Page 45 of I Stop Somewhere Waiting For You

“It’s a burner. I got one, too. This is how you and I will communicate moving forward, but if you need to call any official Parleys related to business, then do it on your regular cell. If our phones are being monitored, then it has to look like business as usual.”

I pull off to the side, shifting the car into park before lifting the phone from my lap. “So, you what? Knew I was just gonna agree to all this?”

“Yes,” he states plainly. “Because while we are rivals, you’re not a fucking idiot. I would have agreed to the terms, which is how I knew you would. And for all of our differences, we’re essentially one and the same.”

“Because you glamorize this shit.” The words spill from my mouth, seemingly out of context.

Nicky turns to me, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“You said you didn’t know why we don’t care for one another. I don’t care for you because you glamorize this shit.” A sigh escapes me as I toss the burner phone into the center console. “I was forced to take on this role, Nick. Hydetown was drowning in drugs and crime. Someone had to take control. I never wanted the empire. I just wanted a safer place to live. But good can’t always overcome evil. Sometimes in order to defeat evil, you need better-intentioned evil. But you sought all this out. You thrive in it. All that potential and you waste it every day.”

I shake my head slowly before swiveling to meet his gaze head-on. “When this is done, I want out. I knew you wouldn’t want the gun business. I’ve already organized contacts to absorb it, far enough outside our boundaries that it won’t touch here. The only reason I went into arms dealing is so I could ensure the guns never landed here. The drugs? Take it all. I always hated we were involved in that shit, anyway; but, again, at least I could control who was using and what.”

“And I will see to it that continues to happen,” Nicky promises me. “No kids. No laced product. You won’t have people OD’ing in your streets.”

He reaches for the handle of the door but pauses before making contact. “I need to be in control.” He glances back to me, his next words taking me by surprise. “We lost my mom to cancer back in the day. My pops spiraled for a couple years. I couldn’t stop it. Everything was falling apart, and I had no control in any of it. I felt powerless. My sister and my stepmom fixed all that when they came into our lives, and I vowed I would never feel so helpless ever again. I didn’t start this shit because I think it’s glamorous. I started because the level of control I needed to exert in every aspect of daily living just to keep from spiraling could only be fulfilled by this role. And now… I’m just in too deep to quit.” His hand grips the handle and pulls. “Keep the phone on you. I’ll be in touch.” And with that, he slams the door, jogging off into the rain that has now worked its way to a steady downpour.

I glance at the dash clock—12:17 PM—and shift the car into gear, racing back to Hydetown to swap the Audi for something less conspicuous. I have to hurry if I want to make it to the school before her last class.

After today, she’ll be in full lockdown, and God only knows how long this will take to be resolved. So, if I have any hope of holding her one last time before that happens, this is it, and I sure as shit won’t waste the opportunity.

CHAPTER 23

JONSIE

I’m sitting in AP Calc listening to Ropple drone on about negative definite integrals when I feel the hum of a vibration within my bag on the floor beside my desk. It’s faint, a slightly longer lone pulse, indicating a text message.

More importantly, considering my everyday phone is on the corner of my desk, I know it’s Mav.

I cannot recall a moment I have demonstrated more restraint than right now. Fighting all urge to fling myself on top of it, I casually reach down, pretending to retrieve a notepad from within while concealing the phone as I bring it to my lap. I swipe open the message from the unknown number, knowing it’s him. Mav’s number comes up as blocked. I know it by heart, but I don’t store it in case the phone ever fell into the wrong hands.

Unknown: Girls' locker room. Now.

I shoot up so fast I almost overturn the desk. The entire class turns to look at me just as I quickly shove the phone in the pocket of my skirt.

“Problem, Ms. Hunter?” Ms. Ropple turns from the board, eyeing me over the frame of her black cat-eye glasses.

“May I be excused, please? I’m not feeling well.”

“Of course, Joanna.” She smiles warmly at me, and I never thought I’d see the day where I am thankful that my man-whore of a brother laid quality pipe.

I nod in appreciation, offering a soft smile as I make my way to the door. Once I’m in the hall, I rush downstairs toward the old section of the building, making my way to the locker rooms. This time of day, gym has concluded, so they’re sure to be empty.

My pace quickens as the worn oversized wooden door comes into view, and I collide with it, shoving inward as I propel myself inside. I’m barely across the threshold when I’m wrapped up into a pair of strong arms, spinning me and slamming me into the tile wall.

His mouth presses into mine, his tongue forcing my lips to part as I hungrily let him in.

Jesus Christ. He smells so fucking good. He tastes so fucking good. Every stroke of his tongue against mine sends another rush of arousal to my core. I’ve been in his arms for less than a minute and I’m already soaked. I love the way my body responds to him. Like it knows its master’s come home.

“Can’t wait,” he groans against my mouth before nipping at my lower lip. “I need to be inside you right now.”

“Then what the fuck are you waiting for?” I growl, the gesture causing a smile to spread across his lips as they brush against my own. “Please, baby.” My demands become desperate pleas the longer I go without. “My pussy needs you. I need you,” I pant like a bitch in heat.

My hand guides his up in between my thighs, and the moan that leaves his throat when he feels how drenched I am through my panties practically has me teetering on the brink of an orgasm.

“Fuck, J. You’re fucking soaked.” Shoving the thin lace fabric aside, he sinks two fingers inside me, my walls instantly clenching around him. “There she is…” he whispers into my ear. “There’s my good girl. This pussy remembers exactly who it belongs to.”

His fingers curl up inside me, massaging my most sensitive spot while the palm of his hand grinds against my clit. After sixteen days without him, the dual sensation has me barreling toward a powerful climax; the sensation building deep in my core as I climb higher with each commanding stroke.

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