Page 20 of Devious Roses
She obeys, even with the knowledge she might be in trouble. I curl my arm around her hip, drawing her against me, my hand landing right above where the round curve of her ass begins. As soon as she’s in my hold, I can’t even be pissed with her.
That’s Delphine’s magic—she possesses the ability to soften a hardass like me. I grip her chin and drop a kiss on her lips, relief unshackling the tension in my bones. Suddenly, all I want is to take my wife home and enjoy the rest of our night in our bed.
“How many times do I have to tell you, Phi? I don’t want you at the club,” I try to scold anyway. My tone wouldn’t intimidate a toddler. It’s too gentle and low, too fucking full of love. But I don’t give a shit. I love Delphine too much.
Besides, I’ve learned she listens better when I take this approach versus outright anger and frustration.
She rests her hands on my chest and peers up at me with warm brown eyes. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
Both of my brows raise. “And if I wasn’t? What would you have done? Shoot the assailants?”
“Possibly.”
She draws back enough to unclasp the long purse dangling off her shoulder. I peer inside at what she’s showing me.
She’s strapped.
My wife brought her Glock to my club in case she had to get involved.
It’s simultaneously frustrating, amusing, and arousing all in one go. I don’t know whether to scold her, laugh with her, or bend her over my desk upstairs and sink my cock into her warm, waiting pussy.
I settle on the second option for now, releasing a shocked, gruff-sounding laugh.
“Phi,” I sigh, shaking my head. “What am I going to do with you? You… drive me so fucking insane.”
“You know I’m a good shot!”
“That’s the scary part. That you’re willing to insert yourself into a mafia war because you’re a good shot and think you need to defend me. C’mon, let’s go home.”
* * *
We’re both uncharacteristically quiet on the drive home. Exhaustion rides as a third passenger between us. My attention’s on the streets lit up in the dark. Delphine sits so still, I question if she’s fallen asleep.
When we make it upstairs to the loft, she finally asks a question.
“Was tonight about the feud between the Giancolas and Kozlovs?”
I nod, unlocking our door. “It’s a real shit show. Both have conflicting stories. But I’m going to get to the bottom of it. I’ve got a meeting with Suarez tomorrow, first thing. Something’s up.”
She nibbles on her lips. “I don’t like when you say that. It means things are about to get…”
Delphine trails off. The end of her thought remains a mystery as silence settles in. I can sense what she meant anyway—if complications have risen between the families, it means danger for us.
I seek to ease her worry. We skip spending time in the rest of the loft and go straight to our bedroom. Delphine preps for bed, lighting candles and peeling back the covers. I come up behind her and wrap my arms around her stomach.
“I’m going to handle this immediately,” I say into her ear. “I don’t want you thinking this is turning into something bigger than it is. It’s going to be over quick.”
“It’s just… I was hoping it wouldn’t be like this. That it would be different.”
“What would be? I can promise it won’t be like before. But I’m still in the lifestyle.”
She rattles out an uneasy breath and I hold her closer against me. Something else is bothering her though she seems determined to leave that part out.
I’ve already learned what from a different source; before we left the club, Stitches pulled me aside and told me he’d come by to tell her about the shooting. She had been in the middle of what seemed like a nightmare.
It’s not the first or last time. Delphine’s nightmares have been an off and on occurrence from the time she was first attacked and moved into my loft over two years ago. Some nights, I’d be returning home from Nirvana and catch the sounds of her screams in bed.
The bad dreams have occurred less often more recently. But occasionally there’ll be a night where she’s tossing and turning in bed, sometimesbeggingaloud, and I have to shake her awake.