Elect(8)
“Wow, cocky and a killer. How did I get so lucky?” she said dryly.
I laughed and went into the room to find something without blood on it. Not that I would ever be free from the stain. After all, it was like my marker—blood.
* * *
Once I was dressed, I went back to find Trace laying facedown on the couch, her breathing deep.
I checked my watch. She had class in exactly ten minutes. I sent a quick text to Chase that I was going to steal Trace away for the rest of the afternoon. He responded quickly, saying he didn’t mind and that he was going to go find a hot chick to make out with. As long as it wasn’t my hot chick, I was fine with that.
“Trace?” I nudged her awake. She groaned aloud and mumbled something that sounded nothing like English. “Trace.” I kissed the back of her head. She moved her arm toward me, hitting me directly in the stomach. Hard.
I smacked her ass just as hard and laughed as she fell off the couch and glared. “What’s wrong with you! You can’t just go waking people up like that! I could have…”
“What? You could have what?” I crossed my arms and smirked. “What could you possibly do that would bring me to my knees?”
Trace licked her lips and eyed me up and down. “Oh, I have a few ideas.”
“Well played,” I grumbled. “We’re skipping class.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to.”
“Why?”
“Say thank you, Trace, and so help me God if you say why one more time I’m taking you into that back bedroom and having my way with you until you can’t ask why anymore.”
She seemed to actually think about it. Shit. I was kidding, I wasn’t ready for that, not with her. It seemed too precious. And here I was joking about it.
“Fine.” She yawned and stretched her arms high above her head. “Do I need to text Chase?”
“Nah, I just did. He said he’s gonna go make out with some chick. Clearly you’re messing with his mojo.”
Trace’s face fell a bit. “I guess I never thought about that.”
“Don’t feel sorry for him. The man could charm anything with a pulse and could probably use this time as a way to do some sort of cleansing ritual.”
She nodded and reached for my hand. “So, where are we going?”
“Somewhere safe.” I winked.
* * *
I pulled the Range Rover up to the large metal gate. After I pushed the intercom button, a voice came on the speaker. “Who is visiting?”
“Nixon Abandonato.”
Lots of yelling and hushing and then, “Pleasure to have you, sir.” The gates opened in front of us and I drove through.
“Doesn’t that bother you?” Trace asked, pulling off her sunglasses.
“What?”
“ ‘Sir’?” Her eyebrow arched. “It makes you sound so old and… just old.”
“It’s a respect thing.” I shrugged.
“No,” she argued. “It’s an old person thing.”
“What?” I pulled to the front of the mansion and turned off the car. “You’d rather they call me Dude? Or Homie?”
“I vote Homie. It sounds—”
“I’m an American-born Sicilian,” I interrupted. “It sounds like an easy way to get shot; that’s what it sounds like.”
Trace rolled her eyes and unbuckled her seat belt. As she reached for the door, I grasped her wrist and pulled her toward me. “What would you call me?”
“You mean other than your name?” Her eyes narrowed.
“Yeah.” I licked my lips. My tongue touched the metal of my lip ring. I could almost taste her hot mouth on mine.
“Perfect.” She sighed. “I’d call you perfect.” Her hands reached out to cup my face as her tongue touched my lip ring and then slipped into my mouth.
I groaned in frustration when our lips met in a frenzy. It really wasn’t the time or place to be kissing her, or nearly exploding with frustration that I couldn’t just jump across the console and maul her. Reluctantly, I pulled back.
“As much as I’d love to finish that… conversation…” I chewed hard on my lower lip and literally had to look away from her so I wouldn’t say what the hell and drive her back to my house and lock her in my bedroom. “We’re here for a reason.”
“Oh yeah?” Her eyes were dilated as they looked me up and down. “What’s that?”
I smirked. “You’ll see.”
Thankfully, the air was crisp, so when I stepped out of the SUV I wasn’t still so aroused that I was ready to shoot something.
“What is this place?” Trace put her hand up as a shade over her eyes and looked up at the mansion. It was an impressive four stories, with over three hundred rooms. I’d loved this place, loved visiting. It had been my safe haven when my dad beat me. “My cousin Sergio takes care of the place while his father serves out the rest of his sentence.” I led her toward the back of the house.