He grunts, but doesn’t say anything else as he gets lost in his own thoughts.
“Why didn’t someone say something about my dad working for you sooner? I assume he did something bad, since you all think I’m so untrustworthy.”
It’s starting to sting that Drex doesn’t trust me. I don’t give a damn about the others, but I do care about what he thinks. It hasn’t been that long, but it feels like it’s been months.
He tenses for a second, as if he’s deciding whether or not to tell me anything. Again, that sting is there, but I try to act unaffected.
“He stole from us. Close to eighty million. It would have ruined our club; that’s how substantial that loss could have been. We pay our guys on the side, and they have their own civilian jobs. We also use that money to fund our other business purchases, and we were in the middle of several at the time.”
He blows out a breath before continuing.
“We found out quickly the money was missing. I’d never trusted him, so I had been discreetly watching our accounts, since he had full access to them. It still amazes me that he managed to keep his family a secret, because I dug into every part of his life—or so I thought. He covered his ass really well, which lets me know he cared enough about you to keep you a secret.”
That doesn’t even sound like my father.
“I stole a pack of bubblegum once,” I say, probably sounding random. “When he figured it out, he had me take it back and apologize to the store clerk. He said stealing was the quickest way to lose your self-respect, and that he was raising me to be better than a thief.”
He purses his lips, looking down at me. “People change, Eve. My mother wasn’t always an addict. Life has a way of beating all the good shit out of you sometimes.”
He’s right. I sure as hell never thought my dad would take his own life and leave his family with no way to take care of ourselves.
My lips press against his chest, and I peer up once more. “Did it beat all the good out of you?”
His smile quirks up, and I run my fingers along his shoulder.
“Never had any good to get beaten out,” he says, sounding so honest that it hurts.
It’s a lie, though. He’s always careful with me, always gentle even when he’s rough. He’s a tall guy with more muscle than it appears, yet he’s always taken care with my body. I’ve never even had a bruise, even though sometimes I could have sworn I would. The times he’s the roughest are my favorites.
And he can’t stand the thought of someone else hurting me. He’s good enough, even if he can’t see it. Because he’s the only reason I’m still me instead of a shell of myself.
Every day, he lets me feel safer to be a little more of myself. In fact, he seems to enjoy it.
“This is pretty good,” I tell him, barely stopping myself from waxing poetic nonsense aloud.
He laughs lightly, but it’s a weighted sound. “Yeah,” he mumbles, sounding reluctant to admit it. “It is.”
I start kissing a trail down his chest, and I’m rewarded with a rumble from his chest before he takes a sharp breath. My panties are still hanging mid-thigh, forgotten.
He doesn’t let me get to where I want to be, though. He’s too busy pulling me up, and he starts kissing my neck as my hips slide down. Slowly, ever so slowly, he pushes me down on him, and my body stretches around him.
I moan, reveling in the feel of it all. Maybe we can spend a few weeks just getting lost in each other.
Chapter 24
EVE
For two weeks, I’ve been in Drex’s home, and we’ve spent most of our time in the bed. Not that I’m complaining. Being with Drex in his home is… surprisingly nice. Easy. It’s like we’ve found a groove, and everything is natural.
Not to mention, nothing illegal is getting done in the bedroom. At least I don’t think so. It makes it less stressful and almost… normal.
We haven’t even left for groceries. Apparently there’s a little grocery fairy by the name of Maria who keeps his house stocked but never gets seen. I’m starting to think she’s a myth.
My lips strum across a semi-long scar on his side, and he makes a low noise in his throat while continuing to trace lines on my back.
“Chicks dig scars,” he says, smirking down at me.
Frowning, I shake my head. “They aren’t sexy to me.”
When his face falls, I immediately add, “I mean, you’re still sexy, but the scars are sad.”
He runs his hand through my hair lazily, while keeping one hand behind his head, angling up so he can see me better.