Page 35 of Ripping the Odds

My throat bobbed as I swallowed thickly. “Crystal.”

“Great. So what do you say?”

“Okay, but I’m giving you the same amount I pay at my apartment, or I’ll have Daria help me find somewhere else to live.”

“Deal.”

Without another word, he swooped in, capturing my lips in a punishing kiss. My arms wound around his neck, while one of his hands drifted from my waist to my ass, kneading the flesh between his fingers. Seconds later, I was falling. My back hit the couch, and his body was half on top of mine, never having broken our embrace. Desire sparked low in my belly as Zak deepened our kiss. With every stroke of his tongue and each synchronous moan, wetness pooled between my thighs. My body ached with a kind of need I’d never experienced before. It was powerful, consuming, and in that moment, nothing else mattered. Only us.

Way too soon for my liking, he slowly pulled back. His steel blues bore into my browns, holding me captive in their warm depths. The harshness of our combined ragged breaths were the only sounds in the room for several minutes before I finally broke the silence.

“What was that for?” My fingertip brushed over my tender, swollen lips.

His mouth tipped at the corners while his eyes shifted from passion to mirth. “Security deposit.”

“Jerk.”

It took less than a day for an army of Bratva soldiers and a feisty little sister to move my meager belongings into the mansion. When Zak said jump, his men didn’t ask silly questions like, “How high?” They jumped. For example, Alexsei. He wasn’t part of the Jersey family, but when presented with the opportunity to become Daria’s newly appointed shadow, he didn’t hesitate. Hell, he even asked to continue his assignment on the East Coast.

We made it through the first few days after the big plunge––as Daria called it––relatively unscathed. Zak treated me like a queen. He went out of his way to make sure I had everything I could ever want, down to the expensive brand of hair products he stocked in my bathroom.

Life was good.

Better than good.

Zak even took me on our first official date. Although, date was an understatement. Did renting out the entire Atlantic City Aquarium for a weekend night even qualify? How in the world the man remembered from a casual conversation months ago that I’d never been was beyond my comprehension. Then again, I should’ve known he’d go over-the-top. Dinner for two was served next to the tropical reef exhibit. The vibrant colors plus the numerous schools of unicorn tang added an incredible backdrop for our meal. It was magical and something I wasn’t likely to forget.

Our first fight happened on Sunday morning and––I’m not too proud to admit––it was mostly my fault. Jeff, the prosthetist, called shortly after nine to let me know Mathilda was ready. What should’ve been a joyous occasion had me twisted up inside. I needed an outlet for my pent-up anxiety, and since Zak had gone to the driving range to hit golf balls with his brothers, I decided to clean. Hindsight being 20/20 and all, I was being ludicrous. Mopping the kitchen floor while on crutches didn’t make me the brightest star in the sky, however, until he came in and yelled, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I was holding my own.

I let out a blood-curdling scream, tossed the mop in one direction, while my body went the other. Thank heavens for Zak's survival instincts. He quickly dodged the flying projectile, slid across the floor in stocking feet like Tom Cruise in Risky Business, and snagged me around the waist seconds before I crashed into the unforgiving tile floors.

“Holy shit.” I gasped for air. “You scared the hell out of me.”

Zak didn’t utter a word. He didn’t have to. His face said it all. He was pissed. After settling me on a high-back chair at the breakfast bar, he gripped the counter behind me and growled, “In what universe did you think that would be safe?” He didn’t give me a chance to answer. For the next six minutes and forty-seven seconds, I sat quietly with my hands folded in my lap, while he paced back and forth, raging about the dangers of combining crutches with water. His fingers tore through his jet-black hair so many times I worried he’d have a bald spot. It was the first time in my life I could remember someone, other than Daria, giving enough of a shit about me to pitch a royal fit. My parents certainly hadn’t. Raging meant caring, I decided. That’s the only reason I put up with his tantrum. Eventually, he took a breath, and I quickly informed him about Jeff and my nervous energy. The remainder of the day he apologized profusely while finishing the floors I’d started.

Monday rolled in fast and furious like an out-of-control freight train. We spent the morning at the office going over any incidents of importance from the weekend. There were two deemed critical. The first being an altercation between two guests at the casino. They were both drunk and trying to pick up the same woman. Punches were thrown as well as a few chairs. All-in-all, the damage totalled over six grand. I’m sure neither of their wives would be in a forgiving mood when they got the bill.

The second issue was scarier in my opinion. Someone slipped drugs into a young woman's drink at the bar in Quantum. Luckily, the bartender noticed something off with her and called for security to have her checked out before anything could happen. The surveillance tapes were being reviewed to see if they got a clear image of the man. So far, they hadn’t caught anything out of the ordinary.

After lunch, Emil drove us fifteen minutes north to Jeff’s office. Daria was waiting in the parking lot, beaming from ear-to-ear, when we pulled up. I still couldn’t believe she moved halfway across the country to be closer to me. Grateful didn’t even begin to cover how I felt. She was my best friend, and I’d missed her full-time presence in my life.

We were in the waiting room, Zak on one side of me, my sister on the other. The tension in the room was palpable and not at all helping with my churning stomach.

Daria noticed and posed a question. “Okay on a scale of ten, with one being elated and ten being ready to hurl, where are you right now?”

“Seven and a half.”

“Hmm. Better than I thought you’d be. What scares you the most?”

“Not being strong enough.” She moved fast, pinching the sensitive skin on the back of my arm. “Ow, dammit. That hurt.”

“It wasn’t meant to tickle,” she glared at me, her hazel eyes narrowed into slits. “And I’ll do it again every time you say something absurd.”

“You asked what I was afraid of, and I told you. How is that absurd?”

“Prudence Turner, not all strength is measured in muscles. If it were, half the population would be fucked.”

“Nice mouth.”