Page 41 of Texting Mr. Stranger

My brother shrugs. “There’s no way around it. Maybe I can pretend I’m somebody else. Paint a few pictures. Read a few books. Yet when it comes down to it, I’ll always be a DeLuca.”

“What happened toyoutonight?”

“That rat told me more about Orlando’s plans—the stuff he wants to do. He idolizes the Cartels. He wants to bring their methods here. He wants to open brothels, the nonconsensual kind. It’s a goddamn mess.”

“That will never happen,” I tell him.

“What about you? Where were you? You seem …” He glances at the whiskey. “… concerned.”

“This is my first. I haven’t even taken a sip yet.” He must think I’ve been sinking glass after glass.

“That’s the strange thing. I’ve never seen you nursing a drink.”

I smirk. “I was just thinking that.”

“So …”

After a heavy sigh, like that will relieve this tension, I describe my night to him. I tell him about the kissing and the steaminess. Of course, I don’t include the hotter details, but I give him enough.

“When you heard those high schoolers talking, you wanted that, too?” he asks.

“Did I?”

He laughs gruffly. “Let’s not get into the riddle crap. You don’t have to tell me. I can read you too well.”

“I just met this girl. She’s a stranger. She doesn’t even know I work for the mob.”

“You’re trying to convince yourself it won’t work.”

“That’s because it won’t.”

Picking up my glass, I toss it back, letting the whiskey burn down my throat.

CHAPTER TWENTY

BELLA

“Oh, drat!” Mom’s voice cuts into my dream, jolting me awake.

I sit up sharply, feeling disoriented from the night before. Part of me wants to sink back into bed. I’m pretty sure I was back in the park with Matt, but we weren’t interrupted this time. He tore off my clothes and laid me down on the soft earth, bringing his cock to my entrance, his eyes fixed on me the whole time.

“Oh, dammit!”

I jolt fully awake, rubbing my eyes as I leave my bedroom. I find Emily leaning against the kitchen counter with a concerned look. Walking around the divider, I see a bunch of towels piled up on the floor as a leak expands from the bottom of the sink unit. Mom has her head stuck under the cupboard, groaning as she attempts to fix it.

“Mom, we’ll have to call a plumber.”

Emily looks at me as if to say,“I’ve already told her that.”

Mom pulls her head out from under the sink. “We don’t need a plumber. I just—Oh!” She stuffs her head back under when there’s a sharp noise, and more water spews out.

“I’m calling an emergency plumber,” I tell her.

“With what money?” Mom finally calls. “The callout charge alone will be a hundred bucks, maybe more!”

“I can handle it,” I call over my shoulder.

Going into the bedroom, I unlock my safe and take out the money. It still feels strange holding so many bills in my hand.

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