For Logan (Chicago Syndicate Book 5) (25 page)

Though Logan stops, presenting a wicked grin as he licks his lips. Luckily, I haven’t failed in making him shake off his anger. He directs me onto the bed on my back and braces himself over me with his body, pulling my lip between his teeth.

Lost in his own pleasure, he says the words I’ve been dying to hear. “My cricket.”

“I’m yours,” I mutter through wild movements, captivated by him.

With one hundred percent certainty, I give myself to him, to love him always. In haste, I sit up and remove his tailored suit before he changes his mind. When he skims his black boxers down his legs, I run my nails down his hard, tanned abdomen. His hard-on swells rapidly, and he grunts when I roughly stroke him twice.

With a claiming kiss, Logan moves me back on the bed and lies between my legs, pushing me wide open with his thighs. He presses his raging arousal against my center, sliding it along my core.

“I’m going to make love to you, and then I’m going to fuck you, cricket.” He cocks my leg over his hip as I wrap my arms around his back.

Whimpering, I arch off the bed, coating my wetness all over him when Logan tumbles his tongue inside my mouth. His fingers clench into my hair as he groans low. And I realize that the same flame that’s igniting in me is singeing in him. My eyelids flutter closed, his erection throbbing over my folds.

“Open your eyes. Look at me when I take you,” he growls, sending a shiver down my body.

They pop open, forced by his lustful demand. Caramel collides with sapphire as a ray of sunlight makes sure I see the pure yearning in his irises. Logan then grips my ass cheeks, stretching me as he eases himself in.

“Fuck, you’re so wet for me.” He brushes his mouth over mine as his sandalwood cologne and the warmth of his skin mesmerize me while he pushes into me, breaching that last barrier between us.

“Ow,” I cry from the first stab of pain as he thrusts in deep. My legs are spread wide by his thighs, making me more wanton.

He captures my sob and holds still with all his power, buried inside me, a grimace crossing his face as he starts to move in and out until the pain fades to a dull ache. And we cling together, each observing the other. This is making love.

His body rubs over mine, and I’m overwhelmed by smelling him around me and feeling him inside me. As he bites down my throat, leaving a trail of hard kisses, I begin thrusting my hips up.

“You’re so thick,” I pant.

Logan caresses the tip of his nose down mine. “Oh, cricket, this feels better than anything. I’ve wanted to feel your pussy for so long.”

Tracing my fingers down his spine, I move with him. “
Ti amo cosi tanto
.” I love you so much.

He picks up his pace, hammering into me as I twist beneath him.

“Ah...Logan.”

He dips his head to suck a nipple roughly while pistoning on. My belly spasms from sharp sensations only he can evoke.

Logan sits back on his knees and clutches my waist at the curve, thrusting into me as he gropes my breast in one hand while I bunch the white sheets in mine, my legs thrown over his thighs. My back bows as making love turns into a fever of raw fucking. Strands of his hair topple over his forehead, hiding the layer of perspiration.

“Yes, fuck me back, Rosa.” He slams his groin into me, filling me with fierce strokes, clasping my breast and hip greedily as I watch this beautiful man becoming lost in what I give him; it’s a thrilling kind of awareness.

Smoothly, he yanks me to sit up, arranging me with a leg on each side of him, his hands capturing my ass. I cradle his face, pulling it toward mine, and he growls against my lips. My feet dig into the mattress as he guides me up and down his shaft, his breath hot on my neck. Logan ferociously smacks my ass, making me whimper, and bliss sweeps over me like some sort of windstorm. Moaning, I make circles with my hips, mashing myself over his erection.

“Yes, right there,” I urge him and quiver uncontrollably, throwing my head back.

His palm shoots between my shoulder blades so that I don’t fall backward as he plunders my body with such drive that I roll into an intense orgasm, his power to please me intoxicating. My thighs grip him like a vice, and he bites a nipple. Keeping up the pace, he fists my hair, crushing my mouth against his, my own breath short.

“Fuck. I’m going to come inside you,” he roars, bucking his hips up.

Our arms loop around one another, and I hug him to me, adoring how he’s unrestrainedly loving me. He doesn’t wait for approval but pumps fast and hard, spending himself.

“Ah, fuck, Rosa,” he groans, tensing and shuddering, his face planted in my neck as he stills.

Logan pecks my cheek and tries to move, yet I tighten my arms around him. “No. Hold me for a second.”

I was so scared I’d lost him that I just need to be in his protective arms right now. The sweet mix of his cologne, my perfume, and hot sex hypnotizes me.

“Have you noticed we do everything in random order?” I mumble. “You kissed my pussy first, then my mouth. Then you fucked my ass before my pussy.”

Logan laughs and pulls back, whispering, “The order doesn’t matter, as long as I’ve been inside you everywhere.”

With a wolfish half-grin, he gives me a slow, passionate kiss, his hand submerging into my black hair. Even still, a tiny part of me senses some doubt in him, which worries me.

“We should get going, Rosa,” he announces. “Time is of the essence. Give me Mykhail’s address, and I’ll go to the club first and contact Henry to see how far the Syndicate is in locating him.” He shifts me off his lap, and I miss the heat of him.

I’m recuperating from our first time and am a little hurt that he’s being professional but cram the qualm down. “Okay. I’ll text you the address. Should I call Mykhail?”

Logan picks up his clothes to put them on, quickly buttoning up his dress shirt. “Yes, update him and tell him to come here ASAP. He needs to leave his apartment.” After fastening his brown belt, he combs his hands through his messy hair, looking absolutely too handsome.

Logan presses his lips to mine, and I gasp from the demanding thrust of his tongue. Then he hurries to the door and sends me a pointed glance. “You stay home.”

Before I can answer, he’s already gone. Deliciously sore, I topple backward onto the bed. My decision to give in to him has tied my heart to his forever.

I always believed that Logan truly loved me and would be there for me in the end.

Rosalia

––––––––

I
scramble out of bed, throwing on my lilac shirt and jeans. Snatching my phone from the night stand, I text Mykhail’s address to Logan as we agreed and call Mykhail next, but he doesn’t answer. After my third attempt, concern reaches its high point and I storm out to my car, sure that he’d never ignore my calls.

Trying to calm myself, I toy with the gold-plated cross pendant of my necklace and focus on the road without exceeding the speed limit. It seems to take forever before I arrive at Mykhail’s apartment building. By this time, the sun is hanging high in the clear blue sky. I scan the area, not detecting anything out of the ordinary or any Syndicate men, so I step out.

With the key Mykhail gave me in hand, I burst up the concrete stairs to the second floor, although I freeze when I notice that his door is slightly ajar. I strain to hear noises, but it’s silent. Quietly, I press my finger to the door, flinching as it creaks on its hinges.

Once I’m inside his apartment, I tiptoe toward the first open door to my right. As I look into the room, my eyes widen in utter shock from the gruesome sight. Mykhail’s lying on the bed, motionless, with blood all over his neck and on the sheets around his head.

“Oh, my God. N-No!” I run over to the bed where I drop to my knees. “Mykhail,” I whisper-shout through panic while scalding tears break free. Placing my fingers on his wrist, I desperately try to feel for a pulse, finding none. “No!” My vision’s impaired as my pulse pounds in my ears.

Where’s Adam? Maybe I’m not alone.

I stand up on shaky legs, disbelieving the horrific scene. There’s been a fight, and someone slit Mykhail’s throat. Trembling profusely, I creep across the hall toward the kitchen but stop when I hear a child’s mumbling. Dipping down, I wrench open the cupboard under the sink to find Adam huddled inside with a smartphone, playing a cartoon and wearing earbuds. When he merely smiles at me, a sigh of relief leaves my system. Still, acute fear simmers right beneath the surface.

“Rosa!” he screams loudly, so I pull out the earbuds.

“What are you doing in here?” I whisper.

“Mykhail told me to play and be quiet for our game.” A tiny frown crinkles his brow before he climbs out. “Why are you crying?”

I swipe the moisture on my cheeks with the back of my hand. “I’m not, sweetheart. But we need to go. Watch your cartoon.”

I place the earbuds back in his ears, and he’s instantly distracted by the screen as I pick him up, cradling him to me firmly. Thank goodness Mykhail hid Adam before he got attacked.

Sharply, I halt when I notice footsteps echoing from the stairway. Someone’s coming up. Without having any time to think, I shove myself inside the pantry next to the stove, scooting down to hide in a crook of the scarce space beneath the shelves, with Adam in my lap.

“Shhh,” I implore Adam and turn his head to the screen in his hand so that he’s distracted again and hover my palm on his cheek in case he starts talking. My fingers are trembling in fear – I must protect Adam.

Someone enters the apartment, yet it’s quiet for what seems like forever. Then a sound I can’t identify follows until more silence ensues. I’m gripping Adam, praying to God he doesn’t move or speak, praying for some strength so I don’t break down from the sheer terror surging through me.

Footsteps come closer until the other person is in the kitchen and stops right on the other side of the door. Sweat trickles down my neck as I make out water running from the faucet and abruptly hear a door slam closed before everything is still again. Unable to wait any longer, I decide to take my chance to get Adam and me out of here.

Unplugging Adam’s device, I place my hand over his mouth, causing him to struggle, and whisper, “Close your eyes. We’re going to hide somewhere else and you can’t see it.”

He smiles, nodding, and I clumsily stand up as he buries his face in my chest to hide his eyes. Carefully, I open the door and go into the hall where I freeze when I discover that I’m not alone.

The crime scene is being cleaned with a familiar man confiscating Mykhail’s phone from his pocket. He looks up, his sapphire eyes going wide, and directs the gun in his hand at my forehead before I get the chance to escape.

He betrayed me!

Logan

––––––––

W
ithout losing any time, I call Henry while driving to Club 7. Meanwhile, Rosa sends me Mykhail’s address on West Catherine Avenue.

As soon as Henry answers, I ask, “Has anyone located Mykhail yet?”

“No, I’m at the club now. What happened with Rosa?”

My disposable Syndicate phone beeps, and I pick it up from the passenger seat to read the message.

Knock off. 5440 W Catherine Ave.

Alarm scurries up my spine.
Who sent this order to kill Mykhail?
Normally, a name accompanies these messages.

Confused, I question Henry, “Are Adriano and Luca at the club?”

“I don’t know. James was here, but he left. Why?”

“I’ll call you in a few.” I cast the phone aside and race to Mykhail’s address.

Within twenty minutes, I’m barging up the stairway and grab my weapon from the back waistband of my slacks when I note that the door is open. Tapping the barrel against it, I aim my gun down a small hallway and peek into the first bedroom.

A sense of sadness cloaks me when I see Mykhail is splayed on the bed, dead, with a halo of blood on the pillow. I check his pulse, accidentally touching the headboard to steady myself, but it’s too late. I hurriedly inspect the rest of the apartment before wetting a small hand towel in the kitchen to wipe my prints. I’m in the dark here and can’t leave a trace.

Adriano or Luca wouldn’t kill Mykhail without questioning him.
Who would kill him and then leave the door open? And who sent me the message?

Bewildered about this entire situation, I take out Mykhail’s wallet and his phone to examine them, yet my gaze shoots up when I hear a noise.

Instantly, I raise my arm and point my Smith & Wesson at Rosa. “What are you doing here? I told you to stay home!”

Did she witness the kill?
She must’ve left her pool house right after I did to come here.

Rosa is shaking in fear, clutching Adam to her, her hand on the back of his head so he doesn’t witnesses any of this.

“You killed Mykhail?” she croaks out.

“What?” For a split second, I glance at my hand, which is holding Mykhail’s phone and wallet as if I’m cleaning up after my crime, and before I realize what’s happened, she runs out.

“No, Rosa!” I shout.

Barking a litany of profanities, I swipe the headboard to erase my fingerprints, and it takes enormous willpower not to go after her immediately. Rosa’s submission has sealed our bond, and when I was inside her, it wasn’t about how fast I could get to completion. It was all about her pleasure, and I reveled in feeling all the ripples inside her.

More importantly, I’m worried about her safety because something else is at play here. My main concern is protecting her.

Rosalia

––––––––

I
don’t know what to do except get myself and Adam away from here.

“Where are we going, Rosa?”

I jostle him into the seat and buckle the belt. “Watch your cartoon,” I reply and rush to get into my car, jamming it into
drive
and hitting the gas.

Adam is yammering while I keep my eye on my rearview mirror but don’t spot Logan’s white convertible following me. Swirling in conflicting emotions, I avoid cars left and right, and luckily, Adam falls asleep during the journey to my pool house.

Once we get there, I carry him inside and lay him down under the covers on my bed. After propping two pillows against the headboard, I sit down next to him, caressing his blond curls from his forehead. My soul fractures when I recall Mykhail’s lifeless body.
What will happen to it?
Tears pour down my cheeks because I not only lost Mykhail, probably due to my reckless ways, but now, I’m left with a little boy of three. This is such a mess, and I’m in way over my head.