Page 46 of City of Wind and Lies

Nodding, I shift in my seat, trying to relieve the growing ache his words have caused between my thighs as Drea plops down beside me on the couch.

I don't miss the look that Dallas shoots in Drea's direction or the way her cheeks darken with a blush as she unpacks the takeout. I take the cranberry limeade -my absolute favorite drink to treat myself with- from the carrier and punch a straw through the lid.

"So," I start as soon as the front door latches shut. "Wanna tell me what's going on there?" I ask, pinching the straw and taking a sip.

She rolls her eyes, popping a fried pickle in her mouth. "There's nothing to tell, really. When he picked me up, it was the first time we'd talked since he called about you being attacked."

I wince. "Sorry if I've inadvertently beaver-dammed you."

"Girl, stop," she admonishes. "Don't even go down that rabbit hole I know you are starting on. I like the guy, sure." She shrugs, reaching for the remote and turning on the TV. "But it's casual and I'm good with it. What I'm not good with is you blaming yourself for what happened."

It's almost scary how well she knows me. No matter how ridiculous it seems, the nagging thoughts of how I could’ve done something different, been more self-aware or just kept my damn mouth shut when Allen was getting fired, keep cropping up in my mind.

Leaning forward, I grab a mozzarella stick and dip it in the ranch before taking a bite. "I'll try not to."

She squeezes my knee. "If you need to talk, cry, break things, or eat an array of random appetizers paid for by your new rich boyfriend, you call me. No matter what, I'm always here for you."

I swipe away the tears with the back of my hand, hitching forward and throwing my arms around Drea’s shoulders, squeezing her in a hug. "I don't deserve you."

"Sure you do," she coos as she rocks us side to side. "We're besties for the resties."

"Thank you," I whisper, giving her a final squeeze.

Rocking back, I curl my legs beneath me and take another drink of my limeade as she scrolls through the streaming options. Nothing really jumps out at us, so we settle on having the Harry Potter movies playing in the background. Drea brings the takeout box to sit between us and twists to face me. "So, how long are you staying here?"

I shrug. "We didn't really discuss that. I guess until they find Allen."

"Did you file a police report?"

"No, Bowie-" I pause. Bowie's commanding words to Dallas, his promise to drown the city in blood to find him, and the conversation in the shower, send my mind spinning like one of those carnival teacup rides.

"Bowie what?" Drea questions.

"He said he'd take care of it." The partial lie sits bitterly on my tongue. I don’t usually keep anything from her, but until I have more to go off of, it sounds better than me spouting off that he’s got his giant tattooed hands in some sort of criminal activity. There wasn’t a motorcycle in the parking garage so the Sons of Anarchy fantasy can be crossed off the list. Enigma, my dangerous and sexy enigma.

The conversation dies off naturally, our attention shifting back to the TV as Hagrid busts in declaring "Yer a wizard, Harry!" and I can't help but share in Harry’s turmoil.

My hand comes to rest on my stomach and I’m hit with the sudden realization that all the decisions I make from this point forward not only affect me, but this baby, too. How am I going to navigate that?

But just as anxiety creeps in, I think of Bowie, and it starts to wash away. As long as he’s by my side, I know we can manage. We’re in this together.

16

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I lean back in my office chair. The letters and numbers are all blurring together on the screen of my laptop as I struggle to review the balance sheets and cash flow reports the Monarch Club's manager sent me. I push up from my desk, stride over to the bar, and add a splash of whiskey to my coffee.

My mind just isn't in it to focus on this type of work today. I thought coming to my office at the 708 Club would offer me fewer distractions than the office at the Monarch Club, but instead of being tempted with having Wren just an elevator ride away, I’m now brimming with apprehension at the distance between us.

I take a sip of my spiked coffee, the combination warming me from the inside out, but doing little to tame my thoughts. Hitching up my slacks, I prop a foot on the rung of the barstool, resting an elbow on the bar top as I fish my phone from my pocket to fire off a text to Rocco.

Stop by the 708 office after you've gathered today's headlines.

Dallas staked out Allen's house all night, only trading off with Rhodes this morning at my command. But he hadn't had time to check in with his associates before collecting Drea and the girls' lunch. He's made it clear to me that he takes all responsibility for what happened with Wren and for letting Allen get away. I may have been seething when I got to the hospital, but I don't actually blame him. He chose to prioritize Wren in the moment, and I'd have done the same. If anyone's to blame, it's me, for putting her in that position in the first place.

Taking another swig from my mug, my mind wanders to the day I saw the blood staining her creamy thighs after bending her over my desk and realized I wanted nothing more than to shield her from the crosshairs she'd be put in by being mine. I knew the danger that lurked with bringing her into my life, but I never bargained that a paunchy accountant with a bad hairline would be the snake that struck first.

Little did I know that at that moment, we were already bound by the one thing I thought I wanted least.

In la famiglia, the woman that carries your children, the one you marry, isn’t supposed to be fucked like a whore, pushed to her knees, and praised. No, she’s to be docile, run the house, bite her tongue, and you make love to her for the purpose of growing your family. It's all out of obligation. Sure, there's love in a lot of those relationships, but it's the kind that's learned, not experienced.

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