Better When He's Bold

“This is my friend Adria.”

He stuck out a big hand and clasped her much smaller one. I practically saw her panties melt and her vagina throw out a welcome mat.

“What are you doing here?”

I should be asking him that. This was a college party, filled with drunk coeds and undergrads. I actually attended the university around the corner, but Race had long since given up the academic life for one that involved crime and lots and lots of illegal activity. He was the one who shouldn’t be here.

“Just out having some fun.” I tried to keep my tone flat and uninterested, but if he could hear the way my heart pounded, the jig would be up for certain.

He lifted a blond eyebrow at me and flashed a half grin. Gah . . . he even had a killer dimple in his left cheek. I wanted to lick it so bad. I dug the tips of my fingernails into my palms and took a deep breath.

“I’m surprised you know how to do that, Bry . . . have fun.”

He was right, so all I could do was narrow my eyes at him and put on the ice-queen mask I perpetually wore in his presence.

“What are you doing here, Race? Shaking down poor college kids for their student loan checks?”

His other eyebrow shot up to join the first one, and when he unleashed a full smile on us, it practically knocked both Adria and me over. Something darker flashed in his green eyes and I wanted to take a step back. Race was dangerous in more ways than one, and I needed to remember that.

“Most college kids have zero sense and like a challenge. That’s a breeding ground for a guy like me. Plus football season starts next weekend and I just needed to check in on a few early clients.” His eyes slid over the top of my sleek bob to the toes of my pointed black heels. “I stayed longer for the scenery.”

Adria cleared her throat and looked back and forth between the two of us.

“Clients? At a house party? What exactly do you do?” If she only knew the kinds of illicit things Race did.

He cocked his head to the side and the blinding smile he wielded like a weapon fell off of his face. There were a lot of facets to Race Hartman, and this darker, harder side of him had only made an appearance when he decided he was going to take over the reins of a major crime syndicate after he had played a big role in bringing down the kingpin, Novak. Race wasn’t just a bad guy, a criminal, he was the bad guy. He was running numbers, loan-sharking, operating illegal gambling houses, helping his best friend chop and move stolen cars, and making sure every man, woman, and child in the Point knew he was the guy calling the shots on the streets now. He was too pretty to be that awful, but because of Dovie I knew exactly how filthy Race’s hands had become since taking over Novak’s empire. Not to mention his new business partner was a pimp, a money launderer, and absolutely ruthless and cold. Nassir had to be shady and enigmatic considering he ran every underground operation that existed in the inner city and it seemed a lot of those qualities had rubbed off on Race.

“I make money, sweetheart.”

And he did. I shifted uneasily on my too-tall shoes and tried not to let him see how my pulse fluttered under his unwavering gaze. There was something about being desired by a man that you knew could destroy anyone in the room. It shouldn’t feel good, shouldn’t make my thighs clench and my insides pulse, but it did . . . he did.

I smirked at him and tossed the longer part of my razor-straight bob over my shoulder.

“Race is an entrepreneur of sorts.” The kind you would only find in a place that was as dark and as broken as the Point.

Adria obviously wanted to ask more questions. I saw her open her mouth, but before she could get a word out, a loud BANG rang out and the typical college party I had been using to try and escape the aching reality of my every day turned into a chaotic riot.

There was no mistaking the smell of gunpowder as pandemonium erupted and more shots rang out. I went to grab Adria, but because we were so close to the door, a flood of panicked bodies separated us in a split second. I felt hard hands grab me and pull me out of the way of the stampede. My face was pressed into a rock-hard chest and a big hand held my head down as I was roughly moved through the press of running and flailing bodies.

My heart was in my throat and I heard the gun go off one more time, followed by the shriek of a female voice. Race let out a litany of swearwords from somewhere above my head, and he let me go for just a second. I heard glass breaking, felt him shift, pull me along behind him, and then the cool night air was around us. He set me away from him a little bit, but grabbed my hand and proceeded to pull me along behind him. Our feet crunched over the broken glass of the back door he had obviously shattered in order for us to escape.