Page 37 of Taken In Trade
She takes it. With her horrendous flavors, she barely flicked her tongue over the ice cream, but with mine, she swirls around the entire top scoop. “Mmm. Damn, it is good.”
“They’re classics for a reason.”
“I guess so.” She takes another lick and offers it back to me. “Here. I don’t want to eat your entire treat.”
“You keep it. I’m not big on sweets.” I’ll get more enjoyment from watching her eat it than I would have from eating it myself.
“Thanks, Hawk. You spoil me.”
If she thinks giving up the dessert that I only got because I didn’t want her to have to eat alone is spoiling her, then she really needs to up her standards.
I help Vanessa unload and carry up all of her things, and Moretti finds me on my way down to check the SUV to make sure we didn’t miss anything.
“How did it go?” he asks, unbuttoning the cuff on his button-down shirt.
“Vanessa’s brothers are still as spineless as ever. They watched and didn’t say a word.”
“And Julian?”
“He’s still a prick,” I mutter, shaking my head. “He wants Vanessa’s keys and phone returned.”
“He’ll get the phone back once it’s been wiped.” He rolls his sleeve up and moves to the next. “Did he attempt to touch her?”
“No.”
“Good.” Moretti nods. “I wonder how long it’ll take him to realize I paid his doctor thirty grand to take the day off.”
“Not a clue.” I shrug, eyeing the door to the garage. I’m anxious to get back to Vanessa so she doesn’t think I abandoned her once everything was carried inside. “There’s no way he doesn’t already suspect you.”
“That is also true.” He chuckles, but his face quickly sobers. “We all need to be on high alert until Grigoryan retaliates for his building.”
“Maybe he’ll decide he’s not interested in starting a war.”
“In his eyes, I did that when I stole Vanessa.”
I grimace.
Yeah, it’s probably going to get ugly in Boston.
Chapter Twelve
Vanessa
Ilike Hawk a lot. There might be an unfair power balance at play because he legitimately has to follow me around per Moretti’s orders, but he treats me better than any guard I’ve had. And I’ve had a lot of them over the course of my lifetime. He keeps me company while I take the tags off everything and prep it to be washed. The pile of all the shit Francesca bought in the first round—the stuff that didn’t have a hope of fitting me—is in another huge mound.
Hawk squats next to it. “Should I have her come back to pick this up?”
I shake my head. “The tags have been taken off, and it was washed. No store would take it back now. If it was appropriate for winter in Boston, I’d suggest driving around and offering it to the homeless. Most of it will need to be stored for spring or summer. Let’s pack it up, and I’ll call around and see if any of the women’s shelters in the area are accepting out-of-season donations. If not, I’m sure we can stuff it somewhere for a few months.”
Hawk’s head tilts. “I didn’t know holding donations until the right season was even a thing.”
“My mom used to sponsor a domestic abuse shelter. Not all of them have the space to store clothes that can’t be worn right away.”
He nods, standing to his full height. “Makes sense. I’ll run down to the garage and grab some bins.” He takes off, walking past me.
My nostrils flare, greedy for more of his spicy, smoky campfire scent.
It’s such a bad time for my lady bits to tingle, and I clench my thighs together. I had a much better hold on my system with the suppressants in play. Now that they’re not there to buffer…
