Third Comes Vengeance (Promised in Blood, #3)

“I want to look at you.” He grasps my thigh and pushes it up to my chest.

Suddenly this feels way too fast. I don’t understand why we’re doing this. I feel like I should understand what’s going on in his head before we fuck.

“Wait, wait. When did you first think about doing this?” I want to know why this is happening. Why now.

The smile dies on his face, and my heart plummets. Maybe he doesn’t even know.

“It’s not a happy fucking story. You want to do this now?”

I nod. He puts his hand on my thigh and another on my hip. Heavy, possessive hands, holding onto me.

“We were about…fourteen? I stole a car and drove us into the southwest.”

My eyes widen. I remember that day. Skinny, fierce Lorenzo, who wanted to go on searching for Amalia even when I was too tired and filled with hopelessness. We went to every dive bar. Every brothel. Every squat. Anywhere in Coldlake where a pretty runaway might hole up. Every rumor we heard that might be her, we went to check it out.

It could be her. Come on, Vin, I’ll drive.

Drive what?

Uhh…wait here.

“I remember.” I was huddled in the front passenger seat, swamped with misery as we headed into gang territory.

“I wanted to reach out and hold your hand. But I just…” He shakes his hand and shrugs.

It was never her, but Lorenzo never gave up on trying to find Amalia, and in the end, he was the one who did find her. I had a few short, painful years with her before she was killed, but as hard as it was to see her like that, at least I knew where she was.

“That killed the fucking mood,” he mutters.

I reach up and touch his face, then wrap my arms around his neck and pull him down to me. I can’t kiss him, but I can hold him.

“Don’t you ever leave me,” I whisper harshly in his ear. “Don’t go where I can’t reach you ever again. You’re my best friend before anything else and I won’t survive in this life without you.”

He pulls back, his face just inches from mine. “You, too.”

He looks down between us. Strangely, we’re both still hard. Wordlessly, he reaches for the lube. The mood hasn’t been killed. It’s intensified. He rubs my asshole with his slippery finger and then pushes inside me.

“Fuck, Lorenzo.” I close my eyes and grasp the backs of my knees.

I watch him apply lube to his cock and time slows down. His movements are unhurried, focused, but as the head of his cock pushes inside me, he lifts his blue eyes to mine.

Lorenzo’s lips are parted as he breathes harshly. I’ve never had sex with anyone who loves me. He’ll probably never say it, but he doesn’t have to.

His hands are on me as he works himself deeper. I grab hold of his shoulders, his blond hair hanging down between us. I feel the groan in his chest more than I hear it. Every sense is overwhelmed by him, but I still want more.

He grasps my cock with his slippery hand and works me slowly up and down. I can’t fucking cope. He thrusts deeper and keeps up his slow pace, like he’s savoring every moment. I’ve never felt so seen. There’s nothing I can do, nothing I can say, I just hold onto him and moan as he deliberately and methodically overwhelms me.

A moment later I come, spurting all over his hand and my chest.

Lorenzo groans. “Fuck, that’s hot. You look so good when you—” He hisses through his teeth, and then his head falls back and his thrusts are deep and fast. Finally, he opens his eyes.

“I hope I fucked you all right,” he says as he eases out of me.

A lazy grin spreads over my face. “Fishing for compliments?”

I reach for him, but he’s already heading to the bathroom to clean up. Then he’s back, pulling on his jeans and heading for the door.

“Do you want some coffee? I bought this huge coffee machine.”

Disappointment plummets through me. No kisses, and it looks like I’m not going to be allowed to hold him either. I fall back with a sigh. An hour of Lorenzo’s devoted attention and then he’s back to his normal self.

Downstairs, I stare at him in his jeans, steam from the coffee machine billowing around him and the light playing over the ink on his muscles.

It’s not just that he’s incredibly sexy.

I’ve just always loved him.

I imagine saying that to him now, I’ve always loved you, and the words turn to ashes in my mouth. That moment between us upstairs was fleeting, and it’s already gone. I gaze out the window at the walls that he’s building around his house. Thick. High. Impenetrable.

“You’ve been bi forever, haven’t you?” he asks me.

I turn back and see he’s holding out a cup of coffee. I take it and nod. “Pretty much. What about you?”

Lorenzo shrugs. “I don’t know. I just like you, you pretty motherfucker.” He takes a mouthful of coffee and smiles at me.

He’s standing three feet away from me on the other side of the counter, but he’s smiling at me. He’s not going to say I love you or shower me with affection, but there’s no comparison. One hour of Lorenzo’s fierce attention and rough adoration is better than a lifetime of some lesser person’s.

I finish my coffee and stand up. “Call me if you feel like drinking, and I’ll come around and slap the bottle out of your hand.”

Lorenzo nods, his expression serious. “I’m sorry about the last couple of months.”

He doesn’t need to apologize. I’m just relieved he was able to pull himself out again.

A week later, I’m driving over Coldlake Bridge when Lorenzo calls me. We’ve been in touch every day and he seems to be doing well. “Hey, what’s up?”

“I’ve been thinking. We need something,” Lorenzo says.

“We do?”

“A woman.”

I flinch. I’ve been thinking about him and he’s been thinking about a woman. “Then go get a woman if you want one.”

“Don’t sound so pissed off. I don’t mean me. I mean us.”

“You and me?”

“Maybe. But wouldn’t it be better with all of us?”

I shake my head at the road. “What are you talking about?”

“The four of us. Sharing one woman. Not a sex thing, though we would all have sex with her—”

“What are you on?”

“Paint fumes. I’m finishing the basement. Stone-cold sober and I have too many goddamn thoughts in my head.”

At least he’s thinking about things that aren’t our sisters. But a woman for all of us to share? Sounds like a recipe for disaster. Who would have the patience to put up with the four of us?

“We’re the Coldlake Syndicate. We’re not easy to kill, but a woman is. That’s what I was thinking about.”

Three nights later we all have dinner at Lorenzo’s house as Salvatore and Cassius haven’t seen it yet. I can tell from their expressions that they weren’t expecting much from the scruffiest man in the syndicate, but both of them are impressed by how practical and secure Lorenzo’s new home is.

Cassius puts bags of Chinese food on the coffee table and holds up a bottle of white wine. “Who wants a glass?”

Lorenzo shakes his head and rips open the bag of prawn crackers. “None for me. I’m not drinking right now.”

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