Morrison (Caldwell Brothers #2) (4 page)

Everything happened so fast. Jamie really had asked her husband for a divorce, and he’d compromised by arranging for her to have a shithole apartment so she could have some time to herself. He cut her off financially once she actually did leave him and moved into said shithole. What he didn’t know was she had been taking online classes for years and gotten a degree in medical
billing, and she’s already lined up a job for herself so she can get by.

Well, sort of.

To our knowledge, no one else knew of her request for a divorce—Alex had told her to keep up appearances until she was sure she wanted to walk away from the life he had built for her. Until Monte made his comment, I’d played along with the lie that Jamie was still living with Alex. No matter how fucked-up
her situation with him, no matter the games he is playing with her financially, I just have to be thankful he gave her a two-bedroom apartment, although neither one of us ever expected for me to end up at her place with Marisa.

I was only permitted to become friends with Jamie because Alex was so deep in debt to Monte. His business needed an investor, and Monte fulfilled that role, becoming his
long-term supporter and lifeline to financial survival.

Checks and balances once again.

With Jamie not wanting to continue her marriage to Alex, Monte loses his power of keeping my friend in line for the sake of her husband. The scales don’t tip in his favor.

We should have known Alex would tell Monte. He wouldn’t keep that kind of secret from the man who has him by the balls.

My refusal to
open our bedroom to added participants tipped the scale. And not in his favor. Rather than compromise, he tossed me aside. Funny how staying faithful is a compromise. It’s just another example of just how fucked-up my world is.

As soon as Monte headed out for his meeting, I packed what I could. I left my wedding rings on the dresser in the hopes that I wouldn’t somehow owe him for the overly
priced designer jewelry that obviously meant nothing to him.

Marisa and I had been at Jamie’s shithole apartment three days when the cops came. The two officers informed me that, although Monte had reported my car stolen, if they were able to recover the vehicle from me, I could avoid his pressing charges.

Before I had even had a chance to think about my life, it was already falling apart. Knowing
I needed income and now a car, I let myself get sucked into the first job I could find, as a cocktail waitress at a casino. Then, using the grocery money I had stowed away, I bought a hooptie of a car that I have to pray will indeed start every time I turn the key.

That was three months ago, during which time I received some sort of weekly reminder from Monte of what I owe him. Marshall, the
chief chucklehead in charge of collection detail, said he would buy me an additional three months before he would start after me for payment. So now I have three months to find a solution to my problems. Three fucking months!

The pay is good, but more than anything, the contacts will prove invaluable. Monte may think he holds the cards; however, he is too quick to think I will keep playing with
his deck. Momma didn’t raise me to roll over. Regardless of our circumstances, she didn’t give up; she kept playing every hand life dealt her, no matter how the odds were stacked against her.

My mother was far from perfect, but she was a fighter. Despite how bad things got, she always pushed forward, even if it wasn’t always in the right ways.

Marisa and I will play the hand, and when the cards
have been laid out, we will somehow win. Somehow, I will get in and win the pot. I will pay Monte every penny I owe so I can walk away with my precious baby girl, free and clear.

Somehow, I will.

“Come on, Flounder, time to get out.” I squirt a fish bathtub toy at her. This week, we are on a Little Mermaid kick. Next week, it will be Cinderella…again.

I pick my daughter up from the bathtub
to dry her off, and she smiles sweetly at me, momentarily taking away the stresses of my day.

After lotion, pajamas, and hair and teeth brushing, we snuggle in the guest bed of my one trusted friend’s home. My heart hurts thinking of what we have left behind, but it wasn’t safe for us anymore. I live and breathe for the little girl beside me. Nothing will harm her ever, no matter what it takes
from me.

I look down as her eyes follow my finger in wonder at each word I read aloud. “Bedtime stories” is what she calls this. Precious moments is what it is for me.

“And they lived happily ever after…The End.” I run my fingers through her soft hair.

“Another one, peeez, Mommy?”

How can I say no to that?

After she snuggles down against me, I begin the new story as she gently drifts off
to dreamland. Oh, if only it were this easy…

I look to the bedside clock and sigh, knowing I have only thirty minutes to doll myself up for work tonight before I have to leave Marisa with Jamie.

One day, I won’t be burning the candle at both ends.

One day, I won’t be keeping a secret from my daughter.

One day, we will be able to simply be Marisa and me.

Suit-wearing, slick-talking, snake-in-the-grass
bastards. All of them! This is temporary, only a job. Moment by moment, I just have to get through another day.

My feet ache with every step my high-heeled, covered toes have to take while I pull down on my skirt.

Sleazy cocktail waitress uniform. These assholes think it’s made for easy access. They also think they can touch me wherever and however they want so I can earn my tips.

One day,
this will be a mere memory. For now, I have to keep working the casino. This is a means to an end. Thankfully, it is one that pays well, but it damn sure isn’t easy. I can’t let it get me down, though.

Eye on the prize. Get the contacts and get in the underground games. Play a tournament.

Win.

Repay debt. Be done. Resume life.

Momma always said, “The boys won’t like it if you beat ’em, Hailey
Sue. You gotta hustle harder, play smarter, and tip the right man off. Know your place, darlin’.”

“Yeah, Momma, how’d that work out for you?” I mutter to the dry Vegas air around me. Then I blow out a frustrated breath as I make my way to my car.

You have got to be fucking kidding me right now!

The minute I think this night can’t possibly get any longer, it damn sure does. One of these entitled
motherfuckers has parked his car behind mine, blocking me in with no way out. I am sure his Porsche won’t look so good when I leave the imprint of my little Nissan hatchback’s bumper in the passenger door.

Going over to my car, I unlock the door manually, since the keyless entry no longer works. Annoyance consumes me as I step out of my heels and let my feet hit the gravel beneath me. At this
point, I don’t care how dirty it is—my feet hurt, my life is a complete mess, and tonight has been never-ending.

I toss my purse into the back as I reach in to grab my duffel bag. Opening it up, I put some sweats on over my skirt, grab an old T-shirt, and cover my pushed-up, barely covered tatas, then start pulling the pins out of my hair. Once I free my locks from their fancy updo, I quickly
throw it all up in a messy bun on top of my head.

Glamorous, I am not.

Once I have adjusted my look from work life to real life, I wait.

Impatiently, I wait.

If this guy is in a tournament and winning, I could be here all fucking morning. Making my way over to the car impeding my escape, I run my manicured finger over the edge of the beauty.

One day, I will be just like these entitled fucks.
One day, I will park my car wherever the hell I please without any regard for its being towed, hit, or stolen.

Must be nice to not care about losing a hundred grand.

I wish money was all that was at stake for me. But some of us can’t be so lucky, can we?

I’m tapping my finger on the trunk when I hear a whistle behind me.

“Get your fuckin’ hands off my ride!” A suit-wearing prick comes running
over, muttering something about not having his usual valet guy.

Well, la-dee-da, park your own car and you won’t have to worry about which valet guy stowed your ride in the wrong place.

“Oh, what’s wrong? Afraid you might get a little dirt on ‘precious’ here? We wouldn’t want that now, would we?” I mock him, wiggling a finger in the air before bringing it back down onto the car. The acrylic
on my nails does nothing to remotely scratch the clear coat of the vehicle, but it does make the asshole move faster.

“Are you fuckin’ crazy? That car cost more than some people’s houses.”

“Crazy? Nope. Pissed the fuck off? You betcha.”

He looks at me, tilting his head to the side as if he is truly studying me. Then his hand comes up to his chest in mock pain.

“Pissed at me? Why would you
be pissed at me, babe?”

“ ‘Babe’—fucking ‘Babe.’ Do I look like a pig to you?” I look down at my ripped sweats and college shirt, then raise my hand to ward off his response. I do look like a pig. And bottom line, I can’t risk being at war with any underground players, so it’s time to swallow my pride yet again. “Don’t answer that. I think we’re getting off on the wrong foot.”

I extend my hand
to him and put myself in the sweet zone as best I can. “I’m Hailey. I work inside and just got off. I came outside, ready to go home…only, you seem to have blocked me in.” I can be sweet at least long enough for him to say something stupid or move his car. I hope he can shut up and we can both move on.

His eyes dance in humor as he takes my hand in his, giving me a firm handshake. “Call me Caldwell.”

Call me Caldwell, call me Big Daddy, call me whatever you want as long as those red fucking lips are talking on the bone phone.

After looking at fancily dressed broads all night, even blowing a few off so I could get some sleep, this chick is like an exotic, dirty little treat. She isn’t dirty in the way you would be led to believe, though. She doesn’t seem to have a 1980s
bush and a stank-ass odor that makes me want to vomit in my mouth just thinking about it. I mean, let’s face it: I have tasted my share of week-old fish in my day, if you know what I mean. The kind of stank that’s unbearable, especially since you know you have to finish the job with some fake chow action, seeing as how you already started.

Her? Her clothes are fucked up, her hair messy and shoved
into one of those “I don’t give a fuck” hairdos that would normally not be to my liking. Her hair is brown and thick, and I just want to go all Captain Caveman on her, then drag her by that thick mess to the nearest rock, bend her over, and fuck the bun loose.

“You have breakfast yet?” I ask, pleading in my head for her to be as unruly as she appears in her damn bare feet on the gravel. Fuck,
that would usually bug the hell out of me, but not now. I want to hear her say in a raspy Miley Cyrus voice, “Caldwell, I’m starving. Let’s just skip dinner and have me suck you off right here, right now.”

“You’re fucking kidding me, right?” She snaps her fingers in my face. “Eyes up here, Slick.”

I take my time looking up from her tits. Why rush? I mean, you don’t go to the pet store and immediately
say, “Yeah, I’ll take that one.” You kind of check out the kitty first.

“Hey, Slick, there isn’t a chance in hell I’m letting a guy like you try to wine and dine me. So, why not—”

I hold up a finger. “Shh…I was just thinking about dessert.”

“Is that so? What makes you think I’d let you?”

I finally look into her eyes to see her chewing on her lip. “ ‘Let’ me? I wasn’t thinking about me, babe.
I was thinking about the Caldwell cocktail I was gonna let you sample.”

She lets out an annoyed laugh. “Yeah, well, I was just thinking pretty boy must have been turned down by the socialites in there, so let me give you some advice. They look at you and see a guy who spends just as much time in front of the mirror as they do. They’re thinking, ‘Damn, he’s hot, but with a face like that, he probably
isn’t a giver.’ So, while you were thinking about me sucking you off, I was thinking about how my pussy grinding on your face might just teach you a lesson about how a woman really only wants a man to be a fucking man.”

“I’m all man.”

“I bet.” She barks out a laugh.

“You’re chewing on your lip; your nipples are hard; your pussy is probably soaked…” She doesn’t stop me, so I keep going. “You
wanna fuck me just as much as I want to fuck you.”

“I like to fuck, but again, I want the man between my legs to make me sure that taking off my clothes wasn’t a waste of time.”

“I’m afraid that, when I reach down there, I might find a set of balls.”

“Why don’t you come over here and check it out?” she dares.

It takes me all of ten seconds to have her pressed to the hood of my car. As soon
as I reach between her legs, her hand is already on my cock.

Shit is going down.

Now.

Sweatpants remind me of high school, easy access, and I was right—she is soaked. My lips press against her as my finger slides into her hot little twat. She gasps for air, and I kiss her harder.

Her fucking lips are soft as plush little pillows, and that dirty-talking mouth tastes like fucking more. I want
more.

My tongue pushes into her mouth, and fuck if I don’t taste heaven. She tastes good, smells good, feels real damn good, and I am hard as hell.

I shove my free hand under her head because suddenly I want to make sure I am not making it bang off the hood of the car. And, motherfucker, it’s not even about the car.

I need more. My mouth covers hers again, and my tongue plunges into that mouth
again. I run it up and down her tongue, slower this time.

With a voice that rasps like hers, I would have thought she was a smoker, but there is no way in hell. Her mouth tastes like rainwater so clean that it came from heaven right to my mouth without ever touching the ground.

I lick the roof of her mouth, her gums, her teeth, like I want my tongue to be floss.

What the fuck is wrong with
me? Fuck her mouth. I want to taste that pussy.

I tear away from her again, then run one hand down her back and pull the other one out of her panties. I suck on my finger and growl when I taste her juices—clean and sweet. As I lift her up, her eyes flutter open, and she looks like a deer in headlights, like she is just as awestruck as I am.

“You taste good.”

Her eyes cast down, away from mine,
and I fear this moment will go away before I’m finished—before I’ve even begun.

I lift her by the ass, and my little wild card becomes like a rag doll cat. She goes almost limp in my arms as I walk toward her car and lift the hatch. I set her inside, then pull her sweats and panties down. She is bare except for the landing patch, and my tongue is about to become the airplane going down that runway.

I push her back and drop down between her legs. Then I go in hard, hoping like hell she doesn’t know how much I already crave her taste. I kiss and nip at her inner thighs while she squirms and lets out soft little grunts that drive me fucking crazier.

I place my hand on her stomach, holding her still because I know that if just this is making her react the way she is, as soon as I lick between
her sexy-ass legs she’s gonna come undone. My tongue traces the landing strip while I draw in a slow, deep breath, taking in her scent. As my tongue parts her lips, her hips buck up, and I grab her thigh in my hand and hold her tightly as I lay my tongue flat, then lick her from back to front over and over. Even though I don’t want to, I avoid her clit, working her up, hearing her grunts while
she tries to hold in the cry I know damn well she wants to let out.

Her hands are now fisting my shirt, causing all kinds of wrinkles, I’m sure, but who cares? I’m tasting the best pussy I have ever tasted—I swear to fuck, I’m gonna come just eating her. She constricts around my tongue as her body tightens everywhere, her little grunts turning into a strangled groan, and I lick harshly at her
tiny nub until she cries out, “Caldwell,” into the night.

When she starts to relax, and I am finally able to tear myself away from kissing and licking her sweetness, I kiss up her belly, raising her shirt with my nose as I make my way to her heaving breasts.

I look at her face and see that her arm is covering her eyes. I want to know what she looks like sated almost as much as I want to have
a taste of her tits, but a horn blares from somewhere and she jumps up. My nose hits the front clasp of her bra, and I stumble back from the pressure.

“Oh, God, I’m sorry,” she says, pulling up her panties and sweats. She scoots out of the car and quickly closes it. “I have to go.”

“Go?” I ask, confused. “We just started. Let me take you—”

She straightens up, the hardness in her eyes returning.

“Bab—”

“I’m not your baby.”

“Easy, tiger.” I reach out for her hand before she can get away, grabbing her and pulling her against me. “I promise you the best day of your life. Don’t go running away now.”

“I don’t owe you anything,” she hisses.

I pull her tighter against me so she can feel how hard I am for her. “You don’t owe me shit.”

“That’s right, I don’t. The fact that you just ravaged
someone who has only had one dick inside her ever should be considered a gift, a delicacy, a—”

“Dayum.” I twist my hand in her hair and pull her lips against mine. My tongue begins tracing the invisible bruises I know I must have caused, and she starts to relax again until another horn shatters the moment between us.

She pulls back, looks past me, and then pulls away. “I have to go.”

“Wait
up.” I grab her hand. “Dinner later? A drink? Your name?”

She looks at me like she’s confused, then those hardened eyes are back.

“Follow me.” She starts walking toward the alley, and I follow. I’m not turning back for nothing at this point.

She stops and pushes me against the brick wall. “After this, we’re even.”

“After wha—” She has me unbuckled and is on her knees before I can say another
word.

“Oh, damn. Don’t stop,” I growl.

She doesn’t. She works me like no one ever has, her tongue tracing my tip, then sliding along my shaft as she pushes my pants down farther. She grabs my balls and moans in appreciation, which makes me hot as hell. She rolls them in her hand as she sucks so hard I am already feeling the heat of my release spreading through me like a wildfire.

“If you don’t
want the Caldwell cocktail, you better stop,” I hiss.

She sucks harder, and I come, seeing lights brighter than the Vegas Strip. Then I feel her pulling up my pants and tucking me away—a first for me. Awkward? A little, but cool, too.

“Baby,” I start, and she turns away. “Christ.” I grab her hand. “What the hell is the hurry? I’m still not finished with you.”

“We’re even,” she says as she starts
walking away, her hand still in mine.

“We’re keeping score, are we?” I half laugh.

“Checks and balances.” She swallows hard. “Life is all about—”

She stops when I turn her toward me. I swear her eyes are tearing up, but then again, it could be the fact that my cock was just rammed down her throat.

“Then I owe you big.”

Her head cocks to the side as she studies me, but then she turns away
and pulls her hand free.

I follow her to her car and open the door before she can. “Momma raised a gentleman; I got it.”

She looks at the ground as she gets in her little car. Then I reach in and pull her buckle around her and click it in.

“I want your name.”

“I have to go,” she says as she starts the car. “Please shut the door and go move your car.”

“Just your name—”

“Call me Hard Luck.”

“I don’t believe that for a second.”

“Believe it,” she says in a low whisper as she puts her little car in reverse.

I let her go because I know she just had a come-to-Jesus moment. I sure did.

I let her go because I know I’ll see that fine ass again. I know where she works—my new favorite casino: Harrah’s, the place you go to get platinum ass.

I get in my car and turn her over, moving back
to watch as her platinum ass pulls out onto the Strip. The radio is playing “Show Me” by Chris Brown and Kid Ink, and I am all sorts of fucking good.