Chapter 4: Call it like it’s seen
Mya pinched the bridge of her nose, her eyes squeezing shut. “My relationship is none of your concern. I don’t know what your issue is or why you are following me around, but it’s getting creepy. And I haven’t even mentioned the weird lick thing.” She grabbed the bottle of vitamins from the shelf, her knuckles white around the plastic, and turned to walk away.
He watched her go for two seconds, the rigid line of her back in that oversized sweatshirt, and then he was moving. His feet carried him after her, a silent predator in the brightly lit aisle. She was almost at the end, across from the sign for the family bathroom, when he closed the final distance.
His hand pressed flat against the small of her back, feeling her jolt through the thick cotton. He didn’t push hard, just guided, steering her firmly to the left. The family bathroom door was unmarked, a single room with a lock. He pushed it open, propelled her inside the small, tiled space, and closed the door behind them. The click of the lock was obscenely loud.
“What are you doing?” she whispered, her voice strained. Her eyes were wide, more frustrated than terrified, and that should annoy him or piss him off, but it was almost refreshing to hear her not be so perfectly, painfully nice.
“Yes, I’m kind of following you,” he said, his own voice low and rough in the cramped quiet. The room smelled of industrial lemon cleaner and faint mildew. “To be fair, I’m not the one who hit you after finding out you got a ride from a person you met that day. And yes, your boyfriend has every right to not want me around you.” He leaned back against the door, blocking the only exit.
She crossed her arms, hugging herself. The defensive gesture made her look younger. “Again. My relationship isn’t your business.”
He huffed, a short, sharp breath. “Fine. Then it’s your job to break up with the guy.”
“Excuse me!” The words cracked out, louder now, echoing off the tiles. The frustration he’d seen ignited into something hotter. She stepped closer, her chest almost brushing his, and pointed a finger right at the center of his sternum. “You don’t get to tell me what to do about my boyfriend. Or what is or isn’t good for me. Or what I don’t and do like.”
His own frustration boiled over, a geyser of possessiveness and wounded pride. “Oh, but he does? Ya know what? I take back my apology. I saw you turn all red when I licked your lip at the restaurant. You liked it, and you won’t admit it.”
A flush did spread across her cheeks then, vivid and telling. “I did not turn red!”
“Ha.See? You did like it.”
She let out a furious little huff, her breath warm against his chin. They were standing too close. The air between them vanished, replaced by a charged, vibrating heat. Her blue eyes were locked on his, blazing with a defiance that stripped away every pretense. He saw the bruise again, the hidden yellow edge by her hairline, and the rage mingled with a desperate, clawing want.
They looked at each other for two seconds. A silent, seismic shift.
He wasn’t sure who moved first.
Maybe she swayed forward. Maybe he dipped his head. It didn’t matter. Their mouths met in a collision that was nothing like the gentle, questioning kisses he imagined she was used to. This was a surrender and a conquest happening simultaneously.
He nearly groaned at the sensation. Her lips were softer than anything had a right to be, and they yielded under his with a small, shocked gasp that he swallowed whole. His hand came up, fingers sliding into the curls at the nape of her neck beneath the beanie, tilting her head to a better angle. He didn’t ask. He took. He slanted his mouth over hers and licked his way inside, a claiming as visceral and undeniable as a signature.
She moaned.
The sound went straight through him, liquid and hot. Her hands came up, her fingers tangling in his hair, tugging slightly. The sharp pull was an electric shock that made his entire body tense with pleasure. He kissed her deeper, tasting coffee and mint and a sweetness that was just her. It was messy and desperate and perfect. Her back met the cold tile wall as he pressed into her, his other arm wrapping around her waist, pulling her hips against his. The bottle of vitamins clattered to the floor, forgotten.
He broke the kiss only to drag his mouth along her jaw, his breath ragged. “Tell me you didn’t like that,” he muttered against her skin, his voice wrecked.
She didn’t tell him anything. Her head fell back, giving him access. He licked a stripe up the column of her throat, feeling her pulse hammering beneath his tongue. She shivered, her fingers tightening in his hair.
“Craig,” she breathed, and it wasn’t a protest. It was a recognition.
It was a recognition.
He went back to her lips, kissing her deeply, then biting her bottom lip with a careful, possessive pressure. She let out a guttural moan, and he slid his tongue back into her mouth, swallowing the little sounds she made. His hand around her waist slid down to cup her ass, and she arched into him with a gasp.
He slowly slid that same hand up her side, over the thick fabric of the sweatshirt, until he palmed her full chest. She let out a whine that went straight to his cock. “You like that, sweetheart?” he said against her mouth, his voice thick.
She pulled at his hair in answer, a sharp, sweet pain. He more firmly grabbed what he could of her breast through the material, and she gasped “Craig” into his mouth, the name a prayer and a curse. He broke the kiss only to pull the grey sweatshirt up in one hurried motion, revealing a simple dark blue satin bra that barely contained her full breasts.
“Christ,” he groaned, the word reverent. He dropped his head and ran his tongue across the top of her breasts where they swelled above the lace. “Hmm,” she sighed, arching her head back, her body offering itself. Her breasts spilled more out of the bra as she moved.
He reached behind her, fumbling with the clasp for a single, frustrated second before it gave way. He scooped her breasts out of the bra, groaning at the size and weight in his hands. He licked the sweat-slicked valley between them, then took one tight nipple into his mouth, sucking and flicking it with his tongue.
“Oh god,” she whispered, gripping his hair so hard his scalp burned. He doubled his efforts, licking, sucking, moving from one breast to the other while she turned into more and more of a mess beneath his mouth. Her breathing became ragged, uneven music.
She eventually covered her own mouth with her hand, muffling her cries. He pinched one taut nipple while he flicked and sucked the other, and her legs started to shake. Her head rolled back against the tile with a soft thud. In his mind, he wasn’t even considering she was anywhere close, so consumed by the taste and feel of her.
He let one hand slide from her breast down to her thigh, hiking her leg over his hip. He ground against the denim of her jeans, the friction a brutal promise. She covered her mouth more completely as her hips bucked against him, and a long, shattered cry came out, muffled by her own palm. He watched, mesmerized, as she climaxed against him, her entire body trembling through the waves.
Then a fist hammered against the door. “Alright, you two! Get out before I call the cops!” A man’s voice, annoyed and nasal, shattered the humid silence.
They froze. The real world crashed back in: the chemical smell, the hum of the store’s ventilation, the ache in his side from the knife graze he’d forgotten. Mya’s eyes flew open, wide with a horror that had nothing to do with him. She stared at him, at the state of her, her breasts still exposed, her skin flushed and marked by his mouth.
“Shit,” Craig breathed, releasing her leg. He moved fast, turning his back to give her a semblance of privacy as he adjusted himself. He heard the frantic rustle of fabric behind him.
“Just a minute!” he barked at the door, his voice returning to its usual commanding register, though it was rougher at the edges.
He turned back. Mya had yanked the sweatshirt down, her face ashen beneath the flush. She wouldn’t look at him. She was staring at the floor, at the forgotten bottle of vitamins, her breathing still uneven. The bruise on her temple seemed to pulse under the fluorescent light.
“Look at me,” he said, quieter now.
She shook her head, a tiny, desperate movement. Another bang on the door. “I’m not kidding! Out now!”
“We’re coming.” Craig unlocked the door and pulled it open, stepping out first to block the view. A pimpled store clerk in a red vest stood there, arms crossed, looking equal parts triumphant and disgusted.
“Store property’s not for that,” the clerk sneered.
Craig reached for his wallet, pulled out two hundreds, and folded them into the kid’s vest pocket. “For the inconvenience. And your discretion.” He put a hand on Mya’s lower back, feeling her flinch, and guided her past the staring kid. “The vitamins are on the floor in there. You can keep ‘em.”
He walked her through the store, past the aisles of candy and shampoo, his touch firm. She was silent, her head down, letting herself be led. The automatic doors whooshed open, and the city’s grimy afternoon air hit them. He didn’t stop at his car. He walked her around the corner into the alley beside the bodega, away from the windows and the street.
He backed her gently against the brick wall, his hands coming up to frame her face, forcing her to look at him. Her eyes were glassy with unshed tears and a storm of confusion.
Her eyes were glassy with unshed tears and a storm of confusion. He could feel her trembling beneath his palms. “You’re coming with me,” he said, his thumbs stroking her cheeks. “You’re not going back to that apartment. Not today.”
“I have to,” she whispered, the words barely audible. “He’ll… he’ll know.”
“Let him know.” The possessiveness in his voice was a live wire. “Let him know you’re with me. That you’re mine now.”
The word ‘mine’ seemed to jolt her system. Her gaze focused, sharpening on his face. The confusion hardened into something clearer, something like revulsion. She shook her head, a firm, final denial.
Mya shook her head and pushed his hands away. The shove was weak, but the rejection was absolute. She turned and walked out of the alley without a word, wiping her face with her sleeve and pulling her beanie back on with a jerk that covered her hair, her bruises, everything.
He stood frozen, his hands still suspended in the air where her face had been. The cold brick of the alley wall seemed to leach into his bones. He heard the scuff of her sneakers fade, swallowed by the city’s noise.
“Mya!” The shout was raw, torn from his throat.
She didn’t stop. She didn’t look back. She just kept walking, a small, grey-hooded figure dissolving into the foot traffic. He took one step to follow, but the sharp pull in his side anchored him. Marco’s warning buzzed in his skull like a trapped insect. This is the line.
He’d crossed it. He’d kissed her, touched her, tasted her. He’d felt her come apart in his hands. And she’d walked away from him like he was nothing. The humiliation was a cold acid drip in his gut, mingling with the fury. He slammed his fist into the alley wall, the impact radiating up his arm, a blunt pain that solved nothing.
His phone vibrated. He yanked it out. Marco. He answered, his voice gravel. “What.”
“Where are you?”
“Alley. By the CVS.”
A long pause. Marco’s sigh was a judgment in itself. “I’m two blocks out. Don’t move.”
The black SUV pulled to the curb four minutes later. Craig slid into the passenger seat, the smell of new leather and Marco’s coffee filling the space. He stared straight ahead, his jaw locked.
Marco glanced at him, then back at the road, pulling into traffic. “You look like hell.”
“Feel like it.”
“She walk away from you?”
Craig’s silence was answer enough.
Marco drove for a block, his tone conversational. “So you accosted her in a drugstore, dragged her into a bathroom, and then… what? Presented your case like a gentleman? And she just left.” He shook his head, a faint, humorless smirk on his face. “Shocker.”
“Shut up, Marco.”
“No, I don’t think I will. You’re acting like a kid who had his toy taken. She’s not a toy. She’s a person in a bad situation you just made infinitely worse.” He tapped the steering wheel. “Derek’s got his phone back. He’s called her seventeen times since noon. She hasn’t answered once.”
Craig turned his head at that. “Where is she?”
“She’s heading back to her apartment.” Marco kept his eyes on the road, his tone flat. “Looks like she sent Derek a message this morning saying she wants a break. He’s pissed but hasn’t gone near her apartment yet since that text.”
Craig huffed, a short, disbelieving sound. “A break? What the hell is a break? Does that mean she’s single now?”
Marco laughed, a genuine crack of amusement. “She’s really gotten under your skin, huh. You’re googling relationship definitions.”
“Shut up.” Craig stared out the window at the blurring buildings, his mind racing. The taste of her was still on his tongue, a phantom brand. The way her body had shaken against his in that fluorescent-lit bathroom felt more real than the leather seat beneath him. A break. It wasn’t freedom. It was a pause, a limbo where Derek could still claim her. He couldn’t allow it.
He crossed his arms, the movement pulling at the healing knife graze. A plan, cold and precise, began to form in the clutter of his frustration. “Derek has the sports gambling debt, right?”
“Thirty-two large and change. Why?”
“What if I offer him a meeting. At the club. For drinks, to discuss the debt.” Craig turned to look at Marco, his dark eyes calculating. “Tell him to bring a date. To keep the mood lighter. He’ll take the bait. He’ll beg Mya to come along to smooth things over, to show he’s a solid guy with a good girl.”
Marco was silent for a full city block. The only sound was the hum of tires on asphalt. “That’s manipulative. Even for you.”
“It’s efficient.” Craig’s voice had lost its ragged edge, replaced by a familiar, dangerous calm. “He brings her into my world willingly. She sees him negotiate. She sees what he really is.”
“And what are you in that scenario? The generous host?” Marco’s skepticism was a tangible thing in the air.
“I’m the solution. And the alternative.” Craig flexed his right hand, the knuckles still raw from the alley wall. “Make the call. Set it for tomorrow night. VIP section. Make it sound like a favor.”
Marco nodded slowly, his eyes scanning the traffic ahead as if the right words were written on the bumper of the taxi in front of them. He took a long, deliberate sip from his travel coffee mug.
“Really,” Marco said, his voice dripping with flat disbelief. “You’re going to show her that her abusive boyfriend is in debt with the worst people to be in debt with. And then what, buy her a drink?” He glanced over, his expression utterly deadpan. “Also, wouldn’t you need to bring a date to this? He’ll ask why you made him bring his girlfriend, but you show up with me. That’s not a business meeting. That’s a tragedy waiting for a punchline.”
“It’s a strategic environment,” Craig countered, his gaze fixed on the passing buildings. “I control the space, the terms. He’ll be nervous, trying to impress. He’ll show his ass. She’ll see it.”
“She’ll see you in your natural habitat, surrounded by bottles and bodyguards. That’ll really sell the wholesome alternative you’re offering.” Marco’s sarcasm was a scalpel. “What’s the play, Craig? You humiliate him, he folds on the debt, and she jumps into your arms out of gratitude? That’s the fantasy?”
Craig’s silence was brittle. The fantasy was fresher, more sensory: the weight of her breast in his hand, the muffled cry against his mouth, the way her legs had buckled. It had nothing to do with gratitude and everything to do with the shocking, silent understanding that had passed between them before the world knocked on the door. She had looked at him and seen something. He was sure of it.
“It’s not about that,” Craig said, but the words felt thin.
“It’s always about that with you. You just usually skip the five-act drama.” Marco signaled a turn, his movements precise. “Fine. I’ll make the call. But you’re bringing a date. Not me. Pick one of the countless women whose numbers are probably melting the plastic of your phone. Establish the normalcy. Otherwise, you’re just a predator who set a trap specifically for her. Which is what you’re doing, but at least have the decorum to wear a disguise.”
“I don’t want to bring anyone else.”
The admission left his mouth quietly, surprising them both. Marco didn’t look over this time, but his knuckles tightened on the wheel.
“Wow,” Marco finally said, the word softer. “You’ve got it bad. This is what, a seventy-two-hour virus? It’s lethal.”
“Just make the call, Marco.”
“I am.” He pulled the SUV over into a loading zone, put it in park, and scrolled through his contacts. He put the phone on speaker, the dial tone a sharp trill in the tense space.
A voice answered on the third ring, wary. “Yeah?”
“Derek.Marco. Craig Moretti’s associate.” Marco’s voice shifted, becoming smooth, professionally cordial. “We’re looking to clear the air on your situation. Mr. Moretti would like to offer you a sit-down tomorrow evening. A discussion. Neutral ground.”
“A discussion,” Derek’s voice parroted, suspicion layering the word. “Where?”
“The Ivory Room. VIP. Nine o’clock. Bring a guest, keep it informal.” Marco’s eyes flicked to Craig, who was staring blankly out the window. “It’s a sign of good faith. We’re not animals. We can talk like adults.”
There was a long pause filled with staticy breath. Craig could picture him, probably in his sterile apartment, calculating, his need for control warring with his fear.
“Fine. Nine o’clock. I’ll be there.”
“And your guest,” Marco pressed, ever so lightly.
“I’ll bring someone,” Derek said, the reluctance palpable before the line went dead.
Marco tossed his phone onto the console. “Done. He’ll bring her. He’s scared, and he’ll use her as a shield, hoping her presence civilizes the wolves.” He put the car back into drive. “Your move, Romeo. Who’s the lucky lady for your side of the table?”
Craig didn’t answer. His mind was already miles ahead, in the pulsating dark of his club, planning the angles, the lighting, the exact moment the facade would crack. He thought of the bruise on her temple, hidden by her hair. He thought of the pure, unguarded sound she’d made in that CVS bathroom, a sound meant for him alone.
He was going to burn Derek’s world down in front of her. And he would be standing right there, waiting to catch her when she fled the flames.