Page 10 of Tears and Other Fears

“I was hoping you’d be impressed by my investigative skills.” Our banter was dripping with sexual tension.

“I’m impressed by everything you do.”

Renon grabbed my hand, then pulled me away from the crowd. Although he commanded the room, it was too loud for others to hear our back and forth, and the moment we rounded a corner, he pushed me up against the wall and wrapped his fingers around my neck, all easy going flirtatiousness fleeing his expression. “What are you doing here? And don’t fucking call me out like that. The first rule of dealing drugs—don’t fucking talk about it.”

I would have thrown my head back and laughed, but the wall and his grip were keeping me still. “You sure do have a good poker face. You had me convinced you were excited to see me.”

“I can be pissed off and still excited. Why are you here?”

“I need your help,” I replied, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. Admitting I needed help was like a kick to the metaphoric balls. I’d needed a lot of help lately. Help getting out of a court-ordered institution. Help ending Samuel. Fuck, I even needed help getting Noah off my back.

No. More.

“With what?” he asked, his lips so close to mine I could pucker and brush against him.

“Tell Nathaniel Youngblood what happened that night. He doesn’t believe me, and I need help proving that Samuel is an asshat.”

“Samuelisan asshat. Doesn’t require much convincing. And you want me to admit to Mr. Golden Boy that I dealt some bad drugs so he can turn me into the cops? No, thank you. And even if I didn’t think he’d turn me in, I still wouldn’t say shit.”

I jerked my hips forward, colliding with the hard erection pressing through his jeans. Oh yeah, this little interaction was turning him on. “Why?”

“Because Samuel owes me a fuck ton of money. If he goes to jail, then I won’t get it.” That was interesting. I knew Samuel owed him, but I didn’t know the specifics.

“How much does he owe you?” I could feel his fingers tighten on my throat, so I jolted my hips up just to show him that if he wanted to terrify me, he’d lose. I watched as his green eyes flared with a heat I could feel burning me up from the inside out. When his intimidation tactic didn’t work, I sensed that he was about to pull away, so I wrapped my leg around his hips, holding him right where I wanted him. Or at least right where IthoughtI wanted him. My wants and needs and repulsions were a red hot mess lately.

“He owes me enough, Octavia. Enough that I’m not really keen on helping you.”

I smiled. Oh, he was keen enough. The evidence was pressed against my stomach. I bet if I pulled him into one of these spare rooms, he’d keen all over my stomach in hot, sticky spurts.

Oh hello, libido, my long lost friend.How’s it hanging?

“Why are you smiling?”

“ ’Cause I want to fuck you.”

I’ve always heard people describe sex like an inferno. And yeah, it could be hot. But Renon was like ice, making shivers travel up and down my spine. It was like chipping away at his cool facade, and the bastard returned my eager grin.

“Of course you want to fuck me. Who wouldn’t? I’d say get in line, but I’m not interested.”

I didn’t bother to look around, I simply slipped my hand behind the waistband of his jeans, then dragged my nails along his cock in a way that could only be interpreted as predatory. “Not interested, huh?” I asked.

He winced but didn’t move. I had the narcissistic drug dealer literally by the balls, and the crazy in my eyes made the ice in his stare melt. “Let go,” he growled.

“Help me,” I replied before wrapping my nimble fingers around him with a scowl. Renon needed a new nickname. Ice Man.

“Get me my money, and I will.”

I had something better than money. I had shame. I was going to shame Samuel Smith and get Renon his cash. I’d have my proof, then Nathaniel could have his rose-colored glasses removed. “I know how to get your money,” I said with a grin before removing my hand and dragging my index finger back up his chest. I could hear hoots and hollers. So what if they saw me with my hand down his pants? A little PDA and dick groping never hurt nobody.

“How?”

I leaned forward and bit the lip he was chewing on, tugging on the sumptuous skin like it was mine for the taking. He had the typical response. A grunt. A curse. He gave in easier than I would have liked, but he gave in all the same. I hid behind our kiss for a minute before pulling away. “Blackmail.”

He palmed my breast like he had a right to. “Talking dirty? I might have to put you at the front of the line, crazy girl.”

I reached up and gave him one more kiss for good measure. It was one of those sweeping, lingering kisses that branded me good and well on his self-absorbed brain. “Call me,” I said before pulling a slip of paper out of my bra with my number on it and sliding it into his pocket.

Then I pulled away. If disappointment had a sound, it was the grunt in his chest and the music playing on the speakers. It would be a needy sound, the soundtrack to my fucking life. “Where are you going?” he asked

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