Noah smiled his charming smile and held his fist out to him. “We cool, Luke?”
Lucas gave him a very small smile of his own as he touched his fist to Noah’s. “Like ice, No.”
Noah put his head back on his pillow and put his hand on the small of Leah’s back. “Good, then take your woman back to her room and whisper sweet nothin’s in her ear, while I still got time to rub on Leah’s ass before the nurse comes back and puts my head out.” Lucas smiled. “You got it.”
Noah smiled. “I got a lot. Come by before you leave.”
“I’ll be here,” Lucas said and rolled Nick out with one hand.
Leah looked down at Noah. “I’m worried about Nick.”
“She’ll be fine. She’s got us.” His hand slipped down and cupped her ass. Noah looked up at her with a wicked grin. “What color are your panties?” Leah smiled as she undid the button on her jeans and pulled the privacy curtain.
Chapter Four
One Down
K eith couldn’t quite believe his recent run of pure unadulter-ated luck. Everything he’d envisioned since he first met Oscar Tirado had finally come to pass. They’d worked hard, he and Oscar, to get to the point Keith ended up reaching alone. He was vaguely rueful that Oscar hadn’t made it with him, but not very. After all, Keith never intended for him to. That’s why he gave him up to Tate and Troy Trinidad.
Oscar Tirado had been one of the dirtiest cops the NYPD had ever seen. Just like Cain and Ramsey, he’d been a highly decorated First Grade Detective, but he’d lived a double life for a long time.
Oscar had also been a drug dealing, money laundering, cop killer in his spare time. Cain and Ramsey had been instrumental in ending Oscar’s reign of terror, and Oscar hadn’t appreciated it when they’d brought him down. Keith hadn’t given Cain and Ramsey much thought. He’d dismissed them as minor, but important, figures in the cast of Oscar’s downfall. Mostly he’d just been glad that when the shit hit the fan, none of it was slung on him.
Keith might not have given Cain and Ramsey a second thought, but Oscar had obviously let revenge fester in his mind like a wound that wouldn’t get well. Oscar had gone into the joint looking for ways to get out. He’d been adamant that he’d never serve his full sentence, and he’d kept his lawyer very busy. Oscar sent his lawyer to the Feds to make a deal. Let him out and he’d hand them the Trinidad brothers on a silver platter. The Feds went for the deal. The fact that Cain and Ramsey were heading the sting was gravy for Oscar.
He’d finally get those assholes back for cutting his fun short.
Oscar decided to give the Trinidads a heads up about the sting to exact revenge on Cain and Ramsey. He called a meeting with them on the night he died. Keith had known the Trinidads and Oscar long enough to know that it would be fairly easy to gum up the works of that covert pow-wow by going against Oscar. Keith had taken his life in his hands by having the balls to fuck Oscar right in his face, but the hell with it. Keith could admit to himself that he was a greedy opportunist, who ultimately wanted everything for himself. That was the nature of the game, after all. To the victor goes the spoils, and he was going to make sure he was the last man standing.
It would be a long time before he forgot the look Oscar gave him when Keith informed Tate and Troy that Oscar had been solely responsible for bringing the heat down on them. That Oscar had his lawyer contact the Feds to get them to cut him a deal.
After cursing Keith to eternal damnation for his Judas kiss, Oscar started groveling. He knew Tate and Troy would never let him leave there alive. Tate had stood up at his desk and told Oscar, if he got on his knees, he’d think about it. Keith had never in his life seen a look as black as the one Tate got from Oscar.
Keith had to give Oscar credit. He was a tough bastard to the very end. He lifted his chin and spit right in Tate’s eye. “Fuck you, Tate. You’re gonna have to kill me, you son of a bitch!” he’d said, defiantly. Tate had used his handkerchief to wipe Oscar’s spit out of his eye, laughing with real humor, almost tickled. “I’d be delighted,” he’d said with a chuckle, “Oh Troy!”
Troy had leapt across Tate’s desk with his machete in his hand and taken Oscar’s head off before he could turn around. Also some shit Keith had never seen before. Oscar’s head hit the ground with a surprised look on its face and rolled between his feet. His body stood a little longer — jetting blood — then collapsed on the floor next to his severed head. Tate had tucked his handkerchief back into his pocket and looked at Keith. “Run if you want to live, before I change my mind,” he’d said — and he didn’t have to say it twice. Keith had high-tailed it out of there, but he was almost sure things would continue to work in his favor.
The sting was set to go down the following day. Keith knew the Trinidad brothers wouldn’t just lie down, give up, and go to jail. He also knew if Cain and Ramsey were the undercovers, Tate and Troy weren’t getting away. He personally might hate their guts, but their track record spoke for itself. Draco was going down. Keith had been certain that when the sun set the next day, Tate and Troy would no longer be among the living.
That was the way it turned out, of course. Both Tate and Troy were dead, but they hadn’t gone without a fight. They’d put a world of hurt on the opposition. Killed a bunch of cops and agents. They’d put the hurt on Ramsey’s big-mouthed ass, too. Keith heard they’d lost him a couple of times before he stabilized. Too bad. Before it was all over, Keith intended to make sure his slick ass wished he was dead — and he could blame arrogant-ass Lucas Cain for all his future trouble. He and Nicky.
Keith had been mildly upset to hear Nicky had gotten hurt. He did still care for her, but perhaps she’d gotten what she deserved.
She still had to pay for tossing his ass aside for the perfect Mr. Cain.
Keith clenched his teeth and swallowed like he tasted something awful. Lucas Cain. Keith’s hand curled into a fist and his lips went up in an unconscious sneer. Lucas Cain.
He’d hated that motherfucker since the academy. Hated his ass on sight. Conceited, swaggering, bastard. He thought he was the shit.
Thought he was the motherfucking man. Living in his goddamned fly-ass brownstone, pushing a fucking 500. He stole his woman.
Nicky.
No matter how he turned it over in his mind, Keith could not deal with that particular pile of bullshit. He couldn’t take it. It was like an atom bomb to his manhood. He frowned. Oscar had laughed at him — tried to say he should be glad it was Cain who’d taken his woman. Like that shit was supposed to make him feel better. Well, fuck Oscar’s dumb ass. He should have given more thought to what fell out of his mouth. That was one of the reasons his ass was dead.
Keith was not the one for taking shorts. Sooner or later he’d get your ass back.
Keith had more to get Cain back for than losing Nicky. He’d shamed him. Twice. He’d manhandled him once. Cain had thrown him out of that office on his ass so hard he’d skidded across the floor, everybody snickering and laughing. He’d embarrassed him in front of everybody. Then Cain had the balls to come to the place Keith was staying and kick his ass in his own hallway, like Keith wasn’t shit. Keith had never been in a fight where his feet actually left the ground. Nigga had tossed him like he was 5 years old.
Cain broke Keith’s nose … broke his finger … shattered his ego.
Ramsey provided the background music of humiliating laughter.
Cain moved so fast, he didn’t even give Keith the chance to fight back. Cain’s fists were like