Abby finishes her third margarita, not holding back at all. She sets the knife back on the table and takes a few quick breaths. “I don’t want the shrimp.”
“You’re eating or you’re not driving,” I say.
She texted me because she knew, she knew something was wrong with the guy. I don’t want her to only reach out when she’s convinced that she needs me. Even if that’s what’s necessary for us to both live functioning lives. The days without her have been driving me crazy. I want her to want me the same way I want her, in every possible way and in every possible position.
“You caught on to that trick with the knife,” I note.
“It was obvious,” she answers before circling the top of her glass and sucking the salt off her drink. “I’ve started coming here this week instead of going right home. I think I’ve been to half the restaurants up and down the coast.”
“You have?”
“Mmhmm. And I’ve considered hiring someone to bake on a trial, part-time basis. If they follow the recipes, if they do well and don’t try changing things, then I might just make it a full-time thing ... maybe,” she continues. “What have you been up to?”
“Working out, doing things you wouldn’t want to hear about.” It’s easy to dismiss. I have a few pieces of shrimp just to do something and Abby eats as well. I exhale a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “I’m glad you’re spending more time out of the bakery.”
“I love the bakery, you know? Sometimes I wonder if cooking would calm me as much, but I don’t think it would. They say cooking is all about doing things with your heart, about seasoning to taste, about enjoying the moment and making what you want, but baking has rules. I think I like rules.”
I smile. “Is that why you sent me away?”
She pauses, reaches for her margarita, and pulls out the lemon. She plays with it for a second, then sucks it, not even making a face despite how sour it is. She sighs. “I sent you away because there are times where you scare me.”
“Do I?”
“Knowing what you do for a living, hearing how you talk to your brother, thinking of being put back in a position with violence. A bloody, violent situation, it kind of popped the very attractive, very hot bubble I find myself in whenever you’re around.”
“Oh, I put you in a bubble?” I can’t help the smirk that turns up my lips.
She considers that and leans back in her chair. She fans herself. “I’m hot. That’s the trouble with Florida. There’s no getting used to or escaping the heat. Lived here my whole life and right now, I wish I was in a bikini and nothing else.”
God, even drunk, the woman knows how to distract the hell out of me. I can picture her in a string bikini, her tits falling out. Not just a bikini, one of those sexy thong bikinis, so next to all of her is on display. Those big brown eyes on me, leaning closer and closer until her plush lips are on mine and ...
“Ugh. I don’t want another one. Can I have some water?” she asks the waiter.
He clears his throat. “I was told to keep the margaritas coming.”
I expect Abby to just let it go, like she does with so much, but she doesn’t. She grabs his wrist and makes him look at her. “I’m the one drinking. I never asked for more than one. I want water. Just water. No ice. No lemon. Water.”
When he doesn’t answer, but tries to leave, she holds him in place, refusing to look away. “Repeat what I just said, so I know that’s what I’m getting.”
“Just water. No ice. No lemon. Water,” he answers, his voice shaking.
“I have special nail polish on, too. Why do you think I didn’t finish the second margarita? I dumped half of it out,” she says without a trace of the sweetness I’ve heard from her. She smiles. “Trust me when I tell you, I won’t be the one to hurt you if I act strange. And the man that left me here without a name, with nothing but a few fake smiles, he’s nothing compared to the connections I have.”
She let him go with a smile so sweet that I can’t believe the tone she just used. “So, just one water and the check.”
He hurries away and I arch an eyebrow. She rolls out her neck. “Alcohol is liquid courage, isn’t it?”
“Where did you just pull that from?” I ask.
“I’ve learned plenty, but I’d rather be sweet. Once a girl is mean or rude, that’s all she is in someone’s eyes. She’s manipulative, too smart, too outspoken. It’s easier to be smaller, sweeter, gentler. It’s easier to be the person I want to be and try to see the world as a good place instead of admitting its terrible. It’s easier to ... get through bad times with some cupcakes and move forward.”
Who the hell is Abby? She’s so much more than some baker who doesn’t know herself. That’s fucking obvious right now. So is the intense attraction sizzling across my skin. I couldn’t bring some innocent, too sweet woman into my hell, but this side of her, who uses her sweetness as a fucking weapon, she can handle it.
“You’re going to finish your water, I’m going to pay the check, and we’re leaving,” I decide.
Her eyes widen and she sucks her bottom lip. “Why?”
“Because it’s my job to get you home safe, Cupcake.”
“But you ....”
“Do you want more time? Do you want me to leave?”
She watches me, looks to the right, her cheeks flair pink, but she clears her throat. “I got more instructions for the cake. I’m working on a mascarpone now. I’ve never made one before.”
“Abby,” I say. “Do you want me to leave?”
“I didn’t say that,” she insists. “I didn’t say that I want you to leave.”
“Then what do you want, Cupcake?. You’re in control here, even if you’re wasted,” I say with a smirk.
She giggles. “I don’t know. Honestly, I kind of missed you, even if you can be annoying and intense and far too sexual.”
“Annoying and intense are fair, but I think I’m just a little too repressed,” I tease, reaching my foot out under the table until it touches hers. “And I think you feel it, too.”
“You’re terrible. Taking advantage of drunk women like this,” she teases while looking up at me through her dark lashes. “You should behave.”
“Oh Cupcake,” I groan. “I can never behave around you.”
The man brings her water. I pay the bill, and she downs it. She lets me take her home. At her door, I hesitate. The reason I agreed to walk away, beyond her saying that’s what she wanted, was because she’s distracting me from my job–my life having feelings is a weakness. It is. I know that, but didn’t she just prove she’s a lot more than she seems?
Plus, she’s going to the wedding. There’s no way she’ll just send the cake and not go. Which means she’s wrapped up in our life until then. Is there any real point in resisting Abby?
“That kiss earlier was the first fake one you’ve given me, isn’t it?” She asks while playing with her keys.
“Yes,” I answer.
“I didn’t like it. Tasted a lot like restraint.”
“That’s all it was,” I agree.
“Then I demand a do over.” I think she actually stomps her foot as she says it.
I chuckle, wrap my arm around her waist, and jerk her towards me. She giggles and strokes my face. “I kind of like your scruff.”
“You do?” I arch an eyebrow. “Where else do you want to feel my scruff or my lips?”
She nibbles her lip, then grabs my shirt in both fists. “Are you going to kiss me, or do I have to kiss you?”
I lean down to follow through, my nose brushing hers, but my phone rings. I close my eyes a second, debating if I can put it off, but Lev doesn’t call for something that can wait and since it’s his ring tone, I have little choice..
“Please, don’t move,” I beg.
She pouts at me as I take the call. I switch to Russian to avoid killing the mood. “What is it?”
“Kill him. Kill him now. I have four more names. All gone. Tonight,” Lev blurts. “One of Misha’s lackies made a move on Lilah today.”
“He didn’t expect Ed?”
“Stephanie and Lilah are very effective when it comes to taking a man out. He’s already sitting in booking. I have texted addresses to you. Move immediately,” Lev demands.
I hang up and kiss the top of Abby’s head. “Do me a favor and I promise to give you whatever you want.”
“What is it? I don’t sign unless I know the fine print,” she whispers.
“Stay inside. Do not leave. Do not text me. And if someone knocks-”
“I have a bat I can use on someone,” she says. “And the frying pan. I have a big cast iron skillet too. Maybe I could-”
I hold her face between my hands and kiss her. “You’re going to get me killed by turning me on like this. Hide. Call the police, and if they get in, make them regret it.”
“And I get whatever I want?”
“Within reason. I have limits,” I say before swatting her ass. “Inside, now.”
“Okay. Be safe. I can’t do needles, remember?”
With that, she goes inside and I don’t know if it’s my cock hardening or my heart racing that has me more distracted. I’m not sure I’m going to be able to clear my head, but once I get to the first address, all distractions are gone.
If I fail, my brothers are in danger, innocent people are in danger, and Abby, a somewhat-innocent, semi-sweet Abby, will be in danger. Considering the asshole who cornered her at the restaurant, she’s already in danger, which means that low-ranking cartel man who showed up and sat with her drinking. He is on the hit list too.
The first two men are easy enough to take out. I stage one scene. Don’t bother to stage the other since I know I’m not leaving any evidence behind. Then I get to Misha’s place and see Ed with a bruise on his face and blood splattered on his shoulder.
“You’re getting a little sloppy, brother,” I tease him.
He shoves me. “Want to scare him out back so I get the kill?”
“Whatever makes this fastest,” I say.
“Alright, head in, I’ll cover the back and-”
Bullets come flying out of the front windows and I shove him down, taking one to the forearm. I hiss between my teeth and glower at him. Ed shoves me. “What, I can’t take my own bullets?”
“Lilah’s been through enough,” I groan. “That’s a fucking rude hello.”
“Make them pay for it?” Ed asks.
“Like we said, let’s make it fast.”
Ed nods and we go to my trunk. He pulls out some tech we shouldn’t have. With one move, we can see every living human in the house all lit up in red. I grin at my twin and he grins right back.
“Think we’ll be done before dinner?”
“Who knows, rabbits run. We will finish before dawn,” I grumble.
We load up, happy we’re in a neighborhood where those uninvolved get out of the way but don’t bother with police, then get to work. Shooting fish in a barrel is only slightly harder than shooting cowards camping in a foreclosed home.