She couldn't get past the way she gave up control to him with both assaults on her mouth. The way he held her firmly and devoured her, she couldn't and didn't want to fight. She still felt his five o'clock shadow brushing against her skin. She'd love to know how it felt against her bare belly and how his naked chest felt below her fingertips. Was he bare-chested, or did he have a splattering of hair that a woman could toy with?
Maybe she should have been frightened over the near attack, but being saved by Derk and his invasion into all her thoughts drove that aside. Though she did concede she'd never walk home alone again. A major personality fault with Mackenzie was how she easily forgot how people treated her. Not that she did the whole forgive thing, it was easier to immediately let it go, move forward, and get past it. A trait she'd picked up in order to survive moving from foster home to foster home as a child. Normal women would be shaken to their core, but Mackenzie developed the mentality a long time ago to shove the frightful away and turn a blind eye.
Scissoring her legs from the heat that developed between her thighs, she tossed the sheets and blankets off her body. It had been so long since any man paid attention to her. Well, any real attention other than slimy bar gawkers. Quickly after her and her husband married, he'd lost interest. Thinking back on it, he'd probably been having affairs at the beginning. If that was the case, why the hell did he marry her?
Shoving that depressing question aside but keeping on the same track, she really should get Derk off her mind. There was no way involving herself with that man could end well. Biker guy. Bar fly. Tattoos. Smokes. Drives a truck. Apparently drives the streets after three in the morning.
She jolted upright in bed. He’d been following her, that’s how he saved her. How had she not noticed? Holy shit! She flopped back in her bed, convinced she was going nuts. See, this is what men did to you. Crazy, crazy, bat-shit crazy.
6
Pulling a white tee shirt over his head, Derk lumbered downstairs to retrieve his morning coffee. No matter how much sleep he got, his internal clock always had him up at the crack of dawn. One hour. One fucking hour was all he slept.
After pouring himself a hot cup of Joe, he made his way to the living room to find Smith seated in the corner chair, his usual place to occupy when he stopped over.
"What the fuck are you doing here this early?" he snarled.
Smith didn't respond. Didn't even raise an eyebrow. Not a twitch of his mouth or flex of his jaw.
Derk's front door swung open. Jack and Carl strode through. Well, Jack strode, Carl limped.
"What the fuck is this? Party fucking central? It's six in the morning. Everybody out," he snapped. “Tonight the door starts to get locked so none of you assholes can come in.”
"Good morning to you, too," Jack drawled.
"Fuck off."
Carl laughed.
Derk plopped his ass down on the couch.
"Boss-man has a job for you." Jack stepped into the living room.
He turned to Smith. "This why you're here? They call you first?"
Again, nothing.
"I'm busy today." He planned to head back over to Mackenzie's and find out why the hell that woman was walking home alone, early this morning. Then, maybe if he got lucky, he could work her right of out his system.
"No, you're not," Jack warned.
"I don't work for your boss." Derk lit a cigarette, took a long drag, opened the laptop on the coffee table, and typed in his password.
"Derk, you don't want to turn him down on this one," Carl tried to reason with him.
"You don't want to piss with me today," Derk said coolly. "Only got an hour's sleep. I'm not pleasant."
Carl chuckled. "You aren't pleasant any day."
"Get out, I'm trying to get something done here," Derk growled.
"Fine," Jack said. He jerked his head to Carl, and they both left without further annoyance.
Jack and Carl weren't just any people to send packing and turn down a job. They were Derrick Murphy's two right hand men. Derrick was the crime boss of the Northeast. A dark and dangerous man that no one refused when he came knocking. Derk knew he should take Mr. Murphy's job request, but he had more pressing matters‒find out more info on Mackenzie.
The mob boss probably won’t take kindly to his refusal, but like he said to Jack, he technically wasn’t on Murphy's payroll. He freelanced. His illegal talents were sought after by too many people to be tied down to one employer. That decision made him independently wealthy. He wasn't about to give that up any time soon.
It had been Darren Murphy, Derrick's younger brother and original mob boss of the tri-state area, that found him and hired him out years ago. When Darren was killed in a car bomb, Derrick took over the reigns and continued to utilize his work. Both brothers appreciated his mad skills of hacking, collecting, and clean up–and paid him extremely well for those services.