The Hustle (Irreparable #4) (6 page)

I hear her accelerated breathing and grin. She wants me.

“No, you’re right. I’m calling to let you know you can return home tomorrow morning. Oh, and I won’t be screwing you.”

A small laugh tickles my throat. “We shall see. I can be extremely persuasive.” The pause filling the line is curious or maybe I’m being overly hopeful. So much for my resolve not to sleep with her. “Are you blushing, Ms. Miles?”

“What? God no! . . . Um . . . I did call for another reason, though.” My smile turns to a frown with the uneasy sound of her voice. “I found a couple of photos of you with your son in his room. I left them on your desk.”

The pictures she’s referring to are from the day I took Javier to the zoo. It was one of the best days of my life. “Throw them away.”

“Are you sure? . . . I mean . . .”

“I said throw them away.”

My yelling makes her fall silent, which surprisingly makes me feel like shit.

“Are you okay?” The hesitation in her tone gives away how nervous she was to ask.

“I’m fine.”

“Okay, you don’t have to tell me, but I’m a pretty good listener.”

I sigh, wishing I’d never answered the phone. Her attempt at conversation rattles me more than I want it to because I know it’s sincere. I wish it wasn’t. It’d be easier if Peyton was just some busybody trying to attain the details about my dead kid. Or at the least the kid she assumes is dead. Still it’s her sincerity that really stirs my always present anger and I do what I always do.

“I’m not interested in talking. Too messy, which only leaves fucking, and wasn’t it you that insisted our relationship stay purely professional?”

“It was, but what can I say? Your constant flirting is wearing on me.” A hint of laughter filters through the line.

Is she serious? Hell yeah! Jackpot!

“Is that so?” I ask, sounding a little too hopeful. “I can be there in thirty minutes.”

“It is. Oh . . . I mean . . . Not the sex part, but I might be willing to buy you dinner, or take you to a movie.”

“Did you just ask me on a date?”

“Yeah, I guess I did.”

I chuckle, shaking my head. “So you want dinner and a movie before I get you into bed?”

She sighs and giggles at the same time. “It’s going to take more than dinner and a movie to get me naked. I have too much self–respect to end up as a hash mark on your headboard, but I do like you. I thought we could go out and see what happens from there.”

I stroke my chin as I do my best to not feel happy. Where was this girl years ago when all I wanted was a nice girl and a white picket fence? “Oh, Peyton . . . I wish I could say yes, but . . .”

“Oh, wow. Okay stop. Seriously, this is so embarrassing. Forget I said anything.”

“I don’t want to forget. It’s cute.”

“Oh, God, that’s even worse . . . Cute? Kittens are cute, babies are cute . . . gah . . . it’s fine. I get it . . . You have a type and I’m more like that type’s
cute
little sister. So, let’s stick with the professional relationship bit before I completely die of embarrassment. K . . . sound good?”

“Whoa . . . that was a mouth full . . . If I was looking to date, you’d definitely be my type, but I recently left a bad relationship and . . .”

“Of course, and . . . Oh, your son . . . too.”

Her voice drifts off and all that remains is a faint hum in the line. For what feels like forever, I remain quiet and think about all that I’ve lost and who I really am. I’m not sure I know who Aidan Hunter is. All I know for sure is he’s not good enough to go on a date with a woman like Peyton.

Finally, Peyton says, “So, the loft will be ready tomorrow morning, and I’ll be here to do a walk-through whenever you arrive.”

I end the call without another word. She’s exceptional and smart and everything I love in a woman. She’s also one heartless bitch and a huge mistake too late.

O
n the way home, I think about Peyton as I did most of the night. She shouldn’t have asked me out. I should have asked her. That’s what a man does when he’s attracted to a woman, like I am to Peyton. Maybe if I quit trying to control things in my life, I’ll find peace. I chuckle out loud. Right . . . fucking peace might be a stretch, but I am going to ask Peyton out on a date. A typical, ordinary date that doesn’t involve her lips on my dick—where for one night, I pretend I’m normal.

I know I should leave Peyton alone, but I can’t fight the attraction pulling me to her. There’s a sick feeling in my gut that won’t go away, a sensation that can only be soothed by getting to know this woman. It’s more than physical, more than my dick pointing in her direction and enthusiastically shouting, “Yes . . . Her!” I like Peyton as a person. She makes me laugh, and more so, she makes me feel good. In truth, when I talk with Peyton, I actually like myself. She obviously has magical fucking powers.

I park and practically run to the elevators. Now that I decided to ask her out, I can’t wait to get to her. I tap my foot anxiously as the elevator stops on what seems like every floor to let people out. Once at my floor, I sprint down the hall as a smile forms. Maybe this can actually work. Perhaps Peyton is the woman I’ve been waiting for all along.

Or not . . .

The door left ajar to the loft heightens my senses, but when I hear sniffling inside, panic sets in. I push the door open to find Peyton rocking on the couch, holding a small box in her trembling hands. With quick steps, I cross the room to check on her. Her mouth opens, but instead of words, she sobs and drops the box on the table.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, surveying her from head to toe. Physically she appears to be fine.

Her body shakes violently as I sit next to her. She scoots away, her face ashen and frightened as she points to the box. “What did you do?” she screams, but I don’t understand. “Who are you?”

The child’s shoebox is heavier than I anticipate as I lift it. The stench of rotting flesh reaches my nostrils before I get a glimpse of what’s inside. I cover my nose with one hand and use the other to lift the lid. Fear consumes me, compressing my lungs as I expect the female hand to belong to Maria. Immediately, I seek out the small heart tattooed on Maria’s right hand between her thumb and index finger. Relief rushes out of me when I don’t find it. Peyton continues sobbing as I lift a small piece of paper from the box. I unfold it and read the note.

Mr. Hunter,

Cross me and this will be her hand.

E

Eduardo obviously didn’t believe that I no longer harbor feelings for Maria.

“They said they’d kill me. Who are those men?” Peyton screams, her words murky as my mind races with thoughts of murder. “How do they know who I am?”

“What did they say?”

Peyton blinks rapidly, but doesn’t speak. I curl my hands around her arms and give her a gentle shake. “What did they say?” I ask again with a firm tone.

She swallows, holding in a breath before she says, “They said if you cross Mr. Montez, the item in the box will belong to me.”

“Fuck!” I stand, fishing my phone from my pocket. With one ring, Sid answers. “I need protection detail . . . No, not for me . . . Send them to the loft and I’ll text you the details.”

I slip the phone into my pocket as I stare at Peyton with an overwhelming sense of protectiveness that confuses me. It’s more than a feeling of responsibility for dragging her into my fucked up life and putting her in danger. This woman has gotten under my skin with her playfulness and confidence and I don’t want anything to happen to her. The stress of my trip still weighs on me, and I have shit to do, but this woman fucking needs me.

Her wide eyes peer up at me and glow with a trepidation I somehow have to relieve. Like it or not, easing her fear is my responsibility. “I have some men coming to take you home. They work for me and they’ll stay with you until this is resolved.”

I nod, wanting her to nod too, so I know she’ll be okay, but she doesn’t. “Until what’s resolved? What did you do?”

Fuck, where would I even start to explain what the hell I’ve done. How would I go about telling her, I started a war with a cartel leader and she’s just another casualty? “I can’t tell you.”

“I’m calling the police,” she shouts, reaching for her cell phone.

“There’s nothing the police can do.” My large hand engulfs her small wrist. “I’ll protect you. You’re not in any danger.”

“Are you crazy? Those men came right into your home. They pushed me down and . . .” Her head turns to the side as all of her strength evaporates. The confident woman that barged into the loft a week ago is gone.

As much I wish I didn’t give a fuck, a fierce rage surges through me. “What did they do?” I ask firmly, kneeling beside her. She refuses to look at me, rubbing her arms and sucking in quick gasps of air. I glance down and notice a bruise on her inner thigh that I missed earlier. My teeth hurt as I grind them tightly together. “Did they . . .”

“No.” She shakes her head rapidly. “They would have,” she cries. “They were going to . . . but one of them got a phone call and they left. Two minutes later, you showed up. Tell me what the fuck you did god dammit! I’m scared.”

“You’re safe . . . I promise.”

“You don’t understand. Those men were . . . Oh, God.”

I sit next to her, fighting anger and the desire to go to Monterey and end all of this with one bullet to Eduardo’s head. If I thought I could get to him without getting myself killed, I’d do it. I try to smile to reassure Peyton, but I can’t force it as anger keeps my teeth gritted. “None of those men will ever lay a fucking finger on you. They only wanted to scare you.”

“They succeeded. Who is Mr. Montez?”

I sigh, leaning forward on my knees. “He runs the Torrente Cartel, and we have a business arrangement.”

“You’re a drug dealer?” she shrieks.

“No!” I lower my voice when she flinches. “No . . . I’m helping Mr. Montez with an investment. That’s all, but he doesn’t trust me. He doesn’t trust anyone. Intimidation is just how the cartels operate, but I swear you have nothing to worry about. This was a message and I promise I will take care of Mr. Montez.”

Her features relax, but her body still trembles. I get up and pour her a glass of scotch, which she accepts and drains immediately. She spins the empty glass in her hand absently staring at the floor. “I was terrified.”

Although I want to reach across the couch and comfort her, my heart resists, wanting nothing more than to protect itself. I stay grounded and stare at her, doing my best to look right through her, so I don’t have to really see her. So I don’t have to think about how I almost caved and invited her into my life. Imagine if Eduardo found out I in fact like Peyton. She’s a weakness I can’t afford. “I’m sorry this happened. I never thought he’d come after one of my employees or I would have hired security.”

We make eye contact and a hint of a smile touches her lips. “I’m definitely not in Kansas anymore.” She releases an awkward laugh, pulling on the hem of her skirt. “I’ve been in San Diego for over a year, and despite some drunk bum trying to steal my purse, I like it here.” I turn my head when she frowns. “But he was easy compared to this. I thought those men were going to kill me.”

“I’m sorry,” I say again, which sounds distant and cold and cowardly. Because I’m all of those things.

My insides melt when she smiles brightly. “I beat the bum over the head with my purse until he begged me to stop.”