Enforce, Page 31

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Frozen yogurt turns me on.

  Nixon

  We walked in silence through the front doors of the mall. Trace looked behind her and chewed her bottom lip. I tried to see the world through her eyes.

  Ten guys followed us.

  All of them were dressed in dark colors and expensive-looking suits. I liked it when my men looked good, not like typical gangsters, but actual men. People around us stared curiously, but for the most part, they probably just assumed I was a celebrity or something. Which, in a weird, twisted way, I was the number-one celebrity in Chicago.

  Seriously, it even said it under my mug shot.

  Which the feds kindly destroyed after my family gave them the information they needed on the corruption that was De Lange.

  Then again, that was years ago.

  And if there was anything certain in this life, it was that the feds had a very short-term memory. They were like a real-live version of Dory from Finding Nemo.

  "Do they have a second-hand store or something here?" Trace asked, her eyes worried as she took in the stores around us.

  "Hell, no. Second-hand store? Are you—" He cursed and shook his head. "Second-hand? A freaking used clothing store?" Was she insane?

  "Okay, you can stop repeating it already," she snapped, trying to jerk her hand free from mine. Yeah, not happening.

  "Girls like you don't shop there."

  Immediately she glanced down at the ground as if too embarrassed to make eye contact with me "Um, what about a Ross? Or Wal-Mart or something?" Confused I could only stare at her in hopes of trying to understand why she'd be so upset about me taking her shopping.

  Her damn lower lip even started trembling. I released her hand and cupped her chin. "Trace, did you not hear anything I just said?"

  Tears pooled in her eyes. She tried to jerk free from me again.

  I wrapped my arms around her body and sighed into her hair, allowing myself one selfish moment where we really were just normal college kids out shopping, and I was the guy who wanted to kiss her lips, caress her face.

  "You are… impossible."

  She slumped in my arms, so the hug must have been a good call, which was a relief, considering I wasn't sure if she still hated me.

  One of my guys was staring at me like I'd completely lost my shit. Then again, the last time we'd had a pow-wow, I'd been cleaning my father's blood off my hands. So yeah, he was probably a bit stunned. "Mason, don't follow so close, alright?"

  "Of course, sir," he mumbled, stepping back and motioning for the rest of the men to do the same.

  "Sir?" Trace's muffled voice sounded against my shirt.

  "It's a respect thing."

  "You're like twenty." She pulled back, eyes narrowing.

  I felt myself tense before flashing a smile. "Right. Twenty." I looked away so she wouldn't see the truth, wouldn't pry. "Age doesn't really matter in my world."

  "Your world?"

  I stopped in front of the store I was looking for.

  "Prada?" Her words were dripping with disbelief. "Are you insane?"

  I smirked and pulled her toward the store; her heels dug into the ground. Awesome. So now she hated both me and shopping? Finally, she relented, nearly colliding into my back as I wrapped my arm around her shoulders and led her into the store.

  Her eyes widened, and her mouth dropped open. I suddenly wanted to give her the world — not just a damn backpack. If her expression would always be that pure, that… excited? Over something so easily given? All she had to do was ask, and I'd give it to her. I wouldn't even think about it.

  "May I help you?" A skinny woman in a black suit smiled in our direction. Her gaze flickered across Trace like she was a bug beneath her shoe and landed on me. Ah, a cougar. Fantastic.

  "Messenger bags, do you guys carry messenger bags?" I asked, my eyes trying to find something that would work for Trace. "Something classy."

  The woman beamed. "Right this way."

  Five bags. But Trace didn't look super excited about any of the ones the saleslady had brought to us. She examined each bag slowly, like it needed to pass some sort of inspection or test.

  I finally lost my patience. "Trace, pick a bag."

  Nodding, she glanced up at me then behind me, and her eyes lit up like a Christmas tree before turning back to the row of pricey objects in front of her.

  I turned and saw the object of her affection right away. It was set high away from the rest of the products in the store, and it was in one of those specially lit shelves.

  "This one." I grabbed the blue bag and handed it to the woman.

  A muscle twitched in her jaw. "This is a special edition—"

  "For a special girl." I put a possessive arm around Trace. "Then it's perfect."

  Shaking her head, the woman walked to the counter and rang up the purchase. "That will be one-thousand-seventy-five dollars and eighty-nine cents."

  Trace coughed.

  I fought the laugh bubbling in my chest and handed over my AmEx. Pretty sure Anthony was going to wonder why the hell I was dropping money at Prada on a school day.

  "Can I see some ID, Mr.—"

  The card dropped out of her hands. Shaking, she licked her lips and shook her head. "Never mind."

  "What?" I leaned forward. I could almost smell the fear rolling off of her. "You don't need my ID?"

  "No, Mr. Abandonato. Th-this — this will be fine." With trembling fingers, she handed over the receipt and the bag. "Is there anything else I can get for you?"

  I flashed a smile. Good, let her be afraid. She knew I could crush not just her, but her entire store, career, family, life — take your pick. Sometimes it was good to throw your weight around; other times, people just needed to see your name. See, I really was a celebrity in Chicago, just not the good kind. And definitely not the kind you wanted roaming around in your stores if you had a fear of guns. "No, I think we've had enough. Thank you for your… help."

  The woman nodded, her face paling further while she pinched the bridge of her nose. You'd think I'd pulled a gun on her or said "boo" for as much as she was freaking out.

  "What the hell, Nixon? You like the godfather or something?" Trace laughed out loud and elbowed me. She'd meant it as a joke, when actually it was a reality — maybe not mine, more like Tex's, but whatever. That was an entirely different story I really didn't want to think about — that wasn't going to be a happy ending.

  "So, frozen yogurt?" I changed the subject.

  "Why?"

  I shrugged. "Because I'm hungry?" And because I didn't want our normal afternoon to be ruined by the Mafia or guns or shooting. I just wanted to go on a date with her. Though I hadn't established it as a date, I had held her hand, twice. Yeah, I was in deep shit if I was already justifying things in my head. She was an Alfero, for shit's sake. She was my Juliet, the one girl I wasn't allowed to have.

  And the one I wanted most.

  She sighed. "Fine, but this isn't a date, and it isn't babysitting detail. You know I can take care of myself, right? You can just take me back to the dorms. I've got a paper to write anyways and…"

  I grabbed her hand, silencing her as we made our way past the crowds.

  "It isn't safe, Trace," I said once we were out of the largest of the crowds. "Just trust me, okay?"

  "Then why are we getting frozen yogurt?"

  I shook my head and smiled. Did the girl ever cease from asking so many damn questions? Couldn't I just feed her? Like a normal person? For once in my life? Then again, I couldn't actually come out and say, "I feel better when you eat because it's like I'm making up for all the times you couldn't." And well, when she was little she'd loved ice cream. I just figured frozen yogurt would be a close second.

  My men waited outside while we walked into the small store.

  "Okay, what do I do?" She held out the cup and frowned, staring at the machines like they were spaceships.

  "Uh…" I scratched my head. Was she trying to be funny? "You ea
t it?"

  "The cup?"

  "No, not the cup." I barked out a laugh. "You're kidding right? You've never had self-serve?"

  She swallowed and looked down at her hands. They gave a slight shake like she was nervous. "Look, just forget it."

  The cup was shoved back into my face, but I gripped her wrist and flipped her around so that her back was against my stomach. Damn, but it wasn't helping things. As it was, my pants were so tight I was ready to bust free. Just having her pressed against me, and my mind went wild with possibilities.

  "Read the flavors," I ordered in a hoarse voice as her ass pushed against me. Holy damn, I was going to lose it.

  "Out loud?" she snapped.

  "Hmm, I think I may like that." I chuckled, my lips itching to nibble down that neck of hers.

  "New York Cheesecake, Blueberry, Chocolate Chip, Vanilla, Chocolate, Cake Batter…"

  "Why do they sound better coming from your lips, do you think?" I whispered in her ear.

  She froze. Hell, I wasn't even sure she was breathing. The air around us tensed.

  I needed to move before I stripped her naked then licked the frozen yogurt from every crevice in her body. "Want a sample?" I reached for a pink spoon and held it out.

  She closed her eyes and nodded.

  "Open."

  Her lips parted.

  I slowly slid the pink spoon through, not even remembering what flavor I'd given her. "You like?"

  She looked drunk with pleasure. Damn, was the frozen yogurt that good? I was so beyond tempted — I simply acted, my head dipping closer to hers and then finally my lips grazing her mouth, my tongue sneaking a taste of the frozen yogurt before pulling back.

  Holy shit. I'd just kissed her. Holy shit. Talk about kissing the enemy. Frank was going to shoot my face off. "Sorry, I thought I saw some frozen yogurt. My mistake." I laughed it off when really my heart was pounding so hard I thought I was going to have an attack and pass out on the floor. One simple kiss had done that. Huh.

  "Liar," she said breathlessly, pushing past me. "So what, do I just pull on one of these thingies?"

  "Well, I prefer the word stroke but—"

  Her face erupted with a blush. She jerked her hand away and added some frozen yogurt to her cup — though it was a bit shaky. She managed to get as much frozen yogurt on the ground as she did in the container. Then again, I wasn't exactly practicing fine-motor skills either. Pretty sure my tongue hanging from my mouth and my arousal gave outsiders the impression I got off by watching people eat frozen food.

  I quickly grabbed my own helping and followed her to the toppings area. "Wow, didn't take you for the gummy-worm-type of girl."

  "Huh?"

  I pointed to her cup "Uh, yeah, I love… worms.

  I had to damn-near pinch myself to keep from laughing out loud. I was doing that lot with her, having to remember not to laugh, forcing myself to stay stern when really all I wanted to do was laugh my ass off then kiss her senseless.

  "Ready?" the bored teenager at the till asked.

  "Yup." Trace placed the yogurt on the scale like I did mine. "Twelve dollars and nineteen cents."

  Shit. I forgot I had no cash. Reluctantly, I handed over my black card. Anthony was going to piss himself — again.

  The kid glanced at the card and then did a double-take. Ah yeah, he was going to have one of those reactions.

  We started to walk out, but he spoke up. "Um, I know this sounds really dumb, but can I have your autograph?"

  I froze, rarely did I write my signature on anything. This kid had hero worship in the worst way. He knew what I was known for, probably because his dad or a friend had an obsession with the Chicago Mafia. And the sad part? He'd probably glamorized it with what he'd seen on TV, not even realizing how deranged my life was.

  "Sure thing…" I calmed myself down then signed my name on a napkin. "What's your name?"

  "John." Freaking stars exploded in the kid's eyes.

  I wrote down his name and also included a threat. Tell no one. That's all it said, but John would probably do the exact opposite. "We have an understanding, John? Nobody knows we were here?"

  John's eyes widened as he looked at the napkin then back up at me. I leaned over the counter. "I need to hear you say it, John."

  "You weren't here." John stumbled over his words. "I swear."

  "And where did you see us?"

  "On the street. You, uh, you were going for a run."

  "I do like running." I winked and smacked the guy's shoulder. "Thanks again, John."

  "N-no problem, Mr. Abandonato."

  All signs of Trace's smile were gone as we made our way to the car — replaced by curiosity.

  Damn, but I wished it would have been fear.

  At least then she would walk away, or allow me to.

  Instead, she looked… accepting.

  I wasn't sure if I was elated or not.