Gangster In A Suit. (Book 1)

Chapter 23

I wake up with a wince, forehead rumpled in fleshy folds.

But the comfort I feel dulls the pain to faraway throbs. I force my eyes open. I look down at the big hand held over my own, a burly arm draped over me. Carefully, I twist around. I pull the end of the nightgown to cover my thighs, concealing those god-awful stretch marks—night gown? How did I...? Even with my acute memory, I'm struggling to link the scrambled pieces.

I look up. Orian is fast asleep. He looks so... peaceful... harmless... dead right gorgeous. Handsome would be an understatement, an honest offense. I shift up to rest on my elbow, regrettably waking him. Inky orbs stare back at me groggily.

I fall back down, succumbing to the agony of a head-splitting headache. "What... happened?"

"You don't remember?" he asks huskily. The bass of his voice deepened.

"Not yet." I flop over to be on my side. My eyes dart to the gown. "But I know I didn't choose to be in this... with you."

He moves to lie on his back, dropping his arm across his eyes. "Nothing happened."

Relief washes over me. "Yeah, but what happened?"

"You got drunk. Your choice," he says with a distinct note of contempt.

I get up too fast, wobbling on way up.

"Where're you going?"

"Shower," I grumble.

"Need some company?"

I glare back at him, distilling my abhorrence into one long look. "I've had enough of you, thanks."

He lifts his arm to look at me, a devilish smile rips open his face. "And yet I can't get enough of you."

My heart sinks, only to shoot back up to my throat. Hating the wild flutters swarming inside me.

***

Standing at the front entrance, the men on the sidelines. Orian is attired in a sleek Emporio suit, brandishing his affluence in a modern fit. Through the endless weeks that I've been with him. Orian is constant with an enduring disposition of being unshakeable. But today he seems on edge...which makes me nervous. I feel like an on-edge Orian is more volatile, which means more dangerous.

Torin struts out in an all-white, cotton and silk-blend suit, flaunting a pair of Saint Laurent sunglasses. He takes it off to look at Orian seriously, remorse etching itself on his face, clearly carrying bad news.

"Nani?"

"He says you must bring the girl," he says in English for me. "He wants to meet her."

Fuming, Orian steps away as if to hold himself back, his nostrils flaring. "Bring her? What the fuck do I look like, his errand boy? I don't take orders from him."

"Kashikoku nari, puraido o jama shinaide kudasai," Torin says, speaking in a persuasive tone. "We're with her. He wouldn't try anything with us around. That's never been his approach, and you know that. Besides, everyone's got a soft spot. And you're his."

His words extinguish the fire. Orian clamps his jaw, looking away before he marches out of the entryway. Torin slides his sunglasses back on and motions for me to follow with a sway of his head. I comply. Not that I have a choice. Their men peel away from the sides, pursuing us from behind.

We make the transition from yacht to the convoy style transport, on our way to whomever. Normally I would be brash enough to ask, but I feel if I even breathe wrong, Orian might shoot me just to shut me up. With a tangible tension in the car so thich that a knife couldn't penetrate it. I rather keep quiet.