Page 12 of Devil's Thirst

“One is much more self-serving than the other.”

I snag the bottom of her shirt with a crooked finger and draw her closer, then lean in so that my lips are close to her ear. I feel her quick intake of air all the way to the bottom of my balls.

“Judging by the goose bumps dotting your skin, I’m serving more than myself.”

“Maybe you’re just scaring me,” she whispers shakily.

I pull back enough to peer down at her chest. As expected, her nipples are seconds from slicing their way through her shirt. I slowly step backward, my smile positively dripping with masculine satisfaction.

When she follows my gaze and realizes the situation, she gasps and crosses her arms over her chest to hide the evidence of her obvious arousal.

“I’ll see you around,” I promise seductively.

“Not if I see you first,” she pops back at me.

I toss a smirk over my shoulder and fuck if she isn’t fighting back a smile before she slams her door shut. The tension eases from my neck and shoulders as I head back to the elevator. This was definitely the right move. And while I may have brought her coffee, I stayed true to myself. I’m not at risk of being confused for a gentleman anytime soon.

Onto the next matter of business—burying the dead.

“You know I hate hotels.”It’s damn near the first words Tommy’s said since we met up at the storage facility. I’m glad he’s finally spitting it out. I knew something had to be bothering him.

“It’s not forever, Tom.”

“Might as well be until you give me some other timeframe.”

I shoot him a withering look as we approach my unit. “I know you like specifics, but I don’t have any. You’re a smart guy. Trick your brain into believing I told you it’s going to be a month. Even better? Go buy a damn place of your own. You have the money.”

“Why would I do that if I’m not gonna live here?”

“Maybe you keep it and stay there when you visit? No one’s saying you can’t come back.” I pull out my phone and look for the email Noemi sent a couple of years ago telling me the entry code to the storage unit she rented for me.

“I guess that’s true,” he says pensively. “Remind me what we’re doing here.”

I punch in the code on the panel, which releases the bars holding the garage-style door in place. It lifts a few inches on its own. I have to help it the rest of the way, the movement triggering a motion detector light inside the unit.

Tommy and I stare at the fuck-ton of shit piled in a space much larger than I expected it to be.

“Jesus.” My hands rest on my hips in disbelief.

“All this stuff is yours?”

“I guess it is now, but not originally.”

Our childhood home sold while I was away. When Noemi asked what I wanted to keep, I told her to get rid of it all. She refused. Weeks later, I got the email telling me my stuff had been put in storage. I guess she considered “my stuff” to be anything she thought I might want, whether it was mine or other random shit from the house.

I wander inside and take a cursory look at a few of the storage bins. Some things are easy to identify like my old manga collection, a box of Yankees memorabilia, and she’s even got a tub full of my old shoes. When I peek into a tub with Dad’s ancient archery awards, I toss it aside with a sneer. I get why she kept it. I used to love looking at those things in his office when I was a kid, but they mean nothing to me now.

“Hey, this looks like it might be stuff from your desk.” Tommy’s sifting through a small box. “Might be worth going through.” A sly smile tugs at his lips as his hand appears with a set of brass knuckles on it. “I don’t remember you having these when you moved in with us. Holding out on me?”

I huff wryly. “If I’d been the kind of kid who had a set of those, I never would have had to move into your place.” I take the scuffed metal from him and look at it more closely. “It was Umberto’s. My father’s thug sidekick.” When they took me into the fold, I used to think of us as a team. Turned out they were a team; I was just a tool.

Tommy rubs his palm along the side of his jaw. “Makes me think of those Russians—you remember that?”

I grin. “Of course, I do. Best joyride I ever took.” How was I supposed to know the yellow Lamborghini belonged to the head of the Russian mob?

“Those assholes nearly broke my jaw.” He’s staring off as if remembering that day. We were shipped off to Sicily not long after. Pure mischief sparks in Tommy’s eyes. “The ride was pretty incredible, though.”

“So worth it.”

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