Page 44 of Foxx
Fuck this life, and fuck the cops.
My mom said it wasn’t the club’s fault, or my aunt’s, but I know it was the club. The club ruins everything. I’m almost twelve. I’m not stupid.
And now, all because my mom was at the barbecue with my dad and he was too drunk to ride home on his bike, she’s dead. My mom drove my dad home in his enforcer’s truck, and the bullet that was meant for his head took her out instead. My dad thinks I don’t know, but I heard him talking to his VP the night she died. I hid on the stairs in our house and listened to it all.
My dad’s heavy hand rests on my shoulder now, his other arm in a sling, broken in two places from when my mom veered off the road and crashed into a mailbox. My dad was passed out drunk and wasn’t wearing his seatbelt. I sniff back my tears and straighten up. He’ll be mad if I’m crying, I know it. He’ll call me a pussy.
“The only woman you can ever cry over is your mother, son. It’s okay,” he says gruffly. I hear the sadness in his voice, and he should be sad. If he hadn’t drank so much, she’d still be alive.
“If you take anything from this, learn from me. I didn’t listen to your grandad. Women aren’t for getting attached to.”
I look up at him. He wears dark sunglasses so I can’t see his eyes.
“In our way of life, they only end up hurt or worse, like your mother. When you lose them, a part of your soul goes with them.” My dad takes the last drag of his smoke and drops it into the wet grass. I focus on it as the cherry-red end fades to black.
Another tear falls down my cheek, and I push it away. Fuck the tears.
“You’re a Foxx, boy. Cursed just like I am and just like your grandad was when your grandma died because of this life. Itruns in our blood.” He pats my shoulder. “We’re better off alone. Everything we touch in this world turns to shit.”
I unwrap my hands and flex my fists while sweat drips down my forehead and my breathing slows. I finish my workout and focus on my battered hands, which are red and angry. The memories have been running through my mind all night because I’m doing exactly what my father told me not to by bringing Mia here. My fists ache from going so hard on the heavy bag, trying to push her face from my mind.
For six days, I’ve tracked her car and kept her in my home. We found out the car was registered to a Michael Crawford back in the nineties, who I’m assuming is her father, but I haven’t got that info back yet. I followed her myself to and from work while Archer and Stone were away with another emergency issue with our latest firearms shipment. It seems someone is trying to fuck us over, and it’s possible it’s from the inside. Because of this unexpected development, I’ve had to bide my time where information on Mia is concerned. And it hasn’t been easy.
Because she’s the beginning and end of my every waking thought, and if she thinks I don’t know she’s been snooping around here like a little fucking pseudo-detective, she’s wrong. I’ve been watching her, night after night, traipse around my house in her short little fucking shorts and her phone light. I watched as she found my box of anesthetics, and I watched as she took photos of the drugs I keep on hand for emergency use. I wasn’t trying to hide them. Call it a reminder to her of who she’s fucking with. The moment Mia slips up, I’ll be there.
She’s stronger than I thought, but she almost has the feel of a rookie cop in training, the kind who thinks they’re tough until they have to actually hit the streets. And the more time I spend watching her, the more I realize her “wouldn’t be the first time”line is a pile of bullshit. In fact, looking back, I wonder if she’s ever even sucked a dick before mine.
But even her inexperience, and not knowing why she’s here, doesn’t stop me from fucking wanting her constantly, even if she’s a distraction of the worst kind. I want her enough that it actuallybotheredme when I thought that maybe she was driving out to Grayson Island to meet a man. And I’ll be checking into that story too.
The moment Stone got back from our arms deal with the Titans, I told him he’s exclusively on the case of Mia Crawford for me. He’s not to rest until he knows everything. Whatever facade she’s hiding behind, her time is almost up.
Pulling on a pair of black boxer briefs after a shower, I head to the kitchen and find Mia already there, sitting at the island in nothing but a pair of white cotton panties and a tank top, drinking my most expensive bourbon straight from the bottle.
One curvy leg is crossed over the other, her painted pink toes are perched on the rung of the stool, and her hair is high on her head in a loose bun. It makes me think one pull of a pin could have it all tumbling down, and fuck, that does something to me. She doesn’t look up from her phone. Even the way she ignores me turns me on.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I ask, nodding to the bourbon.
“I couldn’t sleep, so I’m drinking and watching Netflix in the only place in this house that has any Wi-Fi,” she offers without looking up, holding up her bottle like she’s toasting me, and that’s when I realize she’s tipsy as fuck.
“And you felt the need to do this half naked?” I grit out, moving into the kitchen and setting my phone on the counter.
“I haven’t been allowed to go home and get pajamas,” shedeadpans, finally training those ocean-blue eyes on me. “And maybe you should take your own advice. You big,fat”—she looks at my cock in my snug briefs—“hypocrite.”
Pressing her lips to the bottle, she takes a sip, ending it with a little pop. I make a mental note to get Roz over here to take her home for some of her things tomorrow. Dagger hasn’t been around, and I can spare someone to follow them now that Stone is back.
Mia’s looking at her phone again as I take in the curves of her soft thighs and the full tits that I can see right through her thin cotton shirt. It takes everything in me not to flip her snarky ass over right on my kitchen counter and claim her cunt with thefatcock she just pointed out until she screams.
I open my fridge wide, pulling out a coconut water and chugging it down. I can feel her eyes raking over my shirtless body as I drink, and when I turn to face her, she’s sucking back another shot of bourbon. Her gaze is hungry as an alcohol-induced truth slowly creeps up her pretty cleavage.
“Fucking hell, why do you have to look so good without clothes?” she blurts out, her eyes full of unrestrained desire, threatening to obliterate my self-control. “And why don’t you dry yourself off?”
I can’t help it. I crack a smirk.
Is my wet body bothering you, Rhiannon?
I swallow and face her. “I told you to stay in your room at night.” I set the empty bottle of coconut water on the counter, running a hand through my damp hair.
“And you also agreed this isn’t a dictatorship,” she retorts with a shrug, not missing a beat. She shoots me a smug little grin. “Sorry I’m not your perfectly obedient little prisoner.Please forgive me, boss,” she says, tipping the bottle back again.Her tongue darts out to take the tiniest bit of leftover whiskey from her full lips, and she giggles. “Whoopsie.”
