Page 37 of Brazen Deceits

“Yeah. I’m going to miss you, beautiful.”

“I’m going to miss you, too.” I kiss him, soft and lingering. “When are you guys coming back?”

He runs his hand down, grasping my ass. Not leading anywhere, just idle possession. “Early enough on Tuesday that we can get to our afternoon classes.”

“That long?”

Jansen rolls onto his back, and I prop myself up to watch him, his hair a halo around his head on the pillow. “For a giglike this, at a private property? Ideally, we’d observe it for at least a week. Three days is going to have to be enough this time.” He shrugs, his movements losing their looseness, energy building in him once again.

He glances at me, apology in his eyes, but I grin back, encouraging his chill as long as possible. “Time to get this show on the road?”

He chuckles, flipping me suddenly so I’m under him. He kisses me like he wants to fuck my brains out in a dark alley behind a dance club, then pulls back, leaving me panting.

“What was that for?” I gasp.

Mischief lights up his eyes. “I don’t want you forgetting about me while I’m gone.”

“So you, what? Tongue fuck my mouth, then scurry away?”

He laughs, rolling out of bed, tossing me my clothes from the floor. “More or less.”

“You’re a tease, Jansen Pierce.”

He pulls his hair into a ponytail, his slowly rising cock on display, before pulling on sweatpants and a t-shirt. “And you love it.”

With one last lingering kiss, he pulls a book from his bookcase, doing some weird hand movements before the spine pops open. A small section of pages is glued together and cut out to make a miniature drawer in what is otherwise a totally normal-looking book. A huge wad of cash falls onto his desk before he does the same with two more books, the pile growing larger and larger. Scooping up the cash, he stops at his door, looking at me naked on his bed, a smile stretched across his face. “I am so going tomiss this,” he says.

He slips out the door, leaving me there in his room, his collection of mini-safe books on his desk, their real pages fluttering as the central air kicks on.

He trusts me.

I hope I don’t fuck this up, too.

Chapter 18

Trips

The car RJ bought is perfect. It’s not so nice someone will notice it parked on the street, and not so junky that they’ll have the police called on them. He found it in a legitimate, old-school classified ad, and Gramps was gleeful to sell the thing for asking price in cash.

RJ tosses two bags of computer crap in the trunk, followed by a box of surveillance equipment. We’re going to have to buy and deck out that surveillance van soon. We’ve needed it for months now. Only, we just don’t have the capital for that on top of setting up more avenues for money laundering.

So cue Jansen lifting cars often enough for a news bulletin to go out warning people in the rich neighborhoods in the north about a crime spree. We’ll have to move west soon. I’m going to have a small-scale, high-rollers game next weekend, too. Then, hopefully, we’ll have enough to do the build-out in cash without wrecking all our other plans.

Everything needs to be done in cash for now. Which sucks royally, as RJ’s been raking it in, but that’s just numbers in some database until we have better ways to launder the funds. Paper trails have gotten more than one criminal caught. And growing up in the Westerhouse family means I know exactly what you can lawyer yourself out of and what sends you straight to federal prison.

Watching the guys load the last of the stuff reminds me of how much I hate sending them alone. RJ will keep Jansen in check, more or less, but we’re always stronger when we’re together. But too many boots on the ground will draw unwanted attention, so I’m stuck here, as much as I fucking hate it.

Clara’s down by the car, tangled hair down her back, her windbreaker on but not zipped, the tails of the thing swinging around her, making her look more like a penguin than a hot-ass chick.

Fuck it. I can’t stop thinking about her damn body, that curve of waist flaring out to the arch of her hips, the way her ass looks like a perfect handful. And her boobs. Fuck. I just keep imagining teasing those gorgeous nipples into aching peaks, then wondering what kinds of whimpers she’d make.

God fucking damn. I either need to get my shit together or go rub one out, because there’s no way I’m going to make it through the rest of the day with her on my brain like she is right now.

She gives RJ a hug, and the fucker sneaks a sniff of her hair before letting her go. Then she turns to Jansen and the jackass kisses her like he’s fucking her. And most annoying of all, RJ looks intrigued, not pissed, and I realize I don’t knowas much about my team as I should. Are we okay with sharing now? Because I’m not. No fucking way.

The two of them climb into the car and pull away, Clara waving after them like they’re sailors going to sea, not two criminals on their way to infiltrate serious mob territory.

Shit. Maybe there’s not as much of a difference to that comparison as I thought.

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