Page 93 of Average Joe

The muscles in his arm tightened. “I’ll tell you about my new job when you talk to me about the shooting.”

“You know what I know. Those bullets were likely meant for the customer at our window.” The man had sped off after the first shot, but our cameras had captured his license plate, and he was a known member of a violent south end gang. Unfortunately, the shooter was not caught on film nor by any witnesses.

Joe grunted, rolled on top of me, then hooked my knees with his arms and drove his spectacular cock deep, folding me in half.

Staring down at me, he said, “That’s not what I meant,” before rolling his hips and drawing an erotic whimper from my lips. “I don’t want the facts,” he growled. “I want to know how you’re doing.”

“Right now,” I managed to rasp, “I’m grateful for the past two years of yoga.” I gripped his forearms and squeezed, my body so consumed and contorted by Joe, I was utterly helpless and at his mercy.

I loved the way his muscles rippled under my fingertips, loved that glassy, heady way he stared into me, jaw tight, neck muscles straining, on the razor’s edge of control.

“Dammit, woman.” He half laughed, half yelled, driving deeper and curling over me, his knees at my ribs, his face in mine. “You had to be terrified. You haven’t cried or thrown a fit. Don’t hold that shit in, gorgeous.”

Seriously. Was Joe Kaine for real?

“I’m good. I promise.” Ever since the gossip train had informed him of the incident, Joe hadn’t left my side. The truth hit me then, and though I hated depending on anyone, I confessed, “I’m okay because you’ve been with me.”

Joe stared, long and hard, his arms trembling. Then he muttered, “Good answer, babe,” dropped my legs, kissed me hard, and fucked me deep.

My orgasm was so intense, I cried.

We lay in bed, sweaty and sated, neither of us eager to move.

Into the darkness, I blurted a question that had bothered me for days. “You said Alice inherited millions?”

“Yeah.” Joe shifted next to me.

“Why did she buy this house in this neighborhood?”

Joe sighed as he rolled toward me and draped his arm across my belly. “Alice and Bill had property on the lake. Big boat. Expensive cars.” His chest rose and fell against my shoulder. “Only thing Bill let Alice invest in was property, even though the money was hers to begin with. This was one of three houses she owned. It was a rental for a while.” Another sigh, followed by a long pause. “Long story short, Bill gambled, borrowed from the wrong people, made shady deals. He lost everything.”

“Poor Alice,” I muttered.

Joe laughed. “Alice was smart, though. While Bill was living it up, she put herself through school. Got a job as a social worker, so she had her own income. She moved into this place, and the rest is history.”

“I don’t understand. How can someone lose five million dollars?”

“Good fucking question,” he grunted. “But I’m not surprised. You weren’t entirely wrong about me when we first met. I come from a long line of criminals.”

My heart sank. I’d made hurtful assumptions based on one fact. Did I trust myself to hear the whole story?

Joe left me no choice by continuing. “My great grandfather ran underground gambling and bars. Made his own moonshine. My grandfather took over when his father passed. Brought drugs in at that point, and the criminal activity snowballed from there.” He laughed, shook his head. “They were shitty criminals. Spent more time in lockup than out. Spent their money faster than they earned it.”

I braved the question, “What about your father?”

“My dad?” Joe rolled to his back and lay silent for a long while, the only sound his heavy breaths. “Blackhearted from the get-go. In and out of juvie. Mom was a doe-eyed Catholic girl who fell for a boy from the wrong side of the tracks. Bastard knocked her up, then left town when my mom’s dad threatened to have him thrown in jail for statutory rape.”

“Oh, jeez. Your mom must’ve been heartbroken.”

“She loved him,” he whispered, then continued. “He came back three years later, the day Mom turned eighteen, riding a Harley and wearing a leather cut with a skull and snake on the back.”

“MC?”

Joe huffed. “Yeah. He was dead set on taking Mom and me to Montana. She refused, thank God. She wanted better for her only son.”

“You didn’t miss growing up without him?”

“Sure, I did. Dad came around once or twice a year, threw money at Mom, gave me expensive gifts, said we could have a better life if we lived with him. Then he’d leave, and we wouldn’t hear from him for another six months.”

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