Page 29 of All Bets are Off

Lord knows I want more than this, but we can’t do what I really want to do here—in a client’s home.

West muffles his shout of release in my neck as his spunk covers my hand. I’m so hard, I can’t think. Pulling myself out of my pants, I use West’s cum to stroke myself, aware of West’s eyes on me, until I come with a low groan.

When my mind stops spinning, I look at West. He’s fallen asleep, cheeks flushed and hair disheveled. I would love nothing more than to cuddle into him to sleep, but I’m a mess, and the bed’s too small. After cleaning myself in the bathroom, I cover West with a blanket and crawl into the other twin bed to sleep.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

West

Logan and I stand by the doors of the school, waiting for the final bell to ring. Felix and Celine hate that we insist on picking them up this way rather than waiting in the parking lot, but that’s just tough shit. After last week, when they didn’t come to the car as expected and we had to launch a search only to find them smoking dope in someone’s Corvette, we aren’t giving them any leeway. Period.

Boring’s controversial trial is all over the news. You can’t scroll through TikTok or Facebook without seeing something about it, and every news station is filled with updates. Arguments wrap up this week, and my hope is the jury will come to a speedy conclusion. Although, if Boring’s client is let off, people are going to be out for blood. But the kids’ regular bodyguard is making a speedy recovery, and Slade has assured me and Logan that we won’t be in for an extended run. This suits me fine. If I have to sit through one more of Felix’s guitar lessons, I’m going to hurl myself to my death out the window of his screwball ‘70’s throwback instructor’s thirtieth floor apartment. Also, the raging heat that’s risen between me and Logan needs to be thoroughly addressed. After the risk we took fooling around on the job, we agreed no more touching until this case is over, and I don’t know about Logan, but I’m about to go nuts.

Looking at my watch, I see it’s time for school to let out just as the shrill ring of the bell splits the quiet afternoon. Almost immediately, dozens of teenagers begin spilling out of the doors of the building, talking loudly, backpacks slung over their shoulders. Celine appears with her usual friends, a cosmetic wipe already in her hand. She steps between me and Logan and begins scrubbing her face clean of makeup as we walk. Celine carries a variety of cosmetics in her purse, applying them every time she leaves the house because evidently her father doesn’t approve of her wearing makeup. Then she takes it all off before going home. When Felix joins us, Logan and I escort them to the SUV supplied by Falcon Security.

“Can we stop at Ulta on the way home?” Celine asks as we’re buckling our seatbelts. A glance in the rearview tells me Felix is sulking as he always does when we pick him up from school. I can’t say I blame the kid. At seventeen, I would have been embarrassed not to be driving myself to school, too.

“What’s Ulta?” Logan asks.

“A boring cosmetic store,” Felix mutters. “Let’s just go home. Dad’ll be pissed if he finds out, anyway.”

“I need some mascara!” Celine whines.

“So, order it online like everyone else, dipshit.”

“Felix, do not call your sisterdipshit,” Logan admonishes, sounding so much like a sitcom dad, I can’t help smiling.

Behind me, I hear Celine huff before she speaks. “It’s stupid we can’t go anywhere fun. Nobody’s after us. Josh was attacked by amugger, for Chrissake.”

“What are you complaining about?” Felix asks. “I haven’t gotten to drive my new Porsche once since I got it.”

Celine groans. “I want to learn how to drive!”

With an inner sigh, I head the car toward their neighborhood. Beside me, Logan’s scrolling through his phone, his hair falling across the sharp cut of his cheekbone. After years seeing him with a military cut, it’s…well. It’ssexy.My cock gives a half-hearted little lurch, fully aware it won’t be getting any until we’re back in Redding.

We’ve just joined the traffic downtown when a sudden hit to our fender jolts us all in our seats.

“What was that?” Felix asks.

“What the fuck?” Logan turns in the passenger seat to look behind us, then barks, “Kids, get down.”

Celine and Felix obey, ducking their heads.

“Was that an accident?” I ask, glancing into the review mirror, but traffic is so heavy, I can’t tell who hit us.

“It was that Escalade 600,” Logan says, eyes on the car moving around us. “Are they just going to drive off?”

“Daddy’s going to be so pissed you let this happen,” Celine says from the backseat in anAw, you’re in troubletone.

“Stay down,” I say as the Escalade suddenly whips in front of us, cutting us off from other traffic. I slow down because I have no choice. In the mirror, I catch sight of a silver Nissan moving behind us, so close I can see the driver—a wide-shouldered man wearing a baseball cap pulled down to touch the rim of his dark sunglasses. “Fuck.” Jerking the steering wheel to the right, I attempt to move into the adjacent lane, but a blue pickup blocks me. To our left, a line of parked cars blocks the sidewalk in front of a row of storefronts. The traffic light ahead is bound to turn red any second.

“You need to jump out with the kids before we get to the interstate,” I tell Logan, afraid once that happens, our assailants will shoot out our tires and attempt to kidnap Boring’s kids. There’s no doubt in my mind these guys were hired to make Boring back out of the trial before it wraps up.

“Unbuckle,” Logan orders. “Celine, move closer to Felix’s door. At this next light, we’re going to get out and run into that Freddy’s over there.” He indicates the ice cream shop before flipping the locks and looking at me. “Be careful.”

“You, too,” I say.

As soon as we start to slow, Logan yells, “Go!” and opens his door just as Felix opens his. They tumble out by the sidewalk, Logan helping Celine before the three take off running. Behind us, the driver of the silver Nissan throws the car into park, climbs out, and takes after them, a flash of metal in his hand. Gunning the engine, I plow the SUV into the Escalade, sending it smashing into the furniture truck in front of it. Then I move into reverse and knock the hell out of the empty Nissan, creating enough space to pull into the lane beside me, forcing the blue Ford pickup toward the median in a screech of tires. Horns blare and irate drivers roll down their windows to yell obscenities at me, but when the first gunshot cuts through the air, a brief silence settles over the scene. Then pandemonium breaks out. The Escalade runs the light, narrowly missing hitting a Volkswagen crossing the intersection, and I take off after it, using the first opportunity I get to hang a sharp left and circle around the strip of stores.

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