Cadillac Payback: Rising Tide by AJ Elmore (grave mercy .TXT) 📗

as I dry the plate in my hand, I vaguely wonder if she's waiting to hear from him. Is she stalling so she can get a clear view of the situation, or maybe because she doesn't want to accept that her world is about to shake at its foundation? Again.

It hasn't been all that long since we were welcomed into the upper echelons of Abuela's world – well, welcomed back for the others. I guess you could say “made,” on my part. It’s only been a year, even if it feels like a long year. I never could have expected it when I did it, but saving Frederick and killing the Jester solidified my place in this empire. I inadvertently proved that I wasn't afraid of the life. I don't know if I could pull a trigger again, don't know that it would be easier or harder, but I haven't had the chance to find out.

I've seen some shit, though, and I've made a name among my peers. I hope you're ready to step up, Maria said. I wonder how different things would have been if I had seen through her bluffs from the start.

I hear the shower shut off, and my desire stirs. She's naked, wet, and not that far from me. I'm about ninety-eight percent sure I could walk into that bathroom right now and fuck her against the wall. She'd let me.

There's just one problem. I told her I would be what she needed, but I also handed control to her. I won't so much as touch her if she doesn't make the first move.

I hang the dish towel over the faucet, and it occurs to me that I'm either in the perfect position to manipulate the situation, or I've put myself at a complete disadvantage – that is to say, or utterly at her mercy. But it's not control she wants here, a tiny detail that I'd do well not to forget. And I've always been at her mercy.

She returns to me dressed down in a pair of cut-off jeans shorts, a plain black tank top, and a big shiny belt buckle with a stagecoach on it. It says Santa Fe Express, and somehow it works with the simple get up and tiny sneakers. Her hair is drying against her shoulders, and I notice finger-shaped bruises around her thin upper arm. The sight would instantly infuriate me if the marks weren't mine.

As irrational as it is, and no matter how many dumb broads I parade around, the thought of her with someone else burns my insides to ashes. I know it's stupid. I know she probably pulls this shit with Freddy, too, that she probably finds his bed when she's lonely or lost.

It's been a while, she said. She threw my own words in my face, and I don't even think I can believe them. Then again, she surrendered so fully to me that I have to wonder if I'm just being a cynical moping bastard.

Still, she's not nearly as tense as she was yesterday, and she doesn't seem in a hurry to gather her responsibilities. I'm still just wearing boxers, a fact I had kind of forgotten until she appears, and her eyes skate down my torso.

She's running her fingers through her hair as she does, and she swings her gaze up to mine when she says, “Did you want to run home and change before we head to the Garden District?”

For a moment, I'm distracted by the glow from the window dancing around her, the way she smells like bath products, and the fact she's so goddamned gorgeous. It's like the last two years haven't happened. I'm a stupid college kid again, amazed and waylaid by her. Then I remember the stubble on my jaw, and that I've shot a man in the head.

I shrug lazily, as if I couldn't possibly find a fuck to give, and say, “We can stop on the way. Won't take me long to change.”

She doesn't say anything, but her eyes drop again, this time lingering on the ink I decided to get about six months ago. It's a depiction of Atlas, with the world on his shoulders, done in black and gray on my right side. It's a pretty big piece for a first, or so I've been told. That's fitting, I guess.

Dammit. I'm as good as naked, and the hunger in her eyes is toying with my libido. If I don't do something, I'll be hard with no way to hide it. I can at least say I understand a well-timed escape much better these days.

I say, “Guess I'll go put on some pants, then.”

Her gaze is heavy, and it rolls slow when it comes back to mine. She nails me with the heat, all her brazen glory, and says, “Now there's a novel idea.”

She turns away first, before I can brush past her, and I watch her ass shift under those little shorts. I nearly curse out loud, but I swallow it just in time. What the fuck is she playing? And where did this turn in strategy come from? The one thing I can always count on when it comes to Maria is that I'll never be entirely sure if she's being real.

My cock stirs, so I choose retreat. I won't check, but I believe that she watches me walk away, just like I watched her.

Chapter 14 Sleight of Hand

Frederick

The air conditioning in this old house works too well for a building this big, and it's sending chills sprawling across my skin. Or maybe it's the cold, calculating look that Abuela has trained on me.

Fear is not an emotion that comes naturally to me, but there's a big, black shadow that moves behind everything this woman does. No matter what rank or partners I have, I'll always be tiny in that shadow, and she's about to prove that.

In the chair