Driving the Mob (Steamy Standalone Instalove)

I’m sure I can hear him scowl over the phone, even if that’s impossible. I know how much he hates it when I lecture him like this, but what the fuck does he expect me to do?

He’s been given chance upon chance, and if it wasn’t for me he’d be a corpse right now.

I’d never phrase it like that with him. That would be disrespectful, putting him in a position where he’d either have to lie down and take it or challenge me, and I don’t want either of those to happen.

It doesn’t change the facts though.

Disrespectful? a voice mocks from within. Are you fucking joking? You just got yourself off while thinking about his daughter.

“I am,” Henry says. “I know I messed up. In England. I know I shouldn’t have borrowed that money. It’s that itch, that gambling itch… sometimes it just gets out of control and before I know it I’m sure I’ve got a certain thing. I’m sure, and then it all comes crumbling down.”

I sigh, massaging the bridge of my nose. His voice is wavering the same way it did when we were kids, the same way it did after his crush rejected him as a prom date when he didn’t get the grades he wanted to go to college.

So many memories are buried within my friend’s voice.

“I know,” I say. “It’s been tough for you since Angela.”

“Yeah.” He laughs humorlessly. “That’s one way to put it.”

“I know you can do it this time,” I say. “You’re stronger than this, Henry. You always have been.”

“Thanks,” he says. “That means a lot, really. And thanks for the apartment, and Molly’s job. I owe you a lot.”

“You don’t owe me a damn thing,” I growl passionately. “You’d do the same if the positions were reversed.”

He pauses, saying nothing. There’s nothing he needs to say. We both know it’s the truth.

“How’s Molly doing anyway?” he asks.

I bite down, my jaw aching, my heart hammering like it could explode from my chest. I’ve never lied to Henry, even after we went different ways in life.

Whenever he’s asked me something, I’ve told him the truth, even when it comes to my business. I can’t say the same for anyone else in my life.

But what the fuck am I supposed to tell him now?

“She’s a good driver,” I say, which is true. But I still feel like a worm for dodging the real issue. “She’s going a good job.”

“Good,” he says, letting out a relieved sigh. “Her mouth can sometimes get her into trouble.”

“She’s been very professional,” I say.

He sighs again, a noise of pure relief, and I find myself thinking deranged thoughts.

I find myself thinking what a good grandfather my best friend will make… grandfather to kids I’m going to have with his daughter. I imagine us at a family barbecue, Henry grinning at me as he cradles my son – his grandson – to his chest, all of us happier than we ever could’ve believed.

“I need to go, Henry, but we’ll catch up soon. And please…”

I don’t need to finish the sentence. He knows what I’m going to say.

Please don’t fall back into your gambling addiction. Please stay on the straight and narrow. Please don’t let us down again.

“I’m good,” he says firmly. “I mean it this time, Murph.”

We hang up and I wander back to the window, staring down at the city, my eyes moving over the innumerable glinting lights as I wonder what Molly’s doing, where she is, and if she’s thinking about me.

That’s madness, of course.

Molly would be shocked beyond belief if she knew how I was fantasizing about her.

As far as she’s concerned, I’m her dad’s best friend, nothing else.

I’ve got no idea how she’d react if I told her she belongs to me, forever, that she’s mine and always will be, and that one day she’s going to use those wide gorgeous hips to give me the family I never knew I wanted before I laid eyes on her.

I smirk, chuckling savagely.

Yeah, she’s not thinking about me.

But I can’t stop thinking about her.

Chapter Seven

Molly

I can’t stop thinking about him.

I try to settle down in bed and watch some tape from my last run on the track back in England. I’m working on taking the corners more fluidly, and I should be taking notes as I watch myself zip around the dirt track.

But everything warps and becomes Murphy, my whole reality bending to his image.

Even the growl of the engine turns into his voice, growling at me to bend over, to stick my ass out so he can claim me in the most brutal and possessive way.

I bite my lip, my hand tight around my pen, trying to fight the urge to slide my hand down between my legs and fully explore my pleasure.

I try to laugh away the ridiculous thoughts buzzing around my head like an army of invading insects. I can hear Dad walking around the apartment just beyond my locked bedroom door as he gets himself a snack from the kitchen.