Page 31 of They All Own Me

I'm typing awayon my laptop, running surveillance data through our systems, but my mind keeps drifting back to that surreal car ride bring her back here. Tatum Cope, senator's wife turned willing kidnapping victim, belting out "Sweet Home Alabama" like she was on a road trip with fucking friends instead of being abducted by criminals.

"Turn it up!" she'd called from the backseat, somehow making Dom - our usually stoic leader - crack a smile and crank the volume.

I look up from my laptop as footsteps echo down the stairs. My breath catches. Tatum descends wearing my Underoath band shirt, paired with form-fitting black yoga pants that leave little to imagination. Her wet hair is piled high in a messy bun, water droplets trailing down her neck. Not going to lie, something about seeing her in my shirt does something to me.

"Any word from my savior with my burger?" She drops onto the couch across from me, tucking her legs underneath her. Without all that makeup and fancy clothes, she looks younger, more real.

"He just texted. Should be back in ten." I try to keep my eyes on my screen but they keep drifting back to her. "You look... different."

"Good different or bad different?" She raises an eyebrow, a hint of that self-consciousness creeping in.

"Just different. More yourself, maybe." I shake my hair out of my eyes. "Must be nice getting out of those stuffy clothes."

"God, yes." She stretches her arms overhead, the shirt riding up. "I haven't worn yoga pants in public for years. Thomas said they're beneath my station or some bullshit."

"Your station as arm candy?" The words come out sharper than intended.

"Exactly." She laughs but there's an edge to it. "Can't have the first lady looking comfortable, can we?"

Dom walks in from the kitchen, and stops short. "Well damn, Stepford Barbie cleans up nice, or down nice. I don't know."

"Bite me," Tatum shoots back, but she's grinning. "But thanks, I think."

"Careful what you wish for, princess." Dom winks at her before turning to me. "Any movement on the feeds from his office?"

"Nothing yet." I force my attention back to the surveillance footage.

The front door bangs open and Isaac strides in carrying greasy paper bags. The smell of fast food fills the room.

"Here's your heart attack in a bag." He tosses one to Tatum, who catches it with surprising dexterity.

"Oh my god, wait until I get divorced and I'll marry you." Issac looks shell shocked, and I don't miss the sudden flare of jealousy within me. I've got to get my shit together.

She tears into the bag like she hasn't eaten in days. She probably hasn't - After the comment about her ass, I'm sure Thomas is the type to count her calories.

I watch as she takes her first bite, closing her eyes in pure bliss. A small moan escapes her lips and my pants suddenly feel a bit tighter. I shift in my chair, grateful for the laptop covering my lap.

"So, let's just air all the dirty laundry, right off the bat. What exactly is he all involved in?" Tatum asks between bites, licking salt from her fingers.

Dom exchanges glances with Isaac and me before shrugging. "Your boy's been helping move product across the coast. Drugs mainly, some weapons."

"He's also been laundering money through his campaign funds," I add, grabbing a fry from the communal bag.

"That's why we needed the hard drive data," Isaac chimes in, his Irish lilt more pronounced when he's relaxed. "The idiot's keeping records."

Tatum snorts. "That tracks. He keeps all the grocery receipts."

"The real kicker is he thinks he's working with another shady businessman," Dom says with a smirk. "Has no clue he's dealing with Esteban Rodriguez's crew."

"Fucking hilarious," she laughs. "I'd love to be a fly on the wall when he figures that one out."

I close my laptop, giving up any pretense of work. "Your husband's in way over his perfectly-coiffed head."

"Hell yes." She takes another bite, chewing thoughtfully. "Serves him right."

Her foul mouth, and her hell bent nature on screwing Thomas over makes her even more attractive. I need to get a fucking grip sooner rather than later.

"Enough about me, what's your story Connor?" she asks, wadding up her burger wrapper and tossing it into the bag with perfect aim. "How'd you all end up working for the most dangerous man in Connecticut?"

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