The Perfect Stroke (Lucas Brothers #1)(134)

She hesitates for just a second, and then slowly opens her legs wide, bracing her feet on the mattress. Her * is glistening. Perfect. I line up with her entrance and slam home, not even bothering with gentle. I don’t have that in me right now.

“Mine!” I growl like a f*cking caveman. Ana’s arms go around me, her nails biting into my back as she stretches to find my ear so I can hear her moan of approval—and then her whisper.

“Yours, Roman. I’m yours,” she reassures me. The words calm the beast inside of me. For now.





I watch from the window in the study while the lights of the limousine disappear. Watching him leave fills me with a feeling of doom. Is today the beginning of the end? He said he had to go to work, not to visit my brother, but would he tell me if he was? He promised he was just going to help him get completely sober and then he would let him go. What Allen did from there on out would be up to him.

But Roman probably won’t get that chance.

I’m sure Paul is working overtime on ways to set Roman up, especially since I have been MIA and ignoring his phone calls. Just the thought of that man and what he could be up to causes fear to fill me. I turn cold, fine sweat breaking out over my body. I’ve begged Roman to be careful and warned him that Paul will be looking to bring him down. I’ve even taken to searching the house and the limo, just in case whoever else Paul has on the inside might try to plant what I wouldn’t. I’ve not found evidence of anything going on, but that doesn’t do a lot to make me feel better. I wrap my arms around myself, my thoughts somehow chilling the whole room, unease filling me. I need to do something.

“Do you need anything, Ms. Stevens?” One of the security guys that Roman has on staff asks me. I forget his name, but then there are so many people working for Roman, there’s no way to keep them all straight.

“I’m fine. Thanks. I was just about to lie down. I seemed to have developed a headache,” I lie.

“Fine. If you need anything, you can hit the number zero on the phone. That will call security.”

“Thank you,” I tell him, watching as he leaves the room.

Once he does, I count to ten. Then I worry that’s not enough and count to ten again. Panic fills me and I worry it’s still not enough. By the time I’ve counted enough times to hit fifty, I figure I need to quit stalling. I move over to the fake ferns that are in the entry way planter along with multicolored flowers. They were so lifelike, I thought they were real—until I touched them. I guess when you have enough money, even fake flowers can look better than real ones. It takes me a little bit of digging because I buried the phone well, not wanting anyone to find it. Once I wrap my hand around it, I breathe a little easier. I get it and then start looking towards the back of the planter for the battery. It takes a few minutes to find it and then I walk to the sofa and sit down with the newly assembled phone. I stare at it a minute before turning it on. Then I dial Paul’s number and wait. It doesn’t take long—two rings.

“About f*cking time. What the f*ck are you doing at Anthe’s house? You know what the f*cking plan is.”

“How did you know where I was?”

“Don’t be completely stupid, Ana. Did you carry out your orders?”

“No, Paul. I need to talk to you. I think—” I would argue more, but the phone goes dead. That’s when the fear really hits. I swallow against the bile rising in my throat. It’s time for me to either come clean with my superiors and hope they are more trustworthy than Paul, or come clean with Roman. Either choice is bad. There’s no guarantee that my captain will even listen, and given the choice, I know the majority of the team members will back Paul over Roman, who they view as scum. To them, they’d just be getting another perp off the streets. Telling Roman means warning him and betraying my badge—and it also means admitting to Roman that I’ve been lying to him since day one.

Damned if I do, damned if I don’t. Either choice is going to be hell.

The house phone rings and I jump. I shut my phone back down. I don’t take the battery out of it again, however. There’s no point. Paul knows where I’m at, and it’s clear he’s not about to try and contact me now. I reach over and grab the telephone and, reading Roman’s cell number on the caller I.D., I go ahead and answer it.

“Hey,” I whisper, hoping he can’t hear the worry and panic in my voice.

“Pet, there’s a business dinner tonight. I’ve tried to get out of it, but there’s no way. It begins at seven.”

“Oh, okay,” I tell him, a little disappointed. “What time will you be home?”

“Be home? Ana, you will be going to the dinner with me. There’s a blue dress in your closet that I picked out personally. Put it on, and wear your hair down—I don’t like it when you wear it up. I’ll talk to you later.”

He hangs up just like that, and I stare at the phone wondering what the hell just happened. My worry over everything going on with Paul and Roman takes a back seat as I replay the conversation in which Roman doesn’t ask if I want to go to a dinner; he just demands it, then instructs me on what to wear and how to fix my hair. Anger takes the place of worry. The * just expects me to fall in line like everyone else in his life. I decide to concentrate on him being an * and not on the impending doom that’s breathing down my neck. I’ll make up my mind on whether I should come clean with Roman or the detective in charge of the investigation tomorrow.