Enforcer’s Obsession

Chapter 14

FOURTEEN

Nico

I’d thought she looked perfect in my bed before, but now that I’d tasted her, been inside her…

My chest clenched with unfamiliar emotion as I stared at her, her thin braids strewn over my pillows, the rays of sun highlighting the brown, blonde, and black strands.

I waited for the guilt, knowing that scum like me should never had touched her, let alone fuck her.

And then fuck her again.

That guilt didn’t come.

No, all I felt was contentment and a desire that was even stronger now than it had been before I’d touched her.

She shifted and then looked at me. A soft smile spread across her lips, and her eyes took on a dreamy softness. “Good morning,” she whispered, her voice both breathy and gruff.

I was hard instantly, and from the way her eyes widened, she hadn’t missed it.

I wanted nothing more than to bury myself in her softness and heat but the tiny part of me that was still decent knew she needed a break.

“Time to get up, Trouble,” I said.

I realized too late that I sounded gruff, but she just smiled. “My name is still Hope,” she said.

“Well, Hope , get dressed,” I said.

She laughed, and the hard-on that had receded came roaring back to life when she stood. To my surprise, she didn’t try to cover herself. No, she just walked toward the bathroom with those sweet-ass curves on display.

I chuckled and then left and went to the guest room to clean up and dress.

“Where are we going?” she asked when I walked back into my bedroom.

She looked at me, wary, but also interested.

“Do you like waffles?” I asked instead of answering.

She blinked, a flash of pain in her expression before she answered. “Yes. They were my mother’s favorite.”

She cut off quickly, and I knew there was more to that story.

I wanted to uncover it all.

And in time, I would.

“Then we’re going for waffles,” I said.

She was dressed in the jeans and plain button-down.

I regretted it even buying them.

All the fine clothes she had at her fingertips, and she only chose those, probably to spite me.

I didn’t say anything, though.

My inclination was to push, but as seemed to be the case far too often with her, I questioned myself.

I knew Hope was trying to navigate an entirely new world, so her clothes were probably the least of her concerns and should have been the least of mine. Ordinarily it would have been. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was part of her attempt to distance herself from me.

Something I hated as much as I understood it.

Instincts I didn’t even know I had screamed at me to claim her, but I kept them at bay, reminding myself that an innocent like her had no place in my life, so maybe distance wasn’t such a bad idea.

Something I seemed to lose sight of as I kept a hand at the small of her back and guided her to the garage.

“A different car,” she commented.

She closed her mouth quickly, and I saw her expression go blank.

“Observant,” I said.

“I talk too much,” she muttered.

I smiled, but didn’t contradict her or agree.

Once she was settled in the car, I pulled out of the garage, and set off toward our destination.

“You’re not putting me in the trunk again?” she asked.

“If that’s what you would prefer,” I responded, glancing over at her.

She shook her head quickly, then shivered. “No.”

I felta twist in my gut, something much too much like guilt.

That had been a necessity, and was one of the things that had kept her alive.

I decided not to point that fact out to her, knowing that she probably understood all too well.

She looked out of her window, trying her best not to appear engaged, though she wasn’t fooling me.

She was looking at everything she passed, trying to get a sense of her location.

“We’re not too far outside of the city,” I said.

She looked at me out of the corner of her eye, guilt practically radiating from her being.

“Do I want you to tell me any of this?” she asked.

She had her hands in her lap, her fingers interlaced.

But there was tension in her, and though I understood, I didn’t like it, especially not after what we had shared.

Told myself I was being an asshole.

The girl was terrified, worried about whether she would live.

I needed to cut her some slack.

“It’s fine if you know. We’re past all that now.”

She said nothing, just kept her eyes glued to the window.

I should have kept mine glued to the road, but I kept glancing at her, finding it almost impossible to look away.

I couldn’t put my finger on why.

She was a pretty girl, wholesome and kind-looking. Fragile at first glance, though I didn’t miss the strength that she carried.

Wondered what the source of it was.

I parked at my favorite hotel with a restaurant attached.

“No valet?” she said as I rounded the car to open the door.

“No,” I responded.

She smiled, the quick little expression lighting her entire face and making my heart squeeze.

I grabbed her wrist and started walking.

I didn’t need to touch her.

After all, I knew this place well, knew that it was as safe as any because it was owned by the Rossi family, one of Don Carlo’s closest allies.

Still, I wanted to touch her, and didn’t have the willpower, or the desire, to try to deny myself.

It shocked me that she didn’t pull away, and as I looked at her, I wondered why.

Was she comfortable with my touch, or was she afraid of upsetting me?

Probably both.

I punched the button to call the elevator, and noticed that she stiffened slightly.

It was interesting, yet also unnerving how in tune she seemed with my emotions.

Like she was gauging my reaction at every single second, trying to be prepared for whatever would come.

I wondered why she behaved like that, then wondered if I wanted to know.

We walked through the restaurant, and after we were seated at my table, I watched her as she looked around.

“Nice,” she said.

“Do you like it?” I asked.

She shrugged quickly. “Do you like it?”

I saw the wariness again, saw her trying to figure out what to say, trying to gauge my response.

“Trouble, you can speak your mind,” I said.

She gave me an indulgent smile. “If you say so,” she said.

We sat in silence a few moments longer, and then breakfast arrived.

Waffles, mine with pecans, hers plain.

I watched as she took a bite, then smiled, this one genuine.

“So this mother, who loves waffles, where is she now?”

I knew the answer, at least the version that had been put on paper, but I wanted the details.

Hope faltered, but then quickly regained her composure and locked her eyes on mine, the brown dark with emotion.

“I think you know the answer to that question, Nico,” she said.

“You think I ask questions I already know the answer to?” I said.

“I think you like to play games. I shouldn’t have said that, but,” she shrugged, “I did. So if you don’t mind, I’d like to eat my breakfast.”

Clearly a sore spot, and one I intended to push.

“I do mind. Answer the question,” I said before taking a bite of my own waffle.

“Which question is that?” she asked, having regained her composure.

“Where’s your mother?”

“Dead,” she fired without hesitation. “Does that make you happy?”

“Mine is too. And no, your mother being dead doesn’t make me happy. How did she die?”

When I finished speaking, it struck me that I had mentioned my own mother, something I never, ever did. But it felt natural with her, or maybe it was just my attempt at giving her something to keep her from feeling so adrift.

And again I was left to wonder why I was so preoccupied with how she felt.

“They say she killed herself,” Hope said.

“They say?” I responded.

“Yeah. It was open and shut as far as the investigation was concerned, if you could call it that,” she said.

The lack of emotion in her voice only underscored the pain I was sure she felt.

She spoke the words like she had rehearsed them a thousand times, and there was a hint of truth of them in them.

“What happened to her, Hope?” I asked, not sure if she would answer.

“Her disgusting, piece of shit husband killed her,” she said.

Again, there was no emotion in her voice, but her eyes were ablaze.

She hadn’t shown this much emotion when she was terrified, or when she was worried about her friend’s well-being. But when I looked into her eyes now, I saw fury and hatred. The kind so deep and so fundamental that it wasn’t hot. It was cold, solid, like a lead weight that was weighing her down.

“Tell me,” I whispered.