Sticky (7 page)

“
R
eport
.” Aaron leans back in a lounge chair on the top deck of the penthouse he bought last year, with money I sweated out of his clients for him. The pool to our left casts an eerily bright glow in the twilight set across the city. It catches him under the chin and turns his skin sallow and green, his already dark eyes midnight.

I look into his eyes and I see my future. My fate. I’m turning into him, day by day. This man I hate, this man I would strangle right here and now if I knew I could get away with it, because of what he’s asking me to do to someone worth more than his pinky finger alone.

Topknot smiles over his shoulder. Actually smiles. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Topknot smile. It sends an uneasy buzz down my spine.

“She’s meeting with her brother now,” I tell him. I don’t tell him how it made me feel, just a few minutes ago, to watch the instant relay from the camera feeds and see her drop the letter on her counter and collapse backwards onto the sofa, head in her hands. I wanted to drop my laptop where I sat, to ignore Aaron’s summons and run straight across town to her.

Instead I watched her curl into a fetal ball and struggle to breathe, all because I planted a fake letter accusing her brother of owing a casino debt.

To be fair, he does owe that amount. To Aaron, not to Bayonne Casino. But I planted a few hints in the letter, lines that should stand out to him in a way they wouldn’t stand out to Sloan. Including the signature line, where I put Aaron’s name instead of Bayonne Group’s CEO.

The only reason I made it to my meeting with Aaron on time is because when Sloan finally raised her head from the couch, she was dry-eyed, steely-faced, and more determined-looking than I’d ever seen her.

“That’s my girl,” I whispered to the laptop before I shut it, and took the elevator upstairs to meet my own fate.

“I’m recording the meeting,” I add, when that doesn’t seem to please him. “I’ll know more about his current situation once I’m finished. I’ll send you a copy.”

“I want his fucking money, Gage, not a home movie about his sad, pathetic life. If you can’t get him to pay, then I’ll move you to another job and I’ll send in someone who can get this done.”

It’s a damn good thing I have a solid poker face, because I cannot let on how deep that threat hits home. If he assigns someone else to this case, some other goony like Topknot will be trying to seduce Sloan. Worse, since I already know that won’t work, if they can’t seduce her, they’ll kidnap her brother instead, or maybe both of them just to be safe. They’ll beat them both, force the information they need out of them, and at the end of something like that, you don’t leave witnesses around to testify against you . . .

I clench my jaw. “I’ll get it done, Aaron. By the end of the week, you have my word.”

“Words are meaningless without actions to back them up.”

“Have I ever let you down before?” I point out, voice steady, never breaking my gaze from his. He knows my track record. He knows I’ve faced harder situations than this and solved the problem, one way or another.

The only problem is, this time I only have one way to solve the problem. Any other way would involve Sloan finding out who I really am—or worse, putting both her and her brother at risk of Aaron’s wrath. I’m not about to let that happen.

“No. But I’ve always had a greater insurance policy before.” Aaron’s eyes bore into mine. “What assurance do I have now that you’re even really trying here? How do I know your heart is in it, when the reason you agreed to work for me in the first place is gone? I am sorry how it turned out with her—”

“Don’t you fucking dare.” My teeth grind so hard I can hardly spit the words out between them. “Don’t you ever
think
about her, let alone mention her. I’ll do this last job for the same reason I’ve done every job, Aaron—because I pay my debts, unlike your fucking pond-scum clients. But don’t you dare drag her into this. Not now.”

“Then do as I ask,” he replies, steady as ever.

That’s when I decide. If anything goes south here, if I won’t get out of this job in one piece, then I’m taking Aaron down with me. No matter what it takes.

“
H
ow could you
?” I shove the letter in his face the moment he opens the door. I don’t even wait until he closes the door again, until Lacey from down the hall won’t be able to overhear us. At this point I’m past caring who hears, who knows. Fuck it, why not just announce it to the whole world?

My brother is a fuck-up.

“You told me you were past all this shit. You told me never again. You promised me so many fucking times, Freddie,” I say, even as he bends over the letter, his eyebrows a crush of confusion, and tries to read the lines in between my yelling.

I stop yelling when he doesn’t reply. I continue to glare at him, despite the obvious, impossible-to-fake confusion that creases his forehead. “What, did they spell your name wrong or some shit?” I roll my eyes.

There’s no way he’s talking himself out of this one. I know better than to listen to him when he’s doing shit like this. I should’ve known better all along.

How much of the last four years have been a lie? How much has he been hiding from me?

It seems to take him an eternity to raise his head and finally meet my eye. “I didn’t do this, Sloan,” he says, and I can’t help the bitter huff that escapes my mouth. “Seriously.” He frowns. “At least, it wasn’t gambling.”

My lips press into a thin line. “You must think I’m a total idiot. You do, don’t you? Hell, maybe you’re right. You managed to string me along for
years
, acting like the fucking prodigal son or whatever,
a changed man
—”

“
Sloan.
” His voice cuts through the thick air of the apartment like a knife. “Stop. Just listen to me, okay? Until I say I’m done, and then you can bitch me out all night if you still want to.” He runs a hand through his hair, that gesture reminding me of when we were kids, the way he developed that tic at school, always slicking his hair back to smile sideways at the kind of girls who would never give a scrawny kid like my brother the time of day.

I’m done falling for that move, though. “Listen to what?” I snap.

My twin brother crosses the room and sinks onto the couch, which groans beneath him. “There’s something I haven’t been telling you lately.”

I fight the urge to reply,
No shit
. I keep my arms crossed, my feet planted in the middle of the room, and I stare down at the thinner, stubbly, masculine version of myself. Everyone always spots us a mile away—when we were younger everyone knew we were twins. Now that we’re a little older and his face is drawn with thick worry lines, they ask if he’s my big brother. It’s weird, watching him now, to realize how much he’s changed in the last few years. How had I never noticed this before, how tired he looks, how completely fed up with the world?

And then my idiot brother looks me straight in the eye and says, “I can’t tell you what’s going on.”

I clench my fists.

“I understand why you don’t believe me. I know what this looks like.” He clenches the letter in his fist. “Honestly, if I were in your shoes, I’d believe the worst, too. And I’m not saying I’m innocent, just . . . this isn’t what it looks like, Sloan, and I need you to trust me on that for now. Okay?”

”No. Not okay. Get out, Freddie. I’m done having this conversation.”

He gapes at me. Like he expected me to fall for it all over again. He expected me to do the same thing I did last time, fall all over myself trying to help him get his shit together. Not this time.

I storm across the room and yank him upright.

“Sloan, listen to me.” He shakes the letter in my face. “Look at the name on this. Look up the CEO of Bayonne Group—it’s not Aaron O’Malley. This letter is fake.”

“I said get out, and I meant it.” I shove him toward the door.

“I’m trying to tell you the truth!”

“Right, some random person stuck his name on the signature line of a casino’s letterhead in the hopes that you’d accidentally pay them a debt you say you don’t owe? Do I look stupid?”

“Just look it up, Sloan,” he says, still hovering in my doorway.

I slam it in his face and pull the chain across the lock. Lean back against the door and take deep breaths for a long minute. Okay, several minutes. I lean there until I finally hear him give up, his footsteps retreating down my staircase.

Then I march over to the kitchen counter and pick up my cell phone.

It doesn’t take long to find Bayonne Group. Or their about page with a lengthy bio, complete with a photograph of their CEO, a guy named Herman Villanueva.

Aaron O’Malley brings up a few random social media profiles, and an article about a famous blogger who writes about cats.

It doesn’t prove anything. My brother has gotten involved with sketchy people before. So now he owes money to a sketchy guy who doesn’t mind impersonating CEOs, so what?

Same shit, different day.

I collapse onto the couch, the wait screen still humming on my television, ready for a movie night that is not going to happen. I shut the TV off, pull the blanket over my head, and stifle a groan.

Now what am I going to do?

M
y head is still reeling
as I drive toward Sloan’s place for our second date. I spent all morning playing and replaying the camera footage from last night. Okay, I watched the late-night footage a few more times than strictly necessary—the video captured her as she padded into her bedroom to pull her shirt off and grab a silk nightie off her desk chair, her huge, sexy breasts exposed to the camera lens for one mouth-watering, far-too-brief moment before she pulled her nightgown on and clicked off her lamp.

But mostly, I watched her fight with Frederick Casey—Freddie, as she called him. Something was off about the whole thing, though I couldn’t quite place my finger on what, exactly.

Sloan was understandably pissed as hell about Freddie’s gambling addiction rearing its ugly head again. And Freddie dodged all her questions exactly like I expected him too—after all, no true addict would admit their problem in the face of an onslaught like Sloan’s, even when staring at a stack of proof a mile high.

No, the part that stuck out like a sore thumb to me was a smaller detail. At the tail end of their fight, as Sloan burned out of her anger and settled into just being resigned at the situation, Freddie did something unexpected. He told her that the name in the signature wasn’t the CEO’s, and he challenged her to look it up, which she did.

If Freddie was just another one of Aaron’s debtors, the kind of people who burned through loans from every reputable source first, and finally turned to Aaron in desperation, practically signing away their souls just to get their paws on his high-interest, practically-guaranteed-to-bankrupt-you loans, then why would Freddie call his sister’s attention to that name?

It would throw Sloan off the scent, sure. Since Aaron isn’t tied to Bayonne Group online—or really to any group online, virtual ghost that he is—she might believe the letter was a fake. But Aaron’s not the type of name you want your twin sister to know. And if Sloan believes Freddie, and doesn’t think this letter is from a casino after all, won’t she start asking a whole lot more questions that he wouldn’t want her looking into?

Maybe I’m just thinking too much like me. I’d never want a woman I loved within 500 miles of Aaron O’Malley. I’d let her believe anything she wanted to about me, as long as she never learned about the things that man makes people do.

I’d rather let Sloan be angry at me, throw me out, write me out of her life entirely, than put her into the path of Aaron’s men.

But then, Freddie’s already done that. The fact that I’m here is proof. She’s mixed up in this, whether I like it or not, and that’s Freddie’s fault.

I clench my fists around the wheel as I whip into a parking spot at the bar beneath Sloan’s.
Deep breaths
. I don’t want her to see the rage on my face, or the confusion about her brother’s actions. And, honestly, I don’t want to think about any of that right now either. Yes, technically I’m here because I need to do some follow-up digging, try to sweet-talk Sloan into confiding in me, maybe about the fight she just had.

But all I really want right now is to wrap her in my arms and forget all of that. Forget everything but her scent, soft and addictive, her taste when I drive my tongue between her legs, the way her supple body melds against mine, her pussy clenching tight as a fist when I thrust my hard cock into her.

I press the doorbell. There’s a long pause, during which my palms itch to grab her from the hallway and drag her out into my truck.

Instead, the door buzzes, unlocking in front of me. Guess she’s not ready to go yet.

I push open the door and take the stairs two at a time. Sloan’s already opening her door, smiling at me from the entrance. Another door clicks behind me, and I whip around, paranoid as always, constantly on alert for anyone watching me. But the other door, the lone neighbor’s down the hall, is shut now.

She notices my gaze. “Oh, Lacey was just helping me pick out an outfit.” Sloan grins as she opens the door wider. “Come on in.”

What an outfit it is. A sleek, curve-hugging dark plaid dress that shows just enough of her legs to remind me what my hands feel like gripping those thick thighs. And the amount of cleavage it shows off, enough to tease, makes me want to rip it off of her right here in the hall.

“I’m almost done,” she calls over her shoulder as she sashays through her apartment toward the bedroom. “Make yourself at home.”

I follow her inside, shutting the door behind me, trying not to look as though I’ve been here before, seen this all before.

It’s easy to fake, because I have no interest in eying up her quirky decorations or her much neater than yesterday living room. I follow her straight into the bedroom. “Don’t mind if I do,” I reply as I reach her side, wrapping my arms around her from behind. She stills in the doorway, grinning over her shoulder, her hair falling to one side as she looks up at me.

“It’s going to be hard to finish doing my makeup if you don’t let go,” she points out, though she makes no move to pull out of my grasp, either.

I tighten my arms around her in response. “You don’t need it.” I dip to press my lips to hers, savoring her familiar taste. She relaxes against me, and I part her lips with my tongue, flicking it against hers.

When we break apart, she sighs softly.

I don’t give her time to recover. I pull her back into the living room, spinning her until her back is pressed against her window, the cool glass chilling her warm body. Out on the street, passing cars whip by, and a couple of people outside the bar trade cigarettes. No one looks up at us.

“I can’t stop thinking about you, Sloan.” I lean in to nip at her ear lightly. “You’re driving me insane.”

Her leg hitches up to curve around the back of my thigh, drawing me in closer, tighter. “You started it,” she tells me, her voice playful. Then it dips into a lower, more serious tone. “I want you so bad, all the time . . . ”

“Not like I want you, Sloan.” My voice comes out almost a growl. “Not the way I need you.”
Not the way I’m terrified you’ll find out, you’ll hate me, and then I’ll never be able to do this again.

My hands had already dropped to her waist—now they slide her skirt up her thighs as I step between her legs, parting them. I suck her earlobe between my lips, and roll her earring along my tongue.

“I’ve never felt like this,” she breathes, her breath a hot sigh against my cheek. “It’s only the second time we’ve seen each other and already . . . ” She leaves that sentence unfinished, dangling, as my fingers brush over her panties, start to edge those down her legs.

My stubble scratches her cheek as I lift my face. “It’s not,” I tell her, gazing into those huge, innocent green eyes. Eyes that see straight through me, into the heart of me, and somehow, miraculously, she doesn’t turn tail and run. Even though she should.

“I see you all the time. Every day, every night.” Her heart beats so fast I can feel her pulse flutter when my other hand reaches up to cup her neck in my palm. The confession tastes bittersweet on my lips.
I’ll tell you what I can, Sloan, but not everything. Never the whole story
. “Every time I blink I see you. I’ve watched you in my mind’s eye, seen you spread across my bed every time I fall into it. I’ve fucked you so many times I’ve lost count.”

I pull her panties the rest of the way down, and cup her ass, squeezing hard as I step closer, until my hard erection digs into her stomach through the fabric of my jeans. She squirms against me, and a jolt of electric pleasure shoots through my body.

I watch her eyes widen, her cheeks flush, as she watches me watching her. My other hand brushes the back of her neck, and she shivers against me. “Do you think about me when I’m gone, Sloan?”

Her cheeks flare an even brighter red, which makes me grin.

“Tell me about it.”

She meets my gaze steadily, despite the way her breathing has sped up, her heart still pounding against the heel of my palm where I caress her neck. “In the shower, I imagine you beside me, running your hands all over my body.”

I let my hand fall from under her skirt now, pull my other hand away from her neck slowly. Then I take a step back, my eyes alight. “Show me.”

Still blushing, but still locking eyes with me, she runs her hands over her body, tracing her curves, squeezing her shoulders, her breasts, her hips, her ass. She lets one hand drop to her thigh, and inch up it, pulling her dress with it. “I think about your rock-hard cock, inches from me,” she almost purrs. “I think about your eyes burning into mine, as you bend down to trace your tongue in circles around my nipple.” Her other hand circles her breast, her nipple so hard at the touch I can see it even through the fabric of her dress and her bra.

“Take your dress off,” I say.

She does, her back still pressed to the window as she peels the fabric over her head and lets it fall in a puddle at her feet. Her panties still hang around her knees where I left them, and she steps out of them before she reaches back to unclasp her bra, letting it fall on top of the pile of clothes next to her.

“Show me what you do when you think about me.” It’s physically painful, the strain of my erection against my zipper, but I ignore it, because I can’t stop watching her move. Her fingers pinch her nipple, then pull hard as she closes her eyes, her lips parted in a soft gasp. Her other hand travels over the soft plane of her stomach, along the edge of her hips, until her fingers brush the faint dusting of hair at her pussy. She bites her lips, then, looking up at me from under her long, dark lashes as her finger traces the outline of her lower lips, brushing over her clit lightly, teasing herself.

“I feel your hard body pressed against mine, the water cascading over both of us in the shower as you lean into me, pushing me backwards into the cool tile wall.” She leans against the window, her bare back exposed to all the world below, her head still tilted to the side, teeth toying with her lip.

She slides one finger knuckle-deep into herself, and those lips part in a gasp that makes my cock pulse.

“You lift my leg up,” she says as she raises one leg to rest it on the stepstool beside the window, her thighs parted so I can see her delicate pussy, the folds as she drives a second finger into herself. “You thrust into me.” She drives a third finger inside, and groans softly, bending over her hand as her thumb circles around her clit. Her other hand grips her breast hard. “You pin me against the wall, and you fuck me.” She forces herself to straighten, leans against the glass window and thrusts her hand into herself, deeper and deeper, as her thumb circles faster. “You f-fuck me until . . . I . . . I can’t . . . ” Her eyes go wide, her lips parting, and I can’t hold back any longer. I undo my jeans, let them fall to the floor as I cross the room to her, catching her desperate moan in my mouth as I kiss her, enveloping her lips in mine.

She shivers when she comes, and I draw her hand up between us to lick her fingers clean, one at a time, keeping my eyes locked on hers.

She watches me from under those eyelashes, almost shy, which is crazy given what she just did for me. I bite her neck lightly, and smile against her pale, perfect skin. “You’re the hottest fucking woman I have ever seen, Sloan.”

She sighs into my hair. I don’t give her more time than that to recover. I grab both of her thighs, lift her until she’s balanced on the narrow windowsill, her legs wrapped tight around my waist, my hips digging into her thighs. In one desperate thrust, I drive my cock deep into her pussy, her walls clenching wildly around me. She’s still sensitive from her orgasm, and I take full advantage, letting my pelvis dig into her clit as I pull out, then slam into her again, her ass splayed flat against the window with the force of it.

I fuck her hard, fast, both of us groaning, teeth gritted, clutching for every inch of each other’s bodies. Her hands fist in my hair, and I grip her waist so tight it’ll bruise, but neither of us slows. She thrusts her hips back at me every time I fuck her, meeting me thrust-for-thrust, the momentum building until we’re both slamming into each other, and she shouts my name when she comes, shaking, as I reach my edge and come deep inside her, filling her with my hot seed.

I’m losing myself to this woman. I’m losing myself, and finding a new me with her, but at the same time, it strikes me all over again how terrifyingly delicate this is. One wrong word, one misstep, and she could find out the whole story. She’ll hate me, the moment she learns what I’ve done, what I’m doing to her, and that terrifies me.

I can’t lose her. Not now.

But it won’t do to dwell on that now. I have the sense that she’d read it on my face, if I let myself worry too much. So I force a pleasure-struck smile back onto my lips when we draw apart, drenched in sweat. Then I let her take my hand, and lead me into the bedroom.