“Don’t fucking scream,” he said just as her mouth fell open. She whipped her fist up to her mouth and bit into the fleshy pad beneath her thumb. Any pain, any discomfort, any stress completely bled from her being. There was no space for anything but satisfaction.
Boneless, Izzy sagged into the couch cushions. Jig lifted off his knees and sat on the coffee table, clearly turned on. The bulge in his jeans beckoned to her, and for one weak instant, she almost caved and begged him to stay the rest of the night.
At the last second, she remembered that feeling she worked so hard to avoid. Abandonment, neglect, disappointment…loneliness. And while, sure, she got lonely from time to time on her own, at least she was in control of it. Not a man, not a friend, not a relationship.
So, instead of begging for his cock, she gave him a contented smile and said, “Now that’s what they should be handing out prescriptions for.”
Jig blinked and, for the barest of seconds, had a soft expression. Then the shields were back in place, and he snorted. “Maybe they should.” Rising to his feet, he grabbed his cut and shrugged back into it. His body was a work of art, and even under the T-shirt, his strength was apparent.
And enticing.
She couldn’t tear her eyes off him as he strode to her door. His hand reached for the knob, and he turned. “Get some sleep, sweetheart,” he said.
And he was gone.
Blowing out a breath, Izzy stared at her ceiling. It was then she realized she was naked from the waist down, legs splayed open, wet pussy on full display. She hadn’t shifted a millimeter since she came.
For the first time since she moved in, the emptiness of the house was noticeable. Jig melted her mind and made her think about things she’d promised herself she’d steer clear of.
“Shit,” she said to the vacant home.
Of course, no one answered her. Because she was alone.
Just like she wanted.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“OKAY,” ZACH SAID in a hushed tone. “Here’s what we know as of now.” Jig and the other four men leaned in, their breakfasts forgotten. “They’ve got a stash of girls somewhere. I had a contact I trust feeding me info from the cops, and they haven’t had any missing persons reports filed in a hundred-mile radius for women under twenty-five in the past four months. The last one was one of the girls we know Lefty snatched.” He cleared his throat. “And eventually killed.”
Jig lifted his coffee mug to his lips. By the time he’d left Izzy’s place, it was well after three am. Two back-to-back rounds of jacking himself off to the memory of her taste and the way she greedily shoved her pussy against his face, and he’d finally crashed somewhere around four-thirty, still not completely satisfied. At nine, the jarring ringtone of his phone pulled his dream-dick out of dream-Izzy with Copper’s invitation, or more like mandate, to meet for breakfast at ten thirty.
So, there he was, overtired and under-caffeinated, trying to stay with the conversation. He gulped the scalding liquid and sighed in pleasure. At least he could remedy the problem of under-caffeination.
“So he’s getting them somewhere else,” Zach said, also sucking down the java.
Jig set his mug next to his uneaten omelet. “Or he’s strategically choosing women who don’t have anyone to report them missing.”
The rest of the men stared at him. In telltale thinking mode, Copper rubbed his beard with his thumb and forefinger. “You think Lefty’s savvy enough to put that kinda operation in play?” he asked.
Jig shrugged. He scooped up a hunk of the cheesy omelet and plopped it on the corner of a slice of wheat toast. “He’s been smart enough to keep the operation up and running while flying under our radar. We thought Chloe was the only woman he had. And when he handed her over, we assumed that was it for his stock of women.” With a wide mouth, he bit halfway through the toast. Damn, no one did breakfast like Ernesto, the diner’s chef.
At the mention of Chloe’s name, Rocket’s hand tightened around his fork to the point of punishing. Good thing it wasn’t a plastic utensil, or it’d be in pieces. Rocket had been the one to pull Chloe from Lefty’s clutches not long ago. Something went down that night, but Rocket’s lips were sealed as to what happened. But that was a problem for a later date.
“Well, fuck,” Zach said. He shoved his plate away and leaned back against the booth’s vinyl cushioning. “We gotta find those fucking girls. Cop, I know you wanted to keep this as clean as possible, but I’m starting to think the only way out of this thing is to get our hands a little dirty.”
“I ain’t worried about getting our hands dirty, Z.” Copper’s voice had risen almost to a yell. Behind the diner counter, Shell’s head whipped in their direction. The frown on her face said she’d heard. She grabbed the coffee pot and started in their direction.