her teeth. A thick-toothed comb sat on a shelf so she dragged it through her hair, letting it rest down her back. She washed out her underwear and hung it on the radiator to dry. Her jeans and sweater she didn’t know what to do with. It would take more than a rinse to breathe life into them again.

  But she’d worry about that later. Right now she had something else to attend to.

  “Right, girl,” she whispered. “Let’s get this done.” She tightened the towel around her breasts and pulled in a deep breath.

  Stepping into the lounge area, she was greeted by the sight of Roper lazing on the sofa. In one hand he held a glass with the same size splash of brandy he’d given her and in the other a lit cigarette. He was watching some sport channel on the TV.

  He glanced at her. “There’re clean clothes there. I reckon what you were wearing needs burning.”

  “Not the jacket.” Hell, no. She needed that.

  “Nah, that’ll wipe up okay.” He shrugged. “Don’t know if what’s there’ll fit, but it’s all I got to offer. Must’ve belonged to the last tenant…the one with the bath oil.”

  “Thank you.” She looked at the small bundle. It appeared to be a pair of black leggings, a dove-gray sweater and a red t-shirt. Black socks sat on the top. They were big, but at least didn’t have holes in them.

  “Feel better for your bath?” he asked, leaning forward and stubbing out his smoke in an overflowing ashtray. He sat back heavily and took a big slug of his drink.

  “Much.” She smiled and sauntered over to him, sashaying her hips as she went.

  He widened his eyes, but other than that didn’t react.

  “It’s time to make you feel better,” she said, stepping between his legs.

  No answer. Instead, he let his gaze drift down the towel she was hugging around herself that stopped just beneath her pussy.

  She smiled, reached for a cushion and dropped it to the floor. “You’ve been very kind to me.”

  Silence.

  “And now I want to be kind to you.” She sank to her knees and undid the top button on his jeans.

  He hitched in a breath, his chest swelling beneath his turtleneck.

  Beth gave her most seductive smile and fluttered her eyelashes. She’d only had one lover in the past, a guy she knew from college, and he’d told her she was good at sucking cock. Dating a Rammada had come with more baggage than he could handle, though, and one day he’d just stopped speaking to her. She wondered which of her cousins had gotten to him, or if perhaps it had been her father.

  But Roper, he was different from a college jock. He was all man, nothing boyish about him. Would she be up to standard?

  She dragged at his jeans. He didn’t help, but finally she managed to free his cock.

  It was semi-hard; she’d soon change that.

  Giving it a firm stroke—from his black, wiry pubic hair to the deep red, flared head—she felt blood rush to his shaft, making him harder. With her other hand, she stroked over the base of his flat belly. She’d been right…he was solid muscle. Goodness only knew how many hours he spent working out.

  Tipping forward, she swiped her tongue over his slit. Hi
s cock twitched and thickened further.

  He cleared his throat, and she looked up at him with the tip of her tongue on his cock end.

  He bit on his bottom lip, and a muscle flexed in his jaw. He clenched his fists, pressing one harder into the sofa cushions, the other gripping his glass.

  She opened her mouth and sank onto him, allowing his bloated cock to slide over her tongue. He tasted rich and musky, different than her other lover, who was all fresh cologne and shower gel. Roper was bigger, too, wider as well as longer.

  He slotted his fingers into her wet hair.

  For a moment, she stilled, not wanting him to move the damp strands and reveal her tattoo. But then she looked up at him, mouth full, and saw that he’d rested his head back and his eyes were closed.

  She bobbed up and down, setting a steady pumping rhythm.

  He was quiet and still, apart from the tension on her scalp where he held her. It wasn’t what she’d expected from a man like him, but she was happy to take an easy, less frantic pace. As soon as this was over, she’d be able to sleep, and damn it, she was dog-tired. The thought of a warm bed was the biggest turn-on of all for her.

  His cock grew harder still, and after a few minutes, the salty tang of pre-cum coated her palate.

  He released a low moan and firmed up the grip on her head.

  He was near to coming, she was sure. She clasped his root and worked that, too, picking up the pace. Her towel slipped, gathering over her knees and around her ass. She didn’t bother to move it.

  She had him. In his world, at this moment, she was all that existed.

  “Fuck,” he muttered.

  A shot of cum filled her mouth. He jerked his hips. Another spurt of release.

  She swallowed it down, trying not to gag as more and more viscous fluid swamped her throat.

  The tension on her hair tightened. He pushed deeper, burying her nose in his pubic hair, and groaned long and low.

  She held her breath, closed her eyes. It would be over soon.

  Suddenly, he released her and relaxed his hips.

  She lifted up and pulled in air.

  Letting his cock fall from her mouth, she caught it in her palm and gently stroked it—the shaft was still hard, the slit wide and convulsing.